[{"content":"Warning: contains graphic images.\n","date":"20 February 2026","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/gallery/","section":"Welcome to the memorial website of Constant Julien Droesbeke.","summary":"Warning: contains graphic images.\n","title":"KZ Flossenbürg Photo Album","type":"page"},{"content":"","date":"20 February 2026","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/posts/","section":"Posts","summary":"","title":"Posts","type":"posts"},{"content":" Foreword # I dedicate these few pages to my wife who, despite her young age,\nat the risk of her life, took part in the resistance by accompanying me during the execution of acts of sabotage while our homeland was occupied by the Nazi hordes.\nI also dedicate this account to Colonel J. VAN RUYCHEVELT, whose father died in a concentration camp. He understands better than anyone what life was like for concentration camp inmates — slave labor under the rule of the SS and Gestapo.\nLacking any literary talent, I will strive for precision, sincerity, and impartiality in my description, without omitting details, so as to leave a testimony of what I saw and experienced in the Flossenbürg camp.\nMinistry of the Interior information sheet FLOSSENBÜRG # This death camp was located in the Bavarian Upper Palatinate, 5 km from the Czechoslovak border. An isolated and very well camouflaged place.\nNearly 111,400 people, including 95,400 men and 16,000 women, were detained there between 1938 and 1945.\nApproximately 74,000 people died there, including 4,771 French and 1,693 Belgians.\nThis is the grim toll of this Nazi camp, a detailed description of which will follow.\nAt a time when racism and anti-Semitism are re-emerging throughout the world, when blind terrorist violence defies reason; at a time when people are imprisoned and tortured for opinion crimes, speaking of this sad past may seem useless, a sterile evocation of painful memories.\nBut so that genocide and the deportation of entire populations are not drowned and forgotten in time, it is necessary that men remember, that others question the guardians of this collective and individual memory, to render justice to the victims.\nWhen one has not lived the facts, curiosity and the thirst for knowledge allow one to question former deportees, to better understand the different motives that led them on this march toward memory.\nOne can best discover, through the words of those who lived it, the hallucinatory reality of a methodical, industrialized system of extermination.\nThen the names, until now unknown or ignored, resonate: SVATAVA – ZWICKAU – TEREZIN – LITOMERICE – HRADISCO – JANOVICE – HOLYSOV – FLOSSENBÜRG – and so many other places that Nazi barbarity turned into hells.\nAs a witness who lived through this drama, I can, in simple sentences, tell you the dimension of the horror and teach you more about the concentration camp world than the most complete thesis ever could. Make you understand not only with the mind, but with the heart.\nThrough the evocation of the abuses I endured there, some will at times rediscover the accents of fear, the faces of martyrs whose eyes, dead to hope, launched a heartrending appeal to those who crossed their path.\nThe number B 39.888, which I wore on my convict’s uniform and which I have piously kept as a relic, speaks of all the suffering endured during my sad captivity.\nB 39888 This “rag” bears witness to a past I can never forget, to the will to remember my fellow prisoners who did not have the chance to return from this hell.\nI allow myself to draw your attention to the heartrending cries of the thousands of brothers and sisters killed in the camps, of those who implored me, before dying, to tell you what fanatical, disoriented beings were capable of and what a dictatorship can lead to!\nThe recounting of their nightmares, of the sufferings they evoke and those one can guess, becomes an act of accusation — not only against monstrosity, but against any stubbornness to destroy human dignity.\nThey recall without hatred; they have known for 45 years, in body and heart, everything that hatred can annihilate; that reason is not always enough to protect against it.\nWhen I describe this hell, one can only try to imagine the existence I led there during those long months.\nHe who did not share our fate can grasp only an infinitesimal part of what our ordeal was. For me, the shadows remain so present that one would think one hears the dry crack of a firing squad’s weapons, the heartrending call to life behind the barbed wire from all those commandos, inviting reflection on justice and tolerance.\nBetween the sordidness and the greatness of those who gave their lives in the struggle against arbitrariness, the choice is made.\nStopping at these sufferings, retaining from deportation only this enterprise of dehumanization would, in my opinion, make the executioners triumph and betray our dead. Some lacked the strength or support needed to escape “the daily death of the camps”; others yielded to the temptation to enslave their fellow captives in turn. But many tried, to the extent of their means, to make humanity and solidarity triumph.\nWe, the survivors, must teach younger generations that, in the face of ideology and violence, the last word must belong to spiritual forces — where the will to live, the desire to affirm one’s dignity, and the hope of rebirth in the memory of men are concentrated.\nBetween the past of our memories and the future of our hopes lies the present, which it is up to us to shape, by watching over the development and respect of man, drawing on the lessons of history. A people that forgets its past is condemned to relive it.\n16 DECEMBER 1944 # For disobedience to the enemy, a group of 95 prisoners is sent to Flossenbürg camp.\nWe climb — under the jeers of the German inhabitants, on foot and handcuffed — an extremely steep slope about 1.5 km long through the village of Flossenbürg, from the station to the camp entrance.\nThe inhabitants, adults and children, stood on their doorsteps or at windows, clearly happy to see us in this state.\nYet behind some windows one could see people with an almost compassionate expression. Doubtless the defeat at Stalingrad and the retreat of German units to prepared positions on the front were beginning to have an effect. Others displayed mocking smiles.\nAt the exit of the village, on the left I discovered the ruins of an old feudal fortress, of grim appearance, built on a mountain.\nThis stone armor, still imposing in its style, dominated the surrounding mountains.\nI saw numerous barracks of various kinds, recent stone buildings in Bavarian style.\nI also noticed that through considerable earthworks, a kind of immense platform had been built over the valley, connecting the flanks of two facing mountains.\nIt was on this site and these hilly slopes — at 1,100 meters altitude — that Flossenbürg camp was installed.\nThat is where I remained for months.\nThe camp was surrounded by fir forests as far as the eye could see.\nIn the distance a lake was visible, largely hidden by the forest.\nOpposite, a hill where a stone quarry was in operation. Stones of all sizes could be seen. This area was enclosed by barbed wire and watchtowers, suggesting prisoners worked there.\nAmong the piles of stones were large black holes — entrances to tunnels dug into the mountain.\nThere were many flat-roofed barracks, camouflaged and perfectly imitating stone.\nThe camp entrance was majestic, flanked by two enormous dressed-stone pillars supporting a massive, sturdy, locked iron gate.\nThe enclosure was impressive.\nA hurried, furious, raging SS man carrying a large stick approached us and made us advance so he could count us more easily.\nThe large heavy iron gate closed behind us with the same creak as when it opened for our arrival.\nIt really was winter; –17 °C. Snow had fallen and been so trampled it had turned to ice. The dry, biting wind made us shiver; frostbite attacked our feet and hands while we waited for delayed orders. We could again see the old castle ruin roughly marking the border between Czechoslovakia and Germany.\nNo trace of the outside world, of civilization. We were locked inside an electrified enclosure!\nElectrified fence of KZ Flossenbürg It is with blows of batons that our guards, called \u0026ldquo;Kapos\u0026rdquo;, enforce discipline and carry out orders. They are everywhere, in every corner! These are apparently positions of privilege! We are stunned to see with what zeal these \u0026ldquo;Kapos\u0026rdquo; rain blows down on their fellow prisoners.\nAt the slightest sign—not of rebellion, but mere incomprehension—they land a leather strap across your back or head, wherever they can reach. After this small foretaste of our jailers\u0026rsquo; expertise, we are ordered to immediately abandon everything we possess!\nIn no time at all we are completely stripped! Over here the fine clothes, good shoes, woollen garments, jewellery, rings, glasses.\nWe cried with rage—our photos stolen, everything we had so carefully managed to keep throughout our captivity; everything had to be surrendered, without protest, without a word!\nIn a few minutes we are stripped of everything, naked as worms—not embarrassed, but inconvenienced at no longer having pockets in that terrible cold!\nOur clothes are heaped pell-mell in a corner like a pile of rags!\nWe are made to run, in our birthday suits, between two lines of guards who beat us as we pass—despite the cold, the slippery ground, our bare feet. We circle like this for at least half an hour! Despite the cold we sweated from pain and anguish!\nAfter this running torture they spray us with ice-cold water!\nWe then enter the barracks where we find our wooden sleeping troughs. What a painful beginning! What will our future be?\nSuddenly two prisoners, not too badly clothed, appear armed with scissors and clippers. One after another we pass before one of these \u0026ldquo;barbers\u0026rdquo;. The first rough-cuts with large snips, lock by lock, leaving a few centimetres here and there… We kneel before the second \u0026ldquo;hairdresser\u0026rdquo; who finishes the job perfectly in seconds with his clippers! Everyone is shaved!\nBut it is not finished. Everything must go! And the clippers move again wherever nature had covered our nakedness!\nOnce finished, nothing remains! We are unrecognisable, disfigured! These are no longer men, but a kind of stooped beasts on spindly legs.\nAs clothing we inherit a blue-and-grey striped suit of thin wood-fibre fabric, unlined. A cap of the same uniform material. On our feet, wooden clogs with thick wooden soles and ribbons to tie.\nOur first home is Block 20.\nThat evening—no food; it is too late! We must wait until noon the next day for a little soup. Quick, quick amid the hustle, the din of dazed men defending themselves as best they can because they are hungry.\nI am lucky! I manage to secure a place in a third-tier bunk, under a shred of blanket. Head resting on our striped suit as a pillow. Because here one must undress for the night and sleep in a shirt—practically naked in these filthy troughs that no longer even have enough planks to hold the chopped straw that serves as mattress.\nWe sleep four to a trough, lying on our sides like sardines.\nThe dormitory swarmed with vermin: lice were absolute masters; at times fleas moved in waves. I was covered in red spots—flea bites; these creatures love human flesh. Lice lodge in the folds of our clothes. The little free time we had was partly devoted to flea hunting! The edges of the cross-planks of our troughs were black with the corpses of lice killed by our predecessors!\nWoe also to anyone with a dysentery sufferer sleeping above them.\nAt 8 p.m., at the last bell, lights out in the barracks and absolute silence imposed.\nMorning—summer and winter—reveille at 5 a.m.! The racket begins and the \u0026ldquo;guards\u0026rdquo; haul us out of the \u0026ldquo;bed\u0026rdquo; with baton blows. They enjoy themselves, shouting their wild cries. You would think the barrack is on fire. From now on it will be the same every morning at wake-up—no grumbling, even if a rubber truncheon lands on your skull.\nBed order is inspected like in the army; if it displeases the \u0026ldquo;Blockältester\u0026rdquo;, the \u0026ldquo;Schläger\u0026rdquo; take care of it with baton blows, and as punishment—no evening meal, which is all profit for our \u0026ldquo;guards\u0026rdquo;. We must then leave the barrack and line up for roll-call, forbidden to move. The same throughout the camp. We are about to meet our block chief. A small stocky man with a sullen, brutish face. He yawns with disdain and rage. He must be about fifty.\nHe owes his position as block chief first to his German nationality, then to his status as former convict sentenced to life at hard labour. He is therefore scum of Nazi society, serving his sentence here and having lost all contact with normal people for at least ten years. He has thus lost every human feeling.\nAs block chief he has the right of life and death over every prisoner. He vents his anger and contempt on us, poor defenceless victims. Killing a man is for him habit, whim…\nAt the command \u0026ldquo;po pjat\u0026rdquo; (by fives—in Russian) we all line up in rows of five and receive the traditional \u0026ldquo;welcome\u0026rdquo; speech.\nHe makes us understand that Germany needs help and arms to accomplish her great and worthy task! Germany shelters us, feeds us, clothes us. It is up to us to work for her with heart and conviction. Any refusal to work will be punished by death.\nThese speeches—translated into Russian, French, Italian and Czech by interpreters—are followed by the listing of further regulations and profound thoughts! The chief continues: the war was inevitable, but it will soon end and Germany will emerge victorious! The Anglo-Saxons will be thrown back into the sea and Bolshevism—the number-one enemy—will be destroyed. Followed by translations.\nThen come recommendations, camp law: no sabotage under penalty of hanging; no political talk under penalty of death; no theft under penalty of the same fate.\nObedience and respect to the authorities, uncover when a Boche passes, etc., etc. In short, we must behave like good beasts of burden, submissive and hardworking slaves, always content with our lot! Our life is worth nothing!\nThe height of it is that we were forced to shout in chorus and loudly \u0026ldquo;Ja!\u0026rdquo; to approve all this nonsense!\nAccording to his speech it was indispensable to wash, but… there was no water! Tragic comedy.\nAfter having practically sworn obedience and fidelity to prison regulations, we had to have our registration number produced in duplicate and sew the two strips onto our \u0026ldquo;uniform\u0026rdquo;—one on the left shoulder, the other halfway down the left trouser leg.\nThen registration in the camp ledger, which enrols us definitively into the community! We are now identified! My name has become: \u0026ldquo;nicht name B 39.888\u0026rdquo;. We will be assigned at any moment to the various commandos.\nRegister of names of KZ Flossenbürg: 39888 Droesbeke Constant Julien A bell rings—midday—soup time! Hunger claws at our stomachs. Ten men are detailed to fetch the \u0026ldquo;Kübel\u0026rdquo; from the kitchen.\nWe are assembled outside in front of the block, each with a rusty iron bowl and a large spoon. After quite a long wait in the cold, without permission to move, the fatigue party returns with five containers of \u0026ldquo;soup\u0026rdquo;!\nThe containers are placed near the block, in front of the \u0026ldquo;Kapo\u0026rdquo; or block chief and his subordinates. One of them holds a one-litre ladle—the regulation ration! Another opens a container and a cloud of steam comforts us. The thought of something hot to eat already warms us. Distribution begins at once and proceeds at high speed. Our bowl must be instantly within reach of the ladle. Too bad for anyone too slow to catch his meagre portion. The ladle is never filled to the brim—the distributor always arranges to keep an extra ration at the bottom for the baton-wielders, interpreters, and the \u0026ldquo;Kapo\u0026rdquo;\u0026rsquo;s favourites.\nThis soup was very thin indeed and the thickest part stayed at the bottom. Despite this meagre meal we felt a little better!\nAfter this \u0026ldquo;gastronomic\u0026rdquo; dinner an old-timer tells me the following: here in the Oberpfalz we have the harshest climatic working conditions as well as the most primitive living conditions.\nPublic floggings are regularly carried out in the day-room of a barrack—usually in the evening after work. Detainees must attend and sing to drown the victims\u0026rsquo; screams. For the slightest offence the whole block is deprived of food the following Sunday. The entire block must undergo disciplinary exercises—standing outside for hours in rain or cold.\nEvery prisoner risks at any moment being mistreated or even shot during work for no reason, according to the guards\u0026rsquo; mood. Hanging by the arms twisted behind the back from a post for half an hour or more is commonplace. This torture causes insane pain.\nOther refinements devised by our protectors: hours in the squatting position, not to mention hangings and killings.\nKnowing these possibilities was precious for our future.\nThe little \u0026ldquo;freedom\u0026rdquo; we were granted was used to look around, to better study the camp and its activity. There were about 24 inhabited blocks, sheltering at that time roughly 10,000 prisoners.\nEscape impossible. The camp was ringed with high-voltage barbed wire. Touch the wires and instant death by electrocution.\nAt the four corners of this formidable perimeter stand the main watchtowers—true square stone towers topped with small roofs on vertical wooden posts to give the pivot-mounted machine gun complete freedom of action, permanently aimed at the camp, ready night and day to spit bullets at anyone tempted to approach the electrified wires.\nAt night, in addition to the machine guns, powerful searchlights sweep the camp at regular intervals to detect would-be escapers—or rather those tired of living. I often heard those machine guns open fire on prisoners who preferred sudden death to camp life.\nBetween the main towers, every thirty metres or so, smaller lower wooden watchtowers are placed where a Boche soldier armed with rifle or sub-machine gun stands permanently. Finally, along the entire perimeter, large lamps every five to ten metres brightly illuminate the electrified wires.\nWe are therefore very well guarded and nothing remains but to resign ourselves to survive, live by camp law, conserve our strength and defend ourselves individually. Here there is little or no solidarity: each for himself. One must try to develop a heart of stone that nothing can move in order to survive in this hell. This attitude is forced upon us.\nThe regime is so harsh that every life is in constant danger.\nOne must defend oneself as best one can, pursue only this goal, because we have only one hope: the end of the war—and as quickly as possible. The hope of surviving in this camp is reduced to a few months.\nNo question of falling ill—for the sick the only prospect is the crematorium. The sick are regarded as parasites who eat without working! Germany has no use for such people and, in its interest, destroys them. What cynicism!\nScenes of bestiality at morning wake-up recur regularly and one quickly becomes accustomed to them. While we shiver for hours in front of the block the \u0026ldquo;Kapos\u0026rdquo; come to choose and sort their livestock! It is they who designate their slaves and the number required. Outdoor work and quarry work await us. It snowed all night and the layer is nearly a metre thick. We are only concerned with clearing it—and at the double. The snow is thrown onto a nearby slope close to the sewage plant.\nA detainee arriving completely exhausted to dump his load of snow—the SS man behind him delivers a kick in the back that sends the unfortunate tumbling in an avalanche toward the valley. Anyone who cannot free himself suffocates or remains below without help and freezes to death on the spot.\nThe SS man\u0026rsquo;s little joke is complete.\nThe punishment the SS delighted in during winter consisted of plunging a fully clothed prisoner into a tub of water in the laundry. Soaked to the skin, he is then exposed on the roll-call square where he turns into a block of ice. Exposed parts of face and hands form large blisters under the frost that soon burst. Depending on the degree of punishment the torture is sometimes repeated. The unfortunate, no longer able to stand, freezes where he stands until death follows.\nCertain outdoor tasks were not conceived for productivity but purely as harassment. One had to carry mounds of earth and sand in any available container from one place to another a hundred metres apart. According to the SS\u0026rsquo;s whim the material then had to be carried back to the starting point. All under the mocking looks and sneering smiles of the SS. The same method was used at Breendonk.\nDays follow one another but do not resemble each other.\nIn the morning when the barrack empties the first fatigue duty is to remove the dead, who are simply thrown out of the window without ceremony.\nGenerally, to gain a few extra rations, corpses remained two or three days in their trough. I thus had the \u0026ldquo;good fortune\u0026rdquo; to sleep three nights beside a corpse!\nWhen these unfortunates reached their end here below and could no longer drag themselves along, they remained indifferent even under the most violent blows from the guards. They lingered in a corner of the washroom near other corpses, waiting for the moment of release!\nThey died thus in silence, without the slightest care, without the slightest physical or moral help, without the slightest relief!\nOne should not be surprised to hear, in the middle of the night, a corpse fall from the third tier—sometimes pushed back by his trough neighbour. Corpses lie on the floor; we step over them quite naturally, out of habit, without being disturbed. We push them aside a little, out of the way. At one point I was given the macabre task of evacuating corpses.\nIt happened that, trying to remove a dead man from a third-tier trough and no longer having the strength to hold him, I fell to the ground with the corpse on top of me. Over time one becomes indifferent to the sight of death—one learns to ignore it and handle it without respect, like an inert object.\nWe dragged them to the washroom where we stripped them to pile them one atop another, tangled, legs shrivelled like bamboo or swollen with water. Bones protruded through the skin. Faces bore the last expression of suffering—or that kind of macabre grin caused by an open, drawn mouth and wide eyes that still seemed alive.\nBut they suffered no more. It was finished for them.\nOn their bony chests, ribs standing out in relief, their number and nationality letter were roughly painted in red with a large brush.\nI looked at them and could not shake off the sinister premonition of our inevitable fate.\nThe latrines—which I shall speak of later—were the places where the dying liked to spend their final moments sheltered from abuse. Very often they remained lying on the ground in the cold and nauseating damp. They died there wordlessly, delivered from all torment. And to think these corpses are the beloved children anxiously awaited by families. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters from whom help is expected at home.\nThese human beings who resisted the Nazi enemy, who gave everything for their homeland, for the freedom of their fellows!\nHow many hundreds did I carry to the crematorium, or push in open-air rail carts surrounded by Boches and their dogs. The work had to be carried out in good order.\nAfter this macabre and unhealthy task I did not even have the right to wash my hands!\nThe most frightful and at the same time most painful memory was when, together with a Russian prisoner, I carried my comrade DELCHAMBRE from Brussels. I had known him in Saint-Gilles prison. When we reached the crematorium I wanted to lay him gently on the ground. But my Russian helper, unaware of the gravity of the moment, overturned the stretcher with habitual brutality. My friend\u0026rsquo;s head struck the frozen ground so violently that I was appalled. My heart was torn. This is how man can become insensitive and bestial.\nDreadful scenes were commonplace.\nRecall that each block held between 700 and 1,000 men. At night everything was hermetically sealed. Anyone unfortunate enough to need the toilet had to ask the guard\u0026rsquo;s permission. Woe betide him if the guard was in a bad mood or if he made too much noise. It was unbelievable that one had to scheme with the guard or his acolytes merely to reach the latrine. Anyone found there without permission was chased away with heavy kicks. Out of fear one relieved oneself on the spot, anywhere out of sight of the guards. It was in such filth that we continually waded—with all the imaginable sanitary consequences.\nDysentery sufferers—and few escaped it—who no longer had the strength to hold on or the time to reach a place, or who could not wait for a free spot, were forced to relieve themselves where they stood.\nFor toilet use one had to queue—and block chiefs and trackers had absolute priority. They would tear you away, finished or not. One relieved oneself on the spot, soiling one\u0026rsquo;s neighbour. Toilet paper did not exist. Excrement was everywhere.\nThe Boches had installed daytime latrines—a large common shed. It was a kind of cabin without doors; the central part was occupied by a deep rectangular pit. Along each side a smooth, slimy fir trunk without backrest served as seat—smeared with excrement in places. Users had to hold on tightly to avoid falling backwards—with the unenviable result of a bath in the pit. Falls happened more than once, always fatal. These latrines had one enormous advantage: they were the only place where idle prisoners could shelter from bad weather and baton blows.\nIn a corner of the block stood the \u0026ldquo;apartment\u0026rdquo; of the Blockältester—sealed against the slaves\u0026rsquo; stench and accessible only to him. Nothing was missing—not even a good fire.\nAs for the Schläger, they knew every trick. All those who \u0026ldquo;governed\u0026rdquo; helped themselves to a share of the daily booty. They were always well dressed; they were the lords of the barrack. They beat, they killed—by caprice or for pleasure. They wore the green triangle on their chest, badge of common criminals of which they had to prove themselves worthy! They also proudly wore a small number. Could they still retain any shred of human feeling toward nameless convicts—all this in a savage setting, cut off from any trace of civilisation? Their occupation consisted of enforcing discipline through punishments, beatings or floggings.\nOne must have experienced a \u0026ldquo;stay\u0026rdquo; in such a camp to truly understand the meaning of the word freedom, to appreciate the charm of a house inhabited by free people, and to remember a past of happiness. For the \u0026ldquo;Kapos\u0026rdquo;, freedom is a word erased from their vocabulary.\nThey are convicts with no hope of ever returning to normal life. They have too many crimes on their conscience—but they suit the Nazis perfectly for destroying thousands of innocent foreigners hostile to Hitlerian doctrine.\nI hasten to add that almost all satellites of the Kapos are Slavs, Russians, even Dutch. Slavs are legion in the camp; they certainly represent three-quarters of the total strength. They are the most fanatical torturers.\nBeing only a small minority, Belgians and French are lost in this herd and suffer the discipline without the slightest protection.\nMaster Kapo also keeps young protégés of dubious morals—like women in a pasha\u0026rsquo;s harem. These boot-lickers go so far as to accept and satisfy all the Kapos\u0026rsquo; vices—for an extra ration of soup. Ignoble!\nIt is six o\u0026rsquo;clock in the evening; the bell signals the end of the day. All commandos have returned from work. The camp swarms with prisoners like an anthill. Everyone must take position in ranks for roll-call. Hurry. It is a real mêlée of rushing men moaning under blows, \u0026ldquo;Los!\u0026rdquo;, \u0026ldquo;Po pjat!\u0026rdquo;, \u0026ldquo;Ruhe!\u0026rdquo;. The crowd finally stands motionless, aligned in fives, pressed in front of the barracks as the SS enter.\nThey record the number of prisoners. Wild energetic shouts from the Kapos. \u0026ldquo;Achtung!\u0026rdquo; – \u0026ldquo;Mützen ab!\u0026rdquo; The count is passed to the SS. A thousand reasons make accurate counting impossible: the sick groaning in the latrines, unexpected deaths!\nWe wait like this for hours in the cold and snow. The count must be exact!\nOur chiefs then proceed to distribute the evening ration. Stomachs are empty, appetites ravenous. We return to our barrack in good order and snatch on the way the ≈200 g chunk of stale black bread. After this quick meagre meal all that remains is to go to bed!\nThe next day we must toil at exhausting tasks beyond our strength, without a minute\u0026rsquo;s rest.\nNot a very encouraging prospect… It is with some anxiety that I join a group of about a hundred prisoners doing earth-moving work. From dawn to nightfall, with a half-hour halt at noon—just time to greedily swallow a bowl of soup for the entire day\u0026rsquo;s meal.\nHandling overly heavy picks or shovelling earth with oversized shovels, carrying stones at arm\u0026rsquo;s length over at least a hundred metres. A gruelling, thankless task under the watchful eyes of sentries in the watchtowers.\nThe nearness of machine guns sharpens the zeal of commando leaders and overseers. They direct the work with incomparable diligence. To pause even for a moment is to risk a beating. The tools must work!\nIf an unfortunate weakens, if another has frozen hands and can no longer grip a tool—immediately a hail of blows. One quickly becomes accustomed to these scenes of brutality.\nMy first attention is caught by an almost continuous procession of stretcher-bearers loaded with bodies heading toward the crematorium. The stench from a thick low-hanging cloud reveals their ignoble permanent activity. Night and day without interruption the oven devours the corpses brought by the burial commando.\nHow many times was I assigned to this disgusting task—to the point that even now, thinking of it, I can still smell the stench that impregnated my clothes.\nNo risk of unemployment—the work is guaranteed.\nBehind blocks 20 and 21 stands a small cabin that looks almost welcoming with its pretty curtained, flower-decked windows.\nCurious little villa—so pretty amid such desolation!\nIt is the residence of a handful of properly dressed—even pretty—women where camp dignitaries are received…\nIn the evening a special bell announces to holders of an entry ticket that they may go there.\nI was assigned with two Poles to repaint a room in this house of prostitution. This indoor work did not last long. It would have been too good! Painting indoors, in the warm, in full winter! What a luxury!\nGuarded by a Luxembourg SS man who had fought in 1914–18 and was now a Nazi war volunteer, he was very approachable—proud to speak French among Germans. He spoke to me of Brussels where he had been garrisoned during the war. He claimed to have friends in Schaerbeek and gave the impression of being pleased to meet a Brusseler in me. \u0026ldquo;At least here are decent people,\u0026rdquo; he said.\nThe next day he brought me a pair of socks. I passed from hell to heaven. A little kindness instead of baton blows! I had heard no normal word for months. It was he who told me the brothel women were French—promised freedom after six months of \u0026ldquo;service\u0026rdquo;. It was probably a blatant lie.\nOpposite this special block stood barrack 19, filled with children aged 8 to 16. They lived there in indescribable swarming under much the same regime as ours—probably slightly less harsh, and not required to work. The Nazis granted them idleness—an appreciable advantage for such frail youth. Despite this special treatment children died there of malnutrition and lack of care when ill. Their bodies followed the same path as the others.\nBetween the kitchen and Block 1 one climbed the slope via an enormous staircase separating two rows of blocks—barracks 1–7 on one side, 8–14 on the other. This staircase was a construction masterpiece—about a hundred steps several metres wide, made of large hand-cut stone blocks assembled with rudimentary tools. How many human lives did it cost? Only the stones could answer. The camp is riddled with similar constructions—buildings, watchtowers, etc.\nNear the camp lies this frightful quarry where many unfortunate convicts are sent for forced labour. This section includes the infamous \u0026ldquo;Steinbrücke\u0026rdquo;—the most sinister and dreaded worksite in the entire camp.\nI receive the order to reinforce the thinning ranks of a Steinbrücke commando.\nDecember is well advanced; the cold persists. The icy wind lashes the hill and snow whips our faces during our convict labour. This accursed commando I so dreaded is a severe blow to morale.\nA hundred prisoners work in groups transporting stones on steep, slippery ground. The stone is studded with tiny glittering specks that sparkle in the sun.\nHow many men has this Steinbrücke not killed?\nThe work was so hard that we could scarcely walk—dead from fatigue and exhaustion.\nReeling like drunks and insulted as idlers, we were often returned in tipping lorries—living and dying, all unrecognisable! Arriving at the camp entrance we were dumped like loads of gravel. Kapos appeared with hoses and sprayed us alternately with cold and hot water. After this treatment at least 50 % of our group was ready for the crematorium. How many convicts began their day without finishing it because of such treatment?\nThe infamous torturers beat these unfortunates even when they had fallen unconscious face-down in the mud.\nMany prisoners have suffered too much and can bear no more. They no longer manage to react to keep morale alive in order to survive. They sink into a kind of indifference, despair, letting-go. At this stage, without the slightest resilience or will, they approach the tragic phase—it is finished for them; they end their painful calvary.\nI manage to slip from one group movement to another commando!\nAny commando—but no longer stones. It is a matter of life or death! I am now in a tree-felling commando.\nAnother disappointment awaits me. We must climb a whole hill by a small slippery path, each man carrying two fir trunks. Work like beasts of burden. Beware of slips—the dogs are at our heels to bring us back. One thus loses one\u0026rsquo;s clogs and cannot retrieve them. Anyone who loses his clogs must continue barefoot in the snow. I witnessed cruel scenes there, as in the quarry.\nTransport can never stop—neither going nor returning.\nSome prisoners have purulent wounds. They must make superhuman efforts to carry these trunks. For them it is a true Way of the Cross—with how many falls, how many stations, how many baton blows? When one has the good fortune to return to camp in the evening one is anxious for tomorrow. What work will one be assigned next day?\nChristmas week approaches. It is bitterly cold; the sky is clear with an almost full, brilliant moon. Everyone thinks of past Christmases spent with family in previous years. Everyone remembers Yule logs, midnight Mass, almost festive meals despite rationing difficulties. Those were good times!\nWe shall have to be patient once more this year and spend this beautiful day among the Boches—behind barbed wire, with illness, hunger, cold and the other miseries of Nazi camps.\nWhenever I can turn my gaze westward—toward our homeland for which I fought so hard—I feel a glimmer of hope. We cannot smell the Christmas dishes, but we speak of them among ourselves, making plans for the future upon our return home.\nHere in the whole camp we breathe only the acrid smell of burned flesh and skeletons.\nAs in times past when at Christmas we lit bonfires of joy, here we build pyres of fagots and corpses.\nWhat a sad Christmas Eve, this 24 December 1944!\nNight has fallen—it must be past six o\u0026rsquo;clock.\nThe cold is terrible…\nSuddenly a bell rings through the camp—unexpected, abnormal. Everyone wonders and questions.\nSoon general commotion throughout the camp. In every block the order comes to go outside.\nThousands of prisoners line up around the large square whose centre remains empty. The camp is lit by every searchlight. Silence is imposed on the 15–20,000 convicts. It is worrying!\nThe Nazis have organised a grand spectacle in their own fashion!\nWe are forced to witness spectacular hangings!\nThe crossbar of the football goal will serve as gallows. They wish to give us a lesson—for our own good and that of the community.\nSeveral armed SS arrive at the place of execution. Among them a menacing officer shouts a few sentences in German we do not understand. Then come the poor condemned—six of them—emerging in single file from a corner of the camp, trotting between several well-armed soldiers. These unfortunates have their hands tied behind their backs. One cannot help thinking of the spectacle the Romans offered in their amphitheatres when defenceless slaves were thrown to the lions.\nThe six condemned are lined up before the common gallows that will end their martyrdom.\nPrisoners set up chairs and planks beneath the gallows. The condemned are calm, resolute, heroic. Their courage defies the executioners. As one man they climb onto the planks.\nThe furious officer pronounces a brief sentence condemning—without appeal—these innocents who doubtless committed some breach of camp regulations to death by hanging.\nOrder and discipline must prevail!\nAfter this short pronouncement the vassals—prisoners like ourselves—pass a rope around each condemned man\u0026rsquo;s neck. One of them shouts at the top of his voice a few words whose meaning I have never learned.\nEverything is ready. General heavy silence. Everyone is terrified to see thousands of men held in check by a handful of heavily armed Boches—authors of these cowardly tortures.\nIn case of any intention to revolt—what could be done, even with our numbers, against SS armed to the teeth!\nThe cries of the condemned find no echo. Sub-machine guns are trained on the victims.\nSuddenly the planks are kicked away and six bodies hang by their necks in the void. Is death instantaneous? Some bodies seem to writhe for a moment—feet twitch, bodies turn at the end of the rope, tongues protruding.\nThe Boches are satisfied and convinced the lesson will bear fruit! The SS boot-lickers will earn their extra soup.\nBruno Furch: Christmas Eve 1944 Imagine this horrible spectacle: men hanging in the setting of a gigantic illuminated Christmas tree. These murders came to swell the killings committed in the shadow of the torture chambers!\nWe return to our barracks hearts heavy and filled with hatred toward these bestial Nazis. To our great astonishment—and completely thrown off balance—we are greeted with music. The Blue Danube is played by the camp orchestra.\nSuch collective demoralisation has remained engraved in our memories forever. We thought of our dear lost freedom—for which we yearned like a chimerical ideal.\nWhile the deportees lived in mad hope of imminent deliverance by the Allied armies, another four months had to pass—the four most difficult, most murderous months of deportation before—too late for so many—a long-awaited liberation finally came.\nDespite everything, New Year\u0026rsquo;s Eve approaches and the camp orchestra is present.\nHeart heavy, I find myself in my trough among my two night companions. On one side Maurice FIEVEZ, priest of Pont-à-Celles; on the other Charles GOYVAERT of Boechout. One horrible thing happened at that moment: Charles did not know his brother Henri—also a prisoner in the camp—had died that afternoon!\nIt was about 11 p.m. when the orchestra withdrew.\nCharles gets the idea of going to wish his brother a happy New Year. I did everything possible to dissuade him, telling him he would run too great a risk leaving the block at that hour. The next day Charles told me his brother had left on a transport commando. He never knew of his brother\u0026rsquo;s death—even after returning home. He—and his parents—always remained convinced his brother would return from captivity. My friend Charles died at home from the after-effects of his captivity a few weeks after returning from Flossenbürg. The Goyvaert parents had only these two sons. Both dead—victims of the Nazi executioners in the service of our homeland.\nMay they never be forgotten!\nDeath announcement of Karel Goyvaerts On this New Year\u0026rsquo;s Eve I think first of my Mother.\nIt is the first time I cannot send her my best wishes for a happy new year or embrace her. This privation hurts me more than all the other miseries I have known until now. I think of her old age and the grief that must be hers from uncertainty and worry about me. She who had a hard life from tender youth—my parents were already orphans when very young. What a calvary my Mother endured! My father, of frail constitution, was often ill. With exemplary courage my Mother nursed him for seventeen years. He died at 45 after three surgical operations.\nMother adored me.\nHave I fulfilled my duty toward her by leaving her to serve my country? Mother who spoiled me so much…\nThis moment seems bleaker and more desolate than any other. It is incredible how one can cling to life in such moments!\nI suffer like the other detainees but I believe I possess a special guardian angel! I thank the good Lord for endowing me with such a solid physique, good constitution and exceptional optimism.\nDespite everything morale improves and hope lives in our hearts.\nAccording to an ancestral tradition—and until my last breath—I will shout with all my strength that I love my homeland and that never, for anything in the world, will I commit the shameful cowardice of betraying her.\nIt was not only at Christmas and New Year that music was played in the barracks. To encourage the \u0026ldquo;Blockälteste\u0026rdquo; and \u0026ldquo;Schläger\u0026rdquo; in their brutal work the SS regularly offered them a Sunday concert. On SS orders certain detainees had formed an orchestra—first-rate musicians, conservatoire prize-winners, well-known singers—about thirty in all. The detainees also benefited. But did they not torment the dying even while playing with all their heart to soften manners and bring a little cheer? For music very quickly bred sadness.\nThe next day, leaving the barrack, I discover near the window overlooking the camp square a heap of corpses. It seemed so significant that I hurried over.\nI saw with horror that their number approached eighty bodies—piled one upon another in the most unnatural poses that showed what these unfortunates had endured before dying.\nVictims of Flossenbürg concentration camp Victims of Flossenbürg concentration camp The semblance of joy from the previous evening was suddenly turned to melancholy.\nThese were the remains of prisoners who had been part of the mine fatigue detail and brought back from work.\nThe dead had to be replaced to keep the quarry operating. New able-bodied convicts were therefore needed.\nNew roll-call in front of the block; prisoners had to file past a German flanked by a prisoner holding a pot of red paint and a large brush.\nThis indicated they were organising transport of a new convoy by sorting prisoners according to physical condition—marked with a number from 1 to 4.\nNaked as worms we paraded before the veterinary expert who decided our destination with a single glance. My turn came—I was judged fit for transport; No. 2 was painted on my forehead. For information here is the meaning of these numbers:\nNo. 1: healthy and fit for heavy labour—rarely used given the general weakness of detainees; No. 2: men still relatively capable of hard tasks; No. 3: weakened but from whom some service could still be extracted; No. 4: reserved for the unfortunates designated for transport to the gas chamber. The SS chose the required number; fortunately I was exempted from this fatigue. It took incredible luck to survive in this hell.\nA dysentery epidemic raged in the camp. Each affected barrack was quarantined. But no other measure was taken by the camp authorities. A healthy person in contact with a sick one could become infected. The dysentery germ can be transmitted by bedding, body contact or food. Onset is sudden—nausea, vomiting, fever.\nThen come colics in crises—especially during bowel movements that become incessant, often more than twenty times a night, sometimes with bleeding.\nWe had neither medicine nor medical care.\nVictims of dysentery at KZ Flossenbürg Victims of dysentery at KZ Flossenbürg I recovered after about fifteen days while a high percentage of those affected died.\nThe barrack was simply sealed off and abandoned to itself.\nIn a sworn deposition before the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg during the trial of the principal war criminals—such as Göring and others—witnesses spoke of several hundred deaths due to lack of care, hygiene and cleanliness in every respect.\nI had the chance to go to the showers twice in six months.\nIt was far from pleasant. We entered a rectangular room with wet tiling. All windows wide open—the air foul and reeking of chlorine. We had to undress quickly under baton blows. According to rumour we were in for the whole night. Men shed their rags and piled them pell-mell in a corner. We were all naked. It was incomprehensible how some could still stand. With the savage brusqueness of the Kapos we were pushed to the far end of the room, pressed one against another, then filed in single file toward the other end past the barber service inspecting body hair. No one escaped. This operation finished—perhaps after two hours—we dispersed to undergo the showers. Fifteen minutes under cold water. We were washed and clean—but at what cost!\nWe chattered with cold—then suddenly almost boiling water arrived.\nThe same procedure restarted for disinfection—and lice they found! We passed before a man who sprayed our head, armpits and backside with a greasy, stinging, biting liquid. Lice and fleas were rudely disturbed! Our night seemed endless.\nAt daybreak our clothes arrived—treated in disinfection ovens. Designated fatigue parties brought them back.\nThe clothes were hopelessly mixed and there was a rush—under baton blows—to recover one\u0026rsquo;s own rags.\nExhausted, having slept not at all, we returned to the block in good order. A new day of forced labour awaited us and our convict existence continued.\nThe gnawing uncertainty of tomorrow!\nWe went through moments of extreme physical—and also moral—weakness, certain that death lay in wait. One morning my friend Joseph DEDOBBELEER was detailed for a commando. We used to say a prayer together.\nMy friend Joseph, embracing me, said:\n\u0026ldquo;I probably will not see you again—I feel ill.\u0026rdquo;\nHe nevertheless returned—completely exhausted—to die in the camp on 2 April 1945, less than a month before our liberation!\nHe begged me to inform his wife, children and parents and to pass on his last words.\n\u0026ldquo;Tell them clearly that I often dreamed of returning home to my sweet homeland—that my last thoughts were with them.\u0026rdquo;\nMourning card of Joseph Dedobbeleer We had to work outdoors at –25 °C without socks or gloves—in our thin striped suits. The result: frozen fingers, hands, feet.\nTwenty-five lashes of the whip for anyone reporting sick. They were all sent back to work despite frostbite and other illnesses.\nAmputations of fingers, hands or feet were performed—each time with fatal outcome.\nMy friend Maurice FIEVEZ suffered from a very common camp ailment—a kind of purulent oedema manifesting as a leg ulcer. Maurice no longer dared present himself at the infirmary.\nThe Blockältester—certainly aware of the Allies\u0026rsquo; advance—tolerated him remaining in his trough. According to a doctor Maurice was probably suffering from ecthyma.\nThe lesion begins as a pustule then spreads in depth and surface. It can become complicated by lymphangitis and adenitis. Ulcerations sometimes turn gangrenous. Ecthyma affects the overworked, diabetics, varicose sufferers. Scratching often introduces dirt into the wound—and especially these lice-infested beds are the cause of spread. Standing for long periods and poor nutrition also play a role.\nMaurice suffered martyrdom without medical help.\nI tried to help him with makeshift means. I tore pieces from my shirt and soaked them in hot dishwater from the SS kitchen. Maurice said this relieved him. Eventually the flesh decomposed so badly that the smell bothered me.\nThe camp was liberated by the Americans on 23 April 1945. Maurice dragged himself to the entrance to salute our liberators. Blood ran from his leg.\nHe regained freedom—but at what cost!\nArrested 1 December 1942 on the altar of his church in Pont-à-Celles while celebrating Mass, he died in Flossenbürg extermination camp on 26 April 1945—completely exhausted by long detention.\nWe had agreed that on our return home we would drink a gueuze together at \u0026ldquo;Au Damier\u0026rdquo; tavern near Brussels Midi station.\nDespite our liberation the mayor of Flossenbürg remained responsible for the camp. I asked him for permission to bury our comrade Maurice in a grave instead of throwing his ashes into the common pit. This was refused…\nThe president of the Former Inmates of Flossenbürg is said to have brought Maurice\u0026rsquo;s body back to his family in Frasnes-lez-Buissenal. I know with certainty that it is not Maurice, but…\nFor more than forty years, every 1 November I place flowers on this grave containing the remains of one who suffered as I did at Flossenbürg and who did not have the chance to survive.\nI regard this gesture as a duty—and at the same time I see again the FIEVEZ family who have become my own.\nStrange…\nMourning card of Maurice Fiévez I met Maurice FIEVEZ in August 1944 at Saint-Gilles prison; he had come from Charleroi prison.\nThe Boches moved me regularly and I sampled several \u0026ldquo;houses\u0026rdquo;: Bayreuth, Ebrach, Bamberg, Flossenbürg.\nNear-incredible coincidence: it was always in the same cell that I regularly found Maurice.\nOn 8 March 1945, late at night, a convoy of new prisoners arrives at the camp. Overcrowding is such that deportees are forced to sleep in the alleys between blocks, in washrooms—even in toilets.\nTyphus cases, tubercular patients and other sick are mixed with the rest. It is an appalling mixture.\nSuddenly I hear a voice at the level of my trough:\n\u0026ldquo;Little Belgian, wouldn\u0026rsquo;t you have a little space for me?\u0026rdquo;\nRecognising the voice I shout \u0026ldquo;Maurice!!\u0026rdquo;\nMy friend Maurice bore number 86.379.\nI pulled him close and we never left each other again until his death.\nCamp life continued as before.\nOur last work schedule had been horrible. Reveille at 3:30 a.m., 3 km march on foot hunted like animals. Return around 8 p.m., roll-call at 10 p.m. In short—five hours rest with 200 g \u0026ldquo;bread\u0026rdquo; as sustenance and in the final days only a handful of oats. I felt very unwell.\nTo change ideas a little and find some rest we could move freely on the camp square on Sundays. We thus met some men from our group and some friends. At one moment we saw in single file a group of detainees with SS and dogs heading toward the washrooms.\nThey carried blankets of dysentery dead—soiled with blood and excrement.\nIn this group was X—who had betrayed us to the enemy.\nWe were astonished to see his defeated, suffering, tired face—gaunt and repulsively filthy. He was mud from head to foot.\nHere Bursens fell; the dogs attacked him while the Boche overseer kicked him full in the face so that blood flowed from his mouth. We were stupefied!\nOn returning from the washroom he came to ask our forgiveness for his inglorious behaviour toward us.\nWe could hardly believe our eyes! He said weeping:\n\u0026ldquo;Have you still no pity for me—have I not suffered enough?\u0026rdquo;\nWe were certain no one would ever leave this cursed prison alive! By then our group already counted four dead. Despite X having cowardly betrayed us to the Boches we decided to forgive him. That is why I never opposed the honour our commune of Merchtem paid him after the war—placing a commemorative plaque on his house front and naming a street after him. But for my dead comrades, the survivors and myself this remains a grave injustice. He had been weak—even before Gestapo interrogations—believing their lying promises, believing he could save his skin, he \u0026ldquo;gave\u0026rdquo; us.\nOne must know how to forgive—but not forget!\nAnother frightful act by the Boche guards: a boy of about 14 carrying a bucket crosses an SS man. Seized with sadistic rage the latter calls him back and says \u0026ldquo;And the salute and attention before superiors?\u0026rdquo; The officer snatches the boy\u0026rsquo;s cap and throws it to the ground. The youngster bends to pick it up. He does not even have time to straighten—the Boche shoots him with three revolver bullets!\nEmmanuel MEGENS—so ill he could barely stand—stumbling, arrives a fraction of a second too late to place his bowl under the ladle at soup distribution. Like a madman the Schläger seizes a wooden block and deals two or three blows to the head of the unfortunate—killing him on the spot! Forgive me the cruelty of this tragic account—but it is the true reality!\nDeath announcement of Emmanuel Megens After my return home I went with a heavy heart to Emmanuel\u0026rsquo;s parents in rue des Alouettes, Anderlecht. The poor parents were shattered. We three wept—they with indescribable grief for their son\u0026rsquo;s death; I relived the scene of this murder whose memory never leaves me.\nThe father offered us coffee to calm our tears and sorrow.\nRemember our dead! May this never happen again!\nMany of our comrades begged to be executed to shorten their suffering. Others implored to be allowed to die—let alone those who swore, prayed, howled and went mad!\nThe calvary of these dying was that we had—not even a drop of water to offer these unfortunates!\nI saw a completely deranged, feverish prisoner drink his own urine.\nChange of situation!\nMorale improves—hope returns to our hearts. Hundreds of planes pass overhead in successive waves for more than half an hour. What can they be seeking in this corner? Can they see us from above? The pilots surely saw our camp! The thick black cloud from the crematorium smoke must have been clearly visible!\nHow much longer can we hold out?\nNervousness spreads among our guards—a complete change comes over the Kapos\u0026rsquo; attitude!\nEvening roll-call takes place—but without counting detainees. No more shouting, no more blows!\nThe airmen had perhaps located the Messerschmitt factory. We hoped for a bombing!\nNo one gives orders any more. What disarray!\nI have felt very unwell for several days. Will I live to see our liberators? I show symptoms of typhus. Lips dry, thirst devours me. Suddenly shivering and vomiting. My usually ravenous appetite falls to zero. Oedema swells my feet; I cough and sweat. I drag myself to the overcrowded infirmary. By chance they are removing a corpse. By miracle I have the strength to slip into the empty place. I am among the other dying…\nExanthematic typhus—also called petechial—an infectious disease resembling typhoid fever. Contagious from incubation through convalescence.\nEven corpses can be contagious!\nAmong predisposing causes: fatigue, moral and physical suffering, contaminated food, confined prison air. Typhus causes terrible epidemics. It predominates in the cold season.\nInfection is spread by lice, fleas and bedbugs.\nClothing, bedding and effects of typhus patients harbour contagion.\nThe patient is weary, suffers headache and often vertigo. Mortality varies with living conditions; in the camp 50–80 % was accepted.\nGeneral Mac Mahon defined typhus—from the Greek meaning torpor.\nOne generally dies of it—or becomes imbecile.\nI felt unsteady and extremely weak.\nI survived by a miracle! Around the tenth day I felt improvement—it seemed death was receding.\nMy infirmary neighbour also knew this favour or chance!\nHe was a true Belgian—Mr ADDONS, married to a woman from Opwijk.\nHow small the world is!\nA total change had occurred during our stay in the infirmary.\nThe SS had evacuated the camp in disorder—taking 16,000 detainees on a forced march toward Dachau. The famous death march.\nI found my friend Maurice in the infirmary—not knowing how he got there!\nStaggering and wandering through the camp I discover a barrel of sauerkraut in an SS barrack. All prisoners remaining in camp thus had something to eat.\nCertain of imminent deliverance we made a sign; we paraded limping, grouped by nationality. The red paint used by the Boches to mark corpses came in very handy.\n\u0026ldquo;PRISONERS HAPPY END ! WELCOME !\u0026rdquo; # We were liberated on Monday 23 April 1945 at 10:30 a.m.—two days before my birthday.\nPRISONERS HAPPY END! WELCOME! The first Americans to enter our camp were Major Bill Falvey James accompanied by a doctor and interpreter. If my memory is correct it was W. Campbell M.D. and William M.C. Connaley. They saved us. How can we ever thank them enough!\nI warned the major we were contagious—typhus—quarantined and locked away to avoid spreading the scourge. He made us understand the Red Cross would take charge of us.\nThe Americans looked at us with pity—tears in their eyes. They threw pell-mell over the perimeter fence everything they carried—food, sweets, chocolate, cigarettes etc. There were fights among prisoners for possession of these marvels to which we were unaccustomed. They were starving and wanted to satisfy their hunger. Sad memory. They fought like madmen.\nOur liberators were soldiers of the 538th Infantry Regiment, 90th US Division.\nThe following day—24 April 1945—a team of doctors and nurses arrived. Each typhus patient received a sodium salicylate injection; others were treated according to their illness. The sick numbered 1,526. The American investigation revealed: all very ill—180 acute typhus, 98 tuberculosis, 12 diphtheria, 2 malaria etc.\nFood supplied by our liberators was abundant. Detainees overindulged and many could not tolerate it. The transition from total deprivation to plentiful abundance proved fatal for more than 200 sick.\nWe had to restrain ourselves—but hunger and thirst were atrocious.\nWe lived awaiting repatriation. A blue sky covered the camp; imposing calm reigned.\nBritish intelligence and special operations personnel came to collect their captured agents—like us. Being part of this group I reached Belgium with them on 22 May 1945.\nDuring our stop at Weiden Headquarters we were received by the American General Staff. For the little man from Merchtem that I was it was an unforgettable tribute. We were welcomed like princes! I arrived in Brussels by jeep after five days on the road. In Brussels I had the joy of meeting the first person from Merchtem since my arrest. Our former mayor Mr J. Van Ginderachter took the trouble to fetch me and bring me back to my Mother. It was magnificent. The people of Merchtem gave us an unexpected welcome. My calvary was ended!\nWhat joy to live again! Do not seek to understand the reason. It is indescribable.\nShortly before their hasty departure the SS hurriedly whitewashed the blood-soaked wall. Many executions had taken place against this wall in the prison courtyard.\nThe wall hastily whitewashed with lime, still marked by blood stains But let us go back a little to examine the SS evacuation of the camp.\nMr Emile LAUNOIS—former political prisoner interned at Flossenbürg—took part in the death march. He communicated the following information to me, supplemented by Messrs VOLMER and ANTONI.\n19 April 1945 was a day like any other—except for the departure of all Jews from the camp. Why only the Jews?\nAccording to some rumours all these poor Israelites were massacred the same day—barely outside the camp.\nThe SS stubbornly evacuated us—to take us further—but where? Americans advancing from the west, Russians from the east. Would we fall into Russian hands?\nHow would they treat us? A last look at the cursed camp and we are on the road—on foot. Barely a hundred metres along the path we see it strewn with corpses.\nOne would like to imagine these unfortunates trying to flee or escape. Alas no! At the end of their strength, unable to keep up, they were coldly shot by the SS. All stragglers received a bullet in the head and the march continued. Inhabitants had been ordered to bury these corpses on the spot. We had to walk on—overcome our weaknesses and follow the column—without rest, without food, without water—haunted by fear of being shot like dogs.\nDead lay all along the route. At nightfall we passed hundreds of corpses of those who had gone before us.\nOn 23 April 1945 we heard cannon fire; machine-gun noise drew nearer. An American reconnaissance plane flew over our column—guiding Patton\u0026rsquo;s troops in pursuit of the Nazis. Shooting and crackling everywhere. German civilians rushed to pillage the fleeing Wehrmacht remnants—soldiers escaping with whatever arms and baggage remained—or at least what was left. These fleeing soldiers seized any vehicle that could carry them away from one front only to throw themselves into the bear\u0026rsquo;s mouth. They were caught between two fires—in an inexorable pincer that would annihilate them. Just retribution.\nThe column—having lost its SS and guards—was free without realising it—but after paying with how many human lives! This march of indescribable horror cost about 7,000 dead.\nAccording to Messrs VOLMER and ANTONI only one convoy reached Dachau—2,654 surviving deportees—but in what condition! The others were murdered en route.\nThe US Army had cut the road to Dachau; only a few days before German capitulation were these wretched prisoners liberated near Lake Chiemsee on 2 May 1945.\nAfter this infamous death march 5,400 unidentifiable corpses were found along the route in April–May 1945.\nVictims of the death march The inscription later placed on the Flossenbürg crematorium chimney estimates total deaths at over 73,000; 296 more died after the Americans arrived.\nIn a register of proceedings it is noted that the committee formed at liberation could not establish the exact number of dead.\nAfter this appalling odyssey, these terrifying facts, this terrible history, this apocalyptic war—despite rancour, misery, offences suffered, resentments, pain and torture endured—it falls to us to forgive but also to remember—so future generations never endure the same calvaries nor know such methods of exterminating peoples who thought differently from the masters of the moment.\nIt remains essential to set an example and ensure such facts never recur—that the true guilty parties, leaders and executors who originated these tortures are punished as they deserve. That they enjoy no freedom of body or mind. Courts must be merciless in their judgments so no guilty one slips through the net of justice.\nFor we knew the outrageous attitude of our torturers at their Nuremberg trial. Alas—too many guilty fled abroad or melted into the mass of their fellow citizens. It must be recalled that during the rise of Nazism the great majority of Greater Reich inhabitants believed in their Führer and swore only by him.\nI appeal to my contemporaries—from the humblest citizen to the highest authorities directing our country—to please remember.\nIndifference and ignorance from those around us wound the unfortunates who endured this calvary.\nOur glorious dead teach us that something exists more precious than life.\nIt is FREEDOM—which is the foundation of happiness, which shows us the path of courage, self-sacrifice and honour.\nThose who wore the striped pyjama with the red political triangle will never forget.\nBefore the last witnesses fall silent forever, what is needed is not merely a narrative—but a lesson.\nC.J. Droesbeke.\n","date":"20 February 2026","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/posts/wals/","section":"Posts","summary":"Foreword # I dedicate these few pages to my wife who, despite her young age,\nat the risk of her life, took part in the resistance by accompanying me during the execution of acts of sabotage while our homeland was occupied by the Nazi hordes.\nI also dedicate this account to Colonel J. VAN RUYCHEVELT, whose father died in a concentration camp. He understands better than anyone what life was like for concentration camp inmates — slave labor under the rule of the SS and Gestapo.\n","title":"The Waltz in the Shadow","type":"posts"},{"content":" ° Constant Julien Droesbeke April 25, 1907 CJ Droesbeke is born in Anderlecht. Germany invades Belgium May 10, 1940 At the age of 33, CJ Droesbeke was called up during the mobilization. He participated in the 18-day campaign. His service number was 256.379; he was a sergeant (wachtmeester) with the 9th squadron, 2nd Guides. CJ Droesbeke was among the first in Merchtem to own a car; he donated his vehicle to the Belgian army. Belgium capitulates May 28, 1940 CJ Droesbeke is a prisoner of war from May 25, 1940, to June 28, 1940. Due to the capitulation, his car also falls into German hands. He proceeds to steal his car back from the Germans and makes it available to the resistance. The car is hidden in garage Schelleman in Merchtem. Resistance 1941 – 1944 After the 18-day campaign, CJ Droesbeke joins the resistance.\nHe becomes sector leader of Zone 2 – Sector 4 for Relegem, Kobbegem, Hamme, Mollem, Asse, Mazenzele, Opwijk, Steenhuffel, Malderen, Londerzeel, Meise, Brussegem, and Merchtem.\nHis codename is Rudolf or Willy.\nHe becomes an intelligence agent for the resistance group Bayard.\nArrest March 31, 1944 CJ Droesbeke is arrested at his mother's home, located at Koning Albertstraat 35 in Merchtem, by the Secret Field Police (G.F.P. 712) on orders from the Brussels Gestapo.\nThe drive to the Dossin barracks passes the fort of Breendonk, where the German officer said, \"This will be your future home.\" From the Dossin barracks, he is moved to Begijnenstraat 42, the Antwerp prison.\nInterrogation and Torture March 31, 1944 – July 9, 1944 From Begijnenstraat, he was taken several times to Belgiëlei, where the Secret Field Police building was located.\nThere, CJ Droesbeke was interrogated multiple times. These interrogations were accompanied by torture.\nBreendonk July 9, 1944 – July 19, 1944 On July 9, CJ Droesbeke was imprisoned in Breendonk. Deportation August 19, 1944 After Breendonk, he returns to Begijnenstraat; once the interrogations are finished, he is sent to St. Gillis prison.\nOn August 19, he is transported by train from Schaerbeek station to Cologne. Via Cologne, the journey continues through Bayreuth, Ebrach, Bamberg, Nuremberg, and finally to the Flossenbürg concentration camp. KZ Flossenbürg December 16, 1944 December 16, the day the Battle of the Bulge begins, CJ Droesbeke arrives in Flossenbürg. Americans liberate KZ Flossenbürg April 23, 1945 On April 23, 1945, the 90th US Infantry Division arrives at Flossenbürg. CJ Droesbeke is free and back home May 26, 1945 End of imprisonment after 422 days. † Death January 9, 2008 On January 9, 2008, CJ Droesbeke passes away peacefully at home; he was just short of his 101st birthday. ","date":"20 February 2026","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/timeline/","section":"Welcome to the memorial website of Constant Julien Droesbeke.","summary":" ° Constant Julien Droesbeke April 25, 1907 CJ Droesbeke is born in Anderlecht. Germany invades Belgium May 10, 1940 At the age of 33, CJ Droesbeke was called up during the mobilization. He participated in the 18-day campaign. His service number was 256.379; he was a sergeant (wachtmeester) with the 9th squadron, 2nd Guides. CJ Droesbeke was among the first in Merchtem to own a car; he donated his vehicle to the Belgian army. Belgium capitulates May 28, 1940 CJ Droesbeke is a prisoner of war from May 25, 1940, to June 28, 1940. Due to the capitulation, his car also falls into German hands. He proceeds to steal his car back from the Germans and makes it available to the resistance. The car is hidden in garage Schelleman in Merchtem. Resistance 1941 – 1944 After the 18-day campaign, CJ Droesbeke joins the resistance.\n","title":"Timeline","type":"page"},{"content":" Survivor of the Flossenbürg concentration camp. # This site keeps the story of Constant Julien Droesbeke alive. He endured one of the darkest periods in our history. Here you can read about his trials, his incredible resilience, and the lessons we can still draw from his story today.\nBy sharing his memories, we honor his life and carry his message of tolerance and peace to future generations.\n","date":"20 February 2026","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/","section":"Welcome to the memorial website of Constant Julien Droesbeke.","summary":" Survivor of the Flossenbürg concentration camp. # This site keeps the story of Constant Julien Droesbeke alive. He endured one of the darkest periods in our history. Here you can read about his trials, his incredible resilience, and the lessons we can still draw from his story today.\n","title":"Welcome to the memorial website of Constant Julien Droesbeke.","type":"page"},{"content":"","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/authors/","section":"Authors","summary":"","title":"Authors","type":"authors"},{"content":"","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/categories/","section":"Categories","summary":"","title":"Categories","type":"categories"},{"content":" Videos from shortly after the liberation of KZ Flossenbürg # Your browser cannot play this video. Download video.\n(LIB 6223) Probably April 30, 1945. Camera pans from left to right showing an overview of the Flossenbuerg slave labor camp, barracks on hillside, trees and mountains in BG. German civilians gathered at entrance to camp. Inscriptions on concrete gate post. Sign: \u0026ldquo;Vorsicht! Hochspannung Lebensgefahr\u0026rdquo; and \u0026ldquo;Arbeit Macht Frei\u0026rdquo;. CU, electrified barbed wire around top of fence and guard towers. Makeshift handwritten banner on picket fence, \u0026ldquo;Prisoners Happy End! Welcome!\u0026rdquo;. INT, CU, four naked male survivors: two Jewish, one French, one Polish, with numbers tattooed on their chests. Multiple takes. Pan down to feet (2 have striped uniform pants pulled down). CU survivor\u0026rsquo;s emaciated backside. 02:44:59 SEQ: Former French prisoner in the camp conducts U.S. soldier through underground crematorium (entrance to underground through metal grate). View of camp. Survivors (in regular clothes) splitting and stacking wood. CU \u0026ldquo;Disinfektion\u0026rdquo; painted on brick wall. Disposing of hot ash from crematorium into nearby pit. Americans and civilians dig up dead bodies of slave laborers, killed during the death marches, all are clothed. VCU, dead. Three older male civilians talk to soldier. More corpses are dug up and laid side by side in rows. Various CUs, including a bloody chest and a prisoner uniform with a triangular patch and a necklace with a cross.\nYour browser cannot play this video. Download video.\n(LIB 6355) May 4, 1945. View of concentration camp buildings. CU, sign, \u0026ldquo;Zugang zu den Krankenbaracken\u0026rdquo; with figurines. Barbed wire fence and guardtower surrounding Flossenbuerg slave labor camp. CU, bullet-marked and blood-smeared wall - the scene of executions in the camp. INTs, barracks/living quarters, dead prisoners. Steel grating over open pit, crematorium in pit enclosed by high stone wall. Charred bones of cremated victims of the camp. MS, horse-drawn carriage carrying caskets past concentration camp buildings.\nSlachtoffers Dodenmarsen # Your browser cannot play this video. Download video.\n(LIB 5968) Schwarzenfeld, Germany. LS of many coffins loaded onto horse-drawn carts. German civilians from Schwarzenfeld unload and carry the coffins, walking past rows of corpses. Many civilians dig graves in a fenced area. The remains of a striped uniform are visible on at least one of the bodies awaiting burial. Houses are visible in the background. The victims died while on one of several evacuation transports from Flossenbuerg, en route to Dachau. On April 16th, a transport of some 1700 Jewish prisoners left Flossenbuerg. Near Schwarzenfeld, their train was strafed and destroyed by Allied planes, killing some of the prisoners, and more were shot by the SS. An estimated 7,000 prisoners died while on evacuation transports from Flossenbuerg. Mass graves continued to be discovered in this area until the late 1950s.\n","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/video/","section":"Welcome to the memorial website of Constant Julien Droesbeke.","summary":"Videos from shortly after the liberation of KZ Flossenbürg # Your browser cannot play this video. Download video.\n(LIB 6223) Probably April 30, 1945. Camera pans from left to right showing an overview of the Flossenbuerg slave labor camp, barracks on hillside, trees and mountains in BG. German civilians gathered at entrance to camp. Inscriptions on concrete gate post. Sign: “Vorsicht! Hochspannung Lebensgefahr” and “Arbeit Macht Frei”. CU, electrified barbed wire around top of fence and guard towers. Makeshift handwritten banner on picket fence, “Prisoners Happy End! Welcome!”. INT, CU, four naked male survivors: two Jewish, one French, one Polish, with numbers tattooed on their chests. Multiple takes. Pan down to feet (2 have striped uniform pants pulled down). CU survivor’s emaciated backside. 02:44:59 SEQ: Former French prisoner in the camp conducts U.S. soldier through underground crematorium (entrance to underground through metal grate). View of camp. Survivors (in regular clothes) splitting and stacking wood. CU “Disinfektion” painted on brick wall. Disposing of hot ash from crematorium into nearby pit. Americans and civilians dig up dead bodies of slave laborers, killed during the death marches, all are clothed. VCU, dead. Three older male civilians talk to soldier. More corpses are dug up and laid side by side in rows. Various CUs, including a bloody chest and a prisoner uniform with a triangular patch and a necklace with a cross.\n","title":"KZ Flossenbürg videos","type":"page"},{"content":"","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/series/","section":"Series","summary":"","title":"Series","type":"series"},{"content":"","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/tags/","section":"Tags","summary":"","title":"Tags","type":"tags"},{"content":"It is impossible to get a true sense of the brutality in KZ Flossenbürg if you haven\u0026rsquo;t been there yourself. We do well to read as many testimonies as possible, but just by looking at the numbers, you realize it was a true \u0026ldquo;death factory.\u0026rdquo;\nThe arrival of C.J. Droesbeke # On December 16, 1944 – the same day the Battle of the Bulge began – C.J. Droesbeke arrived in Flossenbürg. Two transports arrived that day:\n**Transport 1 (Staatspolizeistelle Chemnitz)**: 56 men, including 25 Belgians, 16 French, 11 Dutch, 2 Poles, and 2 Czechs. **Transport 2 (Staatspolizeistelle Nürnberg-Fürth)**: 95 men, including 57 Belgians and 38 French. In total, 151 prisoners arrived that day. They were assigned camp numbers between 37,791 and 39,941. C.J. Droesbeke was part of the second transport and received number 39,888.\nA survival rate of 12% # Of these 151 people, 74 were sent on to other camps. Of the 77 prisoners who remained in Flossenbürg, ultimately only 9 would survive. C.J. Droesbeke was one of them.\nThis means that no less than 88% did not survive the horror. For those who did not make it, the struggle lasted an average of only 70 days. Six of them even died less than 15 days before liberation. The numbers speak for themselves.\nTestimony of Richard Coudenijs # In the book Testimonies from the Concentration Camps (Martin Heylen \u0026amp; Marc Van Hulle), Richard Coudenijs speaks about his brief but traumatic stay:\nOn March 13, 1945, Richard moved to Flossenbürg for only five days, but that was enough to realize what a hellish place it was. \u0026lsquo;Upon our arrival, as entertainment for the German camp guards, a prisoner was beaten to death at my feet. \u0026ldquo;I must stay out of their hands,\u0026rdquo; I immediately thought. A little further on, a newly arrived disabled prisoner was given a lethal injection, after which he immediately collapsed dead. Yes, I still consider myself lucky that they only kept me there for five days\u0026hellip;\u0026rsquo;\nList 16/12/1944 # Below is the list of the 151 prisoners who arrived in Flossenbürg on 16/12/1944:\nKZ Flossenbürg No. ⇅ Nationality ⇅ Last Name ⇅ First Name ⇅ Date of Birth ⇅ Place of Birth ⇅ Date of Death ⇅ Age upon arrival ⇅ Occupation ⇅ 39791 Czech Spot Karel 22-8-1920 Tocnik 24 Civil servant 39792 Czech Blazek Jaroslav 11-8-1917 Zasada 15-4-1945 27 Druggist 39793 Belgian Verhellen André 7-3-1910 Brussels 6-3-1945 34 Printer 39794 Dutch Hendriks Dzienus 9-3-1924 Musselkanaal 20 Accountant 39795 Dutch Merlent Gerhard 9-9-1918 Koudekerke 19-2-1945 26 Cook 39796 Belgian Aerts Jan 20-6-1924 Begijnendijk 16-3-1945 20 Forwarder 39797 Belgian Macquart Lucien 20-12-1917 Tournai 26 Turner 39798 Belgian Stiell Raoul 20-10-1912 Brussels 4-2-1945 32 Employee 39799 Belgian Addans Frederic 15-10-1912 Vorst 32 Turner 39800 Belgian Impatient Felix 5-1-1913 Brussels 31 Laborer 39801 Belgian Pype Henricus 8-12-1923 Beveren - Roeselare 22-2-1945 21 Merchant-Interpreter 39802 Belgian Van Muysewinkel Josepf 21-3-1918 St. Pieters Leeuw 19-3-1945 26 Miller 39803 Dutch Jansen Lucas 31-12-1920 Groningen 8-3-1945 23 Merchant 39804 Dutch Bogers Hendricus 30-11-1919 Breda 25 Bench fitter 39805 Dutch Weenink Cornelis 23-5-1921 Utrecht 24-2-1945 23 39806 French Montagut Marcelin 4-11-1922 Bordeaux 22 Plumber 39807 Belgian Lappere Marcel 13-9-1924 Wevelgem 20 Driver 39808 Pole Pawolik Ludwik 21-5-1902 24-3-1945 42 39809 Dutch Dekens Bernardus 15-6-1920 Exloo 10-2-1945 24 Miller 39810 Belgian Dallequin Nestor 19-12-1923 Poperinge 20 Farmer 39811 French Perrier Jean 1-6-1923 Saint Etienne Loire 21 Turner 39812 Dutch Olinga Mathias 7-12-1923 Groningen 12-5-1945 21 Metalworker 39813 Belgian Jacobs Gerard 31-8-1921 Kotem 23 Mechanic 39814 Belgian Vereruysse Albert 3-9-1923 Elsegem 9-3-1945 21 Farmer 39815 Belgian De Kesel Honoré 28-8-1919 Lovendegem 19-2-1945 25 Farmer 39816 Dutch Jepma Johannes 3-11-1922 Harlingen 22-1-1945 22 Turner 39817 Dutch Stevens Pieter 20-8-1920 Rouiner Wold 10-4-1945 24 Caretaker 39818 Dutch Groenwold Reinder 6-8-1923 Start-Kannal 21 Metalworker 39819 French Lemaire Gerard 12-9-1912 Saint-Andre 16-3-1945 32 Director (textiles) 39820 Belgian Declercq Philippe 14-9-1924 Vilvoorde 20 Mason 39821 French Delaunay Leon 30-11-1908 Viebogau 36 Farmer 39822 Dutch Welterz Elzo 23-9-1923 Oude Pekela 4-2-1945 21 Turner 39823 French Beauvais Camille 12-4-1910 Paris 2-4-1945 34 Papermaker 39824 Pole Wabik Jan 6-2-1926 Radom 18 Bench fitter 39825 French Maja Emile 21-6-1924 Lyon 20 Mechanic 39826 Belgian Lhoir Raymond 10-6-1923 Villeneuwe la Gyard 19-2-1945 21 Barber 39827 Belgian Verbinnen Prudent 14-1-1924 St Pieters Rode / 20 Farmer 39828 Belgian Minner Felix 30-10-1913 Pamel 16-2-1945 31 Leather worker 39829 French Danieul Albert 12-12-1923 Paris 21 39830 Belgian Geyssens Ludowikus 21-9-1900 9-3-1945 44 Carpenter 39831 Belgian Heyvaert Hendrik 16-9-1922 Marchelen 22 Cook 39832 Belgian Lodewiks Henri 29-3-1923 Schaarbeek 26-3-1945 21 Barber 39833 Belgian Robyns Guillaume 1-2-1903 Leuven 10-2-1945 41 Transporter 39834 Belgian Kuipers Antoun 2-10-1921 Marseille 6-3-1945 23 Driver 39835 French Duteil Henri 26-4-1915 Genevilie 9-3-1945 29 Cook 39836 French Gastel André 26-6-1920 Saint Aubin le Cloud 11-1-1945 24 Turner 39837 French Hamel Denis 16-1-1916 Mers-les-Bains 28 Car mechanic 39838 French Malett Maurice 8-1-1908 Marseille 36 Car mechanic 39839 French Maniez Marcel 10-7-1921 Vendin les Bethunes 21-1-1945 23 Miner 39840 French Debrigode Georges 17-7-1895 Vervins 49 Mechanic 39841 Belgian Van Hecke Henri 20-2-1898 Ixelles 7-2-1945 46 Painter 39842 Belgian Bonnier Pierre 19-12-1921 Ottignies 22 Farm laborer 39843 French Dischler Paskal 24-9-1911 Lisieux 33 Teacher 39844 French Chabot Emil 21-6-1922 Angouleme 16-3-1945 22 Laborer 39845 Belgian Van Eenoo André 5-8-1920 Torhout 10-2-1945 24 Baker 39846 French Renoncet Raymond 15-8-1922 Villantroix 22 Bench fitter 39847 Belgian Lambotte Emile 29-6-1913 Liège 31 Miner 39848 Belgian Puystiens Gerard Isidoore 26-5-1922 Oostduinkerke 10-1-1945 22 Baker 39849 French Olivier Guy 10-6-1920 Tours 24 39850 Belgian Lambert Georges 1-10-1909 Havreille 2-2-1945 35 39851 Belgian Goyvaerts Henri Frans Maria 15-1-1922 Bouchout 11-1-1945 22 Turner 39852 French Streel René Marcel Gilles 2-2-1919 Roi Luxembourg 25 Metalworker 39853 French Mizera Josef 18-3-1915 Cschechowitze 6-3-1945 29 Miner 39854 Belgian Peeraer Alois Benait Marc 19-5-1905 Turnhout 39 Merchant 39855 Belgian Laloy Gaston Nikolas 31-5-1923 Ixelles 21 Mechanic 39856 Belgian Rabau Jean Jacques Maurice 7-9-1922 Mendock 22 Assistant mechanic 39857 French Vanghelle Jean Celestin 16-12-1913 Lens 31 Salesman-Driver 39858 Belgian Pauwels Pierre Jean Joseph 21-2-1907 Molenbeek 37 Masseur 39859 Belgian Peeraer Alfons 21-7-1922 Turnhout 22 Student 39860 French Dubois Desire Leon 22-8-1896 Noyelles sur selles 48 Warehouse worker 39861 French Doyen Noel 25-12-1925 Thyle chateau 29-1-1945 18 Metalworker 39862 French Laplume Eugène Jules Joseph 26-6-1925 La Bourse 19 Butcher 39863 French Dubois Anselme 26-2-1921 Colonne-Rucouart 23 Miner 39864 Belgian Beuten Willy Leopold 11-4-1917 Ledeberg 27 Driver 39865 Belgian Desloover Jerôme Cyriel 22-2-1922 Rosult 22 Driver 39866 French Langrand Adrien 29-4-1918 Ohain 26 Metalworker 39867 French Doolaghe Albert 21-2-1914 Colonne-Rucouart 30 Miner 39868 French Samiez Henri François 27-4-1909 Cominnes 8-4-1945 35 Electrician 39869 Belgian Meunier Victor 10-12-1921 Messancy 23 Blast furnace worker 39870 French Roux Kleber 29-5-1923 Juimont 21 Baker 39871 Belgian Burnay Erasme 19-5-1925 Dinant 19 Metalworker 39872 French Fillatre Roger 11-9-1920 Le Havre 24 Mechanic 39873 French Blairon Emmanuel 21-9-1911 Maubeuge 33 Driver 39874 Belgian Verbeke Kamiel Petrus Joseph 18-3-1915 Oudenbourg 29 39875 Belgian De Clerck Leopold Jean 15-3-1919 Brussels 25 Welder 39876 Belgian Chevalier Jules 13-1-1898 Evrehailles 46 39877 French Barrois Jean Baptiste 25-5-1926 Marles les Mines 18 Miner 39878 French Lambert Maurice Henri 10-3-1912 Pre st. Gervais 32 Metal polisher 39879 French Regnault Louis Auguste 10-11-1907 Loisy sur Marne 37 Merchant 39880 Belgian Jacques Fernand 26-5-1897 Tubize 47 Machinist 39881 French Thomas Pierre 23-1-1926 Paris 18 Miner 39882 French Coupet Henri Charles 21-3-1924 Beuvry 20 39883 French Leys Paul 26-7-1919 Leers 25 Driver 39884 French Louvet Jules 18-10-1912 Annequine 18-1-1945 32 39885 Belgian Tutelaire Camille Leopold 14-6-1901 Neuville 43 Painter 39886 French Michaux Hermand Paul 21-1-1903 Aiseau 41 Metalworker 39887 Belgian Goyvaerts Karel 22-6-1925 Bouchout 19 Tailor 39888 Belgian Droesbeke Constant Julien 25-4-1907 Anderlecht 37 Photographer 39889 Belgian Dedobbeleer Josef 12-10-1886 Mark 24-1-1945 58 39890 French Cardinal François 13-6-1911 Maubeuge 33 Sawyer 39891 Belgian Le bacq Horace Ghislain 20-5-1906 Couillet 6-2-1945 38 39892 Belgian Huens Robert Ghislin Alexis 30-11-1910 Charleroi 21-2-1945 34 39893 Belgian Jooris André 2-5-1910 Brussels 22-4-1945 34 39894 Belgian Papa Julien 2-10-1910 Andenne 34 39895 Belgian Delfosse Lucien 10-3-1911 Liège 23-3-1945 33 Ship captain 39896 Belgian Richard Marcel Paul Marc 23-10-1914 Louvignies 28-1-1945 30 Electrotechnical engineer 39897 French Luciez Jean 10-11-1920 Louvignies 6-3-1945 24 Metalworker 39898 Belgian Heuse Maurice Karl Emile 2-8-1922 Bressoux 21-3-1945 22 Merchant 39899 Belgian Tricot Jules Raymond 20-10-1908 Wavre 36 Mathematician 39900 Belgian Wouters Albert 8-8-1917 Antwerp 22-2-1945 27 39901 Belgian Van Elder Jacques Leon Maria 29-4-1921 Brussels 16-3-1945 23 39902 French Van Hecke Alfred 9-2-1908 Waterlau 36 Bench fitter 39903 French Hocq Aurelien 7-5-1900 Burbur 17-1-1945 44 Miner 39904 French Vasseur Philomon 21-9-1921 Mars-Les-Mines 23 Miner 39905 Belgian Louis Roger Aimé 5-6-1913 Falisolle 31 Electrotechnical engineer 39906 Belgian Todts Alfons 27-8-1922 Temse 27-1-1945 22 Mechanic 39907 French Desfontaines Casimir 4-3-1923 Allouagne 16-3-1945 21 Miner 39908 French Manard Albert Louis Fabien 29-4-1912 Anzin 22-2-1945 32 Teacher 39909 French Masse Georges 2-3-1906 Raismes 3-4-1945 38 Mechanic 39910 Belgian Latour Baudoin 5-9-1907 Goyer 31-1-1945 37 39911 French Potier Jules 11-3-1908 Haunot 36 Electrotechnician 39912 Belgian Leonard Marcel 27-4-1921 Chaudfontaine 23 Metalworker 39913 Belgian Raskin Charles Pierre Joseph 3-12-1920 Angleur 24 Metalworker 39914 Belgian Bouvy Paul Diedonne Joseph 23-1-1911 Liège 13-4-1945 33 Metalworker 39915 Belgian Destree Marcelin Francois 4-5-1917 Rouvreux 22-2-1945 27 39916 Belgian Lekeu Walter 12-4-1919 Adrimont 16-3-1945 25 Laborer 39917 Belgian Gillet Paul Pierre Antoine 27-4-1915 Limbourg 29 Employment office worker 39918 Belgian Aerts Josef 8-3-1918 Vosselaar 26 Teacher 39919 Belgian Deckx Edward 27-4-1903 Mol 41 Garage owner 39920 Belgian Lenaerts Albert 12-9-1915 Turnhout 16-2-1945 29 39921 Belgian Bouffioux Guy Nestor 7-8-1911 Ixelles 19-3-1945 33 Electrician 39922 Belgian De Landstheer Tony Jean Albert 25-6-1906 Dendermonde 19-3-1945 38 39923 Belgian Vanhee Richard 7-3-1901 Bissegem 12-1-1945 43 39924 Belgian Verlent Pierre 10-7-1918 Etterbeek 5-3-1945 26 Laborer 39925 Belgian Becker Roger Clement 20-6-1922 Jodoigne 22 Electrotechnician 39926 French Carton Gerard 18-11-1918 Lacelle 26 Carpenter 39927 Belgian Ducamp Christian Amoury 15-1-1905 La Roche 18-2-1945 39 39928 Belgian Schoesetters Gerard 27-3-1902 Hemiksem 9-3-1945 42 39929 French Beudaert Felicien 13-10-1916 Annequin 28 Electrician 39930 Belgian Megens Emmanuel 15-3-1920 Anderlecht 19-2-1945 24 Electrotechnician 39931 Belgian Bonvoisin Joseph André 19-11-1911 Bressoux 23-1-1945 33 Metalworker 39932 Belgian Michel François Sylvain 21-5-1901 Nivelles 43 39933 French Mairesse Gaston Louis 26-6-1923 Avesnes Help 21 Metalworker 39934 French Wautier Emile 26-1-1905 Etroeingt 39 Mechanic 39935 French Bougis Maurice 13-4-1922 Nantes 28-3-1945 22 Driver 39936 French Bragard Joseph 25-10-1903 Allondrelle 11-4-1945 41 Shoemaker 39937 French Lancelle Louis 1-1-1914 Bouvins 8-2-1945 30 Gardener 39938 Belgian Meeusen Constant Carl 19-11-1902 Antwerp 16-2-1945 42 39939 Belgian Jehu Maurice Joseph 21-5-1910 Thuin 24-4-1945 34 Electrician 39940 Belgian Terrijn Henri Emile Anatole 20-9-1911 Wetteren 19-1-1945 33 Electrotechnician 39941 Belgian Delchambre Antoon 8-7-1893 Vedrin 9-1-1945 51 ","externalUrl":null,"permalink":"/en/posts/transport16121944/","section":"Posts","summary":"It is impossible to get a true sense of the brutality in KZ Flossenbürg if you haven’t been there yourself. We do well to read as many testimonies as possible, but just by looking at the numbers, you realize it was a true “death factory.”\nThe arrival of C.J. Droesbeke # On December 16, 1944 – the same day the Battle of the Bulge began – C.J. Droesbeke arrived in Flossenbürg. Two transports arrived that day:\n","title":"The Numbers of Hell: Transport December 16, 1944","type":"posts"}]