Harry Fransman, b. 1922, Rotterdam, Holland. Immigrated to Australia 1949.

In late January 1945, 4000 prisoners were forced on a death march from Blechhammer, a subcamp of Auschwitz. About 1000 prisoners died during the march to Gross-Rosen concentration camp. After a short time, those remaining were moved to Buchenwald camp. Harry Fransman was one of the survivors.

Harry Fransman in Sydney, 1951

Harry Fransman today

"In 1945 the Russians came near our camp (Blechhammer) and it was evacuated. We walked for 23 days, pushed forward in thick snow without food, but the worst was still to come. Many inmates turned into walking zombies but the bravest ploughed on, for when they could not walk any longer and fell in the snow they were shot in the neck. The snow-covered roads were literally stained with Jewish blood.

Eventually we arrived in hell, a large camp called 'Grozroosen'; a big funeral parlour. When we came to the gates, many stuck in the mud where they fell and couldn't stand any more. In charge of this camp were German prisoners taken out of jail and asylums whose pleasure was constant killing. The weapons they used were their boots, sticks and knives. Those (Jewish prisoners) who could not walk any more were clubbed to death. The hunger became unbearable, and many ate the flesh of corpses.

I was put to work, stacking shriveled corpses three meters high, with my sick body and near death myself, but not daring to stop working. After a few days we left and they took us to the railway station and put us in cattle trains. We heard we were going to 'Buchenwald'. My two friends and I were pushed into an open wagon.

After two days, I think, most people were dead. Covered with thick snow I prayed to God to let me die also; so much suffering, even to my endurance, was the limit. I remember that in a feverish dream I was home again, I saw my Mama, who was telling me not to give up. We passed the burning city of Dresden and eventually the train stopped outside Liepzig. I could hear the sounds of a siren, and the lights were turned out.

I turned to my friend Bruno Part Ninger, from Vienna, who I had spent all those years with, and I said to him: 'Bruno, I am going to escape.' I could see his face in the moonlight and it was covered with ice. Then he put his arms around me and whispered: 'Servous (goodbye) Harry, Gruse Gott (God be with you).' Slowly I got up, and seconds later I went over the side. It was the 9th February 1945, then minutes later the train started to move again and left me lying in the snow."