Donuts and Defeat: A Prisoner’s Journey

In the dying days of World War II, Greta Hoffmann clung to the crumbling ideology that had defined her life. A 28-year-old former schoolteacher turned Luftwaffe auxiliary, she had volunteered for the cause, believing Germany was superior, destined to win. But as British tanks rumbled closer to her base near Oldenburg in northwestern Germany, that certainty shattered. Beside her were two comrades: 19-year-old Leisel Weber, a farm girl from Bavaria who had been conscripted into anti-aircraft duty, and 34-year-old Dr. Margaretta Vogel, a chemist whose husband had died at Stalingrad. They had been warned about the Allies—propaganda painted them as murderers and rapists—but whispers suggested otherwise.

On May 8, 1945, VE Day, the base surrendered. The women, 127 in total, hid in a bombed-out school basement, starving and terrified. Two days later, they emerged with white flags, facing Canadian soldiers who looked as shocked as they felt. The Canadians, under Geneva Convention rules, processed them as prisoners of war and shipped them to Canada. “Canada?” Greta scoffed. “A frozen wilderness.” But the journey began: a train to Lubeck, then a ship across the Atlantic with thousands of male prisoners.

The voyage was a revelation. British rations—porridge with milk, soup with meat—were better than anything they’d eaten in months. Guards, older veterans, treated them with quiet respect. Leisel, nursing an infected cut, received medical care from a young Canadian medic who cleaned her wound and gave her medicine. “You will be fine, miss,” he said in broken German. Margaretta calculated the calories: over 2,800 per day, more than German officers had received. Cigarettes were shared, and guards complained about food, taking abundance for granted. “Canada, good place,” a guard told Leisel. “No war there.”

On June 25, they docked in Halifax. The port was intact, bustling with civilians—children playing, women shopping. No ruins, no blackouts. Trains carried them west to Alberta, through untouched forests, lakes, and farmland. “Untouched,” Margaretta whispered. “No bomb craters.” The scale of Canada’s wealth sank in: an entire nation spared, with resources Germany lacked.

On June 28, they arrived at Lethbridge POW camp, a 40-acre site surrounded by barbed wire but with guard towers manned by bored sentries. Wooden barracks housed them comfortably—real mattresses, sheets, pillows, electric lights, running water, and flush toilets. Supplies included coveralls, undergarments, soap, toothpaste, and combs. Medical exams were respectful, conducted by female doctors.

Dinner that evening was a shock: beef stew, fresh bread, butter, canned corn, apple pie. Leisel cried, her shrunken stomach rebelling. Helena fainted. Greta suspected poison, but hunger won. They ate, then many got sick. “This is better than our billets,” one woman said. “Why feed us like this?” Greta warned: “It’s a trap.” But whispers grew: “If they planned to execute us, why give medicine?”

Routine settled in. Roll call at 8 a.m., work assignments—gardening, kitchen help, library duties. Leisel tended vegetables with Corporal Anderson, learning Canadian farming. The canteen sold cigarettes, chocolate, magazines with Camp Script. Margaretta bought chocolate, tasting real sweetness for the first time in years. The infirmary treated Helena’s stomach issues with medication. The library offered banned books like Thomas Mann’s works. Chapel services were voluntary, Father McKenzie offering mass in German.

Letters home were censored. Leisel wrote vaguely: “I am healthy and safe.” Margaretta asked about her children in Austria. Greta maintained defiance: “We endure with German strength.”

Evening debates raged. “The propaganda was wrong,” some said. Greta insisted: “It’s their trick.” But evidence piled up: guards’ kindness, weekly abundance, no threats.

Then came August 6, 1945. In the mess hall kitchen, Sergeant Roy Tromblay taught donut-making. Flour, sugar, eggs, milk, yeast—ingredients the women hadn’t seen in abundance. He mixed dough, cut circles with holes, fried them golden, dusted with sugar. The smell was intoxicating. He offered one to Leisel. She bit in, tears flowing. “It tastes like home… but richer.” Helena asked, “Is this pig food?” Tromblay looked confused, then sad. “No, miss. For you. Normal. We make them Mondays.”

“Normal.” The word hit like a bomb. Donuts—wasteful luxury with holes cut out—were routine for 12,000 prisoners. Margaretta calculated: 3 cents each, casual surplus. “Germany could never have won,” she realized. Leisel sobbed, overwhelmed by the kindness. Greta tasted one, her ideology cracking. She walked out, rigid, but doubt seeped in.

The incident split the camp. Leisel embraced change, learning English, joining choirs, considering immigration. Margaretta read forbidden books, teaching math, reckoning with defeat. Greta clung to ideology, organizing sessions, but guilt grew as letters revealed home’s starvation.

September 2 brought news: Japan surrendered. Repatriation began. Leisel hesitated but returned to Bavaria in March 1946, finding her mother alive but thin. “You look fed,” her mother said. Leisel hid the truth, rebuilding the farm with American aid. She married Friedrich, a fellow ex-POW, and became a teacher, instilling peace.

Margaretta stayed, immigrating in 1953 after reuniting with her children via Red Cross. She worked as a chemist, wrote a memoir, and founded a peace scholarship.

Greta returned to Hamburg in May, finding ruins and her mother’s death from starvation. Guilt crushed her. Father McKenzie’s words—”You are alive. That is grace”—helped. She taught refugees, admitting wrongs in articles, dedicating her life to truth.

In 1985, at a Lethbridge reunion, the three women reunited. Tromblay brought donuts. They ate, laughed, cried. “Kindness changed us,” Greta said. “It defeated hate.” Leisel added, “People are people, not flags.” Margaretta: “Truth matters more than might.”

As sunset fell, they reflected: a donut, trivial yet profound, symbolized choices—kindness over cruelty. It saved them, proving humanity prevails.