by Nigel Jones
In good German fashion we then conversed for quite a while, both shouting at the tops of our voices at the same time while the statists sat round us goggling, having apparently no speaking parts. As far as I could make out he was asking me to be calm, assuring me nothing offensive was intended and that on the contrary, everything had been done for my good. That is a great German slogan in criminal circles when anything disagreeable is done to you; it is the equivalent of the English: “It hurts Father far more than it does you, Jimmy.”
“Do calm yourself, Mr. Best; nothing will happen to you if you will only be reasonable. But, remember, you are quite in our power and if you won’t behave yourself we shall have to adopt very different measures with you. Surely you don’t want me to have you fettered again. All that I want you to do now is to answer a few questions.”
I told him flatly that it was useless for him to go on, he could do anything he damned well liked, but unless he treated me respectfully and until I had had a wash and a shave and had been given something to eat, I was not playing. This only set him off shouting still louder. In these German shouting matches, the man who starts first is always supposed to have scored the first point. No one listens to what is said and the important thing is to keep going without a break and so silence the other man. In German this is called ‘Anschnauzen’ which may be appropriately translated as snorting.
The general tenor of what he now said was that he was Dr. Max, the terror of all wrong-doers; surely I had heard of him and knew his reputation. When I confessed that, hitherto, his fame had not reached me, he was really quite taken aback.
“But you must have read the British White Book about the German concentration camps. There is a lot in it about me; all lies, of course, like everything else the English tell about us.”1
I told him that I had not read the book, having so far been unable to get hold of a copy. If he had one to spare, I should very much like to read it, meanwhile though, could I please have a wash and shave and would he get me some food.
I don’t to this day know what terrible things were reported about Dr. Max in the White Book, but personally, once we got to know each other, I always found him a very pleasant little man who paid me the compliment of always laughing at my jokes. On this first meeting he did his best to impress me with his frightfulness and threatened me with shooting; said, that under present German law, I had been guilty of high treason and a lot of rubbish of that sort. I was, however, so completely fed up with the whole business and had so little appetite for the long years of imprisonment which I saw before me, that his threats left me absolutely cold. If they were going to shoot me, why not go ahead. I had no objection and in many ways I should feel that they were doing me a favour. Why, for me, it was the simplest road to fame. I might even have a London street named after me.
Apparently I impressed Dr. Max with my sincerity for he went out of the room and, when he returned, had with him his chief, SS-Oberführer Müller. Müller was a dapper, exceptionally good-looking little man, dressed in imitation of Adolf Hitler, in a grey uniform jacket, black riding breeches and top boots. He started his ‘snort’ immediately he entered and, as he walked towards me, increased the pitch and volume of his voice with great virtuosity. He managed to get right up close to me before his vocal chords tore into shreds. “You are in the hands of the Gestapo. Don’t imagine that we shall show you the slightest consideration. The Führer has already shown the world that he is invincible and soon he will come and liberate the people of England from Jews and Plutocrats such as you. It is war and Germany is fighting for her existence. You are in the greatest danger and if you want to live another day must be very careful.” Then he sat down on the chair in front of me and drew it up as close as possible, apparently with the intention of performing some mesmerizing trick. He had rather funny eyes which he could flicker from side to side with the greatest rapidity and I suppose that this was supposed to strike terror into the heart of the beholder.
“I have something the matter with my eyes, too,” I said, “Could I perhaps have my glasses?” This set him going again. He jumped up. “Don’t you worry about glasses or anything else. You will probably be dead before morning and won’t need glasses or anything else. Then you won’t be a nuisance to us any longer. You don’t seem to realize your position. It is war. You are no longer an honoured guest in Germany but the helpless prisoner of the Gestapo. Don’t you know where you are? At the headquarters of the Gestapo. Don’t you know what that means? We can do anything we like with you, anything.”
I was quite calm and answered as politely as I could, that of course I had read a good deal about Gestapo methods but, as in a lifetime experience of Germans I had never found them more inclined to cruelty than ourselves, I had paid no greater attention to such stories than I did to other reports published in the Press.
“Ah! I am glad to find an Englishman who is so sensible. You agree that our Führer was right to stop the papers from publishing lies about the people of other countries. We did not want war, nor did the English people whom we like and respect. It is all the fault of the Jews and the Plutocrats who batten on the unfortunate people in England as they did in Germany before the Führer rescued us from them.”
Turning to Dr. Max he said in a normal voice: “Give Mr. Best what he wants.”
The room in which I was sitting and in which I was to spend the next ten days was apparently the private office of some fairly important official; at all events, it contained the bookcase, leather-covered desk, the carpet, couch, and easy chairs which throughout the world mark success in the civil service. On my left was the door through which I had entered and just opposite me another one leading into an unlighted room. The cast always used this door and in the room beyond I could dimly see figures grouping themselves so as to be better able to peer at me. Dr. Max went to this door and seemed to shoo the crowd away and I was then led through it and across a large room, from its sweaty smell, obviously a general office, into a small lavatory. I had a good wash and someone lent me a comb and shaving gear. When I came back, feeling quite a new man again, a small table had been placed before my chair and there were some good cheese sandwiches and a bottle of beer. I pitched in, for I was really famished. When I had finished, Dr. Max handed me a packet of twenty cigarettes; German cigarettes it is true, tasting like a bonfire, but, how welcome they were and how they raised my spirits.
I sat back and for the first time since my capture began to feel myself a normal human being again. To be suddenly snatched from civilian life and find oneself a prisoner is probably much more upsetting than being captured as a soldier on active service. Then, one is more or less prepared for all kinds of unpleasant eventualities of which capture is far from being the worst; also, there is the knowledge that one is safeguarded by international laws and conventions. I, for my part, seemed to be playing a game for which the rules had still to be written and in which I might easily find myself cast for the part of mouse to the Gestapo cat. Yet I did not feel frightened nor particularly cast down. I know that this may seem like conceited boasting after the event, but in fact, I am only honestly trying to give a picture of my reactions to capture and imprisonment.
I was fifty-five years of age and so far nothing particularly unpleasant had ever happened to me. Moreover, I had known Germany and Germans all my life and had grown to look upon as my due that measure of respect which was always shown to an Englishman on the Continent. So far the men that I had met were just ordinary German officials and the fact that they shouted and ranted did not impress me in the least, for I had heard that sort of thing hundreds of times before; in fact, I was myself no indifferent performer when occasion arose. Above all though, my feelings towards my fellow men are friendly and my inclination is to like people. I think that this generally influences those with whom I come in contact and that they show themselves to me from their best side. I have never yet met anyone whom I would call really bad; stupid people, frightened people, and some who do bad things
from greed or bravado, but downright vicious, no. We are gregarious animals and we each and all of us want to have someone who cares for us, someone who is interested in our fate. During the years of my imprisonment I met many men who behaved at first like savage dogs straining at their chains to get at me and rend me in pieces, but in the end I was able to establish friendly relations with most of them and some showed me the greatest kindness often at considerable risk to themselves.
After my meal, I found that the crowd had melted away and I was alone with Dr. Max and two other men. One of these went out of the room and returned with a stoutish, pleasant-looking woman and carrying a typewriter on a small table. This was planted next to Dr. Max who then started my first interrogation. If I did not feel any particular fears for my own safety I was extremely concerned about how I would be able to stand up under questioning, for any indiscretion on my part would certainly cost many other people their lives. My position was of course entirely different from that of a soldier prisoner of war. In his case, from the point of view of military discipline and morale, it is important that he should adopt an intransigent attitude towards his captors and, since he is one of a multitude where brave example counts, it is his duty to remember at all times that he is in the hands of the enemy. I could serve no one by making a heroic stand. Any sign of unwillingness on my part to answer questions would almost certainly encourage my captors to resort to methods of compulsion which I should find very unpleasant. With memories of past cowardice in a dentist’s chair my estimate of my fortitude under torture was modest in the extreme. As I saw things, my best policy was to appear, if not a willing witness, at all events one too frightened to put up much resistance, and to attempt to satisfy my interrogators without giving them information which could jeopardize others.
I was therefore extremely relieved when Dr. Max confined his questions entirely to matters connected with my conversations with Schaemmel and his colleagues. He started off by telling me that I was in most serious danger as, by negotiating with traitors for the overthrow of the German Government, I had, even though I was a foreigner and my actions had taken place outside of Germany, been guilty under a new law of high treason. The penalty for this was death by beheading, but if I showed myself ready to help the administration in bringing the traitors to book, there was a possibility that the Führer might be merciful and treat me only as a prisoner of war. Of course this was right down my street for I had not a shadow of doubt but that Stevens and I had been the victims of an ‘agent provocateur’ plot and that Schaemmel and Co. were Gestapo agents. Dr. Max’s intention was obviously to test my veracity by posing questions to which he knew all the answers. I therefore showed the utmost reluctance to answer any questions damaging to these people and pretended that my conversations with them were only about possible peace terms.
Only gradually as Max’s questions became more pressing did I admit that I had also been told about plans to remove the Nazi Party from control in Germany but said, that as far as I knew, Adolf Hitler was to remain in power. Bit by bit I told the whole story of our talks and I could feel Max preening himself as he felt how splendidly he had managed the interrogation. I had to exercise a certain measure of caution regarding the instructions received from London as I did not want to queer anything that Stevens said. It was of course often very difficult to know what to say with Stevens, and as I then thought, Klop being interrogated separately. Any marked discrepancies in our stories might be fruitful of trouble for all of us. At this time I believed that Klop was still alive for I had been told at Düsseldorf that a shot had just grazed his head and knocked him out. It was not until three years later that I learned that he had died at Düsseldorf the same day without regaining consciousness. He was a very gallant officer who, to protect us, took the seven raiders on single handed although had he made his way unobserved to the woods at the back of the cafe, he could probably have escaped and saved both life and liberty.
This first interrogation lasted, as far as I could tell, until about 2 or 3 a.m. Then I went on strike, said that I was too tired to go on any longer and that, if they intended to shoot me at dawn, I should like to have a good sleep first. Dr. Max was quite nice about it and immediately sent out for a bed which was brought in by two men; then he wished me good night and left me alone with these men who were apparently my guards. What a relief it was to get into a comfortable bed and sleep. Sleep too, I did, and I knew nothing until I was awakened at seven next morning and told that it was time to get up. I asked whether this was the hour fixed for my execution and was told no, but as the clerks would be coming to the office next door at eight, if I wanted a wash, it would be better to get up as otherwise I should not be able to reach the lavatory. I washed, shaved and then felt fit for anything.
The fat jailer, who the previous evening had led me on my initial march through the building, came in with my breakfast; a slice of black bread thinly spread with a pink ersatz jam and a tin mug of the unspeakable ‘coffee’. Shortly afterwards Dr. Max arrived and after a friendly good morning to me said something which I could not hear to my guards. They then took me upstairs to the attics where I was photographed in true criminal style with a large number beside me. Some twenty or thirty photographs were taken; full face and side face, with and without monocle and with each of the three pairs of spectacles which I had had with me. Then my finger-prints were taken and I was weighed and measured. When, after all this, I got back to my room, the doctor came in and put me through a thorough medical examination. Then Dr. Max with his typist appeared and my interrogation was resumed.
I must confess that at the outset I was distinctly scared. One had heard so much about the Gestapo and it’s methods that it was only natural to expect that I should find myself in the hands of a real expert in interrogation. Nothing was further from the truth. Dr. Max had hardly got going before it became evident that he was entirely ignorant of military intelligence work and that, not only did he not know what questions to ask me, but he didn’t even know what he was trying to find out; his ideas seemed to be based on his reading of stories by William le Queux, Edgar Wallace and their German counterparts. Anyhow, he wanted action and excitement and I tried to give it to him. Most of the time we found ourselves talking about our war (1914-18), in which we had both taken part and we had a great time swapping yarns. Although I make no pretence of being a wit and am used to my attempts at humour being received in cold silence I do like people to laugh at my jokes and with Dr. Max they rang the bell every time and this of course predisposed me in his favour. Every now and then he would break off our chat saying, “but now to business, we must be serious and you must remember that your life hangs by a thread.” He would then ask me one or two stupid questions and dictate my answer to his typist.
She, by the way, had also become quite matey and produced some biscuits and made us tea. Frau Roland was a real good sort. Just a fat Berlin housewife who had taken on a war-time job after her husband had been called up. She was very kind to me and while I was at Gestapo Headquarters seldom a day passed without her coming in to see me, bringing me biscuits, apples and other delicacies.
At noon there was a break for lunch and I was brought a tin bowl of carrots boiled in starchy water which I ate with appetite if not with pleasure. The guards who had been with me up to then were relieved by another couple. One of them, a stout, cheery looking middle-aged man said, “Ach, look at him trying to swallow that hog’s wash. Here, eat this, my wife always gives me more than I can eat and in any case I can always get more at the canteen,” and he handed me two meat sandwiches and an apple. I had hardly spoken a word to the men who had been with me during the night but this little man and his companion were friendly from the first and most ready to give me pointers for my behaviour in my new position. Both were old pre-Hitler C.I.D. men, and both seemed to have a very poor opinion of the Gestapo and all its work, which they did not hesitate to express. I was told not to pay any attention to these people here who called themselves ‘Commissa
rs’ and what not—they were just a pack of flat-foots from the provinces who “‘Heil Hitler’ everyone and have been promoted over the heads of all of us real police officers.” “Don’t you worry about any threats they may make, they can’t do anything to you for yours is an important State affair and only the Führer can decide your fate.”
I was completely flabbergasted at the way these men talked and of course read into their behaviour some subtle plot to induce me to be indiscreet. Not a bit of it though. They were simply so pleased at being able to talk to an Englishman, who they could be certain was not a Nazi spy, that they just let fly and said some of the things which they had had to keep bottled up for so long. I was often to have this same experience in the future just as I had often been the recipient of similar confidences when travelling in Germany before the war.
Around two o’clock Dr. Max and Frau Roland appeared and we got down to business again. My talk with the guards had done me a world of good and I faced the coming interrogation without a trace of anxiety. Dr. Max now dropped the previous subjects and wanted to have from me details of all visits which I had paid to Germany and other countries during the previous five or six years. Now, when one lives in a small country like Holland, trips to neighbouring countries by car are so easy that they form a normal part of one’s life. Although I could more or less remember the dates when my wife and I had been away on longer holidays it was hopeless for me to attempt to recall all the short trips, often confined to a single day, which I had taken to Germany and Belgium. The subject was therefore one admirably calculated to waste time—just what I most wanted. As far as I could make out, Dr. Max had never in his life been abroad except as a soldier during the First World War, and he seemed quite thrilled to be talking to someone who had been about as much as I. At the start we had quite a tussle. He had my passport before him which bore a number of frontier entry and exit stamps. His idea seemed to be that these would enable him to check the truth of my statements.
