Winter Breakout

It was a freezing cold December day in the woods of the Elsenborn Ridge in the Ardennes forest of Belgium. Christmas was a few days away, yet to 36 year old T5 Herb Bean, Christmas was the furthest thing from his mind. He was freezing cold, his feet were perpetually wet and numb and he was afraid. His unit, the 394 Infantry Regiment of the 99th Infantry Division had spent the last seven days in constant fighting with the German 277th Volksgrenadier Division and the 12th SS Panzer Division. Herb had seen things in the last few days that few men would ever see or would ever want to see in a lifetime. He felt like a changed man in many ways and he hoped and prayed that he would live through the next few days.

The airburst artillery was the worst. The German 88mm shells were designed to explode at treetop level which would create horrific wood splinters that could tear a human body into pieces. The only defense the men had was to dig in and cover their foxholes with logs from felled trees. Even that was not enough if a shell were to land directly into ones hole. “We were all scared of the 88’s” Herb said. Even when using a slit trench to relieve oneself was risky. “Suddenly, the 88’s were coming down on us and the bottom of that slit trench looked pretty good to me at that point.” Herbs rushed to his foxhole rather than hunker down in the frozen excrement and withstood another bombardment. The noise was deafening and the concussion from exploding shells could be felt in one’s chest. The men tried to make themselves as small as possible by crawling into their helmets. After the barrage lifted, the men crawled from their holes to a blighted land. Shattered trees lay about the forest floor and the air smelled of cordite and freshly cut wood. Wounded men screamed in pain as the medics attended to them and Herb shivered in his thin cotton field jacket and with his ears ringing and partially deaf from the explosions, said a thankful prayer that he had made it through another attack.

At age 36, Herb was the old man of the platoon. Most of the men were in their early to mid 20’s. He was already a married man and worked as a shipping clerk in the city of Newburport. He was drafted, given a paltry six weeks of basic training and sent to the war. He stayed with an English family when his unit was stationed in the UK before heading over to the ETO. He arrived on Omaha Beach months after the initial invasion and was trucked into Belgium in time for the German offensive in December of 1944. His division, the 99th, was known as the Battle Babies due to their inexperience. They were green troops that suddenly found themselves thrown against the battle hardened panzer grenadiers who attempted to roll right through them. Much to the surprise and consternation of the German troops, they were stopped cold by the “Battle Babies” of the 99th. Supported by accurate artillery fire in the form of mortars and heavy guns, the Germans suffered catastrophic losses. They simply could not push the Americans off the Elsenborn Ridge thanks to the massive concentration of heavy firepower.

In what would become known as the Battle of the Bulge, the German advance through the Ardennes was now stalled. This was not supposed to happen, according to the German high command. The attack was planned for months and relied heavily on surprise and good supply lines to succeed. The initial attack did indeed catch the Americans off guard which resulted in town of Bastogne being surrounded and hammered by the Germans in a type of siege warfare. Unusually cold and snowy weather also hampered the ability of the armies to maneuver about. The Germans in particular had a difficult time in the thick woods of the Ardennes. Their tanks were meant more for open terrain rather than the dark thickets they now found themselves in. In addition, low cloud cover and fog prevented any type of air support from the Americans, which made the German’s job a little bit easier. Over in Bastogne, the 101st and 10th Armored did their best to hold on despite rapidly dwindling supplies of food, medicine and ammunition. At one point, the artillery was down to less than ten rounds per gun. The outlook looked grim…..the allies needed a miracle.

That miracle came on December 23rd. The sky over Bastogne and the Ardennes started to clear. American supply planes started to drop much needed ammo, food, blankets, medicine and a team of volunteer surgeons flew in on a glider to establish an operating room for critically wounded soldiers. In addition, P-47 Thunderbolts flew combat operations against the German troops and tanks to great effect. Up on the Elsenborn Ridge, the supplies started to trickle in……ammunition and warm clothing for the frostbitten troops. “Our boots were the worst” said Herb “All of us had frostbite on our feet, we simply couldn’t get warm!” Around this time, Herb suffered a minor heart attack due to the incredible stress from the nonstop attacks. “They sent me down to see the battalion doctor. He looked me over, listened to my chest and had me do a series of jumping jacks. When I didn’t pass out, he sent me back to the front line……that’s how short handed we were.”

Fighting in the Ardennes would continue through late January, 1945, but finally the German were now fighting within their own borders. Herb recalled looking up one day upon hearing a low rumble and hundreds upon hundreds of Army Air Corp bombers; B-17’s were flying overheard on a daylight bombing raid over Germany. “Everybody cheered, we all knew that the war would be over soon and that we were going to win, it was quite a feeling.” Herb made it through the end of the war and saw first hand the evil of the Nazi regime when his unit liberated a sub-camp of Dachau concentration camp. Later, while serving with the 1st Infantry Division, he would serve as a courtroom guard at Nuremberg, where the worst of the criminals of the Third Reich were put on trial for their crimes. Herb returned home to Newburyport in December of 1946 and got on with the rest of his life. He rarely spoke of his service in the Second World War and often seemed reluctant to discuss it at all. Herb Bean, my Grandfather, passed away in 1999 at the age of 91.

The Christmas Truce

When war broke out in August 1914, it was generally assumed the whole affair would be over and done with by Christmas. Both sides, cocky with their assurance of victory, envisioned themselves back home with their families in time for Christmas dinner. The reality was that this was not to be a quick fight and as weeks turned to months, it became apparent that Christmas would be spent in the trenches of the Western Front.

It was December 24th, 1914 in a sector of the front line around the Belgian town of Ypres. The rain had been falling all morning, but stopped around dusk and the cold set in. Many of the men in Capt Edward Hulse’s regiment were suffering swollen feet from the cold and wet. As darkness fell, the men set about opening their “Princess Mary tins”…small brass boxes containing chocolate, tobacco and a Christmas greeting from the Princess and King George. Over in the German lines, the men were opening their own versions, the Kaiserliche …….pipes for the officers and cigars for the men.

It was now full dark and the sector around the lines had grown quiet. Suddenly, Captain Hulse noticed that four Germans were walking across no-mans land toward his lines. They were unarmed and were walking in full view of all the troops. Captain Hulse and a few of his fellow Scots Guards rose up out of their trenches to meet them and discovered that the men were doing this on their own….there had been no official order of a truce……..the men simply wanted to come over to the British lines as a gesture of good will. From that point, soldiers from both sides poured into no-man’s land to meet with their foe. At first the British and German soldiers just stared at one another, but one, then another cautiously approached the other with a handshake, an exchange of tobacco, perhaps a photograph of a loved one and the men realized that the inhuman foe that they had faced across the wire and mud were very much just like they were. They had families that they missed and they longed for just a few hours of peace on this most unusual Christmas Eve. Hulse noted in his diary: “Scots and Huns were fraternizing in the most genuine possible manner. Every sort of souvenir exchanged, addresses given and received, photos of families shown, etc. One of our fellows offered a German a cigarette; the German said “Virginian?” The fellow said “Aye, straight-cut”. The German said “No thanks, I only smoke Turkish”….it gave us all a good laugh,”

The Christmas Truce of 1914 was observed all along the lines of the Western Front…some more than others. First and foremost it gave men the chance to recover and bury their dead, but it also gave the men a much needed break from the appalling fighting. Both British, German and to a lesser degree, French soldiers met in the neutral area in front of their trench lines to sing Christmas carols, exchange buttons or other bits of kit, share tobacco and food and meet as friends instead of hated enemies. In many areas, football matches were hastily organized and played. In some areas, the truce lasted through New Years. When the British high command got wind of the truce, they were furious. In some cases, entire regiments were withdrawn and reassigned to different areas of the front. The Germans suffered a similar fate when their staff officers learned of the unofficial truce. Tragically, Capt. Hulse was killed in March of 1915.

Amidst the horror of the great charnel houses of the Western Front, the Christmas Truce proved to all that the inherit goodness of humankind could not be snuffed out and that goodwill towards all still existed in the least likely of places

Preserving the Abomination

Recently, while diving into the dark depths of Ebay, I came across an item put up for auction that made my skin crawl: a complete and purported original concentration camp prisoner uniform. If this wasn’t bad enough, the seller was also trying to hawk an electric wire insulator from Auschwitz, which had been authenticated. I posted the link on a WW2 collectors forum that I am a member of and the overwhelming feeling is that the uniform is a recent reproduction, probably for a film production. What I did learn was that there is an actual collectors market for Holocaust artifacts. Armbands, uniforms, documents, children’s dolls, shoes and photographs are all available for the highest bidder. I suppose I shouldn’t really be shocked by this…..people have been collecting Nazi regalia even when WW2 was still going on. In fact, the market for German WW2 militaria is so great; the majority of items being sold today are a clever fake or reproduction. While plenty of original items are still around, the demand far outweighs the supply.

When I was active in the militaria show circuit, I used to hit all the local shows and flea markets and after a while you got to know most of the regulars. The folks who collect militaria can be dived into three categories for the most part. Reenactors/collectors who use their items for living history displays or to trade with other reenactors (I was a member of this category) Hardcore collectors who were not reenactors, but loved to buy items for their own personal collection which would never see the light of day and the third category……the Scary People. The Scary People dealt only in SS regalia and by the tattoos on their arms, it was clear where their sympathies lay. These folks used to scare the piss out of me. I would see them at the local shows dealing amongst themselves, buying and selling anything connected with the SS. Many of them wore SS rings and sported Nazi tattoos which they flaunted openly. Most of my friends at the show didn’t pay these guys much heed and some even traded with them, but I would avoid them like the plague. So I suppose if the market for SS regalia is so hot, then the market for items connected to their victims must also be popular as well. After a fashion, I stopped attending the various shows……..mostly I couldn’t take the carrion bird atmosphere of the dealers and vendors, but also the pro-Nazi bullshit was starting to get on my nerves. I simply didn’t want to be in the same space as these tattooed yahoos who think that Hitler was a neat guy.

All of this brings me to my main point. What really is the best way to preserve the memory of the Holocaust? To date, the various camps that make up the Auschwitz complex are falling apart. The camps were never meant to survive for more than 65 years. Once the de-population of the Jews from Europe was complete, the camps were to be torn down and the evidence destroyed. The Nazis wanted all memories of the Jews to be eradicated from the collective consciousness of its master race. To this end, Synagogues were burned down, Jewish cemeteries destroyed, grave tablets broken up to be used as paving stones and the entire Jewish population centers systematically liquidated. Today in Warsaw, Poland, only a very small section of the original wall that ringed the Jewish Ghetto remains……the Nazis destroyed the entire Ghetto….every building and just about every resident. Modern markers and memorials abound, but not much is left that is original to those terrible days of WW2.

Much has been written about Auschwitz concerning its fate. Scholars argue how to best preserve it. One school of thought says do nothing….let it fall to decay. Others say keep it from falling apart, but don’t repair anything that may have been built by the Nazis and still others say restore it as a future memorial. One of the surviving gas chambers at Auschwitz was rebuilt by the Soviets after the war as proof of the Nazi atrocities that were committed. Today, that rebuilt gas chamber is used by various historical revisionist assholes as “proof” of the myth of the Holocaust. To that end, the overall restoration of Auschwitz is generally not looked upon favorably. For now, the site is being kept from falling apart, but no serious restoration work is being done.

Many feel that the camps serve another purpose other than reminding people of the genocide that took place there…….the camps are mass graves where millions of their relatives died. Their cremated remains lie just below the surface. It is unknown how many tons of human ash is buried at the various camp sites, it’s simply impossible to know for sure. In the recent past, visitors could pull up sections of sod and see the pale calcified ash mixed with soil underneath. At the Majdanek camp, the human ash pile is said to be as large as a modern football field. This perhaps will be the eventual fate of the camps. When the wood rots away, the concrete is reduced to pebbles and the wire rusts away to dust, people will still come to these sites to mourn their long dead relatives or perhaps it will become a memorial park where future generations of school children will go to learn about one of the largest crimes in history.

Village of Ashes and Tears.

For sheer brutality and depraved disregard for human life, few military organizations have come close to the calculated slaughter perpetrated by the Waffen SS during the Second World War. Case in point is the appalling fate of the village of Oradour-sur-Glane in the Limousin region of France.

It was four days into the Normandy invasion, (D+4) when troops from the der Fuhrer regiment of the Das Reich Division entered the village of Oradour-sur-Glane on Saturday, June 10th, 1944. The village, which stood for hundreds of years, would by nightfall become a charnel house filled with ruined buildings and charred corpses. The perpetrators of this horrific crime were members of the elite 2nd Panzer Division and were, oddly enough, Frenchmen themselves……1 in 3 soldiers in der Fuhrer were from Alsace which was annexed into the 3rd Reich in 1940. Prior to this day, French resistance activity had been ramped up due to the D-Day invasion and the German high command was issuing strict orders on how to deal with the resistance fighters. At this point, there was no reason for the SS troops to enter the village of Oradour…..there were no hidden weapons, no resistance fighters and no partisan activities anywhere near the village. In all, the village of Oradour went about its daily business with little thought of the war that was surrounding them.
There are conflicting theories as to why Oradour was chosen for destruction out of many villages. One theory has is that the massacre was simply a case of mistaken identity and the Germans meant to carry out their reprisals at a nearby village with a similar name, Oradour-sur-Vayres. Other accounts say that a popular battalion commander was killed in the nearby village of Ouradour-sur-Vayres and the SS troops entered the wrong village to search for partisans and resistance fighters. Furious at not being able to extract any information from the bewildered inhabitants, the troops began shooting the hapless villagers out of rage. Another account tells of the town of Saint-Junien being the original target, but was changed to Oradour-sur-Glane due to a rumor of 1800 resistance fighters being holed up in Saint-Junien…….it was easier to attack an unarmed town.

In any event, around 1:30 p.m., 180 soldiers from the Der Fuhrer regiment began to search the isolated farms just south of Oradour-sur-Glane. The occupants were forced to accompany the troops as they entered the village proper. Eyewitness accounts of the few survivors tell of the soldiers being dressed in the green and brown camouflage smocks favored by all members of the Waffen SS. In addition to the uniforms, it was noted that almost all the soldiers were very young…….some under the age of 18. The roads in and out of town were then sealed off to prevent escape. The commanding officer of the soldiers, Adolf Diekmann, located the mayor of Oradour and ordered him to have all the inhabitants gather at the local fairground for an identity check. At this time, only a few villagers sensed impending doom and either fled or hid. The vast majority co-operated quietly with the soldiers. The male villagers were then separated from the women and children, with the later being sent to the nearby church. The men were made to sit down, in three rows facing the wall. It was a little after 3 p.m. and the SS troops started a systematic search of the town. Search is perhaps too kind a word…in reality; it was wholesale pillage of any and all valuables. At 3:30 p.m., the men were split up and sent to six different locations in town, three barns, a garage, a wine storehouse and a blacksmith shop. A few minutes after being herded into the confined areas, the young SS troops leveled their weapons, a collection of machine guns and rifles, and began shooting the unarmed villagers. The first men to fall were protected by the bodies of those who fell on top of them. After the shooting stopped, the soldiers methodically finished off any survivors with their pistols. Hay, straw and sticks were then hauled into the buildings, thrown on top of the bodies and set alight. In at least one of the barns, the men were shot through the legs to prevent escape and where then burned alive when the SS set fire to the structures.

In one barn, the Laudy barn, five men managed to escape when they feigned death. When the soldiers left to gather wood and hay, the lucky five escaped through a hole in the side of the wall that led to an adjoining building where they hid for several hours. Over at the church, over 500 women and children were packed into a building with a seating capacity of 350. The church at Oradour-sur-Glane was built in the 15th century, with the bell tower being constructed about a century after that. With no regard for the sanctity the place or indeed of human life, the SS began tossing grenades and firing their weapons at the women and children inside. It was all too terribly easy. Once the shooting stopped, the same methodical “mopping up” operation was conducted by the SS……shooting the survivors, and then burning the building with the bodies inside. Only one woman, Marguerite Rouffanche, survived the massacre at the church. When the shooting started she managed to throw herself out a window into the ground below where she ran and hid in a garden where she waited for help to arrive.

Having liquidated the population of Oradour-sur-Glane, the SS then set about burning the town to hide their crime. In one rare instance of humanity, several children who hid in a nearby house, apparently missed during the initial roundup, ran into an SS trooper who was searching nearby homes. The oldest of the girls asked the soldier what they should do, and the trooper pointed towards a field and indicated that they should run there and hide.

By Sunday, June 11th, the soldiers from Das Reich had moved out of Oradour by 6 a.m. and villagers from the surrounding towns made their way in to search for survivors and to see what had happened. Once the shocked people reached the center of town, the true scale of the disaster became apparent. This was no military action, but total barbarity and murder. A final death toll stood at 642 men, women and children with only 52 being able to be identified due to the fires.

Even members of the German high command were appalled at the brutality of Das Reich. Field Marshal Erin Rommel himself had offered to conduct the court marshal of der Fuhrer’s commanding officer, Adolf Diekmann, who would not live to answer for his crimes. He was killed on June 29th by a shell splinter to the head. No one was ever held accountable in the German armed forces for the massacre of the unarmed civilians of Oradour-sur-Glane. It wasn’t until 1953 that the surviving 65 out of 200 members of der Fuhrer would be tried for the crime. The survivors to a man claimed to have been drafted into the SS against their will and by 1958, all charged were dropped against the men after an amnesty law was passed for all Alsatians who fought for the Germans during WW2. The last trial for a Waffen SS member associated with the massacre took place in 1983. SS-Oberturmfuhrer Heinz Barth was charged with ordering the shooting of 20 men in a garage. He was sentenced to life imprisonment, but was released in 1997.

General Charles de Gualle made the decision that Oradour-sur-Glane would not be rebuilt, but rather left in place as a memorial to the Nazi barbarity. Today, the Village Martyr, (martyred village) is a ghost town and a poignant reminder of the atrocities committed by the Germans towards civilians all over Europe. Nothing has been removed, save for the human remains…….rusting cars slowly sink into the ground, remains of bicycles, sewing machines and cookware can be seen where they originally stood in the now empty village. Signs in French call for reverence and silence while walking the now empty streets where only ghosts of the murdered villagers now travel.

Fire At The Grove

It was a cold November evening when 24 year old Boston University medical student Daniel Weiss reported to his job as bartender at the Cocoanut Grove nightclub. Weiss was working the cash register that Saturday evening in the Melody Lounge of the Grove. It was November 28th, 1942. Boston College lost to Holy Cross during a huge upset played at Fenway Park and the war was starting to ramp up in the Pacific. Servicemen in uniform filled Boston and many of them were in attendance that evening at the Cocoanut Grove.
It was a little before 10 p.m. and already the Cocoanut Grove was filled beyond capacity. During the prohibition years, the Grove had served as an illicit speakeasy, but with the repealing of the 18th Amendment, the liquor flowed like water. The Cocoanut Grove was THE place to be in Boston at the time and this evening it was as crowded as ever. Downstairs in the Melody Lounge, a female piano player began to play a popular wartime tune and the patrons began to sing along with her. It was just about 10:15, when Daniel Weiss noticed a white jacketed bar boy had just turned a light in a dim corner back on after a love struck patron had unscrewed the bulb to give him and his date more privacy. There seemed to be some sudden movement in the dark corner as several patrons suddenly jumped up as if startled. Weiss then noticed a flickering blue light at the top of one of the fake palm trees that were used as decoration. Within seconds, the blue flame widened into a ring of orange fire in the fabric of the palm tree. “Get water, there’s a fire!” someone shouted in the crowd.
Weiss was taught to guard his cash register during any type of commotion in the club, which is what he did now. His uncle, Barney Welansky, was the owner of the Cocoanut Grove and would not take kindly to his nephew loosing the money from the till. At this point, several other bartenders were throwing water from a pitcher and using a seltzer bottle to combat the ever widening flames, but to no effect. By now, the flames were quickly spreading across the low ceiling and the music had stopped. Still the patrons continued as if nothing serious was happening. One of the bar boys managed to rip down the burning palm tree, but this had no effect on the flames in the ceiling which suddenly flashed across the highly flammable decorations. By now, the patrons were well and truly aware of the disaster before them and started to panic and scream in fright. Most headed up the stairs, which was the only obvious exit in the Melody Lounge. A lucky few were herded through a disguised service door which led into the kitchen. It only took a few seconds for the stairway to become a blowtorch, incinerating the panicked patrons as they tried to stumble up the crowded stairs. The smoke and flames raced up the stairway to the main club at street level with terrifying speed. Club goers who were not burned alive in the howling flames, simply dropped dead from smoke inhalation in the superheated air.
At this time, Weiss dropped to his knees and stuffed a water-soaked rag onto his face, covering his nose and mouth as the lights went out in the Melody Lounge. He then lay flat on the floor behind the bar as the screaming faded into moaning and then into an eerie silence. Weiss noticed that even the fire seemed to be gone. Weiss was fearful of dying with the rest of the patrons so he made a decision to escape via the service door. He stood up, bolted over the bar and landed atop a pile of bodies that had fallen in the inferno. Holding his breath, he managed to scramble through the service door exit which was wonderfully cool and smoke free.
Making his way into the kitchen, Weiss discovered as many as 24 people huddled there who had escaped the Melody Lounge just moments before the inferno exploded like a bomb. Weiss then tried to rally the crowd into following him up the service stairs to the main dining room. Weiss got halfway up the stairs and walked into a wall of intense heat. He then heard the screaming of patrons and roar of the fire and quickly realized that the inferno that had blitzed through the downstairs section of the club was now engulfing the upstairs. He quickly retreated down the stairs and back into the kitchen to plot another escape route. Weiss remembered there was a set of service stairs just beyond the boiler room nearby. He convinced the crowd to follow him to these stairs, but as the entered the warm, softly lit boiler room, a woman in the crowd screamed “He’s leading us back into the fire” and they all retreated back to the false safety of the kitchen. Back in the kitchen, Weiss noticed that smoke was starting to make its way into their sanctuary and pleaded with the crowd to follow him through the boiler room and up the stairs to safety, but none would. He promised he would send help and quickly bolted from the kitchen, through the boiler room, up the stairs and out into the cold night air of Shawmut Street, which was by now filled with chaos in the forms of injured patrons, police and fire personal, flashing lights and fire engines.
Weiss screamed that there were still people trapped in the basement and by now members of the Boston Fire Department were starting to enter the building. He walked around Shawmut Street in a daze and suffering from shock. He decided he would try to call his family to let them know he was alive. He headed over to a nearby nightclub, the Rio Casino, which was owned by another uncle. There he found several of the Cocoanut Grove’s entertainers and staff huddled about in the same state as he was in.
That Sunday afternoon after the fire been completely extinguished, Daniel Weiss was escorted back into the charred remains of the Cocoanut Grove to retrieve the cash register full of money. He noticed that the upper walls and ceiling were charred black, but nearer to the floor was unburned, which meant the fire was confined to the upper portions of the walls and ceiling. Later in life, Dr. Daniel Weiss would become a well known and successful psychiatrist and he today he is assumed to be the last person who escaped alive from the fire at the Cocoanut Grove.
The fire at the Cocoanut Grove was one of the worst in American history at the time. 490 people were killed that night or later died of burns and over 166 were injured. The fire caused a complete rewriting of the building codes used at the time. Revolving doors had to be flanked by two outwardly opening doors, exit signs had to be clearly marked, emergency exits had to be kept clear, decorations had to be constructed of non-flammable material and emergency sprinkler systems had to be installed……all things that were not done at the Cocoanut Grove. In September 1945, the burned shell of the Cocoanut Grove was finally torn down. For years, a vacant lot sat at the sight of one of the worst fires in American history. Today, the area of the Cocoanut Grove is dramatically changed. A major hotel now sits atop the site of the doomed nightclub and even the streets themselves have been altered. Running through what would have been the middle of the club is Shawmut Street Extension which connects Piedmont and Shawmut Street. Only a small portion of the original footprint can be seen off of Piedmont Street. A small square-shaped auxiliary parking lot, seldom used, sits behind a black metal fence with a locked gate. This would have been where the Melody Lounge once sat. Today, it sits empty and unused with only a small bronze plaque placed in the sidewalk as a reminder to the tragedy that took place at the site all those years ago.

The newest controversy to befall this great hobby of ours comes in the form of Ohio congressional candidate Rich Iott. Mr. Iott, who is the Republican Party candidate for Ohio’s 9th District Congressional race in the upcoming election, is associated with the Tea Party and was recently discovered to have been a German WW2 reenactor in his spare time. Iott’s military career consists of having served 28 years in the Ohio Military Reserve, an unarmed civil support group that lends assistance during disasters. But it is his participation in the recreated Wiking Division of the Waffen SS that has many in the far left and some even in the moderate right ringing the alarms.

The fact that Mr. Iott is a German WW2 reenactor is not the big of a deal. I used to don feldgrau myself for a few events way in the past. However, Waffen SS is a whole other kettle of fish. I have heard all the arguments about how portraying SS is for historical authenticity and if it were only that simple, I wouldn’t bother writing this. However……let’s get one fact straight. The SS were Nazis…..period. Sure, they may have conscripted troops late in the war, but the SS were fanatical Nazis irregardless. Many who portray SS buy into the whole master race bullshit and some even think Hitler was a neat guy. I know because I have been there at night around the camp fires when alcohol loosens tongues and the propaganda flows out like a black, malignant vomit. It’s scary stuff, folks and that’s one of the reasons why I don’t do many WW2 events at this point.

Oddly enough, many SS reenactors seem to create their own mythology to give credence to their impressions. Many even downplay or outright deny the war crimes committed by their beloved super soldiers. One individual I know actually tried to tell me that the ancient Romans were much worse because they killed more people. Yes, I suppose that might be true…….but then again, the Roman Empire lasted…..what? Almost 1500 years?, so in that time of wars and expansion, yes…I suppose more people were killed, however it was not done with the systematic and calculated methodology as was used by the Nazis.
The bottom line here is this. If you plan to run for public office, don’t wear an SS uniform. If you think people won’t find those pictures, guess again. To be fair, the news media is salivating over this newest lurid story because it is just that….lurid and scandalous…..but the dark days of WW2 are still very real for tens of thousands of people who suffered at the hands of the Nazis. It’s not ancient history by any stretch

The Valley of the Crucifixion

In the history of conflict there are few wars that conjure up a sense of horror and futility like the First World War. Known as The Great War, this global conflict was fought in every corner of the globe, atop mountains, in deserts, on the high seas and in the air. However is the the Western Front that most of us think of when the First World War is mentioned. The very vision of spectral soldiers slogging though mud and gas choked trenches stuffed with decomposing corpses is what seems to be part of the collective memory of The Great War. In many ways it is the battle of the Somme in 1916 and it's appalling causality count on the very first day, 20,000 British soldiers killed outright, that is seared into the conscience of the entire nation of Great Britain.

Yet, it is the battle of Passchendaele in 1917 that is perhaps worse. Passchendaele is derived from the Flemmish Dale of the Passion or less literally, the Valley of the Crucifixion. Aptly named for the ten of thousands of young men who would meet a grisly end there. Also known as Third Ypres, Passchendaele was fought from July 31st to November 6th, 1917 in a salient around the Belgium town of Ypres which stuck out into the Western Front like a tumor. Salients are funny things when dealing with static trench warfare........they make excellent targets on all three sides, which is exactly what the Germans did. Geography and geology play a part in the horrors of Passchendaele as well. That area of Flanders is actually below sea level and a series of dykes keeps the farmers fields from flooding. The soil is a thick clay which turns into quicksand and glue when water is added. Toss in a few million high explosive artillery shells raining down unendingly which destroys the dykes, and you have flooded fields which can't drain the water thanks to the clay. Into the horrible morass, close to a million British, French and German soldiers, that's a million for each side, would slug it out for the gains measured in yards of swampy terrain.

When the fighting started, British guns fired around the clock in an artillery barrage that lasted for seven days. By then, the ground was so saturated, many shells burrowed deep into the mud to explode harmlessly underground. The shells that did explode on the surface simply added to the soupy, poisoned ground. The Germans hid safe in their bunkers which had been constructed deep underground, many going mad from the unending noise. When the barrage lifted, the British soldiers climbed to the top of what was left of their trenches and attempted a slow and painful slog across no mans land toward the waiting machine guns. Wounded men who were too weak to crawl back to the lines, slowly drowned in the foul mud which was by now like quicksand. It's unknown just how many soldiers met their fate this way, but it's estimated that thousands of men slipped under the watery mud where they drowned and suffocated.

The commander of the great debacle was one Douglas Haig, a pompous and mediocre general as best who was promoted to the rank of Field Marshal after the butchery at the battle of the Somme in 1916. Haig and the rest of the British high command should have been rounded up and shot for their criminal stupidity in the callous way they deliberately threw men's lives away. Haig's junior officers sent him maps showing where lakes had formed in the salient due to the shells and rain, the same lakes that Haig intended his soldiers to cross. The charts were sent back to the officers with the notation "Send us no more of these ridiculous maps". To say that Haig was detached from reality would be an understatement. One anecdote that has been passed down is that of one of Haig's senior staff officer, a man by the name of Launcelot Kiggell, who was all too unwilling to visit the front during the fighting and even more unwilling to believe the reports of the appalling conditions. Finally seeing the wretched, stinking morass of mud and corpses, he broke down in tears and exclaimed "Good God, did we really send men to fight in this?"

In a way, the British general staff has been looked at as a microcosm of the class society of 19th century England. The working class is sent off to fight the wars, while the upper class sits back with their brandy and talk of what a glorious cause it all is. The soldiers were simply chattel to be wasted and used up and they were indeed wasted by the tens of thousands. Ironically, for his butchery and stupidity, Haig was made an Earl after the war. Later in life he somewhat redeemed himself by becoming active in veterans affairs, even setting up funds for the care of ex-servicemen. He was also instrumental in the formation of the British Legion.

In the town of Ypres today there is an impressive memorial to the British soldiers who went missing during the battle for Passchendaele and who have no known grave. Known as the Menin Gate, the names of over 54,000 men are recorded forever in the stone walls that arch over the roadway, one of the main entrances into Ypres. Every evening, a brief but solemn ceremony is held in which members of the local fire brigade close off the street and play Last Post on highly polished bugles. This has been done every single night since 1928, with the exception of the German occupation of WW2.

The Place of Two Waters

For those who have never been to Ft. Ticonderoga, the journey is well worth the trip despite the distance it may take. Every historical location has it’s own “feel” and Ticonderoga is no exception. Construction on what was then called Fort Carillon began in September, 1755 per order of Marquis de Vaudreuil, governor of New France (Canada) with the idea that the fort would be used to deny the British access to the lower end of Lake Champlain and its waterways.
Vaudreuil ordered his engineer, Michel Chartier de Lotbiniere, to construct a rectangular fortification at the junction of the lower end of Lake Champlain and the La Chute River, which according to local legend sounded like a carillon, which gave the fort it’s name.
Lotbiniere constructed the fort out of several rows of squared off timbers and filled the hollow space between with rock and other debris. The idea that wood was much better able to withstand direct fire from cannon than more brittle stone. He then constructed the four main bastions of the fort, which gave it the familiar star shape. Many areas of the outside walls were finished with stone, but this was never completely finished. When the fort was deemed ready, cannon were hauled in from Quebec and nearby Fort. St. Fredreck at Crown Point.
When the French commander in North American, the Marquis de Montcalm, initially surveyed the fort, he was very critical of the size of the main buildings, thinking them too tall and too much of a target and the overall quality of the fort itself was thought to be substandard. Nevertheless, on July 6th, Montcalm ordered the fort’s 3,600 troops to construct additional lines of entrenchments as well as abatis to repel the British troops who were moving up from Lake George to attack Carillon. In what was to become one of the bloodiest battles in North America, the battle for Carillon took place on July 8th, 1758 a distance away from the fort itself on what is now known at the Carillon Battlefield. Over 16,000 troops including regulars, militia and Indians under Major General James Abercrombie attacked the well entrenched French troops and suffered horrific casualties. The Black Watch Regiment, suffered a 60% casualty rate in their attempt to storm over the abatis and log breastworks. The British suffered over 1,000 men killed that day with over 1500 wounded. The French lost about 100 men killed. It was a bitter defeat for the crown forces.
After the French victory at Carillon, Abercrombie withdrew his forces back to Lake George. As winter approached, Montcalm withdrew the bulk of his own forces from the fort, keeping only a small detachment as a garrison. He gave the fort’s commander, Brigadier General François-Charles de Bourlamaque, orders to destroy the fort and retreat in the face of a new British assault. As predicted, a new British assault did occur in June of 1759. The new British commander, Major General Jeffery Amherst attacked the fort with 11,000 troops and quickly overwhelmed the skeleton force of French soldiers who were left as a garrison force. Luckily, the French were prevented from destroying the entire fort, but still managed to damage sections of it including the powder magazine.
Carillon was then renamed Ft. Ticonderoga, which is an Iroquois word meaning “It is at the place of two waters” or “Land between the waters” depending on the translation.
In 1759 and 1760, the British garrison worked at repairing and improving sections of the fort, but it saw no further action in the French and Indian War and in fact was allowed to fall into disrepair by the time of the American Revolution.
In 1775, Ft. Ticonderoga was captured once again, this time by Colonial troops under Ethan Allen who took the fort without firing a shot. At the time, the fort was garrisoned by about 45 British soldiers who surrendered to Allen and his Green Mountain Boys. The cannon and other munitions were removed from the fort and were hauled all the way back to Boston by oxen-train headed up by Henry Knox. In a Herculean effort, the oxen-train dragged the 59 cannon and mortars back to Boston in only 56 days in the dead of winter. The guns were used to fortify Dorchester Heights around Boston which prompted the British to quickly evacuate their troops on March 17th, 1775. During the American Revolution, the fort once again fell into British hands but was abandoned after the defeat at Saratoga in 1777. The retreating British troops were ordered to destroy the fort, which they did to the best of their ability.
After the war, the fort was once again besieged, this time by local citizens who stripped the fort of useable building materials. The land around the fort was eventually purchased by William Pell in 1820 who saw the fort as being historically important and began to turn the area into a tourist attraction. The Pell family restored the fort in 1909 and the historically important areas around the fort, namely Mt. Defiance, Mt Independence and Mt. Hope, were acquired in 1931 by the Fort Ticonderoga Association which owns it to this day. The fort was rearmed with original 18th century cannon cast in England for the American Revolution, but the war ended before the cannon could be sent over. Today, one can see these magnificent guns as well as many others including French siege mortars and field guns.
Today, the fort is a popular tourist destination and has been for many years. The grounds of the Carillon battlefield are remarkably well preserved and one can see the remains of the French breastworks as well as redoubts and even the occasional shell hole. The area of the French lines has a particular “feel” to it and many visitors and reenactors report odd happenings and eerie sightings of shadowy figures in the dark woods. In the mid 1990’s, workmen who were building the Black Watch memorial cairn unearthed about a dozen skeletons with remnants of tartan fabric and regimental buttons that identified the remains as soldiers from the Black Watch regiment. The remains were left in place as they fell almost 240 years ago.

Uncomfortable Truths, Happy Lies

This is going to be a departure from the norm, but I feel that this needs to be discussed in an open forum. I’ve been a reenactor and living historian for over 15 years now, not as long as some of you, but long enough to sniff out bullshit. I’ve done everything from 17th century to Falklands and a whole lotta stuff in between and the one thing I have seen is that people will start to believe their own propaganda. How many times did I have to listen to how the Civil War was not about slavery or that WE (the US) always did the right thing and so on.

But the one thing that I will fight tooth and nail over is these assholes that don German uniforms and have the pills to say that either the Holocaust was a myth or that is was not as bad as reported. So what’s bad? Only 3 million killed instead of 6 million? Would that be better? Okay, here’s the bottom line. The Germans were the bad guys…..period…….they were not some poor innocent soldiers fighting for their country while being manipulated by the command staff. The Wermacht as a matter of policy routinely killed prisoners, civilians and participated in genocide. (Yeah, the Japanese did too, but that’s another rant). The German military along with the civilians knew what those strange camps were for….they saw the smoke stacks belching black smoke and grey ash from the murdered victims, they saw the ghettos that were emptied over the span of 24 hours…..they fucking knew what was going on. There is a reason why Germany today is known to be a great pacifist country that embraces diversity and equality….because for them to be any different would be a blight on the memory of the Holocaust. Historical preservationists have long voiced opposition to the destruction of the numerous Third Reich era buildings that are historically important. Particularly the demolition of the Berghof and the Goering and Bormann houses, but this was done to prevent these sites from turning into a shrine for the Nazi-loving assholes out there who would flock to these areas like flies to carrion.

Yet, there are those out there who would simply like to gloss over these inconvenient truths because the thought of their “heroes” doing something loathsome and inhumane may cause them a sleepless night or two……or maybe not. Don’t even get me started on the SS………assholes every last one of them. The SS were the elite dirtballs of the entire criminal organization of the 3rd Reich and yet thousands of reenactors, collectors and wannabe Nazis think they are the coolest thing since the invention of internet porn. I have seen these folks with my own eyes and they scare the shit out of me. Most of these folks are also the same crew who refer to people of color as “niggers”……you get the picture. Hate is hate, no matter how it’s served.

More from Battle Road

The latest saga in the Battle Road Love-Fest is a change of plans about allowing sutlers or not. My good friend Steve just let me know about his experience in dealing with intricacies of the Park Service. After a long delay, the Park Service sent out sutler registration forms with a $50 processing fee. Last week, the NPS told all the sutlers that the forms were no longer acceptable and that there would be no sutlers allowed this year. Just yesterday he was told that there is a new form to fill out with a $250 fee! So don't look for sutlers at Battle Road this year.....there won't be any.
This seems to be the path of the course for this event with their super exclusive Praetorian Guard at the entrance gates waiting to turn away reenactors without the proper stitching in their coats and their farcical policies and guidlines on what is forbidden and what is deemed acceptable by Those In Charge. So fuck you all very much and have a nice event.

From Battle Road, the beat goes on.

Over the weekend I got an email from my pal Ed, who is an avid 18th and 19th century reenactor along with this wife, Lynne. The two of them have been involved in both Rev war and Civil War reenacting for many years now and know their stuff when it comes to what is proper and what is not. Well, apparently the stitch counting committee at Battle Road this year thinks they know better than veteran reenactors with close to 20 years experience.

Ed informs me that he and his wife were made to stand in line for an "inspection" by the stitch-nazis at the beginning of the training session. They actually informed him that his handmade coat needed a running stitch along the collar and that Lynne's pinafore wasn't correct. Lynne was then asked if she would like to attend one of "their" sewing classes. This wrinkled their noses as much as it did mine. Oh, and their young nephew was told he needed to have a coat instead of a farmers shirt as all male participants MUST wear a coat this year. So as Ed suggested, someone better cover up the Minuteman stature at MMNHS otherwise he might get removed as well.

I'm all for authenticity, but this goes way beyond anything that is acceptable. It's pettiness for the sake of being petty. What really frosts me however is that a few individuals think they have the right to interpret history as they see fit, irregardless of whether or not it's accurate.

As it turns out, Ed and Lynne are doing exactly what I intend on doing at Battle Road......attending as "period" members of the public therefore bypassing the bullshit that the registered reenactors must put up with. A sad state of affairs to be sure.......

Gear Review, Ft Turner Tomahawk

One thing about 18th century reenacting that everyone enjoys is the acquisition of material.....particularly those items that are of such quality, they will last a lifetime of actual use and will become an heirloom over time. One such item is the Ft. Turner tomahawk. Ft. Turner makes some of the finest hawks in the business. Hand forged one at a time, their hawks come in a variety of styles and sizes. Their Iroquois tomahawk is a favorite with 18th century reenactors as is the Roger's Rangers hawk. According to their website, the Rangers hawk is a favorite with active duty soldiers on the front lines of today's battlefields. The more things change, the more they stay the same!

After feeling the razor sharp edge of my Iroquois hawk, I would not want to be on the receiving end of it. I had to wait about 6 weeks for mine to show up, but it was well worth the weight. This is not a cheaply made monkey-metal POS made in some village, but a hand crafted, professionally made tool that will withstand actual use day in and day out. The handles are all made from hickory, fire hardened and finished with a satin lacquer finish which brings out the grain beautifully. Currently, the Iroquois hawk is running about $50 and it's well worth every penny. They still make them one at a time and military orders take priority, so be prepared to wait a bit. You won't be disappointed!

In the past, I find that my belt knife and hawk get the most use during a weekend encampment. Tomahawks are perfect for cutting thick branches for shelter poles, making kindling, cutting up root vegetable and even fighting off hostiles from time to time. It's one of those tools that once you have one you will wonder how you ever got by without it. I wouldn't go into the woods without mine now...even when we go 21st century camping! I always bring a hawk along with me.....granted I get some funny looks from the campers next site over, but it cuts down on small talk on their part when they see a hawk tucked into my belt!

Ft. Turners website is http://www.fortturner.com/index.html

Boston Massacre 2010

This past Saturday, the sounds of an angry mob and sporadic gunfire once again filled the streets of Boston. This time around it had nothing to do organized crime or drunken frat boys run amuck, but rather a very well done recreation of the Boston Massacre. The event is held each year around the March 5th date, which is the actual date of the event......March 5th, 1770.

With warm temperatures and no rain, the crowd was larger than normal and we had a full complement of reenactors there. It was akin to old home week....you greeted old friends you haven't seen all winter and caught up on the latest gossip. I was assigned to mob #1, which was due to "go on" first. Myself and a few mates were dressed as local merchants who might have been out on that evening only to find themselves as part of an angry mob. The street nearest to the Old State House had been cordoned off by the police and a large crowd of spectators had gathered to watch the events unfold. From where I was standing, I could hear some narration going on as an effort to whip up the crowd into the proper frame of mind. A few of us had clubs...myself being a gentleman had my walking stick....which is a refined club. Not much defence should the regulars decide to fire into the crowd.....which they did. All at once, a whistle blew and we rushed through the crowd and formed up on the perimeter of the scene. Private Hugh White stood alone facing a mob that was a bit too close for comfort. I would not have wanted to been in his shoes.......
Suddenly, the air was rent with boos and hisses as six British troops and their officer arrived on scene in an attempt to extricate Private White from the angry mob. The soldiers stood fast with bayonets ready and I watched them load.
"Shurly they do not mean to fire on the citizens?" I asked a fellow nearby (in keeping with the period). "I should say that they do, the villains!" came his reply. I stayed on the edge of the main violence, occasionally raising my stick to shout out "Isn't it enough that we must pay taxes?" The crowd at this point looked something like a rugby scrum......massed bodies being pushed back and forth.....an 18th century mosh pit if you will. Suddenly, one of the muskets fired KERRCHOOM!", I instantly ducked and turned as another musket discharged and another after that.....which is exactly what happened historically. When the shooting stopped, there were three prone bodies on the ground. "Merciful heaven what have you done?" I shouted to the regulars. The body of Crispus Attucks lay at my feet being tended to. I walked over to another fallen patriot and crouched down. "Murderers!" the crowd chanted. I stood suddenly and yelled "You will hang for this, it's murder!" I did my best to look horrified at the carnage. The soldiers said nothing, they formed up and were marched off to the side. All at once, the Governor (not the current one), made an appearance at the window of the statehouse and appealed to the crowd to disperse. His promises of a trial by law were met with roars of anger. And all at once, it was over. The bodies got to their feet and the crowd applauded! All in all, it was a very good show, I think. I was told by several of my fellow reenactors that they really got into the moment and came very close to pummeling the regulars.......a period rush, if you will. As a "gentleman", I stayed out of the mosh pit much preferring reason to violence, but that's just me.