by Jim Crossley
Chapter 15
Albricht was the natural choice to lead the delegation. Throughout the war, there had been meetings in Switzerland in which British, German and later American diplomats would meet and discuss financial, humanitarian and diplomatic issues, with the Swiss acting as go-betweens. Among the functions of these meetings was the occasional internee exchange, usually involving wounded men, swapped for similarly damaged personnel on the other side. With his diplomatic and business expertise, Albricht had been a key figure in the German team at these negotiations whilst at the same time using his position to smuggle valuable items of art and even currency out of Germany on behalf of some of his Nazi bigwig friends who felt that some investments outside their own country might prove a useful insurance policy. In spite of his elevated position in the hierarchy, Albricht was not a happy man. The fate of his only offspring, Hans, had shaken him deeply. Once he had been a source of enormous pride to the family then suddenly some strange things seemed to be happening. There was a telegram from the Red Cross suggesting that he had been wounded and captured. A little later another message stated that he had died on a British hospital ship. Strangely no letter of condolence was received from his Luftwaffe unit, but his commanding officer, von Kostler did write, promising to visit the family in Berlin and explain the details of Hans’ last flight to the family. Von Kostler’s letter hinted that there was more to the story than he was prepared to put on paper. In the meantime Albricht was acutely aware of rumours circulating about his son’s last days. Bitterly he and the Countess, his wife, mourned the death of their boy. Now the only survivor of the next generation of the von Pilsen family was that odd arty nephew in England. William, wasn’t it? Heaven knew what had happened to him.
On one of his visits to Switzerland, Albricht had occasion to study a list of internees recently arrived in the country. He noticed the name Portman among them. William Portman? Wasn’t that the name his nephew had used when he had visited before the war? He demanded to see a photograph held by the Swiss police. Yes, that was him, crashed his aircraft in Switzerland and reported to speak excellent German. Quickly he penned a note to his nephew. It would be quite improper for the two to meet, but did William by any chance have any news of his cousin Hans. Surely, if he had been captured, as some reports suggested, some news might have reached the extended family in England. No reply was received from his nephew.
Sir Felix’s friends at the War Office had in fact ensured that there was no way Albricht, or anyone else, could trace Hans. Before boarding the ship to Canada, he had been given a new identity, “Oberleutnant Kurt Prim”, in fact the name of a Stuka pilot who had been killed in a recent attack on a British warship. Hans was strictly forbidden to try to communicate with his true family. Letters which he addressed to the Prim household in order to maintain the deception were destroyed by the censor and dummy replies were fabricated to add an air of authenticity. As he was the only Luftwaffe officer in his camp, there was no danger of running into anyone who knew the real Kurt Prim.
The life of a POW in Canada, where food was plentiful and the inhabitants were not embittered by war, was comfortable in comparison to that in Britain and indeed luxurious compared to Germany, where a combination of shortages and the terrible effects of bombing made everyone’s existence harsh. Prisoners in Canada were accommodated in comfortable, warm buildings with space for sports and classrooms in which a series of lectures and courses were arranged, initially by the inmates themselves. Soon various universities and schools in the locality got involved in the regime, sending lecturers and tutors to help with studies. Almost everyone learnt English and French and some undertook degree and even master’s courses in law, history, mathematics and economics. A few hardened Nazis spurned the Canadian hospitality. These fanatics were termed “Blacks” by the camp staff, and eventually moved away to a separate establishment with a stricter regime. The majority of the officer prisoners forgot about politics and set about improving their post-war career prospects, keeping any political discussion to a minimum. Most still believed in ultimate German triumph over Russia and an eventual accommodation with the US and the British Empire. Used to being fed Nazi propaganda at home, they were unmoved by the news of the war they picked up in the camp, believing that most of it consisted of lies, although as time went on, new arrivals in the camp told disturbing stories of mass U-boat sinkings and ever more appalling devastation wrought by British and American bombers. Slowly confidence in victory began to wane.
Hans had concluded that after the war he would have to resume his legal training, and enrolled on a course given by a professor from Ottawa. He worked hard and managed to make the required grade finishing up with a degree in law acquired over his two-and-a-half-year stay in the camp. Apart from his studies, however, he found camp life lonely and frustrating. Being barred from contacting his family was bad enough, and he hated making up stories to tell his friends about the imaginary Prims, but being unable to contact Angela was worse. She must love him. Why else risk her life and family on his behalf. He remembered the happy days in Cambridge before the war, the soft touch on his pillow as she settled him down on Minden, the fierce, protective presence at Netley Hospital. In his mind he composed hundreds of letters, even a handful of clumsy poems, which never got written down. He thought of that RAF officer whose picture he had seen in Exton Grange. Was he a cousin or something? The thought made him wince and look down at his pathetic stump of an arm. Nothing he had seen of the war had made him doubt the ultimate superiority of the Luftwaffe so with any luck this rival (if rival he was) would meet his end at the hands of the Third Reich. But this was cold comfort. Sad, lonely and consumed by doubt and jealousy, he struggled on with his studies. At least a career in law would make him able to provide for Angela after the war.
March 1946 saw a depressed and anxious Hans deposited from a liner in Liverpool and taken to a transit camp for prisoners about to be released, near Newcastle.
Chapter16
The Swiss had little option but to comply with the Nazi request to be involved in the inquiry into the accident at Arosa, but the business got off to a bad start. The three German detectives allocated from the Gestapo and the Abwehr (the military intelligence arm) booked into a hotel in the village, looked at the wrecked bridge for a day then waited to meet their Swiss colleagues, scheduled to arrive the next morning. Already the Swiss had taken away various exhibits and taken some statements from locals but even without these the three Germans had reached the conclusion that this was a case of deliberate sabotage. Saw marks were visible on some wooden beams lying in the ravine and the remaining timbers were substantial and in good condition. They could not possibly have given way under the weight of a small party of men. Now it was only a question of finding the culprits. That should be easy enough in a small and remote community.
The three were actually planning how they could drag the affair out for three or four weeks, during which they would be living, all expenses paid by the Swiss, in a comfortable and well-supplied neutral country, when the arrival of their Swiss colleague was announced – Colonel Isaac Schonbloomer of the Swiss. Isaac? Isaac? Could it be? They looked at each other in horror. When the colonel himself appeared, there was no possible doubt. His intelligent face and strong features were distinctly Jewish, and to make double sure a small silver Star of David was inserted in his buttonhole. There was nothing for it. With one accord the Germans got to their feet, turned their backs on the new arrival and stormed out of the hotel.
Telephoning his boss from the hotel, Schonbloomer had difficulty in avoiding dying of laughter. His name was not Isaac at all, but Thomas and he was certainly not a practising Jew.
“That will teach the bastards to come interfering in my case,” he roared. The little phone booth trembled with his guffaws.
When the Germans were well out of the way, he continued his enquiries in the village and at all the local bus and railway stations. What did anyone know about the two visitors from Geneva who
had been in Arosa recently?
It didn’t take him long to learn that one of the pair was silent most of the time, but a waiter had heard one of them whispering something to his colleague – in English, or so the waiter thought. The other spoke fluent French but didn’t seem to understand German. Yes, they both looked young, fit men but they never took their overcoats off and it was impossible to see what they were wearing underneath. No, they had not returned since the day of the accident. Schonbloomer easily narrowed down the field. Either this was the work of some French resistance group, or could it be someone from one of the internment camps? His colleagues from Geneva knew nothing about a resistance cell operating in Switzerland. Why should there be? There were plenty of Germans to kill at home in France. He resolved to call on all the internment camps for Allied soldiers anywhere near Arosa. Winterthur was the last call he made. The first thing he looked at was the attendance record for 6th May 1943. Interestingly, two internees had not answered that evening’s roll call, being marked down as too sick to attend. On the evening of the 7th, however, they both appeared. There was no record of a doctor’s visit, and no one else in the camp seemed to have suffered from the same bug. The detective summoned internees Hopson and Oliver. Yes, they had caught a strange bug that day, remembered it well, must have been in the food they thought.
“A day close to the bathroom,” said Oliver. “And we were both fine. Right, Jimmy?”
“Yeah, right as rain, guv.”
They both burst out laughing.
Schonbloomer didn’t believe them. He went wandering round the building and soon found the wood saw, hanging up waiting for the autumn.
“A qui est cette scie?” he asked loudly.
“C’est a nous, pour l’hiver,” Oliver replied, then turned red as a beetroot.
“Vous parlez Francais, Monsieur Oliver?”
“Juste un peu.”
The saw disappeared into the police car and the investigation was over for the day.
That evening a crestfallen pair appeared in William’s room.
“We’ve done it this time, skip,” began Jimmy, and the whole story of the escapade came out. William saw immediately that this was real trouble; probably the pair would be extradited to Germany and shot. It would not take the police long to prove their case, but he couldn’t let it happen. These fellows were his crew. His responsibility. He was supposed to be an officer and besides, that brave mother of Jimmy’s had virtually entrusted her son to him. He sent the pair away and spent a restless night. Early the next morning he found a phone booth and managed to get a call through to Schonbloomer. A meeting was arranged in a quiet local bar.
“Herr Colonel,” William began, surprising the man by his fluent German, “I understand that you have questioned two of my men about the affair in Arosa. Will you be kind enough to put me in the picture? These men are of course my responsibility and I had understood that this enquiry was in the hands of the German police.”
Schonbloomer took a liking to this quiet-spoken English officer at once.
“German police,” he replied. “Well, we’ll see about that. I seem to have got on the wrong side of them.” He chuckled to himself, remembering the incident in the hotel. “But you are correct; they have asked to be involved, but I can tell you we don’t like it. Arrogant idiots that’s what they are. As it happens we have a meeting with their negotiator this week and we will have to try to thrash out some sort of agreement. My boss will fight hard to keep German policemen out of our country, I can tell you. However, we have made our own investigation and it doesn’t look good for your two men. You see, we have matched the saw in your wood store with the one used on the bridge…” William interrupted him. The word “negotiator” had given him an idea.
“Inspector, would the negotiator be Count Albricht von Pilsen, by any chance?”
“Yes, how did you guess that?”
“I saw his name in the paper, but let me tell you, I am his nephew. My father was half German; that’s why I speak the language. I believe perhaps if you could arrange for me to meet him privately, I could help to resolve this affair.”
“Well, if you can persuade him to keep his goons out of Switzerland, good luck to you. I’ll try to arrange something but at the same time I will have to pursue the case against Oliver and Hopson.”
“Colonel, let me put this idea to you. At this stage the Germans have no idea who committed this act. If either you or some German team find it was the work of British internees, supposedly under Swiss control, it won’t look good for Switzerland, will it? There will be all sorts of allegations and demands from Germany, and you know how close they have come to invading your country already. This could be the spark which starts a war. Just supposing you could point the finger at someone else, perhaps French resistance fighters who have fled back over the border back to France, wouldn’t that save Switzerland a lot of trouble? But you will have to arrange it before any German investigators arrive. That’s where my uncle comes in. I believe that if I can see him privately, we can make time to defuse this matter.”
The colonel got up from the table. He looked away from William towards the distant mountains.
“I can promise nothing,” he said. “But there is some truth in what you say. I will call you tomorrow morning. In the meantime those two flyers will be taken into police custody on suspicion of murder, but you have my word that no other action will be undertaken until we have met with the negotiator. Goodbye for now.” He walked out to the waiting Citroen.”
That afternoon a police detail arrested the two suspects on a charge of murder.
Raymond Ponsonby, the first secretary at the embassy in Bern, was fed up with hearing requests for release from British internees. All he could do for them was to tell them to wait patiently and that was exactly what they didn’t want to hear. Repatriation could only be allowed for gravely injured cases or by some special arrangement with the Germans in exchange for Axis POWs in Britain. William was a bit different from most because all he wanted was to telephone England but even that wasn’t allowed. Only the Red Cross could handle communications for internees. Ponsonby looked bored and unconvinced by this persistent Air Force officer wanting to communicate with a retired judge in England. In the end, to save further argument, he agreed to a brief exchange of telegrams.
William to Sir Felix:
Urgent urgent must know status and whereabouts of Hans von Pilsen. Understand was at Exton where now?
Sir Felix thought he knew his daughter’s friend pretty well. Two “Urgents”. There must be some reason for that, but was the telegram some German trick? He decided to reply not to the sender but by diplomatic telegram direct to the ambassador in Switzerland, who happened to be an old university friend.
Reference Portman telegram subject now POW in Canada alias Prim. Swiss embassy can confirm.
The telegram was a lifeline if only William could get access to Albricht. He decided that the only way was to take Schonbloomer into his full confidence. Another meeting was arranged in the bar and a plan was hatched.
At Albricht’s next meeting in Switzerland, the colonel was summoned to fill the participants in on the status of his enquiry. He announced that two British internees had been arrested on suspicion of murder, but he himself had grave doubts about their involvement, hinting darkly at a conspiracy perpetrated by French resistance. A suspicious saw had been recovered on a train at the terminus in Geneva. Two shady characters, one of them a French speaker, had been visiting the village. Further enquiries were being made; meanwhile the British suspects were being held “in humane conditions” nearby.
“Humane conditions!” stormed the Germans. “These murderers. They should be in one of our camps. We demand to see them immediately.” This was exactly the reaction which William and Schonbloomer had expected. Just as the party from the delegation arrived at the prison, William himself was admitted on the pretext of giving moral support to his men. He was therefore the first person Albricht met on his a
rrival. The old diplomat could hardly contain himself.
“Nephew William,” he called. “Do you not recognise your old uncle? Indeed we meet in strange circumstances, but we must talk.” Leaving his colleagues to inspect the prisoners, he took William aside and commandeered an interview room in the prison block.
Albricht got directly to the point, asking William if he had received his note about his son, Hans. William denied having received it and asked exactly what it was that his uncle wished to know about Hans. Impatiently his uncle explained his predicament. When the explanation was over, William was silent for a while then replied.
“My dear uncle, as you no doubt know, I and my surviving crew members are interned here after an accident in which two of my men were killed and I myself was wounded. Now two of my crew are facing a charge for a serious crime which I believe is being investigated by your police. I am not satisfied that they will get a fair trial and I am responsible, as their captain, for their safety. Furthermore, we find internment here in Switzerland dull, disagreeable and very hard to bear. You are asking me to disclose information about Hans which, for some reason, the British government seems not to have, or wishes to keep secret. Now, I have contacts in the highest echelons of the British security establishment (Sir Felix would have enjoyed hearing him say that) and I may be able to obtain some information so maybe we can help each other. You want information from me: I want repatriation for my crew and myself. I am aware that you are in a position to arrange prisoner exchanges. What do you say?”