“Canada”
At Auschwitz-Birkenau we had a building which for some reason was called “Canada.” Within its walls were stored the clothing and the other possessions taken from the deportees when they arrived at the station, or at the showers, or in the hall outside the crematory oven. “Canada” contained vast wealth, for the Germans had encouraged the deportees to bring their valuables with them. Had they not announced in many occupied cities that it was “not against the rules” to take personal objects along? This indirect invitation proved much more effective than if they had suggested that their victims bring their jewelry. Indeed, many deportees took as much as they could in the hope of winning certain favors in return for their valuables.
A bit of everything could be found in their luggage: tobacco, fur jackets, smoked ham, even sewing machines. What a magnificent harvest for the reclamation service of the camp!
In “Canada” were specialists who did nothing but unstitch linings and soles to seek hidden treasures. The procedure must have brought results, for the Germans became generous with manpower and put nearly twelve hundred men and two thousand women into the work. Every week, one or more trains filled to bursting with products of the reclamation service left Auschwitz for Germany.
To the many objects taken from the deportees’ baggage was added the hair of the victims, from the clippings and from the corpses. Among the items in “Canada” that impressed me painfully was the row of baby carriages, which brought to mind all the unfortunate infants the Germans had murdered. The children’s shoes and toy section, always well stocked, was another heartrending place.
To belong to the personnel of “Canada” or to be associated with its kommandos was a great privilege for the internees. These “officials” had many opportunities to steal, and, despite the threats of severe punishment, they took advantage of them. But no such rules applied to the German officers, who often went on an inspection tour of “Canada” and carried away a few diamonds as souvenirs in a camera or cigarette case.
Many of the kommandos stole in hopes of buying their liberty. Thanks to such bribes, many attempts to escape occurred during my stay at the camp. Generally they failed. The Germans eagerly accepted what was offered, but instead of facilitating flight, they found it more agreeable to shoot their clients.
The objects stolen from “Canada” found their way to the black market.
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Despite ferocious disciplinary measures, we had a thriving black market. Prices were determined by the scarcity of commodities, the inadequacy of rations, and, of course, by the risks involved in securing the article.
It should, therefore, not be astonishing that a pound of margarine was worth 250 gold marks, or about 100 dollars; one kilo of butter, 500 marks; one kilo of meat, 1,000 marks. A cigarette cost seven marks, but the price of a puff, or a “drag,” was subject to fluctuations.
Of course, only a few could afford luxuries. Only the petty officials or the workers in “Canada” ever had the means. They had to make contact with those who worked outside the camp or with the guards themselves to exchange their valuables for money or rare commodities. In these double exchanges, they lost much. Sometimes a precious jewel would be traded for a bottle of ordinary wine.
The kitchen personnel also contributed to the traffic. They, too, were privileged, compared to the mass of internees. They ate better in the kitchens. Besides, all those who worked there could get better clothing, thanks to the barter system. They traded the stolen food for old shoes or coats. Every evening, between five and seven o’clock, a humming black market functioned outside one of the barracks.
The barter was a natural result of local conditions. It was difficult not to take part in it. I paid eight days’ ration of bread for a piece of cloth to make a nurse’s blouse. I also had to pay three soups to have it sewn. Whether to feed or clothe oneself was the eternal problem facing us.
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The black market brings me to the subject of the “Czech Camp” which was, for many months, an abundant source of clothing. After brief negotiations, the internees in our camp threw their rations of margarine or bread over the barbed wire to the Czech camp. In return, the Czechs tossed over articles of clothing. This was a risky business. If a guard happened by, one might be shot at. Or the clothing received in exchange might get caught on the barbed wire. But, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” as the saying goes.
How was it that the Czechs were richer in clothing than we were? Either because of a whim of the administration, or perhaps, as was rumored, because of the energetic intervention of influential people in Czechoslovakia. Early in the summer of 1943 one of the Czech transports had been spared all the formalities; no selections, no confiscation of baggage, no hair clipping. In addition, the men were exempted from forced labor and families were left together, an unheard-of favor at Birkenau. Something like a school was established for their children.
These Czechs were the only ones who, at least for a time, regularly received packages from their homes. They took advantage of official permission to ask for all sorts of useful objects, notably knitting wool with which they made warm clothing, either for themselves or for barter.
But these privileges were to last only a short time. After six months the special treatment ended. One day, the Czechs learned that the Germans were preparing to liquidate them. They immediately decided to rebel. However, the conspiracy was a failure. At the last minute the leader, a professor from Prague, was poisoned. The Lageraelteste, a hardened criminal and a brute, got the situation in hand. The next evening more post cards were distributed to the Czechs to inform their close relatives that they were well and to ask for additional parcels. A few hours later, old and young, sick and healthy, were all exterminated.
No time was lost in bringing other Czechs to fill that camp.
I had a chance to communicate with the second trainload. These Czechs, too, received favorable treatment, except for the food, which was abominable. Like little starved animals, their children wandered about the fence hoping that someone would throw over some refuse or a piece of bread.
One fine day the word went out that the second group of Czechs were being liquidated. The men were taken first, then the young women. Those who remained, the children and the aged, had no illusions. They traded everything they had for a little bread and margarine. At least they could eat their fill before dying.
That afternoon a Czech boy, who was in love with a young Vertreterin from our camp, said good-bye to her through the barbed wire that separated us. He knew how the day would end for him.
“When you see the first flames from the crematory at daybreak,” he said, “you will know that it is my greeting to you.”
The girl fainted. He gazed at her through the barbed wire with tears in his eyes. We helped her to get up.
“Dear,” he continued, “I have a diamond that I wanted to give you as a present. I stole it while I was working in ‘Canada.’ But now I shall try to exchange it for a chance to go over to your camp to be with you before I die.”
It was somehow arranged, and the boy came over. Everyone knew that the end of the Czech camp was near. Perhaps another day, perhaps only a few hours. The blocova left the young people alone in her room. The other inmates stood outside to watch for the Germans. In the course of the afternoon roll call the Czechs were forced to give up their shoes. That was the unmistakable sign.
Late that night several dump trucks arrived at the camp. All who were still left in the Czech camp had to climb in. Some tried to resist; but the guards beat them or ran their hooked poles through them. Flattened against the walls of our infirmary, we witnessed this horrible scene. The little Vertreterin watched her Czech lover being pushed into the truck. Dawn found us still trembling before the wall; the last trucks had just left. Our eyes followed the smoke belching from the crematories—the remains of our poor neighbors.
During the night the young Vertreterin’s hair turned almost completely white.
The first rays of the sun revealed, scattered on the ground of the Czech camp, a few abandoned items: a crust of bread, a rag doll, and some pieces of clothing. That was all that was left of the short-lived Czech village of 8,000 souls.