Parcels from Home

Tom Jenkins woke early and stretched out in his bunk; he winced in pain at the backache it always gave him but it was a POW camp in Germany and he could not expect comfort. He thought hard about which day it was; not easy as every day was the same and he suffered from mind-numbing boredom. He decided he would write a letter home; this would need some caution as any comment on the conditions would be at best deleted but more likely the entire letter would be destroyed. And he always looked forward to letters from his wife Sue, his brother Peter and his parents. And better still perhaps a parcel from home might come. He was always asking for more socks, T shirts to help in the coming bitter winter and food in the form of chocolate and biscuits to supplement the modest rations. He accepted the parcel was always opened and knew they had to check for weapons smuggled in, but he was saddened that food was regularly stolen as it often didn’t come in the quantities promised. But he shrugged as he knew the guards were not well-fed either and would clearly prefer to work elsewhere.

Before long most of the others were stirring and soon it was time to report for what passed as breakfast in the canteen. There was very little conversation and they were all hungry and ate as quickly as possible. Then Gordon Wilson came in. No one liked him; he seemed untrustworthy and somehow being a fluent German-speaker he had managed to ingratiate himself with the guards and get extra privileges. But to be fair he was a useful go-between and had won them some minor concessions. He told them that parcels had arrived from home and they should meet up for distribution; needless to say, they didn’t need to be told twice and they hurried after him to form a not very orderly and impatient queue. At last it was Tom’s turn; as usual he saw it had been opened. Gordon saw him looking.

“They’ve been at it again; but not much we can do,” he said hastily. Tom nodded his agreement and thanked him. he took it back to his bunk and opened it. He smiled yes, all those clothes he wanted for the cold and chocolate and biscuits. He sighed sadly; he knew these items were rationed but he knew also there was less than he expected.

“Enough is enough,” he muttered. “I’ll teach those bastards a lesson.” He already had a plan. His brother Peter was a herbalist and knew about poisons and they both were familiar with the botanical names. He would ask Peter to poison some of the chocolate and they would agree to mark the “safe” ones in a particular way. He spent the next hour composing a suitably cryptic letter to Peter and then all he needed was to wait for the letter in reply and for the parcel which might take several weeks. The letter came as quickly as could be expected and Tom was pleased to read that in round about language the non-poisoned bars would be indicated with slight clipping at the edges of the packaging and they would be at the bottom. All was set. Tom smiled as he wondered which of the German guards would suffer an unpleasant death and he knew that by then it would not be possible to guess which parcel was involved even if they had been able to identify the poison. And the Commandant might be uneasy about admitting his guards had stolen from the prisoners. At last the parcels arrived. Tom collected his from Gordon and took care to show a lack of concern over it before returning to his bunk. He peered inside; sure enough there at the bottom was only two chocolate bars and not the three promised and these had been carefully clipped as agreed. He clapped his hands in delight and now he needed to wait. But for some days nothing seemed to happen.

Two weeks later Sue Jenkins was half-asleep when she heard the rattle of the letter box. She crept quietly out of bed so as not to disturb her companion, went downstairs and brought the letter back; it looked official and she anxiously ripped it open.

“Well read it out then,” he said.

“Dear Mrs Jenkins, we very much regret to inform you that your husband, Tom Jenkins has died of food poisoning …. She didn’t read the rest but looked at Peter Jenkins lying besides her.

“It worked then,” he said. They hugged each other.

Tony

Tony