by Jim Crossley
The procedure for returning POWs was lengthy. Officers and men held in the US and Canada were returned to the UK where most of them were accommodated in camps operating a very relaxed regime. Only incorrigible Nazis were confined behind barbed wire. Each officer’s political opinions were assessed to see if there was any danger of his joining undesirable political movements once he returned home. This process might take six months or a year, depending on the political opinions of the prisoner and the unit in which he had served. Once selected for release prisoners were shipped home, given some pocket money and finally released. William’s job was to be one of the assessors, interviewing Luftwaffe prisoners held in a camp near Haltwhistle in Northumberland. As he had half expected, one of the first prisoners allocated to him for assessment was Oberleutnant Kurt Prim.
The two cousins prepared for the meeting in their individual ways. William simply wanted to get this fellow out of the country as soon as possible. Get him away from Angela. He had lost an arm and had no political black marks against his name so the repatriation guidelines suggested that he could be released early. Of course he might starve to death in Germany – thousands were starving every day. William was too decent a man to wish that on his cousin but he did want him as far away as possible. Hans, for his part, had almost given up hope of Angela. It had been almost four years since he last saw her and since then she had made no attempt, as far as he knew, to communicate. Why should she? How could she want a poor, wounded man? He could not, however, entirely kill his longing for that lovely, strong, courageous girl. The newspapers had been full of the story of her rescuing survivors from City of Derry; he had taken cuttings and kept them safely among his papers. Besides worrying about Angela, Hans was deeply concerned for his parents. The family seat in Prussia was in the hands of the Russians and he had no way of knowing if his mother and father were still there or had escaped into the relative security of the west. He had to maintain his false identity as Prim and so could not risk trying to contact his home, and he imagined that his parents would think that he had either been killed in the attack on Rampant or had died on the hospital ship Minden. He knew nothing of the communication which his father had received from Canada. Both his parents were now old, over sixty, and he had a duty to find them and offer what protection he could. In fact, he need not have worried on his parents’ account. Albricht had seen the end of Nazi Germany coming and had been able to slip across the border into Switzerland where he and his wife were able to claim diplomatic status. Furthermore, not all the treasure entrusted to him by the Nazis had ended up exactly where they had intended. The von Pilsens ended the war with their fortune richly enhanced. Albricht did, however, worry desperately about his son. Since the communication from Canada reporting that he was safely in a POW camp, there had been no word from him, and for all his deviousness and cunning, Albricht was sincerely devoted to his son and concerned for the continuation of the family line. Also, there was that nagging worry caused by the visit of the SS officer who had suggested that his son was a traitor. He had heard nothing more about this, and it was not like the SS to let such matters drop. Almost all Hans’ colleagues in his unit, including his commanding officer, had been killed so no information could be expected from that quarter. Somehow he must find his son and learn the truth. William was the only obvious source of information.
It took some time for Albricht’s letter from Switzerland to find its way to Northumberland, and when it reached its destination it plunged William into a fit of indecision. He had postponed calling his cousin in for the first of his pre-release interviews, unsure how he would handle the situation. Now he could stall no longer. He called Hans to the interview room. Immediately, the situation turned awkward. There was an embarrassing fumble as they tried to shake hands, William unsettled by his cousin’s empty sleeve. William went through the formal questioning process methodically, still using Hans’ assumed identity as Kurt Prim. The farce could not continue for long, however; after fifteen minutes Hans broke the deadlock. “Squadron Leader,” he said, “I think we both know each other’s identity; perhaps I should explain my position to you clearly.” He then briefly described the events in Sicily, his faked death on board Minden, his false identity and how Angela had saved him from discovery in Netley Hospital. Hearing him speak of Angela made William wince but he kept a straight face.
“And, Cousin Hans, if I may call you that, what do you want to do now?”
“I believe you have met my father before the war. You are aware that he and my mother are now old people. I do not know where they are – perhaps you can help me there – but they need my protection, then, when affairs in Germany settle down, I mean to resume my career as a lawyer. I have studied hard in Canada and have all the required qualifications, but Cousin, once again I have to call upon your family to help me. I must get to my parents quickly; I fear for their safety.”
“Well, you can relax on that score anyway. I have a letter here from your father which was sent to me from Switzerland. Your parents will be safe enough there. I have replied to your father’s letter to say that you are safe in England and will be returning to Germany as soon as certain formalities are complete.”
Now that the two had broken the ice, conversation became quite easy and they actually found that they had things in common; the discussion turned to sailing and they discovered a common love of boats and the sea. They chatted quite amicably together for half an hour and it was arranged that they would meet again in a week’s time. |Neither man had had the courage to mention Angela.
During the week that followed, the George Medal presentation was to take place at Buckingham Palace. William grabbed two days’ leave and took the train down to London to join the Pointer family for the ceremony and her brother Rory just arrived back from Italy in time so that, besides her parents, Angela thus had the support of two decorated war veterans. The family made such a fine sight arriving at the palace that their picture appeared in the following day’s Times. After the ceremony they had dinner together in Sir Felix’s club, and over the meal it was arranged that they would all meet together at Stonebeck House in two weeks’ time, William determined to show them his beloved home and the break would be good for the Pointers, who, like most Britons, had had no holiday since 1939.
When Hans and William met again in the camp interview room, William noticed that Hans had a copy of the newspaper in his hand. The subject could no longer be ignored. Hans, indeed had prepared a little speech.
“Cousin,” he began. “I believe we both have the pleasure of knowing Miss Angela Pointer. I see from the newspaper here that you accompanied her to receive a decoration last week. I congratulate you both. William, if I may call you so, I cannot deny that I developed a strong affection for Angela when I was posted to London and that I had hopes that she had similar feelings towards me. Twice subsequently she saved my life and my gratitude to her and my respect for her is unbounded. I desire her happiness even beyond my own. I therefore have to consider how I can best make her happy. I do not believe that living in poor war-torn Germany with a cripple like myself would be a good life for her.”
William didn’t know what to do after this astonishingly formal, rather stilted speech. Should he say “Thank you”, walk away or try some formal reply? He fumbled the papers on his desk, went red in the face and tried to clear his throat. Luckily at that point an orderly came into the room bringing mugs of tea. The hot, sweet liquid gave him time to recover. An idea began to take shape in his mind.
“Hans,” he said, almost choking on the name. “I was with Angela last week as you know. She and her parents have the fondest feelings for you, and her brother Rory warmly remembers the time you spent together at Orford. What you have just said shows me that you are a man of principle and honour. I know that both Angela and her family would like to meet you again, and it happens that we are all going to meet together in my house on Tyneside next week. I have authority to grant you leave from this place. Will you join us?”
Thus it was arranged. Mrs Wellibond was able to clear most of the mess left behind by the nurses and managed to get two locals to tidy up outside. Rationing in Britain was still stringently enforced, but that didn’t stop her from gathering together prime vegetables from the garden, fresh eggs from the hen house and best of all, four superb lobsters and a giant turbot from Freddy Seal.
Friday night’s dinner, in spite of the splendid spread, began uncomfortably. Hans, who owed his life to both Sir Felix and to his daughter, could hardly feel relaxed in their company, and his feelings for Angela welled to the surface of his consciousness as soon as he saw her radiating health, energy and her own special brand of charm when she appeared for drinks before dinner. His upbringing before the war had taught him to manage most social situations, but somehow his lost arm seemed to have taken with it his self-confidence and his experiences with Sonia and Ester hardly made him feel at ease dining with pretty girls. Gradually however he became almost possessed by the charm and the radiance of that wonderful girl. They sat side by side and he found himself feeling almost physically lifted out of all the fear and horrors he had been through since that terrible day of the attack on Rampant. She laughed at him and the little jokes he managed. She helped him extract the last bits of delicious flesh from his lobster without making him feel embarrassed by his missing arm. She enquired so sweetly about his parents and how they had survived. By the time the coffee arrived he was a different man. Almost the fine fellow who had first gone so bravely, so carelessly, to war.
William could not help noticing the transformation being wrought on his guest, but he was not disturbed by it. He knew (or thought he knew) Angela too well. He had seen her exercise her charm on her parents’ friends and on people they had met casually together. Hans was only getting the same treatment as they had. There was no need for jealousy or concern. He himself was acting as the attentive host to Lady Pointer, telling her about Tyneside before the war, the history of the house, and the miracles wrought by Mrs Wellibond in keeping everything in order during the war. He revelled in showing off his beloved home to his guests and felt impossibly happy and proud to think that soon he would be bringing Angela to it as his wife. What he did not see was the swift encounter between his love and his cousin on the staircase later that evening, the swift, one-armed embrace, the stolen kiss.
Although it was still early spring, the next day dawned fine and warm. Freddy had readied Columba for a gentle shake down sail. It was resolved that William, Hans and Rory would take her a little way down river on the tide to make sure everything was in working order while Angela and her parents took a gentle tour of the area in the old Morris belonging to Mrs Wellibond. Columba had been built in 1910 but under Freddy’s care she still looked sleek and beautiful as she nosed her way down river, steering carefully round the clutter of naval and civilian shipping anchored in the estuary. Hans, at the tiller, soon showed that he had lost none of his skill as a helmsman. He watched as the other two brought sail bags on deck and hanked on the largest foresail for the leg along Entrance Reach towards the end of the two great piers. Soon they were past the lighthouses and out to sea, the boat heeling and seeming to enjoy the little waves which lifted her gently and occasionally left a little splash of salt water on deck. All too soon it was time to turn round and catch the start of the flood tide carrying them back, close-hauled in the southerly wind. Hans brought them neatly up to their mooring off North Shields.
Hans found himself happier that evening than he could ever remember. The short sail had shown him that even with only one arm he could still handle a boat as well as ever, and he had lost none of his skill. He was astonished at the easy, friendly relationship he now had with these two men, who not long ago he would be trying to kill, one of whom was, even now, his jailor. Above all there was Angela, the sweet smile she gave him when they got home, her excitement at their visit to Whitley Bay, the beach and the lighthouse, her enthusiasm for everything she did. On a cloud of happiness he sat down to enjoy his dinner, oblivious of the grim fact that he himself had solemnly renounced his love for her only a few days ago, and must return to a prison camp and thence to his defeated, disgraced and suffering country. He spent most of that evening in conversation with Sir Felix who had plenty to say about the future ahead of a new, democratic Germany, that he hoped would rise from the ashes and prove to be a bulwark against Soviet westward expansion. Occasionally he stole a glance at Angela who seemed to be happily chatting with Rory and William. Once or twice she met his glances and gave a little, private smile which made his whole body fizz with excitement.
On the next day, Sunday, it was the village church for all then, after a cold lunch, William and Hans had to set off back to the camp. It was less than an hour’s drive in the Lagonda. Hans didn’t know what to say about his feeling for Angela and it seemed that William had noticed nothing unusual in their relationship. Hans found, on his return, that his accommodation in the camp had been changed. His new Nissen hut had some unfamiliar names on the board outside, one SS Obersturmfuhrer Gluck caught his attention. It was rare for SS officers to be accommodated in the relaxed, low-security, camp at Haltwhistle. This Gluck must be a reformed character or a very good actor. Hans found him sitting on his bed reading a newspaper. Gluck got to his feet and introduced himself politely. Hans was still walking on air after his weekend away. With William’s family he had been using his proper family name – von Pilsen and for one critical moment, elated as he was after his weekend, he forgot, for that critical moment, his disguise, and introduced himself as von Pilsen – his proper name.
“Excuse me,” said Gluck. “There seems to be a mistake, this bed is for Oberleutenant Prim, it must be some confusion – typically British – maybe you should go to the administration hut and get it changed.” For a moment Hans was unable to speak, totally paralysed by the situation. He could not stop himself from turning bright red in the face, bending down to fumble with the catch on his suitcase in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Oh, don’t worry I will see Prim this evening and we will make a swap,” he blurted out. “I have given up on getting any sense out of the administration clerks.” Gluck returned to his newspaper but Hans already knew there was trouble in store. He skipped supper that evening and went to bed early, pretending to have a headache. But there was no escape. The next morning Gluck lost no time in getting back to the subject. “You said you knew this Prim last night. Forgive me, I have only just arrived here: could you kindly introduce me?” There was a long series of excuses, Prim was sick, Prim was at an interview, Prim was being investigated about an incident in Italy when some children were apparently massacred. Eventually Prim was “unexpectedly transferred to another camp”, but Gluck had not been an SS officer for nothing. Hans’ story was obviously false – all his friends in the camp called him Prim and also somewhere the name von Pilsen rang a bell. There were three other ex-SS officers in the camp and |Gluck called a furtive meeting. Someone remembered an incident in Sicily – an officer maybe on one of the projects looking for Jews and gypsies – was murdered. There had been a general alert but the murderer got away. A Luftwaffe officer was suspected. The story got more and more intriguing. Then Helmut Weiser, who had been a member of an SS unit posted to Sicily, remembered. It was Feldman. Murdered by a Luftwaffe officer who then deserted. Certainly that was why the name von Pilsen was familiar – this fellow with one arm in their midst was obviously the murderer and traitor in disguise. Probably he was actually working for the British as a “stool pigeon” in their midst. Ha! The SS knew how to deal with such people, even when the war was lost. By the end of the day a plan to punish the bastard was hatched.
Hans had smelt danger from the beginning of the episode. He must get away at once, before the SS got to work. He decided that his only choice was to place the problem before William. The two cousins were on the best of terms and a plan quickly evolved. The four SS men were confined to the cells on the pretext of claiming to have been officers in the
Waffen SS – the fighting branch of the organisation – not the murderous Allgemeine squads to which they had, in fact, all belonged. That would take care of them, but the story might still get out somehow so it was essential to move Hans away as soon as possible. William would work on getting a quick release back to Germany while Hans would keep his head down and hope no one outside the little SS circle would hear the story.
Hans still could not keep his mind off Angela. He was more convinced now that in spite of everything she loved him and he became more and more determined that somehow she would be his. He poured out his feelings in a letter to his father, Albricht. This was the girl he would somehow win and marry. His love was too strong, too complete, to be denied. He posted the letter, confident that it would reach its destination in Switzerland.
The following weekend William wanted to get on the water again. The weather forecast was good and the Columba would be ready for him, although Freddy Seal had left word that he would be at a family funeral so he could not go sailing. The visitors had all left Stonebeck House and Angela had gone home with her parents, but Mrs Wellibond would be there looking after things and William saw no reason for not asking his cousin, useful in the boat in spite of having only one arm, to come with him. Also the less time Hans spent in the camp just now the better.
They had a fair breeze to take them out of the river, but once they got past the lighthouse, they found the wind much fresher than had been expected. The sky darkened and began to look menacing; the wind veered round to the north and blew cold and in savage gusts. The old boat was clearly over canvassed so William took in two reefs in the mainsail and changed to the smallest jib. The waves grew bigger and spray made it increasingly difficult to see, but, like the hero she was, Columba shouldered them aside and forged ahead. This was what she had been built for. This was her element. Hans, at the tiller while William worked on the deck, felt a strange sense of power as he drove her to windward into the rising gale. He remembered snatches of song, learnt in the old days before the war and, for the first time since that terrible day in Enna, began to sing lustily at the top of his voice.