In the Second World War, Gwent was home to thousands of prisoners of war and many were still being held over a year after peace had come. Martin Wade tells how John Jones, then a 16-year-old living in Caerleon, broke into the a prisoner of war camp in Llanmartin on Christmas Day and was profoundly moved by what he saw.

THE camp at Llanmartin was originally built to house the US Army prior to the D-Day landings. Almost as soon as they left for Normandy in June 1944, it was turned over to the large number of Germans being captured following the invasion.

The labour of prisoners was seen as a valuable prize of war and helped greatly at a time of manpower shortage. The thousands of officers held at Llanmartin were be taken to work in nearby farms.

By December 1946, many of the men had been interned for more than two years and many were greatly worried by news of what was happening at home. Following the end of the war, Germany was occupied by Britain, France, the US and the Soviet Union. The millions who lived under Russian control suffered particular hardship. Letters to the men from their families told of hunger and deprivation. The fact that they had enough to eat themselves and were well-treated themselves made them feel all the more wretched.

Their anxiety was highlighted in December 1946 when the Bishop of Berlin visited prisoner of war camps in Britain. The Argus reported on the visit of Dr Dibelius to camp 184, as Llanmartin was known. He answered questions the prisoners had about the problems of life back in Germany and told how many there "had given up hopes of ever reviving a standard of life worth living". He added many were saying "What is the good of trying to do anything? We build our country, then comes a war and it is destroyed, we build again and the same thing happens". He said that everyone should fight that attitude by being good Christians.

Many prisoners asked him to dispel any ideas the German people may have that they were in fact not prisoners – that: "their life was so good it did not amount to confinement".

It was against this gloomy outlook that a group of people living in Caerleon sought to alleviate the anguish of the prisoners.

John Jones’ parents lived on Lodge Avenue in Caerleon. They and a few other committed Christians had hired Caerleon Town Hall so the prisoners could hold services and meet people outside the camp. By this time they were allowed some freedom of movement outside the confines of Llanmartin.

He remembers how their group got to know many of the prisoners and learned of the appalling conditions under which their loved ones in Germany were living.

They sent food parcels to the prisoners’ families to try and ease their suffering. John was learning some German and he struck up a friendship with a Captain Winterfeldt, who was trying to teach him the language.

Then as Christmas approached in 1946 he invited John to Christmas dinner at the camp. John reacted with alarm: "I told him 'you obviously want to get me shot'. But he said "John - they [the prisoners] want you to come'".

So on Christmas Day John got on his bike and rode to Llanmartin. Winterfeldt was waiting under an oak tree out of sight of the gate. He had a prisoner uniform with him. John recalls the scene: "Put this on" Winterfeldt said. Thrusting a pass into his hand he said: "just keep your mouth shut when we go through the guard post." The guard barely looked up at the pair, which was just as well as John recalls: "the picture on the pass looked nothing like me." Also he admits: "Who would be daft enough to escape into a PoW camp?"

The prisoners welcomed their guest in typical German fashion. "The room was full of officers and when Captain Winterfeldt introduced me, they all stood to attention and clicked their heels, then burst out laughing. It seemed that everyone, apart from the authorities, knew about my presence."

John remembers how festive the men's spartan home had been made. "We were in a Nissen hut which they had painted to a very high standard with murals or religious scenes like the Madonna and child. They used the hut as a Lutheran and Catholic chapel."

They then sang hymns in German in a scene which John clearly recalls nearly 70 years on. "I heard carols sung like I had never heard them sung before; with great harmony and an awful lot of emotion. The service closed with the singing of "Holy night, Silent Night" in German. I saw six-feet tall German officers, standing with tears running down their faces as they sang".

"It was", he recalls - his voice catching as he tells me - "the most moving carol service I have ever attended in my life and I shall never forget it."

When it was over, he said farewell to his German friends and pushed his bike up the hill to Christchurch. He stopped and looked back at the camp and thought of the moving scenes he had just witnessed on this most special of days. "I was struck by the thought that we'd been knocking hell out of each other for six years and yet here, with our former enemy, we had been singing about the greatest message of all time; a message of reconciliation, peace and hope. It made me think how futile war is."

John now 86 is still moved by what he saw that Christmas night when former foes sang carols together and veterans of a savage war wept.

"They showed such warmth towards us" he says of the inmates. "The situation their families faced in Germany was so desperate. It was such a difficult time for them." He adds: "I made so many German friends. I couldn't hate them. I know there were many horrible things they did, but many Germans suffered too."