My Grandfather’s Story – Captured Whilst Fighting During World War 2 ( In his own words )

After our capture we were marched through France and Belgium. We were then put on railway trucks and taken to Trieste, just outside Germany. After two days there we had to sleep in the field as there was no other accommodation. We were again loaded into trucks and taken to (Thorn) in Poland. There were two camps, Fort 13 and Fort 12. I was in the smaller, Fort 12. The rations were so poor about 700 men died between both camps within the first 6 months and we were so run down we were covered in lice. About this time I volunteered for a working party, here the rations improved a little. After a few months we were taken back to Fort 13. By then the Red Cross was getting through and this improved things a lot. After another two working camps, one at Wyppyr (?) and one at Cracow, from here I applied to be sent to an N.C.O’s, this was just outside of Thorn. There were two barbed wire fences and about an 8 foot path between us and the Russian P.O.W camp. There P.O.W’s were treated very poorly. One of them who we called for used to crawl under the wire into our camp at night where we gave him something to eat and a smoke, until one night, shortly after he left there was a shot and when we went out we could see him lying between the fences and groaning with pain. A doctor with us said he could have saved Joe but the Jerries would not let him near until it was too late.

Another time the Russians were making a lot of noise so the guards put four dogs into the compound to quieten them. The next morning there were four dog skins pinned up on the barbed wire. The Russians were paraded on the square and we thought the Jerries were going to turn the machine guns on them but a few of them were beaten up with rifle butts until things calmed down again. Every so often we would go to the railway yard with a guard to unload our Red Cross parcels. On one occasion there were three tanks in the town square, a new Tiger tank, a Russian T34 and an old British one. The officer in charge allowed us to inspect the Russian and British ones but not the Tiger, although he said he did not know why as shortly Britain would sign a treaty with Germany then help them to fight the Russians.

At all camps the guards were changed every so often and we did get one or two bad ones but on the whole they were decent chaps. At no time did I hear of anything about slave camps but at one time some Jerry officers came and tried to talk us into joining the British Corp. to fight against the Russians, but to my knowledge no-one volunteered.

When the Russians were getting too close for comfort we were marched out of the camp towards Germany but after two days I think the Jerries were too scared to worry too much about us, that made it easier for us to escape from the march and finally get through the Russian lines.

– My grandfather died many, many years ago. I only recently obtained a copy of this from my family.
When I was about 12 yrs old he gave me a copy of Orwells 1984. He was well aware that wars were a rich mans game, using the poor as their pawns in a bloody and cruel conflict.

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The Glitch

Impressed by shiny things, gold rings, bling-bling , come sing to the misogynistic, overly simplistic, intrinsic value of the worthless . Watch the species digress in a world wide made mess . It was the banker in the board room with the PC. Yes ? No jail when you’re too big to fail , common sense set sail and got hijacked by mind cracked right wing messiah complexes, complex as it all is, it’s simplified by the maths , 99% of us strolling up the 1% path . But that’s a last laugh in the aftermath of broken communities, organization is a complication in a world based upon isolation , all digital nodes connect through broadband packages, like an electronic ostrich you never see the glitch in the ditch formerly known as reality. Real prime estate going cheap as the masses chatter into the face of an empty book being red by the rook on behalf of the king and queen . It’s an Orwellian dream and still we seem to be fine with all this . We probably couldn’t even handle contentedness never mind bliss, so damn used to all of this , you can’t miss what you never had , so you never will. Grabbing onto life by the skin of your teeth for a thrill on the window cill of Armageddon and the mushrooms looks so pretty . Charged a 1000 dollars as Gabrielle’s trumpet hollars for front row seats ,accepting syndicated repeats throughout the galaxy so they can see humanity destroyed by greed through its need to feed upon the fantastic plastic , always bombastic , morally elastic , ethically gymnastic justifications of child slave labour.

Tick-Tock, People.

Melting polar ice caps, fossil fool traps, old school fat cats from monocles and top hats to Armani suits and penthouse flats . A portfolio of pieces increases the bottom line , longer leashes, bigger cages, sinking boats all through the ages. Sages smouldering in the fires of fiction fortuitous confliction from addiction and an easy life.

Tick fucking tock people ! The water levels rising, animals are dying , polar caps are frying , bureaucratic hand tying with petro dollar bill chains, zombies starved in a world with no brains. Parts of the world freezing whilst the rest goes up in flames. Human entertains the truth like a visiting family member, with an amazing ability to render everything heard as absurd and out of reach, not so hard to understand under the hand of capital orientated , status quo flow show where you grow to serve the worth of the billionaires of Earth , nothing but an age old serf serving serfdom in the domain of blind security , military contracts contacts the tracks of torches and fires burning with desires of rebuild and profit , nothing gonna stop it but itself. tick fucking tock ! This shit is bad for you health , carried on in stealth before your eyes , here’s the surprise there’s no hell-fire in the water taps , slaughter traps, quarter snaps and ends behind bars , staring at the stars on a screen blacking out the sky.

TIck tock, tick tock, hear the world rock

the enevitable decline to the time of the doomsday clock

In The Breeze Of This Violent Winter

The deception of perception and the high financed connection between beliefs and the media’s point of view , pointing you towards what they want to do, whilst making you think it was your idea, or at least , to be clear, that they steer your way of seeing things. The info-mercial jingle rings the connected strings of Fortune 500 puppet masters , profiting from disasters and their risk theory , never any query about how teary and weary the majority of the world are made by the jade and gold fold of fools and financiers without cares as their cocaine lines lead the way to the market space floor, pornographic traffic jamming up brains.

Can’t see the forest for the planes

or even breathe in the breeze of this violent winter

Like A Worker ( Never Like A Boss )

Never ending

debt ,

ready ,

get set ,

go !

No… wait

stop !

How dare you let the beat drop in an economic climate like this !

Freakonomics blows a deadly kiss

And in amongst all this

They expect me to win like a boss ?

No.

We win like workers, like a prole,

Low paid shit-shovellers of digital coal

But never like boss