CHAPTER XXIX RECAPTURE
We studied the map and found that practically in the centre of Nottingham there was a bridge over the Trent which was, at this point, about twice as broad as at Donington. We had to cross by this bridge in order to get to the aerodrome, for it was out of the question to think of swimming across the river, as I could hardly raise my arms now as high as my chest. With new courage and new strength we looked round for a sleeping place in a neighbouring field, so that we could walk into Nottingham at dawn next morning. But we had hardly slept two hours when water began to trickle through the thin layer of hay with which we had covered ourselves. Damnation! A thunderstorm was in full swing and we had been so tired that we noticed nothing till it was too late. Sleep was now out of the question, for everything was wet and clammy. So we got on our legs again and followed the lights of Nottingham, which we could see reflected in the sky.
As the morning dawned we were almost at the entrance to the town. The streets were thronged with workpeople flocking to their factories. From the left came a crowd of about fifty workmen and women who turned down the way we were going. We joined these. As we went along we met numerous policemen, but they fortunately gave us only a cursory glance.
We were passing the first houses of the town. The approach was very uninviting; nothing but monotonous small red houses, and numerous factory chimneys. The streets were not particularly well kept. In front of us walked a tiny old man who carried a sack on his bowed shoulders, and every now and then poked with his stick the rubbish heaps along the street. From time to time he picked up something and put it in his bag. Thus it came that he was sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind us, for we stopped now and then to find out our way and to look at the advertisement boards. At the corner of a street we came upon a huge notice in bold print:—
Attention!
German officers escaped from Donington Hall on Saturday evening.
Their names and description are:—
Karl Spindler.—German naval officer, aged 30, complexion fresh, hair dark, eyes blue, stout built, height 5 ft. 11 in., clean shaven, speaks good English, dress probably civilian.
Mat Ernst Winkelmann.—German naval officer, aged 23, complexion fair, hair dark brown, eyes brown, slim built, height 5 ft. 10 in., clean shaven, speaks little English, dress probably civilian, jawbones have been broken by bullet.
Arpad Horn.—Austrian military officer, aged 28, complexion fair, hair dark, eyes dark brown, stout built, height 5 ft. 6½ in., short stubby moustache, dress probably civilian, mole on face.
Karl Spindler.—German naval officer, aged 30, complexion fresh, hair dark, eyes blue, stout built, height 5 ft. 11 in., clean shaven, speaks good English, dress probably civilian.
Mat Ernst Winkelmann.—German naval officer, aged 23, complexion fair, hair dark brown, eyes brown, slim built, height 5 ft. 10 in., clean shaven, speaks little English, dress probably civilian, jawbones have been broken by bullet.
Arpad Horn.—Austrian military officer, aged 28, complexion fair, hair dark, eyes dark brown, stout built, height 5 ft. 6½ in., short stubby moustache, dress probably civilian, mole on face.
We had expected something of this sort, and were therefore not surprised to see this hue-and-cry notice on the wall. What did surprise us was the fact that we had been given a companion. I certainly knew that my friend Arpad Horn, H.M. Austro-Hungarian Honved-Husar Lieutenant, and at the same time director of our officer's band, had been thinking of escaping. But how and when did he get away? The notice said 'Saturday evening.' Surely our escape had been discovered before then! It was a mystery to us. But we were glad that the notice mentioned three, for it gave us a better chance of escaping suspicion.
We followed the tram lines, and were getting near the centre of the town. It was about seven o'clock, and the streets were showing signs of life. It was getting easier now to efface ourselves in the crowds. When the first shops were opened I bought a few cigarettes and asked how far it was to the bridge. I was told we were only two minutes from it. We hastened on in order to get on the other side of the Trent as soon as possible. A few steps brought us to the bridge. It was almost deserted.
On the left of the entrance, which was closed by a barrier, was a toll-keeper's house which had to be passed by means of a turnstile. Near it several bridge-officials and two policemen were standing. Who could tell but that they were posted there for our benefit? In any case it appeared inadvisable to cross at that moment. As we walked on we agreed that it would be better to wait for the great crowd that would be crossing at eight o'clock, as we should then have a better chance of getting across unnoticed. We therefore turned down a neighbouring avenue and sat down on a seat.
It was a glorious fresh morning. I must say that this avenue, with its rich green grass and the birds twittering in the trees, was the only thing, so far, that had appealed to me in Nottingham. The appeal did not last long.
We had sat for about ten minutes and not a living thing had appeared in the avenue, when a policeman appeared round a corner on the right with two rascally looking scoundrels on each side of him. It looked as if he had all four of them manacled together.
I had pulled out a notebook and was reading out figures to my companion in order to look as if the five men did not interest us in the least. They, too, appeared to be taking no notice of us. We thought they were passing by all right. Then the unexpected happened. Just as they got abreast of us they did a sudden 'Left wheel! March!' hurled themselves on us, and held us down. It all happened so quickly that we had no time to think of escaping. Moreover, it would have been useless to try. The amusing feature about the business was that we recognised one of the rascally-looking scoundrels as the tiny old man whom we had been pitying a few hours previously.
Then the explanation occurred to me. We had been observed by detectives and enticed into a trap. Before answering the policeman's abrupt questions I requested him politely to loose us, which he did. He then asked who and what we were, where we were going, etc. I told him our names were Grieve and Kendall, that we were mechanics and that we were going across the bridge to work. Then he asked where we lived, and I told him the name of a little village in the neighbourhood. I felt that the game was up, but wanted to fool him a bit further.
But the policeman was not to be fooled. He put his big paw on my shoulder and said in the most matter-of-fact tone, 'No, sir! You are Lieutenant Spindler, and your friend is Winkelmann from Donington Hall, aren't you?' And I answered in the same matter-of-fact tone, 'Yes, sir, you are right! I congratulate you.'
My answer struck the policeman as being so funny and at the same time so satisfactory, that he now treated us with marked politeness, and begged us to follow him. There was nothing else for it. We were caught again, and our fine schemes had come to naught. And so near success, too! We could not suppress a loud curse.
I had foreseen at the commencement, and had agreed with W. before we escaped, that there was no object in denying facts if a policeman should arrest us. In such a case excuses would be useless, for without papers to prove our identity we should not be set free. And it was only necessary to telephone to Donington Hall to get an English officer to come over and identify us.
We had not far to go to the police station—it was only a hundred yards from the seat we had selected under the trees.
What followed can be told in a few words. At the police station we had to undress and hand over all our belongings. Only a handkerchief was given back to us. When the inspector saw our flying-kit he nodded approvingly and said, 'Yes, we had expected that! The aerodromes had been warned!'
After a short time we were put in a 'Black Maria' and taken across the town. On the way we stopped at various police stations to take more passengers on board. They were all English soldiers in uniform. Their first question on getting in was: 'Are you absentees?' Desertion seemed to be taken as a matter of course here. The policeman who caught us assured me that they collected twenty or twenty-five deserters every morning, which was very pleasant news for us.
The van stopped outside the police headquarters. We got out and were taken to the court cells. These, as well as the passages, were guarded by strong iron bars. A couple of detectives rushed at us and poured out their hatred of Germany on us in the most abusive terms. We had only a compassionate smile for these wretches.
Then the chief constable arrived, a very pleasant, fine old gentleman. He expressed his admiration for our very clever escape, and asked if there was anything we wanted. I asked him to let us pay for a warm breakfast and a few cigarettes out of the money taken from us, a request which he immediately granted. My complaint in regard to the conduct of the detectives evidently pained him, and he promised me relief as well as the punishment of the offenders. They kept a respectful distance from us after that. Shortly afterwards we were taken to the Guildhall—purely as a formality. We had to sit on the same seat with men and women accused of theft and other crimes. On a raised bench in front of us sat the chairman and other magistrates, reporters, detectives, and policemen. The seats on both sides were filled with spectators. It had evidently been noised abroad that the two 'Hun officers' had been recaptured.
A number of offenders were summarily dealt with, and then it was our turn. There was a general movement in the court-room. We had only two or three questions to answer. The mayor refused to believe that we had escaped on Thursday, as the Commandant of Donington Hall had expressly stated that we had broken out on Saturday. The explanation was obvious, and the consequence was that later on the English Parliament occupied itself with the question for a whole week, and asked for an explanation of the fact that two German officers had been able to escape in spite of the strong guard and the electrified wire fence. As a matter of fact, the electric arrangement had been out of action for a long time. I answered all questions without hesitation. But I avoided, then and afterwards, giving any explanation of the manner of our escape.
This remained a mystery to the English, and we had many a joke about it. Towards evening an escort of twelve men came to fetch us. They turned out to be our old friends of the camp guard. They were very excited, and told us all about the impression which our escape had made. We now heard how our flight had been discovered. As our escape had not been discovered, our friend Horn, the day after our disappearance, suddenly decided to leave the camp also—which, with the help of the stout roller-team, he succeeded in doing. Then, as another day went by and our absence had not been discovered, the roller-team again got to work, and again one of them disappeared into the ditch. This time it was my messmate, Heward. Unfortunately, he got stuck in the wire entanglement and was discovered. Then the whole affair came to light. Otherwise our absence might not have been noticed for another week, and we might have succeeded in flying from Nottingham. It was rotten luck for all concerned.
Donington Hall had at once alarmed the whole country, especially the railway stations and aerodromes. Policemen, soldiers on foot, on bicycles, and on horseback, airmen, and detectives—all were mobilised against us. In Nottingham the approaches to the town were watched by police and detectives, and it was one of the latter who eventually discovered us. In answer to my question how the detective had discovered us, I learned that he had watched us for a long time without noticing our identity with the wanted men. Then he suddenly remarked that whenever we chanced to get out of step we quite mechanically regained step, and he said to himself, 'Those are certainly two German officers.' It was too silly.
The Nottingham local paper, which we happened to see, was very interesting. It showed again what importance the English attach to the escape of German officers. There was a short notice to the effect that the Imperial Chancellor, von Bethman Hollweg, had resigned, but in huge type right across the page was the heading: 'Two German officers from Donington recaptured!' Then followed columns of fanciful descriptions of our flight, mostly inventions.
We received a fine reception at the camp. All the officers and men of the guard were there. But I saw no angry faces—quite the contrary, in fact. The assistant commandant. Major Cook, whom I had learned to respect on account of his very correct conduct, assured me many times that he and his friends, in spite of all the trouble and unpleasantness which our escape had caused, were very sorry that we did not get away; our plan was so clever that we deserved to succeed. The whole camp was afoot when we were marched in. Our appearance, of course, caused much merriment. One English officer assured me that he had never seen a costume like ours off the stage, and he could not understand how we had got so far. It may be that he was right. We were put in a detention cell, which had formerly been a horse-box, and remained there for three weeks, till the verdict of the court martial was promulgated. Heward was already in the adjoining cell. Three days later Arpad Horn arrived. He had been caught in London. He was entering a theatre at the moment, as he intended to go on a journey next day.
Six months' imprisonment was what we had to expect. It might perhaps be more in my case, as the large map had been found in my possession which gave all the flying-grounds, and, along the coast, all the lightships and signalling stations, as far as our information extended. In Nottingham it had already been hinted to me that I might have to pay dearly for the map, as it might constitute evidence of espionage.
However, matters did not turn out so seriously. In fact, we were extraordinarily lucky. While we were on our way a conference took place at the Hague between the English and German representatives, at which it was agreed among other things that attempted escapes should, in future, be punished with not more than fourteen days' imprisonment. So, about nine weeks later, we had a joyful surprise when our doors were suddenly opened and we were informed that we were released from imprisonment.