Albert’s Story; His Escape from the Nazis

Memorial Day.  A time to remember those who served. Albert Colin fought against and was captured by the Nazis in WWII. Memorial Day is in honor of all who served to save our freedom. Albert fits this definition, with a twist. He was not an American soldier; he was Belgian. He is a family hero.

A little bit about the story behind the story. Albert Collin is my second cousin, once removed, but I considered him more like a great uncle. His father was my grandmother, Lucie Mazoin’s first cousin and her godfather. Albert was in the Belgian army and the entire army was captured in 1940 and sent to Nazi camps. After a little over a year, the uniforms they were wearing were falling apart and the German’s allowed the men to write home and ask for civilian clothes to wear, which helped his get away. Here is how he daringly escaped in his own word, originally in French, written in 2006.

Albert’s Story; His Escape from the Nazis

May 1940. War is declared: it's May 8 From Bastogne to Lys, the Belgian Army made strategic retreats after battling against an enemy who is better armed and better trained. The surrender takes place: May 28, the Belgian army surrendered without glory. The Germans take us from Olsene towards Deinze, Ghent, Teneuzen then by barge through Holland. I remember Dordrecht, Nimègne. We saw the water of the Escaut, the, Meuse, and the Rhine. We landed at Wezel (I think) then (go to) the camps: Whitmarclien!!, Bathorn!!, Dortmund and finally, Greiswald in Pomerania.

A few days later we went to a farm in Stretense. We were three fellow infantrymen, buddies, Nizet, Degros and me. There were thirty from different military branches, from Liege, from Borains (Walloons from Hainaut), the Ardennes. We stayed there for about fourteen or fifteen months. I have long forgotten. I overlook the adventures we had there with the guards and civilian sentinels.

This was around January 13th, it was bitterly cold. To work at the door, I was forced to not wear my gloves. By working in the train station this morning, I saw that they had put car letter on the train cars, which I knew must be delivered to Belgium. After glancing at it, I saw they had to go to Ghent. I knew they were going  to Belgium because of two comrades in the labor squad who worked at the train station had already tried (to escape) but their adventure had ended and they had returned from  Pasewalk, the next station, 40 kilometers away from where we were in Anklam and 40 kilometers from Stettin. 

At noon, I told my teammate Albert Herman, who was from Stembert, that we had to leave that evening. He hesitated, dreading the cold. I said that I would leave by myself if he did not. "Bursting to burst”.( Also translated as” Dying for dying” – and expression meaning take a chance)  I could not stay (at the camp)any longer.  The day before, I had almost had a fight my boss, Mr. Roeuls, a very big member of the Nazi party.   I had been visited and l had been robbed of my good money which I collected for my flight.  I plotted (my escape) in confidence with a man named Joseph (can’t remember last name) from Welkenraedt, a member of my working squad.  He then threatened to make me change working squads.   He knew that I wanted to save myself. He charged me 25 good marks and (only) gave me some lagergelds (prison money). Finally, the departure was arranged for that evening. My good friend Albert St. Viteux, from Lower Rendeux who knew our plans for a long time, turned the evening into a farewell dinner by drawing on food reserves. He wept as he thought of the adventure were we to start on. We made our packages from the few treasures that we had. Our food was 3 or 4 cans, 2 breads, cookies, chocolates, and two gourds of water. 

After having pushing away the interpreter who was half-Kraut, (half German) who stood in our dining hall, we left with the farewells and "good luck" of my five friends from the little room where I slept. I learned later, from (Albert) St. Viteux who came back ill, they had a dummy in my bed to fool the guard when he checked in. We went to the station, 20 minutes away. It was dark and cold, we lost a water gourd on the way. At the station, Albert stayed near the warehouse and I went to the train car which was difficult to find. I made the cry of the owl, he came to find me.

After climbing up into the train car, we slipped under a canvas tarp, face down, we were not there half an hour we were shivering with cold. Albert wanted to go already. Despite my pleas, he slipped out, saying he heard footsteps. When he reached the ground and saw there was no one there, he told me to make a hole, which I did, putting the boots back into the canvas tarp so it remained flat. So we were able to squat, him sitting on my feet, me on his and the night passed. We still believed the train was leaving because the train was moving around.  The next morning we were still there and suddenly we heard the Germans. They were looking for us! For a moment, I sensed that someone was putting a ladder against the train car and someone was moving the tarpaulin. I told my friend: "Do not move until they have us by the collar.".One (guard) moved a boot and put it back.  We were saved.

 Of the six train cars that were there, they had unloaded four, (Albert) St. Viteux told me later, and I could hear my co-worker shout to the other friends, “Collin escaped and he said nothing to me yesterday and I was with him all day."  An hour later, the train left. At Pasewalk, we stayed all day and night. We did not leave until about three o'clock the next afternoon. We did not know why we stayed for so long at the first stop. We wanted to go out for a ticket at the counter, maybe to Berlin where we had the addresses of connections. The next station was Swinemunde. We heard someone shout "End of journey" to the Belgians. We would have liked to seen them to get a water because ours was empty and we were thirsty. In the evening, we took aspirin to combat the cold that numbed us. When we were moving, we could sleep but the dust would make us snore. For coughing, we had put a scarf over the mouth and inhaling, still swallowing more dust we wanted.

The train car rolled and jerked to reach Magdebourg. We heard that we were there by listening to the train station loud speakers. It was dark and suddenly there was an alert. Then we drew lots to determine who would fetch some snow for water to put in the gourds because we needed water to quench our thirst, which caused us to suffer a lot. It was Albert Herman, who drew the short straw, but he would not go, saying he was too thirsty. He showed me his legs by sticking his finger there. The mark stayed in (the skin stayed indented, indicating lack of fluids.)  I looked at mine, it was the same thing. I was too thirsty (dehydrated) also. I went off the train car with my sox on because I was rushing to take advantage of the alert as the Krauts were holed up (occupied with the alert) for those few moments ... I slid out, I placed myself under the train car, filled my mouth with snow as well as my snow cap, but I had to climb back in and this was another drama. My fingers were numb, stiff, I could no longer feel them and I had no more strength. I was at the end of my rope. I climbed on the first step. I managed to put my hat with the snow in it on the pile. But I did not know to slip under the canvas tarp, my arm was trapped between a support and the boots. I shouted at Albert to come help me, but he went in the opposite direction. I fell to the ground making noise.  I only had time to grab a chain as the train was moving and I risked having my feet cut off. The train car moved only five or six meters. After several attempts, I managed to get into the train car, but we could not find the hole (our entrance). We needed to get our bearing and we remeasured with our arms to find it. Once I was inside, we were drinking but the snow was full of oil. It was disgusting, and increased our thirst even more.  I realized that I had gotten my feet are wet. I removed one sock when suddenly we heard Germans who were walking near the next train car, saying there were footprints and fingerprints under the car and then all night, we heard coughing from brakeman's cab. We dared not move. Albert was lying on my twisted foot.

In the morning the train started again. This was a relief for me. They went on a big bridge over a frozen river. All snow was gone and I was still thirsty, and even a little movement caused dust (to fly). To not cough, I covered my mouth with a scarf because the dust irritated our throats when we swallowed. I took a piece of jujube (fruit candy) that I melted in the mouth and then urinated in a tin can drank the piss. The juice helped hide the taste. We were losing hope of arriving. When I looked through the hole, I saw factories. I told my friend that we were at the Ruhr, and then I saw a station that I have ever seen on the map before and then there were still factories ... One morning, I saw Aachen. "It’s Aix-la-Chapelle" said Albert. "In one hour, we'll be home. In Verviers, we can jump down." So we put our shoes on as we well could because it was difficult to bend our fingers much, they were like small sausages. Five or ten minutes later, the train stopped and was constant jerking. From my little hole, I saw dozens of cars of flax. We were hoping to leave from one moment to next. Night fell and still nothing happened. We took our two daily aspirin and we fell asleep. Then, my friend woke me up. "Listen," he said,” they are speaking French. "Indeed, it was the Belgian Machinists who were talking about the train departure and sending the Krauts to sh__ .. We rejoiced again. We said "This is it, we'll go!" 

All night we were on the alert. We once again took off our shoes and kept our feet swaddled because it was cold. I had, in addition to the sox, pulled out the flannel lining of my sleeves of my hooded coat and twisted it (around my feet to protect from the cold). In the morning, still nothing. We decided that if during the evening we could still hear the machinists speaking French, (we get out of the train car) we would ask them to take us. That night, as soon as we heard machines (running), I told Albert: "Get out, your turn." But he would not. I put my shoes on and hopped out of the train car. I fell on all fours in the snow. I could not even sit up. I crawled up to a machine that I saw about a hundred meters away. When I got there, which was difficult, I listened to them talk. They were from Liège. I shouted: "Hey, what new?" "Come in," they said, but they had to pull me in (onto the train engine), because I had no strength. I explained my case in two words. They wanted me to hide in the coal to get past the customs. They gave me hot coffee which stimulated me. They also told me "Hurry up and get your friend, but if you hear the whistle, do not come, it means is that we left." I returned to look for Albert, but he could not get out. I had to climb back into in the car to pull him out. He wept.

When all this was done, we went where the locomotive was, but nothing more. (It was gone.) What to do? A Kraut was there with a flashlight, looking around our car. He looked at the footprints, and then he left. A locomotive came close to our train car. I returned there. These men were Flemish. They did not want to take us. I promised them five thousand francs when the engine began to move. I went on the right side, Albert remained on the left. I asked the Flemish to take us. They replied: "Het te laat " (it's too late). I tried to put my package on the front of the second engine, but I fell down. I knelt and tried to get up when the first step of the train car passed me. I clung using all my arm strength, I managed to sit on it. I heard my friend shout: "Albert, do not abandon me." But it was a rule between the escapees: in an escape, if there is one that falls, it was too bad for him.

 I managed to get into the train car. Immediately I put my package in a bag and myself in another one because the first machinists warned me that customs was nearby and strict. Indeed, a few minutes later, the train stopped ... A customs officer went into the compartment, but he did not look into the bags. I held my breath so my heart was tight and then (success) I was on my way to Belgium. They drove all night. It was a night of anguish. I recognized Verviers and its (yarn/thread spinning) mills, then there was the Val-Bieniot bridge guarded by a Kraut sentry. I was in Liege, I was going to be free. I was leaping a meter in the air so I was happy.

I saw workmen who were clearing snow from tracks at Guillemins (train station in Liege). How to get out of the compartment? It was full of Krauts both armed and unarmed. I took an all or nothing chance. I put my snow mask as a cap, and my scarf, I let it hang  to my knees to hide my torn pants that had been dragged in Montzen. The exit was just opposite. I went directly to it. The employee asked me my ticket. I told him: "I am a Belgian escapee" and I made my way to the Place Guillemins (Guillemins Square). I dropped my packages, and my heart leaped high. I wondered if it (this freedom) was possible.

Where to go with my twenty francs? It was six o'clock in the morning as I saw a clock in the corner of the Plan road. I saw the light of a small cafe. I went up there because I saw the "open" sign. I looked inside. There was only one man warming himself. I pushed the door and went immediately inside by the stove. When the owner came and saw me, he said: "This is another French escapee." in his Liege dialect. I replied in the same dialect that I was not a French escapee, but a Belgian and that I was very thirsty. Immediately, he gave me something to drink and to eat. Then he asked me where I came from and if I wanted a room to sleep

. A bed! It had been a long time since I had slept in a bed! I drank eight or ten small beers (demis) and as many cups of coffee with rum. Meanwhile, the two men entered who knew me, a (Mr.) Fautré and a (Mr.) Gyot of Vilieroux who wanted me to return with them. I handed them a note for my parents. Then the owner let me sleep in the bed of a couple who had just vacated. I slept like a log.

Suddenly the door opened wide. A gentleman, one hand in his pocket, came next to my bed and asked. me the same questions as the owner of the cafe. I explained that I had relatives[1] in Kimkempois (a town near Liege) and he could call the bakery (now I do not remember the name). The gentleman told me that his name was Werens, that when I have (suitable) clothes, I would go to his home. They nursed my feet and they gave me money to take the tram up to Kimkempois. My Uncle William (Guillaume) brought Philippe’s clothes. (Philippe) was in England. I had difficulty putting the shoes, as my feet were frozen and swollen. Then, the owner sent me to the barber next door, and I must tell him that I was going to Namur. I was shaved for free. I learned that I was the ll7th escapee and only the 3rd Belgian. (The rest were French.) Then I went on foot to Kimkempois. I went to the home of my Uncle William and Aunt Theresa.

The next day my mother arrived in tears and was happy to see me again. Then, Aunt Martha and I, we took foot baths. The door bell rang and it was Mariette, the wife of Charles Tomson which I had written about he was the machinist for the first engine. They came to say that they had seen me in Montzen but did not know any more. Because there were black, "the Rexists" (Rexists were a conservative party, popular in 1930’s in the Walloon area of Belgium, that sympathized with the Nazi’s), at the old dispensary of the Northern railroad line, it was decided that I would move in with Aunt Martha (who lived in a safer area.)[2] And that's where I stayed until September 15, 1944.

 I was treated by Mr. Doctor Lewalle, 8 North Street, and supplied in ration stamps by Mr. Dean Keufgens, 2 Place Saint-Barthelemy. I got my first fake ID card from Mr. Collignon on who was later excuted by rifle, on Jonruelle Street. A little later, when I was healed, I went to work in Hustinne pipe factory where I was put on the list of people who went to the Wersbetelle. In addition became a “refactaire” (a resistance fighter).

I had been home (Bastogne) for three months (Sept-Dec 1944) when I had again escaped to save myself from the Von Rundstedt offensive. (Battle of the Bulge.)  Now, I am a victim of the war and that’s it (voila). 

Charles Collin 
16, Rue d'Arlon - Bastogne




[1] The writer uses the word parents, but his parents live in Bastogne and are butchers.  I believe he meant relatives.
[2] In another version, he wrote that he only stayed two days at his Uncle William’s. It was dangerous to stay with a close relative. Taunte Marthe was actually Albert’s second cousin, a distant enough relative where he’d be safer.