Five years in hell: A Belgian POW’s journey through Nazi camps, the Prague uprising, and liberation in Plzeň

We bring you another part of our series focusing on World War II war veterans, a story of a Belgian POW who found himself in Czechoslovakia in May 1945.

May 1945

In Prague, the uprising has been raging for several days. Alongside Czechs and Vlasov troops, a handful of escaped Allied prisoners of war also join the fight. The involvement of two British soldiers, William Greig and Thomas Vokes, in the Battle for Czech Radio is well known, as is the story of Belgian Clemens Denis, who fought on Old Town Square. But just last year, another story came to light—one that had remained hidden for decades. It’s the tale of several Belgian POWs who, at the end of the war, found themselves in Czechoslovakia.

Georges Goguin as a prisoner in one of the German prison camps|Photo: archive of Georges Goguin

In the small town of Aywaille, nestled in the Ardennes Mountains, the last surviving witness to those events—Georges Goguin, had lived until recently. He was 105 when I spoke with him in December 2024. I don’t speak French, but thanks to artificial intelligence, I’ve been able to communicate with witnesses in foreign languages—and sometimes stumble upon stories no one ever knew.

Goguin distinguished himself during the Belgian Army’s desperate fight against the Germans in May 1940. Later, he was captured and spent nearly five years in Nazi POW camps. His war finally ended in May 1945, after an escape and a harrowing journey that led him through uprising-era Prague and into American-controlled Plzeň.

Born in April 1919, Goguin had joined the Belgian Army at 19, beginning his mandatory military service in April 1938. Though originally expected to serve only a year, he was still in uniform when WWII broke out. He fought with the 2nd Regiment of the famed Ardennes Chasseurs, defending Belgium during the Nazi invasion in May 1940:

“I experienced my first bombing almost immediately. One dead, several wounded. The German planes came back again and bombed us once more. Then came the order to retreat—we were at risk of being encircled. The Germans were advancing too quickly,” he recalled of the events of May 11, 1940.”

He also witnessed a brutal air raid near Temploux (a suburb of Namur), where Belgian and French forces suffered two hundred casualties, both military and civilian.

“The Stukas made a terrifying, piercing sound as they dive-bombed. It was pure horror. I couldn’t think of anything else except wanting that hell to end,” he remembered.

Although the Belgian army was collapsing, the Ardennes Chasseurs put up a fierce resistance—especially at the Battle of the Lys. Goguin himself held the line with a heavy machine gun on May 25, defending his position for a day and a half, allowing other Belgian troops to retreat. Eventually, though, he too was captured.

“They sent me to POW camp Stalag XIIIC in Bavaria. I was assigned to a group destined for farm work. I was lucky—I didn’t end up in a factory or quarry. Conditions on the farm were far more bearable, and the German farmers treated us decently,” he told me.

Georges Goguin with his unit of Ardennes Rifles|Photo: archive of Georges Goguin

Later, Goguin was transferred to Stalag VIIIC, near Sagan (now Żagań in Poland).

“The journey was in a freight car, probably used to transport coal—the floor was black, coated with greasy dust. The German guards didn’t treat us gently. We were beaten, shoved, insulted. They crammed sixty or seventy of us into a single car. The doors slammed shut, and we were in darkness. Luckily, there was a small barred slit in one wall that let in a bit of light. We travelled for two days and nights, with no idea where we were being taken. There was no room to lie down or sleep.”

The camp itself, still under construction, offered poor conditions.

“Prisoners were starving. One loaf of bread had to be divided among four or five men each day. We sliced it down to millimetres to avoid fights.”

He didn’t stay in Sagan long—he volunteered again for farm work, which came with better living conditions. Prisoners were allowed to send letters home and receive Red Cross parcels. One package even included a French army winter coat that helped him survive the bitter Silesian winters.

Eventually, Goguin was chosen for work in a coal mine—but he convinced the Germans he’d be more useful as a butcher. So in the summer of 1941, he was reassigned to a slaughterhouse in Waldenburg.

“I worked with rendering waste. I drank calf’s blood straight from buckets. I even tried cow’s blood once, but it was so disgusting—even with all the hunger, I couldn’t keep it down.”

He remained at the slaughterhouse for several years. By the spring of 1945, it was clear the war was nearing its end. Allied bombers flew overhead more frequently, and waves of civilians were fleeing west ahead of the advancing Soviets.

“There were old people, women, children, animals... Cows with broken hooves died along the roads. German soldiers fleeing the front crushed everything in their path. They had blood-soaked bandages over their faces and marched silently. In the distance, you could hear the rumble of Soviet artillery.”

Goguin and four other Belgian POWs began preparing to escape. In the end, they didn’t have to—the Nazi guards fled the camp. They managed to find a makeshift cart and a horse and set off toward the Czechoslovak border, aiming to reach American lines in Bavaria and then return home to Belgium. Along the way, they were joined by several Polish female prisoners from another factory.

Georges Goguin (Dezember 2024)|Photo: Jiří Klůc

Their journey wasn’t easy. The horse spooked, the cart lost a wheel, but they eventually made it to Prague—likely around May 8, 1945, though the exact date is unknown. According to Goguin, fighting was still ongoing in the city.

“We wanted to continue west from Prague, but the railways were destroyed and had to be repaired first. We also needed food. The Polish women said goodbye, and the five of us reached Plzeň, which was under American—and also Belgian—control! We were escorted by Soviet soldiers—I still remember that clearly. We were terrified it might be a trap. We feared those Bolsheviks might send us to some camp in the Urals. And our fears weren’t unfounded—we later learned that some prisoners like us were indeed sent to gulags,” he said, recalling the lesser-known reality of Soviet arrests of political opponents.

In Plzeň, the former POWs received medical check-ups and food. Once recovered, they were transported by truck across Germany to Thionville, and from there, through Luxembourg, finally back to Belgium. After five years in captivity, Georges Goguin was reunited with his mother.

“She cried, overwhelmed with emotion. I was lucky—so incredibly lucky. How many times was I just inches from death?” he said, closing his story.

Georges Goguin, war hero, passed away on January 27, 2025, just shy of his 106th birthday.