The Music Maker of Auschwitz IV by Jaci Byrne

Author:Jaci Byrne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781922387820
Publisher: Big Sky Publishing

Stalag 344, Lamsdorf, Upper Silesia

1 December—I arrive at Lamsdorf today, which is about 50 miles north-west of my old camp at Blechhammer, and my heart sinks. It is far worse than I expected, if that’s at all possible. This is a terribly big camp holding all nationalities.

There are no beds available to me at what Jerry calls the lazarett [hospital], so I have to wait in my assigned barracks until such time as one becomes available. One of the chaps in my barracks offers me a very warm welcome and tells me that I could be in for an exceedingly long wait to get into hospital. He also warns me not to expect anything at all here; it’s every man for himself and not even Red Cross parcels get through. I very quickly realise that he’s not exaggerating one iota; we’re almost back to 1940 conditions. It is frigidly cold, and many boys here are suffering mentally, including, I soon discover, my new ‘mate’.

It is the day after my arrival. I can see hundreds of our planes passing over in the direction of the place I have just left. Pray to God my mates back at Blechhammer remain safe. I think of them huddling together in those ineffective bloody trenches, and my blood curdles. To have suffered through this long, harsh war only to be killed by one’s own bombs, surely this could not happen.

I go before the medical officer this afternoon and am told I have to have an X-ray. My results show that my stomach and chest are worse than ever, and the medical officer has put me down for the next commission to hospital on 9 December.

3 December—I hear the news I had most feared. It’s shocking to be told that 30 of the boys in my battalion have been killed as a result of yesterday’s air strikes, and many more are seriously injured. My mind tortures me with images of men who may have been killed. I must be careful not to slip into deep melancholy though or I may be taken away to the asylum, which is at this very stalag. From what I’ve seen of those who have gone insane, I will be no use to anyone. And I hear from fellow inmates that the insane here are treated with the utmost cruelty, the worst cases shot. I must concentrate on getting well so I can return to my remaining pals and play music for them to lift their spirits, for life is more fragile than the thin ice now covering the multitude of puddles outside my barracks.

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