A Mountaintop Experience ... My Days In World War II
She handed me the manuscript in a
black folder when we got to the place we stay at the Georgia mountains. The owner of the cabins said, "Will you read it? Tell me if it's worth anything?"
The next morning I sat in the rocker
of our cabin's porch, manuscript in hand. One more thing to read. I already had
plans for the vacation. A couple of books my friends had written I hadn't
gotten to yet and other books I brought to read about writing, plus my favorite
spiritual material.
The crisp wind tossed leaves around
the trees by the cabin. A confused rooster kept crowing somewhere behind me
even though it was not early morning anymore. I sipped my coffee while
identifying with the tossed leaves and the confused rooster. I felt confused
about what my vacation time was going to look like now that my plans seemed to
be tossed around.
I opened the manuscript and right away
observed the format. Letters. Letters written by a POW, from World War II, to
his family. His five year old son, his three year old daughter and his wife.
It wasn't long before the shame gripped
me. I had been handed something sacred. He had written page after page of the
letters and hidden them in his back pocket. And through those letters I had
been transported to his side.
Soon I was spreading dung over fields
in icy cold Germany, with flimsy wear. Then I attended the church services he
held for the men, the fellow prisoners captured with him. By his side I stood,
without being able to sit in train cars where the only bathroom was a bucket
used by many men who stood like sardines for hours ... cars where some of the
men acted like caged animals.
When the threat of the Russians made the
Germans force the prisoners to march for days, with just a piece of black bread
for food, I was there. When men could not walk one more step, out of illness
and exhaustion and were mercilessly shot, I heard the loud sound of their guns
penetrating the mind of each man, vibrating in the core of each heart.
Weeks and weeks without washing ... eaten up
by lice. Tormenting lice all over their bodies that kept them awake at night. Constant
danger. Some going insane. Yet the man whose letters I read was a strong
believer. A man of faith. He didn't waiver.
And so I spent a large part of my vacation
with a POW of World War II in Germany. What a gift! I thank his daughter for
trusting me with his manuscript. Is it worth anything? Priceless! A mountaintop experience.
Private C.H. Pollard was captured October 26, 1945
at 2:30 A.M. in Germany
He obtained his freedom at the end of the war.
Private C.H. Pollard was captured October 26, 1945
at 2:30 A.M. in Germany
He obtained his freedom at the end of the war.
