The doctor pulls back the collar of the prisoner’s shirt and sees movement. Not the movement of muscle or breathing, but something else. Something crawling. There are dozens of lice visible just in the collar area alone. Pale insects moving through the fabric and across the skin. The prisoner’s name is Helm.
He is 21 years old. His skin is covered in red lesions, scratch marks, and infected soores. The doctor asks through an interpreter how long he has had this condition. Helmet thinks for a moment and says 9 months. N months of lice, 9 months of scabies, 9 months of constant itching that he could not escape. The doctor stares at him and asks the question that everyone in the examination room is thinking.
How did you survive this? We are at Camp McCain in Mississippi in March 1945, just weeks before the war in Europe reaches its final collapse. The camp holds approximately 3,000 German prisoners of war, most of them captured during the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944 and January 1945. The prisoners arrive in waves, transported by truck from ports and processing centers on the east coast.
Each new arrival group undergoes mandatory delousing and medical screening to prevent the introduction of communicable diseases into the camp population. The process is routine, efficient, and usually unremarkable, but Helmut’s case breaks the routine. Helmet arrives at Camp McCain on a cold morning in early March as part of a group of 50 prisoners transferred from a temporary holding facility in Virginia.
The intake procedure begins at the camp gate where prisoners are registered, photographed, and assigned identification numbers. Then they move to the dousing station, a converted warehouse where prisoners strip, shower with disinfectant soap, have their hair clipped short, and receive clean uniforms. The old uniforms are burned or sterilized.
This process usually takes about 30 minutes per prisoner. Helmet’s processing takes over two hours because the medical staff cannot believe what they are seeing. Dr. Richard Lawson, the camp’s chief medical officer, is called to the Dowsing station by a panicked orderly who says they have a prisoner in critical condition.
Lawson arrives expecting to find someone injured or severely ill. Instead, he finds Helmet standing naked in the shower area, his entire body covered in lesions, scabs, and what looks like a moving carpet of lice. Lawson has been practicing medicine for 15 years and has worked at Camp McCain for 18 months. He has seen lice before. He has seen scabies before, but he has never seen an infestation this severe in a living person.
Lawson orders helmet isolated immediately and begins the most difficult dousing case of his career. We are still at the dousing station and Lawson is conducting a preliminary examination of Helmut before beginning treatment. Helmet is 21 years old, 5’8 in tall and weighs 119 lb. He is underweight but not dangerously so. His vital signs are stable.
Normal heart rate, normal blood pressure, no fever. Physically, he is functional, but his skin tells a different story. Every visible inch of Helmet’s body is affected. His scalp is covered in lice and knits. The eggs attached to individual hair shafts. His neck, armpits, groin, and other warm areas are infested with body lice that have burrowed into the seams of his clothing.
His skin shows the characteristic burrows of scabies mites. Tiny tunnels where the microscopic parasites have laid eggs under the skin. The lesions are everywhere. Red bumps. Open soores where helmet has scratched until he bled. Secondary infections where bacteria entered through broken skin. Scabs covering older wounds that are trying to heal but cannot because the scratching never stops.
Lawson estimates there are hundreds of active scabies burrows and thousands of lice on Helmouth’s body. The itching must be unbearable, a constant burning sensation that drives men to scratch until they bleed, until they cannot sleep, until they lose their minds. Helmet has endured this for 9 months. Lawson cannot comprehend how.
Lawson asks Helmet through the interpreter, a German American corporal named Paul Schneder, a series of questions. When did the itching start? Helmet says it started in June 1944, shortly after he was captured. Did he receive any treatment? Helmet says no. There was no treatment available in the camps where he was held.
Has the condition gotten worse over time? Helmet nods. It started as mild itching and has gradually become unbearable. Lawson writes down every answer and realizes that Helmouth’s case is not just a medical problem. It is evidence of systemic failure in the prisoner transport and holding system. Helmet should have been treated months ago, but he fell through the cracks.
We are still at the Dowsing station and Lawson is preparing an aggressive treatment protocol. Lice and scabies require different medications, but both require thorough application and patience. Lawson starts with the licebecause they are easier to see and kill. He orders Helmet’s head shaved completely, removing all hair to eliminate hiding places for lice and knits.
The body hair is also trimmed short. Then Helmet is scrubbed with a solution of Creole soap, a powerful disinfectant that kills lice on contact. The scrubbing is thorough and painful because Helmet’s skin is already raw and infected. He winces but does not complain. After the scrubbing, Helmet is rinsed and dried and Lawson examines him again.
Most of the visible lice are gone, but the scabies remain. Scabies is harder to treat because the mites burrow under the skin where topical medications cannot easily reach them. The standard treatment in 1945 is sulfur ointment, a thick yellow paste that is applied to the entire body and left on for 24 hours.
The ointment suffocates the mites and kills the eggs, but one application is rarely enough. Severe infestations like helmets require multiple treatments over several weeks. Lawson applies the sulfur ointment to every inch of helmet’s skin from his neck down to his toes. The smell is strong and unpleasant, like rotten eggs. Helmet is given a clean set of hospital pajamas and told to return in 24 hours for the next round of treatment.
Lawson also prescribes antibiotics to treat the secondary skin infections caused by constant scratching. Helmet’s body is covered in wounds that have become infected with bacteria. Some of the infections are superficial, but others are deeper and could lead to sepsis if left untreated. Lawson gives Helma an injection of penicellin and orders daily doses for the next week.
He also prescribes calamine lotion to reduce the itching and help Helma sleep. The treatment plan is intensive and will take weeks to fully resolve, but Lawson is confident it will work. The question is why it took 9 months for Helmut to receive this basic care. We are now in the camp hospital where Helmut has been admitted for observation and continued treatment.
We need to go back and trace the 9 months between Helmut’s capture and his arrival at Camp McCain to understand how this infestation was allowed to persist. Let us go back to June 1944 in Normandy, France. Helm was part of a Vermach infantry unit stationed near the coast when the Allied invasion began on June 6th. His unit was ordered to move toward the beaches to reinforce the defensive positions, but they were cut off by Allied air strikes and artillery.
After 3 days of fighting and retreating, Helmut’s unit was surrounded by American forces near the town of Carrington. They surrendered on June 10th. Helmut and approximately 200 other prisoners were marched to a temporary holding area, a muddy field surrounded by barbed wire. There were no tents, no latrines, no medical facilities.
Prisoners slept on the ground and ate cold rations once a day. Water came from a tank truck that arrived sporadically. The conditions were primitive, but Helmud expected it to be temporary. It was not. He spent three weeks in that field and during that time he picked up lice from other prisoners and from the unsanitary conditions.
By the time he was moved to the next camp, the itching had started. The next camp was a larger facility near the French coast where prisoners were gathered before being shipped to England or the United States. The camp had tents and latrines, but it was overcrowded. Helmet shared a tent with 20 other men sleeping on straw mattresses that were infested with lice and mites.
The camp had a medical tent, but it was overwhelmed with more serious cases. Men with gunshot wounds, men with dysentery, men with pneumonia. Helmet’s itching did not seem urgent enough to warrant treatment. He was told to wash more frequently and given a bar of soap. The soap did nothing. The lice multiplied. The scabies took hold.
By August, Helmut was scratching constantly, but there was still no treatment available. We are still tracing Helmet’s journey, and now we follow him across the Atlantic to the United States. In late August 1944, Helmut was loaded onto a transport ship bound for America. The ship was a converted cargo freighter carrying over 3,000 German prisoners in its holds.
The conditions were cramped, dark, and poorly ventilated. Prisoners were packed into bunks stacked three high with barely enough room to turn over. The voyage took 12 days, and during that time, Helmut’s condition worsened dramatically. The close quarters and lack of hygiene allowed the lice to spread from prisoner to prisoner.
The scabies mites thrived in the warm, crowded environment. By the time the ship docked in New York, Helmet was covered in soores and scratching himself raw. At the intake center in New York, Helmut and the other prisoners were supposed to be delounced and medically screened, but the intake center was processing thousands of prisoners every week and was operating beyond capacity.
The delousing procedure was cursory, a quick shower with disinfectant soap anda change into clean uniforms. There was no thorough inspection, no treatment for scabies, no individual attention. Helmet went through the process and came out the other side still infested. He was then loaded onto a train bound for a camp in Georgia, where he spent two months in a crowded barracks with inadequate medical care.
In Georgia, Helmut finally saw a medic who recognized the scabies and prescribed sulfur ointment. But the camp pharmacy had run out of the medication and the resupply was delayed. Helmet was told to wait. He waited 4 weeks and by then the scabies had spread to nearly every part of his body. The ointment finally arrived and Helm received one treatment.
It was not enough. The infestation was too severe for a single application. He needed multiple treatments, but the medic moved on to other cases and helmet fell through the cracks again. He continued to suffer, scratching through his clothes, unable to sleep, losing weight from the stress and the constant discomfort.
We are still following Helmut’s journey, and now we reached the breaking point in January 1945. Helm has been carrying lice and scabies for 7 months. His skin is a mass of lesions. He is exhausted from lack of sleep. Other prisoners avoid him because they do not want to catch his infestation. The guards see him as a problem, a walking health hazard who should be isolated.
Helmet feels like he is losing his mind. The itching is constant, unbearable, a burning sensation that never stops. He scratches in his sleep. He scratches while eating. He scratches until his fingernails are caked with blood and skin. He thinks about killing himself, but does not have the means or the courage. In late January, Helma is transferred again, this time to a temporary holding facility in Virginia.
The facility is a way station for prisoners being redistributed to camps across the South. Helmet spends 6 weeks there sleeping in a crowded barracks, eating minimal rations, and receiving no medical care. The itching gets worse. The infection spread. Helmet’s body is reaching its limit. Then in early March, Helmet is included in a transfer group being sent to Camp McCain in Mississippi.
He boards the truck with no expectations. He has given up hope of treatment. He has accepted that he will live like this until he dies or goes insane. Let us know in the comments where you are watching this from. Are you in the United States, Germany, the United Kingdom, or somewhere else? We would love to know who is keeping these stories alive.
But when Helmut arrives at Camp McCain and goes through the intake doussing procedure, something different happens. The orderly who sees him does not ignore the problem. He calls Dr. Lawson. Lawson does not dismiss the case. He takes it seriously. For the first time in 9 months, someone is actually trying to help Helm. That realization hits Helm so hard that he starts crying in the shower, not from pain, but from relief.
We returned to Camp McCain and Helmud is now 3 days into his treatment. He has received two applications of sulfur ointment, three penicellin injections, and multiple scrubbings with disinfectant soap. The visible lice are gone. The scabies are dying. The itching is decreasing. Helmet sleeps for the first time in months without waking up every hour to scratch.
The sleep is deep and dreamless. The kind of rest that only comes when the body is finally allowed to heal. Lawson examines Helmet daily and documents the progress. The lesions are beginning to scab over properly. The infections are responding to the antibiotics. The redness is fading. Helmet’s body is fighting back now that the parasites are being killed.
If you are enjoying this story and want more untold accounts from World War II prisoners of war, make sure to subscribe to the channel. We are bringing you stories that most history books never covered, but the treatment is not quick. Scabies mites have a life cycle of about 2 weeks, and killing every might requires persistence.
Lawson applies sulfur ointment to helmet every 3 days for 2 weeks. Each application is followed by a thorough shower and clean clothing. The bedding in Helmet’s hospital room is changed daily and boiled to kill any mites that might have transferred from his body. The process is tedious but necessary.
By the end of the second week, Helmet is finally free of the infestation. Lawson performs a final examination and finds no evidence of live lice or active scabies burrows. The treatment has worked. Helmet’s skin will take months to fully heal. The scars from the scratching and the infections are permanent. His immune system has been weakened by 9 months of chronic stress and sleep deprivation.
But he is no longer infested. The parasites are gone. Helmet can sleep. He can eat without scratching. He can think clearly for the first time since June 1944. Lawson clears Helma to leave the hospital and move to the general prisoner barracks. He prescribescontinued antibiotics for another week and tells Helmet to return if the itching comes back.
Helmet thanks Lawson through the interpreter, a simple thank you that carries the weight of 9 months of suffering. We are now in Dr. Lawson’s office and he is writing a report about Helmouth’s case to send to the regional army medical command. The report is detailed and damning. It describes Helmouth’s condition, the nine months he spent without proper treatment, and the failures at multiple points in the prisoner transport and holding system.
Lawson argues that Helmouth’s case is likely not unique, that there are probably dozens or hundreds of other prisoners suffering from untreated parasitic infestations because the system is not designed to catch and treat them. Lawson recommends mandatory thorough medical screening at every stage of the prisoner transport process, not just cursory checks.
He recommends adequate supplies of doussing and scabies medications at every camp. He recommends training for medical staff to recognize and prioritize parasitic infestations. Lawson’s report is sent up the chain of command and eventually reaches the desk of the surgeon general’s office in Washington.
The response is bureaucratic and slow. The army acknowledges the problem and issues a directive reminding camp common dance of the importance of medical screening and treatment, but there are no immediate changes to the system. Supplies remain inconsistent. Screening procedures remain cursory at overcrowded intake centers. Helmet’s case becomes a data point in a larger report, but it does not trigger the systemic reform Lawson hoped for.
The war is ending, and the priority is demobilization, not improving prisoner care. Lawson is frustrated, but not surprised. He has worked in military medicine long enough to know that individual cases rarely change institutional practices, but he keeps a copy of his report and Helmet’s medical file because he believes the case is important.
Years later, when Lawson retires from medicine and donates his papers to a medical archive, Helmouth’s case is included. It becomes part of the historical record, a small piece of evidence documenting the gap between policy and practice in prisoner of war care during World War II. Let us pause Helmut’s personal story and look at the larger scale of parasitic infestations among prisoners of war.
Lice and scabies were endemic in military populations during World War II, especially in conditions of poor sanitation, overcrowding, and inadequate hygiene. The problems were not limited to prisoners of war. Combat soldiers on all sides dealt with lice and scabies in the trenches, in foxholes, and in field camps.
But prisoners were more vulnerable because they had less access to clean clothing, bathing facilities, and medical care. The prevalence of lice among prisoners varied by theater and camp, but estimates from medical records suggest that 20 to 40% of prisoners had lice at some point during their captivity.
Scabies was less common, but more difficult to treat. The mites that cause scabies are microscopic and burrow under the skin, making them harder to detect and kill. Scabies spreads through prolonged skin-to-skin contact or through shared clothing and bedding. In crowded prisoner camps and transport ships, the conditions were ideal for transmission.
Medical records from American prisoner of war camps document Scaby’s prevalence rates of 5 to 15%. Though the actual numbers were likely higher because many mild cases went unreported. Severe cases like helmets where the infestation persisted for months and covered the entire body were less common but not rare. Camp medical officers reported seeing several such cases every month.
The treatment for lice and scabies in the 1940s was effective but required thorough application. Lice could be killed with disinfectant soaps containing cresol or other chemical agents. The most effective prevention was regular bathing, frequent changes of clothing and delousing of clothing through boiling or steam treatment.
Scabies required sulfur ointment or benzylbenzone applied to the entire body for extended periods. The cure rate was high if the treatment was applied properly. But reinfection was common in crowded unsanitary conditions. The key to controlling parasitic infestations was not just treatment but prevention through improved hygiene and sanitation.
Camps that prioritized cleanliness and provided adequate bathing facilities had much lower rates of infestation. We returned to Helmut who is now living in the general prisoner barracks at Camp McCain. The physical treatment is complete but the psychological impact of 9 months of infestation lingers.
Helmet is constantly aware of his skin. He checks his body multiple times a day for signs of itching or new lesions. He washes obsessively, taking showers twice a day even though once would be sufficient. He is terrified of reinfection, terrified of returning tothat unbearable state of constant itching.
Other prisoners notice Helmet’s behavior and comment on it, some with sympathy, others with mockery. Helmet ignores the comments and continues his rituals. Helmet also struggles with sleep. Even though the itching is gone, his body has been trained to wake up every hour expecting to scratch. He lies awake at night staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sensation that does not come anymore.
It takes weeks for his sleep patterns to normalize. He has nightmares occasionally, dreams where he is covered in insects where he scratches himself until his skin falls off. He wakes up in a panic, checking his body to make sure the nightmare is not real. The nightmares fade over time, but they do not disappear completely.
Helmet talks to a fellow prisoner named Ernst, who went through a similar experience with scabies the year before. Ernst understands what Helm is going through and offers practical advice. The fear of reinfection is normal. The obsessive checking is normal. The nightmares are normal. These are the mind’s way of processing trauma.
Erns tells Helma to be patient with himself to allow his body and mind time to heal. Helmet appreciates the conversation and feels less alone. He continues his rituals but gradually becomes less anxious. The trauma is still there but it is manageable. We are now 2 months after Helmet’s treatment and the physical recovery is nearly complete.
His weight has increased to 132 lbs. His skin is healing. The scars fading slowly. The infections are gone. His energy has returned. Helmet is assigned to a work detail at a nearby farm where prisoners help with planting and harvesting. The work is physically demanding, but Helmet welcomes it.
The outdoor labor gives him a sense of purpose and helps him sleep better at night. He works alongside other prisoners, many of whom have their own stories of hardship and recovery. The shared experience creates a bond. Helmet also begins attending educational classes offered at the camp. There are classes in English, mathematics, carpentry, and other practical skills.
Helmet enrolls in the carpentry class and discovers he has a talent for woodworking. The instructor, an American civilian who volunteers at the camp, notices Helmet’s skill and gives him extra projects. Helmet builds a small table, a chair, and a bookshelf. The work is satisfying, a way to create something tangible and useful.
The instructor tells Helmet he could make a living as a carpenter after the war. Helmet files the suggestion away, thinking it might be a path forward. By the summer of 1945, Helmut is physically and mentally stable. He has gained more weight and looks healthy. The scars from the scabies and the scratching are still visible, but they are fading.
Helmet no longer obsesses over his skin or checks himself constantly. He has made friends in the camp. He plays cards in the evenings. He attends concerts and theater performances put on by the prisoners. He is not happy exactly because he is still a prisoner and the war has destroyed his country. But he is functional and he has hope that there is a life waiting for him after all of this is over.
We are now in May 1945 and the war in Europe is over. Germany has surrendered unconditionally. The news reaches Camp McCain through official announcements and radio broadcasts. Prisoners gather in the campyard and listen to the announcement. The reaction is muted. There is no celebration, no cheering. Most prisoners feel a combination of relief that the killing is over and grief that Germany has been utterly defeated.
Helmma listens to the announcement and feels empty. He does not know what condition his hometown is in. He does not know if his family is alive. The end of the war does not bring clarity. It brings more uncertainty. Over the following weeks, the atmosphere at Camp McCain changes. Work details continue, but the intensity decreases. The guards are less strict.
Prisoners begin thinking about repatriation, about going home, though no one knows when that will happen. The US military is focused on demobilizing millions of troops and does not have immediate capacity to ship prisoners back to Europe. Helmet waits with the patience he has learned over the past year. He continues working on the farm.
He continues his carpentry classes. He writes letters to the Red Cross asking for information about his family. He does not receive any replies. We are now in late 1945 and Helmet is still at Camp McCain waiting for repatriation. The war has been over for 6 months, but the logistics of returning hundreds of thousands of prisoners to Europe are complicated. Ships are needed.
Ports must be cleared. Germany is divided into occupation zones and the process of determining where to send each prisoner is slow. Helmet waits with growing impatience. He wants to go home. He wants to find his family. He wants to start rebuilding his life, but he has no control over the timeline.
He continueshis routines, work, classes, meals, sleep. The days blur together. In December 1945, Helmut finally receives word that he is approved for repatriation. He will be part of a group of 700 prisoners being sent back to Germany in January 1946. The news is both exciting and terrifying. Helm is going home, but he does not know what home looks like anymore.
His hometown is in the British occupation zone, and he has heard reports that much of Germany is destroyed. He has received one letter from his younger brother through the Red Cross, dated four months earlier, saying their parents are alive and living in a displaced person’s camp. Helmet clings to that information. His parents are alive. That is enough for now.
We are now in mid January 1946 and Helmut is boarding a transport ship in New Orleans bound for Europe. The ship is crowded with prisoners being repatriated. The conditions are better than the voyage that brought Helma to America a year and a half earlier. There are proper bunks, regular meals, and access to the deck for fresh air. The voyage takes 2 weeks.
Helmet spends most of the time on deck watching the ocean and thinking about what comes next. He talks with other prisoners about their plans. Some are optimistic, others are terrified. Helmet is somewhere in between. He is going home, but he does not know what he will find. The ship docks in Bremerhav in early February 1946.
Helma and the other prisoners are processed through a repatriation center run by the British military. They are questioned about their service, checked for Nazi party affiliation, and given identity papers. Helmet answers the questions honestly. He was a soldier, not a party member. He was captured in Normandy and held in America.
The interviewers are satisfied. Helmet is classified as low risk and cleared for release. He is given a train pass and a small amount of occupation currency. Then he is told he is free to go. Helm boards a train heading southeast toward the British zone. The journey takes three days with frequent delays and stops.
The trains are packed with refugees, returning soldiers, and displaced persons. Germany is a broken country, and the signs are everywhere. The city’s Helmet passes through are ruins. Entire neighborhoods are rubble. People move through the landscape like ghosts. Helmet looks out the window and feels a deep sadness. This is what the war has done. This is what is left.
We are now in late February 1946 and Helmut arrives in his hometown in the British zone. The town is damaged but not destroyed. The train station is still standing. The main street is littered with debris but passable. Helmet walks through the town looking for familiar landmarks. Many buildings are gone. Others are burned out shells, but the church is still there and the town square and the river that runs through the center.
Helmet finds the displaced person’s camp where his brother said their parents are staying. It is a collection of temporary buildings and tents on the outskirts of town housing families who lost their homes in the war. Helmet asks at the camp registration office for his parents’ names. The clerk checks the records and nods. They are here.
The clerk gives Helmet directions to a section of the camp. Helma walks through the rows of tents and temporary shelters until he finds the right one. He stands outside for a moment, gathering courage. Then he pulls back the tent flap and steps inside. His mother is sitting at a small table. She looks up and sees him.
For a moment, she does not react. Then she stands, her hand going to her mouth. She whispers his name. Helmet nods. His mother rushes forward and wraps her arms around him. Helmet’s father appears from the back of the tent, older and grayer than Helmut remembers. He sees Helmut and stops, his eyes filling with tears.
Helmet is home. Helmet spends the next several years helping his family rebuild their lives. His father finds work as a laborer, clearing rubble and repairing infrastructure. Helmet uses the carpentry skills he learned at Camp McCain to find work building houses and furniture. There is enormous demand for construction work in post-war Germany, and Helmut is never short of jobs.
He earns enough to support his parents and help his younger brother, who is still in school. In 1948, Helmut marries a local woman named Greta, whose family lived two streets over before the war. They have four children over the next decade. Helmet builds a small carpentry business that grows steadily over the years.
By the 1960s, he employs six workers and is known as one of the best carpenters in the region. He specializes in custom furniture and home repairs. The business provides a comfortable living for his family. Helmet rarely talks about the war or his time as a prisoner. When people ask, he says he was captured in France and held in America.
He does not mention the nine months of lice and scabies. That chapter of his life is closed and he has nodesire to revisit it. His children know their father was a prisoner of war, but they do not know the details. Helmet prefers it that way. The medical exam shocked everyone at Camp McCain because it revealed the gap between policy and practice.
On paper, prisoners of war were supposed to receive adequate medical care in accordance with the Geneva Conventions. In practice, that care was inconsistent, delayed, or absent at overcrowded intake centers and temporary holding facilities. Helmut’s case was not unique. Dr. Lawson’s report suggested that dozens or hundreds of other prisoners were suffering from untreated parasitic infestations.
The shock was not just about Helmet’s condition. It was about the realization that the system was failing at scale. Helmet survived, went home and built a life. The lice and scabies are long gone. The scars have faded, but the story remains preserved in Dr. Lawson’s medical records and in the broader history of prisoner of war care during World War II.
It is a story worth remembering, not to assign blame decades later, but to understand how systems fail and how individuals suffer when they do. Helmet carried lice and scabies for nine months, but he also carried a will to survive that nothing could extinguish. That will more than any medical treatment is what saved him in the