Nothing Has Been Forgotten

As we approached the site where the former Stalag Luft once held thousands of prisoners, we saw an open field just northwest of Barth. In the midst of the flat land, a grouping of trees  stood around a large rock and a kiosk. The trees were planted in a large triangle. On each corner of the triangle were smaller triangles of blue spruce representing the Americans, lime trees representing the British, and birch trees representing the Russians. The effect was one of tranquility and beauty.

The metal letters on the plaque on the large rock, which Helga had found and had transported to the site, says:

“This plaque is dedicated by the citizens of Barth and the Royal Air Force Ex-Prisoners of War Association on 28 September 1996 to commemorate all those held prisoner here at Stalag Luft 1, sited here from July 1940 to May 1945: Members of the British Commonwealth and United States of America Air Forces and their Allies from the occupied countries and the Soviet Union.

Nothing has been Forgotten”

To the south of the rock is the field where the barracks that held my father stood. Now it is just a densely growth of tall grasses and a few trees. But from pretty much anywhere we stood, you could see the steeple of St. Marien Kirch (St. Mary’s Lutheran) in Barth. My sister and I liked to think that my father could look at that tall steeple everyday and think that God was in charge. We hope that it gave him and all the prisoners encouragement.  Later that day, we visited the church and walked through the walls of the ancient city.  

Next to the rock is a kiosk with facts about Stalag Luft 1. For instance, there were 8,346 prisoners of war in Stalag Luft 1 in February 1945, a majority of which were Americans. Take a look at the photos. One thing that interested me was: “The construction of a prisoner-of-war camp in the immediate area of a military property, like the Flakschool (you’ll hear more about this in my father’s diary coming up) in Barth, is a violation of the Geneva Agreement on the Treatment of Prisoners of War from 1929.”

We enjoyed being there with Helga and Greta and her son Claus. The west side of the camp bordered a tributary of the Baltic Sea. I wonder how many prisoners thought they could steal a boat and paddle to Denmark just some 70 miles away. I’m sure the Baltic Sea had an effect of the weather. The wind was fierce, and it was cold there even in October.

As we walked around, we heard a low flapping and whispering noise. It was the return of the cranes. We watched them eating bugs from the fields that our father once looked out on.