Colditz (32 page)

As I have said, Eggers writes that Niedenthal (or a friend of his in Colditz) had been a business partner of the “Leipzig wholesaler” before the war. This had started up the connection. Yet Platt does not record this at all. Again therefore the question arises, is Eggers telling the truth? Is he once more trying to hide the fact that, willingly or unwillingly, he was co-operating with the Gestapo?

The principals in this drama are all departed: Eggers, Platt and Niedenthal. But perhaps the “Leipzig wholesaler” is not!

With spring turning to summer, Peter Tunstall found another opportunity for Goon-baiting. Little Willi appeared in the courtyard carrying a long ladder. A sentry was with him. Crossing to the chapel, where he had to repair a window, Little Willi propped the ladder against the wall and, leaving the sentry behind
to guard the ladder, returned through the gate to fetch the glass. While Don Donaldson distracted the sentry by sitting on the cobbles nearby and embarking on a series of extraordinary tricks with his hands, Pete and Bag Dickinson removed the ladder. Starting up the spiral staircase to the British quarters they found that the twenty-five-foot ladder could not get round the curves. Bag fetched a saw (made out of gramophone spring) and they shortened the ladder by five feet. Moments later the five-foot length of ladder was standing where Little Willi had left the twenty-five-foot one. The electrician returned with the glass, stopped, and stared incredulously at his new ladder. The sentry joined him. Willi asked what had happened. The sentry blamed a poltergeist. Then, picking up the ladder and the pane of glass, they marched forlornly out of the courtyard.

*
Editors were not able to verify further updates to this information as of publication.

Spring and Summer 1943

D
URING MAY THE INADEQUATE
diet of the prisoners began to show up in numerous skin complaints. Vitamin deficiency was almost certainly the cause. Padre Platt's feet and later hands became swollen and septic. On 26 May he went to bed sick in his Priests' Hole. He remained there till the end of July. His sickness was diagnosed as vitamin deficiency. The POWs had not seen a fresh vegetable for years. Everybody was affected in various degrees. Padre Platt, being probably the oldest POW, felt the brunt of it.

On 13 May came the visit of the Swiss Red Cross delegate. He entered the courtyard accompanied by German officers and went to the
Evidenzzimmer
, where he listened to the grievances of the various POW Senior Officers.

Whilst the Polish Senior Officer was there, Prawitt went out to the courtyard. It was about mid-day. A group of prisoners were taking advantage of the brief period when the sun could be seen. Prawitt's adjutant shouted “
Achtung!
” It was ignored. Prawitt was furious. He ordered the guards to clear the courtyard. The prisoners, angry at being deprived of a brief sight of the sun, gathered at the windows, booing and shouting. Ordered to leave the windows, they continued howling. Prawitt ordered the guards to fire at anyone appearing at the windows. Shots were fired, fortunately not finding a target.

Hearing the shots the Swiss delegate came out of the
Evidenzzimmer
and asked what was happening. The Polish Senior Officer said, “Just shots at the windows. We don't take any notice. It happens so often.”

The Swiss expressed his surprise to a German officer, who replied: “There is such a hostile attitude adopted by the prisoners that the
Oberst
has no
alternative but to open fire in order to protect himself.” As the Swiss turned to re-enter the
Evidenzzimmer
he saw a stretcher near the entrance. He asked why it was there.

“Oh,” replied the Pole, “we always have a stretcher ready for the wounded.”

The delegation then visited the Dutch and Polish quarters where the reception was very military and everything was in order. On coming downstairs again they found someone had removed the handle from the door, effectively locking them in. A sentry had to be called to produce a French bayonet from the guardroom. These bayonets were in the form of a cross, and when the point was inserted in the hole left by the missing handle, and then turned, it opened the door.

On 30 May, the blind French General Scapini, a deputy of Field Marshal Pétain, visited the French contingent to speak to them. It is time to speak of the problems of loyalty and conscience that faced the French at Colditz.

When, with the assent of the French government, officers were asked to volunteer for work in Germany, nearly everyone put his name down, not wishing to neglect an opportunity of getting out of the Castle. But when told the conditions (word of honor not to escape; not to bear arms against Germany), everyone refused to sign; it was only in order to escape and fight again that they had volunteered. But later, one officer changed his mind. He would not listen to argument. “I want to escape,” he said. “It's impossible to do so from here.” The French Senior Officer replied, “But if you sign the paper and are recaught, you'll be shot.” “Yes, but I'll risk it. In any case, I don't consider that my word of honor to a German has any validity.” “Your word of honor perhaps, but it is the word of honor of a French officer that you would be breaking. That I cannot permit.” Shortly after, the officer refused to sign and took his place again amongst his comrades. But they did not find it easy to pardon his weakness. Working in Germany was thought of as treason by every prisoner in Colditz, although the Vichy War Ministry encouraged the French to work for the Germans.

In 1942 or early in 1943, the French were permitted, for the first time, to attend a cinema show in a hall just outside the Castle. Everyone wishing to go had to give his written word not to try to escape. This was valid only for the time between starting off and returning. No sooner were the French seated than a small gang of French officers whom they did not know entered from an opposite door. Either of their own free will, or as a result of ministerial exhortations, they were working in Colditz town, almost certainly in the porcelain factory. They were hardly in the room before they were received with roars of disapproval. Everyone stood up, fists clenched and raised, shouting, “
Salauds!
… Cochons! … Traîtres! … Fabricants de pots de chambre!
”
*
The lights were switched off to quiet the noise. Eggers was choking with suppressed anger, but still wearing a forced smile.

There were no more trips to the cinema!

Were all the French officers pro–de Gaulle? A certain number, yes! And those, 100 percent so. The rest found themselves with split loyalties. All their training, all their discipline, had instilled a strong loyalty to Pétain, the commander-in-chief of the glorious French Army of 1918.

How could these men be reproached? Deprived of contact with their country, closely confined, subjected to insidious propaganda by the Vichy government which had accepted the “
double jeu
,” their lives as prisoners had been a long and tenacious resistance to the Germans—the
Boche
. How many true French, who certainly did not need lessons in patriotism from anyone, asked themselves with anguish where their duty lay? How could they choose between General de Gaulle and the man who, unless it was proved otherwise, also had the best interests of France at heart? Whatever their differing approach, all were united in one thing, hatred of the
Boche
. It was this hatred that bound them closely.

Colditz was probably the only camp that did not have a “Pétainist Group,” or where Vichy propaganda was not distributed, where messages from the Maréchal were not read; from where no messages of loyalty were dispatched. All these germs of disunity were taboo. Nothing can illustrate this better than Scapini's visit on 30 May 1943, a few days after the Feast of St. Joan of Arc, which had been marked by the fervent singing of the
Marseillaise
by all the French, including the Free French.

It was his first and last visit. He could hardly have expected a welcome. The previous winter, on a bitterly cold day, one of his collaborators visited Colditz. He took back with him a memory of fanatics who, not content with giving him a hostile reception, had stolen his overcoat and hat. The news of Scapini's visit aroused heated arguments. The more moderate types had a difficult job persuading the objectors not to let the other nationalities witness a hostile demonstration against a man who was blinded in the 1914–1918 war.

Surrounded as soon as he arrived, he was told that, since 11 November 1942 (when the Germans took over Vichy France), the French government including its chief had lost all credibility in Colditz. Their failure to do anything about the violations of the Geneva Convention by German jailers gave the impression
that in their eyes the Colditz prisoners were outcasts, abandoned to their fate, in exchange for German favors. The view was strongly held that they would be better looked after by a Protecting Power than by their own country.

Stung to the quick, Scapini protested violently. He explained that he was powerless to do anything … the tense situation, the lack of goodwill of the Germans. The prisoners taken at Dieppe were still in chains. French generals were subjected to four
Appells
each day and one each night. The best that could be hoped for was a patched-up peace. He asked one prisoner how he passed the time. On getting the reply, “Trying to get out of here,” he said, “Why run such risks, since France is not any longer in the war?” To which he got the response, “I can't believe that the fighting soldier you were in 1914–18 would have said that!” “Maybe not,” said Scapini after a long pause.

Scapini's entourage wanted him to address all the French, but his reaction was, “What's the use? We haven't a single thing in common.” However, he spoke to a gathering of room leaders, older, calmer men. He denied vehemently that he had neglected his duty towards the prisoners. He spoke heatedly about their mistrust of Pétain. He insisted that the spirit of discipline demanded obedience to the chief, and quoted the English “My country, right or wrong.” Standing, leaning on the table, he listened to what the room leaders had to say. But visibly uneasy before this audience, he knew that his discourse had produced no echo. Clearly, there was no common ground. Turning slowly, he said to the gathering, “I'm afraid we don't see things in the same light.”

Here is a translation of the final peroration of one of the room leaders—a lawyer—who had been a colleague of Scapini in the Paris law-courts:

You have said that the
Maréchal
[Pétain] has lost all credibility [in Colditz]. That is only partially true. His photograph is still hanging in some of the rooms. He is still respected by some of us.

But what it is essential that you should know is that every prisoner in Colditz has a deep and abiding hatred of the Germans. They cannot forget that the Germanic hordes have on three occasions invaded our country with the intention of crushing it, that they have committed atrocious crimes, that they are a “nation of prey” [
nation de proie
] and that France cannot live in peace as long as Germany is not destroyed.

They wish for her destruction ardently. They applaud anything that contributes towards it. They participate in it with all their heart and within the feeble means available to them. As for those who still respect the
Maréchal
, it is only because they are convinced that he, too, wishes for
the defeat of Germany. If they were to learn differently it would make them very sad.

Alas for so many Frenchmen: they could not penetrate the mind of the Maréchal. This was their quandary.

About this time at the end of May, the OKW also decided to give the British a “whirl” to improve conditions at the Castle. General Westhoff of the OKW set up a meeting between senior British officers and the
Kommandant
and it was decided that an experiment be carried out: the British should visit the local cinema in town and also the football field. The first visit to the cinema was disrupted by insults exchanged with inmates of the
Schützenhaus
who were collaborators, and by cries of “Propaganda!” from the British during certain parts of the film. The manager of the cinema lost so many things from his building that he declared “Never again.”

The football excursions were well attended by the British. They marched in good order. Their pockets were stuffed with chocolate which they distributed to the children freely. There were no guards in attendance since they were on parole but a few supervising officers were there, without arms. This of course became a propaganda march in favor of the British. They intentionally gave the impression that they were better off than the local civilians and their uniforms were by now generally in better condition than those of the German soldiery. The Germans very soon stopped the excursions.

The OKW then decided that Colditz would only house British and American prisoners and that all other nationalities would be transferred to other camps. The French and Belgians were sent to Lübeck, the Dutch to Stanislau, and the Poles, some to Spitzberg, some to Mühlberg and some to Lübeck.

On 7 June 1943, the Dutch contingent received orders to pack up and leave at twelve hours' notice. This did not perturb them, as they had known of the move for a week through information passed inside the camp. Their contraband was safely stowed away in prepared suitcases. One Dutchman packed his suitcase for the last time at Colditz. He had packed it every morning and unpacked it again every night for two years.

The whole camp turned out to see them off.

“We'll miss you, Vandy,” said Dick.

“I'm rather sorry to go,” replied Vandy, who was obviously moved. “Ve may haf a chance to escape on the vay. I haf many men prepared. Goodbye, Dick. Ve had goot times together. In Colditz ve haf shown those Germans how to behave themselves.”