Fifteen years in a childhood paradise

"Well done. Now I have to tell you about a complication. From the time the RADAR receives the position of the plane and the shell exploding in the air, the plane would be many kilometers away. So we have to trace the flight path here on this map with the instrument, which looks like a bent ruler, anticipating where it will be when the shell reaches the position. Then we relay the data of this point to the guns. Simple, isn't it?"

"You would have to be a genius to calculate the speed of the plane and the flight path of the shell in such a short time."

"It's all in this little instrument. But I must admit, that it is not very accurate. That's why we have now this machine here, we call 'Mary', who's doing all the calculating for us. But if Mary is out of action, we still use the bent ruler."

"So you pass the degrees of the side and height to the guns, but what about the distance? How is that measured?"

"Just in meters, and then you relay it through this microphone here." "At the other end, each microphone is connected to the ear phone of the person operating the appropriate function of the gun, I suppose?"

"That's correct. Your mates at the guns have to follow your instructions immediately, degree by degree."

"But how is the distance put into the gun?" "Not the gun, of course, but into the shell. The Russkis, our Russian volunteer prisoners, put the shell into a gadget that twists the top, which is the detonator timer. The shells would be far too heavy for you to carry"

"Does the timer start as from then on?" "You'd blow yourself up with that, stupid! No, the timer starts when the shell is shot. Any more questions?"

There were none. We all went back to our quarters for lunch. One rostered orderly from our barrack had to go to the kitchen to get our lunch. He came back with a big pot of Eintopf, a mixed stew, which had to be distributed in our barrack.

"We have to get all our rations this way." "What, all the meals, or just lunch?" "Bread, butter, jam and if there is anything to go with the bread, will be distributed in the evening, after duties. We will always get it in bulk, and then have to divide it up here."

"Who's going to divide it? Better make sure, somebody with a good eye for fairness."

Klaus suggested: "How about doing it this way? One of us, perhaps the orderly, cuts up the butter, or divides the jam etc. in 12 equal parts."

"But that's what I mean, he has to divide it fairly," I interrupted. "Hang on, I haven't finished. Because it can never be that accurate, another person turns his back to the rations and the one who divided the stuff will call: 'Who is going to get this piece?' Whoever is named then, gets that piece, and so on. Don't you think that's fair?"

We all agreed. It could have developed into favouritism, and that would

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