by Nigel Jones
Just as dusk was falling we reached a large town and one of the guards told us it was Regensburg, and that if he could not get us in somewhere here, he really did not know what he should do. We drove about for quite a time, stopping every now and again before some big building, and at last were told to get out, and when we did so saw that we were at the entrance of the ‘Landes Gefängnis’ (state prison). As we started to go up the flight of steps which led to the door two or three men in uniform, warders apparently, started to order us about very roughly until one of our own men explained that we were very important people and must be treated with consideration and courtesy. “Oh! Some more aristocrats,” said one of the warders, “Well, put them with the other lot on the second floor.”
View from Hotel.
Prags Wildbad Hotel near Niederdorf in the Puster Tal, South Tirol.
the Hotel.
Dr. and Mrs. Hjalmar Schacht.
Prince Friedrich Leopold of Prussia.
Colonel Bogislav von Bonin. G.S.O.1 (Operations) with Rommel in Africa and later Operations Chief under Guderian at Hitler’s General Headquarters (O.K.H.).
We climbed up some steep iron stairs, each carrying as much luggage as he could, either his own or that of someone else if he had none. When we reached our floor a very decent elderly warder received us and said that the place was so full that we should have to sleep five men to a cell, and then let us make our own arrangements how we divided up. I shared a cell with Falconer, von Falkenhausen, Kokorin, and von Petersdorif; the two ladies were given a cell to themselves, and Heberlein went with Pünder and three others. We were given three straw mattresses to sleep on which just fitted the width of the cell, and on these we managed to pass the night. At first to our suggestion that we wanted food the warders said, “Impossible,” and that “the kitchens were closed,” but after a lot of argument and loud protests on the part of the members of our party, all joining in a chorus of “We want food” which soon was taken up from all cells on the floor, we were each brought a large bowl of quite passable vegetable soup, a hunk of bread, and a cup of ‘coffee’.
Next morning our cell door was opened and a warder told us that we could go out and wash, and when we did so we found the whole long corridor crowded with a mass of people, men, women and children. These were the so-called ‘family prisoners’ (Sippenhäftlinge), the relations of people executed for complicity in the 20th July plot, such as all the surviving members of the von Stauffenberg, Goerdeler, and other families, and the relatives of German officers who, as prisoners of war in Russia, had associated themselves with the ‘Free German Movement’ there. Falkenhausen and Petersdorff seemed to know everybody, and soon I was being introduced right and left, and the atmosphere became more that of a big reception than a morning in a criminal prison. I met Fritz Thyssen and his wife, Goerdeler’s widow and son, Mrs. Haider, and many others whose names I have forgotten. One very pretty girl whom I took to be about sixteen years of age, turned out to be the daughter of Ulrich von Hassell, who had been executed after the July plot, and the granddaughter of Admiral von Tirpitz, whose name will be familiar from the First World War. She was the wife of an Italian, Pirzio Biroli, who was an anti-Fascist, and she had been arrested when visiting her mother in Germany. Her two small boys, aged four and two, had been taken from her, and she was distracted with the fear that she might never find them again.
I have described so many people that it is only fair that I should now allow someone else to describe me. Miss Isa Vermehren, in her clever and witty book, A Journey Through the Last Act, writing about the reunion of her own party with ours writes:
“As particularly noticeable Mr. Best must be mentioned, the Secret Service man who was ‘stolen’ from Holland in 1940; really, a model for the figure of the well-known international caricature of the Englishman. Very tall, very gaunt, and even stooping a little through emaciation, with hollow leathery cheeks, prominent teeth, a monocle, flannel trousers, a check jacket, and—a cigarette. Always showing his big false horse’s teeth in an obliging smile and displaying that trustworthy discretion which engenders deepest confidence.”
Including her comments on my teeth, I accept, and indeed am flattered by her word picture, especially since the teeth were not my own but a construction of the Sachsenhausen dentist, who possibly had used his art to make my appearance better conform to his idea of an Englishman.
It began to look as though we had come to a common decision not to return to our cells or to be locked in any more, and the warders, having been told to treat us politely, simply did not know what to do with us. I heard one old warder say to another: “You try if you can get them in; they don’t seem to know that they must obey orders.” Every now and again one of the warders would shout: “Everybody go to his cell,” but the only result was laughter and loud cheers. Then one of them had a bright idea and food was taken into the cells and in. time most of us were locked up again, but then the alert sounded and we were all marched down to a shelter in the basement where the fun started again.
From the window of the lavatory I had been able to look out over the railway marshalling yard, which was next to the prison, and really I have never seen such a mess in my life. Engines and coaches lying on their backs with their legs in the air, burnt-out coaches in long rows, and railway lines sticking up in great loops like pieces of wire.
After we got back to our floor again no further attempt was made to lock us in and, as most of us were pretty tired everything soon became comparatively quiet. At five o’clock one of our old guards from Buchenwald came to tell us that we must be moving off again, and when we got down we found our old friend ‘Grüne Minna’ waiting for us and in we went, this time feeling quite cheerful after this day with friends. We started off but had hardly got out of the town when our van gave a lurch and came to a stand-still; the steering had given out. Falconer, as an engineer, was called upon for an expert opinion, and since he decided that there was no way of repairing it there, our guards asked a passing cyclist to report our predicament to the Regensburg police and tell them to send a relief van.
It was a raw cold night and soon it started to rain, and as the night wore on it rained harder and harder. We had neither food, drink, nor tobacco; no relief car came and there was nothing to be done but to sit and go on sitting. Our guards were lonely, miserable, and frightened, for we were on an open stretch of road on which lay the skeletons of many burnt-out cars, and a field between where we stood and the railway was thickly pitted with bomb craters. They were quite tame now and behaved as though they were our comrades in distress; at dawn they opened the door and let us all out and we wandered about on the road trying to get back some circulation into our cramped legs. The road seemed to be quite dead and for hours no one passed us; at last a motor cyclist came along and one of our guards requisitioned his machine and rode on it back to Regensburg. When he returned he told us that another van had been sent to us the previous evening but the driver had stopped about 200 yards short of where we were and had gone back to say that he had failed to find us.
At last, at about eleven o’clock, a magnificent bus rolled up, all big plate glass windows and soft upholstered seats. We transferred our belongings, got in and soon started off again. Our nice friendly guards stayed with their broken down van and instead of them we now had with us some ten or so S.D. men armed with tommy guns which they carried at the ready. It was a delightful drive though, through lovely rolling country past quiet farmhouses and fields with every now and again a stretch of dark pines. We came to the Danube at Straubing, but the bridge had been bombed and was impassable, so we turned and continued to follow the river passing several other bridges all of which had been destroyed. Eventually we were able to cross by a pontoon bridge, and then drove along narrow winding lanes through country which became increasingly hilly and wooded. Some village girls asked for a lift, and of course when they got in and saw us they were curious to know who we were, so our guards told them that we were members of a film
company on our way to make a propaganda film. The country seemed to be strong on poultry, and so many hens wanted to cross the road that our driver had quite a job dodging them, though we rather hoped that one might meet with an accident—we would all have enjoyed some nice roast fowl. I suggested to one of our guards that perhaps we might stop and see if we could beg some eggs at one of the farms, and the idea received immediate approval, but when the guard returned with a capful of eggs we got none and were left to tighten our belts and hope that we were approaching our next meal.
In the early afternoon we came to a pretty little village called Schoneberg, in the Bavarian Forest, which turned out to be our destination. We were driven to a largish white building, the village school, and were ushered into a big room on the first floor which seemed full of beds and looked rather like a hospital ward. It was a bright, cheerful room, with windows on three sides, which looked out over a delightful mountain landscape; the beds were covered with bright-coloured overlays and enormous feather beds. The door was locked and we were left to sort ourselves out; ten men and two women with a bed for each and one long table. In spite of fatigue and hunger we were all in the highest spirits, nervous, excited, and almost hysterical in our laughter. After the many hours we had spent cramped up in stuffy vans it was a godsend to be able to move about freely in a large, bright, airy room where, moreover, we felt ourselves for the first time for many months out of sight and hearing of our enemies. We each of us chose a bed and our names, with humorous comments devised by little Rascher, were written above them. The Heberlein’s took one end of the room and for greater security placed the bed destined for ‘Heidi’ between their own. I have not yet introduced this young lady, for having little that is good to say about her I have so far tried to ignore her presence, although she was always one of our great problems.
She was a short, fair, thickset girl in her early twenties who, but for her stature, might have posed as a model for a youthful Germania. According to her own account she had worked for some Allied Intelligence Service, and had been imprisoned at Ravensbruck where she had been tortured by having two of her teeth extracted in slow motion. Later, she had become a boarder at the Sachsenhausen camp brothel, as an SS officer who was ‘nice’ to her had got her freed from Ravensbruck, and at Sachsenhausen the brothel was the only place where a woman could be lodged—I repeat, she only boarded there, though she seemed to have picked up much of the language and manners of her hostesses. She firmly believed that she was very beautiful and that she was desired by all men; being a good-natured girl she felt it her duty to bring joy to them, and her readiness was so great that restraint was both necessary and difficult. Her only real success, as far as I know, was with our little Russian; Wassilli became deeply enamoured, and when for a time he was separated from her sank to the lowest depths of suicidal depression. If she met with only indifferent appreciation, from the other men in our party she was cordially disliked by all our women folk, and only kind-hearted Mrs. Heberlein took trouble to befriend her and shield her from trouble. Miss Isa Vermehren, in her book from which I quoted before, describes her as:
“An indefinable and most unpleasant young lady of whom no one could discover what was her real name, nationality, or language—she was put down as a spy and the only doubt was whether she had only spied for the Gestapo or whether she had been clever enough to ply her noble profession in the interests of two sides at the same time.”
When we had settled our sleeping arrangements and unpacked our belongings we became increasingly aware that it was a long time since we had eaten and that we were feeling absolutely famished. We thumped on the door, which after a time was opened, and a guard asked what all the noise was about. When we explained that it was getting past our usual supper time he scratched his head, and after some moments of deep thought, decided that the problem was too much for him and said that he would have to ask the officer. When this man came, a hard-bitten thug named Bader, he told us that much as he regretted it, no arrangements had or could be made for feeding us. This village of 700 inhabitants already housed 1,300 refugees, and when the mayor heard that another 150 political prisoners had been wished on him he definitely refused to allow any of his scanty reserve of food to be given to them; the Gestapo had brought them and the Gestapo must feed them. In this way we learned that, in addition to our party, all the people whom we had met at Regensburg were also here; indeed, a room next to ours was packed with men, women, and children, as I saw when I opened the door by accident. Bader, who really did his best to show himself from his better side, explained that he was quite helpless as he had no more fuel for his transport, there was no telephone, and indeed, until someone thought of our quandary and took steps to send us food, he was afraid that we should have to do without. So, that was that.
Mrs. Heberlein then managed to leave the room on the usual plea, and was clever enough to find an elderly woman who seemed to be the housekeeper and told her of our sad plight. This woman was a real brick and at once said of course we must have food, and she would do what she could, though unfortunately there was very little in the village as the refugees had eaten the natives out of house and home. Half an hour later she brought us a couple of big basins of potatoes boiled in their jackets and some jugs of coffee—even when we had eaten every scrap and licked our fingers too we were still pretty hungry, but we had got used to this at Buchenwald and did not allow it to damp our spirits. Next we looked forward to going to bed and a real good sleep on those beautiful soft feather beds.
The ladies retired behind a big screen which Mrs. Heberlein had induced the housekeeper to lend, whilst we men disrobed in the open as discreetly as we could. Of course ‘Heidi’ very clumsily knocked over the screen just as Mrs. Heberlein’s clothing had reached an abbreviated stage and her own had practically ceased, whilst General von Falkenhausen evened up for our sex by modestly covering his nudity with a kimono, carefully keeping his back turned to the ladies, unconscious of the fact that his only garment was ripped open from top to bottom. In the end though we all got to bed, the light was turned out, and there were sincerely meant cries of good night all round. My bed was so soft that I seemed to float on air and very soon I was fast asleep; really, the first sound sleep for almost a week.
Suddenly we were all awakened by a noise like the firing of a machine-gun. Someone jumped out of bed and switched on the light, and we discovered Dr. Hoeppner sitting on the floor amidst the wreckage of his bed. Of course there was loud laughter, for at the best of times there was something absurd about little Hoeppner, but just then there was a repetition of the noise and this time it was my bed that collapsed…. It seems that when accommodation had to be found for us there was a shortage of the planks used in Germany to support the mattress on the bedframe, and someone had had the bright idea of using Venetian blind slats instead. These were nice and springy but so pliable that with any sudden movement first one and then the rest would slip depositing sleeper and mattress on the floor; there were many such mishaps before we acquired the art of turning so gently that our supports were not disturbed.
Next morning, no breakfast. I still had some dried peppermint, and with some hot water which the kindly housekeeper gave us we made something warm to drink, and Rascher produced some bread which he had saved from his scanty ration at Buchenwald, which I had more than once noticed in his cell there hanging drying from a sort of clothes line. It was a poor meal but decidedly better than nothing. To wash, we were let out one by one. There was only one small basin on the landing outside our door and although there was running water there was no plug so our ablutions were very much catch as catch can. The sanitary arrangements seemed to have been constructed on the remains of a medieval oubliette, and both dexterity and caution were needed. My electric razor was the great success of the morning for there was a switch plug in the room and even if we could not wash properly much of the dirt could be removed with our beards. All ten men formed into a queue on which, with the excuse of showing how it was do
ne, I secured the front place.
Mrs. Heberlein had, of course, taken over all domestic arrangements, and soon she had impressed an unwilling ‘Heidi’ and both got busy on make and mend, and some highly necessary laundry work. A number of the men started taking exercise by marching round and round the table while Falconer and I settled down on our beds, which were next each other, for a good talk. Falconer had been captured in Tunisia where he had been landed with a radio set from a motor-boat. By some miracle he had not been shot, possibly because he had been taken behind the Italian and not the German front. He had been taken to Sachsenhausen where he had throughout been in solitary confinement, without news from home and without himself being allowed to communicate with his family; he had spent some three years like this, and it was wonderful how he had kept up his spirits without showing the slightest sign of the privations through which he had passed. He, at all events, could tell me something about the first two years of the war before he was captured, whilst I could repeat some of the items of news which I had heard from the B.B.C. broadcasts. Rascher joined us and as he too had much of interest to tell the morning passed very quickly for us.
We could not help noticing that General von Rabenau’s trousers —he was one of the marchers—seemed to show a great inclination to leave him. Before his imprisonment he had weighed, he told me, fifteen stone, and now only ten stone. A thin piece of string round the top of trousers, which had fitted his former girth, formed a most insecure suspension and, if it slipped, the worst could be expected. Besides this, his trousers did not seem to boast a single button, and through his almost mechanical movement of hitching them up under the string the adjustment of his dress became increasingly disordered so, to avoid any further unnecessary exposure I presented him with one of my spare trousers, insisting that he should put them on at once. An hour or so later he was still marching steadily round the table, and I noticed that force of habit had led him to neglect certain important buttons. As he passed us, we all made signals and when none of these was of avail, somebody stopped him, pointed, and said, “Buttons.” Highly indignant, the general retorted: “I have never done up buttons for myself in my life. I always leave that to my wife.”