Ahoy - Mac's Web Log-Saved-Chapter Ten

In 1946 we were repatriated to Germany. There were eight hundred men who were to be transported back to Germany and my name was on the list of the first two hundred. The highest ranking German soldier in our group, a sergeant, asked me if I would give up my place to a young man of sixteen years. This young fellow was extremely homesick. Why he was in this prisoner of war camp was a mystery to me, but he was there. If I gave up my place in the first two hundred to this young man, my name would be put on the list of the next two hundred. This would make a difference of only a few days or a week. So I agreed to give this young fellow my place. However, the decision to do so affected the next year and a half of my life.

The next group of two hundred prisoners, including myself, left a few days after the first group. The destination of our ship was Bremerhaven. However, when we got close to Europe, the ship was ordered to land in England. The captain argued that his orders had been to land in Bremerhaven and when we arrived at a port in England, he would not allow us to disembark. Finally, he received a strong order from his American superiors and he allowed us to go ashore. This was the beginning of my year and a half sojourn in England. The first ship, with its contingent of two hundred prisoners, had gone directly to Germanuy.

I was in Devonshire for most of the time, working mainly in public works jobs, such as laying drainage pipes. But sometimes we were assigned other jobs. One very rainy day I was assigned to work on a farm where the farmer wanted me to spread manure on the field. I knew very well how to do this job because I had worked on my grandfather’s farm. But I didn’t want to work in the pouring rain and so I acted as if I was very clumsy. I picked up a pitch fork full of manure and threw it into a heap not too far away. The farmer then took the fork and showed me how to throw it, so that it would spread over the ground. When he gave me the fork I repeated my earlier performance. After he had demonstrated the right way to do the job a

few times and I kept repeating my clumsy performance, he walked away in disgust. But I was still out in the rain, so I jammed the pitch fork into the ground as hard as I could and bent the handle until it broke, then went up to the farm house to show the farmer that I had broken the pitch fork. He stood in disbelief and just shook his head and didn’t know what to say. I was then given a job in the barn, out of the rain, taking off potatoe sprouts, where I would stay dry. After work, the farmer handed me a letter to take back to camp. At camp I was asked what had happened that the farmer didn’t want me back to work for him. I explained that I was to spread manure in the driving rain and that I had purposely broken the pitch fork to get out of the rain. My superior just laughed and I didn’t get into trouble.

One time a number of us were assigned to move all the equipment for an American camp from one location to another. We had mattresses, blankets, cooking utensils and dishes. The drivers were all British and the helpers were German prisoners. When we came to a small village, we passed a crowded market. We stopped and decided to take part in this pastime of buying and selling. Actually, our part was the selling part. We sold pots and pans and dishes at extremely cheap prices to the villagers. They were pleased with their bargains and we were pleased with our profits. The British drivers received their fair share and everyone was happy.

After we had been in England for some months, we read in the newspaper that there was quite a row in parliament about Britain buying German prisoners of war from the United States.

In September 1947 I was repatriated to Germany. I had a happy reunion with my brother-in-law in the British camp from which we were sent home. In the usual army fashion, the British authorities sent me from one office in one city to another office in another city before I could finally take the train to Oldenburg.

On the final lap of my homeward journey from Bremen to Oldenburg, there were about forty of us repatriated prisoners of war on the train. There were several old ladies on board who were carrying bags and boxes of food which they had apparently begged for in the city. At one of the stops several young policemen came on board and began to

question the ladies, demanding that they open their packages for inspection. The reason for the inspection was the flourishing German black market at that time because of the scarcity of goods and rationing that was in effect.

The harassment of the old ladies did not go over well with the former soldiers on the train. We were, in fact, outraged that the police would treat their own people this way. These old ladies were simply trying to survive during this very tough time. We told the policemen to leave the ladies alone and to get off the train. Good sense and numbers prevailed and they got off at the next stop.

When I got home to Oldenburg, I had no proper clothing, but I had received coupons from the British, which entitled me to get a pair of pants, a shirt and jacket. Oldenburg was the headquarter of the British zone of the divided Germany. So I went to the store in Oldenburg where these items were supposed to be available. When I went to the store, the clerk was dealing with another customer and I had to wait. Somebody had already made me aware of the fact that I might have some difficulty getting the clothes I needed. While waiting, I saw a stairway blocked off by a rope. I decided to go up the stairs to see what there was to be seen. There were racks of clothing of all kinds and sizes. Now I knew what I needed to know.

When the clerk was finished with the other customer, I presented him with my coupon and asked for the clothing. He said that he didn’t have any. I told him that I had been upstairs and knew that the clothing was available. He argued that he was not allowed to give me anything from upstairs. Finally I said, “I have no great desire to deal with the British, but if you don’t give me any clothes, I will go back to the British authorities and report that you wouldn’t honour their coupons.” He was convinced that I would do that and took me upstairs to choose the clothes I needed.

At the beginning of 1948 I found a job in a rubber stamp factory in Oldenburg. On the first day to work I sat at the back of the bus with a friend who had lost a hand in the war. The bus was packed with people going to work. At the border of Oldenburg two young policemen stopped the bus and ordered everyone out in order to inspect their

lunch boxes for contraband food. I said to my friend, “Are you getting off?” He said “No”. So we sat there and waited. One of the policemen came into the bus and ordered us to get out. We declined the invitation.

Then the other policeman came in as well and the two of them came to the back of the bus to deal with us. My friend held up the hook, which he had instead of a hand and told them that he would use the hook on them if they tried anything. He told them if they didn’t walk out of the door, we would help them exit through the windows. He had no intention of being treated like this after going through the war. Then we both went outside and told the passengers to tell the policemen to get lost. We did not like what we had come home to.

In the fall of 1951, I was interviewed at the Canadian High Commission in Oldenburg and was accepted as an immigrant. My journey was sponsored by the North American Baptist Conference. When I landed in Canada, I travelled to Prince George, British Columbia to work in a sawmill. In March 1952 I moved to Vancouver to find my relatives, who had moved to Canada many years earlier. I worked for one of my relatives as a gardener until 1957 when my brother-in-law and I opened a service station in South Vancouver. We sold the station in 1988 and retired.

In 1954, I decided that I had to take a stand for the Lord. I had been attending Bethany Baptist Church since my arrival in Vancouver in 1952, but I had still not surrendered my life to the Lord completely. The pastor was an excellent preacher and his sermons were always thought provoking. I realized more and more that I needed to make a firm commitment. The promise I had made to the Lord while I was swimming in the English Channel in 1944 had not been kept. The Lord had kept me from gross sin during these years, but I just hadn’t been living as a Christian should.

One day I decided that it was time to turn my life over to the Lord completely. I was visiting my cousin who lived across the street from the pastor’s house. I told her that I was going to go over to the pastor’s house and talk to him and she nodded and said that I should go. It was late afternoon and when I arrived in the pastor’s study he was busy preparing a sermon. But he put everything aside and took the time to

listen to me. He patiently answered my many questions and spent several hours with me. Finally he prayed for me and then he asked me to pray. After I had prayed I was filled with a joy that I had not known before. The next Sunday I was bursting with my new-found joy and told all my friends what had happened. They were astonished at the boldness with which I told my story. They couldn’t understand my openness and I couldn’t understand their reticence about the glory of salvation.

During my conversation with the pastor I asked to be baptized and he agreed. But before there was an opportunity for a baptism to take place the church split into two congregations and the pastor went out with the new congregation. He must have forgotten to leave a note about my request for baptism and so it was another five or six months before I was baptized. When I was baptized, I became a member of the church to which I still belong as an active member to this day.

In 1958 my sister, Ada, came to Canada with her friend, Renate Stremel. I married Renate in June 1959 and in the next few years four daughters were born to us, Karen, Ingrid, Monica and Iris. Renate and I thank the Lord that all our children have committed their lives to Him.

There is a memorial in Moeltenort near Kiel, Germany which has bronze tablets listing 27,491 German officers and men who died in the submarines.(Buchheim, n.p.) Buchheim also mentions “736 crews still buried in iron coffins on the ocean floor ……..” One of these is the crew of the submarine on which I served, number U-767. I have visited this memorial and I have read all the names of all the officers and crew members of my boat. I am eternally grateful to the Lord that my name did not have to be listed on these bronze tablets.

Previous: Chapter Nine

"Saved" Table of Contents