A Remarkable D-Day at Oflag 64

by Susanna Bolten Connaughton

Afternoon headline of “The Daily Bulletin,” June 6, 1944. Oflag 64 Papers, U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center

On June 6, 1943 –  exactly one year before D-Day – the first American POWs of Oflag 64 arrived in Szubin, after a three-day train trip locked in a box-car. The thirty-five men stumbled out of their rolling prisons and, despite dysentery and exhaustion, walked the almost two miles to their destination. Two days later, and a few hours after his own arrival there, my father, 2nd Lieutenant Seymour Bolten, wrote between the lines in his tiny journal: “…had a nice trip – heavily guarded.”

One year later, on June 6, 1944, far from the Normandy beaches, the five-hundred-fourteen Kriegies of Oflag 64 executed their own subversive attack. Their weapons included their secret radio, “The Bird”; the resourceful creations of their Entertainment Committee; and the efforts of a small group who had helped keep spirits up and news and clandestine information flowing.

As readers of this blog know, 2nd Lieutenant J. Frank Diggs, a former Washington Post reporter, asked and received permission to publish a monthly camp newspaper. He named it the Oflag 64 Item, a lighthearted four-pages that reported on camp shows, lectures, and sporting events.

To write home, the Germans gave the POW officers 2 letter forms and 4 postcards per week. Both German and U.S. censors read their mail.

In addition to The Item, the POWs also read a one-page, poster-sized, daily news sheet that focused on war news. Kriegy Larry Allen, a Pulitzer-prize winning Associated Press war correspondent, was its first editor and called it Headlines by the AP. He bylined the news sheet the “Szubin Bureau of the AP.”

The paper, pens, and pencils came from the YMCA. The information came from the German-supplied newspapers and magazines published in English and German by the Nazi Propaganda Ministry in Berlin, and its English and German-language radio broadcasts piped in over the Oflag 64 loudspeakers.

Staff of "Headlines from the AP". Front Row: left to right: Feldman, Long, Bolten.  Back Row: Rossbach, Allen

My dad, one of the camp translators, translated the German for Allen, and together the two of them translated the propaganda. They wove in the updates from the Bird, with just the right touch so as not to reveal their source.

Kriegy Dave Englander, another pre and post-war newsman, later wrote: “Lt. Seymour Bolten, a young graduate of New York University…had an excellent faculty for digging a good news story out of the jungle of German propaganda.”

 My father’s POW ID card

Sometimes, if Allen’s reporting was too favorable to the Allies, Hauptman Zimmerman, the Nazi Security Officer, would send Allen to solitary confinement for a few days. Senior American Officer Colonel Thomas Drake would protest, Allen would get released, and then go back to writing. After a few months of this cycle, the Germans returned Allen back to the United States. For his press work, Colonel Drake made sure that Larry Allen became one of the rare civilians to receive a Bronze Star.

Frank Diggs renamed the news sheet The Daily Bulletin and gave my dad the title Interpreting Editor. Room 18 of the White House became the camp’s one newsroom, shared by both The Daily Bulletin and The Item.  Map illustrators, Paratrooper 1st Lieutenant Charles Posz and Tanker 2nd Lieutenant George Durgin, inked out elegant Situation Maps the size of notecards to illustrate the battle lines of the complex parade of troops and tanks. The resourceful Durgin blackened the ink by mixing it with soot he had scraped from the bottom of the barracks’ ineffective ceramic heaters. They used a blunt red pencil to draw, erase, and redraw the everchanging battlefronts, as they pasted, peeled off, and reposted their Situation Maps.

Twice a day, the POWs lined up at the “White House” bulletin board outside the Mess Hall to read The Daily Bulletin: at around noon for updates from German newspapers, and around 7pm for the updates from German radio broadcasts. Art Editor 1st Lieutenant Ken Goddard created Daily Bulletin masthead posters, which remained tacked to the bulletin board. Each new issue was pinned below a masthead that read either: “Late Radio Edition” or “Extra.” After everyone who filed through the White House had read an issue, a staffer would move the newssheet to the Hospital, for the readers there.

May & June Issues of “The Daily Bulletin,” bound by the Oflag 64 Book Bindery. Oflag 64 Papers, U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center

The Kriegies were not the only loyal readers: one of the few things my dad ever told me about his POW life was that even the Germans stopped by to read The Bulletin. They knew it was their most accurate source of information.

When each issue came down from the Hospital bulletin board, a staffer walked it over to the Book Bindery. The “book gnomes,” Kriegies 2nd Lieutenant Harry Hauschild, 2nd Lieutenant Donald Lussenden, and 2nd Lieutenant Harry S. Picou, created a deep green canvas cover and reinforced the spine with a wide strip of yellow canvas. When filled, each book held two months of Daily Bulletins, measured about four feet by three feet, two-inches thick, and weighed about three or four pounds each. The Bulletin editors’ plan for these bound editions was that the Kriegies of Oflag 64 would haul home their chronicle of the war.

Through the Fall and Winter of 1943, the POWs endured frostbite, near starvation, and disheartening war news. In the Spring of 1944, to boost morale, and to keep the POWs occupied, Colonel Drake asked Oberst Schneider’s permission for the men to plan a one-year anniversary party. With the Oberst’s blessing, the POW Entertainment Committee spent the next two months planning the festivities to commemorate the arrival of the first Americans at Oflag 64 – an Anniversary Carnival on June 6, 1944.

At the same time, The Daily Bulletin – along with the rest of the world – speculated on the much-anticipated Allied invasion of Western Europe. The men who gathered around the bulletin board read headlines like these:

• May 19: Four more completely moon-less invasion-perfect nights remain in May. The editors pasted in a Moon Table illustration
• May 20: Cassino [invasion of Northern Italy] – Prelude to Invasion; Attack Seen as Bait to Lure More Troops From Europe’s Invasion Coast Defense
• May 24: Invasion Date? The British Parliament has adjourned until June. In case of “great military events” before that date…

But, as May became June, the POWs grew discouraged. Captain Tony Lumpkin wrote in his Oflag 64 journal later published as Captured Yesterday, “The morale is down. All are prepared to spend some time in this camp.”

On June 6th, the morning edition of the Daily Bulletin turned its attention away from war news and announced, “American Garrison Marks First Women-less Anniversary Behind Schubin Barbed Wire.”

The Anniversary Program… is combat-loaded… with games, music, awards, an exhibit, elegant chow, and a 16-act anniversary revue. 

But no women – in keeping with [a] now year-long tradition. 

Liquor will flow like water, in the Kriegy imagination.

 Morning headline of the “The Daily Bulletin,” June 6, 1944. Oflag 64 Papers, U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center

At 9am, the Kriegies assembled for Appelle, under a drizzly sky. As soon as the guards completed the counting, the Carnival Midway team got to work setting up games and a dunk tank.

Henry Söderberg, the “Welcome Swede” from the YMCA, arrived just in time for the festivities. He puttered into camp in his new coal-burning car (gasoline was close to impossible to get). The Kriegies greeted him with smiles and hearty hand-shakes.

Before the Midway opened, Colonel Drake gave a speech over the camp loudspeaker, no doubt similar to the Anniversary Message he wrote for the most recent issue of The Item. Around the camp, men stopped in place to listen.   

June 6, 1944, marks the first anniversary of Oflag 64. The past year has been filled with ceaseless effort to improve conditions inside the barbed wire so that the mental and physical life of all might be maintained and improved… [W]e now have a camp and community life, contributed by each and everyone…
 

Let us, anew, pledge ourselves that…we will see a greater effort to better ourselves so that we may return to our place in the American life better fitted to carry on the duty assigned to us and none the worse for the unenviable role which we have carried so long.
 

Let no man believe that there is a stigma attached to having been honorably taken captive in battle. Only the fighting man ever gets close enough to the enemy for that to happen…
 

Be proud that you carried yourselves as men in battle and in adversity…

A brief moment of silence inside the wire erupted into cheers. Colonel Drake lightened his previous words by welcoming Henry. Söderberg thanked the men for their warm welcome and announced that June 6th was not only the date of Oflag 64’s one-year anniversary, but also, Swedish National Day, and the 100th anniversary of the International YMCA. The men applauded and whistled, and Henry awarded YMCA Sports Badges to the camp’s star athletes.

The barkers enticed the carnival goers to try their games. Knock over a milk bottle, and win a hunk of German cheese (this cheese was so stinky that the men agreed that no one was allowed to eat it inside the bunkhouses), or the most popular – the Lieutenant Colonel Dunk Tank. The Lt. Colonels were good sports and got soaked for the cause. Meanwhile, the German guards peppered themselves around the perimeter, trying not to smile at the American celebration.

Fortune tellers wearing turbans could predict your fate, and the POWs from Hawaii wore grass skirts and danced the hula. Indoors, in the “Little College of Szubin” barracks, the men toured the Hobby Show’s exhibit of POW handiwork: sketches, oil paintings, and even a POW-made loom.

Around 11am, the officer who had been monitoring the Bird sidled up to Colonel Drake and spoke to him in a hushed tone.

The message galloped through the carnival crowd, barrack by barrack, “the invasion is on.” The POWs had to stifle their joy until the Germans heard the news from their own sources. The dunk tank and games continued.

Around 1pm, German radio blasted over the camp loudspeakers that the “invasion attempt” had begun. The POWs let loose their pent-up cheers. The smiles faded from the Germans’ faces. Hauptman Zimmerman immediately doubled the number of guards on duty.

The Bulletin staffers rushed back to Room 18 to write it up. The headline writer could have used a paintbrush to create the thick black letters of his one-word headline. It took up a quarter of the page, and the sheet’s entire width: “INVASION!” Followed by big red all caps: ALLIES LAND IN FORCE ON NORTH COAST OF FRANCE!!” And, then, in blue: “The Battle is On.” The other half of the page displayed an old German map of Europe, on which a staffer had circled the invasion spots with thick red pencil.

As the Kriegy journalists dashed out the issue, Hauptman Zimmerman stood over them. He wanted to know how much the Americans really knew about the invasion. And, when they knew it. Captain Doyle Yardley wrote in his journal that day, “Sometimes it’s more advantageous to let people believe what they want to think, especially in times of war.”

Back on the Midway, the enthusiasm at the Carnival kicked into unbridled high gear. The men “bashed” the Red Cross food they had pooled for the party. The betting POWs revised their end-of-the-war estimates, and even well-known pessimist 2nd Lieutenant Billy Bingham revised down his prediction from 1983 to 1950.

Softball, basketball, and volleyball matches concluded the afternoon, followed by a festive dinner at 5pm. The published menu was: fried Prem, mashed potatoes, garden carrots, and apple pudding. The Bulletin staffers pinned up a new edition to the Radio Flash:

Flash
 

The invasion has begun.  
The Greatest military event in history started this morning when mighty Allied forces smashed at the 

North Coast of France… 
German radio reports “heavy fighting is in progress.” 
Reich Press Chief Dietrch says, “the German people understand the significance of the moment.”

More Details Expected Tonight.

Left: One of the reusable mastheads. Right: One of several afternoon updates from the “The Daily Bulletin,” June 6, 1944. Oflag 64 Papers, U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center

The Nazi Propaganda Ministry’s English-language radio announcer crackled over the camp loudspeakers. He proclaimed that the greatest share of the Allied airborne troops had been “annihilated.”

At 7:30pm, in the Theater barracks, Bob Rankin and his Orchestra opened the evening Variety Show with “You Made Me Love You,” followed by a revue of the top sixteen Oflag 64 Glee Club hits of the past year. Lou Otterbein, the most resourceful prop man in theater, had been working all afternoon on a surprise ending. At the end of the show, all the performers came out on stage, each holding a piece of a banner that when combined read, “Let’s Go Ike.” As the crowd cheered the banner, a cardboard V-1 rocket breezed down a wire strung over the top of the stage, trailing another “Let’s Go Ike” banner. The audience went wild. 2nd Lieutenant Reid Ellsworth remembered later that even a few of the guards cracked a small smile – he wondered if maybe they too were wishing for the end of the war. 

Oflag 64 Glee Club as published in “The Oflag 64 Item,” June 1944. Photo Credit either the Red Cross or the German guards. Photos of happy well-dressed POWs were good propaganda for the Germans.

The POWs celebrated until 10pm, well past Lights Out. Finally, the Germans ordered an end to the day. The next morning, six-hundred-fifty Red Cross Food Parcels arrived – they were the Red Cross’ “Number Ten” type of parcels, which contained everybody’s favorite, peanut butter. That afternoon a shipment from the YMCA arrived: two-hundred Swedish enamel cooking kits, each one containing 1 spoon, 1 knife, 1 fork, 1 plate, 1 saucepan, and 1 frying pan.

“Morale is tops,” wrote Captain Lumpkin in his journal.

That Summer and throughout the Fall, The Daily Bulletin continued to track the changing Western Front, and – closer to Oflag 64 – the changing Eastern Front: the slow advancement of the Soviet Red Army, rumbling toward Szubin, on its way to Berlin. Near the end of 1944, when the camp population approached 900 and barracks space tightened, my Dad, Diggs, Englander, and Goddard, squeezed into the news room and made it their bunk room as well.

By early January 1945, the camp population had tripled to about 1,500, and most of the “old men” (those who had been there since June 6, 1943) had lost about twenty pounds each. Several feet of new snow lay outside, and, according to The Daily Bulletin, the daytime temperatures had not pushed past 29 in a month. To stay warm, the Kriegies wore every article of their threadbare clothing, and stuffed paper insulation into their boots.

On January 7, 1945, the sound of a deep boom glided across the flat snow fields of Szubin. All of Oflag 64 fell silent. The immediate next boom confirmed the Kriegies’ hope: Soviet artillery. The Americans erupted into cheers, which Captain Peter Graffagnino later said could be “heard all the way to the top of the guard towers.”

Each day, the booms crept a little closer. One of the last surviving issues of The Daily Bulletin was published on January 12, 1945, headlined, “Germans See Moral Victory.” 

The fleeing Germans would force march most of the POWs to Germany. My dad, Diggs, Englander, Goddard, and Durgin, and a few hundred others would leave the war through various routes, courtesy of the “liberating” Soviets – via trucks and boxcars through a devastated Warsaw and Odessa. During the months-long odyssey, the Soviets held my dad and the others for several weeks at a refugee camp in Rembertów (a military town just east of Warsaw), worse than any of the POW camps they had experienced.

Throughout the journey, my dad and Diggs lugged the Daily Bulletin books. Thieves stole two of the giant tomes, and someone ripped a big chunk out of half of the pages of another. After the war, Frank Diggs returned to Washington, DC, and spent the next thirty-seven years working at U.S. News & World Report.

Six weeks after returning to the U.S., my dad left for Berlin, as part of the occupying Military Government. As a junior staffer, he helped rewrite Germany’s democratic political system, and he worked with German journalists – who became his lifelong friends – to advance de-Nazification. Then, at the CIA, he spent the 1950s covering Eastern European and German affairs, including several years stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Bonn. He passed away on June 6, 1985, forty-one years after D-Day and the Oflag 64 Anniversary Carnival.

 

 Seymour Bolten and Larry Allen in the American Zone of Berlin, post-war, Fall 1945

In the 1970s, Diggs donated the surviving Daily Bulletin books to the U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center. He recognized the importance of their chronicle – for a range of lessons during the war, and for generations to come. If you go there and turn the stiff big pages of the sturdy and stained books, you’ll see my dad’s loopy handwriting on the backs of a few of them.

With the modest grace of the “Greatest Generation” – brave, resourceful, and with a glint of humor – the publishers of The Daily Bulletin have left behind a picture of their D-Day from behind the barbed wire. Allen, Bolten, Diggs, and all the Kriegies would and should be glad to know that The Daily Bulletin is still reporting.

Sources:

• Diggs, Frank. Americans Behind the Barbed Wire.
• Englander, Dave. “Soldier Tells of Paper ‘Published’ at Oflag 64.” Editor & Publisher, 19 May, 1945.
• Lumpkin, Tony. Captured Yesterday.
• Oflag 64 Papers, U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center, Carlisle, PA
•  “Sketches from the Lives of Kriegies in Oflag 64”
• Yardley, Doyle. Home Was Never Like This.

© 2019 Susanna Bolten Connaughton

Susanna Connaughton is the Vice President of the Board of the Polish-American Foundation for the Commemoration of POW Camps in Szubin. She is working on a book, The Translator, about her father's POW experience.