Back in Tidworth that evening, I managed to convey to the Sykes the essential details of what had happened to me, and my marriage. They felt that I must try to get Maditta over to England as quickly as possible. However, I had learned in Switzerland that her passport had been taken away.
Humphrey knew Lord Mount Temple, the Chairman of the Anglo-German Fellowship – that is how it came to pass that he and I visited his Lordship’s home at Romsey the following morning where the conversation concerning the return of my wife’s passport, which I reported in the Prologue of this book, took place.
Soon afterwards, I managed to sell the Graham Page and I settled down to polish up my English by reading mostly murder stories and going into lengthy sessions with Allan, Humphrey’s batman, who taught me the kind of English that cannot be found in any dictionary. This was quite essential. For instance, he taught me to say, ‘Chase a bug around a tree,’ quickly. He then assured me I was doing fine ‘why,’ he said, ‘you’ve nearly lost your accent’.
Travelling back from London by train soon afterwards, I encountered some officers’ wives from Tidworth. They admired my perfect English, but I submitted that I still had a lot to learn. However, it didn’t seem to me that saying, ‘chase a bug around a tree’ quickly was a necessary step in the right direction. Clearly, the ladies could not see it either and the conversation ceased abruptly. That night after dinner I tackled Humphrey’s uncle, Sir Sidney Barton, former British Ambassador in Addis Ababa. ‘Ahem; never mind that sort of nonsense,’ said Sir Sidney, ‘that won’t further your studies’.
Allan, the batman, was more constructive: ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘there’s a lot to this here English language that you won’t never pick up in there,’ and he pointed at the house, ‘but you’ll use it sooner or later. I reckon I’d better give you some lessons.’ When, two years later, I joined His Majesty’s Forces, I was therefore an equal in any barrack room conversation.
Soon after these events a German officer, Major Monzel, visited the 9th Lancers – Humphrey’s regiment – in an exchange that had seen one of the 9th’s officers go to Germany. I was asked if I would help Monzel a bit as he didn’t speak a word of English. Only too happy to meet someone who was worse off than myself, I set out for the officer’s mess.
Major Monzel was expecting me. ‘Heil Hitler,’ he-said. ‘Falsch (wrong),’ I replied, ‘I’m not that sort of a German’. The Major looked over his right shoulder, then his left. Nobody was listening. ‘I’m sorry’ he announced, ‘neither am I, but you know what it’s like – I have to keep my job in the German Army’.
I looked him over. He was wearing a dark blue suit of uncertain vintage. It was a little tight; something which would improve after a few weeks of British Army food. The sleeves and trousers were on the short side. Later I discovered that he had also brought a bowler hat, 1923 model, and an umbrella, as he had heard that officers in England wore civilian clothes a great deal of the time.
After a few weeks I encountered Major Mozel on his solitary evening stroll. He was glad to see me. He had seen a number of interesting and puzzling things. But what puzzled him most was the attitude of these English officers towards soldiering. ‘They aren’t taking it seriously at all,’ he confided, ‘they never do any work but play all the time. Good God, to them, polo or cricket or hunting is more important than duty. That’s where the German Army is different, we’re all experts’.
Another month later he called on me with the request that I should write a farewell speech for him. He would be leaving in a couple of days and wanted to thank his hosts for their kindness. Speeches, I explained weren’t customary in England on such occasions. He wanted to make one just the same. So, I agreed to draft it. He had something on his mind and I managed to extract it. He felt that he had been wrong in his judgement of British Officers.
‘Perhaps these Englishmen are far wiser than I thought,’ he opined. ‘Yes, we in the German Army work more and harder. At the beginning I felt that the British would make a poor opponent in a war. Now, I’m beginning to wonder. We’ve worked so hard that we are tired. These men here are just playing at soldiering, but they enjoy it. Maybe, if war came they would have the great advantage of being fresh and enthusiastic while we would be “pfichtgetreu” – faithful to our duty – and tired.’
I told him that I hoped that he was right. I wanted to see Hitler defeated. He said nothing to that but stood there a minute and then left, reminding me to write his speech. He never got it. Someone saw it after I had concocted it and accused me of the most cold-blooded brutality for wanting to expose Major Monzel to much ridicule before British officers. Monzel would certainly have made a fool of himself if he had read it, not more so, though, than when he had Heil-Hitlered me amongst the lovely hills of Hampshire.
As for his hosts, the 9th Lancers, he may well have come across them again. They were part of that ill-fated British Expeditionary Force which ended up on the beaches of Dunkirk. He may even have met them again later, in Africa. They made quite a comeback when the German Army was beginning to ‘feel very tired.’
12. LEARNING THE ROPES
THOSE DAYS AT TIDWORTH, when I seemed between lives, were also days of emotional stocktaking. I knew where I had been, but I did not know where I was going.
My stormy transfer from an artificially carefree life in the very troubled world of Nazi Germany to the serene atmosphere of a British cavalry garrison headquarters seemed to me to have been like a lucky jump, without a parachute, from an aeroplane which was about to crash not knowing what might happen on impact.
What I felt was by no means regret over leaving the land from which most of my forefathers had not in any case come, but sorrow over the end of my marriage, or my life, with Maditta.
This period of introspection was terminated when Humphrey Sykes offered me a job.[1] He had invested money – far too much – in a development scheme at Cape Canaveral in Florida. Materials needed to be sourced from England and Humphrey required a selection of contacts with suitable suppliers. I was hired to make those selections and having a job enabled me to move into a pleasant boarding house in Earls Court, London. From the sale of the Graham Page I had also been able to pay back the loans Humphrey had advanced to me.
I immediately purchased those items that I considered were necessary to distinguish myself as a business executive, such as an umbrella and briefcase, but I balked at the bowler hat – into which I am convinced one has to be born. At the same time, I bade an almost tearful farewell to certain rather colourful continental items of clothing that I could not possibly have worn around the City of London in 1937.
My disguise was convincing. Soon after acquiring my new attire I was returning by train from a weekend at Tidworth when two sedate looking young gentlemen boarded and entered my compartment. Having looked me over – most of me was hidden behind The Times – they decided that anything so British-looking would not understand a foreign language and they began speaking in German.
One of them was obviously Dutch, the other English. I found their conversation fascinating. They were homosexuals and they were reliving their lovely weekend in much detail. I got a touching picture of the technical and emotional aspects of their relationship, plus some interesting information on members of their sect who happened to live in Germany.
When we pulled into Waterloo station, I lowered The Times and asked, in German, for the best way to Piccadilly. One of them, the Dutchman, took off like a flash, the Englishman however walked along the platform with me. I had, he supposed, overheard their conversation? I had. I would not, he hoped, make any use of the names of their German friends? (Homosexuality was a crime in Nazi Germany, and German tennis ace, Gottfried von Cramm, was serving a year in jail at the time having been found guilty of such an offence.)