These pages are devoted to your stories and messages - either about your experiences in Stalag VIIIB, or your father's time there. By telling these stories, and posting these messages, we hope that visitors to this site will make connections and be reunited with former friends, or with their families.

So if you would like your story to appear on these pages, or if you think that you recognise someone and would like to be in contact with them, please email us .

Date received: December 2004. From: Joan Flanagan
On behalf of: Her late father, Charlie Smith

My Dad, Charlie Smith (see photo left), 6895456 Rifleman, joined the Queen Victoria Rifles Territorial Army “D” Company in 1936. Consequently, at the outbreak of the Second World War in September 1939, he was called up immediately. He went for further training in Kent before being sent to Dunkirk on Wednesday, 29th May, 1940.

During late afternoon, on Sunday, the 2nd June German troops filtered into the harbour from the north and had managed to get into the sand dunes between Charlie’s battalion and the harbour. The Queen Victoria Rifles were experiencing trouble with their automatic weapons due to the mechanism becoming clogged with sand and this resulted in the capture of Charlie and many other soldiers.

They were taken to a church in the northeast of the town, which was being used as a preliminary collecting centre. During the walk to the church, the Germans, many of whom spoke English, gave them food and an officer in the church let the prisoners wash. The Germans were friendly, being more anxious to tell of their experiences – in many cases of holidays in England – than they were to discuss the war or politics. As soon as the church was full, the prisoners who numbered about 20 officers and 300 from other ranks were marched out of town.

The War Office reported to the press at the time:

“What a tremendous value the Battalion were - their stand enabled others to escape from Dunkirk. Also the fact that reinforcements were needed by the German troops after military attack on the south of the town no doubt delayed their advance sufficiently. All the men fought magnificently. The men were never downhearted and even at the end, on the Sunday evening when the Germans attacked , after a shattering bombardment during the morning, they were still full of spirit and made light of their exhaustion and the pain which they must have been suffering.”

Charlie was taken to Stalag VIIIB (later known as Stalag 344) Lamsdorf in Silesia and remained there for the rest of the war in Europe. He worked in the forest cutting down trees and also laboured on building sites. Albert Latter (Charlie’s friend from the Territorial Army) was also was taken prisoner at Dunkirk and they spent the five years together in the camp.

Charlie often talked of the hunger he experienced whilst in the Prisoner of War Camp. He and the other prisoners were extremely grateful for the food parcels sent by the Red Cross, family and friends, without which, Charlie thought many more prisoners would have died.

On the march to Stalag VIIIB in 1940 and on the long walk from Silesia to Berlin in 1945 he ate ‘pig-swill’ in order to survive.

Charlie married his sweetheart Edith, on June 3rd 1945. They enjoyed a happy marriage and had three children: myself Joan, Ray and Pam. Sadly Charlie died in 1965 from stomach cancer aged 48 years.



Date received: December 2004. From: John Gowan
On behalf of: His second cousin, Wilf McAninly

My uncle, Wilf McAninly arrived in Stalag VIIIB on 14 June 1940 - interestingly, the day after he was listed missing in the Sunderland Echo. He was transferred to Stalag Luft III "verwundet" on 20 April 1943, then transferred "gesund" from Stalag Luft III to Stalag VIIIC on 29 July 1944 and then to Stalag VIIA on 16 August 1944.

He has written an account of his experiences, entitled 'Life Behind Barbed Wire', and here is a extract from it: "I was wounded, taken prisoner and spent five years as a PoW in Germany. The fateful day was 20 May 1940. I recall the enemy tanks advancing, with an infantry following. A tank shell burst quite close to me. A fragment caught the side of my head. My thoughts were 'This is it!'. I barely remember the events that followed. The wounded were assembled with German medical orderlies in attendance. We were taken by transport to a large country house which had been converted into a field hospital.

I was there for about four weeks and then, along with many others, I had to walk for never-ending miles until we reached a railway. Awaiting us were cattle trucks into which we packed like sardines. The journey took about two days to our destination ...which turned out to be Stalag VIIIB.

On arrival, our heads were shaved, and photographs were taken, along with our fingerprints. We were a sorry sight. The rations were miserable. A ladle of watery soup, two slices of bread with a small portion of marge and jam, or rotten cheese. That was our daily ration.

After a while, I was sent on my first working camp. We were taken to work ona railway that led into Poland. The work consisted of filling tubs with stones. These ran on miniature rails. We worked about 10 hours a day. On returning from work, we received a bowl of soup. That was dinner. At the same time, we were issued with a bread ration of marge and jam. At the same time were issued with a bread ration with marge and jam. That was breakfast. But we were so hungry, everything was eaten there and then. This meant we ate once every 24 hours.

A moment of joy! I received my first letter from home. Christmas came and then we entered a new year. The work was completed and we returned to Stalag VIIIB. Imagine our jubilation! A Red Cross food parcel awaited us. It was our first decent meal!

After several months in the main camp, along with about 70 others, I went to my second working camp. This was to E109 Ehrenforce. It situated in the wooded hills. Our task was to cut down trees and lop off the branches. When winter came, they were pulled over the snow, down to the roadside, where they were taken away by a wagon.

The months dragged on, conditions worsened and Red Cross food parcels became very irregular. We were infested with lice , and morale was rock bottom. We decided to refuse to work. The German officer in charge almost went crazy. He shouted and screamed, and waved his revolver around. The men waivered. 'We are prisoners' was said. They all gave in, except John Greenal from Newcastle, J H Harris from Chester and myself. Greenal kept whispering to me, 'Don't give in! Stick it out!'.

The men returned to work. We were escorted back to Stalag VIIIB to await our punishment, which turned out to be 14 days in the cooler. It was little different from our usual quarters..."



Date received: December 2004. From: Howard Habron (son)
On behalf of: His father, Paddy Habron.

Dad joined the Prince Of Wales Regiment of Yorkshire at the outbreak of war, then volunteered for special ops and joined the No 3 Commando at Achnacary in Scotland. He took part in the raid on Vaagso before being taken prisoner during the Operation Jubilee, the ill-fated Dieppe raid. Dad was captured at Berneval-sur-mer and was taken to Lamsdorf to wait out the war. Some of the things they got up to are related in the book by Professor John Mellor "Forgotten Heroes", I remember him interviewing Dad for the book. Gladly Dad is with us and will spend Christmas 2004 at our house.

He would be delighted to hear from any one who remembers him, or from the family of anyone who was in Lamsdorf, or worked in the fields or brickworks.


Date received: December 2004. From: John Kelly (son)
On behalf of: His father, John 'Jack' or 'Spider' Kelly

My dad is John Kelly (see photo left) although everyone calls him Jack, or Spider. He’s from Sheffield, was in the Royal Engineers during the war, and was captured in France. Here is something he wrote about it:

“We sailed out of Newport, Monmouthshire on the 14th of Sept.1939 and three days later, we arrived in St.Nazaire, France. Then it was a lovely war in a nice part of the world. However, when the real thing started, we were blowing up bridges in and around the the town of Douai, close to the Belgium border. We had explosives on a large bridge over the river in the centre of the town. But we were never able to blow up that bridge, as hundreds of women and children were fleeing ahead of advancing Germans, as well as some British soldiers, who were retreating. If I had known where they heading I would have joined them. We learned later it was Dunkirk.

“We were ordered to the town of Cassels where hundreds of British troops were holding out. That was another mistake, as the Germans were already behind us. However, we had to follow orders. I was stuck on a mounted Bren gun, to fire at the low flying German planes. One time during a lull in the scrap, a bunch of French people who had been sheltering in a nearby building came out, screaming at me that I was just drawing more fire on them. I think they were ready to Kill me. I stuck to my post, but never did shoot down a plane, although I felt as if I could reach out and touch them.”

Dad stayed the entire war as a POW first at Stalag V111B, then Blechammer and finally at a paper mill in Opeln, where he set out on the death march, and was finally liberated by the Russians in 1945.

He had a good mate called Jimmy Parr from Liverpool who he has tried hard to locate or find out what happened to. So if anyone remembers my dad, or knows what happened to Jimmy Parr, please contact us. He’s always complaining that everyone who he knew is dead and I would love to prove him wrong!



Date received: December 2004. From: Michael Vaughan
On behalf of: His late father, John Henry 'Jack' Vaughan

My father, John Henry “Jack” Vaughan, (see photo left) passed away at the beginning of this month, and here is his story: Jack deducted one year from his birth date so that he could join the Royal Horse Guards at 17. In January 1940, the regiment took horses to Palestine and there he rode as many as 70 miles a day through many places mentioned in The Bible, including one day drinking ice cold water from Jacob’s Well. As the war progressed and European countries fell to Nazi Germany, Jack transferred to the Commandos after undertaking specialist training in Egypt. He went to Abyssinia where he took parts in raids behind enemy lines, sometimes covering as much as 200 miles in a day. After a further short spell in Egypt, two commando units went to Crete, but the weather was too rough to land. After changing on to a cruiser, he eventually landed at Suda Bay and fought hand to hand across the island for five days before being captured by the Germans.

He was taken to Stalag VIIIB, where he was incarcerated for four years. His experiences were horrific and he was hospitalised for four months after being severely beaten. Released by the Americans in 1945, Jack returned to the UK and some hospital treatment before resuming Guard duties at Whitehall. He met a Mitcham girl, May Rowles, and they married on 1st December 1945. Later, due to his treatment in the prisoner of war camp, he was disabled out of the Horse Guards. We would very much like to hear from anyone who remembers him.



Date received: December 2004. From: James McCall Hogarth (see photo left)


I was a Troop Sergeant Major in the 1st Lothians & Border Yeomanry, Royal Armoured Corps of the 51st Highland Division and was wounded on 10 June 1940 at Cany Barville and taken prisoner two days later at St Valery. I was then shuttled between various hospitals in France, including Forges-Les -Eaux, Hopital D'Ernemont in Rouen, Val De Grace - Hopital Militaire in Paris, Creteil - Hopital Civile, Paris and Hopital Militaire Begin - St. Mande, Paris. Then, in February 1941, I was moved to Badsulza - KGF No. 33126, then Reserve Lazaret - Schleiz and then Reserve Lazeret - Obermassfeld until October 1941.

Between October 1941 and February 1942, I was in Heilag - Rouen, and then I was moved to Stalag VIII B, Lamsdorf. I was at Lamsdorf until October 1943, when I was repatriated through Gothenberg, Sweden. I would very much like to hear from anyone who remembers me.









Date received: November 2004. From: Richard Bryson
On behalf of: John 'Jack' Bryson (see photo left)

I was not yet 3 months old when my father, Jack Bryson, passed on, in January 1957 and so only know about him from what my mother told me. But there are quite a few gaps in his war story, and so if anyone can fill those in for me, I'd be very happy to hear from them.

Dad initially joined up with Regt Botha in South Africa and then transferred to TSC (Technical Services Corp) so he could get to the front quicker (little did he know how short his freedom would be!). He was shipped out of Durban aboard SS Mauritania, arriving in Suez the 21-10-1941. He was then posted to a light AA Regt.

He turns up next, according to the ICRC, in PG202, a military hospital near Luca on the 21 October 1942. Then in PG 52 Chiavari, and then Stalag VIIIB on 29 September 1943.

What is confusing me is that all references I can find point to Stalag VIIIB, except the photo which says 'Stalag 344' on the back. I know that the name changed, Stalag VIIIB Lamsdorf became Stalag 344 Lamsdorf, and Stalag VIII D Teschen became Stalag VIII B Teschen. I have just received documents from the Czech Republic with some info on E 727, but they had none on my Dad. The University at Opole have a record of my Dad and of E 727.

So to say I am confused is an understatement. I'm wondering, did my father see the inside of both the Lamsdorf and Teschen camps? Or was it only the Lamsdorf camp and then as he was posted out to a labour camp, the name change was only an admin thing?

So among the PoW stories my Mum told me about him, was this one: The one job they had to do, obviously only in winter, was to keep the ice broken about the base of the power station cooling towers. There was apparently only one guard and he would walk in a circle around the tower. The agreement was that if you could see the guard you would whistle a predetermined tune, thereby alerting the next fellow the guard was coming and he would start to work. As soon as he was out of sight they would rest. One would hope there was a fire to keep them warm. Otherwise, standing around doing nothing could become very cold.

Another one was at a sugar beet mill. This is just a story and I have as yet found no proof it. The mill was a multi-story affair, where the bagged sugar would be slid down a slide to the waiting truck. Applying a little soap to the slide would cause the bag to gather too much speed and burst on landing in the truck and providing the POW's some food/sweetener to steal.

Another story my Mom told us of was of the march in 1945. No mention, as I recall was made of the fact that it was winter. She would say they marched until they heard the American guns, turned around and marched till they heard the Russian guns, turned around and went back to the Americans. This can't possibly be true ,considering the distances involved. The closest I have come to verifying this story is reading in the book "The Last Escape" about a labour group who initially went the wrong way and almost walked into the Russians, then turned and went west. I have not yet contacted the two authors to find out if they have more details on this labour group.

I have virtually no info on the march, other than I know they were released by US troops around the 24 April 1945. Again my Mom told me that the US troops gave them a car and told them to go enjoy themselves before being shipped off to the UK for repatriation.

So if anyone can help throw any light on my research into my Dad's story, I'd be very grateful. Please contact me via this website.





Date received: November 2004. From: Grahame Lee
On behalf of: Frederick Cowan (see photo )

My late father-in-law, Fred Cowan , was in the 2nd Battalion Parachute Regiment and he was was captured in Tunis on 30 November 1942. He was transferred to Stalag VIIIB where he remained until his release in April 1945But that's all we know and we'd very much like to know more. For instance, we don't know how he got to the camp from Tunis, and how he was released. Did he go on the Lamsdorf Death March or was he liberated by the Americans?

We would really appreciate it if anyone knows the answers to any of these questions, and gets in touch.





Date received: November 2004. From: Tom Hutchinson.
On behalf of: Tommy 'Sandy' Saunders.

My uncle, John Thomas 'Sandy' Saunders (1st. Batt. The Tyneside Scottish, Black Watch) was captured in France on 27th May, 1940, and he died Friday, 21st July, 1944. He was shot by a guard, along with another prisoner, after an argument over the cutting and stacking of wood, whilst working in a forest. The War Office indicated he was buried in Poppelau (now Popielow) Communal Cemetery, Plot 1, Grave 1. According to Sidney Sherriff, R.S.M., Tommy was buried with full military honours on 25th July. But the grave was never identified and consequently, we have not been able to erect a headstone.

I would be extremely interested to hear from anyone who knew him or any information about a known grave. He is the ‘Midlander’ mentioned on page 34 of Arthur Evans book ‘Sojourn in Silesia’ – though he came from Bishop Auckland, Co Durham. Also, who was the other POW shot?



Date received: November 2004. From: Peter Macdonald On behalf of: Basil Macdonald

My brother, Bombardier B A S Macdonald (Basil , pictured left), died in Lamsdorf from the after-effects of an industrial accident - a thrombosis that travelled to his heart and stopped it. He was 23 years old. He took part in amateur dramatics in the camp: I have a photo of him sitting beside the actor Denholm Elliott, ex-RAF, who after the war became well known in plays and films. Basil is buried in the British Military cemetery, next to a soldier by the name of Murray (which was the name of my great-grandmother, who came from Aberdeen).

I would like very much to hear from anyone who knew him, or Pte Murray.
 

Date received: October 2004. From: Philip Baker. On behalf of: Charles Saunders.

My name is Charles Saunders. On 21st May 1940 I was with the 2nd Battalion of the Welsh Guards when we arrived in Boulogne with the 2nd Battalion of the Irish Guards, to evacuate the British headquarters staff (including the Duke of Gloucester, whose job was liaison with the French forces).

We landed in Boulogne harbour but found that the staff and the Duke had left the day before we arrived. Our company established a temporary headquarters, and I was one of the guards outside. We were told that we would be taken by boat back to Britain as soon as it could be arranged. There was a lot of fighting going on in the town.

The next day I was sent to try and find a stretcher for a wounded soldier. I found some stretcher-bearers, but they wouldn’t come with me. When I returned to the headquarters I found that everyone had gone – except the wounded soldier and two other soldiers who were looking after him. We made a stretcher from some sacks and some pieces of wood and I told the other two to take the wounded man to the hospital in the town. I then went off to find my company again. I found them elsewhere in the town. We were sent back to the harbour to get the boat back to Britain. However, there was only room on the boat for 800 men: 1,200 were left behind in Boulogne.

We were marched away from Boulogne, south along the coast. But we soon found we were marching towards a German machine gun post. We had to escape and hide. Eight of us hid in a building, and later four went off to see if they could find a way back to the harbour. We didn’t see them again. The four of us who remained (Charles, Arthur, Richard and William) spent the night in the building and in the morning we decided to go down to the harbour ourselves. As we approached the harbour someone began firing at us and we took shelter in a large building – a house - belonging to a transport firm. Fortunately the door was not locked. The house was empty. After a while we tried to leave, but we saw Germans coming around the corner. We ran back into the house and locked the doors. We expected the Germans to come after us, but nobody came.

We were in the house for about eight days. All we could find to eat and drink was sugar, some wine left in the bottoms of bottles we found, and rainwater. On the eighth day the water came on in the house. We lit a fire. Someone outside saw the smoke and knocked on the door. We saw that it was a Frenchman and we let him in. His name was Jean Abras. He had about three colleagues with him. Jean sent one of them to fetch a young schoolboy who could speak a little English. With the boy’s help they told us that they would get some food and civilian clothes for us. Jean took us out of the back of the house. We walked to Le Portel and then to Outreau. In Le Portel we walked right past the German headquarters! We then arrived at Jean’s mother’s house. Jean’s mother made us welcome. Somehow she managed to feed all of us. It must have been difficult for her as food was rationed, but she was helped in this by the great generosity of her family and friends.

Sometimes we used to walk through the fields down to the beach to collect shellfish to help with the food rations. If we saw any Germans we would walk the other way!

We stayed with the family until 8th August. It was quite a big house. Maman Abras lived there with Jean and his wife Maria and five children: Marie Christine, Jeanne, Jean, Pipette* and another small child who was very ill and unfortunately died the next year, I think. There were also Jean’s cousins Coco and Ninis (I think they were cousins). Downstairs were Maman Abras’s niece and her two daughters.

[*I think I have the right names, though the spelling might be wrong.]

We lived as part of the family. I used to get up first in the morning and make the coffee for everyone. The family taught us some French, and we tried to teach them a little English. We had a good time with them. Sometimes we would all sing together.

One of us would always sit near a window to watch in case any Germans came near the house. One day it was my turn to be on watch. Someone spoke to me and I looked away from the window. At that moment a German car stopped at the house. I gave the warning as soon as I realised, but it was too late. We tried to escape from the back of the house, but a German soldier had already reached the back door. We then went up to the roof of the house and hid in a cupboard. We were there for about two hours before they found us.

We (and the Abras family) were taken to the gendarmerie as prisoners, and then we were moved to Arras. Originally we soldiers, Jean, Coco and Ninis shared the same cell, but later we had individual cells. The soldiers were taken to the German Field Police headquarters for interrogation. Each of us was questioned alone and we were not allowed to talk to each other. But when we arrived back at the gendarmerie a very friendly gendarme said:

“Would you like to have a conference together now?”.

He opened the five cells (there were five because there was another British soldier who was a prisoner there) and we could walk into one cell to talk together. The gendarme shut the door but did not lock it. He said that if he told us to come out quickly, we should go back to our own cells as quickly as we could. We could then talk about our interrogations. We made sure that we all told the same story to the Germans whenever we were interrogated.

I didn’t find out what had happened to the Abras family until Jean wrote to me after the war.

From Arras they moved us to Lille, then back to Boulogne. We were eventually put on a train – in cattle trucks – and taken to a prisoner of war camp in Poland, first a transit camp and then to Stalag 8b at Lamsdorf, near Opole. I was only there for three days when they told about 20 of us that we would be sent to join a mining group. However, we arrived at a place called Birkentahl (I think) where our job was not mining – it was helping to widen and deepen a river. This was in November or December 1940 Just after Christmas they moved us to Buchenlost near Gliwice, to do forestry work. I was there for the rest of the war.

The Abras family were wonderful people, very kind and very brave. I have always been extremely grateful for all they did for us in 1940. I am so pleased that our friendship remains to this day, 64 years later!



Date received: October 2004. From: Steve Burns. On behalf of: Bill (Smudger) Smith.

Bill (Smudger) Smith, my late father-in-law, (see photo left) was a PoW at Stalag VIII B (and was a guest of the Chinese during the Korean War). Sadly, as usual, we could not get him to talk much about his experiences at the camp. Sad to say, he passed away recently (aged 83) and on sorting through his things we came across these photos.

We have no idea where these photos were taken, or who is in them. (We do know that Bill is not in any of them) but they are all stamped on the back Stalag VIII B. So if anybody has any idea who is in the photos, or even remembers when or where they were taken, please let us know.

We've also found a small book in Bill's possessions with a lot of names and addresses of people we presume he was at Stalag VIII B with. There are names from as far afield as New Zealand and Canada. We are still sorting through it - but if anything else relating to Stalag VIII B comes up we will be happy to share it with other people.



Date received: October 2004. From: Roderick Reilly On behalf of: James Reilly.

My father James Reilly (Dundee, RNVR) was a POW in Lamsdorf from ~1942 to 1945. He was previously a POW in Bremerhaven, after his ship Voltaire was sunk in April of 1941.

I have just read "Sailors in Cages" by Roger V. Coward, who was a shipmate of my Dad. It is a very interesting story and made even more incredible by the fact that it is all true. I cannot imagine having to endure some of the trials through which these brave men passed. Particularly sad for me was the fact that so many prisoners died in the final months/days of the war, having survived 3 or 4 years in the camps. Mr Coward reports an incident where an American Dakota plane exploded shortly after take-off - the plane was filled with POWs finally on their way home to Great Britain.....

I am amazed that my father survived his experiences given the number of ways in which he could have been killed throughout the war. I am very glad he did - otherwise, guess who wouldn't be here today?

My father died very suddenly this year on April 16th, aged 83. He always talked with great affection about the camaraderie between his fellow POWs at Lamsdorf. He had a very positive "never give up" attitude to life which I'm sure was developed during his time in WWII. I would be glad to hear from anyone who has a connection with Lamsdorf or who perhaps knew my father.





Date received: October 2004. From: Geoff Leech. On behalf of: Charles Osborne Leech.

My father, Charles Osborne Leech was taken at Dunkirk and spent the whole of the war in Stalag 8b. He was from Liverpool and was with the King's Regiment. Sadly, he died, aged 49, in 1968. He kept a kind of scrap book which included details of Red Cross parcels, some poetry and some calligraphy but I have no idea what happened to it.

If anyone has any memories of him, I would love to get in contact. Here (far left) is a picture of him in 1945 on his wedding day to my mother, Lilian, who also died in 2001.





Date received: October 2004. From: Malcolm Tebbutt On behalf of: Norman Jenner.

My father in law, Norman Jenner (far left), was a prisoner at Stalag VIII B from 1940 - 1945, having been captured at Dunkirk in May 1940. He was prisoner number 14399 and number 888306 in the Royal Artillery. We know he was on Arbeitskommando E122 which was involved in repairing river banks, loading sugar beet trucks, felling trees and other odds and ends in the Sudetenland mountains. He was also played the part of a bishop in a camp pantomime and, apparently, was known as “The Bish” thereafter.

Norman died about ten years ago, but we are very keen to find any of his fellow prisoners. The only names we know are Claude Mellor and Charles Dawkins. They probably figure somewhere in the Photos) but we do not know who they are. Can anybody help?