I’d felt more than a moment of panic. I was at the Neuengamme Concentration Camp in Bergdorf, Germany and had spent the last two hours listening to survivor stories and looking at photos.
I’d seen the basement cave where prisoners were crammed together to make cloth.
The cold parade ground where prisoners had roll call every day was cold and wind swept. Even in my duvet coat and winter hat I felt the cold. What had the prisoners felt in their striped uniforms without any protection from the elements? The handwritten death book brought home individuals who died.
The medical lab was used to experiment with tuberculosis on children. They were murdered at the end of the war to keep the secret of the experiments.
A weeping willow still stood near one wall. The French prisoners were forced to raise food, although their own meals were coffee and a roll of breakfast, watery soup for lunch and coffee for dinner. Many died for causes related to malnutrition.
Concentration camps have been written about for years. It is another thing to see one and feel one. And the reason I was there was to get background for my next novel which deal with the Cap Arcona, a ship where inmates were taken with the idea of scuttling the ship. Instead the British, not knowing who was on it bombed it.
The door was finally open. Unlike the prisoners I could leave and return to my comfortable world.
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1 comment:
This chilled me to the bone. Thanks for sharing. Never will travel there but reading about it is enough for me.
Appreciate your sharing. Thanks.
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