by Nigel Jones
I really have no right to complain about my treatment during the days that I spent in room No. 3 15. The weather was really beautiful and as we faced due south, I could sit for hours in the sun. My nights were still very disturbed and I spent much of the day dozing on the couch. I got up at seven; washed and shaved, and at about eight the stout warder came up with my slice of bread. A little later the doctor would pay me a visit and ask a few perfunctory questions; then Grothe would turn up, bringing his usual gifts of sandwiches, apples and cigarettes. On one of the first days he had with him a parcel containing pyjamas, socks, handkerchiefs, a safety razor, and other toilet articles which he had been authorized to buy for me. This was a great improvement, for up to then I had had nothing but what I stood up in and had had to sleep naked, a procedure which my guards seemed to consider slightly shocking—they certainly went to bed in their underclothes like most Germans of their class. In the evening Frau Roland and the pretty little typist, Fraulein Blumental (called Blümchen), generally came to see me, bringing tea and biscuits; Blümchen also brought me flowers which she placed in a vase on the table.
There was a wireless receiver in the next room and once, through an open door, I heard enough to understand that Russia was at war with Finland; I wondered how long it would be before she and Germany would also be at daggers drawn; it never seemed to me possible that their entente could last long. Even Dr. Max made no secret of his hatred of all Communists and indeed my guards were constantly telling stories about atrocities committed by the ‘Reds’ before Hitler put them out of mischief in his concentration camps.
Once a week I was taken down to the basement for a bath. This was really delightful. The lavatory was a big place with numerous wash basins and a number of cubicles with shower baths. The water was beautifully hot and I stayed there enjoying myself until I felt that I could keep my guards waiting no longer. On one occasion as I was being taken down the lift came up and out stepped Stevens. He was holding a slice of bread and jam in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. I smiled at him, but he looked grimly through me. This was the last glimpse that I caught of him until we met again in April 1945.
On the 20 November the door opened and a man carrying a suitcase appeared who seemed to be most surprised to find the room occupied. One of my guards gently pushed him out of the room and after some discussion outside came back to say that this was the rightful occupant and that he wanted us to get out. There was for a time a lot of coming and going and all sorts of people poked their heads in at the door, said something which I did not catch and went away again. At last a decision was arrived at and orders were given for us to move which we did with bed and baggage. We did not have to go far, only along a passage at right-angles to ours, to room No. 238. As I later learnt, this room had up to then been occupied by Stevens who had had to vacate it for me. As a matter of fact, this was a most inferior room, nothing more than a junior clerks office, appropriately furnished as such and facing north. When we first arrived at Gestapo Headquarters, I was No. 1 and Stevens No. 2, but our order of precedence had gradually been reversed and by this time I had very distinctly gone down grade; now, I was told, Stevens had been given an even better room than my first one and my guards did not seem to like this at all. All our guards, of course, knew each other and compared notes. There even seemed to be a certain degree of jealousy between them as to whose charge was the more weighty and it required quite a lot of persuasion on my part to convince my men, that in spite of appearances, I was really more important and that to guard me was the greater honour.
Grothe came in one day with the large envelope which I had seen sealed at Düsseldorf after my personal possessions had been placed in it. He broke the seals and made a list of the contents; my watch, fountain pen, keys, etc. When it was the turn of my pocket book, only f.200 in Dutch money and a couple of £1 notes were to be found; two Dutch notes, one off.300 and the other of f.200 had mysteriously vanished. I asked Grothe at once what had become of them to which he said, and I think truthfully, that he knew nothing about them and that he had brought in the envelope just as he had received it. If I wished, he could make a report embodying my complaint, but, at the same time, he said that he didn’t think that it would do any good and might only get me into trouble. I should have insisted at Düsseldorf on a list of my belongings being made before they were sealed up; now, it was only my word against that of the responsible official there. I deferred to his greater experience and held my peace.
I was later to learn that the Gestapo, like the Chinaman, must always have its squeeze and although I was deprived of many things to which I was entitled, in the long run, I gained many greater benefits from my policy of tolerance. Probably, even had I protested, my things would have been stolen just the same and it was therefore wiser to make no official protest but merely to indicate discreetly that I was not blind to what was going on. During the greater part of my imprisonment all my letters and parcels from home passed through the hands of Grothe and even if he was not entirely ignorant of the fate of the numerous packets of cigarettes and tobacco which May sent me but which never reached me, he fully compensated me for my forbearance by the way in which he acted as a buffer between me and the men higher up and undoubtedly I am directly indebted to him for many privileges which I came to enjoy.
On the evening of the 26 November Oberführer Müller came into the room and asked me how I felt, whether my health was good, and whether my nerves were standing up to the strain. Upon my answering in the affirmative, he asked me to be shaved and ready next morning at seven o’clock. I did as I was told and was then again taken up to the attics where a fresh series of photographs was taken though this time there was no finger printing. At about ten o’clock Müller came in and after again asking me whether I felt quite well, took me across the passage to his own suite of rooms which was directly opposite. The first room into which I went was full of SS officers in uniform, some sitting and others standing and talking to each other. I was then led into a room which opened out of it and was told to stand at a certain point. A door opposite me then opened and the three men who had visited me in Holland goose-stepped in single file through it until the front man was about three yards from me and then, with much slapping of feet, formed into a line facing me. All three were in full SS black uniform, on my left was Schaemmel, next to him the tall Colonel Martini flanked by weedy little Grosch.
In chorus they all said: “You did not think when you met us in Holland that you were entertaining fuhrers of the SS?” The scene was indescribably funny and I was hard put to it not to burst out laughing. Each man then fired a question at me in turn, silly questions, such as: “Weren’t you stupid to venture so close to the frontier?” “Do you still think we are only lads?” Then, with a smart right-about-tum, they reformed in single file and goose-stepped out of the room. This confrontation was obviously supposed to have a shattering effect on my nerves, for hitherto I had always professed to believe that these gentlemen were bona fide conspirators. Müller, who must have been standing behind me all the time, ready to catch me should I faint from the shock, again asked me if I felt all right and then led me back into the first room. Almost as soon as I entered a young and very resplendent officer whom I recognized as Heydrich (his enlarged photograph hung in every room) jumped up and started shouting at me in a most threatening manner.
“So far you have been treated as an officer and a gentleman, but don’t think that this will go on if you don’t behave better than you have done. You have two hours left in which to confess everything. If you don’t, I shall hand you over to the Gestapo who are used to dealing with such gangsters and criminals—you won’t enjoy their methods a bit.”
I turned to Müller who was standing at my side and asked: “Who is this excitable young officer?” At this Heydrich really went off the deep end and literally foamed at the mouth; at all events he sprayed me most liberally with his saliva. Müller quickly pushed me out of the room and into my own. Later on he came
in again and told me that I must not take the matter too seriously, “Soup is never eaten as hot as it is cooked.” He was satisfied that I had behaved properly and that I had been honest in my answers to interrogation. He added though that he was sorry to say that in future my legs would have to be fettered and that I should no longer be allowed to take any exercise in the passage. Orders to this effect had been given by the highest authority and he could not vary them. In my experience I always found Müller a very decent little man. I have heard from other prisoners that he was one of the most feared men in the Gestapo and that he had been guilty of terrible cruelty. My own feeling about him was that he always tried to ease things for me, and that his displays of anger and the threats which he uttered were merely examples of his obedience to orders from a higher level.
When Müller went out of the room he left a strap lying on the table. Nothing happened for a while, so I said to the guards: “Well, aren’t you going to put the fetters on my feet?” At this both men protested that this was no part of their duty and that if the Oberführer wanted my feet strapped together, he should have done so himself. To this I said that I was damned if I was going to strap my own feet together. In the end we found a satisfactory compromise by keeping the door locked from the inside. We had had quite a lot of trouble with people who did not know that the office previously housed there had been moved, bursting into the room and, as no unauthorized person was supposed to see me, my guards had a good excuse for their action. If anyone wanted to come in they had to knock, and before the door was opened I had time to lay the strap in a loose figure of eight round my ankles. This seemed to satisfy everyone and although Müller and several other of the Gestapo bosses often came in to see me, none of them even glanced at my feet to see whether they were indeed fettered.
Later that same day Schaemmel came in, bringing with him a stoutish middle-aged man, a Dr. Schäfer, who was to continue my interrogation. Schaemmel now adopted a most self-important and patronizing air which from so young a man, and one who had played me such a dirty trick, I found distinctly irritating. In a fatherly manner he admonished me not to bring down misfortune on myself by my stubbornness. “I don’t want to be hard on you and I really sympathize with you in the unfortunate position in which you now find yourself. I know, too, you have always appeared quite ready to answer our questions, but you have not yet told us anything that is the slightest use. We can’t believe that you are so ignorant as you pretend, so take great care and answer Dr. Schäfer frankly. This is your very last chance and your life depends on the result of this interrogation.” So, that was that.
Frequently during the past weeks I had heard the name of ‘Schellenberg’ and although this in itself conveyed nothing much to me I had deduced that this must be the name of the man whom I knew as ‘Schaemmel’. It was not until after my return to England at the end of hostilities that I learnt more about him and could appreciate how important a man had taken a personal part in our capture. At that time he was the head of a newly created Intelligence Service of the Gestapo, and as time passed he became one of the most important figures in the German Intelligence, and moreover the man who probably stood closest to Heinrich Himmler and enjoyed his confidence to a greater extent than anyone else. Towards the end of the war, having sufficient intelligence to realize that it must end in German defeat he tried to induce Himmler to break faith with Hitler and himself take over the reins of government with the object of arriving at a peace with the Western Powers and eventually he himself went to Sweden where he tried to secure the co-operation of Count Bernadotte in an effort to conclude a separate peace with the West. Perhaps I am prejudiced but the impression which he made on me at the time was that of a conceited, self-opiniated and distinctly stupid man. I admit that he had completely taken Stevens and me in when we met him in Holland but this was not really surprising since he was exceptionally well informed and had been well briefed for the occasion. Besides, the man was a natural conspirator who, as events showed, kept faith with no one. He could therefore play his part with great realism.
Next morning I was taken to Dr. Schäfer who was installed in a tiny room next to mine. One of my guards came with me and as soon as I sat down I started to place the strap round my ankles. Schäfer asked me: “What nonsense is this?” I explained that I was considered such a dangerous person that orders had been given that my legs must be fettered. “I’ve never heard of such a thing; I’m in charge here and I am certainly not going to work under such conditions. Wait a minute.” He went out of the room for a few minutes and when he came back he threw my strap out of the door and said to the guard, “You also can clear out. I shall be responsible for Mr. Best’s safety.” When he had gone, after looking through some typescript papers for a time, Schäfer sent his typist to fetch him some cigars from the canteen.
As soon as we were alone he said to me in a low voice: “ Don’t you worry yourself about what that officer said to you yesterday. You won’t be shot and you won’t be badly treated, but you may be placed on trial on a charge of landesverrat (treason). The Führer has taken you under his personal protection and no one can do anything to you except on his orders; you seem to have some very good friends in Germany. I have been given the task of examing you and I must report the result to the ‘Reichsrat’ (State Counsellor) who will decide whether you can be placed on trial. I have studied your dossier carefully and from what I can see you have done nothing on which any charge could be based. Just do what I tell you and look upon me as a friend. I know your wife’s cousin at Wiesbaden and want to help you.”
Naturally, I feared a trap, but as things turned out, Dr. Schäfer proved himself honest in what he had said and I came to look forward to the hours which I spent with him. Only seldom did he ask me awkward questions and when he saw that I was unwilling to answer, he frequently suggested plausible replies. Occasionally he adopted a bullying tone, but at the same time he pointed at the telephone, and I knew that there was a live microphone in the room. I could never discover how he knew when it was on; though at times his tone would suddenly change and from being his usual friendly self he would start shouting at me. On such occasions he asked me questions which I could not possibly object to answering, such as, how many German refugees I knew, particularly in Switzerland. Since I knew none, the question was easy to answer. Then he wanted the names of all people whom I knew in Germany, and all business firms with whom I had had dealings. Amusing interludes were numerous identity parades in which I had to take part. It seemed that after my photograph appeared in the Press, numbers of people had written in to the Gestapo claiming to have seen me here, there, and everywhere; even as far afield as Toronto. Since they had seen only the very bad photograph released for publication by the Gestapo which had been retouched until I looked a mixture of criminal and idiot, their idea of my appearance must have been hazy; nevertheless, one and all picked me out at once. Not very difficult when the men paraded with me were so obviously German. Schäfer paid very little attention to what these people declared, merely asking me whether I had been at the place mentioned on the date in question.
One thing I found rather interesting as an example of German thoroughness. Until shortly before the war, when they were recalled to the Fatherland, most of the domestic servants at The Hague were German girls. All these must have been carefully questioned after their return for Dr. Schäfer had a large bundle of reports from the ex-servants of friends of ours which contained all manner of information about myself and other visitors at the houses where they had been in service.
My interrogation by Dr. Schäfer continued for about a week or ten days. At first I would be with him all day, but later he only called me in for an hour or two at a time. On the 7th December I was again moved, this time from the third to the first floor and into a tiny, passage-like room. My old guards suddenly vanished and were replaced by men of a much lower grade, ordinary police constables, in fact. They were very decent fellows but we were not together long enough for me to get to k
now them properly; all I really remember about them is that one man had all his teeth encased in gold—his life-time savings were in his mouth. I have often wondered whether eventually they reached the Reichsbank via some concentration camp.
My treatment now was that of a condemned criminal. All my scanty personal possessions had been taken from me and I was no longer allowed to shave. There was no more extra food, nor anything to smoke. My feet were tightly strapped together and at night I was handcuffed. Obviously the heat was being turned on. After having threatened me so often, pressure of another kind was being tried. On the 9th December, exactly a month after my capture, no breakfast was brought me and when time came for my midday meal, there was still a blank. Late in the afternoon, Grothe, whom I had not seen for some days, came in and told me to get ready for a journey. I was tired, unshaven and very hungry and I must admit that my spirits sank to a new low ebb on hearing this. When one is a prisoner one becomes most conservative in one’s outlook, and nothing is more upsetting than any change from accustomed routine. One gets used to certain people, a certain mode of life; one forms a real attachment to one’s temporary home and there is that curious feeling that so long as there is no change, one is safe. Every move is a step into the unknown and, when one is in the hands of the Gestapo, unpleasant surprises are always possible.
