Battleship Bismarck (67 page)

Excerpts from the monthly reports of Canadian camp commandants to Ottawa:

Fort Henry, Ontario, 1942:

Count ‘A’ and others requested separation from Nazi elements in view of their anti-Nazi views in 1941. This request was not taken seriously at the time and ‘A’ was regarded as a mere troublemaker.

Grande Ligne, Quebec, 1942:

(a)   Commander ‘B,’ quiet but seems to be forced into “agitation” by more aggressive elements. Lt. Commander ‘C is a fanatical Nazi.

(b)   A Luftwaffe major in camp is continually challenging others to duels.

(c)   [Curiously] Canadian officers of 2nd Lieutenant rank were to be admonished for chewing gum in the presence of senior German officers and for sloppy saluting.

The entry from the Fort Henry camp—which was closed in 1942—may justify a slight digression. If, as a German, one can easily imagine the nature of the differences—that do not matter here—between Count ‘A’ and his adherents and his Nazi camp comrades, the Canadian evaluation of Count ‘A’ as a mere troublemaker reflects an almost laughable absence of any inkling of the reality of National Socialism. But in the final analysis what could the latter be to Canadians and many others, too, than a practically unknown transatlantic phenomenon? We can scarcely wonder that peoples who never experienced fascism themselves could have no idea at all of the circumstances under which it attained and asserted power. And had that not even been the case with England in 1939, when, in the face of the highly advanced German rearmament, she remained far too weak, unready for war, and still intensely absorbed in the idea of the League of Nations? Had not Chamberlain himself clung to his dream of “peace in our time” even
after
the Munich Agreement and
after
Hitler’s craving for territorial expansion in Europe had become so obvious? For much too long, England had viewed Hitler—granted, not much differently from many circles in Germany itself—as a figure, albeit a curious one, of German politics in the traditional national interest, and not as the sadist in power, the apostle of conquest and the destroyer of freedom, which he was above all else. For too long the British had not paid heed, had not wanted to pay heed, to the protests of those Germans who saw Hitler as the beginning of a national catastrophe. What had Fritz Günther von Tschirschky, a patriot whom conscience drove from the diplomatic service and his homeland after Hitler’s mass murders in the summer of 1934, learned as an emigrant in London of British opinion of Nazi Germany late in the decade? “In conversations with important persons in British political and social life, I was repeatedly pained that I was given to understand: ‘You and your group have failed with your politics. Now you are only attempting to disseminate a completely negative impression, indeed, hatred of the regime ruling in Germany.’ I must . . . repeat:
It pained and shook me to the core, how in England at that time most people stuck their heads in the sand; they did not want to see, they did not want to believe, what really happened in Hitler Germany.”

And how much less were such insights to be expected in far distant Canada! And then to recognize, to understand the nature of political differences between the Germans through the additional filter of barbed wire? Hardly conceivable. Yet all this was really no wonder in a world that had long been accustomed to see, in place of statesmen conscious of their responsibilities, only partisan politicians at work. So it really had to take proportionately longer to discover a Hybris there where she was to be found—to understand the revolt against her there, where she showed herself.

Seemingly cast into oblivion, lost, was what one Briton had at an early date recognized and expressed: Sir Horace Rumbold; we have already met him, British ambassador to Berlin from 1928 to 1933. He had read
Mein Kampf
, in good time and very closely. On 26 April 1933, after only three months of Hitler rule, in his 5,000-word “Mein Kampf Dispatch” he had reported on Hitler and the Germans, compared book and reality, and analyzed them:

The parliamentary regime has been replaced by a regime of brute force. . . . The prospect is disquieting . . . revival of militarism. . . . The new regime is . . . determined to . . . entrench itself in power for all time. . . . Hitler himself is, with good reason, a profound believer in human, and particularly German credulity. . . . The outlook for Europe is far from peaceful. . . . Hitler’s thesis is extremely simple. . . . Only brute force can ensure the survival of the race. . . . Intellectualism is undesirable. . . . What Germany needs is an increase in territory in Europe. . . . Germany must look for expansion to Russia. . . . Colonel Hierl is (or rather was, in 1929) surprisingly candid.
*
“The abandonment . . . of the policy of submission (to the Allies) . . . does not involve war at a moment’s notice, though it does mean war in the long run.” . . . There is something oddly reminiscent of the Tirpitz period in the present state of things. The problem before the naive exponents of National
Socialism is even more difficult than that which confronted Admiral von Tirpitz. The problem of 1905 . . . was the construction of a fleet sufficiently powerful to challenge Great Britain at sea without being “caught out” before that task was completed. . . . The task of the present German government is more complicated. They have to rearm on land, and . . . they have to lull their adversaries into . . . a state of coma.…

However, from the first Rumbold’s realistic appraisal of the Nazi regime had not met with the corresponding understanding of his government and among the British press and public. After the conclusion of the Reich Concordat with the Holy See in July 1933
The Times
wrote: “Herr Hitler is certainly not devoid of ideals. . . . He undoubtedly desires to re-inculcate the old German virtues of loyalty, self-discipline, and service to the State. . . . Herr Hitler will win support which may be very valuable to him if he will genuinely devote himself to the moral and economic resurrection of his country.” More and more, Rumbold’s warnings were put aside. After his death in 1940, Anthony Eden wrote his widow: “I have always deplored, and always shall, the decision that moved Sir Horace from Berlin, where he was doing such wonderful service. No one ever had a clearer perspective of the dangers and his dispassionate but far-seeing analysis of things to come should have earned the reward of a fuller understanding at home.”

Now back again to the impressions and reports of the Canadian camp commandants, from the files in Ottawa:

General summary, 1943–44:

For the continuous surveillance of the prisoners of war, intelligence officers were attached to each camp’s security staff. Their monthly reports contain numerous extracts from letters sent to the prisoners from Germany. The reports placed great weight on the regularity with which the prisoners attended camp church services—which were held about every three weeks. The Canadians repeatedly expressed concern at the irregularity and lack of German participation in these services. “Grande Ligne” and “Sorel”—both in the Province of Quebec—come into the foreground as camps to which at the appropriate time the prisoners classified as “white” or “light grey” would be moved; the “Seebee” (Alberta) and “Wainwright” (Saskatchewan) camps are designated for the reception of the “blacks,” alias incorrigible Nazis.

Bowmanville, 23 May 1944:

The camp commandant: A German prisoner is being ostracized. It was unknown if a sort of Gestapo existed in the camp, but he enclosed a
list—which cannot be located today—of the political firebrands. The following are designated “ardent Nazis”: Lieutenant General ‘C,’ Lieutenant Colonel ‘D,’ Commander ‘E,’ Lieutenant Colonel ‘F,’ and Majors ‘G,’ ‘H,’ and ‘I.’

The Ottawa archive also indicates that the Canadians had apparently obtained a copy of the “Secret Guidelines” of the senior officer at Bowmanville concerning “Conduct and Discipline.” The separation of the so-called “whites” from the “blacks” was decided on in the fall of 1944: the “black” officers were sent to Seebee (Alberta), the other “black” ranks to Gravenhurst (Ontario). According to one report, in February 1945 the “blacks” were transported from Grande Ligne to Seebee and two hundred “whites,” including General von Ravenstein, moved from Bowmanville to Grand Ligne. Canadian correspondence suggests that the “whites” would be repatriated before the “blacks.”

Gzande Ligne, October 1944-February 1945:

The intelligence officer: “Hari-kari Clubs” have been formed in camp. Lieutenant Colonel ‘K,’ Major ‘L’ and Captain ‘M’ intend to murder the “whites” and commit suicide after the German defeat.

Bowmanville, April 1945:

Subject: PoW Security Bowmanville, DND-Army-Inter-office correspondence Secret.—Transfer of 174 PoW Officers and 32 other ranks on 12 April 1945.

According to this report, some prisoners had gone to great pains to be regarded as “gray” or “white.” The “grays” in particular did all they could to maintain or improve their status. For example, large numbers of diaries were encountered from which many pages had been ripped out.

Several German officers took advantage [on the day of the transfer, 12 April 1945] to converse with [Canadian] officer personnel. . . . The latter were particularly impressed with the sincerity and “whiteness” of four PW officers. It is suggested that psychological warfare might give consideration to the employment of the following [who are named].

It was in the year 1955 that as a member of the German delegation to NATO in Paris I met a Canadian who belonged to the international staff of that organization. He said, “Müllenheim—Müllenheim, I remember
your name very well. You know, during the war I was assigned to the Central Prisoner of War Administration in Ottawa when you were at Bowmanville. We thought that you were personally in danger and considered individually transferring you from the camp. But then we backed off—maybe it wasn’t such a good idea and could be harmful to you in the long run.” I replied, “Your restraint was correct. I would not have accepted the offer of a protective transfer. Such things must be borne inside the barbed wire.”

Gray on gray was what we saw on the day of our arrival at Grande Ligne, our new camp near Montreal. Its buildings: a three-story stone structure with a central section and wings on both sides and a little brick building had once served as a boarding school; a separate, typically Canadian wooden house as the headmaster’s residence. There were many rooms in the center section: on the ground floor, former offices and classrooms, a little library, a workroom, a big auditorium, and a still bigger living room (called “The Red Ox”), plus dining room and kitchen. The center and the wings each had a staircase. On every floor were little rooms provided with numbers, in which either two field-grade officers, three captains, or four lieutenants lived. Each officer had a camp bed, a little worktable and a chair at his disposal. There were washrooms, showers, and toilets on each floor. Everything was clean and well arranged. The windows, which received a second pane of glass in winter, gave a view over wide fields and open meadows, with hills and forests in the distance. The beautiful panorama reminded some of the Münsterland in Germany. Senior officers, generals and colonels lived in the separate wooden house, in which I was also accommodated; noncommissioned officers and men, in barracks behind one of the wings of the central building. Nearby was a canteen, handicraft rooms, a laundry, steam rooms, sick rooms, the big gymnasium, which could be reached by a covered way from the main house, and the disciplinary cells. Between the buildings were lawns, a basketball court, and a tennis court. Outside the enclosure was an athletic field accessible by a wooden bridge. Through the camp gate it was possible to reach a field two or three hectares in extent where inmates could farm or keep little gardens.

“Generalleutnant von Ravenstein now camp leader—thank God!” ran in a letter sent from Grande Ligne to Germany in April 1945, and I shared that feeling. What would he have to say to the inmates of the camp when he assembled them in the gymnasium on 20 April, the “Führer’s” birthday and obviously the last that would be celebrated?
His address ranks among the most memorable of my life. The occasion and Hitler’s name did not come up at all. Von Ravenstein spoke of the military situation, commented carefully, exhorted us to stick together, opened future perspectives, and connected them with his experiences in the Weimar period, which proved that whatever happened in the coming days, Germany could still live on. We listened silently, almost breathlessly—the hall stayed quiet even as we were leaving. Certainly, it was generally quieter in camp since the “political” transfers of February 1945. But the last days of the war and the personal fate of Hitler, now at the sticking point, left their mark as seeds of discord. Ravenstein had to walk a rhetorical tightrope, and he accomplished it brilliantly. His address of 20 April 1945 was a diplomatic masterpiece.

The following weeks (after surgery for varicose veins) I spent, unfortunately, in the Montreal Military Hospital, where I learned of Hitler’s suicide on 30 April and the German capitulation on 8 May. The two words, GERMANY QUITS, in huge headlines on the papers being sold on the streets could be read from a great distance, even from my hospital window. But their content meant nothing more to me than that, simply that—over the course of the years I had long since outlived inner shuddering over Germany’s fate. At Grande Ligne, von Ravenstein reflected on the occasion before the camp’s inmates assembled in the auditorium. Even a defeated people has its chances, he said. What matters is to use them and now to make every effort to get home soon. And Franz Schad noted: “Hard times are ahead for us all. Once again in the history of humankind, as perceptive, right-thinking men . . . feared from the start, the attempt to reerect the Tower of Babel has failed. Of the inexpressible, millionfold suffering and misery, I will keep silent . . . if they lead us men to genuine contemplation and a just self-determination . . . but already new dark clouds show themselves.”