That night, we travelled to Tiergarten on the tram dressed in workman’s clothing. In the bierkeller we had to wait for our victim to arrive. Eventually a stocky, round faced young man with a shock of unruly brown hair came over to us. Rall was using the alias Hans Muller and introduced me as his cousin Josef, who had been sacked from the railway for communist agitation. This appeared to satisfy van der Lubbe, who struck me as an intelligent, but unstable young man. He had a strange way of peering at me as if he was having difficulty seeing. In heavily accented German, he explained his eyesight had suffered permanent damage working on a building site. It was not difficult for Rall and I to suggest the attack, whilst making it appear that it was van der Lubbe’s idea. We finally agreed to meet again on Friday at the same place.
‘Bloody hell, this is dynamite,’ I said looking up at Lisa, ‘before we go on we should get copies that we can take away.’
‘Good idea’ she said ‘I’ll see if I can find Mark.’ She left the room and I collected up some other papers so it was not so obvious which ones we really wanted. She returned with Mark.
‘I can copy those for you, but you’ll have to pay, I’m afraid.’ He said.
‘No problem,’ said Lisa handing him a ten pound note ‘is that enough?’
He assessed the small pile of paper I was holding and thought for a second. ‘Yes, that should be more that enough.’ He led the way to a photo copier and scanned a plastic card. ‘There you go.’
Lisa gave him a dazzling smile of thanks and distracted him, whilst I made two copies of the Miller document and one or two other pages. I made sure that the top copies were irrelevant pages, so that even Mark did not know what we had found. Thanking him for his help we returned to our room.
‘I think we should hide the original at the bottom of this box,’ Lisa said ‘then we’ll know where to find it, if we need it again, but it would be difficult if anyone else should search for it to try to steal our credit….’ She tailed off, as she saw me looking at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Sorry, but you’ve no idea how competitive this business is.’ We put the original away and stacked all the other papers in the box on top of it. ‘OK’ she said ‘now we can settle down to the rest of the story.’ We both turned to our own copies and picked up the story.
In a meeting the next day, Ernst outlined the plan. Gewehr, Rall and I would enter the Reichstag through a tunnel that led from Goering’s residence to the Reichstag building. There we would mix a self-igniting liquid that would start multiple fires after a suitable delay. Van der Lubbe had to be persuaded to break into the building through a ground floor window, as he set his fires, we would exit through the tunnel. He would be left to perish in the fire and be identified later, or captured by the guards, who would be alerted by the broken window. We would then disperse from Goering’s apartment, having changed into our uniforms to avert suspicion.
On Friday, as arranged we met with van der Lubbe in Tiergarten. We suggested that in order to improve our chances of success, we should all enter the Reichstag at different places, if one of us was caught, the others might still succeed. Van der Lubbe agreed readily, as we knew he would. He stated proudly that he had firelighters and petrol ready to do the job and advised us to bring the same. We arranged to break in simultaneously at nine o’clock on Monday night. We put it to van der Lubbe that his ideal entry point would be to beak in through a window, whilst Rall and I would find other ways in and he agreed to the plan.
At 7.00 we met at Goering’s apartment, Goering was not there, providing himself with a suitable alibi, but Hanfstaengl was there suffering from a bout of the ‘flu. We were told to avoid him at all costs. We stripped off our uniforms and dressed in workers clothes. Gewehr and three other member of Sturm 17 brought in several large containers of liquid that we moved into the basement and carried through the subterranean passage to the Reichstag at 8.00. Once in the building we mixed some of the liquids together in smaller containers and began to spread them around the building. We paid particular attention to the Reichstag Chamber, I think in all we laid over twenty fires, which once lit would soon merge into one huge conflagration.
We waited until we saw some of our devices begin to ignite and then began to withdraw to the passage. As I went, I caught a glimpse of van der Lubbe; naked to the waist he was running around the corridors screaming and trying to use his shirt as a torch to set fire to curtains and tapestries. We passed quickly through the tunnel and changed back into our uniforms. I could hear Hanfstaengl in a panic on the telephone to Goebbels, telling him to inform Hitler that the Reichstag was ablaze. We split up outside Goering’s apartment. I walked towards the Reichstag to join the crowd that was beginning to gather. I could see Inspector Scranowitz restraining van der Lubbe. Then several police dragged him away. Two black Mercedes cars drove through the police cordon. Hitler got out accompanied by Goebbels and Sepp Dietrich. Sepp spoke to a British journalist and ushered him through the cordon. When he caught sight of me he beckoned me to accompany him with a grin. Hitler was dashing around issuing orders, his black trenchcoat flying out behind him. From his state of panic, it was almost possible to believe that he knew nothing of the plan. Goering wearing a camelhair coat stood in the entrance. He made his report to Hitler, claiming that a group of communist deputies had been seen there twenty minutes before the fire began and one of the arsonists had been arrested.
On Dietrich’s instruction I accompanied the Fuhrer’s group as they inspected the damage. We stepped over puddles of water and smouldering debris, coughing in the foul smelling smoke. Someone opened the yellow varnished door into the debating chamber and we could see the inferno within; the fire brigade seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Goering kept emphasising that they (the Communists) had started fires here or there.
Hitler stumbled over a hosepipe and I had to catch him before he fell. By the time we climbed to the first floor, we had been joined by the aristocratic von Papen, wearing a tweed overcoat and homburg hat. Hitler told him that he would crush the communist pest with an iron fist. Von Papen looked disconcerted by Hitler’s rant and excused himself to report on the damage to President Hindenburg.
By the time the Fuhrer and Goering were giving a press conference Sepp had indicated that I should make myself scarce. I returned to my hotel to await events.
As you will know by now, President Hindenburg was persuaded to pass a decree the very next day, which restricted outmoded, liberal civil rights and allowed the SA, SS and Gestapo to round up thousands of reds from lists already prepared by Heydrich.
Heydrich met me the following day in his office, Sepp was with him. He thanked me for my invaluable service. He told me I would have the right to keep my SS rank and made me an honorary citizen of the Reich. He said that Rall had tried to make a public statement taking credit for the fire, but he had been executed by the SA on Ernst’s orders and that all records connecting him to the SA had been expunged. He wished me a safe journey home and reiterated that the National Socialists were in my debt.
This is a full account of my actions and I am sending it to you, for you to share with Raven and the Leader. I shall make no mention of any of this in my report, as I suspect that Major Taylor may have links to the Home Office.
Your obedient servant
W.H. Miller
‘Phew, that’s amazing’ said Lisa ‘It’s exactly what we were looking for. This is goin’ to make an awesome programme. What do you think we should do now?’
‘Have you forgotten what I taught you about sources?’ I asked ‘We check it, compare it with other known accounts and see if the details that we can check are consistent. It would probably be a good idea to find out who the bloody hell W.H. Miller was. We don’t even know his first name for Christ’s sake!’
‘First thing tomorrow, we start. How about a drink to celebrate?’ she asked.
‘Not the best idea, with the cocktail of drugs inside me’ I replied. ‘Let’s call it a day for now.’
‘Still bad huh?�
�� she looked at me with sympathy. ‘You know, you really need to talk this through with someone. When Dad went through the divorce, he saw a counsellor because he was so messed up. It really helped him too’
‘Your dad has more money than me. I don’t run my own company, drive a Merc or live in the big house.’ I snapped then paused as I saw her face fall, as she recoiled as if I had struck her.
‘I was only trying to help.’ She said in a small voice and I immediately regretted my words. ‘Look Ian, I’ve never said this but I owe you big time. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have stayed at home rather than go to uni, because I didn’t want to leave that loser Lee. You cared enough to have a real go about me wasting myself and always regretting it. I know I was a real bitch at the time, getting stroppy about you daring to interfere with my life and tell me what I didn’t want to hear. Well now it’s my turn to repay that care and tell you what you don’t want to hear.’
‘I’m sorry’ I said ‘I’m still feeling very raw and more than a bit vulnerable. I know you were trying to help and I appreciate it, really. It’s good to know someone cares. But could we change the subject before I get tearful and embarrass myself?’
We separated on good terms agreeing to meet up again at the Library the next day at nine again. As I sat on the tube heading back to the motel, I thought that Lisa was right; I really needed to seek some help, because I was really not coping with the day-to-day stuff, the history was fine, but living a life away from it was a totally different matter.
Chapter 4
I slept badly, tried to force down a little breakfast and left for Queen Mary’s. The fine weather had broken and it was overcast, I could feel the light rain soaking through my jacket as I hurried to the tube. Lisa was waiting for me, sheltering under an umbrella.
‘What now?’ she asked.
‘Two things. We go through the letter and see how much we can deduce about the elusive Mr Miller. We also have to look at his account and research to corroborate as much as we can. He might be just a fantasist trying to appear important.’ I told her as we scanned our passes at the library turnstile.
Ensconced once more in our study room, I hung my jacket to dry over the back of my chair. ‘Let’s go through the letter and see how much we can infer about Miller.’ We sat in silence reading the letter in minute detail, whilst scribbling the occasional note on pads that Lisa had provided. After an hour we had finished and compared notes.
‘Okay’ said Lisa, ‘I’ll go first. British born, with a German mother and English father. Bilingual. BUF member, working for Department Z, which was a sort of intelligence department I think. He’s a long standing fascist, as he was with the IFL before the BUF. To judge by the written style, he is reasonably well educated; the spelling, syntax and punctuation show that. That’s about it, you got anything else?
‘The degree of detail makes it seem authentic. The only other thing I’ve got is his age. He says he is fifteen years younger than Sepp Dietrich. I checked up last night, Dietrich was born in May 1892, which would make him thirty-nine at the time of the Reichstag fire, so Miller should be twenty-four, that would make him born about 1909 or so. With a German mother, we should be able to identify him on the 1911 census and get his Christian name, father’s name address etc. That should kick -start our investigation. We need to find out as much about Miller and his parents as we can. We can do much of that on line, so let’s start by corroborating the details, whilst we’re in a library with access to the books.’
We spent the day searching amongst the texts on Nazi Germany for information on the fire; each of us taking copious notes to compare to the letter. At about three we adjourned to the Globe for a late lunch.
‘Well?’ she asked, ‘What have you got?’ She had a look in her eyes that told me she had found something good and wanted to surprise me.
‘Right. Most simply tell the story and speculate as to who was to blame without much detail or evidence. Kershaw largely agrees with our narrative, right down to Hanfstaengl reporting it to Goebbels to inform Hitler. Hanfstaengl was a friend and political confident of Hitler himself. The best source I found was probably was the Monthly Review; they published an article by two American lawyers on the Reichstag Fire Trial. They agree with much of the timeline and confirm minor details, for example, it was Scranowitz who captured van der Lubbe, there was a tunnel from Goering’s place to the Reichstag and the fire according to the report started in twenty-three separate places. They also confirm the existence of Rall, though they could find no evidence of his attachment to Ernst’s SA brigade. Finally they describe how our arsonist was captured stripped to the waist because he had been using his shirt as kindling to light fires. Pretty supportive on the whole, though there was one German historian who argued very effectively against the whole idea of Nazi involvement, claiming it was a myth. Now come on what have you got, I can see by your face it’s good’
‘I went on line, whilst you were wading through the books and I found who the journalist was that was at the fire. His name was Sefton Delmer and he wrote for the Daily Express. His description of the aftermath of the fire matches down to the last detail. He confirms what Hitler, Goering and von Papen were wearing, even the colour of the doors into the Reichstag chamber and how Hitler tripped over a fire hose. It’s indisputable, Miller must have at least seen the aftermath of the fire, even if the rest’s untrue.’
I whistled, ‘I’m impressed!’ I said
‘Well it was you who taught me how to research, so you shouldn’t be so surprised. Don’t let the blonde hair fool you.’
‘I never did,’ I said ‘you were one of the most instinctive historians I ever taught. It’s real pity you didn’t follow it up at university.’
‘Let’s knock off early and start again tomorrow. Come back to my flat and I’ll get us dinner’ she said. We left the pub; it had brightened up, with patches of blue sky peeking out between the clouds. ‘You want to walk or take the bus?’
‘Walk, if that’s okay, the exercise and serotonin are good for me.’ We walked along the tow path of the canal, discussing our discovery and where we should go next, as the sun began to come out. We left the canal bank at Old Ford Road and walked for another ten minutes before Lisa led me across the road into Victoria Park. It was a real surprise to find such an open space of greenery and trees in the heart of Hackney. We strolled in the afternoon sun in comfortable silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The twenty minute walk in the greenery and freedom of the park lifted my spirits and I could feel my fears recede back into that dark corner of my mind where they lurked. I knew they would doubtless return, but I resolved to make the most of it, while it lasted. I asked Lisa about her boyfriend. When I had known her at school, she had a penchant for chav bad boys, who had an IQ as big as their shoe size; I had often mopped her up after altercations by text or on the phone. Her friends had frequently come to me complaining ‘He treats her like shit Sir; I don’t know why she puts up with it’. Nor did I, I hoped it was a phase she had grown out of.
‘He’s awesome,’ she told me, ‘I love him to bits. He’s got a good job in computing in the City. He’s funny and caring and thoughtful. He’s always buying me flowers and things. I think he might be the one. We moved in together a few months ago and I’ve never been happier…’ she gushed. Then she stopped ‘Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t need to hear how wonderful my relationship is, with what you’re going through.’
‘No problem kid,’ I replied ‘I’m happy for you.’ And I was.
We left the park and crossed the road. Overlooking the park was a terrace of three storey Edwardian houses. Built out of pale brick, now grimed with the dirt of the city, each house had a square bay window on the ground floor beside a white arched entrance. A trefoil of similarly arched windows graced the first floor and two more arched windows stared out of the second floor. Like the doorways, all the windows were decorated with freshly painted white plaster arches over them and supported by pilasters of a
similar hue. Lisa unlocked the door and led me up a communal stair way, to the first floor, where she unlocked a second door into her flat. The flat was small, but homely and well kept. The sitting room had a drop leaf table, so it could double as a dining room. A galley kitchen and small bathroom led off to the back of the flat on the left and two doors to the right apparently led to the bedrooms.
‘It’s a bit of a luxury, having a spare room, but it gives me somewhere I can work away from the chaos of the office’ she said having seen me looking round ‘but James earns an unbelievable salary and I’m not doing too badly.’ She told me what she earned and I whistled it would take a teacher nearly ten years to reach that wage, even with London weighting.
I crossed to the mantelpiece, where a framed photograph stood on display. It showed a stunning Lisa, in a smart black evening dress that was cut to show off her figure to its best, she was accompanied by a tall handsome man of about twenty-five. He stood considerably taller than Lisa’s five feet three inches, I would have estimated him to be at least my six feet, probably taller. He had straight dark hair, regular features, with grey eyes and a dazzling smile. Lisa noticed my attention.
‘That’s James. That was the first time we went out together, it was his company’s Christmas ball.’
‘He’s a good looking guy. How did you meet?’
‘We were introduced by a mutual friend at a pub in the City. We just sort of hit it off at once. One thing led to another and…well here we are.’
Nothing left to lose Page 3