Grandpa was an airforce bomber in the second world war. In 1942 their plane was shot down, an attack that killed the mid-upper gunner and placed the rest of the crew in a German concentration camp: Stalag VIIIB Lamsdorf (renamed Stalag 344). There he endured many hardships.
They were near starvation as for breakfast they were served mint tea, and for lunch they got 6 ounces of soup that may have been thickened with a bit of turnip, horsemeat, or rat. For dinner they got a slice of Rye bread supplimented with sawdust, a medium size potatoe, and a bit of sausage. Over time, prisoners lacked the stamina to walk around the perimeter.
Guards tied my grandfather's wrists from seven in the morning to seven at night, every day for over a year. The twine was released at noon so they could eat and relive themselves, however. Twine frequently cut into the skin and limited circulation when tied too tightly. My grandpa thought he could outsmart the guards and so undid his twine a few times, but was caught. His punishment was to lean him face first against a wall, with hands bound behind him, for a couple of hours at a time. He never took his twine off again.
There is much more I can write of the hardships he endured, but I won't. I don't know how he came back to this glorious country of ours and lived his life a happy man, but he did. He married, had children, jobs, and a life. The camps left a huge scar in his mind, but he never showed it to his family. He never talked about it. I only know of all this because of what he told a man who wrote his story.
I don't take for granted our wonderful country and wonderful freedom. I hope that no one else does either. I'm afraid that my daughter won't have the same reverence and thankfulness since she never knew her great-grandfather, but hopefully I can tell her enough stories of his life to keep it going.
This blog doesn't do justice to how much I am in awe of him. How he lived his life despite the things he saw and endured.
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