The Hell-Hound from the Laundry

As a young member of the brutal and licentious soldiery stationed in Lüneburg north Germany, I was allowed, from time to time, to visit the town unaccompanied. In those day money was not a problem for British soldiers - we had none, or at least very little. The problem facing us when we were let loose, was obtaining value for the little German money we were allowed to use each month. The rate of exchange at the time was about twelve Deutschmark to one pound sterling. Enough it has to be admitted, to get a modest , meal and a few beers or even fewer Dantziger Goldwassers. ( I never did get the hang of drinking that stuff, a sort of gin infused with bits of gold leaf, did one drink it all, or strain the pieces of gold leaf through one’s teeth ? ) However, I digress.

In the 'Lübecke Hof' gasthause I met a German chap who was convinced he remembered surrendering to me after some battle in Normandy or Holland, his memory was vague on the actual geographical location. My memory of the event even more vague, especially as at the time I was about 13-years-old and at school in England. However, my new found alte kamerade insisted on paying for most of the beer before he disappeared into the dismal night, actually the brightly lighted streets of Lüneburg. I was a regular at the Lübecke Hof which was a rather quiet, but friendly, hotel and bar near the railway station. No-one there knew who he was, but agreed he was a bit strange. My store of cash was almost untouched, and I took the opportunity to try the goldwater of Dantzig again. In those days not all German roads were smooth and I remember lurching and swaying a little on the uneven surface as I left the said hostelry. In no time at all, observing the lights of the barracks a hundred yards or so across horticultural allotments and waste ground, I realised I was returning to Schliefen Kaserne (now empty and awaiting development) along the wrong road.

Deciding to cut across the garden colony, what we Brits call allotments, I walked after a few yards into a chain link fence, which was to the best of my recollection was surrounding a compound, it may have been the town laundry - my memory is rather poor regarding what the place actually was. High fences were no problem in my youth - up and over as they say. Between me and the Guard Room lights was another fence, no problems here I thought. Approaching the fence, I was in turn approached. Standing in my path was a large dog, or rather at this time and distance what I thought was a large ferocious dog. I now know it was a wolf ! An oversize wolf. This unusual animal began to growl alarmingly. Its eyes were burning orbs of fiery flickering red. Fire issued from its mouth with every breath. Each time I moved forward the creature slavered and moved closer to me. In desperation I hurled myself at the fence; the hound from hell hurled itself at me. I’m not clear what actually happened, I recall grabbing the dog and swinging it against the fence, before leaping up the fence well clear of the hound from the pit who was now jumping up at me with malice aforethought. Strangely all this action happened in slow motion. In the event I was over the fence and on the road outside the Guard Room pretty smartly. Dusting myself down I strolled forward into the lamplight.

The squaddie on stag at the main gate came forward and asked what had happened. I told him I’d been assailed by a ferocious black dog/wolf from hell which was obviously trained to attack 8th Hussars. He asked about my hands. They were both dripping blood. There were bite marks on my hands which had to prove something ! Inside the Guard Room I was treated with sympathy. People on duty had heard a dog snarling and barking, in fact the thing was still barking. I was duly shunted off to the duty medical corporal and treated. In the excitement, no-one asked what I was doing climbing over a laundry fence to get back to barracks.