Letters from Camp

The First Letter

I don't know what to make of this. It sounds crazy. And if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it either.

A few days ago I stumbled on a letter hidden behind one of the wall panels. It was in German so I figured that it might have been one of the prisoners before us. But I found out that we're the first guests of Stalag Luft III.

Looks like studying Deustche is finally paying off - especially since I don't think I'm ever going to make it to medical school now. Not while I'm stuck here sitting out the rest of this war anyway.

"Maybe this will end up in the hands of the German soldiers but I don't care.  Who knows how much longer any of us have anyway? In any case I want to tell someone about my life. I need to tell my story.

My name is Katrina. I'm a 16 year old girl from Poland. When I was young, my family moved to Nurnberg. Most of my childhood was like that of any other girl. My little brother Samuel is half my age now. We had a cat named Mittens because of the white spots on his paws.

A few years ago is when the troubles began. We moved to Nijmegen to get away, and for a while things were better. There were rumors of the Germans sending the Jewish people to prison camps, but no one wanted to believe it.

We tried hiding out in the country but they found us. Mamma and I were separated from Pappa and Samuel once we arrived to Auschwitz.

It was terrifying - the dogs barking.. the soldiers herding us like cattle. They took away all our clothes and what little we had left. They shaved and disinfected us. I no longer had a name. Now I was number 39933.

That was two years ago. Girls not much older than me look like old women. Everyone looks like a ghost - just pale, skin plastered on bones. We can barely recognize ourselves.

Worst of all are the smells - latrines that are always full, and there is nowhere to empty them. The furnaces run day and night. I have heard that this is where we will all end up.

Although I don't want to die, anything must be better than this. Each day barely living. So much sickness and death all around you. One day your friend is sleeping next to you - the next they are carried away like a sack of potatoes.

I used to hate the bland taste of potatoes. Now I can't describe the joy of finding even half a bite in your daily "soup" - if it can be called that. God forbid that you should lose the bowl to put that stuff in. But watery gruel is all they give us to eat. Without it we would surely starve.

From time to time we hear rumors that the Allies are close - that soon we will be free. Mama says that this is just wishful thinking.

Free - I can barely remember what that word means. I think perhaps most people think of freedom as being able to go anywhere. But to me just having privacy is freedom. Here there is nowhere to go where someone isn't watching you - not even the latrine!"