The Venlo Incident

by Nigel Jones

  Although we had not been in any danger since we arrived at the hotel, it was nevertheless a very great relief to have the Americans with us, and for me particularly, it meant the ending of a responsibility which, in my poor state of health, was almost more than I could cope with. I am a very temperate man; often months pass without my touching alcohol, but since our arrival at Prags I had almost been, living on General von Vietinghof’s brandy, drinking the best part of a bottle a day. It was the only way in which I could keep going, and apart from giving me the energy I required, the unaccustomed drink seemed to have no effect on me at all. Now that I have had experience of the métier I look with new respect on hotel and restaurant staff, for I know how difficult it must be to meet all the exigent demands of customers with never failing urbanity. Although I liked most members of our party, and sympathized with all, I often found it most difficult to avoid giving very sharp replies to some of the absurd inquiries and requests which they showered on me.

  The American Army did us proud. It is simply astounding what trouble they took to promote our comfort and security, and what nice fellows they were too. There was a spontaneous, almost childlike kindliness shown to us by all of them; something which showed their interest in us, and in the events which had led to their arrival, of which no sophisticated European would have been capable—they thought everything wonderful, said so, and obviously enjoyed being with us. They seemed to be entirely devoid of national hatred, and their behaviour towards the Germans in our party was just as friendly as to all others; perhaps even more friendly, for our pretty girls were all German. There seemed to be amongst them men of all nationalities, men who spoke German, French, and even Russian, and yet, all bore the stamp of being citizens of the U.S.A. and showed that they were proud of it. Almost as soon as they arrived a net was put up and games of hand-ball were in progress in which everyone was free to take part. Others discovered rowing boats and made up parties on the lake. In association with the prisoners there was no distinction between officers and men.

  Of course with the arrival of the Americans the excitement amongst the prisoners mounted to fever heat, and I could not move a step without being buttonholed by some agitated person who wanted to know whether letters and telegrams could be sent or, if Germans, whether they could go home—for all, it was liberation, and I do not think that it entered the head of anyone that for many it was to be the threshold to a new and arduous long imprisonment.

  Checking up on the prisoners we found that in addition to Wassilli, several others were missing: a Russian general, Heidi, and her latest friend, Captain van Wymeersch. The last named was soon found, as he had gone for a joy ride in a derelict German car, had turned it over, broken his leg, and been taken to hospital. When Captain Attwell heard of this, he put a guard on the road to the village and gave orders that no one might leave the grounds of the hotel. There was a good deal of murmuring about this, as it made everybody feel that something of new-won freedom had been lost, but personally, I wished that I had had power to exercise similar authority long before, and thus could have prevented Wassilli from running away.

  On the next day a convoy arrived bringing supplies of all kinds—the finest that the American Army had in the way of rations and comforts. With it came two American colonels named Peebles and English, also Captain Warren Chester Cobb from Battalion H.Q. I discussed the question of supplies with these officers, and asked them whether it would be possible to provide clothing for some of the prisoners who had not even a change of linen. Of the course of that day, the entry in my diary reads: “A lot of trouble with many people.” My memory is of having people who wanted to know something which I could not tell them, tagging about after me wherever I went. Apart from this, these days were very pleasant. I had my meals with the American officers, and spent much time with them, though in the evenings I was generally with my old friends the Schuschniggs, Falkenhausen, and others from Dachau. In the evening we were suddenly inundated by a mob of press and news-reel photographers; I have never before experienced such an excitement and such a rush. For a while every corner of the hotel was illuminated by flashlight bulbs; every instant I would be blinded by someone popping one off in my face and then, in a moment, all were gone, having satisfied their ambition to photograph Niemöller, Blum and Schuschnigg.

  On the 6th May Brigadier-General Gerow and his adjutant, Lieutenant Buckridge, arrived, and after some discussion with them an announcement was made regarding our evacuation. General Gerow said, that although he did not want to hurry anyone or cause them any inconvenience which could be avoided, he would have to move us out as soon as practicable and moreover, everyone would have to be taken south as all communications with the north were broken. He would not be able to move us all in one party, but hoped to be able to do so in two, and he asked that we should try to arrange amongst ourselves who should go with the first and who with the second party. He spoke very nicely and showed great consideration for all. His speech was then translated by Russian and Greek-speaking soldiers, whilst I followed in German and French. I had already promised my fellow prisoners that I would stay with them to the last, and when I told General Gerow this he was very pleased. I had suggested to him that it would probably be best to evacuate first all prisoners of allied nationality, and also one or two others such as Niemoller and the Hungarians, and this was agreed upon, the date of departure being fixed for the 8th.

  Next morning a doctor and a dentist arrived and I had a busy morning arranging appointments for various people who wanted attention and acting as interpreter, and in the evening some dozen press correspondents came and interviewed our celebrities, when again I had to do the translating. One way or another I never seemed to have a moment free, and during our entire stay the only time when I left the hotel was on the evening when I went down to the village in search of Wassilli. We were all up bright and early on the 8th as General Gerow wanted to get the convoy started at nine o’clock, and there were in all eighty-five people to move. McGrath had volunteered to make the arrangements for getting the passengers assembled, but having failed to get a list of the available transport so that he could allocate people to certain cars, the whole thing was a bit of a muddle and the convoy was nearly two hours in starting. When it did, it was quite an impressive sight with armoured cars in the van and the rear and a flight of fighter planes overhead.

  General Gerow was anxious to get everybody evacuated as soon as possible, and we therefore arranged that the second batch should leave on the 10th. Several people seemed sorry to be leaving, but in the end all agreed to the plan. I arranged that all cars should bear numbers, and let the individual members of our party arrange their own groups of three or four for the journey, allotting a car to each. I was up at six seeing to the luggage, and on the stroke of nine I was able to report to the general that everyone was aboard and that he could give the sign for our departure.

  The journey was a long and tiring one; twelve hours in a staff car reminded me of past journeys by prison van. The roads over which we had to pass were in an appalling condition, and for long stretches practically non-existent. Almost all bridges were a tangled mass of girders, and often the only possible route lay along the river bed of the Piave, but our convoy kept going, and exactly at 9 p.m. we arrived at Verona where we found everything ready for us at a very nice hotel. There was a good dinner followed by a wonderful sleep. Next morning we were taken by car to a flying field and loaded into three planes with Naples as our destination. It was a lovely clear day, and as we flew fairly low we had an excellent view of the country, one of the crew pointing out different landmarks. We passed over Rome and then over Monte Cassino, where the pilot came down so low that the scarred battleground could be clearly seen. We reached Naples at about eleven, where I was immediately taken charge of by a Major McDonagh and Colonel Hicks, who took the greatest trouble to find my gear, searching for it themselves as the planes were unloaded. All the rest of my friends were taken into a sort of customs house, where I was
allowed to visit them to say good-bye; they were sitting in rows on benches, looking rather desolate at the news that I must leave them; indeed, I was sorry to go for we had been, through much together and a warm spirit of friendship had grown up between us.

  McDonagh took me to lunch at the officers’ club and then by car to Caserta, where we were met by Colonel Hicks, who conducted me to a magnificent caravan, all polished walnut and chromium fittings, and complete with every luxury from radio to cocktail bar, which he told me was to be my quarters. Then to dinner with him at the officers’ club in the palace.

  Next morning a batman brought me breakfast in my caravan, and I went to meet Colonel Hicks at the palace, who conducted me to a number of different staff departments where I reported on the prisoners of our party. Everybody was extremely kind to me and much interest was taken in my opinions. Lunch again at the officers’ mess, where I was introduced to a very charming young lady, Senior Commander Olive Grant, A.T.S., who from that moment took charge of me and looked after me as though I were a baby. As a matter of fact, all these lady officers who seemed to run G.H.Q. were something quite new in my experience, and they really scared me to death for fear that unwittingly I might commit some unpardonable solecism when speaking to them. They were all so terribly efficient and businesslike, and yet they were just a lot of pretty and charming girls. I was told by one lady that I was to be sent home by air, and that I had only to say when I wished to leave and she would see that a place was reserved for me on the plane. Then, when I said that I should like to see my prisoner friends once more, so as to be sure that they were comfortable, Olive said at once, of course you can; they are at Capri and we can go there tomorrow, and it was therefore arranged that we would do this, and my return to England was fixed for Tuesday, 15th May.

  On Sunday morning Olive called for me with a car and took me to Naples where she gave me lunch at the officers’ club; rather funny to be taken out like this by a girl, but, of course, I had not a penny and was entirely dependent on charity. After lunch we went down to the port where Olive pulled strings and twisted some senior naval officers round her fingers with the result that we were soon on a launch which took us to Capri. The day was dull and misty, and the view of the Bay of Naples was no more inspiring than that of any other place in the fog; we could not even see Vesuvius—indeed, all that I had seen of Naples was dirty, shabby and war worn. When we reached Capri the sun was shining and the place looked most inviting. There was, however, a hitch in Olive’s arrangements for there was no car for us, and no one seemed to know anything about us or even to want to.

  We hung about on the quay side for nearly two hours when another launch arrived and on it I saw the Schuschnigg family, who told us that they had until then been living on the mainland, but were now going to a villa lent to them by friends on Capri. An American officer in a jeep came to meet them and took them up the hill promising to come back and fetch us in a few minutes. Just then two or three more jeeps came down to the quay and out of them stepped my three generals, von Falkenhausen, Thomas, and Haider; Dr. Schacht, Prince Philip of Hesse, von Petersdorff, and one or two others, and were taken by American military police to the launch which had brought the Schuschniggs. An officer who was in charge allowed me to jump on to the launch and say good-bye; all the men were greatly upset by this sudden separation from the rest of their party, particularly General Haider who was thus once again taken away from his wife after their reunion at Prags.

  Our car, a jeep, arrived, and we drove up a steep and winding road until we stopped before a very pretty white-painted hotel in the village of Anacapri, and going in I found a number of old friends wandering in rather melancholy fashion round a small and overgrown garden. As soon as they saw me they started telling me of their woes. They were not allowed to leave the grounds of the hotel, greatly as they desired to enjoy the beauties of the island, nor had they any money with which to buy wine, and the water was so highly chlorinated as to be well-nigh undrinkable. Otherwise they were highly satisfied with the quarters and the food provided for them. After conversation with several old friends separately I got all the people at the hotel, the entire German contingent from Prags, but for those whom I had seen leaving on the launch, to assemble in the hall of the hotel, and then made an attempt to explain the position to them. For the moment they could not be moved to their homes for all communication with Germany was disrupted; for the same reason it was for the time being impossible for them to write or telegraph to their relatives; I was in the same boat for although I had tried to communicate with my wife, I had so far heard nothing from her, and in fact, had no idea where she was. For everybody the watchword was ‘patience’, and we should now be satisfied with the thought that the war was over and that we had come through alive.

  When I had finished speaking, Mrs. Heberlein started off and said that they should all be thoroughly ashamed of themselves, complaining instead of being grateful—they had only been in Capri for two days, and it was unreasonable to expect that everything would be perfect at once—they should remember how the Gestapo, Germans like themselves, had treated them. Really, after this talk the spirits of all seemed to have risen very considerably, and when I promised that I would speak to the authorities when I got back to the mainland and hoped that they would be given more freedom soon, they all got quite jolly. Only poor Mrs. Haider was very sad; she and her husband were a most devoted couple, and it hit her very hard again to be separated from him so soon after they had been reunited. I did what I could to comfort her, but it seemed that when the men were taken away something was said about their being war criminals, and this made her fear the worst.

  There was an American major in charge of the hotel, or better said, of the internees, and he invited Olive and me to have dinner with him. He then told us that there was another party of ex-prisoners on the island in a hotel a few hundred yards away, so we decided to go there after dinner and see who was there. As we went out of the hotel we met Dr. and Mrs. von Schuschnigg in argument with the military policeman before the door, and very much upset because he would not permit them to enter. I went back to the major who, when I explained that the von Schuschniggs had originally belonged to the party which numbered many friends of theirs, immediately gave permission for them to come to the hotel whenever they liked.

  When we reached the second hotel we found only very few people there; merely a sort of residue consisting of men who could be classified neither as ex-enemies nor allies. The Hungarians were there, also Major Stanek and other Czechoslovaks, and the Swede Edquist; all the other Scandinavians had been treated as British officers and had remained on the mainland. Lacking ladies, this hotel seemed much duller than the other, and the spirits of all the men there were very low. I promised to do what I could for them, but said that probably their stay at Capri would only be short as I was sure that arrangements would be made for them to return to their own countries.

  After a short stroll about Anacapri which was a very lovely place which I should dearly love to revisit, we went back to the hotel and turned in early as we had been told that our launch left at eight o’clock next day, and if we wanted a car down we must be ready at seven. At breakfast I introduced Fey Pirzio-Biroli to the commandant, as she was absolutely distracted about her two little sons, aged two and four. At the time of her arrest they had been taken from her by the Gestapo who told her that they would be sent to a home under assumed names, and she was terribly afraid that being so young they might forget their real names and she would be unable to trace them. Of course the major could not really do anything to help, but it comforted her to talk about her troubles to someone who seemed to be in authority, and as she was an extremely pretty woman she was given a most sympathetic hearing.

  When we got back to Naples, Olive had first to wangle a car from somewhere to take us back to Caserta, and this she did with her customary efficiency. Whilst we were waiting for it she again took me for lunch at the officers’ club, and we discussed what could be
done to help the people at Capri. She took a lively interest in the problem, and after some thought said that she would take me to department G, something which she thought could help. When we got to Caserta we went to the rabbit warren of a palace, and under her sure guidance climbed stairs and traversed long passages until we reached a room guarded by an American woman officer, and after a conversation between the two ladies who both seemed to be named Darling, I was ushered into a Brigadier-General Spofford, or Spoiforth, who was certainly one of the brightest and most understanding people I had yet met. He appreciated the position at once and promised to do what he could to help; he thought though, that it would be better for me to have a talk also with the British Minister, Mr. Macmillan, and immediately rang him up, making an appointment for me at five o’clock. Macmillan was a man of similar calibre to Spofford, and without hesitation promised to arrange that the women and children should be given freedom to go where they liked on the island, and that the priests should be allowed to leave the hotel to attend Mass.

  When we left after this interview and were on the way to the mess, I more or less collapsed, and before I knew where I was Olive had hauled me up to some medical department where an American doctor stuck a thermometer in my mouth, and after looking at it said: “You are going to hospital at once.” I protested that this was impossible as I was flying to England next day, but he would not listen to reason, said that I had a temperature of over 102 and that I would be taken to hospital at once; when you get there you will be in British hands, and they must decide for themselves what to do with you. Olive had a further talk with him, and when we got down to the courtyard there was an ambulance waiting into which we got, and Olive was not satisfied until she had handed me over at No. 2 General Hospital and arranged for me to be kept there; then, off she went again to fetch my luggage from the caravan.