by Iain Colvin
‘Yes.’
‘Whole tranches of the Hess papers are missing from the public record. They haven’t been released. There are other seemingly unrelated records, which should be in the public domain, but aren’t.’
‘Such as?’
Brian Irving flicked through his notes again. ‘For example, Sir Samuel Hoare was the British Ambassador to Spain at the time. There was a curious newspaper article in the Vichy press that said that Hoare and Lord Halifax met with Hess and Haushofer in Madrid the month before Hess’s flight. Over the weekend of 20–22 April 1941.’
‘That can’t possibly be true, surely?’ said Craig.
‘You’d think so wouldn’t you? But when I went to corroborate it against the official records, I discovered that all the correspondence between the British Embassy in Madrid and the Foreign Office in London for that weekend is missing. When I asked about it, I was told that those records have been retained under the Official Secrets Act and won’t be released for another thirty-five years. And I could go on and on. So many holes. Sometimes when something looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, you have to say it’s a duck.’
‘You sound convinced,’ said Craig.
‘I am, or as convinced as I can be without access to the missing records. I’m convinced that Hess’s flight was the final move in a peace plan, not the first. He had already had correspondence with the British pro-peace group, including a meeting on neutral territory. The spare external fuel tanks sent to Dungavel. That’s how organised it all was. The Germans keep excellent records.’
Brian closed his notebooks. ‘Craig, I’m telling you. The reason Hess flew to Britain was because he was due to meet the king.’
Chapter 37
Two hours later the three of them were seated around a table in a little Chinese restaurant nearby. Brian had shaved and looked and felt much better. Before they left the hotel, Brian read the peace offer, and they were now discussing it in between steaming mouthfuls of beef with black bean sauce, roast duck with cashew nuts, Singapore noodles and sweet and sour chicken. It was Fiona’s idea to order dishes that they could all share and she enjoyed seeing Craig and Brian warm to each other as their conversation batted back and forth.
‘I have to say, I’ve read a great deal about a potential peace offer over the past few weeks but I didn’t expect to actually read it with my own eyes,’ said Brian, still getting over the shock. ‘And although it pains me to say it, you have to admire the efficiency and foresight of the Germans to produce it in English to avoid any misunderstandings that might be caused due to a translation by the British.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Craig. ‘About what you were saying about the meeting on neutral territory between Haushofer, Hess, Sir Samuel Hoare and Lord Halifax. One thing that struck me as slightly strange about the peace document was how it came to be so, well, lenient towards Britain.’
‘You mean, considering how weak Britain was at the time?’
‘Exactly. It’s as if the terms were negotiated.’
‘Perhaps they were. In Madrid.’
They chewed that over while they picked over the last of the food.
‘I’ve been thinking about your discussion with Clive Prior,’ said Brian. ‘I know you had your suspicions about what he told you, but I think maybe he had seen the peace offer before.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, again, it’s all tied up with Churchill and his reaction to the flight. When you look at what he did when Hess arrived and for the weeks and months afterwards, it shows the real genius of the man,’ said Brian.
‘I have to confess, I haven’t really focused on Churchill’s actions, it’s a bit of a blind spot for me,’ said Craig. ‘What did he do?’
‘Well for me there are three aspects to this. There was how he foiled the “peace plot”, if you want to call it that. Then there was how he used the Hess affair to his advantage in terms of conducting the war. And finally – and this is most fascinating – it’s how he used Hess to cement his own position as prime minister.’
‘We’re all ears,’ said Fiona.
‘Well, like you, I started by looking into what happened on the night that Hess landed. I think we’re agreed that he was heading for the airstrip at Dungavel House. Eyewitness accounts said that they saw what could have been landing lights, and then they went out again. That would explain why Hess baled out. He saw the lights, swung round to approach from the west, and by the time he did that, the lights had gone off.’
‘Why?’ asked Craig.
‘There are conflicting views on that. I first of all went down the SOE route, I thought perhaps the air strip was sabotaged by them. There were reports of a fracas in the area on the night of the 10th of May. My own view is that the peace group were rumbled, or something in the plan at this end went awry, and it was the reception committee who switched off the landing lights, as a signal for Hess to abort and head for his alternate destination, Aldergrove outside Belfast. From there he would be taken under cover to the Republic of Ireland. But it was too late, by the time the lights went out Hess had jettisoned his external fuel tanks, so the only thing he could do was bale out.’
‘Okay, I see how that might explain why he jumped out of his plane, and the strange behaviour of those on the ground that night.’
‘It would. I think the peace group then had to close ranks quickly. The cat was out of the bag as it were, and Hess was in custody. The Home Guard took him to their HQ in Giffnock, and there he was interrogated by a translator. Get this, the translator was a clerk from the Polish Consulate in Glasgow. He spoke to Hess in German for two hours.’
‘But Hess could speak perfect English,’ said Craig. ‘There was no need for them to talk in German.’
‘Exactly what I thought too. Which made me investigate this translator, a chap called Roman Battaglia. It turns out that no one called him, no one knew who he was and no one knew where he went after he spoke to Hess. He provided the Home Guard with the briefest of statements and then left.’
‘So, what did he talk to him about for two hours?’ asked Fiona. ‘And who sent him?’
‘Good question. No one knows. My theory is that he was sent by the peace group to explain to Hess what had gone wrong, and to tell him to bide his time until a new plan could be thought out. That discussion would have been in German, for obvious reasons. And the visitor had to be someone anonymous, unrecognisable. In the Home Guard’s account of that night, it says that Battaglia and Alfred Horn spoke alone. Not that he interrogated him, mind, but that they spoke. I find that an interesting choice of words.’
Craig had to agree. Brian put down his chopsticks and a waiter came to clear the table. They ordered some coffee and then Brian picked up his story again.
‘So in the panic of that night, I think that the peace group dispatched Battaglia to brief Hess to keep silent, or at least to stick to what must have been a predetermined cover story. We can’t tell what they did next, presumably they had to regroup and rethink. Meanwhile, the Duke of Hamilton was summoned to brief Churchill. The Duke had no option but to deny all knowledge of a plot and had to stick to the story that Hess had taken leave of his senses.’
The coffee came, and Craig added milk and sugar to his and stirred it.
‘What did Churchill do next?’ he asked.
‘Churchill was clever. Do you know the first time he made a statement to parliament about Hess’s arrival?’
‘I do,’ said Fiona. ‘Not till January 1942.’
‘Precisely. I’m impressed, you’ve done your homework. A whole eight months later. Churchill must have had a pretty good idea who was involved. But I think that instead of using the Defence of the Realm Act to try them as traitors, he used his knowledge of the peace plot like a sword of Damocles over the conspirators. He was effectively saying to them, support me and you can stay in your positions. Step out of line and woe betide you. As it was, he used the episode to strengthen his position. He had his own
“night of the long knives” and purged the government of those who opposed his policies.
Craig thought this over. ‘Is that why he didn’t exploit Hess’s capture for propaganda purposes?’
‘Exactly,’ said Brian. ‘It was more useful to keep Hess up his sleeve as it were. Meanwhile, the double whammy was that the longer he dragged proceedings out, the better the chance that Hitler would think the British were mulling over the peace offer.’
Brian leaned forward. Fiona and Craig did the same.
‘Which brings me to another strange fact I learned. Did you know that ten days after Hess arrived, a curious thing happened? A German plane landed at an RAF aerodrome and was allowed to take off again, unhindered.’
‘What?’ chorused Craig and Fiona.
Brian smiled. ‘A Luftwaffe aeroplane – to be precise a Dornier 217 – flew from an airfield in Denmark, to Britain. Completely unmolested. It landed at an RAF base near Lincoln where the pilot – a chap named Heinrich Schmitt, handed over a package to a waiting RAF officer. Then he took off again and returned to Denmark.’
Fiona’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, it happened.’
‘I’m astounded, but I don’t see the connection,’ said Craig.
‘What if the package handed over by the Luftwaffe officer was the same as the package you picked up from the Swedish Consulate.’
‘You mean…?’
‘Yes. I think Clive Prior had seen the peace offer before. I think Churchill asked for another copy because the original was destroyed in the crash, and it was delivered by this plane. He kept stringing the Germans along.’
Craig rubbed his forehead, trying to take in the implications of what Brian had uncovered. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Churchill orchestrated the events that unfolded following Hess’s capture.
‘Clever, wasn’t it?’ said Brian. ‘Even though Hess’s mission started as an attempt to depose Churchill and take Britain out of the war, Churchill turned it to his advantage like the experienced politician he was. He handed over the operation to the SOE and they ran with it. Hitler invaded the USSR and Britain no longer stood alone.’
‘Wow,’ said Fiona.
‘I’ll tell you what blows me away now that I’ve actually read the peace offer,’ said Brian. ‘Churchill must have read it at the time. But not only did he not tell parliament about it, he didn’t even tell his cabinet about it. He single-handedly suppressed it.’
Fiona looked puzzled. ‘But isn’t it obvious that he would keep it secret?’
‘Maybe. But I do wonder why,’ mused Brian. ‘Why did he want to keep fighting? Was it in the best interests of Britain? It’s easy to look back and think “what if”, but as someone who drives an Austin Allegro I can tell you, Britain doesn’t seem all that Great to me right now.’
They all stared at their coffees. After a long minute, Craig broke the silence.
‘That way madness lies, Brian. Hitler had to be defeated. The only thing we need to do right now is to figure out what we need to do.’
‘You’re right, Craig. But let me show you one last thing. Tomorrow. Then you’ll know everything I know. It might have a bearing on what we do next, but I need to get your take on it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t know if I’ve lost the plot.’
‘What?’ Craig looked nonplussed.
‘It’ll be easier if I show you. There’s a final twist in the tale of Rudolf Hess, and it’s only a few miles away. It’s why I came to Caithness.’
‘I thought you came here because it was remote and you wanted to keep your head down,’ said Craig.
‘Oh no. There’s another reason. Why don’t we meet up for breakfast at eight-thirty, and afterwards I’ll take you for a run in the car.’
The three of them walked back to the hotel just before eleven o’clock, and Brian bid the others goodnight as he unlocked his door. Once in their own room, Fiona asked if she could use the bathroom first and took her overnight bag in with her. Craig lay down on one of the beds and closed his eyes. He realised that he was very, very tired. Probably a combination of the big meal they’d just eaten and the long drive. And being chased around Edinburgh by the police, he thought. What was that maniac in the car playing at? Craig didn’t have the answer, and to be honest he was too tired to do any more thinking. He’d done enough thinking for one day, he decided.
Craig heard the shower stop and a couple of minutes later the door to the bathroom opened. Fiona switched off the bathroom light and stood in the doorway naked, with her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She stood still for a few seconds, looking over at him. Craig’s eyes were closed.
‘You’d better not be asleep, mister,’ she said softly.
Chapter 38
Sunday 20th March, 1983
Breakfast was a hearty bowl of porridge followed by scrambled eggs and bacon.
‘You’re hungry this morning,’ commented Brian as Fiona cleared her plate and reached for a slice of toast.
‘Ravenous,’ she said, giving Brian one of her smiles while squeezing Craig’s knee under the table.
‘Where are we off to today?’ she asked as she spread a liberal helping of marmalade onto her toast and took a bite.
Brian fished in his jacket pocket and produced an Ordnance Survey map which he opened out in front of him. He located the place he was looking for and turned the map to face Craig and Fiona. They could see that it was a map of the local area, stretching south as far as Brora.
‘That’s where I want to take you,’ he said, pointing to a spot due south of Thurso. Craig leaned in and squinted at the map.
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s a spot called Eagle’s Rock.’ Brian moved his finger to a point closer to Thurso. ‘And that body of water is Loch More. I’ll explain its significance later.’
Craig could tell from the way Brian was fidgeting that he was keen to get under way. ‘Okay then, let’s go. Meet you out front in ten?’
They went back to their respective rooms to pick up their things. Craig decided not to take the peace offer with him, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving it in the room either. He left Fiona to lock up and went down to reception. The young receptionist appeared and asked Craig how she could help.
‘Do you have a safe here in the hotel?’
‘Not as such sir, but I do have a lockable drawer in the office if that will do?’
‘And you have the only key?’
‘Yes sir, no one else has access.’
Craig thought for a moment then decided to risk it. ‘Do you have a large envelope I could pinch from you?’
The receptionist rummaged under the desk and produced a large manila envelope. Craig squeezed the peace offer and his grandad’s wallet into the envelope, sealed it and used the desk pen on his side of the reception to sign the top flap. ‘Could I pinch some Sellotape too, please?’
The receptionist duly located a roll of tape for Craig. He bit a piece off then stuck the tape over his signature. He repeated the process with the envelope’s bottom flap, then turned it over and wrote his name and room number on the front of the envelope before finally handing it over. He thanked the receptionist and watched as she took the envelope through to her small office. He turned to walk back up the stair just as Brian and Fiona came into view.
‘All set?’ Brian asked.
‘Yep. Lead on Macduff.’
They decided to take Brian’s car and stopped off at the Mini Metro to allow Fiona to change into a pair of wellingtons kept in the boot. As she climbed in the back, Fiona was about to comment on the fact that only a university lecturer would drive a brown car but thought better of it. Craig took the front passenger seat.
‘Don’t forget to belt up,’ Brian said.
Craig smiled to himself. Being fined £30 for not wearing a seat belt would be the least of his worries if he ran into the police.
The morning sun was climbing in the sky to their l
eft as they drove south, but dark clouds loomed in the distance. Brian provided some local detail as they went.
‘Where I’m taking you is a private estate owned by the Dukes of Portland. During the war, the Duke of Portland was chairman of Churchill’s Joint Intelligence Committee. That’s yet another funny coincidence in itself.’
The road was quiet and they passed few cars as they made their way down the A9.
‘It’s so flat around here isn’t it?’ said Fiona as she looked at the featureless moorland on both sides of the road. She spun round to look out of the back window. The horizon ran practically straight in every direction.
‘It certainly is,’ said Brian as he also looked round. He pointed through the windscreen at some grey hills in the far distance. The first real high ground you come to south of John O’ Groats are those hills. They’re called the Scarabens. We’re heading in that direction.
After about half an hour, the road met the coast and a couple of miles further on they came to a small village clinging to the side of the cliffs. Once through the village, Brian slowed down.
‘I’m looking for one of these roads on the right. Ah, here it is.’
They turned into what seemed to be an access road, a single track up a long shallow hill. Their progress was slow, partly because the road was little more than a single set of tyre tracks across the moor, and partly because grazing sheep blocked their path more than once. After a mile or so, the track came to a sudden end when it reached what looked like an abandoned croft.
‘From here, it’s on foot,’ said Brian. He killed the engine and they all got out. Brian pointed west, in the direction the track would have taken if it had continued. ‘It’s some way further on. About two miles, but the terrain isn’t the easiest to negotiate.’