The commandant, after asking our business and being told the truth, was clearly sceptical. Finally, as he could get nothing from us but what was true, he handed us over to the care of the two policemen. We were ordered to proceed to the Central Police Office in Berlin, and into our car, designed by the makers as a three-seater, we crowded Herr Huttney, the two policemen, and ourselves. Keating drove, and an hour later we found ourselves in a long dismal corridor three storeys up in Berlin’s Scotland Yard. I was in the last stage of depression, as Herr Huttney had just told us that he feared we should not get less than five years’ detention as potential spies. In addition we were hungry and cold. After a short wait we were taken before a civilian official who, with the utmost courtesy, cross-examined us. We were searched and all our belongings from my German word-books to the remnants of a sandwich were laid solemnly on the table. Some tiny films I had were developed rapidly somewhere in the building. After an anxious examination, lasting perhaps half an hour and which was conducted in a language of which we did not know a word, we were released with the advice to leave Berlin with as little delay as possible. As we left the room the senior official said that he hoped our respective countries would remain friendly for the salvation of the entire world.
We stayed the night at a quiet hotel in a street parallel to the Unter den Linden and persuaded Herr Huttney to dine with us. He was obviously ill at ease and left us as soon as could be done with courtesy. Even our experience of the afternoon had not brought home to us any real understanding of the true situation. We still thought that we had been arrested as a matter of German habit, and that all would be well in a week or so when the dangers of war had again passed by. Our German guest was clearly, though we did not know it at the time, unwilling to be seen in public with us. He left, and weeks later we heard as a matter of rumour that he had met his death at the hands of the authorities under suspicion of giving assistance to enemy spies! It may not be so or we may not have been the spies in question. One hopes not.
At the Embassy we managed to borrow some money from the military attaché and were given a passport on which, unfortunately, both our names were entered. We were told that if we wished for freedom we had better endeavour to leave Germany at once. When we said we intended to motor to the Dutch frontier some doubt was shown as to whether we should be permitted to travel far. Nobody doubted for a moment what the end would be. War must come and England would be in it.
At eleven o’clock we went to a garage and filled the car with everything necessary for a non-stop journey to Holland, as we realised that a stoppage on the road would probably become permanent. The chief trouble was petrol, as an order restricting the sale was expected at any moment. Consequently, while Keating talked to the old caretaker by means of my phrase-book, I collected petrol cans and put them under the dickey seat. Then, in order that the car might not be seized, we drove away from the garage and left the car outside the hotel for the rest of the night. Everybody, including the police, was so excited that no complaint was made.
This settled, we went into a large restaurant organised on American lines, where one paid a fixed sum on entering and then helped oneself to any of dozens of different small dishes arranged on stands. This place was thronged with people, who, with Teutonic thoroughness, did not permit their excitement of the moment to interfere with their meals. At first we were shy of speech, fearing our English tongue would cause trouble. After a space we began to talk and then, to our amazement, a man at the same table asked if we were English and, hearing the truth, promptly became embarrassingly pleasant and insisted on drinking our national health in dark lager. Others to whom we spoke also showed signs of pleasure and for a moment or two we were popular. Then for the first time we learnt how keen the German people were at that time on an effective naval and military alliance with England. From day to day on our way to the coast we were to find this the general feeling.
We left the hotel at five on the morning of Sunday, August 2, and drove out of Berlin by the Unter den Linden. The weather was perfect, and with consequent optimism we hoped to reach Holland before nightfall. No stop was to be made until the Dutch frontier had been passed.
In Potsdam, as we passed through, all was calm. Patriotism is very tiring. The streets were deserted and we drove through without notice. All went well with us. The sun was shining and the road, at this stage of the journey, was good. The next forty kilometres passed at the rate of one a minute and before seven o’clock we were in Brandenburg. Here ill-fortune again caught us up. As we crossed the bridge over the Havel a tyre burst. We had no spare inner tube and so Keating went to a garage near by in order to get replacements. His speech revealed him a foreigner, the news spread rapidly and by the time he returned to the car a large crowd had assembled round us. At first we thought their interest to be mere curiosity, but we soon saw that it was underlain by suspicion. To avoid them, and in order to change tyres quickly, we drove the car into a narrow courtyard near by and began work. The crowd increased and showed signs of following us into the yard. At this point we closed the yard gates, which were of iron scroll work covered with plate glass through which our movements could be watched.
The mob still increased and its attitude was threatening. A man whose house abutted on the yard, anxious as to the safety of his property, sent for the police. Shortly afterwards a sergeant arrived who, luckily, spoke English according to American practice. He had, he told us immediately on arrival, been in San Francisco during the earthquake, hence his knowledge of our language. From him we learnt that the crowd in the road believed us to be Russian spies and were taking measures to prevent our escape. At our request he sent for an officer, to whom we explained our position. Though the latter showed no signs of enthusiasm he believed our statement after examining our passport and driving licence. He then left, telling his sergeant to see us out of the town as soon as we were ready. After the police interview the crowd melted away and we suffered no further inconvenience.
By this time we were hungry and asked our friend the sergeant if he could buy us food. A boy was sent for sausage sandwiches and beer. We drank with the sergeant to the health of Great Britain and Germany and to the confusion of the rest of the world. It is easy to admire a nation when one is at its mercy. It is easier still when one realises the magnificent patriotism and unity of purpose of that same nation. When, the tyre fitted, it was time to leave, we endeavoured to pay the small boy for the food he had brought, only to be stopped by the sergeant, who said we were his guests and that he would not like us to leave with a bad opinion of his country! Firm friends, we left that sergeant with deep regret, as by now we knew our passage through the country was not to be pleasant.