The ceremony at the laying of the foundation stone—one should say, perhaps, removing the foundation plank—was not largely attended. For one thing, there were at that time only about four people in the know at all; for another, a German sentry was standing on guard immediately outside the door. Two officers in orderlies’ clothes were responsible for the whole operation. They removed the whole of the partition, loosened the two necessary planks and replaced it.
The structure of planks fitted very closely against the side and top, except for one place at the top of the plank nearest to the corner post of the partition next to the cellar floor and immediately under the concrete of the staircase, where there was a small aperture looking like a misfit of the boards. Just under this aperture—and on the inside, of course, of the partition—the bolt was fixed. A small hand could just reach the bolt comfortably from the outside and slide it in and out of the corner post. Had the aperture been ever so little smaller, no male hand could have got in at all, and, in the absence of female society, the conspirators would have had either to give up this entrance altogether or increase the size of the aperture, which would have been most dangerous.
By using this door as a means of entrance to and exit from the chamber which, as will be explained later, proved to exist behind the planks, the original party of conspirators succeeded in beginning a tunnel. They dug through the southern foundation wall of the building, turned east at right angles and succeeded by about Christmas in reaching a point beyond the outer wall[[7]]. A square chamber was made at the far end of the tunnel, then about 15 yards long, to receive the earth of the roof on the occasion of the escape, and all was ready for a move when Niemeyer suddenly put a sentry outside the outer wall, almost on top of the proposed site of exit.
[7]. Point Q in plan on p. [53].
Just at this time the exchange of P.O.W. to Holland began to operate. To some of the original conspirators, disheartened—and no wonder—at the apparent complete frustration of all their plans, the chance of going to Holland seemed too good to be given up for the now very distant hope of escape, and so it came about that the “ownership” of the tunnel changed hands almost completely, only three of the original conspirators remaining in the firm.
As all doors were locked just before dusk, the available time was necessarily limited to daylight, between nine o’clock roll-call in the morning and evening roll-call about an hour before dark. The actual working hours were considerably shorter. In the first place, the coast was never sufficiently clear in the morning for the tunnel to be approached until about 11.30 a.m., and in the second place, a considerable margin had to be allowed, when coming off duty, for any possible delay in getting a clear exit and so running the risk of being discovered absent from appel. In addition to this, the time spent in changing clothes had to be taken into account. Consequently the actual working hours were not, as a rule, longer—in winter—than from 12 noon to 4 p.m. This arrangement, however acceptable to a trades union official, was not good for tunnelling. As will be understood, the utmost care had to be exercised in approaching the orderlies’ entrance in order to gain access to the tunnel, and the ordinary daily programme was carried out on something like the following lines.
We will assume that it is about 11 a.m.
The party of three on duty for the day assemble in a little room on the ground floor and near the officers’ entrance. They then take off their uniforms and slip on the black trousers with yellow stripes, the black coats with yellow armlets, and the black caps with yellow bands, which form the distinctive dress of all “other ranks” prisoners-of-war in Germany. Probably greatcoats are put on as well, for it would be highly inconvenient if a German came in just at this moment and wanted to know the why and wherefore of this change of attire. Meanwhile, one or more fellow-conspirators are standing outside the officers’ entrance, watching for the “all clear” signal from one of the faithful orderlies standing in their own doorway, who, in their turn, are waiting for some Germans working down in the cellars to clear out for their mid-day meal. Possibly there is a hitch on this particular morning; the stolid German is working later than usual in the cellars at that end of the building. Possibly the German may knock off work before his accustomed time and the signal may be given earlier than usual. But quick or slow, the signal comes in due course—one of the orderlies comes out and scratches his head, the sign that all is clear at his end. The officer on picket duty at the officers’ entrance casts one quick look round to see that no Boches are approaching from the direction of the Kommandantur, and then goes to the room in which the party are waiting and tells them to move. Then he returns to his post to continue his watch until the party are safely on their way and he gets a further signal from orderlies’ doorway that they have actually entered the tunnel.