Shadows of the Wire: Horace Greasley’s 200 Escapes

In the spring of 1940, as Nazi forces swept through France, Private Horace “Jim” Greasley of the Leicestershire Regiment found himself surrendering near Carvin. The deafening silence of defeat echoed in his ears as German rifles prodded him into a cattle car. Crammed with 60 men, he endured three days of darkness, dehydration, and despair, arriving at Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf, Poland—a sprawling camp holding over 100,000 Allied prisoners. Guard towers loomed, barbed wire stretched for miles, and daily rations were ersatz coffee and black bread. Greasley’s body began to starve, his spirit tested by the mechanical cruelty of captivity.

Assigned to farm work, Greasley met Rosa Rauchbach, a 19-year-old Czech girl conscripted by the Germans. Dark-haired and resilient, she worked in the farmhouse kitchen. Their eyes met one day, sparking a connection that defied the war’s brutality. Rosa slipped him a note: “Father ill. Need medicine.” Greasley, driven by purpose, studied guard patterns. The northeast corner offered a depression where wire met earth, with searchlights sweeping every 90 seconds, leaving a 12-second gap. On March 23, 1942, at 2345 hours, he crawled under the wire, navigating five miles through frozen fields to Rosa’s farmhouse. She greeted him with bread and medicine, their stolen moments a lifeline. By 0430, he reversed the route, slipping back before dawn roll call.

For three years, Greasley repeated this over 200 times—three nights weekly, risking execution for hours with Rosa. He brought back sausages, medical supplies, and contraband that sustained dozens. Guards never suspected a prisoner would return voluntarily. The system worked because escape meant freedom, but return meant madness. Greasley endured starvation, labor, and lice, but Rosa’s presence kept him human.

In November 1943, disaster struck. An unscheduled head count revealed his bunk empty. Dogs bayed, tracking his scent. Greasley heard them closing, kissed Rosa, and fled into the night. Pressing into frozen earth behind a log, he evaded capture as wind shifted his scent. Two hours later, the search ended. But the risk escalated; SS presence increased after Greasley confronted Heinrich Himmler during an inspection, exposing his skeletal frame in silent defiance.

Transferred to E715, Greasley continued escapes, crossing 17 miles to meet Rosa. But in late 1944, she vanished—her village bombed or evacuated. Heartbroken, he stopped escaping, focusing on sabotage and survival. The death march in January 1945 tested him further: 400 miles through snow, guards shooting stragglers. Greasley marched on will alone, his weight dropping to 90 pounds.

Liberation came on May 5, 1945, in Bavaria. American troops found skeletal survivors. Greasley, too weak to move, was hospitalized. He weighed 88 pounds, his body ravaged by dysentery and frostbite. Recovered, he returned to England, marrying and raising a family, but nightmares persisted. He never forgot Rosa.

In 2008, author Ken Scott uncovered Greasley’s story from declassified records. Greasley, 87, confirmed it: 200 escapes for love. His memoir, “Do the Birds Still Sing in Hell?,” revealed the truth. Rosa’s niece verified her survival until 2001. Greasley died in 2010, his legacy a testament to love’s defiance. Military schools teach his tactics, but his heart’s story endures—barbed wire contained his body, not his soul.