In the morning, as it still rained, we bought a large sheet of celluloid as a substitute for the long-broken windscreen. At a later date we bitterly regretted ever having seen or heard of this celluloid. As the rain still fell we did not leave until the late afternoon, and therefore did not get further than Minden when night fell. Both of us were angry, chiefly owing to Keating’s total inability to read a route in a Continental Guide, which was, in any case, quite inaccurate. Here at Minden, where our ancestors had fought as allies with the Germans in the year of victory, 1759, there were unmistakable signs of approaching war. The hotel (Stadt London) was packed with officers and their families eating a fond farewell lest on the morrow the worst might come. Dinner passed to the clicking of heels and an orgy of ceremonial salutes by officers who were about to bid good-bye to ‘review-order’ for years to come.
In the streets the tramp of the troops, the clatter of horses’ hoofs, and the rumble of iron-shod wheels continued throughout the night. While here we learnt that Austria had on the day before declared war on Serbia, and that soon the Emperor’s eagles would end all Balkan troubles for all time.
On Thursday the weather cleared and the sun shone. We passed through Hanover, where we bought tiny silk flags of the German States with some faint idea of showing the people that we did not really dislike them. In Brunswick we ate sandwiches and drank very dark beer from huge china mugs while we sat in an old oak-panelled hall with a high roof also of oak.
The bridge-keepers in Magdeburg took toll of us as we passed through during the early afternoon in high hopes of reaching the capital early in the evening. The road improved still more and there was but little traffic to detain us. For long stretches our speed never dropped much below sixty miles an hour. The gods seemed to be smiling. We forgot the worries induced by the bad maps and the German food and became for a space almost happy. When ten miles from Brandenburg I tried to pass a large cart on the proper side and promptly ran into it, with disastrous results to one of our front wheels and to both head lamps. After changing the wheel we managed to proceed, only to find when six miles from Potsdam and three miles from the nearest garage that we had no more petrol. At the same time a tyre gently subsided and our troubles were complete. At this point our very frayed tempers collapsed entirely and we each accused the other of being responsible for the existence of Germany and all its ills! Mercifully all troubles come to an end in time and we reached Potsdam before ten o’clock.
The Hotel Stadt Königsberg where we stayed was also full of officers and those dependent on them. A curious note of suppressed excitement was obvious to strangers like ourselves, though at the time we were quite unable to account for it. Serbia was surely too small to affect the German officer caste to such an extent.
The next day, July 31, a Friday, we left the car under repair at a garage in Potsdam and went by train to Johannisthal through Berlin. We saw the directors of two leading German aeronautical firms—the Albatross and the L.V.G.—only to find that in neither case could they undertake any work of the nature we desired, as they were far too busy supplying aircraft to the German and Austrian Governments. They would, they said, require at least six months in which to complete any order. We, on the other hand, had only six weeks to spare. The Albatross Company asked us to call again on the following day in order that we might again meet the board of directors. As nothing more could be done during the day we paid a mark apiece and went into the public part of the aerodrome. No military guard was to be seen save over the great Zeppelin shed, which was empty, its usual tenant having flown to Posen the day before.
While we waited we saw eleven Albatross biplanes leave for Austria by air, piloted by Austrian officers, each accompanied by a mechanic. The presence of very obvious organisation and the entire absence of any excitement or confusion impressed us both. Clearly German aeronautics had left the purely experimental stage, and the aeroplane had become as much a part of military life as had the motor-car years before. The method of construction and the degree of finish of each machine showed the existence of a settled industry. While until the beginning of the war the average English aeroplane had the appearance of being the only one of its type, a step in a series of experiments, the German aeroplane of the time was as finished and complete as if it were one of a batch of a thousand. All that was practically possible at that date was to be found on these German machines which were so soon to test their prowess against the English.
During dinner at Potsdam the head waiter stood in the middle of the room and recited, amidst general enthusiasm, the speech the Kaiser had delivered from the balcony of his palace in Berlin during the afternoon. True patriotism was shown. The day had come and the training and hopes of a century were to be put to the test at last.
After dinner we walked through the crowded streets and watched the excited people snatch the single news sheets from the newsboys as they passed along. Great masses of enthusiastic youth rushed along the streets singing national songs, of which ‘Deutschland über Alles’ was the most popular. The beautiful strains of the Austrian National Anthem were often heard. Every officer who appeared from any direction was cheered loudly, and even the police were not unpopular on this night of nights. We, though we were obvious foreigners and quite possible Englishmen, were not molested in any way. Long after we had gone to bed the noise continued without intermission, until even Keating lost some of his joyous enthusiasm for war in his greater and more immediate desire for sleep.
Shortly before noon on Saturday, August 1, we again went to Johannisthal, this time by car. We arrived at the aerodrome at about half-past one o’clock and decided that, as our interview with the directors of the Albatross Company was sure to be short, we would have lunch on the way back to Berlin. It was a foolish decision, as after events will show. We found sentries at every entrance to the ground. By the small door leading into the garden in front of the Albatross offices stood a German soldier in the service dress of a regiment of the line. As we passed in he said something long in German and seemed to wish to prevent our entry. Keating smiled, which is not usual when one deals with German soldiers on duty, and the sentry was too surprised to stop us. Once inside we were met by the works manager, a Herr Huttney, who had learnt English in the United States of America when acquiring merit in his early youth. He took us before several of the directors of the company and we again talked of the purchase of an aeroplane. There was an atmosphere of restraint and suspicion which, in the light of later knowledge, was not unnatural. Now we were told that no machine at all could be sold to us for many months, as the army required them all; ‘even,’ they said, ‘Austria will not be allowed to purchase more.’ Keating offered to buy an Albatross which we knew to be in England. In reply we were shown a telegram from London saying that aeroplane had just been commandeered by the Admiralty! This incident was the first to bring home to us the possibility of Great Britain joining in the new war. There was an unwieldiness about the conversation that showed us they did not desire to do business with us, and so after farewells we were conducted outside the boundaries of the grounds by the works’ manager. Here to our amazement, and at the time amusement, we found two soldiers, fully armed and rationed, standing by the car. When I tried to start the engine, I was pressed back gently by rifle and bayonet. Herr Huttney asked for reasons and was told, or so he said, that an officer had been sent for and until his arrival we could not leave. So, resignedly and hungrily, for it was by now four o’clock and we had had no lunch, we sat in the car with Herr Huttney as company. He, too, was not permitted to leave, if his own statement was to be believed. For nearly two hours we sat here waiting for the officer who did not come. At six o’clock we were moved, under instructions from an N.C.O., to an open-air guard-room by the Zeppelin shed and just inside the aerodrome fence. Here our wait continued, relieved a little by some lager beer and leberwurst sandwiches, brought by the kindness of one of our guard. At dusk we were taken by two policemen in plain clothes before the officer commanding the aerodrome, who had an extemporised orderly room in the smaller dirigible shed. With him were several subalterns of infantry and of the flying section of the service. None of the officers in the room admitted to any knowledge of English or French, and so Herr Huttney, who was still in semi-arrest with us, had perforce to translate all that was said on either side. A little later, while Keating was being cross-examined, I asked, quite without malice, the officer nearest me whether he knew London. Before he had had time to remember whether he knew English or not he had answered clearly that Piccadilly Circus he did not know but London it was so dull! After this slip he made no further secret of his knowledge of English and talked freely.