205907 Rifleman Henry James Turner British Army Ulster Rifles from:London, N 16 My father, Henry James Turner, was taken prisoner in Sicily. I believe his Major was called Sir James Henry. I have never been able to find out more. Sir Henry actually managed to get away but I believe his wife wrote to my mother to tell her that my father had been taken prisoner. Dad was taken prisoner sometime in 1943, and taken through Italy by cattle train, said they could only look through slats, to Czkecoslovakia Stalag 4c where he stayed until the war ended. Until the authorities knew officially, he was missing presumed killed, and my mother tore up the widow's pension book she had been sent and refused to believe he had been killed. During his stay there he saw officers shot for one reason or another. They were taken regularly out of the camp to build roads and then back again. He became ill at one time with phneumonia, not sure and was thrown on the back of a dung cart and taken to the local Red Cross Hospital which was believed to be run by the French Red Cross. He was nursed back to health. When he returned to the camp his fellow prisoners in his hut had saved his Red Cross food parcels for him which he needed badly as was very thin and weak from the infection. At the end of the war, he said they woke up one morning and found there were no guards, no one around and it was sometime later I believe that Russian soldiers came into the camp and took them out.And some time later, not sure of the time scale, handed them over to the Americans. They were all quite weak, I believe, with having had an atrocious diet and had to be medically checked over. I believe my father was told he wouldn't live beyond his mid fifties and would never be able to work inside again, but he lived until he was 88, but always had a bit of a cough. I don't know how long it was before he was sent home, but said he travelled back to England in the bombhold of a bomber. Mum said for a while he wasn't the same when he returned, always looking over his shoulder. He tried a few outdoor jobs but finally worked for the GPO as a postie, always out in the fresh air, free, he could never stand to be cooped up. I still have letters written to my mother from Stalag 4c
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