Page 34 - 1964

Dougal Wylie, XE
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The snow fall had been followed by a sharp cold wind that pierced the skimpy rags, the gaunt bodies, ~he hearts and souls of the marchers. They plodded on through the streets, as the Israelites had plodded through the wilderness from Egypt to Canaan.
Now they were leaving the ghetto forever, leaving the filth, the hunger, the disease. Like the Israelites who fled from Pharaoh, they too were being led out of the ghetto, into the wilderness, to a land of "promise." They even had a "Moses" - a detachment of scowling S.S. guards in black uniforms. There was really no need for a pillar of fire.
There were six thousand of them- Jews - hated, unwanted, despised, as the Israelites of old had been hated, unwanted, and despised by Pharaoh.
The train journey in the cattle cars was long and cold, but the train stopped finally at
a place of watch-towers and barbed-wire and men with dark uniforms and grim faces. There was much shouting and many orders. A few of
the younger and prettier women were led away, for "other duties," as one of the guards observed with a smirk. The rest were herded towards a large building - for showers, food, and new clothes, they were told. But first they must strip themselves of their rags. Manna was about to fall upon them. Naked and numbed with cold, they huddled through the iron door. It closed behind, and there was a hissing . . . . There would be no more ghetto, no more cold, no more despair. Moses had led them to freedom; they had come at last to the "promised land," at a place called Auschwitz.
Its red heart glowing behind its beams, the sun rises slowly and each minute the world grows brighter. To the west, a red- gold cloud drops its rain, and the robins chirp their satisfaction. A rainbow arches across the sky.
In every thicket, pussy-willows sprout from their adhesive jackets, and crocuses poke inquisitive and impertinent heads into
the sunlight. Little rills run gurgling beneath the coverings of remaining snow, and splash happily into rivulets and streams. From swamps and farmers' ponds rises the grunting chorus of a thousand frogs. Each bud and tiny leaf glistens with drops of dew, sparkling like prisms in the warm rays of the rising sun.
The world is fresh and new. On such a morning it is good to be alive too.
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Dougal Wylie XE
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"Achtung !" batch. Fertig."
barked
the guards. "Next Dougal Wylie lOE