Radio in Prison Camps

Radio in Prison Camps

In an article written for "Radio Week," by H W D Longdon and in a radio talk by two Natal men, ex PoW's, they described how radio and their camp "newspaper" brought them the news.

Looking back on those dark days during the Second World War, when most prisoners of war were first penned in behind barbed wire, they afterwards spoke of the most urgent and compelling desires. It was for reliable information about what was going on in the outer world from which they had been suddenly completely cut off.

Their sole source of regular information was the enemy press, which everyone knew was completely unreliable.

Apart from this enemy source, they could only glean scraps of news when new prisoners were interned in the camp. Later on, when mail began to trickle in, it was sometimes possible to draw conclusions by reading between the lines from infrequent letters.

Out of this desire for news was born the determination to construct a wireless receiving set.

Such a task might well seem impossible, but there was no such thing as impossible to prisoners of war.

There were no materials or facilities of any kind available, and there was always the firmly enforced policy of the camp Commandants that only such news as the enemy censors thought fit should be passed on to prisoners.

In every camp, whether officers or other ranks, there were always electricians and other men with technical training as well as ingenious and resourceful minds.

Gradually, from odd scraps of wire or metal, old cotton reels, nuts and screws surreptitiously removed from their rightful places, bits of wood and cardboard and other insignificant trifles, these experts began constructing a receiving set.

Occasionally a guard could be bribed to supply some much-needed item, any reason but the true one being given to account for the request.

In spite of the strict censorship and examination of parcels, certain small essential electrical items mysteriously found their way into camp, hidden sometimes in the heels of boots, sometimes in an occasional tin of tobacco, sometimes in cricket bats or stumps or cunningly conveyed in other ways - often involving the use of codes.

One vital part came in hidden in a small tin can, dropped into a huge cauldron of soup.

Both in the construction and in the use of the sets, of course, the strictest secrecy was essential.

In spite of all precautions, however, information occasionally seeped through to the authorities, resulting in surprise searches.

But it was only in a few isolated instances that radio tackle was found and confiscated and the prisoners responsible for these contraventions were duly punished.

Each camp varied in the method employed in the use of wireless.

In Oflag IXA/Z, as in most camps, the location of the set was changed frequently.

It would be connected to the lighting system in a washroom, lavatory, or any place selected for the purpose on that particular day, and the listener with his crude headphones scribbled down the bulletins that meant so much to every member of the camp.

During this process guards or stooges with a simple system of warning signals kept careful watch, and the approach of any member of the prison staff would be immediately indicated from one stooge to another, and finally to the listener by the casual use of a handkerchief, the closing of a book or some similar agreed signal.

Instantly all apparatus would be dismantled and hidden, and if a guard or security officer entered he would find his charges casually reading or playing games, or idly talking in a most disarming manner.

As soon as the danger passed an "all clear" signal would be relayed to the operators and listening would be resumed.

Almost always the midday BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) news was listened to, and, if possible, another bulletin later in the day.

As soon as it was taken down it would be taken to the "Security Room," where several copies would be made, each one being read to small groups behind closed doors in various parts of the camp and then immediately destroyed.

The whole system was known as "the Canary," and the prisoners' "Security Room" in Oflag IXA/Z was a mass of ingeniously concealed gadgets and tools used in its construction and maintenance.

The panel of a very ordinary and inoffensive looking table could be slipped out to reveal a collection of files, bits of wire, rubber, insulating tape, and home-made tools and spare parts of all descriptions.

From this collection the skeleton key was once made with which a barefaced escape was eventually achieved.

Most Commandants suspected the use of secret wireless sets among prisoners, but few were able to trace them.

And so the steady stream of news came through and was invaluable not only keeping up morale, but also enabling Senior British Officers to make plans for various eventualities, especially in the closing days when release drew near.

It was not for nothing that the wireless was dubbed "the Canary," for truly no birdsong was ever more welcome or sweeter than the news that came to the POWs by this means behind the wire.

In an accompanying article, based on the experiences of two South Africans, Sandy Hay and Eddie Currie Wood, a broadcast talk gave a lively picture of how news was collected and published in their POW weekly camp paper, Clink."

The materials obtained on the black market, cigarettes, of course, were used as camp currency.

Talking about the concealment of the thing, two years P.O.W.'s, as we were then, could steal a fire engine in daylight, or conceal a two-decker tramcar.

One of our men worked for the local plumber, who was a disciple of Karl Marx, and didn't like Hitler.

Back numbers of Clink were smuggled out when we went to work on a Monday morning and tucked away in the plumbery.

We were badly caught out once by a surprise inspection.

Our most outspoken member was up on the wall, and we thought our number was up.

The SS Lieutenant in charge ordered us to send the copy for censorship to Moosburg and marched out, which was dumb of him, as it allowed us to get to work and produce a harmless imitation, with which the censor could find no fault.

Most of the stuff was bought off an architect under whom we worked.

His still had a permit to procure the material and paper of his trade, but having been conscripted, preferred English cigarettes.

An average price was two cigarettes for 10 sheets of paper; ink, rubbers (erasers in the US) and pen nibs were thrown in for a couple of extra cigarettes.

Pen holders and drawing pins (thumb tacks or push pins in the US) were stolen, the latter mostly being taken out of propaganda notices.

We had an astonishing character by the name of Reg Faure, who used to translate the German newspaper and "Kept-hidden" war maps, and supplied the paragraphs of German news for the "Clinkers" Column of our paper.

How he kept his maps concealed I don't know, but as he worked for the customs, he should know something about concealment.

This same man was working with the German electrician, and among his jobs was the repair of wireless sets.

He carefully kept these in pieces until his boss locked him up in the workshop to go for his ersatz coffee (coffee made of non-specific organic material (often acorns) to replace real coffee) at 3 o'clock each afternoon.

As this hour coincided with the BBC News, Faure used to put a set in order, listen in, and give us the dope every evening.

He took good care that there was always at least one set under repair.

Source

Radio Week, 9th November, 1945. Page 5 & 6.