Almost nine months had elapsed since the cruel and sadistic Scharfuhrer Lurch had fled from Konzentrationslager Thoralby following the inmates' daring mass flour-and-chalk escape attempt, and finally the net was beginning to close around him. By chance, a major police operation in West Cumbria at the beginning of June had revealed that he had been posted to KL Boot (aka the Eskdale Centre), a remote camp nestling in the picturesque Eskdale district.

It was a terrible place. While the inmates were herded into overcrowded dormitories with no bedding other than that which they had provided themselves, Lurch and Schutzhaftlagerfuhrerin Morticia lived in the lap of luxury in their opulent apartments, as did the two Kapos, Bubbles and Forever Blowing. Security was tight; as well as the LVH3 prisoner contingent, there were also members of other banned groups such as Newcastle H3 (Counterfit, Handjob, Malteaser, Ice Queen and Salty Dog), Quorn H3 (Clementine) and Edinburgh H3 (10k and 15k).

Now, though, Lurch and Morticia had received orders to evacuate the inmates westwards, and so began one of the most infamous death marches of all time. Lurch had left shortly after dawn, taking vast quantities of flour with him, thus depriving the wretched prisoners of their final source of food. En route, however, he had decided to jettison his burden, leaving piles of it along the way. Several hours later, the two Kapos propelled their miserable charges along the trail.

And what a trail! Someone thought we were headed towards Ravensbruck, but it turned out to be Ravenglass. To avoid being intercepted by allied forces, Lurch had devised a cunning plan. Instead of taking the direct route to the sea, which was all downhill, he made us go up. And up. And then along a bit, followed by up up and more up. And then down to Ravenglass via Muncaster.

Barely had we arrived when Lurch received new orders.
After allowing us to rest awhile in the Ratty Arms, Morticia whipped and kicked us in the direction of the railway station. On being asked what our destination was to be, she muttered something about "resettlement in the east". Crammed into open carriages with wooden slats for seats, we endured a forty minute trip along Eskdale before alighting at a small isolated station, Dalesgarth.

Then, a short walk took us to an anonymous-looking building where we were invited to remove our r*nning gear and go into what looked like a shower installation. It wasn't hot water, though, that came through these shower heads. It was bl**dy freezing! Those who survived the shower fared little better, as we were made to consume huge quantities of charred sausages in the garden, something the Kommandant called a "barbecue"; our ordeal only ended when the sun went down and we were allowed back to our bunks.