Personal files (male), Prisciliano García Gaitero

Cards like this one for Prisciliano García Gaitero made up the ledgers of the concentration camps. It shows his age: 30; nationality: Spanish; profession: miner; the place and date where he had been taken prisoner: France, 23 June, 1940; transfers: he spent time at Gusen; address for cotification in case of death, and his classification when he entered the camp. Although he arrived in Mauthausen in March 1941, he was still considered a prtisoner of war, “combattant of Red Spain”, Rotspanienkämpfer. These cards make it clear that they were Spaniards but do not explain why they had been sent to a concentration camp if they were considered prisoners of war.

Prisciliano García Gaitero’s testimony

“The march stopped a little while later.  Before us is an oriental-looking fortress with a huge gate above which is a large metal Eagle with its wings spread, its feel together and a cross underneath the claws. After going through the gate we find ourselves in a large courtyard surrounded by a series of barracks painted Green We lined up there. An officer did a head count. The right number. One of us translates as he asks in his German language: 

Are there any Jews among you?

Everyone remains silent and he continues:

Strip.

In the courtyard there are some tables with papers on them and some men to take our details.

We also see some prisoners holding hair cutting machines and razors.

Now we are naked.

They order us to go to the tables one by one to be questioned and have our cards filled out. The last question was always the same: If you die, who should we inform? We gave the name and address. Next stop was the barber. We spent more than three hours naked on the parade ground until we had all been shaved. Our bodies are frozen, many have seizures. We try to get close to each other  to keep ourselves warm but the SS doesn’t let us. 

Many unfortunate ones faint. They have reached the limit of their resistance, defeated by the cold of this Austrian Siberia. They are taken to the crematorium; they are useless. After spending half an hour under the shower w ego up the stairs again to the outside. We are wet, so the cold is much crueller, Everyone coughs and shivers. Brandishing his club, one of the guards shouts:

Ruhe scheissespagnacas.

Silence, shit Spaniards.

Then to the barracks, I finally manage to get inside the barracks. Behind a table, the screiber writes my name, age, occupation, etc in a ledger.

He gives me a piece of cardboard with a number and says:

From today your name is no longer García, your new name is this number which you must always know. 

They hand me some underwear, a suit with white and blue stripes, a shirt, and some galoshes with wooden soles.

The beds are wood, some eighty centimetres wide, with three levels. Three people to bed sharing a single blanket. Before going to bed, they order us to wash our feet. And that’s how I spent my first night in Mauthausen.”

GGB