Free Hitler's British Slaves by Sean Longden

stepped out into the farms of the Reich. Initially held at Stalag XXa, at Thorn, and then at Stalag XXb near Marienburg, he was soon sent on a work detail:
I will always remember this farm. We didn’t do bad in there, ’cause we got fairly good rations. It was a state farm and they realised if they didn’t feed us we wouldn’t be able to work. We were lucky. One bloke I knew, the Germans knew he was Jewish, they kept him in the Stalag and he died of malnutrition. They used to see him searching for potato peelings. But most of us were ‘townies’ we didn’t know what a farm was. I didn’t know how potatoes grew. 4
    Separated from his best mate Paddy who, as a pre-war regular in the Royal Horse Artillery, had been detailed to tend the farm horses, Barber was sent to the potato fields. It would be a sharp learning process for him, one which the German guards were prepared to ensure would not take too long. The prisoners soon realised their guards would not tolerate any insolence and their actions shattered any dreams the prisoners had of a rural idyll:
One afternoon in October, it was cold, we were digging up the last of the potato crop. The fields used to go for miles. We used to have a little three pronged fork and we’d get hold of the top of the potato plant, dig under and pull them all out. I was with a Scots bloke at the time, he had all boils on the back of his neck. This little bleedin’ overseer came riding out on his horse. He’d got these packets of ‘ papierosa ’ – Polish cigarettes – they were bloody horrible, but you’d smoke anything. He stuck them up on a stick at the end of the potato row. So the first one to finish would get them. I said to Jock ‘This is what the Americans used to do to their slaves. Bollocks, I’d rather pack up smoking.’ And the guard said ‘Don’t forget you’ll be here until you’re finished. You’ll stop here until night time.’ I still had a load of mouth so I said. ‘Fuckin’ hard luck. Then you’ll still be here. You’re not gonna leave us alone.’
    Soon Barber and his mate were left far behind the rest of the workforce – both Polish labourers and fellow POWs – as they worked at a comfortable pace. Their efforts did not impress the foreman.
When it was time for them to go home – they’d all finished their rows – me and Jock still had a couple of miles to go. I wasn’t worried, there was only one thing they could do – they could only shoot you. When the guards came back to us it was dark – they’d got torches. One was called Christian, he was a fucking evil man. They’d got these thin branches they’d cut from a sapling. I said to my mate ‘We’re going to get in trouble here.’ I had a Polish hat on so I pulled it down over my face. They shone the torch at Jock and as he bent down they whacked him. The back of his neck was like a blood bath, they’d burst all his boils. He had a couple of false teeth and they were knocked out. They gave him a right going over. I thought ‘You bastards, I’m gonna get it now.’ So I pulled my collar up and bent down so I’d take it on my shoulders. They set on me and this Christian bloke loved it. He kept laughing when I cried out. Then when we finished they marched us back. The other blokes took our clothes off and washed us down. They said ‘Look at your back!’ It was covered in weals. I thought, if I ever meet that Christian again I’ll kill him. 5
    It was little wonder men like Barber soon began to ‘learn the ropes’. He and most of his comrades were on a steep learning curve. For young men from the cities it was difficult to adapt but the impetus was simple – by learning the ways of the countryside they would learn ways to keep their bellies full. Prisoners soon became proficient in catching chickens, and learnt that the best way to dispose of bones and feathers was to hide them in the manure pile. Born and bred around Crystal Palace in South London, Barber had no experience of