From: hmemor@YOUTH.NET
Date: Thu Jun 06 2002 - 18:52:04 PDT
From: rengate1@aol.com As I have related in the last posting, my Granddad was captured when the trench he and the other soldiers in his unit was overrun by German troops during one of the battles in the German invasion of 1939. He and several other men made a break for it one evening. Some of the men managed to get away, some were not so lucky. He and several of them got away. Moving carefully to escape German patrols, he made his way east, toward home. He came upon a farm house, and the family who lived there agreed to take swap him some civilian clothes for his uniform and kit. How long he was at it I do not know, but once he left the house, and was walking down a dirt road, a pair of Germans stopped him. They questioned him, demanding to know who he was, where he lived, what his business was. He told them that he was a farmer bringing some produce to market, and he showed them the bushel of potatoes he had to prove it. He looked dirty, dishevelled, he had been in the field for a few days. Being part-Jewish, he looked sort of like a Jewish fellow, and the German soldiers told him just that, and that they ought to shoot him for being a Jew. Nonsense, he said, he wasn't a Jew at all, but simply another Polish farmer, going about his business taking produce to market to make a few (Polish equivalent) bucks. Maybe they ought to go to the nearby farmhouse up the road and ask if anyone knows him, they say. He told them, sure, let's go, they all know me... Finally after talking among themselves, the Germans told him they believe him, and that he should get going. He started walking down the road, when suddenly, he heard the sound of the Germans cocking their rifles, getting ready to shoot him in the back. He was scared almost out of his mind, but he played it cool. He didn't turn around, he didn't run, just kept walking without missing a beat... So they left him alone. Eventually, he did make it back home. He knocked on the door, grandmother opened it, and didn't at all recognize him. But my mother did. She was 4 at the time. She kept grabbing and hugging him, and wouldn't let go. He hugged her too, and told her he was very tired and wanted to go to bed. She held his feet very tightly while he slept, telling him she would never, ever let him go ever again. It was a promise that ultimately, she would not, could not keep. When he woke up, he sent grandmother to get her brother, the neighborhood barber. He was very particular about neatness. Only after he shaved and had a bath, did he sit down to eat, and then he told grandmother of his battle. To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: timewitnesses-unsubscribe@egroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/