A Zululander at war

‘AT the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.’

Last Sunday while watching the memorial service for the fallen soldiers (Poppy Day) held at the Cenotaph in London, I wondered – do we really remember them?

Not only those who made the supreme sacrifice, but also the young men who, having experienced the horrors of war and sometimes captivity, returned home after four or five years, much changed.

In early 1940, my father Etienne Lavoipierre, known as Steve to his friends, together with a number of Zululanders, amongst whom were his close friend Archie Baker, left his wife and two young sons behind and went to war.

He would not return for five-and-a-half years.

Having seen action against the Italians in Abyssinia, they went on to the Western Desert and the battle of Sidi Rezegh where Rommel and his panzers gave them a terrible beating.

In the aftermath, he and Archie, having commandeered a couple of trucks, took off in opposite directions.

Archie eventually made it back to Empangeni where he went back to his job of managing Logoza Sugar Estate.

My father was not so fortunate and spent the next two years as a guest of the Italians.

Upon the capitulation of Italy, the Germans rounded up the prisoners and he ended up in Gorlitz at Stalag 8A, which was to be his home for the next three years.

According to his diary, they were treated reasonably well, unlike the Russian prisoners in the camp next door. Thanks largely to the Red Cross they even had, what to them were some small luxuries, such things as books.

He was appointed camp librarian with a library which had in excess of 1 700 books.

Cricket, rugby and basketball were played and unfortunately, even in those days, the Kiwis made a habit of beating the South Africans.

The currency of the camp, amongst the prisoners, was cigarettes and as an example, a can of tinned milk as supplied in Red Cross parcels would cost 30 or 40 smokes depending on the seller.

As the fortunes of war changed and Germany started to collapse, the prisoners were rounded up and under the command of Oberleutnant G Reiche started the Long March on 16 February, 1945.

Reiche deliberately led them away from the advancing Russians and towards the oncoming British.

In the middle of an European winter, with inadequate clothing and food, they marched for ten long weeks, a distance of 888 kilometres and arrived in Lutow on 2 May, 1945 to be greeted by British troops under the command of Field Marshall Montgomery.

An entry in my father’s diary says, ‘Good old Monty’.

Oberleutnant Reiche, before surrendering, wrote in the diary, ‘Have a safe trip home to your loved ones’.

They were then moved on to Lune-burg Heath where the Germans were to sign the articles of surrender.

On 4 May, 1945 they were flown to England and freedom.

On 5 June, 1945 my father arrived at Durban station in a troop train crammed with former prisoners of war to be greeted by his family whom he had not seen for five-and-a-half years.

There were thousands just like him to whom we owe a debt that can never be repaid. We should indeed always remember them and the sacrifice they made on our behalf.