Winfred

4

                                                                 Officer of Transportation

I do not know how stationary belonging to the Officer of Transportation has reached this little room, with its dilapidated filing cabinet and desk. However, as I wanted to describe the hotel while I was thinking about it, I decided to find some paper that would do for writing on. Bear with me, as this pencil is not quite sharp… On a side note… it is storming outside…

Anyhow: when I first visited the hotel six years ago, it was quite a pleasant place to be. They had decorated the rooms in styles named after the French King who had made the style popular. I do not know all the names, because, although I speak French, I am not an expert in any sort of French History or Culture. Louis the XIV was one of them, however, and him I do know. Anyways, the hotel was light and cheery with white and tan stucco and a beautiful entry arch and lobby. Uniformed Valets and other hotel workers were constantly scurrying through the halls, asking how they could be of service to you.

Now however, so much has changed that it is hard for me to imagine a place more different. It is dark and dismal. The building has been sloppily painted in shades of brown and black to make it less visible, even by moonlight. A huge, wrought-iron fence has been hastily constructed around the perimeter, with the top lined with barbed wire. Barbed wire surrounds the fence as well, lying on the ground on both sides, as if, just in case you made it over the fence, you’d only meet with another obstacle. Watchtowers have been erected as well, and German soldiers stand in each one, binoculars at the ready.

A few anti-aircraft guns are in the courtyard to the right and are always manned, in case they should happen to spot an Allied plane. The only people scurrying about in the hall are uniformed soldiers or members of the Gestapo. None of them are begging to be at your service. None of them are willing to offer you a smile. Certainly, not one of them is willing to hold the door for you or carry your luggage. Not that we have luggage. We come in with literally nothing. They even take our clothes, as though it is funnier to see a prisoner being tortured in just their underwear. (More on torture methods later)

When I was brought to the hotel/prison, I knew that I might never escape alive. The only effective thing to do, was to stall for time. And time, in a Nazi Prison, is quite a valuable commodity. If you have time, you’re lucky. But usually, that time is spent being tortured, in hopes that you’ll cough up information on the British war effort.

Anyhow: the hotel rooms, once so beautifully furnished, were now void of furniture, save a wooden board, somehow hung on the wall, where you could sleep. No pillows, no blankets, and, thanks to the Nazi Soldiers, no clothes. Quite a dismal experience. The only, truly nice rooms are the officers’ rooms, and the soldiers’ rooms are apparently, though plain, quite comfortable. At least, that is what the woman guarding me said. Her name is Kare Pirot. She is French, originally, I believe, hence her last name. More on her later, though, as I feel I am straying off track, since this stationary is limited and I was writing specifically about the hotel-

***

image: barbed wire surrounds a prison camp