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World War 1 One ww1 wwII greatwar great 1914 1918 first battalion regiment
Pte. John Thomas Noe
British Army 9th Battalion East Surrey Regiment
A Prisoner Of War From 1915
A prisoner of war from 1915 until that great day The Armistice. Three years and three months. I began to wonder if dear old Blighty really was the place for me. Hoping on day after day, until it got to be year after year, it was anything but a time of pleasure. How often have I sat and thought, amidst my solidarity surroundings, after my unaccustomed hard days work was done, of home and dear ones. How vividly that beautiful picture came before my eyes, but I was all too soon, awakened from my reverie, and then the hoping on.
Looking back to 26th September, 1915 with a chill running through my veins, I recall the night or rather the early evening that I was put out of action. Under heavy shell fire, shrapnel flying all around us, I was very badly wounded and had to remain where I had fallen until five days had elapsed. Thirsty and worn out, in a semi conscious condition, weak through loss of blood and want of nourishment, I was suddenly aroused by being kicked, and not too lightly! Being brought to my senses thus, it all came back to me, the horrors of war. German language I could not understand - I only knew I was in the hands of the enemy. I think I must have lost myself completely for I do not remember them picking me up. I only know I found myself in Lens Cathedral and remained there for one night.
The following day in spite of our wounds we were conveyed in cattle trucks to Germersheim-on Rhine where I remained in hospital until January, 1916. Absolutely a wreck at this time and feeling far from robust in health I was sent to Hammelburg. From here we were sent to various other places. At one time I was working very hard in a stone quarry, at another in a forest felling trees, where, on one occasion, I got injured by a tree falling upon my shoulder and was in very great pain. Then I was transferred to Friesenhausen.
Fresenhausen, a small village in Bavaria, is situated about 300 kilometres from the Swiss frontier. The inhabitants of this village which numbered very few chiefly famers and farm workers. Women as well as children working very hard toiling on from morning till night, religion their one thought, work their only hobby, pleasure they very rarely got.
I was one of many prisoners here, our party consisting of English, French and Belgians. We all had our share of farm work, myself having to plough the fields with a couple of oxen of whom I did not greatly appreciate. Working on and on seeming to reach no end, the idea came to me to make a bid for liberty.
Freedom, what would it mean? Only those who were prisoners of war can perhaps realize what freedom meant. Living under the meanest conditions, insufficient food and working from morning to late at night. I look back and wonder how we could tolerate these conditions for so long. Yes, liberty, freedom, these thought would run through my brain, every moment thinking and trying to plan some way of escape, but I found it to be no easy task. The necessary articles such as a map, compass and food, how were we to procure them?
Watching every opportunity, although feeling our very movements were being watched, our hearts thrilled with the only joy we knew. Listening to the sentry's footsteps was like listening to a sentence of death. Consequences! What would they be? Freedom or capture and perhaps to pay a heavy penalty. Who knew? Never less do-or-die, and still retaining some of our old fighting spriit, we continued to make this bold endeavour to free ourselves from what seemed to be iron bonds or fetters holding us with their grasp. My fellow prisoners, and, I must say, my very good pals, one a Scotsman keen and alert, the other South African full of determination and spirit, reminded me of the gambler's den of Madam Tussauds tableau, as our heads were close together tracing a map trying to find a track across this unknown land, contemplating reaching the Swiss frontier.
Sleeping in the room at an old farmhouse we had many nights of planning and, I must, say, many days working and scheming, hiding and storing food away, chiefly that which had been sent to us from home, preparing for our escapade.
One day, while doing my usual routine of work on the farm, I cut my finger and bandaged it the best way I could with a piece of rag that was not, I am sorry to say, any too clean. I had not been working very long when I noticed someone coming towards me. A young girl of, I suppose 18 or 19 years stood before me, somehow I was rather astounded by her appearance and more astonished to hear her speak in broken English to me. Naturally I became very interested, and, after learning that she had previously to the war, been on a visit to England, and that she loved the English people who had been so good and kind to her, we were conversing very freely.
She seemed very sensible for a girl of her years, and noticing my finger tied up with the very soiled piece of rag immediately removed my clumsy bandage and ties a very dainty handkerchief around my finger. Little did I think what an important part this young Fraulein was to take in our attempted escape, but assistance I must obtain, one day, conversing as usual, I took an opportunity to ask if she possessed a compass. This she soon provided quite secretly, and, supplying her with chocolate that had been sent to me from England, I felt a bargain was indeed made.
Having a compass and necessary tools which we had got from the farm where we were working, and also a fair amount of provisions we thought it quite time to make this big attempt to get back to our allies.
The eventful night came. It is possible to describe our feelings? I think not. Watching and waiting until everything was quiet, we stole to the first door, picking the lock. We had yet another door to open. Should we be successful? Yes, the task was soon accomplished, and stealing from those prison walls, as they appeared to us, we made straight ahead for the most secluded spot we could find.
So the first night passed. Keeping our sprits up, feeling already we were breathing freely as we travelled on our way. Daytime! What would the daylight bring? Would it disclose our identity?
Making our way towards a thickly wooded forest that we could see in the distance, weary and tired through the walking we had done and feeling hungry by now, we all sat down and had a snack from our mean provisions and then our after dinner nap, which I am afraid was with one eye open all the time. Here we stayed in hiding until nightfall when we again started on our way.
Another day hiding. Another day tramping on. Hiding in a forest once more. Getting more accustomed to our lot. Throughly tired we slept more soundly and one day I must have been in a very deep sleep, when suddenly I started to my feet, for some fairly large animal had completely run over my body. I awoke just to see it disappearing through the bushes. It was a nightmare in reality which I shall never forget.
Another day in hiding, we very narrowly escaped being discovered. We heard voices and the tramp of feet quite near to us. Keeping as still as we possibly knew how, not daring to breathe lest these people should find us, they passed just a little more than an arms length from us. Another snack, almost the last we should get, for or food was getting low. Another nap. And so we continued until the fifth day.
Whether we got more daring as the days passed I cannot say but to our great disappointment we were captured near a small village. Not understanding what was being said to us while being arrested, we were put into a stable for the night and the following day were marched, under arrest back to Hammelburg. We were then searched and were deprived of our luxury - our cigarettes.
We were put in a prison cell and the following day were brought before the German authorities, not understanding anything about the proceedings in which were taking place. We were marched back to our cells in ignorance of what the penalty was to be. it was several days before we discovered what our sentence actually was. Our sentence turned out to be fourteen days in a dark cell living on bread and water, our rations consisting of half-a-pound of black bread and a jug of water per day. The dimensions of our dungeon were about 15ft by 12ft. It took just five paces to step from end to end and four paces across. I paced up and down this prison some hundreds of times during my sentence, hungry and weary in thought. I often think that if I had a repetition of these fourteen days I should certainly go mad.
We had no beds of any description, just an empty dark call with only the wooden floor to lie on. Not being provided with sufficient water to wash ourselves, we were indeed feeling very dirty. I can imagine my appearance by my two fellow companions. Not being allowed to shave or to wash was a punishment in itself and the pangs of hunger and the darkness of the cell seem too awful to recall. The only exercise we had was 10 minutes in the morning and 10 minutes during the evening. The first day or two in the cells we slept rather heavily, having had no proper sleep for some time but, as the days passed, our sides were too sore to lie down and we had to get what sleep we could in an upright position.
Our bread and water was brought in the early morning and we have been so hungry we have eaten the whole ration at the one time. On Saturday we had the double ration for Sunday but eagerly devouring it all in the same day, meant starvation on Sunday. The time we did not know, one day seemed endless. All we heard was the changing of the guard and the sentries nerve-racking footsteps. The fourteen days of our punishment at an end, weak and utterly worn out, we were taken back to the camp, being sent from there to resume the farm work again.
And so the time passed until the Armistice was signed. The Armistice was a day of all days, one that every soldier, parent and devoted wife living during that Great War will never forget. While we were overflowing with excitement overseas, so it was with the dear ones who were anxiously awaiting our return. And so the day came and I found "Dear Old Blighty" really was the place for me.
1426 Private J.T. Noe, East Surrey Regiment
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