Patients on the balcony of Wards A3 and A 4, Glyn Hughes Hospital, Belsen, 1945
13th August 1945
My last letter gave you some idea of the activities of the camp as it was when I arrived. This one will bring you an account of our Mess and things in general.
Until 4th August you will remember I was living as the guest of the Commanding Officer, Military Government HQ, at the German farm. (The British Military Government is in charge of Belsen Camp.) There is also a large garrison of British soldiers stationed here, a necessary precaution in a newly occupied country and a camp of some 20 000 persons of many nationalities, faiths and political parties—in fact a potential volcano.
The surrounding country was pretty when I arrived in early July, as the harvest was ripe and almost ready for reaping. There were some lovely walks, but we womenfolk had been advised not to go out unescorted. Every inch from roadside to horizon is intensively cultivated and each farm has its geese, ducks, chickens, pigs, cows, and horses.
The farm-house in which I lived was a large well-furnished, half-timbered, red brick building, decorated outside with texts and agricultural scenes carved in the black wooden beams, and dated 1925. An attractive weather-vane surmounted the front entrance. A very large kitchen with tiled walls and floor and several sinks combined fuel and electric stove; larders and store-rooms opened directly into a larger barn. Hans the bull reigned supreme over his harem of fourteen: Laura, Annie, Toni, Dolli, Lena, Greta, Olga, Edith, Hilde, Rosa, Ilse, Dea, Isabella and Lore. Each animal had its name-board neatly inscribed. All snored loudly at night!
The flies were terrible, cooked and alive, and as you know some cooks are not always as observant as they should be. There was always plenty of fresh rich creamy milk on the table, but the flies had priority and there were always two or three floating round, which most members of the staff appeared to overlook.
The downstairs rooms were rather inconvenient, as three bedrooms opened one from the other, while the only bathroom was at the extreme end. There was an electric bath-heater, and steam radiators were fitted in all the ground-floor rooms. Tiny observation windows opened from these bedrooms into the barn, where the herd spent the winter. The upstairs bedrooms opened onto a landing which had a connecting door into the loft, so that there was a continual wafting of stable fragrance into the house. The furniture was of the heavy German plush and tasselled variety, the china and glassware quite attractive.
The German Hausfrau, whose husband was a POW, had been evicted and was living with her mother next door. Everything pointed to former prosperity under the Nazi regime. This Hausfrau was instructed by mine host to bring me tea and hot water at 7 am each morning. We always greeted each other cheerfully in German. The local Burgomaster provides the German domestic labour, of which there is no shortage, and so we had German girls to do the housework and my laundry and shoes, and I was moderately comfortable in the German feather bed!
After some weeks the Military Government Officers moved to another mess, and as there were now three UNRRA doctors and myself, the CO invited us to remain. By the way, one of these doctors is Dr Lesley Bidstrup of South Australia.
The Frau’s husband returned from the war one day and British armed officials no longer lived there. A stiffening of the pleasant manner was noticed, the standard of housework deteriorated, and the next morning my tea did not appear. On returning that evening we found the best china locked in the side-board! It was interesting to observe the change now that the guns had gone and the German menfolk were coming home.
One night I had a really nerve-racking experience. The others were on an important mission and I was alone until 1.30 am. I had no means of communication whatever with the camp and no transport. I was writing downstairs about 10 pm when I heard the inter-communicating doors from the barn opening. The hinges had dropped and the door scraped the floor. The German cowherd was exploring the upstairs rooms! Although I was unarmed, I knew there was nothing to do but to go up and enquire. I told him to go, and waited until he retreated, then firmly shut the door and went downstairs. Again he came and I went, outwardly so brave, inwardly wondering what on earth would happen next. The same procedure was adopted, but the episode lost its humour when the persistent man returned for the third time! This time, having pushed him out and closed the door, I returned shortly, after noisily opening and shutting the front door, walking heavily on the stairs with the best mannish tread I could muster, and conversing with an imaginary escort as I approached. This ruse was evidently effective for I heard no more of the intruder, but spent an uncomfortable two or three hours in the lighted parlour, which had several large windows but no curtains or blinds, trying to look unconcerned and interested in my work. You can imagine how relieved I was when the party returned.
I was glad when we finally left that farm, for there were now many German Wehrmacht men being released under the British Barley Corn plan to bring the harvest in. Also, a number of Germans near here have been attacked by the DPs recently, one old couple being killed near the farm the week before we left.
Life with UNRRA is not easy! The authorities have provided no cars for the SMO and myself; and as the Glyn Hughes Hospital is at one end of the camp, the Maternity Block the other and the various departments scattered between, the problem of transport is great.
The CO Military Government or one of his Officers always drove us in and out to the farm while they lived there—except on those occasions when I was stranded at the hospital and unable to arrive at HQ meeting place and subsequently missed my lunch! Every other organisation working here is provided with transport and UNRRA is rightly criticised for their neglect. It is a matter of hitch-hiking with any passing vehicle, which is not only embarrassing to me, but often, I am sure, inconvenient to those generously offering assistance.
Repeated appeals brought no result until I had been here four weeks, when after lengthy and confused negotiations on 8th August, a car and an army driver was allotted to me. This, however, was not as good as it sounds for the car had hardly any of its original parts left, and was constantly breaking down at awkward moments. It caught fire once after a German mechanic had repaired it and evidently accidentally left two live wires touching somewhere. It was frequently being borrowed by someone else without my permission, with the result that I was often unable to keep important engagements.
In spite of these difficulties I managed to contact the heads of all the voluntary staff relief societies and the various officials and gained an insight into the functioning of this unique community, as well as spending most of my time each day in the various hospitals. I also went with the Army Quartermaster on a conducted tour to explore the channels through which the food passed from the time it was requisitioned from army stores until the patients received it—and believe me it followed a tortuous passage!
Never will I forget my efforts to find staff accommodation, because the farm was too far away and too small. I had notified the local authorities soon after arrival of my anticipated requirements of UNRRA nurses. These and other UNRRA personnel are expected to total about sixty to seventy, or perhaps more when our organisation finally takes charge of the welfare and other services in the camp as well as the hospital. The Military Government officials, however, wanted a definite date on which the staff were expected, but as we had no idea when this was—nor did anyone else, I fear—the answer just could not be given. We certainly knew that the 81st British General Hospital unit were very anxious for us to take over as soon as possible but that was all.
Time was getting on, and day after day I could get no satisfaction, so in order to have some action, I finally said that I expected my staff any day now. Although wishful thinking, it was near enough to the truth.
Following this, things began to move, even if slowly and sluggishly. First the Camp Commandant offered me the Round House, where you will remember the many thousands of advanced cases of pulmonary Tb and diarrhoea had been nursed under grossly over-crowded, primitive and unhygienic conditions. This building was quite unsuitable for living quarters for a mixed mess, with only the large ballroom, ante-rooms, solaria and cloak-rooms and no baths. It was pervaded with the nauseating odour, which is something one cannot describe but which is common to Belsen, and the last patients had only been evacuated the day before. Even if airing and scrubbing would scientifically be said to make it safe for staff habitation, psychologically it was bad, as death had stalked there so recently. The authorities probably thought I was crazy in not accepting such a palatial abode, but after a detailed inspection my SMO agreed with me on its unsuitability.
The same evening I was told that the recently vacated Children’s Hospital was available, but after inspecting it I decided that it was now very dirty and as it had housed many open cases of pulmonary Tb until they died, would require at least two weeks to fumigate, clean and paint.
While the authorities were cogitating over this, I cast my eye on the house in the woods, a large stately white building conveniently situated in a delightful setting of green trees, midway between the camp and the Glyn Hughes Hospital. I imagined how restful and refreshing the grounds would be when my nurses came off duty and thought my worries were at an end.
On investigation, I was told it was occupied by the German owner of the surrounding farms and his wife, who had some members of an Allied agricultural mission and several German Red Cross Nurses living with them. They could not possibly be turned out for the UNRRA nursing staff! Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm, I had focussed the attention of others on this attractive abode, for shortly afterwards we found that the occupants had departed and some Military Government Officials were in residence there.
A barracks building outside the main gates occupied by some of the notorious Hungarian army personnel (who in the terms of the truce were handed over by the Germans to the British, as I have already told you) was the next suggestion. It was exceedingly smelly and dirty, but with soap and water, white-wash, fresh air and the addition of a cook-house and mess would be just passable, failing anything more suitable forthcoming. I was to return in a few days and inspect the results of the Hungarians’ efforts at cleaning. Half an hour after my first visit, a deputation of these men (virtual POWs mind you, doing the odd job around the place) strongly objected to the authorities at having to move—so UNRRA again went house-hunting.
As the position was becoming desperate, I suggested we should go under canvas temporarily whilst the recently vacated Children’s Hospital building was prepared. After toying with that idea for a week or so, they told me there were too many complications, but that they really had found something good at last!
The something good was a block of four flats near the North Gate in Hoppensted Strasse, which was about to fall vacant on Wednesday 1st August, then cleaned on 2nd August and handed over to me on 3rd August. I was so relieved to think we would have a spick and span apartment to commence with.
The advance party of my nursing staff was expected on the 3rd or 4th August, and I was to take over the entire hospital, including the maternity unit some distance away, on the 6th. It would mean pretty hard going, but could be managed, and I slept well that night as my relief was so great at finally finding a home for my staff. As nothing ever goes as anticipated here I was not surprised the next morning to hear that the Army evacuation had been postponed for twenty-four hours!
During my hitch-hike on these house-hunting peregrinations, I spent any spare time arranging details with the various officials, engaging DP cooks, and German cleaners, checking up on furniture, china and cutlery, and ordinary rations. Planning meal and duty hours, endeavouring to requisition the bus used to take Army sisters to and from duty for our use when they left, drawing up a bus timetable, allotting rooms, scrounging cleaning materials, which strangely are not on issue for our mess. All this, plus a thousand other things, kept me occupied-especially the hitch-hiking from one end of the camp to the other. My SMO could not understand why all these matters could not wait until my staff arrived! In the midst of all this, on 31st July, the UNRRA Medical Director of British Z one sent a request that the two medical officers and J: prepare an inventory of all deficiencies in equipment in the entire hospital by 1st August. Fortunately I had noticed many of the deficiencies during my rounds and we duly completed a staggering list after sitting up all night, and sent it off poste-haste to local HQ, quietly hoping it would give them as bad a headache as it had given us.
During my peregrinations I was invited to take several odd cups of tea with the OC of the RASC Unit and accepted, hoping to entice him to at least complete the cleaning of the top flats to enable us to get on with the job.1 I was notified that these would be vacated at 10.30 am on 3rd August and I thought all I had to do was to arrange the furniture and the culinary department.
Alas! They just walked out and overlooked the cleaning, and having been well installed and very busy since Belsen’s early days, you can imagine things were in a frightful mess. Rubbish cluttered every room and junk of all varieties abounded. I first had to locate and send an SOS to the accommodation officer who sent nine Hungarian soldiers, and to the Sergeant in charge of labour who offered six German cleaning women (and, by the way, twelve arrived). I personally went to the Deputy Assistant Director Ordnance Store to beg a few scrubbing brushes, buckets, brooms and rags, to which I was informed I was not entitled. I also got one small precious bar of soap. The BRCS women in charge of these stores were most sympathetic and helpful and lent me whatever they could, and more than I asked for, so long as I signed for them to guarantee their return.
Then the fun began! I turned out masses of useless, broken down furniture and had to find transport to remove it-lorry loads of it. The day was spent patrolling and driving the dirty, lazy Hungarian creatures and the German women, for they either sat or lay on the couches the minute my back was turned. The men, under pressure, moved the furniture, swept and scrubbed and I set women to cleaning the windows, wardrobes, drawers and bathrooms. If ever there was an example of passive resistance it was seen that day, and I suppose I would have done the same. You see, I had no gun, which is the language they understood. One or two women worked fairly ‘Nell, but all were exceedingly slow. It was exhausting, but at least the outer grime was removed and the furniture cleaned and rearranged. I was instructed that they all had to cease work at 5 pm so I continued alone—exhausted and exasperated. That night I sat up until well after midnight waiting for the Medical Director and Chief Nurse of the British Zone, who were expected but who did not arrive.
The morning of 4th August brought forth six new German women and a fresh party of twelve Hungarian soldiers, but the RASC did not leave the lower flats until 11 am. What a mess—some rooms had been offices and they looked chaotic when the army gear had been removed. The OC generously left us about one dozen bottles of wine and a quantity of tea, sugar, etc. Between his leaving at 11 am and my walking downstairs a few minutes later, all the wine had completely vanished and nine of the Hungarians were in the kitchen, each with two enormous thick slices of bread inches deep with butter or margarine with mountains of marmalade on top! I literally drove them out, and found a British Tommy who came to my assistance. These lazy creatures only seemed to move when one shouted and banged or stamped one’s foot like a sergeant major. I chuckled to think what you would say if you could have seen me then.
I walked up and down all day long. Three of the four electric stoves would not work, door handles were broken, keys missing, doors would not open, electric fittings were without globes or out of order, chains would not pull, baths and basins were without plugs, panes of glass in windows and balcony doors were missing or smashed—in fact alles kaput is a term which expresses much and is understood by all. After ringing on and off for one hour on the RASC phone across the road, I contacted the Garrison engineer, who finally sent me a plumber, electrician, locksmith, glazier and carpenter—all Germans. The language difficulty was soon overcome, for everything was kaput or alles kaput with a vast and embracing wave of one’s hands.
Much patrolling was necessary here also, for these German workmen were also quite ready to sit down and peruse the latest illustrated London magazines they found, rather than attend to the repairs. Day after day they came—new basins to replace those with the bottoms out, new lights to be fitted, locks to be repaired, and so on. What a life! It really was fun and I thoroughly enjoyed getting order out of chaos, but how my feet ached at night.
In the middle of all this the officials who had been expected the previous evening arrived for lunch, bringing with them the first five nurses, but no housekeeper. The nurses were more than appreciated but little did they suspect what was ahead of them. The Heads would have been more warmly welcomed a week or so later, but we managed to feed them all at the farm, and they did not stay long, so all was well. Alas! Whilst I was greeting the party, the precious soap and scrubbing brushes vanished, ne’er to be seen again. I did not realise it was so late and as I must get some sleep I shall have to continue this later in the week.
Continued 18th August 1945
Our Hungarian cook Mischa, and his two assistants Lajor and Ferenc, who had previously worked at the Children’s Hospital, miraculously gave us all a hot dinner in our new mess at 7 pm that evening. I had ordered, and assisted by our two doctors collected, double rations for the weekend but gypsies are opportunists and must have seen them arrive, for at 7 am on Saturday they stole the whole lot under our very noses. Mili, our Czech cook-supervisor who had just arrived, chased one who had the spoils in a large bag or bags, which had apparently contained bandages and surgical dressings, now hastily discharged in the garden when more interesting and satisfying goods were offering! Mili, in her dressing gown, caught the intruder down the road, but whilst awaiting assistance from a stalwart army lad whom she had called, a gypsy colleague hovering nearby gathered the takings and vanished. I do wish I could have seen that episode—we had to laugh, serious as it was. However, the Army authorities came to our rescue as usual and provided more rations.
The second block of flats had yet to be attacked and still no housekeeper had appeared on the scene. These flats further up Hoppenstedt Strasse were occupied by DPs who had volunteered to work in the camp laundry. They were very comfortable, for when the Germans were evicted or hastily fled at the time the British came, they had left everything behind. So that the DPs would not remove the contents when other accommodation was found for them, they were given no warning. An army truck just came to the door one morning and they were told they were going to new quarters and were driven away, taking only their personal belongings. That was a week or two before the flats were handed over to me, so you can imagine the state they were in when I got the keys and entered. There were masses of quite good but heavy-type German furniture, pianos, stale food, mice, old mattresses, blankets and much dirt. The kitchens were awful. It looked hopeless. This time I fortunately had the five nurses to help me supervise: Miss Szloch (USA), Miss Vanderwell (Canada), Miss Stenhouse (Scotland), Misses Sohr and Willaert (Belgium), an excellent and most willing team.
Since my visit the day before, the place had been broken into, all the keys I had carefully fitted to each door had been removed, and bedside lamps, bedsteads, a piano, china and cutlery taken. This was reported to the appropriate authorities, but we were unable to follow it up as it was hinted that the goods had been removed by some enterprising British Officers, who evidently had an eye to their own comfort and who had first refusal, as it were.
You see, a new contagious disease has been introduced into Europe, as a result of the Nazi new order. Now, if you covet your neighbours’ possessions, you just liberate them for your own purpose. Some of those DPs who during their imprisonment or slavery were forced to resort to this means of acquiring things of vital necessity for themselves will find it exceedingly difficult and will need assistance to live normally in a normal community again. Then it was every man for himself and now this still prevails in many cases. They are taking advantage of the fine weather and it is a common sight to see groups of men, women and children helping themselves to large quantities of potatoes and vegetables from the German farms—reparations, did you say?
The roads round Dageford are lined with apple trees which they are also stripping. They look such hard little apples too, but the DPs tummies have had to cope with much more difficult things than fresh green German apples, which they appear to relish.
Another term which has been coined here is heard in reply to an enquiry as to where so-and-so got that pretty blouse, or smart handbag. One may be told, ‘Oh, eet ees organise madame,’ with an entrancing smile, or the answer may be just, ‘Klipsi, klipsi,’ with a shrug of the shoulders and a knowing wink of the eye. They are perfectly honest about it all and consider they are entitled to take any German goods they want—perhaps they are.
Joined by three more nurses the next morning—Miss Barstch (Canada), Miss Richards (England), Miss Gillet (France)—we forged ahead, driving our team of workers, and after a few days had the place in fairly good order, if not a home from home. Freda, a Hungarian gypsy about four years old, a patient from the hospital, helped me to label the keys of every cupboard I could find. We now have our Mess Committee and will be quite comfortable in the winter with our chip heaters and enormous radiators, if only we have the chips and the coal.
Five more nurses arrived by 12th August, and one who had been sent temporarily was withdrawn that day. Miss Doris Delaney from New South Wales arrived on the 14th, but my efforts to procure a housekeeper have only brought forth an assurance from UNRRA local HQ that she is expected to arrive on 27th August, unfortunately just about six weeks too late! With twelve UNRRA nurses, after an overlap of two days on 13th August, I officially took over the Hospital from the British Matron and her staff of twenty-two, which she told me was inadequate for all the supervision necessary. You can imagine the administration is very difficult in these early days under such abnormal conditions and with such a small UNRRA staff.
The DP Polish waiter in our mess was once employed in an Officers’ Club in Poland, and DP girls of various nationalities have volunteered to do our housework. Four Hungarian girls came first, remained one day and did not return, as they did not care for general domestic work. The next day four more came, but did not remain long either. I think this is partly due to their newly found independence and partly to the fact that they are not yet able to apply themselves to continuous work after their severe illnesses and terrible experiences.
Piri, a pretty little Romanian Jewess, looks after me, irons and mends beautifully and is very neat and tidy. Her friend Irma Schlomer, a Hungarian, is my clerk-interpreter, speaks French, English and German fluently and is an efficient typist in those languages. She tells me that before the war her father owned a large Sanatorium in Berlin, but she does not know where he is now. Her mother died in the Horror Camp just before liberation. She is still very weak from typhus, tires easily and is dazed from her recent experiences, but seems happy to be working again and certainly is a great help to me. Having no housekeeper in the Mess, nor messing officer in the hospital to date, I’m head serang of all. Having no Welfare Officer I’ve taken over that Department also. The Army Welfare Officer left me practically no stocks and as all male patients receive three and females one cigarette daily and eight sweets each, I feared there would be a revolution if I failed to produce those priceless commodities—especially on the first day UNRRA took over.
However, after an exhausting search among camp authorities I collected 3000 face-saving cigarettes, which unfortunately will not last long, particularly as the eight or nine DP girls who assist with the distribution get ten each as well.
Staff outside At Ward, Glyn Hughes Hospital, Belsen, 1945: from lift to right, Miss Willaert (Belgian nurse), Miss Doherty, Miss Szloch (American nurse), Mrs Jackson (English Messing Officer)
25th August 1945
I try to add a little to my letters every day but because of the many distractions and frequent interruptions I am afraid you will find some of them rather disjointed—however, from all accounts you are interested in the news I give you, so I will continue to jot down a day-to-day story, as it were.
When the army handed over to me they told me I had 135 German Nurses—but I could only find 11 1. Next day a racket began when nearly every one of them applied for two days’ leave in Hamburg, while some, I fear, took the leave without applying! It’s one thing knowing what you should have and quite another knowing where they are.
I set out to account for them all. It has taken my Canadian assistant Miss Louise Bartsch and me two weeks to complete the list. I have a German Matron, Frau Ella Bach, who is responsible to me for the German Nursing staff, and a Latvian Matron, Erika Sedmalis, in charge of the nurses from the Baltic States. Not one list the German Matron gave me tallied with any other—we finally, with swimming heads, found we had 131, including the Matron, and have card indexed each one.
The Hamburg tour was quickly quelled and a system of leave instituted. I have given them one day off per week and three hours per day, and have worked out a system of exchange because some of them have been here since liberation and really do look rather tired. Others wish to return to their ex-POW husbands who have been demobilised, and some say they are to be married. One nurse applied for discharge on the latter grounds, and as I had seen her wearing a wedding ring on her left hand, I wondered. On enquiring I found in Germany the ring is worn on the left hand for betrothal and is placed on the right hand during the wedding ceremony.
One day recently I happened to return to the Hospital in the lunch hour and found two large white German Red Cross buses and a trailer disgorging nurses—sixty of them!
I sent for the German Matron and found that the German Department of Public Health in Hamburg had sent them for exchange and were taking a similar number back. I thought differently and hastily found our SMO. We decided that could not be allowed on principle. After an interview with the high-handed German Medical Officer who had travelled with them, he was instructed to take them all back to Hamburg and make an official request for exchange which would be considered by us.
Our Latvian nurses, who previously had led me to believe that they had come voluntarily during the war to work in the German hospitals, changed their mind the other day; perhaps it was because they saw the DPs in Hospital receiving special clothing issues, in perhaps we had misunderstood them before. However, after a security officer had interviewed the Latvian Matron, they signed a statement, which I am now satisfied is the truth, to the effect that they had been forced by the Germans when they occupied Latvia to work first in German Hospitals there, and then to move into Germany to work in Military Hospitals. Having established themselves as DPs they now receive the special issue.
The Latvian Matron reports to me every morning at 10 am after I have seen the German Matron; she doesn’t speak a word of English, and you all know what my Latvian is like! She brings one of her staff who speaks a little English, and so we get along with that, punctuated with smiles, bows and gestures and assisted by my interpreter when necessary. The Latvian nurses’ work is not terribly outstanding and as they say they do not like working with the Germans we are constantly having friction. Five are trained, the others are Nurse Helps, as they are called.
The German nursing set up is unlike anything we know. Before the war there were three main nursing organisations in Germany, the Evangelical Deaconesses, the Catholic Nuns and the German Red Cross sisterhood, all of which were attached to their mother-houses. When the Nazis were not as successful as they hoped in bringing these bodies entirely into their scheme, two new organisations were formed—the National Socialist and the Free Nurses, both of which were highly political and not responsible to the mother-houses. All five bodies were combined under one Nazi National Organisation.
The Midwife or Hebamme played an important part in the Nazi health services and they were also compelled to belong to the Nazi organisation. There were also trained children’s nurses and public health nurses, both of whom underwent a special training, and, of course, district and private duty nurses, all of whom came under Nazi control.
It has been established that the Nazis considered the nursing profession and the German Red Cross two of their most powerful weapons for the dissemination of their vile doctrines, as these people came into such close contact with a large number of the community and thus offered unusual opportunities for spreading political propaganda.
The Nazi nursing text book, a copy of which I managed to procure from the Public Health Library in Hamburg, was written by a doctor in the Ministry in Berlin. A large portion is devoted to the Nazi racial and biological doctrines, which as you know were, in general, anti-Semitism, legal abortion, compulsory sterilisation of the mentally defective, liquidation of the mentally and physically unfit, and above all the superiority of the Herrenvolk or German Master Race.
The length of training for general nurses in pre-war Germany was two and a half to three years, but during the recent war this was reduced to two years for Red Cross Nurses and one and a half years for the others, and included a good deal of training in domestic work and Nazi politics.
Since 1933, when Adolf Hitler became Chancellor, a considerable amount of time during the training was devoted to the study of Nazi teachings—the young nurses have known nothing but the Master Race doctrine. They were trained to accept the shocking treatment meted out to foreign slave workers imported by the Nazis as part of this policy. Their bedside nursing on the whole is poor, but as we organise ward duties we hope to improve that. The older ones who trained in pre-Nazi days seem a little better, but with a few exceptions I would say from my observations that the general standard is well below our own.
Evacuation of patients has been carried out at a rapid pace. Hospital train after train has left, packed with mostly lying patients, many accompanied by relatives, for the policy is to keep families together as much as possible. I went to see a train depart for Sweden the other evening and the OC took me right through. There were 320 patients, many of them thin, ill and unhappy-looking, others brighter and more cheerful. It was 6 pm and they were having their tea, which consisted of dark rye bread and butter and a tin of peculiar, greyish-looking fish floating in a more peculiar murky-looking liquid, which they appeared to relish. Some of the patients looked very ill—the doctor did not expect one girl to reach her destination, but wanted to give her the satisfaction of leaving Belsen.
These people, tasting real freedom once more, would be convoyed in that train as far as Lubeck, where the Swedish Red Cross would take them over, medically examine, re-delouse and re-clothe them before commencing the remainder of the journey. Sweden has undertaken to look after some thousands of these people for six months or so. Perhaps their ball-bearing conscience pricks them at last.
I love to visit the camp squares on the occasions when a transport is leaving with happy, well-fed, warmly clad repatriates. Army trucks and lorries which convey them are stocked with food and decorated with garlands, branches and national flags. Sometimes a band plays as they are being comfortably seated with their worldly possessions around them, and the Military Government and voluntary organisation officials farewell them. With the singing of National Anthems and much hand waving they leave us to start life once again in their own country as the long convey passes out of sight.
The UNRRA staff have been arriving in dribs and drabs and at present we have thirty-three members in the mess, including thirteen nurses, representing many nationalities—Czech, Polish, English, Scottish, Northern Irish, French, Dutch, Canadian, Belgian, Danish and Australian—a truly international unit.
I wonder how Australia celebrated the cessation of hostilities with Japan, and what the Son of Heaven will do now? When I told Mischa the war with Japan was over he nearly threw his arms round my neck and kissed me!
We had a special dinner of international dishes on 16th August and later went to the Officers’ Club to hear our King’s speech, which came over very clearly. This very beautiful club was built by a Hamburg coffee merchant and was, until taken over by the British, Kramer’s residence I believe.
From what I have seen already of the European chaos, I think the winning of the peace will be even more difficult than winning the war. It’s all frightfully interesting here, but an enormous undertaking, which can only be successful if UNRRA gives us sufficient staff. I have stressed this in reports and have been told by our local HQ that I can have about six more nurses than I have requested, but somehow, after the way we began, I feel doubtful as to whether they will materialise.
PS: The 3000 Russians from the Ruhr who invaded this Camp during the last three days lost no time in erecting enormous pictures of Stalin, Lenin, and someone called Zacov, decorated with suitable inscriptions over the main door of each block in the squares. Red stars and the hammer and sickle are displayed everywhere, and next door are 4000 Poles! The Russians are being X-rayed in the Glyn Hughes; they appear stocky, husky creatures but are all suspected of having pulmonary Tb. Those well enough wander round and nearly always carry a flower. They are already very interested in the Glyn Hughes and we jokingly say they will be in occupation before we know where we are.
I have instituted weekly conferences with the UNRRA nurses, at which they can bring up any matter for discussion without previous notice. This is one reason, I think, why I have always had their wholehearted co-operation. In this way we have been able to introduce some measure of uniformity of administration and to rectify quite a number of unsatisfactory matters, at the same time strengthening our team work.
Constructive criticism and suggestions are welcomed and many valuable contributions have been made. I feel that this is also the reason why we are such a happy group in spite of all our difficulties and frustrations. All are united in their efforts to do their utmost for these unfortunate people, our patients.
undated
Hamburg
Dear Miss Doherty,
How few weeks have passed since I left Belsen. I have been there for four months, from May to September 1945. I have been ordered, together with a number of sisters from Hamburg, to a duty ‘not far from Hamburg’ at patients who were somewhat weak.
We were told that we had to stay outside for a fortnight or three weeks. We were told to take with us the storm baggage, that means the things we had taken with us to the cellar during the war when the bombs arrived. We didn’t know if we had to be on duty by nursing civil patients who had suffered from the terror or soldiers or what else. We started from Hamburg to do our best and to help where help was necessary. Our first experience when we arrived at Belsen was this: we learned to understand why we are the best hated nation in the world. Indeed terrible things happened in the concentration camps, especially during the last months of the war. More than once the English asked us, ‘How is it possible that you didn’t know this?’ ‘Why didn’t your own people stop those awful things?’ It may be that the people in the concentration camp are not angels, but the Germans treated the poor people in a manner that isn’t human-like at all and it was very sorrowful and not easy for us to bear this blame.
The first days all were crying, ‘Sister, Schwester, Suchwerb ra, Fräulein, Madam, basin pfanne, Schüssel, Einner, Schole, hunger, drink, dunk, dunk.’ When I was going round with my little table to make the dressings (nearly all the patients had wounds, sometimes bad phlegmone and sometimes abscesses or furuncle. And sometimes only a little) the patients were crying, ‘Schwester, operation, Schwester, medication!’ ‘Do my dressing first.’ ‘No, mine first,’ called the other. I told them that I would not be off duty and leave the ward till all would be cared of and all would be satisfied. Few days later the patients began to respect us and they were thankful.
To the English doctor the patients said ‘Sister good, Sister Puma.’ The doctor was very glad to hear this and he said to me, ‘From which hospital you and your sisters all coming? I see you have learned to work very hard and in a good way. I can explain you this and that and I see the sisters are doing their best to make everything alright. I thank you very much. If there is anything difficult you can tell me and I will help you.’
The recognition of the German Sisters carried out by the English doctor seemed like a bit of sunshine in the dark after sorrowful days. By the time our Sisters arrived and the patients were no more so very weak and sick. Then, the Sweden start began, that means the doctor asked the patients if they would like to make a tour of Sweden and to stay there for few months in order to become healthy. Sometimes it was somewhat difficult to explain to the patients that it would be the best for them to go to Sweden. After a Sweden start the hospital had a lot of empty beds, but only for a few hours one day. Then other people arrived. These patients were not only from Belsen but other parts of Germany.
When I had been at Belsen for three months my health was not the best and I felt very weak. I was ordered to be some days off duty. But I was not what you’d call sick, the pain was inside my head. I wanted to help the poor people, but was aware we could do but little. I loved to spare some time for the patients not only for dressings and medications. The patients were very glad and thankful when I had some time for them to talk. First I had to listen to what they have suffered and I told them, ‘Don’t always remember the terrible and awful time and look forward. How it will be better for you!’ It’s no good for your health to think about the very sorry things always and only. For nobody it’s possible to think about sorry things every day and every night. I have done it at Belsen. These were my thoughts. Wife have lost the war, and our country. There are only Germans and no Germany in this war. The most German soldiers who have suffered from the war for six long years lost their homes, their family, their profession. But the worst of all is the concentration camp. There we lost our honour! A good German he cannot bear life without honour! It doesn’t matter that we didn’t know what happened in the concentration camp, we have to bear the blame!
All that we want from other countries with time is this—neither pity or kindness but believing that not all Germans are bad and terrible and that the German spirit is technical as well, as in arts, music, and so on, and is still our life.
(Signed)
Schwester Lottie Burns1
29th August 1945
Life is rather hectic and very trying at present. Today it reached its peak! Among a thousand other things this is what happened. I was standing at the Deputy SMO’s office window waiting for him to return, when a harassed-looking Tommy from the Guard Room at our main Hospital gate (we have six gates, twenty-eight holes in the fence and one guard room) came up and asked if there was a responsible UNRRA officer about. Thinking I might possibly come under that heading I asked if I could help him.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘there are 200—300 Italians at the gate demanding entry.’ I enquired if they were patients, for it has not been an uncommon occurrence in the past for fifty or more to arrive practically unannounced, regardless of whether we have any empty beds or not. ‘No,’ said he, ‘they are milling around waving flags and things.’ I told him to keep them outside until I made some enquiries. Thinking the SMO might know something about it I popped my head in his office door to find two French nuns, an Italian liaison officer and a couple of interpreters, all looking very solemn and anxious. I found they had come to hold Requiem Mass for an Italian patient who died yesterday and that when the SMO had taken them to the Mortuary to collect the body it had vanished! The 300 Italians had come to the funeral.
I hastily withdrew and sent an SOS to some of my staff to assist in the search for the body, provided a table and clean sheet for the nuns, and took them over to the Mortuary to be sure they had everything they wanted to set up an altar and then hopefully watch for the return of the corpse.
After some time and an exhaustive search, it was revealed that another group of Italians, having purloined the body, were supervising the burial in the Camp Cemetery! Fortunately there was time to restore the body and hold the service as arranged at first, and all was well.
Returning to the hospital I found my staff had been instructed by a young woman doctor to commence moving the beds in this 560-bed hospital to suit her reclassification. An extensive classification and spacing of beds had only been carried out ten days ago, just after we took over from the Army, who had also made a rough classification before handing over to us, and we prayed we’d never move another bed. Apart from the work entailed, it is very upsetting to our patients to be constantly moved from their friends and relatives, and the UNRRA nurses say they just couldn’t cope with another big upheaval.
Having cleared that little matter up, or rather deferred the evil moment, I heard that 120 Poles were to be admitted, and found there was not an empty bed in the place. This meant hasty improvisation. Just as I was arranging this, a security officer from Military Government called at my office to interview the Latvian Matron again as to how, when, where and why she and her nurses first came to Belsen. During this interview a number of patients with gastro-enteritis were admitted to the new Maternity Wing, to which we had intended to admit our first obstetric cases tomorrow! I spent a good part of the afternoon with the German Matron discussing each one of her staff of 130 nurses, deciding who should go on leave to Hamburg, who should be exchanged, and how many we required in each ward when the rearrangement of patients, which we had managed with great difficulty to defer today, takes place.
Emerging from this I was told that a case of Fleck fever (Typhus) had been admitted and no one could find the DDT powder or gun for dusting. Fresh supplies were ordered three weeks ago, but we had a small amount on hand which was supposed to be kept in a certain place known to all.
An admission of this kind involves, among a host of other things, contacting camp officials to investigate from where the patient came and ensuring that every precaution is taken to prevent an epidemic.
Talking of DDT, the German nurses seem to have a passion for scrubbing walls and woodwork in preference to nursing the patients. We found bed bugs in the wooden panelling of one of our wards today, so when the DDT powder was run to earth, a nurse was instructed to use it. An hour later we found another nurse washing it all off! So had to commence all over again. Accidental, did you say?
On my way back from the isolation wards a German Oberschwester (Senior Sister) stopped me to say that there was no black tea, carrot juice or glucose for the gastro babies, and no diet for the gall bladders. The German doctors have some treatments which seem strange to us. This shortage of food for the babies was an ill wind, for it gave me the opportunity to persuade them to use the standard treatment of the Children’s Hospital (Royal Alexandria Hospital for Children) in Sydney. The babies are dehydrated and are not progressing and now I hope for some improvement.
A patient reported one of the German nurses today, because she (the patient) had been forced to work as a slave for the nurse’s sister, who was an ardent Nazi, and she recognised the nurse as also being an active party member. This little episode took up quite a lot of time and means another enquiry, later, probably followed by the arrest of the nurse.
At lunch time there was a riot in one of the wards! The cooks had put all the vegetables in the stew. Plates were flying and the patients were out of bed, milling round, by the time I arrived on the scene. They refused to eat the stew, which they said was the same as the Germans gave them in the Concentration Camps. They are just like children but disturbances like this could lead to much trouble. We finally got them all peaceably back to bed after a good deal of argument, many protests, much cajoling and an issue of bread and cheese from the kitchen. Then followed a conference with the UNRRA nurse in charge of the ward and the messing officer, at which it was decided that in future the vegetables will be served separately.
After all these weeks I am still battling, bargaining and beseeching for transport that will move. I heard today that an army driver by the name of Saint had been looking for me all the morning. On contacting him I found he was without a car, and as my first one is kaput, I am now wondering whether a rickshaw will appear, or whether we shall both mount shank’s pony or perhaps grow wings.
The water and electricity was off in the hospital and the mess at 7.30 am today without warning. It is becoming a habit for breakdowns to occur now, owing to a shortage of coal and overloading of the power. I have begged the QM to find some wood-burning stoves which could be put outside each block to provide hot water in these emergencies. It is also terribly difficult in the kitchen, where all the cooking is done by either steam or electricity. Certainly we have one or two fuel boilers outside the kitchen which are a great help but quite inadequate for the large amount of cooking which is necessary. The result is that we cannot always serve the hot meals we would like.
The day before yesterday the housekeeper for our mess finally arrived at lunch time, accompanied by her dog. She was openly annoyed at being sent to Belsen. The SMO, before everyone, told her she could make up her mind to send the dog back or go herself. The tension was terrible because we had been awaiting her arrival so anxiously and needed her so badly.
This tactful welcome caused her to leave the table hastily. I hurriedly followed, endeavouring to persuade her to return; offered her any room in the house and found a corner in the garage for the temporary abode of the dog, collected some fresh water for it as appeasement, and suggested the Hungarians might make a kennel, etc., etc. The hound is on her balcony tonight, she is still with us and so life goes on!
I have been rather worried about the German nurses’ quarters lately and so decided to do full rounds again today. One hundred and thirty-five live in an unlined attic over one of the hospital blocks and they only have two enamel wash-basins and water from a fire hydrant. The only light and air enters from a few small and very thick frosted-glass windows in the tiled roof. They could not be more than twelve inches square.
Something will have to be done before the winter, and they will have to have some form of heating or we will have an epidemic or they will be unable to work. I found they are well supplied with bed linen in spite of the shortage in the wards, and have instructed the Matron that they cannot have sheets while we are unable to change the patients’ beds.
We go on merrily admitting and discharging patients, and patients go on busily admitting and discharging themselves, so life is never dull. They still wander away at night and perhaps return the next day or a few days later, quite cheerfully having tasted this freedom once more. It is when one’s sick Tb patient takes it into his head to spend the night in the fields that one begins to worry. Especially if it is damp, but they don’t appear to be any the worse for their experience when they return.
Talking of our Tb patients, a few extracts from ward Sisters’ fairly recent reports will illustrate what I have told you.
The following two patients (open Tb) were not available for examination as they were out walking. Dajtilo Borjik (open Tb) patient demanded the doctor on return to bed. Had been to the Lager all the afternoon until late at night, helping his friends to move beds as Russian POW Tb patients were expected and the blocks were being cleared. Boris Trocksch (Tb) patient spit blood, given Morphia gr. ¼ at midday. Walked up and down the corridor all the afternoon. Six women from Ward A1 (surgical) and patients from Ward A3 (male Tb) were visiting in this ward at all hours of the night and we had quite a time to get them back to their respective beds. Albino Bordinskyl (Tb) bed-rest patient, found fully dressed returning from a visit to the camp. Bernislava Koscherowska (female) out all night, not yet returned, 4 am. Anna Stephanoska (female, open Tb) insisted on attending the dance in the concert hall this afternoon, as she wished to dance with her very dear friend from A2 (male surgical).
Now I ask you, what would you do?
Thought I would wander over and inspect the mattress disinfector today, where a German is in charge. It had been raining all night and you can imagine my amazement when I saw dozens and dozens of sections of mattresses strewn on the wet ground. As there was neither coal, water nor electricity, the silly man had put the half autoclaved ones to dry off and had added those awaiting sterilisation—hoping we would have some sunshine, I suppose! Or was he so silly? I took the SMO to see this devastating scene and then we had them all moved to the attics-but they will take a long time to dry thoroughly.
A little time ago, I arranged to have one of the sewing machines transferred from the hospital to our mess when transport was available. At lunch today we heard that the driver, finding the flats locked, took the machine temporarily to a garage next door occupied by some British Army men. He was about to unload it and ask them to deliver it later when two German cleaning women from the liaison officers’ flats opposite came out and said the machine had been lent to them for five days! They were in the process of taking possession when an UNRRA nurse appeared and, knowing the machine was expected, demanded its immediate surrender.
The curfew outside my window has just wailed so it must be 10.50 pm. It is an old German air raid signal and will emit its second warning shriek at 11 pm, after which we will hope to settle down, if not to sleep.
F. Tannenbaum, ‘Life in Concentration Camp’ series, Belsen, 1945
5th September 1945
My first day off for two months-I stayed in bed till 3 pm and now, completely refreshed, I’m on my little balcony with forest all round. The berries and rosehips are scarlet, indicative of a sharp winter, but the sun is shining at present, although there is a distinct nip in the air. The sections of paling fences, which are erected to prevent the snow drifting across the roads, are being piled in readiness" This winter our DPs will have adequate food, shelter and clothing, if insufficient heating. For some it will be the first winter out of prison for ten or eleven years and we are anxious to make it as comfortable and happy as possible.
I shall again endeavour to give you some news of interest from this community, which is still teeming with life, activity and problems. It is such a place of contradictions that sometimes I wonder if the world will ever be sane again.
I have sixteen UNRRA nurses on my staff today, including myself, but that won’t last long as they are being changed so frequently. The more we set right in the hospital, the more there appears to be to do, it is just endless and sometimes hopeless to achieve anything. Take the question of linen—when we came, all the linen for the Camp Hospitals and other Departments was sent from the Army laundry to woolworths and distributed to those units requiring it. One just went as often as one liked and asked for what was wanted. First come first served and no questions asked, sort of thing. Well, that was alright as long as the supply lasted, but, as I have told you, when one has been without clothes for five to six years or more, what does a sheet or two and German ones at that, matter? And so the supply dwindled and the source dried up. When we took over the hospital I found there was practically nothing in the hospital linen room and not much more on the beds. The linen room was in the charge of a British Sergeant and there was a constant stream of German Nurses (and others) supposedly exchanging article for article, but no record was kept. Did I tell you that in one month 10 000 sheets were missing? And that was soon after we took over and found the cupboard practically bare.
I put a Sister in charge of the linen and we removed two of the three Hungarian soldiers who lounged there and engaged a Russian girl, who has lived in Germany many years. We drew up linen requisition slips which now come to my office every morning. We have barricaded the door and keep records. Our shelves are not so bare, although there are still some leakages and we can’t be there all the time. We managed to get a supply of new sheets recently and have marked them in the centre and at both ends with some marking ink from London. We’ve had all mending sorted but have no thread and only one needle. The Polish DP tailor we engaged to do the repairs absconded the next day with an electric iron belonging to our Polish QM! Then we found four machines, a German sewing woman and a reel of thread. The seamstress broke the one needle and hasn’t been seen since! Our third attempt is now being made. This week we found we had lost 1000 hand towels since the last count and are sure it happens in the laundry. I have just received dozens of long cotton underpants, which at a pinch would do as pyjamas, and some yellow flannelette bed jackets which will do for the Maternity ward.
The blankets are another anxiety for they are a source of a brisk tailoring industry, as well as smart berets, shopping bags and forage caps. Winter is ahead and we know coal will be short so we are trying to hoard all blankets. Our QM found some on his shopping expedition last week, so we have a nice roomful now and soon will see that each patient again has three on his bed. We have decided to note the number of sheets and blankets on the board bearing the patient’s name and nationality, which is at the head of each bed, and see if that works. The Continentals do not as a rule tuck the upper bed-clothes in, but we are going to encourage them to do so—it would be warmer and less easy for friends to slip away with a blanket at visiting times!
Did I tell you 20 000 DPs are expected to be in the Camp for the winter? How they will exist cooped up in the intense cold with a shortage of fuel and nothing to do I cannot imagine. Of course there are always the trees in the forests which can be chopped down to yield firewood, I suppose.
Warm clothes are in very short supply, consequently our blankets will be in greater demand as time goes on, and Klipsi, Klipsi is the order of the day. On doing rounds the other day one of my male patients was happily sitting on his bed with scissors and thread and a smart pair of half made pantaloons in dark grey blanket, which he proudly displayed. What could one do but admire such innocent enterprise?
We were given twenty-five cases of US layettes a couple of weeks ago. I was in my element. We had them conveyed into an empty room and got the Hungarians up to open six only, while we stood there. We removed the contents from two and did not open the packing of the others. I personally locked the door and window. Next day all six cases had been opened and eight lovely US blankets were missing. They were at the bottom and the Hungarians were the only ones who knew they were there. They may, of course, have been pilfered during packing in the USA!
Please don’t think all the DPs are really dishonest, but it is just the reaction after so much deprivation and concentration camp life. The problem is that some, having lost their sense of values, may spend their lives in and out of trouble when they move to their own or other countries.
Two patients with diphtheria awaiting transfer to the infectious ward went out for a walk with a crowd of their girlfriends yesterday and it was several hours before they were located. I often wish I could spend much more time in the wards talking to the patients, but you can see how very busy my days are. These people are so very interesting and friendly and most grateful for all that is being done for them, and love to feel we are interested in them. As the days go on we hear more and more tales of their experiences.
I have some crayon drawings one man did for me. They have been photographed so I shall send you some copies. They were drawn by F. Tannenbaum, a Polish Jew born in Germany, twenty-eight years old and a teacher of languages. He left Germany in 1933, and was arrested by the Gestapo in Madrid, and spent ten years in four concentration camps. He has pulmonary Tb but is walking round and looks after the wireless programmes, assists in the welfare department, and is always coming to my office asking for new clothes. He was liberated by the Americans and then came to Belsen en route to Italy, where he has some friends, but missed the transport and so remained here. In these drawings he depicted various happenings in the concentration camps. He was at Auschwitz No. 174342, Lubin, Maidanek, and Belsen. The drawings are descriptive of his experiences, but tragic. He has all the fingers of his left hand and some on the right hand off at the second joints—the result of frostbite whilst in the camps.
I was invited to be Godmother to an Italian baby, born here on 2nd September. Little Ameri-go Koppa is a fine wee lad and the ceremony went off well. He was called Ameri-go because his mother was liberated by the Americans, before coming to Belsen. The priest from the Vatican Mission officiated and Ameri-go behaved nicely when the water was poured over his head. The ceremony was interesting, the first Roman Catholic one I have attended; the Godfather, who was an Italian DP, held the baby’s feet while I held the head. The baby’s father died seven months before he was born. The trouble was to find a suitable gift—an American nurse on my staff produced at the eleventh hour a religious medal, which I placed on cotton wool in a match box covered with white paper and enclosed a monetary gift. The mother, resplendent in one of the canary flannelette jackets, sat up in bed and surveyed the ceremony. Both have now gone home and I wonder if I, the child’s Godmother, shall ever see him again.
Met a Hungarian doctor today who had done very good work in the Camp both before and since liberation—she was in Auschwitz and told me that the German SS Commander there kept dwarfs and twins as a hobby.
Our hospital is quite interesting at present, we have on an average twenty-five operations per week, from gall bladders to trephines. Some of our patients have been in need of surgical treatment for years. Our surgeon is a German whom I do not like or trust and we always have an anxious time on operation days. He would just arrive at the theatre and say he would operate on so-and-so. We now have an operation list, which must be ready by 4.30 pm the previous day, and the patients are properly prepared. Of course my theatre Sister, Miss Vanderwell, is always present to supervise, and when possible an UNRRA Medical Officer keeps his eye on things and I wander in and out at times.
It has been quite interesting preparing new requisition slips for linen, medical and surgical supplies, hardware, cleaning materials, and stationery, etc. We are terribly short of stock, and before I did this there was a constant and daily stream to each store with all and sundry picking and choosing and, as I said before, no questions asked. I have also worked out an average of soap and cleaning materials required for each ward and issue them once weekly, and have taken over the surgical supply stores from the British sergeant. The 3000 Russians who are patients in the Squares at present had priority in the latter for some unknown reason and had pretty well cleared out the stock before we took control. Now my Canadian assistant is the big chief and holds the key.
Thermometers are practically extinct—only three to one hundred Tb patients at present—1 have none left in stock, very few in the other wards, and no further supplies available as far as we can see. The German nurses did not attempt to even record dangerous drugs administered. Now I have had treatment forms printed and hope to control things better.
I commenced to tell you how interesting it all is. We have patients with typhus, typhoid, meningitis, diphtheria, scarlet fever, osteomyelitis, and a number of babies with gastro-enteritis at present, and of course many still with pulmonary Tb and other medical complaints.
I am now setting up a new children’s and a sick babies’ ward. Had some patchwork quilts and knitted coverlets given me from England and they do brighten up the cots. We are looking for some pictures for the walls and have collected a few odd toys. I am also having bed socks, jackets and mittens made by the DP welfare workers (who were in Camp 1), and my layette sets have lovely cream blankets for the maternity ward. We have thirty-eight beds there and the same number of cots—British Tommy pattern—so expect a busy time! The stork has been busy and they say there are 500 pregnant women in camp at present.
One night we went into Celle, a quaint town on the River Aller, some three-quarters of an hour’s drive from here, across Luneberg Heath, and our nearest British Army PO for purchasing stamps and air letters. We hear that Kramer of the Horror Camp and a number of his male and female fellow creatures were imprisoned there until removed recently to Luneberg for the grand trial. The house of Hanover is situated on the side of a lake in Celle and we were invited to a concert by the RAF in the private theatre of the great yellow Schloss, wherein the late 16th Century William Duke of Luneberg and progenitor of the Royal House of Hanover and Windsor lived. Built like an opera house, the theatre has three tiers of circular galleries in white and gold with crimson curtains, carpets and uphoistering, and a lovely crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The performers were Germans and we wondered how Paule Lampe felt when playing our National Anthem. It sounded grand in that German Theatre! One pianist, Gertrud Wehl-Rosenfeld, an icily aloof female whose technique was perfect but whose playing lacked feeling, refused to play one of the items listed as variations in D Major Op 76 by Beethoven and said it was a mistake on the programme. I cannot remember if it is the work with the theme on which the Victory song we heard so often over the air during the war is based-but somehow think that was one of his symphonies—anyway, she refused to play it for some reason and substituted a composition I did not know.
We have just heard that the UNRRA training centre in France has been closed for investigation by CIB 1. There are over 1000 people there and it is rumoured there have been many arrests. In an international organisation such as this, so hurriedly got together, there are bound to be some whose scruples are not up to standard-some personnel who are unsuitable, others incompetent and others who openly state that they do not intend to work. That makes it increasingly difficult for those who are nearly distracted because they can’t get on with the job they came to do. However, one would imagine that this could have been avoided because they were careful enough regarding our credentials, goodness only knows! When I think how I sat up till 2 am filling in those minutely detailed forms on which I had to state my life history and all salary received since I commenced earning! They must have been staggered in Washington in these days of soaring salaries to read that I began my teaching career at the age of sixteen on £25 per year, plus fares.
The UNRRA Welfare Officer, a Czech woman, had arrived at last, but unfortunately has been appointed Hospital registrar. Her husband, who had been in the Horror Camp, died after liberation, on the day before she arrived to see him. It was very sad; she has one girl at school in England.
Except for three DP girls working under a French welfare worker from the Vatican Mission, we have had no one to take that burden from our shoulders. The patients lack occupation and we have practically no handcraft supplies, needles, cottons or materials. There is little reading matter available either. A number of Polish books did arrive but when censored were found to be mostly political propaganda, so were banned. The patients are very clever with their fingers and have made some attractive things from scraps and threads drawn from towels, blankets, and other odd bits of material we can find. We all hope some supplies will be forthcoming soon, for at this time when occupation is as important as nursing care, productive occupation could be organised so easily. Half my patients sit all day long with idle hands and are capable and anxious to help. They have made knitting needles from bicycle spokes and knit gauze strips into lovely brushed pullovers. Do you think you could collect me some felt, leather, chamois, coloured silks and thread, raffia, cotton, needles, etc., so that some of these clever fingers will find occupation for the winter? One of the patients recently made the SMO and me lovely baskets of heather gathered in the woods, and another gave me some heather framed like a picture, as a memento. These tokens of appreciation are so spontaneous and mean so much.
There are so many of the ordinary things to be done, which we take for granted in our well-established hospitals. It is intensely interesting, if only we had time and sufficient supervisory staff to assist. There was no regular system of admissions previously and patients admitted and discharged themselves—and still do! We had numbers who returned several times from the Camp to our nice comfortable hospital with wireless, good food, and freedom to sleep in the fields all night or bring their friends home to bed as they desired. We gradually instituted visiting hours, but they still go out. Some acute Tbs still wander in their pyjamas in the wet—they like it—they have been so used to it for so long and this freedom means so much to them.
Talking of our hospital pyjamas—they are the same as the convict garb worn in the Horror Camp and some of the patients hate them. Now I am trying to arrange to have them dyed; even if they turn out navy blue, they’d prefer them to the broad, dark blue and white stripes that remind them of so much. They don’t seem to feel the cold, their bodies must have been adjusted in those awful years. They like the blankets, however, just as much as ever, and only today, we have since been told by another patient, a visitor walked off with one tucked under his arm. The ensemble suits with beret to match in pale grey look very smart and are much more interesting than blankets!
A gift to Muriel Doherty from one of the patients at Belsen: heather framed like a picture
The Chief Nursing Officer, Allied Control Commission, called on me the other day and brought with her Frau Oberin Von Oetzen, Matron in Chief, German Red Cross Nursing Sisterhood, and Frau Oberin Vollman, her assistant. Both quite charming women to meet, but I could not help thinking all the time how steeped in Nazi cult the Red Cross was. The ACC is endeavouring to find those nurses who were not tainted and it is hard to believe the Matron in Chief could have held her position without being initiated. The Chief Nursing Officer’s job is to assist them with the de-Nazification and reconstruction of their nursing services—what a job!
There’s something going on behind the scenes at present and we won’t be surprised if we suddenly find that we are turned into a training school for German nurses. We are rather concerned—even if we did agree to undertake it, it would be a thankless job; it is difficult enough now to improve their bedside nursing, which is becoming worse and is probably a manifestation of passive resistance. I don’t think I could train German nurses—I didn’t volunteer for that. Even though it might be said it would improve the treatment received by the patients, I don’t agree, because we are too few to supervise it.
We have another SS man in hospital, a nasty piece of work, under double guard day and night. He has about six known murders to his credit, I believe, and has endeavoured to convince the UNRRA nurses that he is such an innocent cherub that he would like to join our unit when he is demobilised. We have doubled our vigilance! I believe they all have the SS emblem tattooed in the axilla—but I’ve not seen it. One of the patients, knowing this, was responsible for the arrest of an SS man who had been admitted under another guise not very long ago.
I have been here two months now and it seems years—none of us knows how long we shall remain, but we hear the Poles will be with us for the winter, or at any rate those who cannot, or will not, return to Poland.
I went to Hamburg last Tuesday. The RAF did their work well. Tense atmosphere, hostile glances from the pasty-faced, apathetic, skinny German inhabitants. Nothing in the shops worth buying, but it was interesting. We had tea at the British Officers’ Club in a large hotel and crossed the River Elbe several times in our journeyings. Whole areas of the city are in ruins and no cleaning up done yet. They say Berlin is even worse.
Today I have 112 trained German nurses and nineteen German Nurse Helps—nine of the trained nurses are Red Cross Wehrmacht nurses. All the uniforms are very untidy. I believe when the German nurses were first brought in, the DPs purloined a large number of their clothes, and the British Army Matron scoured the country for replacements, hence the motley collection.
Aprons of all varieties, ancient and modern; caps not so bad, as the pattern of the majority is similar and really quite smart. However, the hair is worn at all lengths and angles, which does not enhance their appearance, and some caps are worn like onion bags to enclose the hair hanging down the back. I have now arranged for uniforms to be laundered (they have been washing their own) and hope for better things. Then there was the question of soap-that priceless commodity. There was no issue for the German nurses and so the wards never had enough! Now we have given authority for the Germans to purchase locally (they get the equivalent of about £2 per month salary). Shoes were another problem—all soles seem to be wooden in Germany now and some of the nurses’ shoes were dreadful. How they walked in them I do not know. We got a supply for them for which they paid.
When we first came here we were told that the UNRRA Medical Director had said that the success of UNRRA in the British Zone depended on the success we made of Belsen. Every one of my staff has risen to this challenge, but we have received little co-operation from UNRRA local HQ to date. The UNRRA nursing staff is quite inadequate for the work we have to do and is to be reduced to twelve, I believe, including myself. I have never had more than sixteen and this only for a day or two.
From the 8000-10 000 patients who were at Belsen when I arrived, we are now reduced to 500. Evacuations have taken place, sometimes at the rate of 350 a day or more, to Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and Sweden. The last of the children went to Sweden at the end of July and a number have died, so that their hospital is closed. The Round House is also closed, as you know, and the Squares are still invaded by some 3000 of the Red Army—nearly all men from the Ruhr with Tb. These are nursed by German nurses but we have nothing to do with them.
UNRRA is responsible for the Glyn Hughes Hospital and its annexes. The patients now are nearly all Poles and Jews, with a few Italians, Czechs, Lithuanians and Yugoslavs. Many will never leave. When I took over, my job was to reorganise an emergency hospital into a normal institution—and what a heartbreaking undertaking with a handful of UNRRA nurses! Eight of my staff at present are Public Health nurses with no experience in and little desire for hospital nursing. They were very surprised and disappointed when they found they were assigned to Belsen Hospital and not to field jobs. However, they have been a marvellous help whilst awaiting re-assignment, but it does not make things easy to have constant change, especially when so many of the staff are inexperienced in hospital administration and used to a nine-to-five day.
Later: 18th September 1945
We were invited by the Central Jewish Committee, Culture Department to its first concert the other evening. It was held in connection with their New Year Festivities on 15th September, for which we are endeavouring to collect sufficient candles for each patient to have one on his locker.
Although tragic, it was very well done. Most of the scenes and plays depicted episodes from their Concentration Camp Life and their persecution. The Gael (Messiah), by Emile Bernhart, was depicted by a Jew hiding in a cellar, and The Mother’s Dance, by Doli Kotz, showed a mother in a Concentration Camp after the death of her baby. The Tailors, by Lulbak, with eight performers, told a tale of past and future, and the entire company produced the Kazet Theatre—showing how the inmates of a Concentration Camp kept their spirits up with music after the SS guards had left them without food or light.
We knew it was all so real—and what suffering!
There certainly is a great national awakening to their own rights and one wonders where it will lead them—I feel many who have not known these people under these conditions may never understand.
I am looking forward to the food parcels which I hear are arriving shortly in large numbers from my friends in Australia. We have sufficient food ourselves from our Army rations; margarine and occasionally butter, no eggs or egg powder, nor fresh milk, but plenty of potatoes and occasional fresh vegetables and always vitamin tablets. Some Australian luxuries for the sick patients will be lovely, but we ourselves are very well fed. I tried to get a special issue of butter for the UNRRA nurses on the grounds that they were nursing Tb patients but was unsuccessful.
Life is exceedingly interesting and exceedingly busy at present-never a dull moment. Weddings, christenings, dances, concerts, sports and open-air entertainment—always something going on in and around the Hospital.
My German progresses slowly, my French conversation with Mademoiselle Jorlan, Welfare Officer of the Vatican Mission, is grand as long as I remain silent, and you can imagine how voluble my chats with my Italian godson were. Our housekeeper, who arrived so late, has done practically nothing since she came and is leaving tomorrow, complete with dog! It is apparently taken for granted that I shall be in charge of the Mess, but I have been firm in asserting that the Matron is not responsible for a mixed mess (in more ways than one) and certainly I’m much too busy to be conducting a residential restaurant for every odd UNRRA transient driver or member on leave who comes along to have a look at Belsen, as they frequently do!
The electricity and water still go off two or three times a day, and the light is failing now so will finish this.
Later
The trial of the SS man from Belsen opened in Luneberg on 17th September. The one we had under double guard in hospital with post—typhus complications has been transferred there. He is a perfect specimen of brutality.
The curfew tolls at 10.30 pm now and the guards have orders to shoot to kill. We have a special pass if out after that time, but we don’t take any risks. We nearly always have someone in Hospital under guard these days. This is a copy of one of the latest notice posted:
MILITARY GOVERNMENT—GERMANY—BRITISH ZONE
Attention All Displaced Persons
LAW AND ORDER WILL BE MAINTAINED
1. British troops have been ordered to SHOOT TO KILL any person no matter what nationality, who is found committing any crime, or tries to evade arrest.
2. More extensive measures of control are being taken during the hours of darkness.
3. All persons must assist in combating lawlessness. Information which will lead to the arrest of culprits must be given to the proper authorities.
4. CRIME means any act against the peace, the property, and well being of any person or the community as a whole.
5 The curfew which extends from 22.30 hours to 04.30 hours until April 1946 applies to all persons irrespective of nationality. No one must be out of doors during these times unless in possession of a Military Government Exemption Certificate.
YOU ARE WARNED!
_______________
1 RASC is believed to be an abbreviation for The Royal Army Sanitary Corp.
1 Lottie Burns was a member of the German nursing staff at Belsen from May to September 1945.
