That evening, we found it difficult to focus on writing the second episode of the article. It took much longer than we expected. It was well after midnight before we had an acceptable version that we could send to the paper.
‘Do we change it, if Father Charlie agrees to let us publish the journal?’ I asked. ‘This sort of thing is more in your domain rather than mine.’
‘No, if we can run with it, we’ll know by tomorrow and when we send this in on Monday, we could give him the outline of a third episode and hope he’s interested.’
‘I should think he’ll have our hands off.’
‘Yup, we might make a bit of a killing out of this, but we’d have to share it with Father Charlie or the Church. But that’s not as important as destroying that poisonous bastard Richard Sinclair, because that’s what these revelations will do. To say nothing of saving our own skins’
‘Yeah, but Father Charlie has a point, does the end justify the means?’
We left it at that and called it a night. The next morning I was up early to get a copy of the Sunday paper that was running our article; it was quite a kick to see our names in print as the authors. Of course, it also left us open to further reprisals and I thought belatedly that it might have been wise to have published under a nom de plume. After a quick breakfast we departed for our appointment with Father Charlie.
The day was cooler and overcast as we pulled into Marlow. We pulled on to the rectory drive and got out. Father Charlie must have been looking out for us, because he came to the door even as we walked up the gravelled path.
‘Good morning Father.’ I greeted him. Lisa smiled nervously.
‘Hello, come in.’ He stood back and waved us into the hall. ‘You know where the study is, make yourselves at home, I’ll be there in just a minute.’
The short wait was an agony, any moment now we would find out if all the work we had put in over the past weeks would be for nothing, in which case we’d never learn the end of the story. That would be unbearable after all we had achieved. Father Charlie came into the room and sat behind his desk.
‘I won’t keep you in suspense. I’ve thought very hard about this and I’ve even prayed for guidance, something I haven’t done in a while. The answer is; I still can’t make up my mind.’
Lisa looked bereft and said, ‘But Father, we’ve run out of time, we’ve only got until Tuesday, then we’ll both have to run for cover…’ she tailed off as the priest held up a hand.
‘I hadn’t finished. I was about to say that I couldn’t make my mind up about publication. I have no problem with letting you complete your reading of the journal. I still have not completed it myself. I reached the part where Miller had been recruited into the SS in Occupied France. The one thing that came across to me was that Miller had much to answer for, but he seemed to be truly repentant. I can only hope for the sake of his soul, he confessed to Father Nathan and was absolved. I have to go back to the church to prepare for mass. Will you be alright here, there’s coffee and tea in the kitchen. Help yourselves.’
‘Aren’t you worried that we might just take the journal Father?’ I asked.
‘I’ve always prided myself that I’m a good judge of character and my instinct is I can trust you. I have every confidence.’
‘Thank you Father, we’d never betray your trust. We do appreciate your kindness in letting us finish the journal. We will abide by whatever you decide about any publication.’ I said, while thinking ‘No matter what the consequences.’
‘Right, I’ll be off then; I’ll be back after midday mass. Perhaps you’ll have finished by then and you can tell me the finale to the story.’
He handed Lisa the leather-bound journal and we sat down at the work table to continue our reading.
I had only been in France for a matter of days when war broke out. I was torn between my mother’s people and my father’s. I decided I owed little to Britain and immersed myself in life in Amiens, where I had found work. The blitzkrieg attack in the spring of 1940 left me in an invidious position, a British citizen behind German lines.
Within days of the French surrender on 22nd June I was arrested by the French police and handed over to the German military authorities. For several weeks I was imprisoned in Amiens, but in July I was transferred to an ilag near Paris, we were not informed of where, but I later found it to be at St Denis. Life in the camp was easy, if somewhat tedious, but conditions were reasonably good and rations were supplemented by Red Cross parcels. There was plenty of time for sport and such pastimes, but I felt out of place, it seemed to me that one way or another I would have to choose between my English and German halves. I became increasingly isolated from my fellow inmates and my contempt for their misplaced optimism became manifest. My so-called comrades distrusted me because of my fluent German and ‘unpatriotic’ outlook and I found myself an outcast. In some ways I was, for I could not see how Britain could win the war, it was only a matter of time before the Luftwaffe destroyed the RAF and Britain would fall as the rest of Europe had.
The real change for me came when John Amery came to the camp in late August, trying to raise a unit of British volunteers for the Waffen SS. I had no intention of joining, Amery seemed as misguided as my fellow inmates, but in a different way. I doubted his ability to organise such a unit and doubted his leadership abilities even more. However, his visit sparked in my mind a plan to extricate myself from the camp. I had got to know one of the officers attached to the camp, a wounded Luftwaffe Oberleutnant, Hans Weber. Hans had been attached to the camp administration until he was deemed fit enough to return to active service. Amery’s visit had reminded me that I still technically help the rank of Hauptsturmfuhrer in the SS; this presented me with an opportunity to get out of the camp and also to join the side that was certain to win the war. I prevailed on Hans to send a letter I had written to my old friend Sepp Dietrich. For a few weeks, I heard nothing, until out of the blue; I was summoned to the Commandant’s office. He told me that he had received instructions from none other than Gruppenfuhrer Reinhard Heydrich, the Deputy Head of the SS. Within the hour, an SS officer appeared with a uniform for me, not in the black I had worn previously, but in grey-green, complete with badges of rank, black squares with three diagonal silver pips and two silver stripes on the left collar, to balance the silver SS lightning flashes on the right. I was released into his custody. The very next day, I was taken to Sepp Dietrich’s headquarters.
‘William, my friend.’ He greeted me. ‘How are you? Please sit’
‘I’m well Sepp. Thank you for rescuing me from that infernal camp.’
‘It’s not me you need to thank. I could have ordered your release on my own authority, but that may have had repercussions later and would have certainly been a lengthy process. I spoke to Heydrich, who has a very high opinion of you and he ordered your release and commission into the Liebstandarte immediately. If you will accept the post, you are to act as my aide, until Heydrich has considered how best to use your talents.’
‘I would be honoured Sepp.’
‘In that case the officer waiting outside will show you to your quarters.’
I jumped to my feet and saluted. ‘Jawohl, Herr Obergruppenfuhrer!’
‘Thank you, William, you may go.’ I turned to leave when he barked at me. ‘Hauptsturmfuhrer Muller! You are incorrectly dressed!’ I looked at him in confusion.
‘I am sorry Sir, this was the uniform provided.’
Sepp exploded into a gale of laughter. ‘You are incorrectly dressed because you are not wearing the medal that the Fuhrer has awarded you. Hauptsturmfuhrer Muller, in the name of the Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, for your services to the Reich, I present you with the Order of the German Eagle.’ He placed a red ribbon, bordered with white and black lines over my head. The white cross with eagles between its arms made a stark contrast to the grey-green SS uniform. ‘It is normally worn your left breast, your batman will see to that. Congratulations!’
I held out my hand, but Die
trich ignored it, enveloping me in a huge bear hug.
‘The Reich does not forget those who performed meritorious service. Now get along to your quarters and I’ll see you later. We can discuss old times and what your new duties entail.’
I saluted and turned smartly to march out of the room.
For the next eight months, I served as Dietrich’s aide, ensuring his orders were dispatched and generally that the administration around him ran smoothly. I accompanied him to Greece, but knowing my reservations about actually fighting against the country of my birth, he carefully ensured that I was kept out of active service. They were happy times and I developed an intimate and lasting bond with Sepp.
In the late spring of 1941, I was called into Sepp’s office. As usual he offered me a chair and slid his silver cigarette case across the desk to me. As I lit the cigarette he looked at me.
‘William, my friend, I regret that the time has come when we must part company.’
‘Why Sepp, are you being transferred?’
‘No, you are. Orders arrived today that you have been reassigned to the RHSA in Berlin. There is a transport flight leaving for Berlin in two hours and you have to be on it. The day after tomorrow, you are report to Heydrich at the RHSA offices in Berlin.’
It was with regret that I took my leave of Sepp and hurried to pack and catch the flight to Berlin.
Two days later, I was standing in Heydrich’s office in Berlin. I was surprised by the warmth with which I was greeted. I had always regarded Heydrich as somewhat of a cold fish, but he embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks.
‘Please sit down William.’ He said. I took the offered seat.
‘The Reich has much to thank you for. Thanks to your actions in 1933, the Party was able to consolidate its position. Your name is even known to the Fuhrer, but we will come to that later. I understand from Sepp Dietrich that you wish to serve the Reich in the war, but would prefer to avoid taking action against the English because of your parentage. Ordinarily, I would have doubts about any Englander who came with such an offer, but in the light of your previous service to the Reich, I have no such reservations. Sepp has also been very complementary about the way you have fulfilled your duties. I should like you to become my adjutant, working here at the SD.’
I was stunned; I had not expected anything like this. I stared at Heydrich’s long-nosed aesthetic face, lost for words.
‘Well man, do you accept?’
I jumped to my feet, standing to attention. ‘Jarwohl, Mein Gruppenfuhrer!’
‘Good man.’ Heydrich smiled. ‘My clerk outside will ensure that you are comfortably billeted and I’ll expect you here at 9.00 tomorrow morning.’
I was housed in a former hotel, only a mile from SD headquarters. The hotel had been confiscated from its former Jewish owners in 1938 and commandeered by the SS as accommodation for officers posted to Berlin. I was assigned a suite of grandly decorated rooms, for my personal use. It was all a far cry from my childhood in London.
It took me a month to become fully familiar with all aspects of my duties. In that time I saw Heydrich four or five times a day, with the exception of weekends which he insisted on spending with his wife and children. On those days I worked on alone in my office ensuring that everything ran smoothly. As Heydrich’s adjutant, I came in to contact with many of the party leaders, including Goering, that fat buffoon in his fancy white uniform bedecked with gold braid, Goebbels, a small rat-like man and most of all Himmler, the bespectacled coldly ambitious Reichsfuhrer of the SS. On one or two occasions I also met the Fuhrer himself.
Within a few weeks of my elevation to the SD, I found myself transferring with Heydrich to Prague, when he became Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. My work remained largely the same, only the surroundings changed. Heydrich had a separate staff to deal with the governing of the Czechs, my role remained concentrated on the SD. In late October 1941 Heydrich called me into his office.
‘Sit down Muller, you may smoke.’
‘Thank you Herr Reichsprotektor. How may I be of service?’
Heydrich laughed. ‘That’s what I like about you Muller, always straight down to business. This could be a crucial task. With our invasion of the Soviet Union, we have spread our forces a little thinly. I think that there is a real danger of planned resistance breaking out in our rear, orchestrated by communists and other political opponents.’
‘What General Mola called his fifth column?’
‘Exactly, I sometimes forget that you fought in Spain.’
I did not believe that, Heydrich never forgot anything.
‘I think that the crushing of this opposition, and especially its leadership, will, in the near future, be essential. As yet, no-one in the leadership has seen the need; I want you to prepare a plan for the crushing of opposition in our rear areas. I know you can be ruthless, I have read about your career in Spain. I want you to give full rein to that ruthlessness. You may requisition such staff and resources as you think necessary, but I want your plan presented to me within four weeks. I will also expect regular updates on your progress. Untersturmfuhrer Freund will take over your day-to-day duties for the time being.’
This was a huge task and there was not much time to achieve it. I put together a team of SD and Gestapo officers and for the next weeks we worked fifteen hours a day, seven days a week. By the time the month was up, I had a plan I was happy with to put to Heydrich.
‘This is good Muller.’ He said. ‘I think there are areas that still require a little refinement, but in essence, this is exactly what I wanted. The Fuhrer has come round to my way of thinking and in a week, he plans to issue a decree, it will be called the Decree of Night and Fog. This will order the rounding up and execution or imprisonment of all opposition and resistance. I will pass on to him your idea that we shed the shackles of international agreements and deal with opponents in our hands in a more…permanent manner. Your work will mean that we can start immediately the decree is proclaimed, without the need for delay.’
I was later to learn that the purge of opposition after the decree was to lead to the arrest of seven thousand resisters and their families and the deaths of nearly four hundred by execution. That is without counting the unknown number of those imprisoned in concentration camps. People were seized in the middle of the night and simply disappeared, never to be seen again. That was my work and another sin for which my immortal soul will have to answer. All I considered was how I could please my masters in achieving the Fuhrer’s goals, with no thought as to the consequences for the people involved.
Lisa stopped reading and looked at me.
‘He’s doing it again, confessing to have committed the most horrendous crimes, but he’s sorry now.’
‘Yeah, there are a lot of things you do in your youth that you regret in later life.’
She smiled at me. ‘Do Tell.’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag out of me some of the things I did in my youth.’
‘Ian, I never saw you as such a rebel!’
‘Okay, Father Charlie is coming back, so you can stop winding me up.’
Father Charlie crossed the lawn with a cheery wave and came into the study through the French doors.
‘How’s the research going my merry bookworms?’
‘Slowly Father, but very interesting.’ I said.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of telling Margaret that you’ll be staying for lunch and she tells me it’ll be ready in a few minutes, so if you’d like to come through to the dining room, you can carry on with the journal after lunch.’
Chapter 30
Sunday lunch with Father Charlie was an impressive affair. Margaret treated us to a roast beef dinner, with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and all the trimmings. Father Charlie was good company too. First he made us tell him about our progress with the journal, then he amused us for the rest of the meal with ecclesiastical anecdotes. Despite my eagerness to return to the journal, I found myself enjoying the meal and time flew
by. In due course Lisa and I, now replete, settled once more to Peter Sinclair’s journal.
As a reward for my contribution to the Decree of Night and Fog, I was promoted to Sturmbannfuhrer. My duties continued to be that of adjutant and confidant to Heydrich, who I had come to look on as a close friend, there was no sign of the characteristics of ‘the ‘Butcher of Prague’ as he had been named, I always found him to be solicitous and amiable. There was a dichotomy between his public and private personas. On many occasions I was invited to join his wife and children and was treated as a member of the family.
At the beginning of January 1942 I accompanied Heydrich to Wannsee, where he chaired a conference of all parties involved with the resettlement of the Jews. The aim of the conference was to decide what was to be done with the Jews within the Occupied Territories, now that the planned resettlement of the Jews in Siberia had been delayed due to the stalling of our attack on the Soviets. After the first day it was clear that there was no decisive opinion in the meeting. I drew to Heydrich’s attention, letters from Greiser, the head of the administration of the Warthegau province of Poland, to Himmler asking permission to ‘deal with’ the Jews sent to the Lodz ghetto, who were unable to work and who he could neither feed nor house. He complained that an epidemic of spotted fever and starvation made it inhumane to continue to crowd Jews into the camp. He had succeeded in getting Himmler to assign to him Sonnerkommando Lange, an SS group led by Herbert Lange, who had developed techniques of gassing in a large van using carbon monoxide. I supplemented this with copies of reports from Lange at the concentration camp of Chelmno, where he had begun large scale killings the previous month.
‘It’s a good idea, Muller, but the whole scheme is too small scale to succeed.’ Heydrich said showing me a sheet of paper that estimated that there was the problem of some twelve million Jews across Europe that needed to be addressed.
‘Obergruppenfuhrer,’ I said. ‘have you read the reports from Hoess at Auschwitz Camp? He reports the efficaciousness of Zyklon B gas in an experiment where four hundred Russian prisoners were gassed in a makeshift gas chamber in an underground armoury.’
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