Making a helmet talk!

[Jean-Loup]

I often see the comment "I wish this helmet could talk". As collectors, we shouldn't just wish, we should make every effort to find out the true story lurking behind a helmet. For that to be possible of course, the context of discovery of the helmet is needed.

The helmet below could easily be seen on ebay or the estand. Just another helmet, though neat because of the wire. "One looker combat helmet. I was told it was found in southern France" says the seller; "Wish it could talk."

Let's make this helmet talk for real.

[Jean-Loup]

Inside.

[Jean-Loup]

In order to make a helmet talk, the most important thing is for the context the helmet was found in to be known. This helmet was found buried in a field near the town of la Roquette, southern France. It is known that la Roquette was liberated by the 517th Parachute Infantry on August 28 1944. La Roquette had been chose as a defensive position by the Germans as it overlooked the Var River, the largest river in the area, as can be seen below.

This is what 517th veteran Eugene Brissey remembered about the battle for la Roquette:


"We moved fast, often hungry, thirsty, and sleepy. On one occasion we had to restrain some troops from eating sugar beets. These are not good to eat, but I never found out whether they would kill a human or even make him sick, for that matter. Our only concern was for the paratroopers, who aren’t really human... sugar beets would probably make them at least a little ill. On one particular rush through the farm lands of France we came to a river. We were on one side, the Germans on the other. We had no way to cross, so we stopped and waited for the food trucks to catch up. When they did, they brought only field rations. This cold stuff kept us going and was appreciated.
On this occasion the trucks brought candy, gum, and extra smokes for those who wanted them. This time, as usual, the goodies were few, so we carefully split them among the men. Several times while in the field I split candy bars and broke sticks of gum into two pieces to assure that each man in my squad had at least a small share. The guys would sit there like little children and watch with anticipation. A person’s feelings at a time like that cannot be described in words, so I’ll just drop the subject.
As we sat there on our side of the river, we welcomed the rest and looked forward to a good sleep. This was not to be. Our company was selected to cross the river under cover of darkness. We were to find out what the Germans had on the other side. This was the most dangerous mission assigned to any of the 517th up to that time. We were not at all happy about this, and some even called it a suicide mission. We were expected to get clobbered. Naturally, we ate all our candy... just in case we didn’t make it. Didn’t want to leave any of that good stuff for anyone who might find our bodies later. We said a sad goodbye to those who were to stay behind. They gave us their best wishes and left us to prepare for the crossing.
A Frenchman had been found who would lead us down the steep and dangerous cliff and across the river. We were told that the water would be about up to our armpits in spots. This wasn’t so bad. At about 2:00 A.M., we started down the cliff toward the river. The trail was suitable for mountain goats, but somehow that Frenchman led us to the water during total darkness. The guy, whoever he was, who said the water was only up to the armpit, evidently didn’t check where we crossed, or else he was at least seven feet tall. We hadn’t gone far when we were in over our heads. We lost a gun or two but made it to more shallow water. Every moment we expected to receive a welcome from the German guns. We were ignored, because the Kraut knew anyone with any brains at all would never try to cross that river at night. They were not aware of the fact that we were paratroopers, thus not very bright. We sneaked in behind the German lines and hid for a while to get organized. A French family brought us a big pot of stew, which was just about the best stuff we had in France.
We made our way nearer the town, la Roquette I think, and dug in on a hill, still not knowing where the Germans were, nor how many there were of them. In mid-afternoon I had to go to the bathroom... of course, there was no bathroom on the battlefields of France, but that was a way of life in combat. At any rate, I had to go, and as I went or was going or whatever... I heard some more familiar thuds. The next thing I knew bullets were flying under my feet. The expression “caught with my pants down” is the best way I know to express my plight. This didn’t slow me down much. In a couple seconds I was back in the slit trench with my bare knees sticking up and bullets bouncing all over the place. I wiggled back into my pants and yelled, “Let’s get out of here.” We started running up the hill, and I dropped my tommy gun. I scrambled back for it and finally made it over the hill in a hail of bullets. Obviously the Germans were a long way off, because they missed us and we could not hear their guns fire.
Though we could not hear their guns, we knew where they were. They were in this small town, which was situated on a cliff overlooking the river. A beautiful place to be. Unfortunately for the Germans, we were behind them, and even though they had fired at us, they didn’t seem to realize the fact that we were there. They might have thought we were French.
We sneaked in behind the Germans and from cover of trees and grapevines we watched them milling around the town. As we watched, more of their troops marched into town with their hob-nailed boots. They assembled in the courtyard, and some were lying around on the grass, unaware of our presence when we opened fire with all the guns we had. Those Germans were in panic. Some fought, some ran inside buildings, and some jumped over the cliff. One of their mortar shells landed in our squad.
The shell fragments flew in all directions, hitting Ray Helms and Cecil Duncan. Ray was the squad leader and I was the assistant. We did what we could for Ray and Private Duncan and continued toward the city.
The fighting was wild, but we seemed to have profited by the element of surprise. Dick Jones heard a noise in a room and was going to throw a grenade in but heard a child crying. He looked inside and found a woman with two young children. Of course he remembered this until his death.
Within an hour we had cleaned out the town. Several enemy were dead and about one hundred were captured. I was placed in charge of the prisoners, many of whom were very young, even compared to my 19 years. The prisoners thought we were going to kill them, I suppose, because some of them begged us not to shoot them. Others offered us money. We assured them that they would be treated properly. They were lucky and apparently happy at this point, but I think we were the lucky ones, because we had only the two wounded and no deaths.
I replaced Ray [Helms] as squad leader. There was no thrill in this for me, because Ray was my best friend and his injury was rather serious. To make things worse, we could not get him out to a doctor. We were still behind enemy lines. Help did not come until the next day, when our troops on the other side of the river were able to cross and find us.
After the battle we were hungry, but had no food. There was no way of getting any either, until the other troops got through to us. Should have saved some of that candy we had eaten the night before. I’ll never forget that night. I was so hungry. The only thing I had which was even remotely associated with food was a package of lemonade powder. A German prisoner gave me some “hard tack” type stuff. This was somewhat like little rocks, but might have been some sort of bread. I mixed the lemonade powder with some stale water and drank it to help melt the German hard tack. Under the circumstances, I believe this tasted better than the stew the French family had given us in the morning. We remained near the town that night, keeping a sharp look-out for more Germans. As luck would have it, none came. During the night, as usual on guard duty, one or two men would watch a small area for an hour, then wake someone else who watched for an hour, and on and on through the night. One of our troops had finished his hour of guard duty and tried to wake a guy to take his turn. The guy would not respond. After a slight hassle, our troop discovered with some surprise that he had been trying to wake a dead German.
It was a welcome sight the next day when our troops arrived from across the river with food and a jeep to carry Ray and the other wounded man back to safety and medical attention. I know we all wondered who really were the lucky ones. I think most of us would have traded places with Ray. It was often said that the real lucky ones got shot early... of course, a nice clean wound had to be part of the deal. So there we were, the “unlucky ones” on the march again."

[Jean-Loup]

One of the locals remembered:

"There were a dozen Germans killed, poor guys, and most of them were young. [In the fields near the entrance of the town] there was a dead officer, and we went to look at him with a friend. Of his head only the cheeks, forehead, and ears remained, everything else was gone. There was no brain or hair or anything left. The head was dug out as if somebody had scraped the inside with a spoon. He must have been hit by a grenade or a shell or something. Where the big garage is, there was a motorcycle and a German on the ground. My friend saw that, and he saw his nice tapering pants and his boots. He took both the pants and the boots. He took all that off, and on the inside the pants were all made of leather.
Behind the pigeon house, I myself saw two feet sticking up. “Oh,” I thought, “another German dead…” Without looking too much, because I didn’t enjoy it, I untied his shoelaces, as the shoes were intact. Nice shoes! And they were French shoes! I put them on and they fit me very well. I was happy, thinking: “At least I have some shoes.” It was wartime and it was difficult to get shoes. I was glad to have them, and plus, they were my size!"


The Frenchmen remembered that all the killed Germans had been buried in a mass grave near the town, before being exhumed several years later. One of the locals was present when the bodies were dug up:

"The Germans were buried outside the village. They dug holes and buried them, then put a cross on top. We saw them when they dug them up later on. There were two workers and one specialist. They were digging, and when they saw the skeletons, the specialist came and looked for the bodies with a brush. Only the bones remained. We saw that when they took a head there was still a helmet on it, and they took the helmet off the dead man’s head. We were watching that and nobody said anything to us. Then they put all those skeletons in numbered bags that were sealed and then brought to the town hall."

A search of the exact location where the grave used to be enabled the helmet from this thread to be found, buried deep under ground. The helmet therefore belonged to one of the German soldiers who had been killed.

[Jean-Loup]

A search of the German Red Cross missing in action list revealed that two men of Reserve Grenadier Bataillon 164, of Reserve Division 148, had been reported missing in action in La Roquette. This information is interesting, as it provides us with the identity of the German unit involved in the action.

[Jean-Loup]

The Volksbund (German War Graves Commission) was even kind enough to send me the complete list of the names of the German soldiers who had been found buried in the mass grave in la Roquette when the bodies were exhumed in 1958. When seeing this list for the first time, I was very shocked by the age of the soldiers: all the identified men but one had only been 17 or 18 at the time of their death.

[Jean-Loup]

Now let's take a closer look at the inside of the helmet. A carefull examination reveals that a set of initials, SL, are written on the leather liner. Needless to say, such initials would usualy be completely impossible to research. In this case however, as it is known that the helmet was found in the former mass grave of soldiers killed at la Roquette, the initials can be compared with the list of casualties.
There is only one match, 18 year old Leo Sputek, so it can be quite safely assumed that this helmet belonged to him.

[Jean-Loup]

I got in contact with the town hall of Leo Sputek's birth place, a small village in Sileasia, Poland. The town hall put me in touch with Leo's sister and his relatives. I was hoping to find a good photo of Leo, and also perhaps a sample of his handwritting that could be compared with the initials in the helmet. It turned out however that only one photo of Leo still exists, taken during a school outing during his childhood. All other photos of him had been destroyed by his mother after the war. Leo's family explained the tragic reason:

"In Silesia, the German police organized a vote. People could choose German, Pole, or Silesian. After a few years there was a selection of people into four groups (Volksliste). Leon’s parents didn’t sign the Volksliste, so they were people without civil rights (4th category). But at the end of the war, there was a shortage of men who could fight as soldiers, so the Nazi Germans organized a general conscription into the army. When Leon was forced into the German army, his parents were put in the 3rd category. Leon’s sister Elżbieta (Elizabeth) had to leave the family and work for a German farmer. His mother was sent to Katowice to work for a German woman as her maid or servant. One of our family’s neighbors was a German who signed the Volksliste and had 2nd category civil rights, so he had a servant, a Russian prisoner of war. The Soviet soldiers came into our village in February 1945 and looked for Germans. They met the Russian servant, who said where Germans lived and indicated Leon’s family home. The Soviet soldiers executed Leon’s father without asking anybody, without bringing him before a court. He was shot in front of his own house just a few months after the death of his eldest son. It was a mistake. Perhaps the Soviets were drunk as always. After the execution, the Soviets came into the house and used it as the local headquarters. Leon’s mother had to live in the farm building with her children. One man from our village who was a partisan and knew Leon’s father very well came to the Soviets and said that my family had never been German. The Soviets then allowed Leon’s mother back into her home. She decided, after the death of her husband and son, to bury all photos and German documents. She wanted to protect her little boys and herself"

[Jean-Loup]

Leo's family did not have any information on the circumstances of his death, but I was able to get in touch with the families of several other of the killed soldiers. They provided me with the official letters they had received from the Company commanders of the German companies involved in the fight. These are very interesting as they provide the German point of view of the battle, tough not very detailed unfortunately:

"September 30, 1944
Dear Mr Fischer!

Today I must disclose the sad news to you that your son, Grenadier Kaspar Fischer, born 11.4.1926, is reported missing in the southern France invasion battles, in the area of la Roquette (on the Var) since 28.8.1944. Your son, who was assigned to securing the location of la Roquette with a platoon of the company, did not come back to the company after the successful attack of the location by American troops. Because of the situation, it was not possible to bring any outside help to those who were surrounded. It must be assumed that the entire garrison of la Roquette has fallen into American captivity. The company can give you no further details about the whereabouts of your son, as no witnesses are available.
If the company were to find out anything else about the whereabouts of your son and the fate of the surrounded, you will be, dear Mr Fischer, told about it immediately. If you were to receive a sign of life from your son in the meantime, you are prayed to pass this information on to the company.
The company greatly regrets the loss of your son and so loses a valued and dear comrade.
For the enquiry, you are requested to get in touch with the “International Red Cross.” Information about this and other related matters will be given to you by every regional army bureau.
In the hope that the company will be able to tell you something more about the fate of your son, I salute you with

Heil Hitler!

Yours truly

Buchmann
Leutnant and Company Commander"

[Jean-Loup]

"October 5, 1944
Dear Mr Seubert!
Your son, Grenadier Johann Seubert, is reported missing since the battle near La Roquette on 28.8.1944.
It is possible that your son may have fallen into the hands of the enemy during this battle that mostly took place in the forest. I hope that you will soon receive information about him through the “International Red Cross.”
In case any facts emerge regarding the location of your son, would you please notify me, as his company commander. I will also immediately do the same if any news about your son reaches the company.
Heil Hitler


Schultz
Leutnant and Company Commander"

Both these letters only inform the families that the soldiers were missing. It was not untill the exhumation of the bodies in 1958 that it was finaly confirmed that the young soldiers had in fact been killed.

[Jean-Loup]

Kaspar Fischer's family also had a photo taken near the port of Nice a few months before the Allied invasion, wich enables a nice "then and now" shot to be made.

[Jean-Loup]

Gottfried Mücke's daughter told me that her father had been an artist before the war, part of his job having been to make WWI memorials. He was the only soldier older then 18 to be killed in the fighting. He had refused an officer's commission so as not to have to be responsible of sending men to their deaths.
One of Mücke's brothers later became quite a high level politician with Adenauer after the war.

[Jean-Loup]

Today, Leo Sputek and his 10 comrades that are eternaly linked by fate are buried in the German cemetery at Dagneux, near Lyon. Since they had all been piled up in the grave, several bodies could not be seperated from each other during the exhumation, so they were reburied together.

[Jean-Loup]

.

[Jean-Loup]

The 11 soldiers killed in la Roquette sleep with 20.000 other Germans killed in southern France, mostly after Operation Dragoon.