In the internment camps and prisoners of war in Australia.

During World War II, the Australian authorities established a network of camps throughout the country. In these camps, for the period of hostilities, they moved a contingent from those considered unreliable, residents of Australia itself, as well as an unreliable contingent from the British metropolis and colonies. Subsequently, prisoners of war were placed in such camps, as well as an unreliable contingent from countries where hostilities were fought with the participation of the Australian and British armies.

Although this method of working with part of the population was not new to Australia, such camps were set up in the country and in the First world war... True, in the First World War the contingent of such camps was limited; camps were used, as a rule, to identify and develop part of unreliable residents. During the Second World War, all unreliable inhabitants of Australia, by origin from the countries of the opponents of Britain, began to be imprisoned in such camps. This was especially true of the Japanese, they were forcibly sent to such camps. It also applied to Italians, Germans. The camps also included ethnic Finns, Hungarians, former residents of the Russian Empire (more than 30 countries in total), as well as persons who are members of various right-wing Nazi parties.

map of camps in Australia.

In total, during the Second World War, more than 7 thousand residents passed through the camps, of which about 1.5 thousand are British citizens. During the war, there were also more than 8 thousand people in the camps, sent there after the outbreak of hostilities, prisoners of war and citizens of the states where the hostilities were fought.
It should be noted that the living conditions and life of the citizens of Australia and the British colonies differed little from the life and life of prisoners of war. Both of them received the same allowance and lived in the same conditions. Very often they were placed together. The difference was that the prisoners of war did not receive a salary for their work.

an ensemble of Italian prisoners of war at Camp Hay, New South Wales.

a class of German children at Camp 3 Tatura, Victoria.

The camps were located in various repurposed facilities, such as former prisons or old soldiers' camps, and were under the control of the military department. Internees and prisoners of war were involved in various jobs, and they were also allowed to leave the camp. For example, Italian prisoners of war were allowed to leave before the end of hostilities.

a prison-built park at Camp No. 1 Harvey, Western Australia.

interned Japanese and residents of Java while harvesting tomatoes. Camp Galsworthy, New South Wales.

The camps lasted until the very end of the war. The last camp was closed in January 1947. Thereafter, citizens of European descent were allowed to stay to live in Australia. In addition to the prisoners of war, Japanese citizens, there are also some Japanese of Australian origin. They were sent to Japan.

General form residential area at Camp Loveday, South Australia. This camp was one of the largest; during the war, about 5,000 people of various nationalities passed through it. The cultivation of various agricultural crops, tobacco, and the production of various goods were developed in the camp. The internees were engaged in deforestation. The prisoners did many active species recreation, the camp also had its own golf club.

Internment camp

I wondered if the British interned me because my German passport had a swastika stamp on my photo and there was no big red letter J, which means “Jew,” as in the passports of German Jews issued to them after of how I left Germany.

I firmly believed in British justice and was sure that when they figured out who I really was, His Majesty's government would immediately release me to fight together with a common enemy - the Nazis. I wrote to His Majesty the King and Prime Minister Churchill that they made a grave mistake by interning me, a Jew who is impatient to fight the Germans. I commended them for placing in prison those who could help the Germans. But why me? I am the sworn enemy of the Nazis. I do not know if my letters have reached and if anyone has read them; I never got an answer.

We first stopped at a makeshift camp in Maidstone, not far from our school. On that first Sunday morning, we had a hearty military-style English bacon and eggs breakfast in a tin pot. They kept us in a barn and gave us sacks and straw to fill the mattresses and the soldiers' mattresses. A huge, red-faced middle-aged major from the Territorial Army, something like the British National Guard, seemed to understand nothing as much as we did when I asked him in English when I would be released. He had no idea who we were. He was a real behemoth, and I hoped that I would not have to rely on him if I needed to defend myself against the Germans.

We cleaned the latrine, performed work in the kitchen and dining room, and went out to the morning roll call. To respond to the parade-worthy roar of the Chief Sergeant, the Cockney, we stood in a line that could pass for a line. Several of the older internees had bellies, and a few more limped or stooped; there were other guys just as impatient as me. With his reprimanding all the names, the sergeant soon gave up trying to force us damned civilians to stand with an army bearing. Roll calls were constantly interrupted when latecomers broke formation, rushing to testify long after the sergeant had called their names. They managed to be late even when they weren't doing anything.

Maidstone, located in the area of ​​possible invasion, was not suitable for keeping persons suspected of sympathizing with the Germans there. A week later, we were put on a train that ran intermittently all night. Through a crack in the painted windows, I made out Reading's signal tower on the road west. The next morning we disembarked in Liverpool, and were then driven by trucks to Hayton, a suburb where an unfinished public building was turned into a camp for thousands of interns gathered from all over the British Isles.

Thanks to fluent English and youthful aplomb, I was assigned to the officers' mess, where the commanders of the troops guarding us dined. I served tables, washed dishes, swept the floor, ate as much as I could and got as many cigarettes as I wanted, plus a couple of sips of beer and whiskey. Between work, we orderlies enjoyed playing bridge, darts and chess. We became VIPs because we brought cigarettes, chocolates and yesterday's newspapers to camp mates.

As the blitzkrieg struck England, I could hear the distant rumble of bombs falling on Liverpool. Still, the invasion did not take place. Apparently, the Germans wanted to win in the air before their transports challenge the British fleet.

Among the prisoners at Hayton were university professors, international financiers, writers and actors. Many of them gave impromptu lectures on history, finance and art. The barbed wire created a society of equals, where I listened and asked questions to the luminaries ordinary life they would not even let me into their doorstep.

While the Battle of Britain was underway, the authorities decided that it was too dangerous to keep internees and German prisoners of war (captured in Norway, France and even Dunkirk) on their small island. Captured Nazi soldiers had no choice, but we interneed civilians were allowed to volunteer to go to Canada. I volunteered to go because it meant getting away from the Nazis. I still hoped that I could escape from Canada to the United States to my parents who settled in the Baltimore area. To prepare for my escape, I listened to American shortwave radio in the officers' mess and began to practice my American accent. When you're sixteen, everything seems possible.

The first group of internees who agreed to deportation to Canada left Hayton. A day later, the ill-fated liner Andorra Star, turned into a prison ship on which they sailed, was torpedoed. Many German Jewish internees drowned, and those who were rescued returned, telling gruesome stories about what had happened. My enthusiasm for traveling to Canada had evaporated, but it was too late, my name was on the list. Soon we, together with the survivors from the Andorra Star, were taken to the Liverpool docks, where they drove us down the ladder of the waiting military transport of the Duner. My few possessions — textbooks, a notebook, a precious parker, toiletries and meager clothes, even my boots — were taken from me. They left me nothing but the clothes I was wearing. Then soldiers with rifle bayonets drove us into a hatch, located much below the waterline. It all happened so quickly that it was only when I sat down on the bare floor that I felt a shock, which was soon replaced by fear on the verge of panic. What's in store for us? Why are we treated this way? What to do and how to escape from the ship if it is torpedoed?

Many years later, after reading the report at the request of the British Parliament, I realized what had happened. Some of our guards were frontline soldiers who had recently been evacuated from Dunkirk, and others were criminals who had been amnestied to be recruited into the army. Among the prisoners herded to the Duner were Nazi soldiers captured in Norway and Dunkirk. The commander encouraged the cruel treatment of the prisoners. Then he received a reprimand from parliament.

Of course, we knew none of this when we were herded into the hold below the waterline. It was empty except for the long benches with tables and sleeping hammocks suspended from the ceiling. Sixteen holes in the floor, under which it splashed sea ​​water in an open chute, were a "latrine", that is, a toilet for our contingent of 980 internees. The feces were often poured over the edge of a shallow gutter and then rolled back and forth on the plank floor. The queues at the latrine were endless, and some had surprises.

Soon after leaving Liverpool, the waves of the Irish Sea began to throw the ship up and down, and most of my comrades became seasick. Symptoms ranged from complete apathy around the area to continuous vomiting followed by stupor. The swaying spilled waste into the living area, mingling with the stench of vomit, sweat and unwashed bodies and the smell of fried bacon and eggs. The only decent thing on the Duner was food, probably the usual diet of British soldiers. Since I was immune to motion sickness and had no occupation, I ate as much as I could.

On the third evening on the high seas, in the stormy Bay of Biscay, we heard a loud clang and a thud, followed by a loud explosion that shook the ship. All the lights went out. It seemed like an eternity before it lit up again. We later learned that a German submarine had fired two torpedoes at us. One did not explode, and the second cut at the stern and then exploded away from the ship. I never found out why the lights went out. Many years later I heard that German radio, not knowing that there were Nazi prisoners of war and German Jews on board, announced the sinking of the British military transport "Düner".

We had no life jackets in the deep hold. Exercises to abandon the ship were never conducted, and all the aisles on the upper decks were barbed wire. There was one porthole in the latrine just above the waterline, through which I hoped to squeeze in if something happened.

Everything seemed to be against me. After I escaped from the Nazis, my former saviors imprisoned me in this floating coffin, and would surely die if we were torpedoed again. I didn't have a life jacket to keep me afloat, even if I could get out. At first, due to the fact that I had nothing to do either day or especially at night, I was afraid of everything that could happen. I was afraid of drowning like a rat, or being trampled by the running crowd if the ship began to sink or capsize. There was no way I could think of a reliable way to escape. I was afraid of what might happen, afraid of the unknown. I imagined endless disasters and could not imagine a way to be saved if they did happen. But, paradoxically, after a few days, tormented by fear and anxiety, I suddenly felt an incredible feeling that I would definitely stay alive in order to accomplish something important.

I was never taught or trained to face danger, and I wondered if this new sense of calm was a defensive denial of a dangerous reality, or perhaps a hidden natural resource, which allows you to cope with mortal danger. I was afraid of many things that did not happen, but still I got out of the situation well when something did happen. As my fears receded, my confidence miraculously grew.

Many of my unfortunate comrades slept all the time. Barbed wire and common misfortune have eliminated all differences in age and social status.

I learned to discern the groaning sounds of the engine as the ship turned endlessly, zig-zagging to confuse submarines. After a few days, I began to count more and more seconds between these groans and realized that we were on a more direct course. I decided that Canada was not more than ten days' journey, and that the king and state would surely understand what a terrible mistake they had made in my case. But soon I realized that I had made not entirely correct conclusions. Comparing the time on the ship, which counted the bells' blows, and the times of sunrise and sunset, which I saw through that porthole in the latrine, I guessed that we were going south, not east. Where are we going?

With my humble knowledge of spherical geometry (the basics of navigation), acquired under the guidance of our wonderful teacher Benson Herbert, borrowing a pencil, I scribbled the formula on a scrap of toilet paper. I have come to the conclusion that we are going to South Africa... As the air grew warmer and the sea calmer, my fellow prisoners began to regard me as an oracle. Using a wristwatch, secretly hidden by one of my comrades, pencil and paper, I calculated, and then announced to everyone that we would soon cross the equator. And of course, the next day we entered Freetown on the west coast of Africa. There were rumors - yes, there were rumors even in the lowest hold of the prison transport - that we were taking water, fuel and food to go to Australia around the Cape of Good Hope.

My plan to flee Canada to the United States apparently fell through.

When we emerged from the submarine waters, the prisoners were taken to the deck twice a week to give them a breath of fresh air for ten minutes. We had to run barefoot across the deck, guarded by soldiers with machine guns at the ready. Sometimes they amused themselves by throwing broken beer bottles at our feet. Trying not to cut ourselves, we acquired an eagle's vigilance and speed of reaction. Once an internee jumped overboard. Nobody tried to save him.

Days and nights on the "Duner" went monotonously one after another. Some of my younger comrades relived their sexual experiences before imprisonment, telling us about them until we learned all the secret habits of their girlfriends, and the rest just stared blankly in front of them. One tall, bearded man now and then took off his belt with money, which he managed to unnoticed by the guards, and constantly counted the money. He did not know, but we silently together with him counted his thousands of pounds. This ritual seemed to calm him down, but it never lasted long.

At night, a hundred hammocks swayed as the ship rocked on the waves. Some slept peacefully, others muttered in their sleep. Several times a night someone called for help, apparently caught in a nightmare. It is strange that many shouted "mom", but no one called their father. During the day, which differed from the night mainly in that the guards drove us out of the hold, dull indifference replaced nausea and fear of submarines. There was nothing to do, to plan, if only to avoid cleaning. The usual rumor was that they were giving us saltpeter as a sedative so that we wouldn't be drawn to sex. The day merged with the night in our hold, with its dim electric bulbs complemented only by the faint light from the hatch to the upper deck.

Once a week we would put our meager belongings in hammocks to scrape and polish the teak deck.

Everyone was first driven into a corner, and this corner was cleaned last. Seeing the shiny, golden teak deck so clean was an unwavering pleasure for me. Otherwise, I had the feeling that I was sitting in some kind of hell without beginning or end. I remember how men cried and prayed, and sometimes someone could not stand it and shouted. But we survived.

When nothing happens, you gradually cease to be afraid, and this voyage should have come to an end sometime. With each turn of the propeller, I was carried away from the Nazis, whom I feared even then more than the British.

Off the southwest coast of Africa, I fell ill with dysentery with fever and yellowing of the skin, which was exhausting me. Earlier we had chosen a senior, and he insisted that I be carried out of the crowded hold. Being in the ship's infirmary, lying on a real bed, was an incredible pleasure, despite the illness. After hearing my story, the Irish doctor kept me in the overcrowded infirmary for longer than he should. I probably slept most of the time. I only got up to go to the toilet - a real toilet on the Duner! Then I was discharged from the infirmary, but the kind doctor arranged for me to spend a lot of time with him in a clean room, forcing me to wait for hours for a daily spoonful of medicine and quinine tablets.

We were separated from the Nazis by a corridor of barbed wire on either side. They stood by the wire and waited until someone appeared to make fun of him. Somehow I got tired of their lies, and I told them that upon arrival in Australia they would be circumcised, and the officers would have a Star of David tattooed on their arm. I told them to pray that Hitler would be dead by the time they returned from Germany, otherwise they would all be sent to concentration camps. And then I took off my pants and gassed right in their faces. They started shaking the wire and calling me a dirty Jew, and I called them stupid bastards. By the way, Hitler was actually dead by the time they returned to Germany after 1945, but neither they nor I could have imagined that in 1940.

The Dunera made a new stop at Takoradi, also on the western coast of Africa, to refuel and go to Cape Town. There, through the porthole in the infirmary, I saw Table Mountain and the city. The spirit of adventure in me still has not gone anywhere. And here I am, a boy from boring, far from the Sea of ​​Gardelegen, in Africa, at least a few hundred meters away, on a ship that is about to bypass the Cape of Good Hope and head for the Indian Ocean to Australia. I saw the world, even through the porthole of the prison transport!

With my rudimentary knowledge of navigation, I predicted that we would land on the western coast of Australia within the next 24 hours, and I was wrong by more than three hundred kilometers. We stopped at the port of Perth Fremantle. There Australian officers climbed aboard and were horrified by what they saw and heard. Their reports on the conditions at Duner led the Australian and British parliaments to make an inquiry that documented everything I said here, and moreover, entire books were written about Duner.

The Duner stopped in Melbourne to drop off the Nazis. They were to lead the carefree life of prisoners of war, avoiding the catastrophe of defeat that befell their warring brethren. The only thing they had to worry about was my warning that they would be circumcised and tattoos in the form of the Star of David and returned to their homeland to the Nazis too early.

The internees disembarked from the Duners in Sydney. Johnny, the most creepy sadist of the guards, stood by the gangway, seeing us off. Even during the voyage, Johnny, long-faced, slightly cross-eyed, with the rank of chief sergeant, with the counterintelligence emblem on his uniform, was prowling everywhere, stirring up the pitiful heaps of our belongings with his stick and barely audible, hoarsely muttering. Once every few days, he would grab one of the internees and put him in a "hole" - a solitary confinement cell in a guardhouse intended for deserters and rebels. Johnny was a natural sadist. And now he was standing at the top of the gangway. He looked sad, because - I was sure of it - he had lost power over the defenseless captives. Passing by, I told him: "I hope you drown on the way to England."

I nearly fainted when we stepped out into the sun after weeks in the dark hold of the ship. Our Australian guards were speechless upon learning that we were Jews, refugees from Nazi Germany. We were seated in several antediluvian railway carriages, and the train headed for the Australian wilderness. It rumbled along the crooked rails, kilometer after kilometer, hour after hour, and we were getting grimier with soot and sand swept up by the train. As he snake crawled into the Australian bush, kangaroos jumped along the railroad. We went to the unknown town of Hay. The guards nodded, and one of them let go of the rifle. I picked it up and noticed that it was not charged.

Hey is a point on the map by the Hey River, which was completely dry by the time we arrived. From there we were taken by trucks to the camp. The first thing that caught my eye was that there was practically no barbed wire around. The commander explained to us: “We will not guard you very much, because the nearest source of water is more than one hundred and thirty kilometers from here. The water tanks are guarded and you will only be given one flask of water at a time. If you want to run away and die of thirst, you are welcome. "

Every evening at sunset, the wind kicked up dust so fine that it crawled into all the pores and openings of the body, into the toiletries given to us, into everything. During the day it was hot, and at night it was cool, and the stars shone incredibly brightly. I admired looking at the Southern Cross.

We were fed well, and soon we were already getting used to the new order, and "Duner" with its dangers faded in memories. And of course, now we were not threatened by the Nazis. As if we were stuck in time. It was mid-August 1940.

On the fifth day in Hee, I asked to speak to the commandant. He reminded me of a hefty Major from Maidstone. But he listened to me. I explained how stupid the British (he called them "lemongrass") had acted when they sent me to Hay, because I myself wanted to fight the Germans. I told him that I would be happy to join the Australian Army. When I finished, the commandant said:

Son, I can neither enlist you in the army, nor let you out of here, but from this day on you are my orderly.

What does it mean? I asked.

Come here tomorrow morning at seven o'clock and you will find out, ”he said.

The next morning he said:

So we went to hunt kangaroos and killed several snakes and birds with his gun. And they got back to eleven before they could die of the heat.

I had been in Hee for only ten days, when they suddenly announced over the loudspeaker that I was to appear at the camp office, where I was ordered to immediately collect my things. I am sent back to England and released upon arrival. I asked:

Why not right now?

Such an order, - they answered me.

The news overwhelmed me. I never found out why the British authorities decided to release me and five more among thousands of our number. Now I was to return to England, while most of my fellow prisoners were to remain in the Australian camp. I was glad to be free again, but at the same time I knew very well that we would again have to sail on a sea teeming with German submarines.

I was told that I would immediately go to Melbourne. They were given a new working uniform for an Australian soldier and black kangaroo leather boots that I adored. The train we rode was better than the ones that took us to Hay, but it still took twenty-three hours. Although we were guarded, the Australian soldiers apparently considered us to be some kind of important person.

To my chagrin, in Melbourne we were taken to the city jail because we were supposed to be kept "safe." Since we were placed in a wing with hardened criminals, I filed a complaint. Our jailers had a lot of fun when we were later transferred to the prostitute wing, where they promised us some good entertainment. And so it turned out, rest assured. The girls from the streets adored the company of men and gave us a strip show. There is nothing secret left for me! They were witty, talented, uninhibited and shameless. My knowledge of female anatomy has grown immensely. The ladies offered us through the bars for free what they sold on the streets for money, for which they thundered into the government house. If it hadn't been for my parents' fear of syphilis, this could have been a turning point in my youth. Alas, the pleasure of their company lasted only two days.

Since leaving England, I have not had the opportunity to write a single letter. The jailer promised to bring me a paper, a pen and an envelope, but before he could fulfill his promise, we, the six "returnees", were suddenly put on a truck and - surprisingly - taken back to the Duner.

What a shock!

Johnny and all the other guards were there. Although we were no longer prisoners, we knew that we would only get our freedom when we arrived in England. We were still under the command of the ship's captain, but fortunately not the same tormentor who commanded on the road from England. We were allowed to move freely around the ship, but we had to clean and clean everything: pots, pans, plates, decks, tables and benches. As for any military service, even if something is already clean, you clean it again, because idleness is considered harmful to the fighting spirit and the soldier's character. I became an excellent janitor with a six-hour day, even if the second and third cleanings could no longer improve anything.

Every day I asked myself why we have lifeboats and ship abandonment drills. Isn't that too much? "Duner" bypassed Australia and headed for the Indian Ocean. Then one day the alarm sounded. It was not a teaching. The Dunera's four-inch stern cannon fired with a crash. I accidentally saw Johnny near the boat and noticed that he was scared. He looked at me and I showed him my nose. He couldn't even make a face in response. After that, he no longer even approached me.

Several shells exploded in the water nearby. Then I was told that the Duner was a distraction for German and Italian raiders — converted ocean liners, fast and armed, who were attacking merchant ships. A British cruiser soon appeared. I never found out who was shooting.

After that, for some reason we turned to Bombay. There, our small group of internees, who were to be released in England, were dropped on the pier and handed over to the Indian police inspector. Soon a welcome committee from the Bombay Jewish Aid Association appeared, led by a fat Jew from South Germany wearing khaki shorts and a cork helmet. He spoke English with a strong accent, but told us that he was a British citizen. Hearing our story, he vouched for us before the police inspector.

They took our fingerprints and gave us identification documents. The police warned us that we must not have weapons, cameras, binoculars and radio transmitters (very funny, I thought, but I don’t even have a second pair of cowards), and then our patron took us to Khabib Chambers, the house owned by the association in indigenous quarter of Bombay. He said goodbye and handed us over to the matron, who was the mistress there.

The next day I went outside. I had not even gone ten steps when I came across Mr. and Mrs. Helms, German Jews from a town near Gardelegen. There they tried unsuccessfully to conceive a child until my mother helped them. Their daughter, who was now in a stroller on Bikulla Road, was born in a room in our house that had been converted into a maternity ward. I was always embarrassed in their presence - there was something sickly false in them - but here they stood in front of me, and I exclaimed: "How, Mr. Helms, Mrs. Helms, what are you doing here?" They had some funds and fled to Bombay from Nazi Germany.

I borrowed (and then returned) money from them so that I could send a telegram to my parents, who were then in the United States and had not heard anything about me since June, when I was sent from England. They thought I was dead. It was already September and I was in India. When my father died, I found on his desk my telegram sent from Bombay. It said: "Released in Bombay, send money to Cook." I figured, of course, that they would understand that I was referring to Cook's delivery and travel agency.

The Relief Association provided me with food and shelter. The heat was unbearable, and on the first night I went out onto the porch. Soon I noticed large birds circling around and diving at me. Every time I moved, they flew off. I returned to the stuffy bedroom. The next day I learned that these birds are scavengers that usually circled around the nearby Tower of Silence, where the deceased Parsees were buried. There they pecked the meat off the bones clean and then burned the bones. At night, the motionless boy on the porch was a possible meal for the vultures.

In the room I heard a noise, as if soldiers were marching in the distance. I turned on the light, and the army of huge cockroaches began to scramble hastily over the stone table and climb into the first dark gap that came across. I was taught to shake out my shoes before putting them on to make sure there are no scorpions in there. High boots were preferable in case you stepped on a cobra. It passed me.

My parents, glad that I was alive, and completely bewildered that I found myself in Bombay, somehow scraped up and sent me fifty dollars - they earned twenty dollars a month for two. But in 1940, in Bombay, this was enough to buy linen, sew a khaki cotton suit, buy cigarettes and, most importantly, a sun helmet - the marsh, which etiquette prescribed to every white man. I still wore my favorite Australian kangaroo leather boots.

There were several families of Jewish refugees in Bombay. One of these families had a daughter, and either she or her parents became attached to me. In any case, I was invited to visit them more often than I could bear it. Teenagers feel very much liking and disliking, and this girl was not for me. She eventually married another man from Khabib Chambers.

Meanwhile, I corresponded with my parents. Through friends, they introduced me to American Quakers who had come to India on a mission of mercy. They, in turn, introduced me to a couple from Switzerland. They received me very warmly. He was a banker, and his wife was a lovely young Jewish woman who had escaped from Nazi Germany. I spent many pleasant hours in their apartment and on the beach, where the monkeys threw us coconuts from the palms.

I soon became acquainted with Parsis, Hindus and members of the Nehru Indian National Congress. I learned a little Urdu, enough to talk to dhobi (male laundresses) and ghari (taxi drivers) and to ask "Kidna baja hai?" ("What time is it?") And something else. To my surprise, these helpful people treated me with the respect they treated their British masters.

Consider yourself lucky in the native neighborhoods if you did not step into the bright red spit with betel juice, which people spat right into the open windows on the dirty sidewalks. Hundreds of homeless people slept in the street. I've seen people who have syphilis or leprosy eat their noses. Cows with extra tails fantastically grafted onto their sides roamed the crowded streets. No one stopped these sacred animals from eating vegetables from open stalls in the central market while people were starving. During the monsoon, I saw that the sewers were clogged with rats that drowned in the sewage streams due to heavy rains.

Khabib Chambers was located on Bikulla Road, the city's main artery with trams and buses. I walked freely around the area, never seeing violence or fearing for my safety. Not far from us was a large red-light district, where magnificent Indian beauties sat at open windows and openly displayed their wares. If moral principles hadn't stopped us, the fear of Asiatic syphilis, a debilitating and disfiguring disease that was rarely treated by the locals, would definitely discourage us from physical contact. It was enough for me to watch, talk and see with what pleasure the women met clients.

There were teahouses and hash houses everywhere, and their scent filled the air in the evenings. In them, I often participated in heated discussions about colonialism in this unlike other English with an Indian accent. I also learned for the first time that people in the position of the oppressed have the feeling that their suffering surrounds them with a kind of aura of holiness and gives them moral superiority. Like my interlocutors, I believed that an end to colonialism would end poverty and other ills in this exotic country.

I also began to understand some fundamental difference between the culture of the East and mine. Growing up, I was taught to perfect the practice of moral values, and I tried to do everything as best I could. I have seen in Western culture, even in the abhorrent morality of the Nazis, a culture of action in which one acts to live but lives to act. In the culture of Hinduism, or what I considered Hinduism, on the contrary, I discovered a culture of being. If in this life you were a good coolie, then in the next, perhaps, you will become the owner of a taxi.

At that time in India there was a caste of banya, usurers who lent money to the poorest of the poorest. Debts were hereditary, and sons had to pay interest on the loans the fathers took to pay for the traditional wedding of their daughters. It was said that not a single Indian managed to escape from the usurer by changing his name or place of residence. These bathhouses infuriated Gandhi. I once met one of them, educated at Oxford, and asked him how he justifies the exploitation of the poorest with his Western values. He replied: “Providence sent the poor into this world to suffer from poverty, and Providence chose me to be a good usurer. I am not going to interfere with the world order, on the contrary, I am here to serve it. " He spoke sincerely and slept peacefully at night.

Like my friend the bathhouse, the whole city of Bombay on the surface seemed to be Western, except for the signs on the shops and the clothes of the inhabitants. Buses, trams and cars drove out carts. But the roaming sacred cows gave it a unique flavor.

In Bombay, I met several Parsis. This is an isolated people, they are always rich, thoughtful and devoted to their ancient doctrine of Zoroastrianism. A philosophical harmony was established between me and a young woman named Usha, very unusual for a German. Jewish origin sympathetic to the British, and a woman descended from the ancient Persians. We were young and thought the same. We believed in the brotherhood of men, we hated prejudice, we loved the prophets, but we couldn't stand organized religion and we abhorred colonialism. We were like-minded people, emotionally but not physically close. Sexual relations before marriage would destroy all further life Ears.

Around this time, I received a long letter from Helmuth, who told me that the school had moved out of the Potential Invasion Zone to Shorpshire Wem, and everyone was overjoyed when they found out I was alive. He also mentioned that my friend is worried that I am not writing to her. I never wrote to her. Oh, how cruel we are when youthful hobbies pass! I also received a lovely letter from Betty, whom I did not want to remember, although now we were separated by oceans, and I thought, let it stay that way forever.

I decided to find a job. But as a representative of the white race, lord, I was ordered the way to unskilled workers, and I did not have sufficient qualifications for the usual occupations of a white person. How to be?

In England I studied The Admiralty Handbook of Wireless Telegraphy, the official training manual for British naval radio operators. Then I found a copy of the guide in the Bombay library. I reread it until I learned it almost literally. I wanted to get a job with a radio transmitter.

By this time, I had become friends with a company of four bachelors, German Jews, who shared a large apartment and used the services of a butler, a cook, and a cleaning lady. When I told them that I wanted to find a job, they couldn’t believe their ears, but then one of them introduced me to an Indian gentleman who ran a workshop for making simple radios - good business, because there were no longer any imported radios. He took me to his place for a probationary period without pay, but soon I was already in charge of a dozen Indians assembling simple two-tube receivers. I learned to play the roles that fate threw me: now I carried the burden of a white man in Bombay and received decent money for it. I knew that this incarnation would also be temporary. What then, I thought.

I was seventeen years old, I was not looked after by my parents or anyone else, I had grown-up friends, work and housing in interesting city far from the Nazis and British jailers. I could come and go and do as I please. This amazing freedom and ability to take care of oneself made up for the uncertainty about the future and the lost connection with family. But still, I missed a constant girlfriend and peer friends.

One day I went to the American consulate. As I entered the building, I noticed how pleasantly cool it was. And the sign: Carrier Conditioners. I have never been in an air-conditioned building before. In the Bombay heat, I tasted America for the first time, and it tasted wonderful and cool. “This is for me,” I thought.

Vice Consul Wallace Larue was a tall and thin man with short hair. He was wearing a flawless brown suit that I had never seen before - then I found out what they wear in Palm Beach. He asked what I needed and I said, "I want to go to America." He asked for my documents. I only had an ID issued by the Police Commissioner in Bombay, but Mr. Lar needed a birth certificate so that he could put me on the quota from Germany. Then he asked why I want to go to America, and I said that my parents were in Baltimore.

Do you know anyone in Baltimore? - he asked.

I only knew Mr. Lansbury, who was the guarantor for my parents to get a visa. Mister Larue jumped up.

You said Lansbury? Are you kidding me?

We will contact you.

As I learned within a week, Mr. Larue made sure that I applied for a visa in Berlin back in 1937 and received confirmation of my story. He said he could give me a visa. But I didn't have a passport. “No problem,” he said. He will give me a certificate. But I have to show him a ticket to the United States before he can issue a visa.

Who would have believed in such a turn! I'm going to America! My brother was still in a boarding school in besieged England, and because of the submarine war, passenger ships stopped sailing from there and from Nazi Europe through Atlantic Ocean... My comrades in prison in Bombay, who at that time had the official status of citizens of a state at war with the British authorities in India, had nowhere to go. Hundreds of other internees with whom I sailed to Australia were still in the bush. Why did it happen that I alone got an American visa?

On the way from Bombay to America, it was necessary to go through Ceylon and Indonesia to Japanese Yokohama, and from there to the western coast of the United States. Traveling around almost the entire globe and arriving in New York was quite consistent with my penchant for adventure, but I was afraid that Japan would soon go to war with the United States. The opportunity to end up in a Japanese military prison did not appeal to me.

Another route lay through South Africa in South America and the Caribbean. American President Line vessels operated this route, but only expensive first class tickets were offered. Their President Wilson was scheduled to sail from Bombay on March 21, 1941, and was expected to arrive in New York on April 26. A first class ticket cost $ 660, which was a huge amount for me at the time.

Parents managed to collect part of the amount. I managed to save several hundred dollars from my salary and borrowed the last twenty dollars from the very bachelors who were ready to help. With the last rupees, I bought a third shirt and some inexpensive souvenirs. Friends threw a farewell banquet for me. On the morning of departure, I took a taxi and boarded the President Wilson with a black metal box instead of a suitcase. I was wearing a gray linen suit, washed and ironed, and a khaki cork helmet. I was now a first class passenger. A Turk shared the cabin with me, who never spoke to me. There were also several pretty American girls floating on the liner who fled from the military threat in Asia and the Middle East.

Since the US was still neutral, the letters "USA" shone brightly aboard the ship to keep it safe from attacks by German submarines. This flight was as safe as possible in 1941.

A few days after we went to sea, I impressed the ship's radio operator with my knowledge of wireless communication. He agreed with me that we would keep this in the strictest confidence, and for several hours every day I sat at the radio in his wheelhouse, and he dozed right there, just in case to be nearby. He paid me decently, but I managed to spend money on whiskey, cigarettes, new clothes and a few other things in the ports of call. I played bridge a lot with the British baronet and his wife. It was an extremely enjoyable trip of five weeks, and how different it was from my previous trip!

By the end of the journey, I had enough money to pay off my debts, and there were still three dollars left so as not to disappear into the United States. Several missionaries sailed with us, and they did not approve of my lifestyle. However, I got along well with everyone else who did not try to re-educate me. I remember eating delicious food and having a delightful time with Sally Simms in the nooks and crannies of the boat deck. She was very adept at dividing the attention between me and the handsome young steward. I became more knowledgeable about radio, as they called electronics back then, and maritime laws. The barbed wire, the Duner and the Bombay turmoil were quickly becoming a thing of the past. American movies were shown in the cabin of the liner, and I watched some films several times. Sally, who spoke with a sweet Texas accent, made me practice a Hollywood accent and later assured me that I spoke like a real Yankee.

After visiting Cape Town, Trinidad and Havana, New York was just around the corner, and I thought that I was approaching the goal I set for myself when I voluntarily agreed to deportation from England. It seemed incredible that less than a year had elapsed since the morning I left Bunce Court as an internee.

Why was I so lucky when the others on Andorra Star drowned just a couple of days before the Dunera sailed? Why was I one of six people among three thousand who were released in Australia? And why in Bombay I was the only one to get an American visa and get a ticket? My brother Helmut and thousands of people are stuck in England and other countries. Isn't it strange that, having left England under such circumstances, which did not bode well, now I am going to the USA? It seemed to me that in comparison with the past, the future can only be pale.

Then it seemed to me that I would lose my freedom if I returned to my normal family life. I didn't want that. Before sunrise on the last morning on the ship, I realized one thing for sure: I will no longer be a schoolboy in the care of my parents. I'm not going to give up independence. When I get to America, I will live on my own!

From the author's book

Nazism's Attribute - the Camp * * * The Nazis did not invent the concentration camps, but they brought them to monstrous perfection. Places of mass confinement were required immediately after Hitler came to power in 1933 to isolate political opponents. The Nazis were worried that

From the author's book

Chapter 7 The internment camp I wondered if the British interned me because my German passport had a swastika stamp on my photo and there was no big red letter J, which means “Jew,” as in the passports of German Jews. issued

From the author's book

§ 2. "The question of the situation of Russian internees on the territory of the Polish Republic is ... a political question of great importance."

From the author's book

Appendix 14 Letter from D. V. Filosofov to the Eastern Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Poland on the situation of interned volunteers of anti-Soviet formations in Polish camps Translated from Polish by D. V. Filosofov September 14, 1921 No. 4676, Warsaw Hotel "Brühl", No. 35 Tel. 110-96В East department

From the author's book

Appendix 17 Letter from former internee A. Matveyev from Granville to B.V.Savinkov in Paris about the working conditions of internees in Poland Dear Boris Viktorovich, Forgive me for not answering your letter for a long time, unfortunately, I can only write on Sundays, because . To.

From the author's book

The camp on the Kerulen River was unloaded on July 15 at Boin Tumen station. And immediately - a 50-kilometer march in the heat to the area of ​​concentration on the Kerulen River. The transition seemed very difficult to us. In the division I have 250 men, 130 horses and ten cars. All property: shells, communications, kitchens,

From the author's book

Chapter 4. CAMP IN LEVASHOVO Upon arrival in Levashovo, life changed dramatically. Strict discipline was introduced, and we felt that it was not a game of soldiers, but that we had the honor to join the ranks of the defenders of our dear motherland. All pulled up. A place was taken under the camp, almost

From the author's book

Chapter X. Offensive on the fortified camp For some time the current dominated - to respond with great disdain about the trenches and their significance. This neglect was fueled by the unfortunate outcome of a series of battles in which the defense relied on fortifications: cordon

From the author's book

Personal. Parcels to the camp The post office was banned from accepting parcels. An exception was made for those who sent warm clothes and food to the front. This decision was disastrous for many people whom relatives could no longer help. Among them was my great-uncle, Nikolai

From the author's book

CAMP IN BULGARIA “If all armed conflicts are regarded as senseless bloodshed, then Crimean War has every chance to top the list. " Colonel George Cadogan. 1856

Soviet servicemen.

History

The construction of the camp began after the German attack on the USSR. It was located in Södermanland, south of Strangnäs. Initially, the camp was administered by the Social Security Administration, but in July 1941 it was transferred to the Internees Section ( Interneringsdetaljen), which was a structural unit of the Air Defense Division of the General Staff of the Defense of Sweden.

The camp was fenced in with barbed wire, and there were searchlights in the corners. It consisted of simple barracks, in which it was so cold in winter that you had to constantly watch the fire. With the appearance of internees in it, at first it was guarded by soldiers of the Swedish army, but then they were replaced by reservists, who were much more strict about their duties. The commandant of the camp was Captain Karl Axel Eberhard Rosenblad (1886-1953).

On September 22, 1941, the first 60 Soviet sailors appeared in the camp, who in the twentieth of September on two torpedo boats reached the territorial waters of Sweden from the Baltic States. On the destroyer "Remus" they were taken to Nynashamn, and then to the camp near Buringe. A few days later, another hundred Soviet soldiers arrived at the camp, who came to Sweden from Estonia. As of December 31, 1941, there were 164 internees in the camp: 21 officers, 8 commissars and political instructors, 5 quartermasters, 19 military engineers, 4 military technicians, 2 military assistant, 44 junior commanders, 1 deputy political instructor ( "Politruk (sergeants tjänsteställning)"), 51 sailors and 9 people civilian specialties... Of the officers, 5 people belonged to the ground units (among them there was 1 lieutenant colonel and 2 majors).

An interesting description of the Russians by a Swedish military official:

“Russians seem to be kind-hearted people and always ready to help. They are like big children and have all the good qualities of such, but they can also be childishly cruel, for which there is a lot of evidence. There is some kind of oriental cunning and slyness in them. The general educational level of Russian internees is quite high. There are no illiterates. It is surprising that many of them are interested in classical literature and have deep knowledge of the history of Russian literature. [...] As a rule, they do not own foreign languages, which is due to the fact that they were isolated from the rest of Europe. However, many are trying to correct this deficiency and study Swedish, German and even english languages» .

In order to keep the internees occupied, they were allowed to work in the field of logging and road construction, for which they were entitled to a payment of 1 kroon per day (Swedes employed in the same work received 3 kroons).

The internees had different views on some political issues, which caused conflicts among them. In this regard, the Swedish authorities divided the camp into sections "A" and "B", stretching a barbed wire between them.

In 1943, the internees, dissatisfied with the conditions in the camp, went on a hunger strike, after which the Swedes somewhat weakened their security and allowed them to move freely enough in the three-kilometer zone around the camp. At the same time, a star was sewn onto their uniform, which was supposed to indicate to the local population that they were from the camp. The camp also set up a dance floor and an orchestra. The internees could even arrange dances with local girls.

In 1944, when the defeat of Germany became more and more obvious, Sweden, at the request of the USSR, secretly repatriated interned Soviet citizens. On October 1, the inhabitants of the Bühring camp were lined up in front of the Swedish and Soviet military and announced that if anyone wanted to stay in Sweden, they had to take a step forward. There were 34 of them. The rest in the same month were sent to the USSR in several consignments.

On September 22, 2012, a stone was erected in Byuring, dedicated to the memory of the Soviet military personnel held in the camp.

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Excerpt from Internment Camp No. III

A lump of snow cannot be melted instantly. There is a certain time limit before which no amount of heat can melt the snow. On the contrary, the more heat, the more the remaining snow becomes stronger.
None of the Russian military leaders, except for Kutuzov, understood this. When the direction of the flight of the French army along the Smolensk road was determined, then what Konovnitsyn had foreseen on the night of October 11 began to come true. All the highest ranks of the army wanted to distinguish themselves, cut off, intercept, capture, overturn the French, and all demanded an offensive.
Kutuzov alone used all his forces (these forces are very small for each commander-in-chief) to resist the offensive.
He could not tell them what we are saying now: why the battle, and the blocking of the road, and the loss of his people, and the inhuman finishing off of the unfortunate? Why all this, when from Moscow to Vyazma one third of this army melted away without a battle? But he told them, deriving from his old wisdom what they could understand - he told them about the golden bridge, and they laughed at him, slandered him, and tore, and threw, and swaggered over the killed beast.
At Vyazma, Ermolov, Miloradovich, Platov and others, being close to the French, could not refrain from the desire to cut off and overturn two French corps. Kutuzov, informing him of their intention, they sent in an envelope, instead of a report, a sheet of white paper.
And no matter how hard Kutuzov tried to keep the troops, our troops attacked, trying to block the road. The infantry regiments, it is said, went on the attack with music and drums, and beat and lost thousands of men.
But cut off - no one was cut off or overturned. And the French army, pulling together tighter from danger, continued, evenly melting, all the same disastrous path to Smolensk.

The battle of Borodino, followed by the occupation of Moscow and the flight of the French, without new battles, is one of the most instructive phenomena in history.
All historians agree that the external activity of states and peoples, in their clashes with each other, is expressed by wars; that directly, as a result of greater or lesser military successes, the political power of states and peoples increases or decreases.
No matter how strange the historical descriptions of how some king or emperor, having quarreled with another emperor or king, gathered an army, fought with the army of the enemy, won a victory, killed three, five, ten thousand people and, as a result, conquered the state and the whole people in several million; no matter how incomprehensible why the defeat of one army, one hundredth of all the forces of the people, forced the people to submit - all the facts of history (as far as we know it) confirm the truth that greater or lesser successes of the troops of one people against the troops of another people are the reasons or, at least, significant signs of an increase or decrease in the strength of the peoples. The army won the victory, and at once the rights of the victorious people increased to the detriment of the vanquished. The army was defeated, and immediately, according to the degree of defeat, the people are deprived of their rights, and with the complete defeat of their army, they completely submit.
So it was (in history) from ancient times to the present. All Napoleon's wars serve as confirmation of this rule. According to the degree of defeat of the Austrian troops - Austria is deprived of its rights, and the rights and powers of France increase. The French victory at Jena and Auerstät destroyed the independent existence of Prussia.
But suddenly, in 1812, the French won a victory near Moscow, Moscow was taken, and after that, without new battles, not Russia ceased to exist, but the six hundred thousandth army ceased to exist, then Napoleonic France. It is impossible to drag facts onto the rules of history, to say that the battlefield in Borodino remained with the Russians, that after Moscow there were battles that destroyed Napoleon's army, is impossible.
After the Borodino victory of the French there was not a single not only general, but any significant battle, and the French army ceased to exist. What does it mean? If this were an example from the history of China, we could say that this is not a historical phenomenon (historians' loophole when something does not fit their standard); if the matter concerned a short-lived clash, in which small numbers of troops would participate, we could take this phenomenon as an exception; but this event took place in front of our fathers, for whom the question of the life and death of the fatherland was being decided, and this war was the greatest of all known wars ...

For the first time, the Chinese authorities have recognized the existence of centers of "preparation and living".

According to the head of the region, the camps for representatives of the Muslim minority provide "intensive training and accommodation" for those who, according to the authorities, are influenced by extremist ideas, as well as for those who are suspected of committing minor offenses.

For the first time, a senior official in Xinjiang province in western China spoke in detail about the expanding internment camp network, which should be seen as another step by Beijing in defense of the country's massive detentions of Muslim minorities amid mounting global outrage.

In a rare interview with the state news agency Xinhua on Tuesday, Xinjiang Governor Shohrat Zakir called the camps "vocational guidance and training institutions" that focus on "learning the country's common language, legislation, and on the development of professional skills together with education directed against extremism ”.

These centers are intended for “people under the influence of terrorism and extremism,” for those who are suspected of committing minor offenses and do not deserve legal punishment, Zakir said, without mentioning the number of internees or how long they are in the camps.

However, according to him, an unknown number of "people undergoing training" have come close to the standards to complete the training, or are already at the required level. They are expected to complete "their education" by the end of the year, which means they can be released soon, he said.

Zakir is the first high-ranking official in Xinjiang province to speak publicly about the criticized camps. China is under increasing pressure over mass arrests and subsequent forced political education. About a million ethnic Uyghurs, as well as members of other Muslim communities in the region, fell victim to the campaign.

The interview of the head of Xinjiang province comes after his leadership last week tried to retroactively legalize the existence of such camps, for which regional legislation was revised, and the local government received the right to open such camps in order to be able to "educate and transform" people under the impact of extremism.

According to Maya Wang, senior fellow at Human Rights Watch, Beijing's "clumsy excuses" are clearly a response to international condemnation of the practice, but they will not diminish criticism.

Context

20 days in a reeducation camp for Uyghurs

Berlingske 04.07.2018

South China Morning Post: Why China Maintains Tight Control of Xinjiang

South China Morning Post 14.09.2018

Uighurs are forced to surrender their passports

EurasiaNet 11.01.2017

South China Morning Post 12.10.2018

Sohu: Who is Islamizing faster - Russia or Europe?

Sohu 10.10.2018

“These camps continue to be completely illegal and unfair from the point of view of both the Chinese and international law; and the suffering and deprivation that about a million people face in them cannot be pushed aside through propaganda, ”she said.

In his interview, Zakir did not say anything about the detentions, however, according to him, these establishments provide "concentrated training" and "education with accommodation and meals", and the control over the entrance is carried out by guards.

According to Zakir, "people undergoing training" study the official Chinese language in order to be able to deepen their knowledge of modern sciences, Chinese history and culture. The study of legislation is also required, which should increase their "national and civic consciousness."

Vocational training is said to include courses to acquire skills for further work in factories and other enterprises. It is about garment manufacturing, food processing, assembly electronic devices, typography, hairdressing, and e-commerce. Apparently, the companies participating in this project pay for the goods produced by the "students".

Although Zakir talked about learning the language and vocational training, he declined to explain what constitutes "anti-extremist activities" conducted in such camps.

However, former internees told international media that they were coerced into denouncing their faith and also forced to swear allegiance to the ruling Communist Party.

Omir Bekali, a Chinese-born Kazakh citizen sent to such a camp and later released, told the Associated Press earlier this year that the detainees were being politically indoctrinated there and forced to listen to lectures. about the dangers of Islam, and they are ordered to chant the slogans before taking food: “Thank you to the party! Thank you homeland! "

The families of the detainees said that they had no opportunity to contact their loved ones, "who disappeared and then ended up in such camps."

However, in an interview with Xinhua News Agency, Zakir painted a rosy picture of life inside the internment camps: numerous sports opportunities, reading rooms, computer labs, movie theaters, and “frequent” venues for recitation, dance and singing contests.

“Many students said that they had previously been under the influence of extremist thoughts and had never taken part in cultural or sports activities before. However, now they understand how colorful life can be, ”he said.

This interview is the most detailed description of previously denied internment camps from Chinese government officials. With increasing pressure from Western governments and international organizations, Beijing has moved from denial to vigorous propaganda to justify the current agenda. Chinese officials call this a "legitimate" and necessary approach, aimed at preventing people from becoming "victims of terrorism and extremism."

However, human rights activists and legal experts believe that such camps do not have a legal basis in China today, despite all the government's attempts to legitimize them.

“The authorities in Xinjiang seem to have felt pressure, and this shows that international condemnation is working,” said Wang of Human Rights Watch. "Today we need foreign governments and international organizations to make more intense efforts and move on to more meaningful action."

The US Congress is in favor of imposing sanctions on Chinese officials involved in the internment camps, including Chen Quanguo, the provincial party boss.

The European Parliament this month called on EU member states to raise the issue of mass internment in multilateral talks with China, while new UN human rights chief Michelle Bachelet last month called for observers to enter the region.

InoSMI materials contain assessments exclusively of foreign mass media and do not reflect the position of the InoSMI editorial board.