Pal Bacs read in German by Cornelius Obonya

Slowly, but sadly without ceasing, we went on dying. Our leader on this march was an SS captain, who rode on his bicycle behind us. Even on the very first day, we already resembled corpses. Uphill and downhill we went. We were followed by the German wagons, which were laden with food and all manner of other things that they wanted to save. We spent the first night in a huge meadow. This stretched all the way to a border village. We thought that we were alone, but we were mistaken; there were many thousands of people assembled on that meadow. My father was unspeakably tired. I even had to carry his rucksack. We huddled together in this field to keep warm.

At 5 a.m. in the morning, the whole company got moving. We continued along the forest track in our countless rows. We couldn’t use the main road as we would have hampered the German withdrawal. Our route was much shorter travelling this way, but much more tiring. With no clear path to follow, we had to clamber over mountain ranges that not even a tourist would have tackled. But on we went, even though we were exhausted in both body and soul. The food supplies gradually ran out but our brigadiers didn’t worry about that. “Just keep going – onwards,” was the perennial refrain, regardless of our questions. So we left towns and villages behind us, the same as when we travelled by train. I helped to keep my father alive in body and soul, by talking to him about home the whole way. What there was at home and what would be there when we got home. Because, we had to get home. Above all, we wanted to show the Germans that we would get home.

I swore that I didn’t want to be a pathfinder anymore: I couldn’t stand any more walking – I’d had enough walking. I would fill the rest of my days with reading, learning and eating well. I started making plans of all the things I would eat. My father started making plans too. For example, when we get our apartment back, we will furnish it in such and such a fashion. And it was with conversations like this one that we passed the days.

We received very little to eat – on one day we only ate in the evening. We didn’t see any bread over the coming days. We reached our accommodation for the night at 3 p.m. We laid down immediately and tried to ease our fatigue. I came to the conviction that the Lord God must especially love us Jews. We marched for three whole weeks without arriving at any permanent accommodation. Throughout this whole period, it didn’t rain at all, not a single drop. It was a relief as otherwise it would have been even more unbearable for us. At some point in the afternoon one day, we arrived at a meadow that was to be our accommodation for the day. A car brought along some warm food for us. Everyone received two ladles full. Up until that day, we had had nothing to eat for four whole days. A terrible fight broke out around the car. At the time, Hungarian police officers were keeping guard over us. I fought, too, for a piece of the action. And I got it too – not just the soup but a beating with a rifle butt. But I was fortunate to get a full mess tin of soup.

And gradually the “Death Convoy” came closer to its destination. We approached the Alps. A winding road led over the ridge to the other side of the mountain. Down below, at the foot of the mountain, we were in glorious sunshine. We began the climb. It took us between five and six hours to reach the ridge. The weather changed. We found ourselves in a terrible blizzard. We were not prepared for the cold and ice up at the top of the mountain. We ended up frozen to the bone. But not for long. The SS made sure that we didn’t freeze – by making us run down the other side of the mountain. The path was smooth, slippery and icy and we were all thin, weak and tired from our two weeks of marching. And we had to run, without stopping. If anyone stopped, they were lost, they died. The thugs’ guns were never silent. Anyone who couldn’t manage to run was left behind the group and was already done for. The shots of the submachine guns rang out ceaselessly. Durr… Durr… Durr… – and seven people lost their lives. A group of around 300 men were mown down by a machine gun hidden in the forest. 300 families were left without a father.

But not everyone died. There were some who only had an injured foot or had taken an SS bullet to the stomach and had simply fallen down. Blood flowed from their mouths, ears and wounds, but their bodies were still warm, they were still alive. We leaped over the bodies of the dead and the wounded. I had just one single plea: Good God I beg you, help me, help me or I will die! And we didn’t stop but just kept leaping over everyone. Even at that very moment, I once again ran past a wounded person because I caught sight of an SS soldier. He put his machine gun to the wounded man’s head and pulled the trigger. The man’s skull burst into pieces.

It all happened before my eyes. I thought this is it, I can’t bear it any longer. But something inside me kept whispering: Don’t give up! And I didn’t give up. I had two rucksacks on my back, the blankets over one arm and I was supporting my father with the other. We ran down the hillside like we were demented. In that moment, I believed that I had gone mad. My poor father whispered to me: “I can’t go on, my son, God be with you! I will sit down – let them shoot me!” I didn’t let go. I pulled him behind me like a child. When I looked round, I noticed that there was no one behind us anymore. We had fallen away from the group. The two of us ran down to the main road, where an SS soldier suddenly appeared at a bend in the road. “We can carry on, we’re OK,” we said to him. “You don’t need to shoot at us,” we stammered at him but he took no notice of us. He was occupied with another task – looting a corpse. Suddenly I felt a terrible shot. I thought I’d stumble and fall. It turned out they had shot through my trousers. Thank God the bullet did not find its mark!

We kept running, even faster this time, and caught up with a group, who we then continued running with. The gully along the edge of the road ran with blood instead of rainwater. At total of 1,000 men lost their lives on the death march over the Alps that day. We were ordered to a halt just before Eisenerz. And we remained there until evening. A whole load of German trucks pulled up and the corpses were thrown into them. Just you wait, you villains. If not us, then the Lord God will punish you.

The next day, 30 men were promised double rations in return for carrying out a task. Their job was to dig graves for the corpses and bury them. But they were also digging their own graves as they were then pushed into them by the SS troops. It turns out that Petöfi [note: Hungarian poet and freedom fighter of the 1848 Hungarian Revolution] was right when he said: “Hungarians, do not believe or trust any Germans.”

At midday, we carried on. We felt under immense nervous strain. “Have you seen Zuchert?” we asked everyone. He was a good friend of ours who had disappeared. We walked for a long time that day. Our commander told us that we were being brought to a large camp. Everything would be good for us there. We would just have to work. That was fine by us, we just wanted this terrible march to end.

One day, we ended up walking all night. Crossing the Ennsbrücke bridge, we fell over one another in the pitch-black night. The Germans kept pushing us onwards. It was already 11 p.m. and we were still walking. We had the feeling that we would soon arrive at the camp we had been told about. Around a huge bend in the road, we glimpsed a heavily illuminated camp – finally! We were really pleased because we assumed that this was where we would stay. We went through the town. The town sign read: MAUTHAUSEN

The road ended at the entrance to the camp. There was a large barrier there, and above the gate there was a large, illuminated skull motif. Everywhere we looked, we saw only SS soldiers. It was a terrible sight. We went through the gate, which closed behind us. We lined up in rows of five in the camp. We were counted. One hundred people – they said – march in. Everything had to happen very quickly. My father gathered his last remaining strength but still couldn’t go any further. We were left behind. An SS soldier came up to us, and when he saw Father had a stick, he made as if to strike him with an iron rod. But his blow did not reach its target as I threw myself in the way. Then we started running. The barracks we had been assigned were not empty anymore. We immediately lay down on the bare ground and fell asleep straightaway. We had reached the absolute limits of our exhaustion.

It wasn’t until the next morning that we discovered the full extent of our situation. Those who had arrived at the camp already came to see if there was anyone they knew among our number. I was also looking to see if I could find any of our acquaintances when Father heard someone calling for Kapo Bacs. What do you know, we thought, perhaps it’s Uncle Geza. I asked where I could find Kapo Bacs. They told me and I went straight there. And there he was, lying in the barracks with his friends and talking to them. At first he didn’t notice me. So I shouted: “Uncle Geza!” Then he raised his head and spotted me. My joy was indescribable. […] Straightaway, he got dressed and came over to my father. I don’t think I could describe the happiness on their faces when they saw one another. Uncle Geza gave us each a piece of bread, which we gobbled down ravenously straightaway. We hadn’t eaten for three days by that point. May God reward him! He immediately made arrangements for us to be included in his group of one hundred. We moved into his barracks as well. Then we had a wash and Father had a shave. I wrapped his injured foot with a bandage. When the rations were dished out, we were given proper food for the first time. And that’s how we spent the first day.

But the next day we heard that there wasn’t enough space for all of us so some prisoners would be transferred. Unfortunately, we were among those being relocated. Early the next morning, we packed our things because we had to travel even further. We were told that we had to walk around 80 km. We were being sent to a new camp, where we would be the first inmates. We lined up in rows of five again. We were in the front row with Uncle Geza. We marched out of the camp arm in arm. And of course without anything at all to eat. We walked for three days. On the final day, I couldn’t manage to carry Father’s rucksack anymore. So various members of our hundred-strong group took turns carrying it. We had been the first group of the fifth hundred-strong group and now we found ourselves at the back. My father was suddenly squeezed out of the ranks, leaving him forced to walk next to the group, which meant we got left behind by them. When we reached the back of the procession, we were interrogated by a German. He told us in no uncertain terms that we would not be long for this world if we dawdled behind again. Somehow we pushed ourselves forward again to rejoin our group. We felt much safer there … After three days of marching, we reached Gunskirchen.

The main road led through a huge primordial forest. The camp was located around 3–4 km into the forest. The construction of the camp had not yet been completed. There were just 1–2 finished barracks there. These were built entirely of wood. Their capacity was around 800–1,000 people. They had stone floors inside.

We were transferred to the third barracks. The crowding was terrible in the camp itself. Between 1,500 and 2,400 people were crammed into these barracks. But we secured a good spot. Uncle Geza saw to that.

We had to wake up at 6 am. And then present ourselves for roll call at 6.30 am. Each group of hundred was counted to make sure no one was missing. There was thick mud in the roll call area, so nobody was very keen to leave the barracks. In these cases, people were forced out of the huts by an SS officer wielding a whip. Burkus also whipped us out, even though he was a Jew himself. After the roll call, we were given our breakfast of black coffee. We had no idea what made it so black, but one thing is certain: it was terribly bitter. We did nothing until 4 p.m. Bread was distributed at midday. It took 3–4 hours for it to be handed out. It was unloaded from a vehicle and then allocated to the barracks. A lot of the bread was stolen of course, so that took up a lot of time as well. First the bread was issued to the barracks (2,400 people) together with the block (500 people). Then it was dished out to the group of one hundred (100 people) and finally to the individuals (one person). Sadly the bread was never whole loaves – it was just crumbs or pieces. The bread in particular had to be shared equally. Each week we received 1.40 kilos of bread. And a piece of margarine as well. The margarine weighed 10–20 grams. When we ate, everything would be eaten up immediately. In the afternoons, we were given fodder beet soup. Around 400 millilitres of lukewarm, sweet soup with one or two snippets of fodder beet floating in it. It was abominable – but we fought over it at the time. Then another roll call, after which we went to bed. This was what our days consisted of.

Anyone who could get their hands on some extra bread would do so. One of Uncle Geza’s friends – Kallos – fell ill with typhus so didn’t eat his bread. This ration was kept in a separate sack. Uncle Geza regularly helped himself to the surplus bread. He too was hungry of course. If he can eat that bread, then surely I can too, I thought to myself. On two or three occasions, I took bread from that sack and ate it. Uncle Geza noticed and he was very angry about it. He shouted that one of us was a thief. But, in reality, he was just angry because he’d been deprived of eating that bread himself. One day, he worked out that it was me who’d taken the bread from the sack. As for how he punished me, it’s too terrible to write down.

When we went to fetch water, we had to line up in rows. I didn’t want to line up for water because of the abscess on my foot, even though my father was asking for water. Uncle Geza found out about this and barbarously beat me up. He would beat up anyone in these kinds of situations, even elderly men. And that’s despite the fact that he would have just had to say the word, and he would have received plenty of water. But no, I still had to fetch water.

My father’s condition began to deteriorate. We used a handkerchief to create a makeshift patch for his left eye as he was seeing double. He was frequently on the verge of a nervous breakdown. One time, when he was washing himself, he suddenly began lashing out and throwing things around. His face was unrecognisable. I was really afraid of him.

Uncle Geza paid precious little attention to him. The only thing he did do was ensure that a doctor came to give my father digitalis [note: foxglove, a plant that was frequently used to treat heart conditions]. Those days were very tough for me. I talked to Uncle Geza a lot about home. During these conversations, he boasted that he had everything and we had nothing. I found this humiliation extremely painful. But what could I do?

On 2 May, the news spread that the Americans were just 10–20 km away from where we were. We knew that this was the most critical time for us. We would either be slaughtered or liberated.

Early in the morning, we noticed a huge amount of engine noise. We ran outside the barracks and saw above us four colossal aeroplanes with American emblems on them. Suddenly, these aeroplanes dropped five or six parachutes, which swayed delicately in the air before falling to the ground a short distance away from the camp. I didn’t know what would happen to us. Throughout the rest of the day, we heard constant artillery fire somewhere nearby. The ‘insiders’ and the ‘well-informed’ naturally knew what was happening. Then, eventually, we heard the official news. In the huts, we were feverish with excitement. Everyone was occupied with different thoughts:\
Were we going home now? Were we really being liberated etc. etc.? There was no end to our speculation … Finally, one of the doctors told us that the SS captain, our camp commander, was surrendering his camp to the Americans on the condition that they rescue him personally. Towards 3 p.m., he went with the Jewish camp leader Dr Weimann out onto the main road, towards the American troops. At the same time, white flags were raised at the entrance to the camp and on the roofs of the barracks.

Finally, what the Jews had been hoping and waiting for happened. The liberation came. One small jeep rattled into the camp. An American officer sat in the front of the vehicle, with more American troops behind him. A machine gun was mounted on top of it. Everywhere they went, the soldiers were smothered with kisses by us Jews. In our happiness, we cried: “Long live the Americans!” Afterwards, the car disappeared again and we Jews remained in the camp with no one guarding us. Some people took the German guns for themselves and ran through the camp, while others broke into the food stores.

I also decided to take Uncle Geza’s mess tin and see what I could find. But there was nothing left in the immediate area. I noticed that everyone was suddenly heading in the same direction. I joined them and discovered that the warehouse had been forced open. Hordes of people were gathered outside the food stores intercepting anyone who came out carrying provisions. These unlucky souls then had everything taken off them. With these crowds, I would never have managed to get something to eat. When I finally managed to get something in the mess tin, I was set upon by the mob as well. I had everything taken off me too. In all the jostling, I lost my shoes more than once and also frequently ended up lying on the floor. When I was finally able to jostle free, I too ran into the food store. It was pitch dark in there. I could hear men swearing, fighting and looking for food. In one room, I finally found some bread and margarine. I stuck two loaves of bread in my trousers and left. But I was caught by the mob. They ripped my trousers and took my booty from me. I tried again a few times but I never managed to escape from the store with any supplies. On my final time in the food store, I sat down and ate a whole load of bread with margarine. I figured that way, nobody could take it off me. I was terribly full. And I was just frustrated that I was so inept and incapable that I couldn’t manage to get out of the warehouse with a single loaf of bread. When I came out of the warehouse, I found a fodder beet and contented myself with that.

My father didn’t know where I was, but Uncle Geza guessed where I had been. I was convinced that they’d retired for the night already, that they were sleeping already – but I was mistaken. The candle was still burning and they were talking. When I told them of my adventure, they laughed at me. We talked until midnight. Lots of people came to speak to Uncle Geza, particularly those who had a lot of affection for him.

Uncle Geza had decided that he would go home with his friend Kallos the next day. When my father raised the objection that something like that should be discussed with the others, Uncle Geza forbade it. The two of them took their leave of us the next day and left the camp.

That same day, the number of inhabitants in the camp almost halved. We slept in until midday and then got dressed. Some time later, an American truck arrived with food. They gave out tins of meat to us from large cardboard boxes. My father didn’t queue up for the food because he was already unwell by that stage. I managed to get three tins. Father was given two. We ate two tins immediately, which gave us the shits.

The Germans had to clean the barracks. The bodies were removed. The entire camp was cleaned. The Americans also brought medicines with them. The sick were examined by doctors and those who needed hospital treatment were taken to nearby hospitals. My father was also referred for hospital treatment. The Americans didn’t want to send me to a hospital but as my father had already been flagged for treatment, I was too. They weren’t able to provide transport for us that same day but we would be moved the next day. Before we set off, we were given a breakfast of coffee with milk and rice pudding. For lunch, we had pea puree with minced meat and then tinned cheese in the evening.

Earlier on [note: probably before lunch], the ambulance waited outside our barracks and we got in. We were taken to the hospital.

We travelled very comfortably in the vehicle. We opened the tinned meat and ate it. First, we were taken to Wels and then afterwards to Linz. There was no space in any of the hospitals. Finally, we pulled up at Hermann-Göring-Lazarett military hospital. After a short wait, they carried us onto a lawn. There we undressed completely and placed our belongings on a pile. Then we were smeared with an oily liquid. We were given clean hospital clothing and pointed in the direction of a nice, empty hospital barracks. There we found bunk beds with decent springs and mattresses. We found comfortable spots next to each other.

At first, we were looked after by Italians. During this period, my health was not the best. I had a fever of 40 degrees. While my father was still able to walk, he looked after me. Then I was moved into the military hospital itself, where I was properly looked after. When I later returned to the hospital barracks, healthy again and no longer suffering from fever, my father had deteriorated significantly. He could barely climb out of bed. He could only eat a tiny amount, even though the food was very good: rice pudding, mashed potatoes – but my father didn’t want any of it.

We received parcels from the American Red Cross with the following contents: condensed milk, chocolate, cocoa, various tinned foods and cigarettes. These parcels were shared one between two, which meant I had a whole one to share with my father. My father just ate some of the chocolate, nothing else. The best American cigarettes were no use to him – he didn’t smoke anymore. I swapped the cigarettes for some food. Every day, my father’s condition worsened. He couldn’t eat anymore and couldn’t stand up either, that’s how weak his body had become. His heart only beat very faintly. The constant strain on his nerves meant that he was always on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was ill with TB. One week before his death, he couldn’t speak and had lost his hearing. It was terribly tough for me. One day, at lunch, he created a huge scene for no reason at all. He hadn’t eaten anything but he suddenly started shouting at me: “Do you want to kill me, you murderer!” Although I wanted nothing but the best for him, I stood there completely clueless and forlorn, only seventeen years old and with a father at death’s door away from home. I went to the doctor for advice. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing more we can do,” he said. “In another day or two he will be dead.” I scarcely left his bed during those last two days. In vain, he was given vast quantities of medicines and injections, but nothing helped. He wet the bed every day. But towards the end, he didn’t even do that, probably because he couldn’t eat anymore. On his final day, he was like a living corpse. Just his heart continued beating weakly, the rest of him was already dead. I covered his face with a blanket so he wouldn’t be bothered by flies and also because I could no longer bear to look at his face. He was completely transformed and emaciated – where had my strong and handsome father gone? He lay there like a skeleton, even though he was still breathing. Two or three days before he died, he told me that, if I could, I should go home. It’s quite possible that he realised what was happening to him, because he didn’t speak of home again.

On 7 June 1945, a Thursday, at about 4 p.m. in the afternoon, he was barely breathing anymore. The doctor came with the nurses. I stood right next to his bed. The doctor felt his pulse. It might have been 5 p.m. when the doctor said: “He’s dead.” The doctor held a mirror under my father’s nose but there was no breath to cloud it. He was strapped to the stretcher so that he wouldn’t fall off. His face seemed to be wearing a slight smile. He was covered with a sheet on the stretcher and carried to the mortuary. I almost keeled over with the pain and from crying. I felt stabbing pains in my heart that were so intense they took me outside for fresh air and gave me heart stimulants. Despite this, I walked behind the stretcher. I alone accompanied my father on his final journey.

Dear Father! If I have grieved you with something then forgive me now as you leave this Earth. Your body may be resting in a foreign land but your soul will always be at home – it will always be wherever your remaining family members have some small place to stay. You will watch over the lives of your wife and only child and protect us for eternity. Rest in peace.