It was the 24th day of December, Christmas Eve.

We were a group of hungry, cold, lonely soldiers. There were 50 of us jammed into a boxcar. We were being transferred to a new camp, deep in the heart of Germany. We were prisoners of war.

We had been riding in the boxcar two days, not knowing where we were going or when we would get there.

The weather was typical European December weather: snow on the ground, and cold, terribly cold. Ice had formed around the doors from the moisture from our bodies. We had no heat. I was clothed in a British army jacket, without a shirt, the jacket being similar to our Eisenhower jackets, reaching to the waist only. I wore burlap type pants and wooden shoes.

My clothes were given to me on Dec. 2, when we were called out to take a shower. Our captors took our American uniforms and gave us what we were wearing. We didn't get our shower. They used our clothing to disguise their troops in the resulting Battle of the Bulge. Our new clothes did not keep us warm. It was now some two months since I had been warm, when I left the German hospital in the early part of October.

We were all hungry, very hungry, and so very, very thirsty. Since being taken prisoner some 3 1/2 months before, I could not remember not having hunger pains in my stomach. I had lost some 20 pounds and would lose 10 to 15 more before my hunger would end. We could stand the hunger; we had gradually learned how to cope with it, but the thirst was getting to us. It was two days since we had tasted water. We tried to scrape the frost from the wood, but it didn't help.

That Christmas was my second Christmas away from home. The year before, in the Army camp in the States, I had been lonely and homesick, but it seemed so pleasant now, remembering back. We would think of our past Christmases, getting up early, awakening the family, opening the gifts, enjoying the friendship and warmth and food and especially home.

Now, once again it was Christmas Eve. This year, though, we were cold, we were thirsty, oh, so very thirsty, and so lonesome for home and our loved ones. It seemed like a nightmare, that we were here under these conditions, yet the nightmare was real — we could not awaken ourselves and forget.

We forced ourselves into reality. Surely our captors would take us from this cold boxcar, into a warm building, and there feed us, and give us water, especially water.

We had been waiting in the train station now for two or three hours. We kept waiting for the guards to open the door and let us out, but it didn't happen. I managed to pry open a small ventilation panel on the side of the boxcar, and then to motion to some German civilians standing nearby for some water. An engineer standing by a neighboring train must have understood, for he came, took the can, filled it with water, and returned it to us. Nine of us had one swallow of water each. It was so good; yet we were still so very thirsty. We motioned for more, but a guard was coming, and the engineer left. We closed the panel.