The Venlo Incident

by Nigel Jones

  Towards the prisoners he was benevolent and immediately scrapped beatings and confinement in dark cells as punishments, substituting longer or shorter terms in the punishment squad which, nevertheless, under his rule was always far smaller than it had been in Lohritz’s day, or at the most two days on bread and water in a light cell. Most of the men were crimed for stealing from each other or for bullying. On one occasion, having discovered that most of the room bosses were bullies, he put the whole lot of them in the punishment squad for three weeks and let them carry forty pounds on their backs during a daily march of twenty-four miles. This effectually put a stop to one of the worst features of camp life under which the non-criminal element had suffered. Many times I was told by our trusties that under Kaindl’s administration prisoners said that, in comparison with the past, the camp was more like a sanatorium (Erholungsheim) than a concentration camp.

  In our building everything was being repainted and redecorated and I heard wonderful stories about cells of which the walls were distempered in colour instead of the usual whitewash, and it was not long before Eccarius let out the secret that soon I should move to a much better cell on the front and sunny side of the building. It was even said that the new cells were comfortably furnished with large tables, arm-chairs, and beds with spring mattresses, so my guards and I were equally hopeful and excited. Then, on the 8th January Kriminalrat Clemens paid me another visit, and told me that he had been to Holland and had brought back with him all my belongings there which he had been able to find; everything would be sent on to me as soon as transport was available.

  On the 25th January I heard that the German troops before Stalingrad had been cut off, and two days later I moved to my new cell, No. 43. What a difference! The walls were distempered with a rolled pattern of pink on a cream base; everything looked clean and fresh, and the sun was shining in brightly; after my cell with its dirty greyish walls and cold north light it seemed to me like a palace. My guards and I got to work bringing in all my possessions, and it was a real joy to arrange everything and take possession of my new home. Kaindl came in when we had just about finished our labours, and with him, Eccarius bringing a magnificent hydrangea in a pot, which was formally presented to me with good wishes for my happiness and for a speedy return home. When I moved into the new cell Eccarius had said that in future the door of my cell would have to be bolted, so I took the opportunity to ask the commandant what was the reason for this change. He did not seem to know anything about it, and when I told him that so far I had never been locked in, he asked Eccarius what the devil he meant by making changes without orders, and told him that he had better remember for the future that there was only one commandant in the camp, then, turning to me, he said: “Remember, Herr Best, if at any time there is anything you want to ask me you need only tell the head warder and I will be along right away.”

  I have never really understood what was Kaindl’s motive in saying a thing like this for he must have known that he was placing a most formidable weapon in my hands, but I like to flatter myself that he realized that I should not be so stupid as to misuse it and, indeed, there was only one occasion after this when I actually asked for his help in a matter which concerned the behaviour of Eccarius. One day, some time later, I said to him: “Commandant, you treat me almost as though I were your deputy here.” He twinkled at me for a moment through his big round glasses and said: “Ach, Herr Best, it seems to work all right so why need we define our relations in words.”

  Two days later I was called by Eccarius to the interrogation room, and found that two enormous bales had come for me which contained everything in the way of clothes which I possessed; most of them things which were not of the slightest use to me in prison. What was I to do with all the paraphernalia for formal afternoon and evening wear, with stiff white shirts and black silk socks? Things which I could have used, such as day shirts and thick tweeds, were not there, and indeed to this day their disappearance has remained a mystery. I collected a few things which I could use, gave some things as presents, and consigned the rest for safe keeping to the cloak room from which, as far as I was concerned, they never again emerged. The following day Grothe turned up bringing with him a suit-case of mine which did contain some articles which were to me of the greatest value. One was the typewriter on which I wrote this story, and the other my electric shaver.

  Since the middle of 1940 we had enjoyed the amenity of a barbers’ shop in the building, and every morning I went there to be shaved. Although this was a great improvement to shaving with the dull, wornout razor blades with which I had previously had to cope, I have for some reason always had a great dislike to being shaved by anyone else. In any case, I had for some time before the war become a convert to the use of an electric razor, and I do not think that anyone who has once mastered the art of using such an appliance would ever willingly return to the messy business of brush and shaving soap. From that day, until the end of my imprisonment, my morning ablutions became a pleasure and when later, under orders from above, I was forced to leave my cell for shelter during air raids, there were three things that I always took with me: the letters from my wife, my typewriter, and my electric shaver.

  My life during 1943 and 1944 was really about as agreeable as any prisoner could desire, and gradually I lost all of the feeling of strain and anxiety of the previous three years. Letters from May reached me with very fair regularity and with the knowledge which they brought me that she was well and happy and had found good friends, I had really nothing to worry about.

  When I took up residence in cell No. 43 my first delight was somewhat tempered by a terrific noise of hammering which went on day and night from the direction of the end of our passage, and it was not long before I heard that a suite consisting of sitting-room, three bedrooms, and lavatory was being constructed to accommodate some extremely distinguished visitors. One of the cells in question, No. 38, was the double cell which had previously housed Stevens and where, until a day or two previously, an English officer had been imprisoned about whom, all that I had succeeded in finding out, was that he was probably a general and wore a red hat. It was two years and more before I met him at Dachau and learnt to know him as Lieutenant-Colonel John McGrath, R.A. It soon became obvious that the new occupants of the No. 38 suite must be of superlative importance, for we heard of carpets being laid, of curtains to the windows, and pictures hung on the wall; special furniture too was brought in, civilian beds and upholstered easy-chairs. The access to the suite was blocked by brickwork and a real front door complete with bell and knocker. When building and refitting operations had been completed there was an official inspection by the Director of Concentration Camps, Obergruppenführer Pohle, and a few days later the new guests arrived and were christened by me ‘The Bears’ and their home, ‘The Bear Pit’, both names soon being used by everybody. Who they were and what the reason of their imprisonment I was never able to discover; all that my guards could find out was that the party consisted of a Roumanian prince, his secretary, and his valet.

  At about the same time a considerable number of other distinguished strangers took up residence with us, amongst them several Frenchmen, said to be ex-ministers of the pre-occupation government. One of them I saw by chance at the barbers, when the warder on duty had carelessly omitted to find out whether it was disengaged, and I am practically certain that this gentleman was M. Mandel. More and more the atmosphere of the bunker became that of a select boarding house rather than that of a prison; instead of the groans and shrieks of tortured prisoners one heard obsequious warders hurrying to answer the call of cell bells, and the jingle of cups and saucers as the trusties carried dainty trays of food to one V.I.P. after another. Gone were the old aluminium bowls and mugs in which for the previous three years all our food had been served, and gleaming white plates, cups and saucers, and stainless steel cutlery was the order of the day. The dark cells which housed prisoners from the camp had been cleaned and redecorated, and the windows of those which
faced my garden instead of being boarded up now had ground glass screens which, whilst admitting light and air, were designed to prevent the occupants from seeing V.I.P.s of the highest class, such as the Bears and myself, when we went out for exercise. There were, it is true, some slum quarters, mostly on the opposite side of my own passage, which were occupied by SS prisoners awaiting trial for serious offences; generally for stealing gold, but they were a quiet, well-behaved lot, and their presence was hardly noticeable except when morning and evening they went with their well-closed sanitary pails to the lavatory, and at meal times when they drew their rations.

  Prisoners fell into three main groups; those who were permitted to see each other but not to talk together, those who during exercise and when visiting the lavatory could associate freely, and those, like myself, who were segregated from all association with other prisoners. The first class took their exercise together, but under supervision of guards had to march round and round separated from each other by an interval of some twelve feet, instead of being permitted to pass their hour of freedom in the fresh air as they pleased. For the last category arrangements had to be made that their visits to garden and lavatory were solitary and unobserved. Luckily there were not more than about a dozen of us, and while the west garden was reserved for the Bears, Elser, and myself, the others had to take their turn in the east in the intervals between the mass exodus of the vulgar herd. Gradually, by dint of a little give and take, everything was sorted out and everyone had his fixed hours for the morning wash, for baths, and for exercise, and soon it was my task to prepare the roster required for the smooth running of the establishment. Naturally, I looked after myself first and so succeeded in arranging my hours of exercise to suit my own convenience and to give me the maximum amount of sunlight. I usually went out from ten-thirty to one in the morning, and in the summer again from 6 p.m. till bedtime; so far had I travelled since the days when my exercise was limited to one hour daily.

  Although the whole building had been painted and decorated, and really everything looked bright and clean, there was one blemish which for over a year was a constant source of discomfort; a plague of cockroaches which infested the boiler room and lavatory. Although, of course, I had heard of these beasties it had so far never fallen to me to live with them and so I had no idea of the speed with which they multiplied, nor how all pervading they could become. I was lucky, for only an occasional bachelor wandered sufficiently far to reach my cell, but I know of others who lived closer to the main nursery whose life at night became an absolute torment through the mass infestation of their cells. My trouble was limited to the fact that before I could take a shower bath I had to spend some ten minutes washing a space clear on which I could stand, and that when on one occasion I wished to go to the lavatory at night I found on opening the door that the entire floor was so thickly carpeted with cockroaches that not an inch of it was uncovered. From that moment I also kept a pail in my cell. Everything that could be thought of was done to combat the plague, but it was not until the lavatory and boiler room had their walls stripped of plaster and were then gassed for twenty-four hours that the attempts were crowned with victory.

  The cockroach was not the only insect with which I became closely acquainted in prison for there was also the cricket. Probably through youthful memories of Charles Dickens I had always carried with me a certain sentimental regard for this animal, which I looked upon as a sort of domesticated grasshopper who imparted an air of old-world romance to the fireplaces in Elizabethan houses. In fact, I can remember as a child being told by some old lady that if I were a good little boy and would keep very still, the dear little cricket would come and sing to me. Well, there may be crickets whose chirps are of such dulcet tone that they are desirable housemates, but they must belong to a very different species from those who carried on their courting during the first two years of my stay at Sachsenhausen. These were obtrusive vulgarians who lived on the pipes of the central heating system along which they could travel as though they were broad motor roads. They were disgusting looking beasts, a dull grey colour and apparently about the shape and size of a medium frog, though they could pass without difficulty through the smallest crevice. The noise which they made was terrific and, since the whole building acted like a sounding board. I was forced every night to listen to the love songs of some hundreds of courting couples. Worse than this, for often some lovelorn male would sit on one of the pipes leading to the radiator of my cell and sing of his blighted affections the long night through; there would be pauses when I would hope that he had gone, but always, just as I was on the point of sleep, he would start his monotonous plaint anew.

  Hofmann, the guard whom I mentioned earlier, became an enthusiastic cricket hunter and would crouch at night for hours at the foot of the radiator with cap in hand ready to knock off its perch any insect that ventured to leave the safety of its recess in the wall. Unfortunately, a cricket knocked to the ground was not a cricket killed for the beasts would not only run like greased lightning but as jumpers looked upon fleas as tiros. There would be a sudden burst of violent movement; the cricket jumping lightly and easily and Hofmann making ungainly leaps in his heavy jack boots, in vain endeavour at a synchronization which would bring his boots into contact with a cricket on the floor. Then I would make my protest at the disturbance, Hofmann would return to his chair, and the cricket soon sang with renewed vigour from the radiator. The cyanide gassing which protected us from typhus infection at the beginning of 1942 put an end to every cricket in the place, and as far as I am concerned, I shall be happy if I have heard their song for the last time.

  My life during 1943 can best be described as comfortable monotony. I had become used to prison life and there was neither conscious impatience nor revolt, but throughout there must have been a deep subconscious resistance which ate constantly into my nerves and from whose effects I am not yet fully recovered. Imprisonment is such an affront to every human instinct that in its effects it causes just as severe a disability as the loss of an arm or a leg, for the memory of having been treated as an animal to be driven about and fettered or tethered at one’s keeper’s will is not one that time seems able to eradicate. I always fought hard to retain my sense of humour and to maintain a reasonable outlook on all matters connected with my daily life; I tried to make allowances for everything which seemed to me unnecessary or unjust and to make myself believe that I was even happy during the last years when my material circumstances could justly be considered comfortable, but somehow or other I feel almost more resentment in regard to this period than I do for the far worse years which preceded it when I was, in a measure, forced to fight for my very existence. The more one has the more one wants, and the more comfortable one is the more one is surrounded by temptation.

  I was like someone suffering from an agonizing cancer of which the worst pain was dulled by the constant administration of hypnotics. The conditions of my life were really just about as comfortable as they could be in prison; my cell was bright, warm and comfortable; I had access to a very good library of some 6,000 books; my hours out of doors were restricted only by the arrangements made with Eccarius to permit other prisoners also to have a spell of fresh air; food was really excellent both in quantity and quality; I had as guards four men in whom I could place complete trust and to whom it seemed to be a pleasure to serve, and indeed spoil, me in every possible way. But I was too well off and events which took place outside my little realm gradually lost their reality for me, and like some monk my life was nothing more than existence governed by routine. I tried to make each day as much like its predecessor as possible, doing the same things at exactly the same minute day after day, for when they resembled each other closely enough they became as one and the sense of time was lost.

  Letters from May were the only welcome interruptions in my even passage towards freedom or execution and when, as sometimes happened, several months passed without any reaching me life became an utter blank when I could neither eat,
sleep, nor settle down to anything. Yet when the time came once a month when it was my turn to write, I experienced the greatest difficulty in making up my mind to make the breach in my accustomed routine and really get down to writing. My letters had to be artificial for I was not permitted to say anything which would convey any concrete idea of the actual circumstances of my life. I must not say where I was, that I was confined to a cell, or that my imprisonment was solitary. I had to write cheerfully, for I did not want May to worry. Then too, all my letters had to be typed and written in German, which introduced another degree of unnatural restraint. I would read her letters over and over again trying to discover in them hidden meanings, just as she did with mine. Ours is a very happy marriage and never before had we been separated for more than a week at a time; even then, as we still do now, we wrote to each other every day and shared every incident and thought. There seemed no possible end to our separation; or, at all events, I was unable to imagine one and I often felt that I was enmeshed in a web from which there could be no escape.

  I suffered neither from depression, boredom, nor self-pity, but my active participation in life was confined to the four walls of my prison and the present moment. I was always busy and, as I hope, apparently in the best of spirits; at all events the warders and my guards always came to me to tell of their troubles and never seemed to think that I had any of my own. I said that I was busy; indeed, the day always seemed too short for all that I had to do. Having managed to get hold of some tools I became watch and clock repairer; having learnt something of the art of leather work from my guard, Johann Braun, a saddler, I made purses, pocket books, and tobacco pouches, then there was the mending of my clothes often involving ambitious alterations and reconstructions; as I succeeded in obtaining books on the subject I devoted more and more of my time to exploration of the realm of higher mathematics—I really got to the point when I understood quite a bit though I seem to have forgotten it all now.