(Author: David Saks, Vol. 69, No. 3, Chanukah 2014)
On 21 June 1942, the British in North Africa suffered a heavy defeat with the fall of Tobruk to German and Italian forces. Amongst the 33 000 soldiers captured were 10 722 South Africans, all drawn from the 2nd South African Infantry Division under Major General H.B. Klopper. For most of them, nearly three years of captivity lay ahead, initially in POW camps on the Libyan Coast the Mediterranean coast, thereafter in Italy and finally in Germany.
One of the Jewish veterans1 who later wrote about what it was like to be caught up in the debacle was N Rosenberg, for whom (as was probably the case with many of his comrades), falling into enemy hands was even more traumatic than the defeat itself. Rosenberg and a handful of others tried to make a break for freedom following the surrender, but were soon captured by Italians (“holding their rifles horizontally and pumping them up and down over their heads like prize-fighters just declared winners”). They were marched off to El Adem and the following day transported back to Tobruk:
Trucks were waiting with fair-haired members of the Afrika Korps beside them. We were piled on and driven off. We looked at the two German soldiers on the truck with us and the German driver in the cab. Why not overcome them and dash for it in the truck? But where? We did not know where we were. We thought these thoughts until we reached the great big barbed wire camp in Tobruk, teeming with prisoners of war. We had never seen so many men together. It looked like the whole British Army. Our world collapsed as the great iron gate closed on us.2
Private Stanley Smollan of the 2nd Transvaal Scottish also made an unsuccessful attempt to escape after the surrender. After recovering from a neck wound received at Sollum, he had been drafted back to the Battalion on 15 June and reached it on the 20th, just in time to be involved in the fall of Tobruk the following day:3
Our particular platoon was right on the western perimeter and we saw the frightful saturated Stuka bombing of all the outer defences. There was very little left inside. In my opinion it was a hopeless situation. General Klopper was severely criticised but really, there was nothing there – it would have been a massacre. Finding ourselves in this position we broke up into small parties and four of us went into the desert out of the western perimeter to see if we could get well into the desert and possibly back to Cairo. Some chaps actually succeeded. One of the Company Commanders of the Transvaal Scottish, Captain Paddy Cook got through. He went right into the desert, caught up with the Desert Rats and got back to Cairo. However, not many managed this. We were soon rounded up two days out by a German patrol. The German officer spoke to us, inquired where we came from and learning that we were South Africans, asked why didn’t we do what the Irish did – join them and tell Britain where they got off. Of course, we replied that we would find that difficult! Anyway, he was very decent to us and said,” look chaps, I’m sorry but I’m going to hand you over to the Italians”.4
[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row] Stanley Smollan (right) with fellow Jocks Herby Justus and Jim Kinnear outside the Jewish Club in Cairo. Conditions in the POW camps during the five months in which the prisoners were held in North Africa were exceedingly grim. This was not, as Smollan stresses, due to any particular harshness on the part of their Italian captors, but to the latter’s lack of capacity: After we were taken prisoners we found ourselves in a pretty awkward position. They had no equipment, barely had clothing, were using pre-1914 rifles and were themselves poorly clad and underfed. Now they were required on top of this to cope with tens of thousands of prisoners. We were first taken to Benghazi, where a camp was hastily constructed. Unfortunately, things deteriorated very rapidly. The situation in the camp was soon reduced to one of almost anarchy. Eventually a Transvaal Scottish Sergeant Major Cockroft, together with a Guards Officer, took charge of things, restored order and things got a little better, but it was very grim. The German Command seemed to want us out of the way. They wanted to use Tobruk to supply the run they were doing down the desert. It was this run which proved their undoing, because they over-reached themselves and were destroyed at Alamein.5 Subsequently, some 2000 prisoners were put onto trucks and driven over ten days to Tripoli in Libya, then an Italian colony. There, they were held in an old Italian barracks in Tarhuna, a small neighbouring settlement. It had been built to accommodate no more than three to four thousand soldiers, and the prisoner population in due course much exceeded that figure. The old cloakrooms and drainage system were not functioning and very quickly there was a danger of disease breaking out. There was still very little food available. We called for volunteers with knowledge of plumbing and drainage and formed work parties and got things into reasonable working order. This went on for three or four months. We didn’t have enough food, they didn’t have enough food. We had no Red Cross support because we were caught up in North Africa. They could not get their supplies in and couldn’t feed us. So we were caught in an ugly position. But we survived it and most of the prisoners, particularly the South Africans, conducted themselves very well, they kept themselves clean, kept their spirits up, exercised where they could. It was a matter of keeping one’s self-respect and lasting it out.6 Smollan appears in the memoirs of fellow prisoner David Brokensha, whom he befriended and assisted. Brokensha recalls how moved he was when Smollan presented him with a desperately-needed greatcoat, which, being a non-smoker, he had obtained through bartering his cigarette ration: “When he gave it to me, I had to try hard not to weep, it was one of the most welcome presents I have ever had, and one of the most disinterested gestures I have ever known”.7 Under such primitive living conditions, especially in the absence of a Jewish chaplain, observing even a rudimentary form of Judaism was extremely difficult. It nevertheless proved possible to organise High Holiday services that year. How this came about was described some three decades later by David Katzeff (‘Yom – [not so] – Tov 1942’, Judean, 1974): I was approached by a young fellow called Mendelsohn. Apparently he had quite a flair for languages and had quickly picked up a smattering of Italian. He became friendly with one of the guards and during discussion with him mentioned that we were in the period of the Jewish New Year. The guard then disclosed that there was a small Jewish community in the village, and also a Jewish Minister, and undertook to take the risk of trying to secure a Prayer Book and smuggling it in to us. The risks involved affected not only the guard, but also Mendelsohn, the Jewish community of Tarhuna and their Minister. However, the operation was safely completed and the following day Mendelsohn arrived with a Prayer Book in Hebrew only, covering all the services for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 31 Jewish POW’s again assembled and agreed that we would have all the services from Kol Nidrei right through to Neila. Unfortunately, we would have to forego the Havdalah. The whole plan was, however, beset with a number of problems. Firstly the venue, but this was easily solved. Underneath one of the barrack-rooms was a sort of dungeon-cellar large enough to accommodate us with a small open window at ground level and secured with steel bars. The window space was about 18’ wide by 24” high and on the little ledge in front, the Prayer Book could rest, with ample light provided for the reader. This then became the readers-desk-cum-pulpit. The next problem was to arrange with our Gentile colleagues to draw our rations for the day, the bread in the morning and the rice-soup in the afternoon. This was not so simple because we had to take into consideration the serious temptation that would be placed before even the most responsible chaps who at this time were already in a state of advanced starvation. We needed not to have had any fears over this, as you will read later, and I agreed to accept the post of Reader. On Yom Kippur eve, we duly recited the Kol Nidrei three times and managed to conclude the service before dark. We assembled again the next morning and it soon became apparent that it would be a tremendously onerous task, particularly in the physical state we were in, for one reader to conduct the whole day of prayer. A volunteer emerged in the form of one Len Rubenstein, and between us we managed to perform what I think anyone will agree was under the circumstances a reasonable job. At dusk, we dispersed to our various quarters and then experienced what, to me at any rate, will always be remembered as one of the highlights of three years as a POW. Not only had our Gentile friends carefully guarded our rations and handed them to us, but between themselves had collected for us from their secretly hoarded treasures, a gift of a few cigarettes each. Ben Hermer was one of those involved in arranging the Yom Tov services. Prior to this, he had sought to ameliorate conditions in the camp by petitioning the camp commander to provide better hygiene facilities, and used his medical knowledge to assist his fellow prisoners. The historian Karen Horn describes how Hermer subsequently managed to escape, thereby avoiding being sent to Italy when the camp was evacuated: When the transports to Italy began, Hermer was desperate not to leave the continent because he received news that his fiancé was missing somewhere in Germany. While prisoners were lining up to go on board ships, Hermer’s anxiety got the better of him and he told the camp commander that one of the POWs had contracted typhoid. The commander, already impatient with Hermer, was forced to take action and because the Italians went looking for the non-existent patient, Hermer simply walked out of the camp. On his way to Allied lines Hermer’s life, like other escaped POWs, depended on the goodwill of the local people and in this case Hermer spent several days with a Senussi family, recovering from dysentery and waiting for news about Allied advances. Following his rescue by Allied forces, he flew to Cairo, where by extraordinary coincidence he came across his fiancé, who had escaped from Nazi Germany with her mother.8 In November 1942, the situation in North Africa changed dramatically with the defeat of the Germans and Italians at El Alamein. The prisoners’ barracks at Tarhuna were now urgently required, so the inmates had to be hurriedly moved elsewhere. Smollan was amongst those who were loaded onto the ship Coldelana and transported across the Mediterranean to Naples: It was a 10 000 tonner and the first prisoners were put down into the bottom of the hold. Then planks were laid for the next layer of prisoners and so on until all were loaded. It was an unpleasant situation and to top it everyone had dysentery, so if you were on a lower level you weren’t too well off. Somehow we survived the trip over to Naples which took four days, ducking and diving aircraft, submarines, etc. After the four day trip we eventually arrived in Naples and were entrained to a camp (Camp 66) in Capua, a little town not far from Naples. Here things got a bit better. The Red Cross appeared but were not then able to perform because we were still posted as “Missing, whereabouts unknown”. Our families had no idea whether we were dead or alive. We were classed as “Missing believed Prisoner”. This situation went on for nearly a year. At Capua, things got a little bit better. We started getting used to POW life, books began to arrive (literary critics judged a book by its length, not by its quality!) We interested ourselves in various things, exercised and did the best we could under the circumstances. There was never any ill treatment.9 The Italians tried their best – then all of a sudden things changed and the Red Cross parcels arrived and we found ourselves in the pound seats. They contained cigarettes, tea, jam, salmon, all sorts of things, and these then became currency. The tea (and the rest) was very valuable. So the situation would be that one would see an Italian soldier with his rifle on the ground and the prisoners over the strands of barbed wire would be throwing over a packet of tea and the soldier would be throwing over four loaves of bread, which was the rate of exchange. Ten cigarettes were also worth a loaf of bread and a bar of soap also had its value. But the chaps quickly saw the opportunity to do some unfair trade with the Italians, who didn’t know that the tea had already been brewed once or twice, dried on the roof and then repacked to be traded for bread or whatever. These packets were probably destined for the “black market” in Rome. So this kind of thing went on. The food in the camp wasn’t great but we got enough and were busy building ourselves up again. This continued for about three months and then we were moved to a Camp south of Rome called Fara Sabina (Camp 54) where there were about two to three thousand prisoners. Much the same conditions prevailed. The men in the camp became very alert and active and made articles, some of which are now in the Transvaal Scottish Museum. They made things out of tins, for instance, articles which brewed up tea. So we all got by. This was then in early January 1943. Not previously mentioned is the fact that from the start, when we were at Benghazi, lice became our constant companions and followed us throughout – we never got rid of them and it was the worst thing we ever had to endure. One morning we were lying around the camp, delousing ourselves, or attempting to do so, when we heard a tremendous crescendo of noise. Looking up in the sky we saw a raid on Rome on the railway yards by 350 American Bombers escorted by fighters. You can’t imagine the noise that this created. We heard the Ack Ack and then saw and heard the bombing. There was this column of smoke rising up. The effect on the prisoners was electric. Here we saw our own aircraft! We saw them clearly weaving and sort of signalling (they knew we were there). This was a show of force. Mussolini had been forced to abdicate and this was to show who was boss. The next thing was that Italy sued for peace with America and when we woke up two mornings later, there were no guards in sight and the gates were open.10 Despite appearances, liberation was not at hand. Shortly thereafter, the camp was secured once more and most of those prisoners who had left were recaptured. As the Allies advanced up the Italian peninsula, the prisoners were moved further north, until winding up in POW camps in Germany for the remainder of the war. Smollan, however, evaded that fate. On waking up to an unguarded camp, he and five others made for the nearest mountain village, and there spent the next four months or so as fugitives. Stanley Smollan (far right) with five other escapees. From left, Colin Stewart, Ron Tacon, Bill Trout, Cedric Whitelaw, Basil Hall. Crucial assistance was provided by an elderly couple, Berchina and Attilio Venetonni who, at considerable risk, provided them with food and civilian clothing and hid them in caves in the valley. They also put us in touch with the Italian underground and British agents. Several other escapees joined them during this time, including Smollan’s former Parktown Boys’ schoolmate, Royce Schulman. Once it became apparent that the Germans were searching the countryside, Smollan, Schulman and four others decided to move on, using one of the maps given to them by the underground: We had no money but still were provided with food and lodging as we went our way. All we could do was issue our own form of Credit Card written on the back of one of the leaflets dropped by the Allies urging Italians to look after the prisoners of war and promising a reward, asking Montgomery to recompense the family for their help to us! It was by then snowing in the mountains, so we made our way to the plains, making for a place called Tivoli. Here it was warmer and we stayed there for about ten or twelve days and became very involved with the families there. They gave us Italian names, tried to make good Catholics of us, and treated us wonderfully well. They were good, kind people who really risked their lives for us. I visited them after the war and renewed the acquaintanceship. We set ourselves up at Gerano with the de Lellis family. The underground was pretty active in the area. One day sometime in January, they alerted us that the BBC had announced that a landing had taken place at Anzio to the south of us on the coast. Anzio is a marshland area, called the Pontine Marshes (it is now the site of the Fumicano airport). Two landings had been made on either side. The underground told us to get moving and see if we could make our way there. It was about 130 kilometres away, and we went in a party of four. We decided to keep to the fields, and intended to follow the German troops, who were very methodical. They were trying to throw an iron ring around Anzio. By a miracle, on day four, after walking the 130 kilometres, we got into a canal in the middle of the two landings. There was shelling going on overhead, and the Royal Navy was firing in from the sea. We suddenly saw the sea, and came up through the canal and here we were challenged. We thought, “Oh hell, this is it! We’ve come so far only to be caught!” But it was the Americans, who took us to their HQ. There we were put under arrest (we had no papers, of course), and then handed over to the British.11 Within four weeks of setting out for Anzio, Smollan and his companions arrived at Waterkloof Airbase in South Africa. Officially, they were still part of the armed forces, but after they had been put through psychological and physical tests, the decision was made to demob and return them to civilian life. They were duly paid out their accumulated army pay, plus £37.10 to buy a new outfit of clothes and, as Smollan put it, “that, for us, was that!” For thousands of other South African POWs, however, many long months of captivity still lay ahead. In 2006, Smollan was presented with HM Armed Forces Veteran’s Badge by the UK Ministry of Defence. He dedicates the award to the other members of the quartet who made their successful bid for freedom, the now late Royce Schulman, Colin Stewart and Bill Berridge. Smollan was to become a member another ‘quartet’, one of the Wanderers’ Bowling Club’s four oldest active members. Since the other three had turned a hundred, whereas he was still only in his nineties, he was known as the ‘baby’ of the group. With the passing earlier this year of Norman Gordon, the Jewish Springbok cricketer of ‘Timeless Test’ fame, the quartet is now a trio. David Saks is Associate Director at the SA Jewish Board of Deputies and editor of Jewish Affairs. 
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