The Rural Voice, 1979-12, Page 18The Voice of a Farmer
by Adrian Vos
A wartime Christmas
Berlin, December 22, 1943
Dear Mom,
It is already the third Christmas that I am away from home,
and the end of the war doesn't seem to be in sight. In the
"arbeits-lager", as the workcamp is called in German, we make
the best of it.
When Xmas came closer we organized a Xmas party for
ourselves. For weeks we worked on sketches to present in the
lunchroom of the factory. We got permission from the camp
leader, a fat Nazi, to enter the factory grounds after working
hours and use the lunchroom for our party. He also gave us to
understand that he expe cted to be invited. That surely cramped
our style a bit, for now we had to watch what we could say. But
there was nothing we could do about it.
I have requested extra butter, sugar, breadandschnapps, but
all we got was some butter and sugar. The Herr camp leader
didn't realize that this betrayed him as not handing out to us all
the rations we were entitled to. How else could he have some to
give away? I bet that he sells some of our rations regularly on the
black market.
When the big night came we had a lot of fun, some of it at the
expense of the important looking camp leader. He had the gall
to bring two girls from the office with him. 1 guess that in that
way he got some of his extra rations back. Well, I fixed him. I
had the honour of delivering the opening speech, and since we
have Frenchmen, Italians, Czechs, Slovaks, Dutch and the
German guests, I addressed them each in their own language.
That sounds more impressive than it really is, for after living in
this city that is swarming with forced labourers from all of
Europe, it is relatively easy to pick up a bit of every language.
In any case, the camp leader was impressed. I began in my
native language, Dutch, then one by one the other languages.
After the second one his mouth started to open and after the fifth
swtich, his mouth was actually gaping. He couldn't know that I
had learned my Italian speech by heart from one of the two
Italians there. I didn't know myself what I was saving.
That out of the way, we went into our stage production. Since
we were deprived of girls, for German girls were not allowed to
mix with foreigners, we played all roles. I tell you that gasps
went up from the audience when Hank put on the silk stockings
he had borrowed from one of his girlfriends. Whistles and cat
calls and "What legs", drowned everything else. One guy had to
be restrained by his neighbours.
We sang the old Dutch Christmas and St. Nicholas songs; the
Italian played his guitar; a Frenchman sang with a wonderful
voice, and after it was over we danced with each other and with
the German office girls brought by the campleader.
That made him uneasy, so he left shortly after. Then the real
fun began, with songs definitely not suited for the ears of a
dedicated Nazi.
As you see, Mom, we aren't that bad off. 01 course 1
remember the nice warm Christmasses at home, and 1 hope that
we will have one of them again next year.
Don't worry about me. I have a feeling that no bomb with my
name on it is in the making. We are pretty safe where we are. A
merry Xmas and a return to the old in the New Year and a hug
from your son,
Adrian
PG. 18 THE RURAL VOICE/DECEMBER 1979
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