P.O.W.: A Kriegie's Story by Frank Farr

Author:Frank Farr
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781468513677
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Published: 2004-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

13

Hungrier Days

In Stalag 3, back when we were living high on the hog, we ate two slices of bread for breakfast, with margarine and a thin coat of jam. At that time our captors were giving us a half loaf of bread per week each—maybe more. Anyway, it was enough for two thin slices for breakfast every day. We were on full parcels then, too.

At Stalag VIIA, a lot of things changed, among them breakfast. Our bread ration was cut, first to a little less than half a loaf. Before very long it was a quarter of a loaf, and finally it was about a fifth of a loaf of bread. The loaves were not large, like our regular white or whole wheat. They were small loaves, about the size of the healthy, dark, dense whole wheat bread we buy when we’re paying attention to the nutrition labels.

The bread was dark brown, with a strong, sweetish smell not unlike pumpernickel. At Moosburg—VIIA—we were no longer on full parcels. “Full parcels” meant that each week we received one of the Red Cross parcels of food, like those we were issued the day we checked into Stalag 3.

Now we were on “half parcels,” which meant that we got a parcel every two weeks instead of every week. That meant sharply reduced rations. The Germans gave us our piece of a loaf per week, about five tiny potatoes each per week, and a big bowl of soup at midday. The soup was a thick, rather greasy barley or semolina soup. When we were lucky, we might find a small piece or two of horsemeat in it. The Red Cross parcels supplied the rest of our diet.

Many of the Kriegies formed up into “messes,” that is, small groups who prepared their meals together. They ate rather better than the loners like myself. I was invited to join some other guys in such an arrangement, but the friends I knew best were scattered, either in far corners of the large building I lived in or in other similar buildings. I saw my friends from time to time and talked with them as we walked in the yard or sat in the sun outside, but it was sort of like meeting a friend downtown. Somebody said that there about 80,000 prisoners of war at Stalag VII-A. The enlisted men were in a compound adjacent to ours; on another side of us were the Indians and Russians. I don’t know where our RAF friends were, but I supposed they were down there somewhere.

I chose to eat alone. It was probably for a reason akin to the one that prompts me to drive my own car places rather than ride with someone else who is going to the same places. As much as possible I want to be in charge of my own destiny, to be able to go when I choose and leave when I choose. I wanted to eat, on any given day, what I, personally wanted to eat, not what the group might elect to fix.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.