by Nigel Jones
Again we had a long wait. When at last Klop got back, he told us that although he had been well on time, the Germans, instead of waiting quietly, had tried to make their own way into Holland through a wood. They had been spotted, arrested, and searched. Klop had taken advantage of their mishap to go through their belongings and inspect their papers. Everything seemed to be quite in order.
This time, instead of the officers we had expected, Klop had with him three men. One was the man Grosch who had come over on the first occasion, and he introduced the two others to us as Colonel Martini and Major Schaemmel. Of the three, Schaemmel was obviously the leader. It was difficult to assess his age, as although he had a babyish sort of face, most of it was obliterated by the numerous scars of those sabre cuts so dear to German students. But he was a well-informed man, had a quick decisive manner, and a ready answer to all our questions.
He started by giving us a clear and convincing résumé of conditions in Germany and the degree in which the army had suffered in the Polish campaign. Losses in men and material had been high and the present military and economic conditions made it imperative that the war should be brought to an end quickly. Hitler though, would not listen to the advice of his General Staff and allowed nothing to stand in the way of his ambitions. Therefore, he must be got rid of. It was, though, of no use to assassinate him, as this could only lead to chaos. The intention therefore was to take him prisoner and force him to give orders authorizing a junta of officers to reorganize the Government and start negotiations for peace.
Schaemmel said, “We are Germans and have to think of the interests of our own country first. Before we take any steps against Hitler we want to know whether England and France are ready to grant us a peace which is both just and honourable.”
A long discussion followed during which we hammered out a protocol which could be submitted by us to a higher level. We made it clear to the Germans that we had no authority to give them any assurances and that our task was solely that of intermediaries.
The Germans had to be back at the frontier before noon next day as a friendly customs officer who would pass them through went off duty at that hour. It was clearly impossible for us to expect any answer from London before then and the Germans were therefore given a wireless transmitting and receiving set so that future communications would be facilitated. Although Klop was present at our talk, he did not, of course, take any part in the discussion. This was very useful, as he was free to observe the Germans and give undivided attention to their reactions. When we compared notes after the meeting, he agreed that the Germans seemed to be genuine and thought that the whole thing looked most hopeful.
A full report was made to London, and a day or two later we received a carefully worded and rather non-committal reply. We were authorized to impart the gist of this message to the Germans, but were instructed to give them nothing in writing. The matter seemed very interesting and we were to follow it up with energy, though at the same time we were urged to be cautious and to avoid risk to ourselves.
After a preliminary technical hitch, wireless communication with the Germans worked smoothly and messages were exchanged daily at a certain hour. Since we were not permitted to give the Germans anything in writing, it was obvious that another meeting would be necessary so that we could tell them about the reply which we had received. For this next encounter, Klop suggested that Venlo would be a better place, as it was close to the frontier and less than five miles away there was a very quiet customs post which was far easier to pass unobserved than that at Dinxperlo. We therefore made arrangements to meet the Germans there on the morning of 7th November.
Again it was the intention of Stevens and myself to put up at an hotel in Venlo whilst Klop went to the frontier and fetched the Germans. When he got there though, he rang up to say that they seemed very frightened and would not agree to come to Venlo with him. For his part, he strongly advised us to come along to the frontier as there was a café, from which he was telephoning, which was much quieter and better for our purpose than the hotel at Venlo. He absolutely pooh-poohed any idea of danger and said that the café was well inside Dutch territory and nothing could possibly happen to us there. Neither Stevens nor I liked to venture so close to Germany, but we had to admit that the Germans might be running a greater risk if they came to Venlo, so, on the whole, we had better take Klop’s advice. After all he knew the ground better than we. So off we went.
It was a pretty drive from Venlo to the frontier, a winding road through pine woods. When we got to the café, certainly nothing could have looked more peaceful. A red brick building with a roofed veranda at the front and sides. At the back a large garden with swings, see-saws and other amusements for children. It lay on the left-hand side of the road and about 200 yards farther on, we could see the black and white painted barrier of the German frontier. Nearly opposite the café was the Dutch customs house.
Klop met us at the door, and inside, in a quiet room next to the café, we found Schaemmel and Grosch. We gave them a résumé of the answer we had received to their questions, which did not seem to come quite up to their expectations. They said though, that they would pass it on to their chief, and then asked whether it would be possible for us to come again next day to meet him. He had been unable to come this time, but he was anxious to see us as he wished to entrust some secret papers to us for safekeeping. The plot might fail. Plots often did, and he did not want all record of his work and that of his friends to be lost; besides, there were certain points which he could only discuss with us personally.
‘So,’ we thought, ‘the general is getting windy and wants us to arrange a get-away for him.’ But, as the request seemed reasonable, we agreed, and a meeting was fixed for the following afternoon.
Next day we drove straight through to the café, though this time Klop made a short stop at Venlo and went to police headquarters where he arranged that an armed guard should be sent to the frontier. It was not that we distrusted Schaemmel, but there was always the possibility that the Gestapo might have got on to him and make a raid so as to catch him with us red-handed. It would not be difficult to do this in such an isolated spot, so it was better to be on the safe side.
When we got to the café, to our disappointment we found only Schaemmel there. He was very sorry, but the general had been held up at the last minute. That morning an appeal for peace had been launched by the Queen of the Netherlands and the King of the Belgians. Hitler had called a big staff meeting at Munich to consider this, and the general had been obliged to attend. Could we come next day again? The attempt against Hitler was to take place on Saturday; today was Wednesday, so tomorrow would be the last chance of a meeting. With some hesitation we agreed to try yet once more to meet this most elusive general. Neither Stevens nor I liked the idea of coming here again. The weather had turned dull and in the waning evening light we seemed a long way from home and far, far too close to Germany. We tried to fix our appointment for the morning, but Schaemmel said, the general, who was now in Munich, could not possibly be with us before the afternoon. We therefore arranged to meet at 4 p.m.
CHAPTER II
(i)
THE 9th November, 1939. I got up shortly after five although I felt very tired and much disinclined to do so, but through these daily trips to the frontier I had been forced to neglect all my other work and there were some things which I could put off no longer. As I shaved I could not help wishing that I could somehow or other dodge having to go to that beastly frontier café again. There had been something about it the previous evening which had made me feel most uncomfortable; the unpleasant looking stout man who had looked us over so carefully as we went in, then the feeling of being completely cut off from the outside world in that little side room where we had our talks with the Germans, those big glass windows which looked out on to a wall of dense undergrowth. It would be so easy for some SS men to cross the border at the back of the café and creep up so that they could shoot us through the windows as we sat in the light. Rubbis
h! There was no real reason for my fears. During the First World War I had been to the frontier dozens of times like this; much closer too, for the café in Limburg where I used to meet people was half in Holland and half in Germany—but yet I was uneasy, and if I could have done so with decency, would have rung up Stevens and called the whole thing off.
My wife was not up, of course, but I spoke to her before I went out and said, that perhaps I might not be back to dinner; in any case, she was not to wait for me after 7.30. She said, “No, don’t hurry back. You drive much too fast and it always makes me nervous. I have a bridge party here this afternoon and it will really be better if you have dinner out; I shall be much happier if I know you are driving carefully.”
It was a dull morning and much colder than of late; the sky was overcast and threatened rain. When I got to the office I just had time to glance at the morning paper. It carried a stop-press notice about an attempt on Hitler’ s life which had been made at Munich the previous day. Hitler himself had escaped as he had already left the place before the explosion, but many others had been killed and injured. Very curious, and I wondered whether this attempt had anything to do with our people and, if not, what effect it would have on their plans.
Then I plunged into my work and it was after ten before I was free to join Stevens at his house. Klop had not yet arrived. Stevens felt just as I did, that the Huns were becoming an infernal nuisance with their shilly-shallying. If the general did not come up to the scratch this time, we would wash our hands of the whole business and leave them to run their show alone. We would keep this one last appointment, and then, finis.
Stevens produced some Browning automatics and we each loaded and pocketed one—just in case. Then Klop came in. He apologized for being late but there was a bit of a scare on and he had been kept at the office. Some news had come in to the effect that the Germans might march into Holland at any moment. The story was unconfirmed and Klop did not believe it himself; nor did it agree with any indications which Stevens and I had. We talked about this for a time and then discussed what could be done to satisfy the Germans about an escape route into Holland in case of emergency. Of course it was out of the question to give them anything in the nature of a pass, so it was decided simply to give the telephone number of Klop’s office; then, if they wanted to come into Holland they could ask the customs officer to ring up this number and Klop would then see to the rest.
We were just on the point of setting off when a message from the Germans started to come in over the wireless. It might be to cancel our appointment, so we had to wait until it had been transcribed and decoded. It was though, of no importance whatever; merely a request for a change in the hours of transmission. This had delayed us quite a bit and I would have to drive all out if we were to be on time for the meeting. As we were all feeling rather tired I asked my driver, Jan Lemmens, to come with us so that he could bring the car back in case we wished ourselves to return by train.
We made such good time that we were able to stop for a quick lunch at a little road-side café near s’ Hertogenbosch. While we were eating, Stevens and I talked about the possible danger that we might be raided and captured, but Klop assured us that there was nothing to be feared, especially not during daylight, as he had arranged for a stronger guard than usual to be at the frontier.
Until we stopped for lunch Jan had sat next to me, and Stevens and Klop behind. When we started off again, Stevens came and sat by me and we had a chat about what might happen if the Germans made a sudden attack on Holland and we discussed what measures would be best for the safe evacuation of the legation and other Britishers still in Holland; Stevens also scribbled down a list of people whom he knew, who would have to be got out of the country before the Germans got in. I said, “Better destroy that list of yours before we get to the frontier. I still have a feeling that something may go wrong.” Stevens said, “Of course,” and I believe tore up the paper and threw it out of the car.
I never like to talk when I am driving and always find that it slows up my speed appreciably; in any case, when we reached Venlo it was already four o’clock, the time set for our meeting. Although we stopped so that Klop could call at the police station and arrange about our guard, we could not wait until the men had cycled the five miles to the frontier, but pushed on ahead of them.
All the way down from The Hague we had noticed that military precautions had been intensified and we had been held up at every road block and tank barrier. Even now, between Venlo and our café, we were stopped twice. The first time the sentry said something about having orders to allow no cars to pass and although Klop showed him his authority insisted that he must first go to the guard room and speak to the N.C.O. in charge. Both Stevens and I, I believe, felt alike and hoped that he would come back with the news that we could go no farther; but in a few minutes he was with us: “Everything is all right. The N.C.O. had a message for me which had been phoned through from the office. Carry on.”
The second sentry did not actually stop us, but only made signs that we should drive slowly. He was stationed at a bend in the road just before we entered the straight along which one had a view of the frontier. Somehow or other, it seemed to me that things looked different from what they had on the previous days. Then I noticed that the German barrier across the road which had always been closed, was now lifted; there seemed to be nothing between us and the enemy. My feeling of impending danger was very strong. Yet the scene was peaceful enough. No one was in sight except a German customs officer in uniform lounging along the road towards us and a little girl who was playing at ball with a big black dog in the middle of the road before the café.
I must have rather checked my speed, for Klop called out, “Go ahead, everything is quite all right.” I felt rather a fool to be so nervous. I let the car drift slowly along to the front of the café on my left and then reversed into the car park on the side of the building farthest from the frontier. Schaemmel was standing on the veranda at the corner and made a sign which I took to mean that our bird was inside. I stopped the engine and Stevens got out on the right. My car had left-hand drive. I had just wriggled clear of the wheel and was following him out when there was a sudden noise of shouting and shooting. I looked up, and through the windscreen saw a large open car drive up round the corner till our bumpers were touching. It seemed to be packed to overflowing with rough-looking men. Two were perched on top of the hood and were firing over our heads from sub-machine guns, others were standing up in the car and on the running boards; all shouting and waving pistols. Four men jumped off almost before their car had stopped and rushed towards us shouting: “Hands up!”
I don’t remember actually getting out of the car, but by the time the men reached us, I was certainly standing next to Stevens, on his left. I heard him say: “Our number is up, Best.” The last words we were to exchange for over five years. Then we were seized. Two men pointed their guns at our heads, the other two quickly handcuffed us.
I heard shots behind me on my right. I looked round and saw Klop. He must have crept out behind us under cover of the car door which had been left open. He was running diagonally away from us towards the road; running sideways in big bounds, firing at our captors as he ran. He looked graceful, with both arms outstretched—almost like a ballet dancer. I saw the windscreen of the German car splinter into a star, and then the four men standing in front of us started shooting and after a few more steps Klop just seemed to crumple and collapse into a dark heap of clothes on the grass.
“Now, march!” shouted our captors, and prodding us in the small of our backs with their guns, they hurried us, with cries of “Hup! Hup! Hup!” along the road towards the frontier. As we passed the front of the café I saw my poor Jan held by the arms by two men who were frog-marching hum along. It seemed to me that his chin was reddened as from a blow. Then we were across the border. The black and white barrier closed behind us. We were in Nazi Germany.
(ii)
They hustled us up the sl
ope of a ramp and into the customs office, where we were made to stand with upraised arms facing a dirty whitewashed wall. Behind each of us stood a man, pistol in hand.
It was funny, but I felt no fear—not even anxiety; indeed, I did not seem to realize that I was an actor in the events that were taking place but rather that I was a deeply interested spectator, viewing things from afar. I can remember when, as a small boy, I was for the first time taken to the pantomime, I had had this same disembodied feeling. I was at one and the same time leaning against a plush covered barrier, whose soft roughness I can still feel on my chin, and, taking active part in the exciting happenings on the brightly lit stage. Although Stevens and I had talked about the possibility of capture, I don’t think that we had either of us really envisaged its practical physical implication nor foreseen the possibility of so sudden a translation into an unknown world.
We had been standing facing the wall for only a few minutes when there came a renewed order to “March!” We went out into the light of day and on to the ramp before which the German car was standing. Behind it I saw my own car. This seemed to jolt me into present reality for I felt extremely angry that the Huns, not satisfied with kidnapping us, apparently intended to steal my car. This offended my sense of the sanctity of property. “Into the car with you,” was the next order. This meant a jump from the four foot high ramp which to me, handcuffed as I was, seemed quite a distance. A nudge in the back resolved my hesitation, though I nearly made a bad landing. I sat on the right of the back seat with Stevens next to me and, on his left, one of the gangsters whom I later discovered to be an army captain and leader of the raiding party. Two men threw some tommy guns in at our feet and then sat down on folding seats facing us. Another couple came along with Jan Lemmens, also handcuffed, and literally chucked him into the car so that he fell on his back, with his legs in the air, at our feet. These last two men went away and returned carrying Klop, holding him by his legs and one arm. The other arm hung down as though broken. There was a trickle of blood down the fingers and also one on the side of his face. He was unconscious, his face greyish yellow and it was difficult to hope that he still lived. It looked at first as though it was the intention to throw him into our car on top of Lemmens, but the captain said something and the men took him away again; I believe that he was put into my car.
