by Larry Loftis
Odette’s cellmate in Fresnes, Simone Hérail, would remember Odette long after their confinement. “Foreseeing that she would be sent to Germany,” Simone wrote after the war, “she regretted only one thing: that she would not be able to go on serving freely what she called her two countries—Great Britain and France. Convinced that she would certainly be shot, she said that she had for a long time accepted the sacrifice of her life which she had wished to dedicate without reservation to the service of her country. An example of this order is unforgettable.”
* * *
DECEMBER CAME AND IT was time for Odette to testify at the Ravensbrück war crimes trial in Hamburg. Fritz Sühren had been recaptured, they said, and Odette was a key witness for the prosecution. She made the trip to Germany to relive her nightmare one more time. On the eve of the trial, however, there was a slight catch: Commandant Sühren had escaped.
Again.
The official record is that he escaped under “mysterious” circumstances, but Peter Churchill saw no mystery: Sühren’s guards were German.
The trial would go on, in any case, for Ravensbrück staff, officers, and medical personnel. When her turn on the stand came on December 16, 1946, Odette shocked the Allied military judges with her testimony. She had heard the screams of women being dragged to the crematorium, she told them. Doors were opened and closed, she heard more screams, and then silence.
Could Odette swear that the women were burned alive? Judge Advocate General C. L. Stirling asked. Odette said she could not. Only that she heard the screams as they were taken in, followed by silence. Others testified of similar atrocities.
With overwhelming evidence, the military tribunal convicted sixteen defendants of war crimes and crimes against humanity and all were sentenced to death.
Commandant Sühren, though, was still at large.
His time would come.
* * *
HUGO BLEICHER, MEANWHILE, WAS actively doing his time. The interrogations seemed to go on forever until every aspect of his war career had been plumbed. He had been scrutinized for misappropriation of property, lack of humanity, and countless other misdeeds. Through it all he went, though, unscathed.
The penetrating question—in regard to Bleicher and every other intelligence and counterintelligence agent of the war—was where to draw the line in zealous performance of duty. Hugo had lied so convincingly that Marsac and Roger Bardet readily handed over the citadel keys. He had then used the Frenchmen to trap Odette and Peter.
Maurice Buckmaster, for one, thought Hugo had crossed the line. “Bleicher’s methods were insidious,” he wrote after the war. “He subverted tough and loyal men, who would have withstood torture, by pretending that he was anti-Nazi and hated the thought of handing them over to the Gestapo; in this manner he managed to break them down with a sly and malevolent kindness, so bringing them to implicate their companions and introduce him, as a friend, to Resistance circles.”
But Hugo’s methods were less than novel; deceit has been an integral part of spycraft throughout history. And had not Odette and Peter and every other SOE agent used the lesser arts to accomplish their tasks, these saboteurs masquerading in mufti? That far, both sides could agree: there was an unwritten standard of acceptable skullduggery.
Perhaps the bottom line in determining whether Bleicher had gone too far was his conduct with captives: Had he mistreated prisoners? To his credit, Hugo could honestly say, no. Yes, he knew the Gestapo would, but that wasn’t on his mantle. His job was to find and arrest spies, imprison them, and then entertain them with Viennese waltzes.
That was his story, at least, and he stuck to it with great success.
“It was generally conceded that I had done no more than my duty,” Hugo wrote after the war, “and that my behavior had been humane.” His wasn’t the zeal of the Nazi convert, but the strident loyalty of a German soldier. “One after another,” he pointed out, “the homes where I had been billeted during my service in France were painstakingly visited by the Sûreté, who ascertained that I had not been guilty of looting or depredations.”
In what Hugo saw as proof of his professionalism, the Deuxième Bureau had delivered to him upon his release—neatly packed in a cardboard box—a suit and raincoat he had left behind in one of his apartments. The British, for their part, were wholly impressed by Hugo’s work, and concluded that he had acted responsibly.
Ian Wilson, MI5’s case officer for double agent Dusko Popov, Britain’s top spy, had nothing but respect for his counterpart. “Bleicher has had an exceptionally successful career in penetration work in Paris and the North of France,” he wrote in a 16 June 1945 report for Lieutenant Colonel Robin Stephens, Camp 020’s supervisor. “Bleicher is believed to be an expert at his work,” Ian concluded, “and a relatively humane man—he had no love for the Nazis.”
And SOE’s reports on Bleicher were no less complimentary. Among F Section agents interrogated by him, Hugo had a reputation as being “extremely nice and polite.”
Even Buckmaster, who had a vested personal interest in tangling with this cunning character, had to admit that in the battle of wits, Hugo had his about him. “There is no doubt,” Maurice concluded, “that he was a subtle and, on the whole, chivalrous opponent.”
At the end of the espionage intrigue, the deft spy-catcher had once again proven his mastery of the game.
* * *
AFTER THE HAMBURG TRIALS Odette returned to London, the horrors and memories of Ravensbrück behind her. Physical scars remained, but her mind was at peace; she was alive, she was free, and she was happy. It was high time to knit and play with her girls and chase butterflies on the hills of Somerset.
And there was the other thing.
Two months later, on February 15, 1947, the SPINDLE spies completed the final loop. In a private ceremony at Kensington Registry, “Mr. and Mrs. Churchill” made it formal.
Peter and Odette were married.
Peter and Odette Churchill moments after tying the knot.
EPILOGUE
Fascinated by the Churchill name and her marriage to Peter, the press asked Odette often about how the famous name played a role in her survival.
“There is no other reason why I should have survived,” she said in one interview, “because I was condemned to death, and, after all, I am the only one of all the girls who did the same job who was really condemned to death and they haven’t come back; I came back. Furthermore, they had every right, if you like, to carry out the sentence. They should have done it.”
Winston Churchill would later hear that his name had helped save the lives of Peter and Odette and he played along, never correcting the fictitious relation. Odette met him during a postwar ceremony and thanked him for protecting the secret.
“Madam,” the prime minister said, “this is indeed an honor.”
Trude, the Fresnes guard who took a particular liking to Odette, remained impressed with the Churchill name long after last seeing Odette and Peter. While serving a short prison sentence following the war, she sent Odette a letter. She had been a governess before the war, she explained, and asked if she could work for Odette in England as the governess of her children. Peter and Odette declined the offer but the gesture was touching. When Trude was released, she completed a journey of her own: she married the Fresnes guard captain who had given Odette the lily of the valley bouquet.
* * *
THE WORST PART OF her captivity, Odette would later share, was the separation from her children. “What happened to me in the field,” she said in one interview, “didn’t matter in a way, because I left England with a broken heart, so nothing after that could break it ever again. So the rest was physical. That [separation from her children] was the only thing that demanded courage, and I would never do it again.”
Would she do it again if she had no children? “No, never,” Odette said. “Because it is a game. I think it is not possible for that game to ever be completely a clean game. And I would not be involved in such a g
ame ever again.”
Notwithstanding her mistreatment and suffering, however, Odette harbored no bitterness toward the Germans. “They were in their situation,” she told one interviewer, “I was in mine. I was their prisoner and they were the masters of the situation. If you accept to do that kind of job, call yourself an agent or something, you accept what goes with it. It’s no good because you are caught to think ‘they are wrong and you are right.’
“There was nothing to be bitter about,” she added. “It is a duty one has to people who did the right thing, to one’s comrades, to all the good and brave people. You have to remember them. There is no point in being bitter and wanting to create the same kind of feelings of hatred. It’s pointless and harmful. And so I have been so terribly fortunate. I’ve got my wonderful family, I’m a very happy woman. People are most kind and generous to me, very much more than I deserve. It is extraordinary, and I’m touched every day by the generosity of people. And it has been fantastic. I’m only sad, extremely sad and always will be for the rest of my life, that my comrades did not come back.”
When asked if the torture she suffered left her frightened of humans, she answered, “No. Why? Nothing has changed. There were always bad people. I’ve seen a lot of bad people, but because of those evil ones, I’ve seen the most noble people. So this is what I wish to remember of it. I consider that it has been an extraordinary experience.”
The SPINDLE story was not quite finished, however. In September 1946 Hugo Bleicher was released by French authorities and returned to his hometown of Tettnang, where he opened a tobacco shop. In 1949 Louis le Belge and Roger Bardet, the snake who had shed his skin one too many times, were convicted of treason and sentenced to death. Their executions were stayed, though, and after serving a few years in prison, they were inexplicably released.
That same year saw the publication of Odette: The Story of a British Agent, an authorized biography of Odette’s wartime activities by Jerrard Tickell, a former member of the Royal Army Service Corps and the War Office. While the book was a smashing success, some alleged that much of the story was fictitious. Neither the author nor Odette could counter the charges with proof, however, since all of the SOE files were classified under the Official Secrets Act. For now the story would have to be defended by Odette’s George Cross.
Also in 1949, the slippery rat of Ravensbrück, Commandant Fritz Sühren, was located. After his escape from Neuengamme, the concentration camp where he had been interned while awaiting trial, Sühren had gone to ground, burrowing his way to the tiny village of Eppenschlag, some ten miles west of the Czech border. He took a job at a brewery under the alias Herbert Pakusch and laid low for months. He had been seen in Hamburg in November 1946, witnesses said, and again in February and September 1948, but eluded capture. The following month, a former Ravensbrück secretary saw him in Eppenschlag and notified authorities.
Fritz Sühren captured at last. CORRIERE DELLA SERA
They were not fast enough.
Sensing danger, Sühren disappeared and not until 24 March 1949 was he recaptured by American troops in Deggendorf, a neighboring village on the banks of the Danube. That July he was turned over to the French to finally face the music.
* * *
ON MARCH 10, 1950, Fritz Sühren was tried for war crimes and crimes against humanity by a military court in Rastatt, Germany. He was convicted and sentenced to death. On June 12, at Sandweier, Baden-Baden, Sühren was hanged.
Perhaps most poignant of the postwar events, however, was the final news about Father Paul Steinert. Immediately after the war, Odette and Peter sought to get in touch with him but were told by three sources that he had died on the Eastern Front. It was crushing news, but Father Paul had expected it. The Gestapo were unhappy with the comfort he brought to enemy prisoners, and the Eastern Front was an honorable death.
Deeply saddened, Peter and Odette held a mass in his honor in London.
Three years later, while Odette and Peter were away on vacation, a stranger stopped by their London home. Odette’s mother, who was staying in the house at the time, invited him in. He was tall and clearly German.
“Madame,” he said, “I have no right to enter this home. My visit is a pilgrimage.” He was Father Paul’s cousin, he said, and he had brought a parcel on Father Paul’s behalf for Captain Churchill.
Odette’s mother began to weep. Father Paul was alive?
Indeed he was, the cousin said, and quite busy. He was shepherding a large parish in Karlstadt, Germany.
“In bringing Paul Steinert’s sad greetings to Captain Churchill,” he went on, “I beg to salute the mother of such a daughter.”
Father Paul and the cousin were certain that Odette had perished at Ravensbrück.
Odette’s mother explained that no, Odette had survived; she and Peter were away on vacation. Now it was the cousin’s turn to be swept with emotion.
A German priest and a French-British spy, both lost, had been found.
When Odette and Peter returned from vacation they opened the parcel. In it were the two rag dolls Odette had made for Father Paul’s niece and nephew while imprisoned at Fresnes in 1943.
He had saved them for Odette’s children.
Odette with the rag dolls she had made for Father Paul’s niece and nephew in 1943. ALAMY
* * *
IN 1950 ODETTE’S STORY was released to great fanfare in the British film Odette. Anna Neagle played the role of Odette, with Trevor Howard as Peter, Peter Ustinov as Arnaud, Marius Goring as Hugo Bleicher, and Maurice Buckmaster as himself. None other than the king and queen of England attended the world premiere at the Plaza Theatre in London’s Piccadilly Circus.
To prepare for the role, Anna Neagle asked Odette to take her to the various sites and walk her through what had happened. Neagle absorbed the information, reliving the events before she portrayed them.
Odette ends with this title card:
It is with a sense of deep humility that I allow my personal story to be told. I am a very ordinary woman to whom a chance was given to see human beings at their best and at their worst. I knew kindness as well as cruelty, understanding as well as brutality. My comrades, who did far more than I and suffered far more profoundly, are not here to speak. It is to their memory that this film has been made and I would like it to be a window through which may be seen those very gallant women with whom I had the honour to serve.
Odette Churchill
The film was a box office hit, Britain’s fourth most popular of the year. Afterward, Neagle remained emotional, almost damaged by the story. “It took her one year after the end of that film to get back to normal,” Odette said later. “She was more upset by doing that film than I was by living the experience. It really did things to her.”
Three years later, in 1953, Peter and Odette decided to return to France and revisit some of the old sites, including Cannes and Arles. It was a bittersweet reunion. It was here they had met, had fallen in love, had shivered together on barren airfields, and had tested their mettle against Germany’s best. And it was here that their love, their ruse of being married and being related to Winston Churchill, had saved them.
But the towns also reminded them of their running mate, Arnaud, for whom they would have given their lives. Arnaud had returned to Cannes to warn Cammaerts after their arrest, they had heard—saving him—but was later arrested just before D-Day. Since Arnaud was Jewish, they sent him to the Rawicz extermination camp in Poland, where he was gassed.
* * *
TOO OFTEN ALL GOOD things come to an end, and in 1956 the SPINDLE team unwound: Peter and Odette divorced, and she married Geoffrey Hallowes later that year. The record doesn’t reflect how a marriage forged in such fiery conditions could cool, but after nine years, it did. One source suggested that Peter filed for divorce on the grounds of Odette’s adultery with Hallowes, and that is possible; Odette had been married to Roy Sansom when she met Peter, after all. But for the rest of his life, Peter always spoke highly of
her, particularly when the issue of Odette’s bravery arose.
Peter’s life after the divorce is a story in itself. He moved back to where he and Odette had started SPINDLE—Antibes, France. The choice is intriguing, since so many places, landmarks, and cafes would bring up memories of her and their time together. Add to that the fact that Peter never remarried.
He died in 1972 at the age of sixty-three. For a man who was a prominent athlete and always fit, the early death is odd. It seems apparent that Peter still loved Odette, and one can only wonder if he died of a broken heart.
* * *
ODETTE DIED IN 1995 at the age of eighty-two. On February 23, 2012, almost seventy years after she joined the SOE, the Royal Mail released a stamp in her honor as part of its Britons of Distinction series.
Odette’s stamp in the Britons of Distinction series. ROYAL MAIL
Of Maurice Buckmaster’s 424 F Section agents operating in France, Odette was one of three56 awarded the George Cross, and the only one to receive it in her lifetime. She was the most highly decorated spy (and woman) of World War II.57
Her grandfather would have been proud.
* * *
56. Violette Szabo and Noor Inayat Khan received the George Cross posthumously (December 17, 1946, and April 5, 1949, respectively).
57. Odette was awarded the George Cross, the Order of the British Empire (M.B.E.), the Chevalier de la Légion d’honneur, the 1939–1945 Star, the France and Germany Star, the War Medal 1939–1945, the Queen Elizabeth II Coronation Medal, and the Queen Elizabeth II Silver Jubilee Medal.
APPENDIX
