The Venlo Incident

by Nigel Jones

  I did not rise to this as it struck me at once that this information might come in useful some day. I was getting as much food and more than I could eat, but since I had a pretty good idea of what my guards received in the way of rations (they frequently brought them to eat in my cell) it was clear that I was not getting my double rations, and as they were certainly supplied by the kitchen, someone else was taking them. As long as my food was brought to me ready prepared to eat it was impossible for me to obtain definite evidence that I was being short changed, but as soon as I was given my rations as issued, I could compare them with those of my guards and prove that they were identical in quantity and weight.

  It was not long before Ettlinger found out what the trusty, Schwartz, was doing and of course he made a hell of a row and gave orders that nothing was to be brought to me in bulk; he was quite bright enough to see where the danger lay, but I had succeeded in establishing a precedent and had not much difficulty in inducing Lieutenant Heydrich to revoke Ettlinger’s order and permit me to carry on with my wooden knife spreading butter, cheese, and sausage, on my black bread at my own sweet will. I managed to find out, too, that there were at least another four prisoners in the building who were entitled to the double rations and that none of them got them, any surplus being a perquisite of the warders.

  I knew of quite a number of other forms of graft on which the warders, in particular Ettlinger, were engaged, but at the time thought it better to keep my knowledge to myself and save it up for use on some suitable occasion. It was obviously of no use to complain to the commandant, for I knew perfectly well that his thieving was carried on on such a large scale that he was obliged to turn a blind eye to the petty peculations of his subordinates; besides, Ettlinger was one of his chief assistants, as his father-in-law, a Berlin butcher, was the link between the camp supplies and the Black Market. I felt, therefore, that my best policy was to wait for a suitable opportunity and then perhaps spring a mine which would remove not only Ettlinger, but the commandant as well. I was getting to know the ropes, and knew that my only hope of improving my position was to play off Gestapo against the camp authorities. But this was ticklish work and I needed to play my cards very carefully. I was, though, very hopeful that ultimately I should succeed in gaining a certain ascendancy in my prison and indeed, it would have been strange had I failed; after all, I was dealing with a lot of uneducated men, and my greater knowledge and experience must give me a great advantage.

  The winter of 1941-2 was not nearly so cold as that of 1939-40, but we had a great deal of snow, and as I had taken upon myself the task of keeping the paths passable I got a lot of healthy exercise, and no little amusement, clearing them with a sort of miniature snow plough which I made out of some old boards. I had another letter from May in November 1941 and two in January, and my spirits were of the best.

  After Drexl’s dismissal the staff had been increased by two young warders, van Detzen and Saathof who, having nowhere to live, camped out in the Bunker where they had been given a vacant cell, and since they were in the building Ettlinger had quite given up doing night duty which made everything very much pleasanter. The two young men were nice fresh countrymen from near the Dutch border and enjoyed speaking their Low German to me, which so closely resembles Dutch that I could understand it without difficulty. They had both passed through Hitler Jugend and Labour Corps and were thus representative of the German youth educated to be worthy citizens of Hitler’s third realm which was to last for the next thousand years. Myself, I saw no sign that the Nazi teaching with which they had been innoculated had taken with either of them. As is the case with most young people, they had merely suffered education because they had no other option, and now that they were free they thought no more about it, and were simply intent on enjoying themselves as much as they could. Both had fathers who held small offices in the party, and it was due to their influence that they had come to Sachsenhausen as warders instead of being drafted to the front.

  Actually, van Detzen would far rather have joined the Wehrmacht; he was a big hefty fellow and found the life in the Bunker intensely boring; Saathof, on the other hand, had not the faintest wish to go anywhere near danger, and was in a panic when there was news of medical reclassification of men engaged on home duty. Eccarius was always careful to keep well within the letter of the law, and never failed to do his turn of night duty, and, as I have already said, he was always quiet and efficient and never made sudden inroads to my cell as Ettlinger was apt to do. Consequently I could feel free in the evenings to do anything which I felt inclined to undertake, without fear that I might be caught wielding a needle or some other sharp or pointed implement.

  In February an epidemic of typhus started amongst Russian prisoners, of whom there were now a large number in the camp, and we even had a case in the Bunker. As a result, the whole building, wing by wing, was disinfected with prussic acid gas, and I was shifted out of my cell while this was done. I heard from one of the guards who came to me later, and who at that time was employed on sentry duty in the camp, that every hut occupied by Russians in which a case of typhus occurred was immediately surrounded by a fence of barbed wire, and sentries were stationed round it with orders to shoot down any prisoner who tried to leave the hut. The prisoners were given no medical attention of any kind, but every morning a couple of men of the Bible Student category came to fetch the dead and take them to the crematorium, after which they had to join the Russians in the hut, ostensibly to give them medical care. My informant told me that he had seen as many as thirty corpses taken away from a single hut.

  At this time the treatment of the Russian prisoners must have been indescribably cruel, and as they were given much smaller rations than other prisoners a very large number starved to death. I was also told that when the first batch of Russians arrived in the autumn of 1941 they were forced to run the gauntlet between two rows of SS-regulars armed with oaken cudgels; it was said that half a dozen men were killed. This seems to have been done without the knowledge or approval of the commandant, for two or three of the ringleaders were punished for their participation by a few days in the cells.

  In March Himmler visited the camp for the first time since I had been there. For days before we had known that something was up, for there had been a most thorough clean up and new uniforms had been issued to guards and trusties alike, and my cell having been inspected by the commandant and his adjudant, orders were given that all the cobwebs which festooned the corners must be removed. On the morning of the great day, Eccarius came to my cell and removed the guards’ ash tray and warned them not to smoke. It seems, such was Himmler’s stupidity, that he really believed that because he himself disapproved of smoking no SS man would dream of indulging in such a vice. The great man came, but he did not honour me with a call, and I heard that the object of his visit was to consult a homeopath, a certain Dr. Schmidt, who was one of the men of Hess’s entourage imprisoned in the Bunker. Shortly afterwards arrangements were made for this man to return to Berlin and carry on his practice there; not as a free man but as what was called an ‘Ehrenhäftling’ (prisoner of honour) accompanied by an SS guard wherever he went. Ebert, one of my old guards, was one of the men chosen for this duty, and he told me the story some months later when he returned to the Bunker.

  Himmler did, however, pay another visit to the camp and this time came to see me. This was on the 30th June, 1942. There had been the same days of prior excitement and the same drill with ash trays. At about eleven o’clock there were the noises without which always heralded important visitors; the great man had arrived. I heard him with his bodyguard pass my door to a cell farther along the passage and after an interval, repass; I was just about to say to my guard that it was now safe for us to smoke when the tramping feet stopped and then moved back again towards my cell. The door opened a bit and a hand beckoned to the guard who went out hurriedly, then the door was thrown wide open and I saw the passage full of officers, but only one entered and the door was gent
ly closed behind him. He advanced the regulation three paces and, raising his hand only the level of his chin said, “Heil Hitler!” To which I responded with “Grüss Gott, Reichsführer,” for of course it was Heinrich Himmler. A little sandy coloured man with wobbly glasses on his nose and an absolutely expressionless face. “I am sorry, Herr Best, to see a man like you under such circumstances, but it is war and we are trying to do our best for your comfort. Have you any complaints?”

  “No, Reichsführer, treatment and everything else is splendid,” (Tadellos)! Experience had taught me that complaint was useless and only brought grief in its train.

  “Have you any wishes? Do you lack anything?”

  “No! Reichsführer.”

  “Well, Mr. Best, you have now spent several months in this notorious camp of Sachsenhausen, and you have certainly been able to ascertain for yourself that all the stories of atrocities (Greuelgeschichten) in the British White Book were nothing but lies, Jewish inventions.”

  “I am sorry, Reichsführer, but from what I have seen and heard since I came here I believe that conditions are even worse than as pictured in the White Book.”

  Heinrich Himmler turned on his heel without a word and went out leaving me to muse on the possibility that he might have taken my words in ill part, and perhaps dock me of my tobacco or have me shot at dawn. Noises without and their cessation indicated the departure of our august visitor; tobacco smoke and peace again filled the cell.

  Not long afterwards Ettlinger came in and asked: “What has happened?” “Why?” I asked in turn. “The Reichsführer went straight out of the building after he left you and looked quite disturbed.” “Look here, if the Hauptschar-Führer wants to know anything about a private talk between the Reichsführer and myself, he had better ask the Reichsführer to tell him.” In German, to speak to a man in the third person singular, addressing him as ‘he’ and continuing to speak of him as though he were not present is a particularly contemptuous mode of address which has completely fallen out of current use. I, however, frequently used it when speaking to Ettlinger or anyone else who annoyed me as, however much it irritated them, there was no way in which they could get back at me for, even if archaic, this way of addressing an inferior was perfectly correct and I was quite entitled to employ it if I chose. Frederick the Great always spoke to subjects in this way, and I thought what was good enough for him was good enough for me.

  Later, on the same day, the commandant came to see me. This was quite contrary to his usual habits as I had never known him to visit the Bunker except in the morning, also, what he had never done before, he told my guard to leave the cell. Then he started off. “The Reichsführer is furious. It will cost you your life. I am expecting orders for your execution any minute…. What did you say to the Reichsführer?”

  “I’m very sorry, Oberführer, but you will understand that it would be most incorrect of me to repeat anything which the Reichsführer discussed with me privately. Anyhow, I am sure that when you get your orders for my execution you will also learn with what I am charged.” The Oberführer looked as though he would like to spit in my face but contented himself with making the sort of noise with which, in old melodramas, the villain received the news that the hero had paid off the mortgage on the old homestead and that his plot to get the girl had been foiled, then, exit Oberführer.

  Well, I was not shot and nothing happened at all. If anything, I was treated with even more consideration than before. Since the beginning of the year Eccarius had taken over the job of providing me with cigarettes or anything else which I needed. Instead of having to beg Ettlinger every time I wanted some cigarettes, and then getting them doled out to me six at a time, Eccarius had been bringing me a box of a hundred every Monday; quite good cigarettes they were too, they were called Ibar and came from Yugoslavia. Not long after Himmler’s visit I ran a bit short one week and asked him if I could have a few cigarettes in advance, and to my surprise he answered: “Certainly, you can have as many as you like. You only have to ask.” I felt that wonders never cease. Letters were coming pretty regularly from May and I knew that my own were reaching her; I was feeling well, the weather was glorious, and I seemed to be able to stay out and sun-bathe for two hours or more without anything being said; my food was much more satisfactory as I could always manage to save up sufficient butter, jam and cheese to tide me over when something I didn’t like appeared on the menu; and now it seemed that I could smoke as much as I liked. I was really beginning to enjoy myself.

  Rumours reached me that a general stocktaking was being carried out in the camp, and soon the cells in my wing were filled with higher camp officials who, it was said, were to be charged with theft. Stock was even taken of all the things which I had in my cell, and I was surprised to find that I had succeeded in accumulating no less than fourteen blankets most of which found their use as cushions, rugs, or tablecloths. I also heard that General Glücks, the Inspector of Concentration Camps, had appointed a commission to inquire into conditions in the camp and that the most unusual, indeed, revolutionary procedure had been adopted, of taking evidence from camp prisoners. Theoretically, the moment anyone was brought to the camp he ceased to be a human being and became merely Häftling number so and so (it was in fact a punishable offence to speak of a prisoner as a ‘Mensch’ (human being). As a camp prisoner he ceased to possess that quality ‘Ehre’ which is so everlastingly in the mouths of Germans and which, although translated by the word ‘honour’ is so different to anything that we mean by it. Anyhow, a man who has no ‘Ehre’ cannot take an oath nor can any reliance be placed on anything he says; he is a moral outlaw. If a prisoner was accused of an offence he could not defend himself, but must take whatever came to him by way of punishment. It will therefore be understood how the decision to take evidence from prisoners caused something like a panic, and that SS officials felt as though their world had come to an end.

  There were other signs, visible even to me, that strange things were happening. Some time before, the commandant had had his yacht brought into the prison grounds and a sort of shed had been built over it which was directly under my window; a great nuisance it was, too, for whenever it rained I was disturbed by the noise made by the drops beating on the corrugated iron roof which was just on the level of my window. A gang of prisoners came one day and removed shed and yacht. I was told that a valuation of the yacht was being made and all costs would be charged up to the commandant. A few days later more men came, broke up the wood shed in my garden, and took all the timber away; they even removed the planks of my skittle alley.

  On the 22nd August the commandant came to my cell bringing with him a wee little man with big round glasses who looked a bit like Mr. Pickwick, and introduced him to me as Obersturmbanführer Kaindl, the new commandant: “I am leaving you; I have been promoted to Chief of Police in Norway,” he said. I should say here that the commandant had always been very courteous and correct in introducing to me any new officer who came on duty at the camp, so the fact that he introduced the new commandant to me was just a matter of customary routine, but it was obvious that something big was happening, and afterwards there was a lot of talk about the matter. It was said that Glücks had wanted the old commandant arrested and put on trial, but Himmler had intervened and had given him the new job in Norway. Curiously enough, never afterwards did I come across mention of his name in the papers, nor could anyone else tell me what became of him. As a prisoner, one has a rooted objection to change, even change for the better, but I could not feel sorry that Lohritz was going, and I certainly liked the look of the new man. Well, time would show.

  Ettlinger had been away from duty for a couple of months on sick leave; he had some trouble with his tonsils though rumour placed an unkinder construction on his indisposition. He returned to duty on 2nd November and that evening came in at eight o’clock and wanted to chain me up for the night; he brought my own bracelet too, instead of Stevens’s old one, which I had been wearing for some time past. Of cour
se I refused to be chained up at that hour and said he would have to return at ten-thirty. He was extremely angry and said: “This sort of thing will have to be changed, I am not going to stay up for the convenience of a ‘Häftling’.” Got you, I thought, for I knew that strict orders had been given by the Gestapo that no suggestion might be made that I was considered as a ‘Häftling’. Next morning Ettlinger roused me at five when, for a long time past, I had only been getting up at eight. On the two following days, when duty was taken in turn by van Detzen and Saathof, there was the same business of coming in to chain me up at eight and the early wash at five in the morning. Then came Eccarius’s turn and as soon as he came on duty I had him in and told him what had happened, and that I understood from what Ettlinger said that I must now consider myself to be a ‘Häftling’. Eccarius went white as a sheet and asked, “He didn’t say that, did he?” “Ask Paul König,” I replied, “he was in the room.” Eccarius promised faithfully that everything should be as it was and that Ettlinger must be mad to try to make changes without authority.

  I heard nothing more about alterations in my bedtime or hour of rising, but next time that Ettlinger was on duty he sent the trusty Schwartz round with bracelet and padlock with instructions that my guard should lock me up. Of course I refused and when Ettlinger turned up in shirt sleeves I gave him a first-class ‘snort’ (Anschnauzer), and he had to go back and put on full uniform and equipment before I would permit him to chain me. A few days later, on two occasions, I noticed that all my belongings had been searched whilst I was in the lavatory, and when Ettlinger or one of the two young warders was on duty the door of my cell was suddenly opened at night on several occasions, ostensibly for the warder on duty to check whether the guard was awake; there were other annoying intrusions into my privacy and interference with my established customs. I had Eccarius in again who said he was very sorry, but Ettlinger would not listen to him and the things which he had done recently to annoy me were all strictly in accordance with regulations, he therefore advised me to ask the commandant to come and see me: “Don’t forget though that I have always done my best for you and have tried to make you comfortable.”