The story of the life of my father. Arthur Brown, Topper, as he was known in the Army. He was taken prisoner in the Battle of Dunkirk and remained as a prisoner of war for almost five years. He then managed to escape and arrived back in England a few months before the war ended. This series of posts will trace his life, his wartime experience and the way, years later, he was finally reunited with the Polish family who saved his life.
Here are links to the previous episodes.
- Part 1 – Before the War
- Part 2 – Prisoner of War.
- Part 3 – In the Prison Camp.
- Part 4 – The Final Escape
Waiting for the Russians.
On the Eastern Front the Russian Army was advancing and the German Army was in retreat. The Germans were marching the British prisoners of war back from Poland towards Germany. It was bitterly cold. Conditions were bad for the German soldiers and even worse for the prisoners of war. My father and his three comrades decided to escape from the marching column with the hope that they would be eventually liberated by the Russians. A young seventeen year old boy, Klemens, took my father and his three comrades to his home where his mother, Marta, offered to hide them until the Russians came. Marta was already hiding her brother Josef, a partisan who had also escaped from the Germans. Marta’s husband had already been killed in the war.
They arrived at Marta’s house on January 24th 1945 and remained there for almost six weeks until March 5th 1945. During this time they shared the house with Marta, her two children, Klemens and Kristina as well as Marta’s brother Josef.
They all stayed inside the small house. Klemens was the only one who went out to find out what was happening. The Russians were getting nearer and they could now hear the artillery fire in the distance. There was a feeling of desperation among the German soldiers, as they knew it was just a matter of time before the Russians took the town.
For my father and his three comrades, all they could do was to keep in hiding and wait.
As the Russians got closer things appeared to get more desperate in the town.
The town was now being constantly bombed and machine gunned from Russian aircraft. One morning a shell came though their window and exploded, wounding George, one of the soldiers.
(Note: The original texts are part of the ongoing journal written by Harry Masterman, one of the three other soldiers who accompanied my father .)
Saturday February 5th –We were all at breakfast and an explosive bullet evidently from the German anti-aircraft came through the window and exploded. A piece of shrapnel grazed the side of George’s head above the temple. He also got a piece, as big as a bent shilling in his upper arm. It was necessary to cut it out immediately. We were all a bit squimish about cutting it out, realizing what might happen. Anyway, it was left to me, being his best pal, to cut it out with a razor blade and a pair of nail clippers. When I had finished, I felt the sweat on my forehead knowing what might have happened had I not got it out. George never murmured during the operation.
The German soldiers were beginning to lose their grip. They were desperate to find places to sleep and comandeered the local houses. The bombing and machine gun fire from the aircraft continued.
Friday January 26th -Two German soldiers out of the Tank Corps slept in the next room. They departed at 10 a.m
Monday February 5th – In the early morning around 3.30 a.m. two German officers came and slept the night in the the next room. We could not lock our door in case they heard us. One snored like a pig. They left at about 10.a.m. At 12 noon we had a bombing raid, eight battle planes circling around the small town diving and flying very low all the time machine gunning.
Discipline in the German Army began to break down and soldiers began to desert. The penalty for desertion was death.
Thursday February 8th – I saw an example of German discipline. Four German soldiers were shot for desertion and each hanged up from trees. One at each road running into the town.
This gave my father and his comrades a clear message about what would happen to them or the family if caught. Up until then they had been lucky when German troops had slept in the same house. These troops were generally too tired and worried about the battle to think that there might be British soldiers in the next room . In any case….. what would POWs be doing here in this war zone and on the wrong side of the ftont line! However with the desertion of German soldiers the situation changed. The military police started house to house searches for deserters and on February 9th, at 3.00 a.m. there was a knock on the door.
In the early hours of the morning, 3 a.m. the field police came on a house to house inspection looking for deserters. Luckily they were a bit fed up when they got to this house.They banged and shouted on our room door leading into the passage for about five minutes. At one time we thought they would knock it down. Then suddenly they went away. We breathed a sigh of relief.
However, this was a very close call and they realized they would have to find a better hiding place within the house. Their room had an alcove, a kind of recess. If they moved the large wardrobe in front of the recess it formed a small space ( behind the wardrobe) where they could hide in case of another search.
Saturday, February 10th – After the events of the morning we came to the conclusion we must have another hiding place. So there being a recess in the wall in the adjoining room, we moved the wardrobe over and covered the door completely. We then made a door out of the back of the wardrobe so that if anybody came we could run through the wardrobe into this small (hidden) recess. It was a little cramped but still, it suited our purpose.
It was just as well that they had taken this new precaution, for the very next morning, they needed to use their new hiding place.
Sunday, February 11th – We used our hiding place and dashed in there at 7.15 a.m. Seven German soldiers slept where we had originally slept. We had to be dead quiet, cough into pillows and talk in whispers. We stopped there until Friday morning when the soldiers left at 5.a.m.
Thursday was the worse day. One soldier slept full length by the wardrobe with his head right beside it. Another sat in the chair up against the cupboard. They stayed there from 12.a.m until 8. p.m. We hardly dared to breath and dared not cough and could not move for we could hear them breathing ourselves.
The German soldiers left the house on Friday 16th. From then on there was heavy bombing and shelling.
Sunday February 18th – We were up at 7.00 a.m. Planes started machine gunning at 8.00 a.m. The night bombing was exceptionally bad. We were watching buildings burning all around us within 200 yards. We stood watching through the window listening for the bombs to whine through the air, wondering if the next one would get us.
The front is very near now. The Russians are shelling the town. German tanks are within 50 yards of us moving up to battle. Most of the population has evacuated to the surrounding countryside and farms.
The children, Klemens and Kristina left to find safety in the forest and farms. Both Marta and her brother, Josef stayed with my father and his comrades in the house, but now, down in the relative safety of the cellar.
The Germans were pulling out and it appeared that the Russians would arrive at any minute. However they did not enter the town of Skorcz until Sunday March 4th.
After such a difficult, traumatic time the prisoners were elated that the Russian troops were now coming along the town streets. They had already expressed worries among themselves about how they would be identified correctly as friendly British soldiers by the oncoming Russian soldiers. However, the emotion was just too much for them. After twelve days in the cellar, they came out onto the street. Their liberators were mostly Asiatic Russians. To my father’s dismay, they did not understand that they were British prisoners of war and that they, the Russians,…… were the long awaited “liberators.” As a result, they were roughly lined up against a wall with a machine gun facing them.
I remember my father speaking to me about this moment. He looked at his comrades, sadly. He had had so much hope, since being captured so long ago. He had dreamed every night of being united with his family. He had undergone so much hardship and emotional distress, and now, after such a long journey, it was all over. He waited for the Russians to pull the trigger.
Just then a Russian officer drew up in a jeep. After some confusion, they were able to explain that they were British Soldiers. He understood and the troops stood down. They were safe for the time being, or at least safer than before. They were indeed liberated. Now…… somehow…. from this cold Polish battleground they would have to find their way back to England.
Before setting off they were able to bid farewell to the Szachta family. To Josef the partisan, now liberated as well. To Klemens, the boy who, six weeks before had taken the four comrades back to his mother’s house, To Kristina, Klemens’ sister, who had sadly just been savagely raped by Russian soldiers where she had been staying in the countryside.
And last but not least to this wonderful, beautiful woman who had risked her life and that of her family to hide four grateful British Prisoners of War. “Bless you Marta!”
So…to end this episode, what better than a photo of my father and this amazing woman. The photo was taken in Skorcz in 1978, thirty three years after his liberation.
Next Episode – Going home to Blighty!
Wanderings! 
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