20 April 1944

Riga, Sarkaņkalns Hospital

The German army have requisitioned the larger hotels, as well as private houses, for use as barracks or hospitals.  My hospital is the old prāta slimnīca (mental hospital).  The previous patients had to move out.

My mother has come to visit me in hospital.  It is a big surprise, as I do not know who could have told her where I am.  I did not ask how she got to Riga.  It could have been on a neighbour’s truck, a train or maybe in a cart but either way, it must have been a difficult 140 km journey.

  

One of the nurses told me a very important visitor was waiting for me in the square.  I was quite excited as I hurried out of the front of the hospital but then I saw it was only mother.  

Outside there are hundreds of wounded people laid around on the ground, mostly military men, making it difficult for us to stroll about.  Although it is very crowded, we make the best of it.  Mother has come alone.  Once again, my father is not with her; she says he is too busy working at home.  He no longer has any help on the farm.  My brother Vilnis has replaced me as a conscripted labourer even though he is only twelve years old.

When I was a farm labourer, the farmer made us drink a pint of water before serving lunch. It was the farmer’s responsibility to provide lunch for all workers and he must have thought the water would fill our bellies, stopping us from eating too much food.  One day, a new man asked the farmer for a second cup of water, which surprised the farmer.  "Why do you want more water?"  The farmer asked.  "So I can stretch my stomach to make room for more food.” The man replied.  “If I eat more now, I will not have to buy supper later." It is funny but that farmer never made us drink water before lunch ever again.  

Mother has come to Riga to buy pliers for father.  He needs them to remove old nails to reuse around our farm.  Apparently, the German army have requisitioned all metals, including buttons, for military use.   

1862 opened as a psychiatric institution.  During World War II, Sarkaņkalns hospital was re-designated a military hospital. On 24 July 1946, the hospital became Riga Orthopaedics and reparative surgery institute, and today it is the National Traumatology and Orthopaedics Hospital.

I have received my very first parcel in hospital.  It is from home, from mother.  She must have sent it after her visit.  In the box are some hard biscuits which do not taste very nice but I am eating them anyway.

The last time I was in hospital, I was 17 years old.  At that time, during 1941, the army was using some of the surrounding buildings as German Youth Clubs.  I was in hospital to have my appendix removed and the boy in the bed next to mine was a member of one of those youth clubs.  He told me how wonderful his club was.  He talked about it all of the time and so when I had recovered, I joined a local club but I did not like it very much.  All we did was dig holes and practice marching up and down.  That other boy must have been at a better club than me.

  

I have seen a large group of people marching past the hospital.  All of them have shaven heads and so I can only tell the men from the women by their cloths.  I have asked a nurse what is happening and she says they are workers going to camps in Czechoslovakia.  I do not know why their heads are shaven or why women are wanted at work camps 

24 February 1944

Return to my unit.

Once my leave time expired, I tried to return to Cekule military camp, near to Riga, but it has disappeared, it no longer exists.  Whether the area was obliterated by Russian guns, or else demolished by a German strategic explosion is unclear but the base is no longer where it should to be.  

1944 Riga embankment

I arrived in Riga by train to be greeted by total devastation.  As the train drew closer to the city, neither my fellow passengers nor Ican quite believe the extent of war damage.  I especially cannot believe how much destruction has been caused in just a few weeks.  When the train finally came to the place where my army camp should stand, the driver refused to stop.  He refused to go any further along that track, insisting he reverse his engine back out from Riga. 

I do not now know what to do; I do not know where I should report.  Crowded on to the train beside me are ordinary Latvian working people, mainly elderly.  They insist I stay with the train; the old people say I should not get off until I see another military unit.  They convince me it is not safe outside of the train.  Not returning to my unit on time is very serious but if there is no unit to return to, what then?

As the train reversed back along its track, the driver repeatedly stopped to pick up more passengers.  These were stray travellers; dirty warn out people walking beside the track.  They are all grateful to be allowed onto our train.  Everyone is relieved to leave Riga behind them.  I did not see anyone ask these new passengers for money, none paid the fare because from the look of them, no one has any money.  Our driver is a good man.

9 to 23 February 1944

Another break, I hope this will lead to my improve health.

1944 German Red Cross bandage

Due to my ill health, I have two weeks home leave.  I got the train out of Riga training camp direct to Jaunpiebalga.  I can go anywhere I want but I am going home.  I know I will have to help dad out around the farm but I am still very excited, and besides, I will be warm and dry at night.

Mother is a little sad as she cannot give me as much food as she would like but I have told her, home food is a lot better than I field rations.  

My aunt's furniture, that is my mother’s sister, arrived from Riga by train.  I went with father to pick it up on our small cart.  No one has said why my aunt has sent her furniture to mother but I do not like to ask just in case she is dead.  Amongst the pieces is a daybed, a kind of sofa that collapses flat for sleeping.  My entire family are very excited as no one in the region have anything like it.  Just like us, our neighbours sleep on their cabin floor.One by one, whenever it is safe to leave home, the villagers come to look at the daybed; mother is very proud of it.

I don’t remember my aunt, I do not recall her ever coming to stay with us and so I cannot say that I would mourn for her if she were dead.  I do not even remember her name or if mother has any other brothers or sisters.  So many people go missing; no one speaks of the departed.

1943

Latvian Waffen SS Legion march out of Riga

Following my very basic, basic training, we marched out of the camp gates.  We do not know where we are going but we marched to the train station, roughly three miles from camp. 

Lines of carriages, along with some open trucks, wait on the tracks surrounded by native Latvian’s. Someone at the training camp must have known we were moving out before we did ourselves.  Without the aid of telephones, word of our marching orders went out to the village and surrounding farms.  Hundreds of people surrounded the railway, each calling out and crying for their boy.  Husbands, sons, nephews, cousins and fiancés, all were repented amongst our party and all had relatives fighting to say their goodbyes. 

With some great difficulty, I eventually spot mother, along with my younger sister Valija.  Neither my father, nor my little brother Vilnis, are anywhere to be seen but that does not mean they are not hidden somewhere within that crowd.  Regrettably, the dense throng of people make it impossible for me to get near to them.  I have to board the train without saying goodbye.  

Our sergeants are keen to see us boarded quickly.  They prod, push and shout at us whilst all of the time looking behind them, hoping to see their own families I suspect.  After all, we are all Latvian boys under these uniforms.  We are all simple Latvian boys manipulated and manoeuvred at the will of outside forces.

Latvian Legion cloth arm shield 

As teenagers, my generation did not have www.CallofDuty.com.  None of us had a chance to improve our aim at www.paintballnational.co.uk before being dispatched to fight for our lives.

24 December 1943

I have celebration day (Christmas) leave tokens, two of one-day passes.  Only two from my unit got to celebrate at home.  Yes, I have to say it was a very nice holiday.

In the Ukraine, farms grow sunflowers.  Field upon field of beautiful, tall, bright sunflowers.  Traditionally, the seeds are crushed to produce sunflower oil for cooking.  After processing, there is a heavy porridge of husk left behind.  A husk residue is used as winter-feed for farm animals.  We call it cattle cake.  

Over the summer months, much of Latvia's lush farmland has been torn apart by fighting or else been neglected due to a lack of experienced farmhands.  Any crops that do manage to survive are quickly scooped up by either German or Russian troops long before any local residents get a chance to harvest.  As a result, food has become so scarce that cattle cake is sold in Riga for human consumption.  Butter can be exchanged for twice its weight in cattle cake and so those ground husks are now a large part of many citizens diet.  People have to do what they can to feed their family.  It does not taste very nice but at least it is filling.  With so many people reduced to eating animal feed, I do wonder what farmers are giving to their animals.