A World in Flames

By Knut Flovik Thoresen

This book is about a different time. A time when the world was on fire. A time when a poor choice of a road taken could have dramatic consequences for the rest of one's life as it was for Bjarne Dramstad. During World War II, Bjarne was a front fighter in service with Hitler's Norwegian Legion on the Eastern front. He tells here of his ill-fated choice--about the horrors of war fought in the trenches and about the judgement that he received after the war. He tells of the treatment he got while in prison, which was considered this traitor's reward and the problems he faced upon his release. He was tormented with the long-lasting memories of his own past. Bjarne survived the bullet rain in the trenches surrounding Leningrad. But he had seen up close how many of his comrades had met death. For Bjarne Dramstad, the war had never ended.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662463792

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A World in Flames

Knut Flovik Thoresen

Copyright © 2022 Knut Flovik Thoresen

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-6378-5 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-6379-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

This book is dedicated to my mother, Gunhild Dramstad.

Introduction

I have nothing that will embellish this story more nor do I care to hide. What follows is a true accounting. I am telling this as it was, no more and no less. The wording in this book is what was told to me, Knut Flovik Thoresen, by Bjarne Kristian Dramstad when he and I began the words of the book that follows. Bjarne was an enlisted soldier in the service of the armed forces of Hitler's Nazi Party during World War II. He served on both the Eastern and Western battlefronts.

On the back of his upper left arm, there is a small tattoo about a centimeter in diameter. The mark is just the letter A, indicating Bjarne's blood type.

When this simple stamp was placed on his arm almost sixty-seven years ago, the letter was clearly defined by black tattoo ink. Today, it has faded to an almost-indistinguishable mark that is now a faint shade of blue. There had been a command issued that all members of the SS, Hitler's political soldiers, were to be tattooed in this location on the arm. This mark would insure that a soldier who had been wounded and needed a transfusion would receive a matching type of blood.

Bjarne Dramstad was a soldier of the Waffen SS, and this is his story for better or worse.

Today, he has reached the age of ninety. Bjarne has an incredibly youthful zeal and zest for life. He still has an unusually accurate memory that is coupled with a cheerful, good mood.

Bjarne's time in the Nasjonal Samling (NS) began at about the beginnings of this far right wing political party collaborating with the German occupation force that invaded Norway during World War II.

There is no end to all the episodes and anecdotes that he could tell about his time in the Nasjonal Samling (NS); the far right wing political party that collaborated with the German occupation force during World War II in Norway—Hird, the Waffen SS, and his experiences after the war. I've decided to let him tell this remarkable yet bittersweet story himself.

While others may perceive things differently or disagree with his opinions, this is how Bjarne remembers and acknowledges his actions at that time so very long ago.

He was one of the 450 boys and men who joined the German military forces. They were from the Ostfold area of Norway.

There were relatively more men from Ostfold who had joined Hitler's Norwegian Legion than there were from most other counties in relation to their population. Of these men, there were slightly over one hundred of them who had fallen, never to return. This number of deaths meant that almost one of four of the Front Fighters from Ostfold had been killed, which is a much higher loss of life than the national average.

Again, this book is primarily based on what Bjarne Dramstad has told the author.

In addition, Inger Cecilie Stridsklev previously had recorded some episodes from Bjarne's life, and they are used in this book. Bjarne also obtained the papers from his trial in 1946. These are used as background material for this true story.

Part of the factual information about the Norwegian Legion were provided by Leif Ruhar Forth's unpublished manuscript.

Also, I must thank Geir Brenden, Torgier Lindvedt Dalen, and Johnny Haugen from the Foundations Archives, and a former front fighter who wishes to remain anonymous, for their patient perusal and input along the way.

To conclude my many thanks, I feel that I must mention Bjarne's American nephew, Ralph Christian Dramstad, for his efforts in translating En Verden I Flammer into this English version, A World in Flames.

Kristiansand

July 10, 2009

Knut Flovik Thoresen

Chapter 1

The Verdict

Bjarne Dramstad

One might ask how the defendant—a very well-built, strong-looking young man—was given the title of master to be by the court. This impression was portrayed by the man being tried. In his attempts to impress the courts with his almost complete innocence, he failed completely.

Right until the moment of his being sentenced for his wartime actions, this young and exuberant man believed that what he had done was right. But the verdict was not what he wanted to hear.

The court's verdict read:

In the autumn of 1946, Bjarne Kristian Dramstad from the area known as Trogstad in the country known as Norway was sentenced to five years and six months of hard labor and two thousand kroner to be paid to the Norwegian government in restitution. Payment would be made by the garnishment of this ex­Nazi's salary if necessary in the years ahead.

These headlines were found in the newspaper Inner Smaalenenes's journal dated September 30, 1946. The journal's heading was of one of the ninety-three thousand cases of treason that were being investigated in Norway after World War II. The case being written of was held in Rakkestad District Court on September 27, 1946.

On this day, a judgment of treason was declared against me, Bjarne Kristian Dramstad, and yes, it is true. I was an SS Front Fighter and a member of the Nasjonal Samling Party.

As the judgment was read, I stood up with my back ramrod straight. At that moment, I was not just angry. I was simply furious! Sinews in my body were quivering with a pent-up rage. This anger was toward what I still believe to have been a degrading and unfair trial capped by a victor's form of justice.

As things are, I am still affected by the harsh prison conditions. But it was my good physical condition from the many years of participation in sports that helped me to maintain overall good health during this most trying of times in my life, a time of strain from both my Front Fighter service and my term of imprisonment.

The indictment against me reads of treasonous upon treasonous behavior on my part from an edict provided by the Norwegian government in exile in London passed in 1944. As it stands, I was prosecuted under a law that was declared retroactive to things from the past; This in itself meant to me that my trial was illegal! The indictments against me were for my membership in NS, two counts of being an informer for the enemy, and that I had given two or three kroner to the German Front Fighter's office.

Some minutes of the trial were reprinted in the newspaper as follows:

The defendant stated that he inwardly wavered for and against joining NS, through the summer and autumn of 1940, Josef Terboven, the Nazi, then gave a rousing speech in which he argued that the way to Norway's freedom and independence went through NS. It was then that the defendant decided to join the party. Terboven was a guy who was thought to have an allegiance to his King and government but he had terminated these duties because they had all left the country. The defendant…, I saw it that way also. And so I joined the party after hearing a speech by the German reichkommissar" in Norway, the very demanding, Josef Terboven, who was a very convincing Nazi on the need for men and boys to join the Nazis. This boost from Terboven's uncanny persuasive ability was hard to resist.

The prosecutor continued assailing me by mocking my military grade. Yes, I was a corporal, rottenführer, which in German meant I was a squad leader. Corporal Rat Attendant was the term that the prosecutor gave me in court. At this point, I didn't care.

When it was my turn to speak, I said exactly how I felt about the defense of Norway in 1940. In my mind, it should be the government and the Royal Family that should be in the dock instead of me. From then on, things did not go well. Not only did the prosecutor continue as a verbal assailant but also the judge himself began to angrily bludgeon me. In the legal documents, it states that the defendant, me, had held an army position long enough to have acquired a German discipline, which he spoke of both loud and clear!

The trial lasted for several hours, and in my mind, it was a total farce.

One of the witnesses, my former fellow student Oyvind, accused me of being an informant and declared that he would personally see to it that the gang led by Dramstad would get their just punishments.

Even though I still felt that I was right in my decisions as I mainly had the safety of my beloved Norway in mind when I joined, even with these personal convictions, I was nevertheless still sentenced to five years and six months at hard labor, a forfeiture of accumulated funds until my total fine was repaid, and a loss of my civil rights for ten years. I had gotten the additional time added because of how I said what I meant under trial.

There were others with charges just like mine who, by playing the sorrowful and contrite souls, got sentenced to only four years in prison, but I felt that I could go from the courtroom to prison with my head held high.

In the court reports, it read, As Bjarne Dramstad, now a convicted man, left the courtroom under guard, a girl from his village came up to him, reached out, grabbed his hand, and wished him luck.

Inside the prison camp, words were passed along to greet me when I arrived. The other prisoners confronted me when I got there. I received many pats on my shoulders and was told that I had done well. I then began to serve out the sentence that the unjust authorities had assigned to me.

Chapter 2

Hard Times

These were very tough times for Norwegians after the war had ended. Labor unions and the communists launched a strike on the state-run highway plants between Mysen and Slitu. The peasant men from the area who came by looking for work were dealt with severely by the striking workers.

Two of my brothers, Rolf and Gillian, each got a job there, but they risked their lives doing so. The strikers threw stones at those who were put to work by the hated authorities, thus replacing the stone throwers. On the whole, there was political chaos reigning, which made life difficult for everyone.

My father's name was Anton Dramstad, and my mother's name was Gunhild. My father was a tenant farmer for several large farms. He had been a good and trusted guy, both hardworking and strong. It was because of these qualities he was helpful to the local sheriff by following him around during his patrols while on duty. At times, he traveled out of the country. Father was good and kind to us kids. I sat a lot of times on his lap. Tragically, he died when I was four years old. I still remember the day that Father was buried. The gray model T Ford rode slowly down the road, bouncing often on the rough, uneven track. All the seats were occupied. I had gotten a cake box that I was sitting on at my mother's feet. At every bump, I shook and lurched. I was not making much fuss and noise as I was just rejoicing in the ride, staring with rigidity at the floor. We were going to Baastad Cemetery where Father would be laid to rest. After a very ceremonial burial, the whole family returned to my home. Everyone sat down in the kitchen with their heads bowed and silence prevailed. As a four-year-old, it was hard to take this gravity into account. I felt that I had questions that needed to be answered.

I asked, Why are you so sad, Mama? Why did my dad die?

Mom gently answered, Your father was sick, my boy. He had contracted tuberculosis.

I couldn't help but to ask, What is tuberculosis, Mom?

She showed much wisdom by just not answering me about this one.

In five years, disease hit our family hard. In addition to Father, three of my siblings died during this period also.

One of my brothers died of the Spanish flu right after World War I. I did not know him well. My youngest sister who I barely remember was only eleven months old when she passed away. And then my oldest sister, Olga, died of kidney failure at age eighteen.

Father's death marked, for me, the end of a happy childhood; one that was characterized by play and safety. From then on, my life seemed to be on a downhill spiral, both socially and economically.

I was born at Riks Hospital on a cold February day in 1919. My family lived on the farm, Lower Sand, in Baastad, which is now part of the Trogstad Municipality. Later, we moved to the Vestby Farm. When Mother and Father were tenants for this farm's landlord, Mr. Gulbrandsen, the farm did well and brought in a good income. But it required many workers to help during the busy times of the seasons.

There was a separate house on the property where a welder and his wife and four children lived. Their youngest daughter and I were the same age. We were inseparable as playmates. We were among the better-off people in the village. Mother could be often found in the company of other ladies from neighboring farms. Cookies were usually served along with hot coffee poured from a white porcelain coffee pot.

For the people on the Vestby Farm, everyday life was filled with work, but it was good. The large building where we lived was stately and painted white. Upon entering the entrance hall, there was a great curving staircase up to the next floor. All the steps were adorned with brass fittings on the edges and in the corners. I started the long climb on unsteady legs, just terrified by what I saw on the wall ahead. When I got to the top, my eyes met the eyes of a huge bull moose. I took a quick step back, and there was a little boy tumbling down the stairs just filled with fright!

The large barn full of cattle was to me, at this time of my life, a separate world. While in it, I flourished and grew on Vestby. Mother became pregnant, and she and my father had several more children of their own. Besides all these new family additions, she had taken on the care of the older boys who were Father's sons before mom came along. As a family unit, we were basically self-sufficient, and the farm, which thanks to my father's efforts, became profitable. Even when one of us got a bicycle, rumors flew in the village, and people would stop by to see it. When my oldest brother bought an automobile, it was something of a sensation at the time.