Saturday, 13 August 2016

POW movie-club-for-one: Danger Within


This isn’t a post about Australians in Stalag Luft III, but it does cover some of the universal aspects of the POW experience and so, it counts!
 
It is well acknowledged that popular perceptions of prisoners of war in Europe have been shaped by their filmic representation. I’ve only viewed three of the classics—Stalag 17 (1953) The Colditz Story (1955) and The Great Escape (1963)—and only through the perspective of light Sunday afternoon entertainment. Accordingly, I thought I should work my way through some of the classics of the prisoner-of-war genre just to see for myself what aspects of captivity have been presented to a film-living public. Thanks to Clare Makepeace, I have a list and I decided to start with the 1959 film, Danger Within and thought I would write up my ‘findings’.
 
 

There is no need for me to provide a detailed account of Danger Within’s plot and filmmaking—there are very good ones at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danger_Within) and https://bloodymurder.wordpress.com/2013/10/29/danger-within-1959-tuesdays-overlooked-film/ —but I do discuss some important plot points and, while I don’t reveal the ‘bad guy’ I do drop a very big hint and there are lots of spoilers.

As far as I am aware, Danger Within has not been released on DVD and so I had the ‘joy’ of watching a very snow-ridden VHS that was close to the end of its useful life. The blurb on the VHS case exclaims ‘400 plan to escape—one plans to betray!’ and the liner notes claim that it is ‘an exciting drama set in an Italian POW camp during WWII’. Well, I don’t know if I would go quite so far as to say ‘exciting’ but I certainly enjoyed it, perhaps because of my research interest; I am not entirely sure I would have been enticed to watch it otherwise. Significantly for my research, the liner notes also state that the film is based on the true exploits of producer Colin Lesslie and writer Michael Gilbert, the author of the book on which the film is based. Gilbert joined the Honourable Artillery Company when war broke out and served in North Africa and Italy. He was captured in 1943, imprisoned in northern Italy and escaped after the Italian surrender. [https://www.theguardian.com/news/2006/feb/10/guardianobituaries.booksobituaries]
 
 
 
 I read Danger Within—released as Death in Captivity in Britain—a few years ago before I started my current research. I purchased it at a specialist crime fiction shop. Given the blurb ‘When a man is found suffocated to death in an escape tunnel under impossible conditions, British POWs turn detective’, I expected a classic ‘who dunnit’ but found it difficult going and less than engaging, so promptly put it at the back of my bookcase. From what I can recall, there are considerable differences between book and film, including some name changes, more of an interest in crime solving, and the name of the theatre production which covers the mass escape. Given I enjoyed the film, I must revisit the book at some stage if, for no other reason, than to see how the raw material of the book morphed into the aforementioned ‘exciting drama’.

Danger Within is a classic of the British prisoner-of-war film genre and sits alongside other iconic British productions of this era such as The Wooden Horse (1950) and The Colditz Story. I may be researching Stalag Luft III but it seems that there is little difference between this Italian camp and the Luftwaffe’s showcase prisoner of war camp for airmen. Indeed, with only minor script changes (and investment in air force uniforms) the film could very well have been set in Stalag Luft III. Like Stalag Luft III, this fictional camp is a veritable united nations. There are British officers, of course, a Greek officer, and a piano accordion-playing Frenchman. Vincent Ball, as Captain Pat Foster, in slouch hat and Aussie uniform doesn’t have to hide his accent. I spied Lieutenant Commander ‘Dopey’ Gibbon, RN (Andrew Faulds), ‘Doc’ Simmonds of the RAMC (Robert Bruce) and I recognised an ‘Airborne’ insignia but, because of the continual snow storm of my borrowed VHS copy, I can’t tell you who he was! Sadly, given my particular interest in air force history, the snow and erratic horizontal hold made it difficult to focus on background detail, so I couldn’t discern any air force officers.
 
 

The plot is simple. A series of escape attempts in an officers’ camp in Northern Italy, just before the Armistice in 1943, which should succeed, are discovered. The first escaper, who disguises himself as the one of the Italian commanders—so cleverly that not even Lieutenant Colonel Huxley (Bernard Lee) the Senior British Officer (SBO) is aware that it is one of his men in disguise—is caught by the very man he is impersonating just as he exits the compound. He is shot in cold blood in front of everyone, creating a near riot. The escape committee is convinced that they have an informer in their midst, until the likely suspect, Lieutenant Cyriakis Coutoules (Cyril Shaps), is found dead in an escape tunnel. Escape plans continue and the Italians continue to discover the attempts. It is not until the night before the grand scheme for the entire camp of 400 men to exit the tunnel in broad daylight is executed that they discover the traitor.

The camp spy pops up often enough in prisoner of war anecdote, but here, as with the similarly themed Stalag 17, the spy/traitor plays a major role in the narrative. The prisoners may dismiss his possible existence with the death of Coutoules, but his identity is revealed to the viewer quite early on. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been; it would have been much better to leave the great reveal until the very end, when Captain ‘Bunter’ Phillips (Richard Attenborough) discovers his identity. Even so, tension is created in not knowing whether the prisoners will discover him or whether their escape attempts will continue to be foiled, with deadly consequences. Although there is a spy in camp, and a murder, escape is at the heart of this film and it forms the basis for both narrative drama and narrative conflict. In one of the earliest scenes, the head of the escape committee, Lieutenant Colonel David Baird (Richard Todd) and Huxley argue over the importance of escape to prisoners of war. Baird is unequivocal in his belief that it was their duty to escape. Huxley is equally adamant that it is also their duty to stay alive. (The irony in Huxley not putting the highest priority on the duty of escape is that he had made a successful escape during the Great War.) This is a standard set piece to reinforce the central place of duty and survival in an active serviceman’s life, whether he is at the front or behind barbed wire.

Every aspect of prisoner-of-war life imaginable has been crammed into the 101 minutes playing time, including the ever-present guards in the watch towers,  and right from the beginning, this film demonstrates that the active serviceman does not languish in captivity but creates as much disruption as possible to the enemy. Not only that, he actively manages his captivity and displays incredible ingenuity. It also highlights the imperative to survive, not only to continue the war whether behind barbed wire or not, but so the men can return home to their families, poignantly illustrated by Bunter Phillips’ wedding band and photos.

The dual goals of escape and survival are not easy to attain because there is indeed, ‘danger within’. Front and centre, is the betrayal of their escape plans by one of their own. Then, there are the cruel murders of the escapers. Lester (Peter Arne), the first to attempt a brazen escape by walking out disguised as the sinister Capitano Benucci (also played by Peter Arne) meets his doppelganger lying in wait, just outside the gates. He shrugs, acknowledging that the game is up, but rather than being rounded up and sent inside as he probably expects, he is shot in cold blood. There are tunnel collapses, real and staged. There is also psychological danger. Capitano Benucci knows full well how much the men depend on their mail to reinforce their connections with home when he announces that much of the mail was destroyed by fire—again. The men take advantage of many coping mechanisms to stay fit and healthy but for the psychologically fragile, mail deprivation is a serious blow.
 
 

As is typical of British films of this era there is a strong thread of humour throughout the film. (Even a cursory look at wartime prisoner of war logbooks reveals that humour was an important coping mechanism in captivity; you can’t be depressed if you are busy laughing at yourself and your situation.) After the opening battle scenes, the camera fixes on a man lying face down, apparently dead. And then he starts scratching his back side. Dopey Gibbon, who sways wildly as he pours ‘vino’ from a teapot, later reveals himself as a competent pre-escape briefer. The SBO sparks a laugh as he offers his gloved hands for finger printing because he likes to keep his hands clean. I couldn’t help smiling at the heart-warming enthusiasm of the ‘sewer rat’, Lieutenant Meynell (Ronnie Stevens) as he talks about his passion for drains, hardly realising that the all-pervading miasma of sewage makes him socially unacceptable—that is, until he discovers an all-important electrical cable. I laughed out loud at the controlled madness of Major Charles Marquand (Michael Wilding) and his side-kick Captain Alfred Piker (Peter Jones) who criticise the typical British weather while stepping out into ‘the rain’, and then announce that they will have to call for a taxi. Reminiscent of Shakespeare’s clowns, those pseudo mad-types serve a double purpose: while providing light relief they also gently hint at one of the greatest fears of all prisoners of war, barbed wire psychosis (wire happy).

I’ve read a few prisoner of war memoirs in my time and have interviewed a number of former prisoners, as well as members of their families. One of the repeated motifs is a great love of and enthusiasm for Red Cross chocolate. It was a treasured commodity and extremely valuable for trade and suborning the guards. Not surprisingly, chocolate puts in an appearance in Danger Within in another deft scene which combines dry British humour, real-life prisoner-of-war experience, and my favourite character in the film, Bunter Phillips. Here, Phillips tucks into his chocolate and refuses to share it around. The selfishness is understandable as, Phillips explains to his friends, he ‘paid through the nose’ for the treat: ‘five cigarettes and a tablet of soap’. The whip-like retort was, ‘you can see you’re out of soap!’ 
 
 

One thing in which I am particularly interested is altruism. I didn’t have far to look in this film to find it. The Italians find ‘evidence’ that Captain Roger Byfold (Donald Houston) murdered Coutoules, the prisoner believed to be the traitor. Given the cold-blooded murder of Lester, it is patently obvious to the prisoners that the innocent Byfold will be tried and executed. The camp clowns, Marquand and Piker, who have a well-advanced escape scheme of their own, offer to take Byfold with them. Their invitation might have been flippantly issued but it was generous, particularly given that a third man lessened their own chances of success. Chocolate-loving Phillips shows that his selfishness is but an aberration as he gives up his tunnel to the greater effort of the mass escape: he places the common good of the camp above his own desire for a quick and easy exit which would maximise his chances of returning to his wife and child. When the mass escape was planned, it was agreed that lots would be drawn to determine the order of exit (reminiscent of the method used to determine the order for the Stalag Luft III’s Great Escape). Altruistic Phillips, however, did not go into that draw. He volunteered to join the rear party, and is one of the last to leave the camp. (A few years later, Attenborough swaps services and gains a promotion as he graduates from family man and altruistic tunneller in Danger Within to Big X, mastermind of the whole shebang, in the 1963 American film, The Great Escape.) Captain Tony Long (William Franklyn) also puts up his hand for the rear party, but his action is hardly altruistic.

The film’s other set piece, again featuring Huxley, demonstrates that altruism does not occur naturally. Despite the wishes of Captain Rupert Callender (Dennis Price), principal of the camp theatre group, the Rupert Callender Players, Huxley decides that an afternoon production of Hamlet will be used as a blind while the prisoners escape via the theatre hut. Callender claims the players are not ready and perhaps resents the fact that his art will not be appreciated by the audience it deserves. Huxley launches into his lecture: ‘What do you think this place is—a holiday camp?’ The words are no accident. Prisoners of war of all stripes in Europe resented the fact that the Red Cross presented images to their family, and the world, that equated their existence to that of a holiday camp. Huxley continues: ‘Now you listen to me Callender. There’s nothing glamourous about being a prisoner of war. Most of the officers here, including me, and you too, are only alive because we surrendered or because someone senior put their hands up for us. Maybe it’s not our fault but it’s nothing to be proud of just the same. Far from it.’ The upshot was that Callender had no choice. He had to perform whether he was ready or not, whether he liked it or not. His players, then, would be some of the last to escape down the tunnel. Callender was not the only one who resented the decision. One of the bridge players, waiting in the theatre wings, muttered that everything was ‘sacrificed to the cause’. Was this a slight dig at the fact that virtually every man in camp was required to play some role in the escape organisation—as did their real life counterparts in Stalag Luft III? Or just a neat reinforcement that altruism in not inherent in all, and altruistic behaviour for the commonweal often has to be forced.

It is clear that this film knows something about life in captivity and, given the personal wartime experiences of Michael Gilbert and Colin Lesslie, this is not surprising. Examples of ‘real’ prisoner of war experience are crammed in everywhere, as significant plot devices, to provide ‘colour’, and as realistic diversions to escape activity. The escape organisation’s security crew are on the alert shortly after the opening sequence. The watcher settles into his deckchair by the Rugger field, ostensibly reading his never-ending book as he nods the ‘all clear’, the mirror signal is flashed, the clean towel is flashed to signal that the escape work can get underway. (The look-outs are on duty right through the film.) The ‘keep fit-types’ play rugger and golf and keep trim doing PT. There are the gardeners and the circuit walkers. In one scene the artist paints the ever-present guard tower, in another the art class provides a plausible excuse for a pre-escape briefing session. The bridge players play continuously, and later reveal a half regret that they would soon be leaving the ‘security’ of captivity for an uncertain future as escapees and evaders when they remark that this would be their last game behind barbed wire. There’s even the camp pet, a potential table duck who receives a reprieve, ostensibly until Christmas.

Perhaps the most striking example of the legacy of personal experience in the form of significant plot device comes from the discovery Phillips makes after a sand fall in the tunnel where he is completely buried for a time. He couldn’t move his hands at all, and, as such, realised that Coutoules’ damaged hands had occurred not because he had tried to dig his way out of the sand fall but because he had been tortured before death.

I am often bowled over by the examples of ‘kriegie ingenuity’ that abounded in Stalag Luft III. Every aspect of Stalag Luft III’s Great Escape, for instance, highlights the prisoners’ prodigious creative and technical talents. Likewise, in Danger Within, and perhaps the most ingenious is the ‘applause machine’ which audibly disguises the theatre left empty as the prisoners made their exit en masse from the camp. Ingenuity provides an important Deus ex Machina solution. How can they move Coutoules’ dead body right under the noses of the Italians? Round up the keep fit-types, of course. They can display their manly physiques and athletic prowess despite months or years of captivity and, with a ruse of playing piggy-back, can easily whisk the body to a more innocuous place where it can be ‘officially’ discovered.  

There were two small aspects which I found particularly interesting. Indeed, I wondered if they had been drawn from the experiences of the men of Stalag Luft III and their mass escape, given details of if were well and truly in the public domain before either Michael Gilbert penned his 1952 novel or this film went into production, thanks to Paul Brickhill’s post war articles, Escape to Danger, which he penned with Conrad Norton in 1946 and The Great Escape which was published in 1950. Here in Italy, on the night before the escape, the men’s kit was to be inspected because, as the escape committee correctly assumes, there would be someone wanting to take along the kitchen sink, a poignant reminder perhaps that delays occurred in Stalag Luft III’s escape because luggage-laden men got stuck in the tunnel as they trolleyed down. (As it happened, the kitchen sink stayed behind in this effort, but the pet duck’s Christmas reprieve was extended indefinitely when its carer smuggled it out in his battle dress jacket.) The other thing that piqued my interest was that the committee monitored the letters going out before the escape. They wanted to prevent a deluge of ‘last letters’ tipping off the Italians. I haven’t pursued whether or not this occurred in Stalag Luft III, but I was surprised when I recently went through the letters of one Australian who was killed in the Great Escape and noted that the final letter his family received was written a few weeks before he exited camp, rather than in the days before, as I would have expected.

Letters in Danger Within have a dual function. They provide the means by which the traitor communicates his knowledge to Capitano Benucci, but they also signify the link to home and family. The prisoners might not talk about them in this film but family—and in particular wives—are revealed as very much a part of the captivity experience when we catch a glimpse of them in Phillips’ photos and the wedding band he always wears, even when digging. Women, always absent yet ever present in any prisoner-of-war camp, crop up frequently—and often humorously—in different guises, underscoring their significance to prisoners cut off from them physically while trapped in their homosocial environment. We catch a glimpse of tragic Ophelia, as the theatre-types rehearse, Gibbon jokes about old masters and old mistresses, in his pseudo art class, and, while packing his kit before departure, one man wonders if he can take along his photo of a shapely woman. His companion asks for her measurements and announces on hearing them that, at 41, 23, 38 inches, his friend ‘would never get her through the tunnel!’

Women, for prisoners of war, represent the past and the future. For the main part, it is too hard to dwell on either: you can’t relive the past and you can’t access the future until you are released. Even so, real life prisoners of war constantly dreamt of and planned for the future. They took courses, planned their future careers, gambled on when the war would end (usually before next Christmas) and some even designed the homes they would build and live in. In Danger Within, there is almost no reference to a future beyond barbed wire until the final preparations for the escape: ‘This time tomorrow we’ll all be outside’.

While Danger Within very much falls within the prisoner-of-war genre, the spy subplot has a satisfying resolution with the traitor receiving his just deserts. And I am not talking about a piece of Phillips’ chocolate. I won’t tell you how justice is served but, despite being accidental and administered by his ally Capitano Benucci, it reflects the real life punishment meted out to those who betray their countries in wartime. The finale, however, does not reflect the reality experienced by mass escapers. Here, the 400 do get out, and are last seen tearing through the Italian terrain to freedom. Real life mass escapes, however, failed dismally. But this is fiction, and the viewer is entitled to imagine a happy ending. (About 20,000 allied prisoners of war simply walked out of Italian camps after the armistice. Over 5000 traversed the Alps to neutral Switzerland, including 420 Australians. 
  (http://www.anzacpow.com/part_2__escape_from_italian_camps/chapter_1__the_italian_armistice) Some joined guerrilla groups. The majority were rounded up and sent to German prisoner of war camps, including 29 or so Australian airmen who found themselves in Stalag Luft III.) So, suspending any sense of reality, I am more than content to believe that Bunter Phillips will return to his family and, notwithstanding the fact that chocolate is rationed, will have as much as he wants, without having to sacrifice hygiene!

How then, did Danger Within present captivity and the POW protagonists to the moving loving public, 14 years after war’s end? Well, despite Huxley’s declaration, this particular camp did come across as a holiday camp, what with sport, theatre, endless bridge playing and vino on tap, or in tea pot. The prisoners were fit and healthy and had obviously not suffered from any rationing of food and vitamins, as evidenced by the PT boys and the energetic rugger aficionados. They obviously had a decent laundry service because all uniforms appeared neatly ironed and stain free. Indeed, there was no sign of any mismatched, pieced together ensemble. The active serviceman was always on the go, planning and executing escapes, creating diversions, and getting up the nose of their captors. Although there was ‘danger within’, it did look like a jolly-hockey-sticks existence, greatly at odds with the starker images and physical debilitation of the Japanese prisoner-of-war experience portrayed two years earlier in The Bridge on the River Kwai. Viewing Danger Within, I can well see how many at the time (and later) believed that prisoners of war in Europe had had a fairly decent time of it in captivity, and that any similar camp would have been considered a soft billet where everyone had been busily trying to escape.
 
 
(All images, except for the modern book cover, lifted from ‘the internet’.)






 
 

Friday, 27 May 2016

43 Years. Albert Hake: An Australian in the Great Escape.

43 Years. Albert Hake: An Australian in the Great Escape.
Talk for Rotary Club of South Launceston, 26 May 2016.


Approximately 340 Australian airmen were incarcerated in what is perhaps the most notorious of all German prisoner of war camps. That reputation is based on the Great Escape—and its tragic aftermath.
Two hundred men tried to escape from Stalag Luft III on the night of 24 March 1944. Seventy-six succeeded in fleeing the camp. Only three made it home. Of the 73 who were recaptured, fifty were executed on Hitler’s order. Five of those men were Australian and tonight, I’m going to tell you about one of them: 27-year-old Albert Hake. But this isn’t just Albert’s story. It’s also the story of his wife, Noela.
Young Albert enjoyed sailing and served as an altar boy at church.
He was academically bright and excelled in mathematics, science, metalwork, woodwork and technical drawing. He was awarded a scholarship to Sydney’s Central Technical School where he was assessed as ‘capable and painstaking’. He later gained an apprenticeship with an air conditioning firm and, during his time off, was a keen ice-skater. One day in early 1940, he met a striking brunette at the local ice skating rink, and was smitten.
In between work and outings with Noela, Albert joined the RAAF reserve.
 He was called up on 4 January 1941 and sent to Victoria for initial training. He and Noela married on 1 March, during a four day leave pass.
With hardly any time together during their marriage, Albert embarked for the UK in September. There, he was rated ‘above average’ and ranked as one of the top three pilots on his operational training course. Then, on 21 January 1942, he was posted to 72 Squadron RAF, flying Spitfires.
Over the next few weeks, Albert carried out convoy patrols, sweeps across France, and escort duties. On 4 April, he took part in a large escort for a bomber squadron which had been tasked with attacking a French railway station. Just south of the target, the Luftwaffe pounced. Albert’s Spitfire was hit by flak which smashed into the propeller. He turned for home but was attacked by five enemy aircraft. He collected a bullet through the leg of his trousers and his engine was set on fire. Despite a crippled aircraft, Albert continued to fight and managed to strike one of the enemy fighters. But his Spitfire was too damaged to cross the Channel homeward. He was forced to bale.
Albert landed close to a German troop depot and was captured almost immediately. After a stint in hospital to recover from burns and shrapnel injuries, he was sent to Stalag Luft III, the Luftwaffe’s state-of-the-art prisoner of war camp, located near Sagan in the German province of Lower Silesia. This camp was surrounded by a dense pine forest and was designed to be virtually escape proof. As a warrant officer, Albert should have been confined to the non-commissioned officers’ compound, but, as his rank insignia had burnt off, the Germans assumed he was an officer because he’d been flying a Spitfire. Albert didn’t disillusion them.
‘I feel a cad ending up like this darling’, he told Noela in his first letter as a POW.
This was a fairly common response. Prisoners of war often felt that they had let the side down by being captured. They somehow blamed themselves. Many agonised about being taken out of the war effort. Some even felt deeply ashamed. They also worried that the folks at home might think they were luxuriating out of harm’s way while others defended and protected country and empire. Indeed, for Albert, it was important to reinforce to Noela that he had been fighting right up to the last minute: ‘I got one which evens up my loss.’
Many of the prisoners tried to make light of their circumstances. With tongue firmly in cheek, some referred to Stalag Luft III as ‘Heaven among the Pines’ while others likened it to a holiday camp. Albert also presented a rose-coloured portrait of captivity to Noela because, ‘I would have you believe the pleasant pictures of happy POWs which I am assured are portrayed to worried relatives’. He told her of their ‘vegetable gardens, library, educational classes, band, musical tuition and sports of all kinds’, and sent photos where he looked happy and healthy with his new friends, if not splendidly attired.
He took up sketching, and was studying air conditioning, to upgrade or at least maintain his skills, as he and a friend planned to establish their own business after the war. He had also formed a band with his roommates and was learning to play a banjo. ‘Don’t be deceived by thinking we make music’, he joked to Noela.
As time passed, Albert wrote little about what he was doing to stay positive. Captivity is not an easy state. Those who couldn’t adjust to it were more likely to suffer from depression or worse: barbed wire psychosis. While Albert never endured this psychological extreme, he often experienced mood swings, or what he called a ‘fluctuating temperament’.
Albert had a lifeline which helped him cope: his strong, continuing connection to home. Noela was a faithful wife, she regularly wrote letters, passed on news from family and friends, and sent comfort parcels to her husband. They were as close as could be, given the circumstances, but with letters taking four months or longer between Australia and Germany, it was increasingly more difficult to nurture a long distance marriage. And Albert’s frustration at being apart became obvious. He needed something more than just Noela to help him cope with captivity.
Escape was the most important coping mechanism for many, and, when plans were set in motion for the grand scheme which would later become known as the Great Escape, most of Stalag Luft III’s North Compound prisoners were involved in some way. Albert had a key role: he was in charge of compasses, which he meticulously crafted from Bakelite records, slivers of magnetised razor blades, glass from broken windows, and solder gleaned from the seals of tin cans. All were stamped ‘Made in Stalag Luft III. Patent pending’. With his precise technical drawing skills, he also forged documents.
(From Brickhill: The Great Escape)
The Great Escape was ambitious, but the men had high hopes of positive results because they knew of many successful attempts from other camps and from Stalag Luft III itself. Five months earlier, three men from East Compound had scored a home run via a tunnel constructed under a wooden vaulting horse. Of course, not every attempt was successful. Failed schemes far outweighed the home runs. But each would-be escaper had the satisfaction of knowing that he had tied up German resources looking for him. There may have been little chance of success, but they believed it would be worth it.
And so, North Compound’s prisoners dug three tunnels and concealed the evidence. John Williams led the carpentry team. Ably assisted by his Australian compatriot, Reg Kierath, they filched bed boards to shore up the tunnels.
Rosters of stooges watched out for German guards. Tailors fashioned civilian clothes, forgers created false papers. Others stole equipment and manufactured escape kits, all of which contained Albert’s compasses.
Not everyone would be able to make a bid for freedom, but it seems Albert hoped he would be one of the 200 chosen for the mass breakout, because his letters were full of hints to Noela that he would be home soon.
Months of hard work passed. Albert continued to churn out compasses. One tunnel was discovered. Another was decommissioned. The escapers were almost ready, and the mass breakout was scheduled for 24 March 1944. Albert was one of the 200.
Albert needed to write to Noela before he left. The Germans—and the prisoner hierarchy—censored everything so he had to be careful that he didn’t reveal anything that would alert the Germans. He started mundanely enough, thanking Noela for her most recent letters. He’d kept a record of their correspondence and told her that ‘I have everything to date’. As in most of his previous letters, Albert looked to the future he hoped to build with Noela beyond barbed wire. ‘Send me some wool you sweet kid and I’ll help knit those baby clothes.’
Even though the escape would be long in the past by the time she received this letter, Albert couldn’t resist dropping another hint about his intentions. It ‘shouldn’t be much longer darling and I’ll relieve you from the perpetual grind of your daily life. I hope.’
That ‘I hope’ seems to indicate that Albert had a sense of foreboding that something would go wrong, and it’s no wonder. He didn’t have a chance of getting home. For one, rather than being issued with train tickets as part of his escape kit, Albert was what they called a hard-arser—he had to make his way, as best he could, on foot. We don’t know exactly where Albert was heading, but neutral Switzerland—700 kilometres away as the crow flies—appeared to be his target. Of course, Albert could not take a direct route. Once the alert was sounded, there would be a Reich-wide manhunt, forcing him to avoid towns, roadblocks, and roving patrols.
(From Brickhill: The Great Escape)
Even if he could avoid the patrols, how easy would it be to trek cross country to Switzerland? It was still winter and, in his previous letter to Noela, written a few weeks earlier, he’d mentioned that ‘six inches of snow’ had fallen ‘during the night’. That hadn’t thawed, and more snow had fallen recently. He didn’t have decent footwear. His clothing was totally inadequate. The odds were stacked against him.
With so little chance of success, it’s not surprising that Albert was uneasy. He realised this could be his last letter to Noela and, between the lines—and with the benefit of 20–20 hindsight—we can see his fears that he might not survive the escape attempt. While he usually signed off with a simple declaration such as ‘All my love’, or ‘I love you’, followed by a happy ‘Cheerio’, this time his farewell was more sombre: ‘I love you as always. I hope I can justify your faith in me, dearest, one of these days. Remember me. Albert.’ And three final kisses.
At 8.30 pm on 24 March, the first escaper was on his way down the tunnel. But the breakout had got off to a bad start. The tunnel’s exit trap door had frozen solid. They’d miscalculated the length of the tunnel so it stopped short of the forest. Each man had to time his dash to the trees to ensure he was not espied by the guards, and that slowed things down. There was an air raid and the power went off in the tunnel, delaying proceedings further. Over-large blanket rolls got stuck as the men trolleyed to the exit. A frame was knocked out, causing a fall of sand which had to be cleared. Another was knocked out, and more sand had to be cleared. Two hundred men would not escape that night. Just before 5.00 am on 25 March, it was decided that the 87th escaper would be the last. Just as he disappeared down the shaft, a shot was heard. The Germans had discovered the escape but Albert, who had been number 70 in the tunnel, was already making his way through the pine trees.
No one knows exactly what happened to Albert. He was captured near Gorlitz, less than 50 kilometres south south-west of Sagan, en route to Switzerland. We think he had been free for no more than 72 hours. We know it was an arduous journey because Bob Nelson, a fellow escaper, travelled in roughly the same direction. He and his companion walked through the woods until dawn, then hid until dark and continued walking. At dawn on the 26th, they hid in a barn. They were so exhausted by the trek through snow and floods that they stayed there until they were discovered by a search party.


But Albert’s journey was worse than Nelson’s because he suffered excruciating frostbite. It was so bad he could barely walk when he was escorted to the civil prison at Gorlitz and put in a cell with some of the other escapers.
On the 30th of March, each man was interrogated. He was asked if he was married, if he had any children. Some were roughed up and threatened. Each was told that he had been sentenced to death.
The next day, Albert was taken from his cell again. He was so debilitated by frostbite that those looking out of the window thought that he was being sent to hospital. Others were removed from the cell. Some were returned to Stalag Luft III but six of them, including Albert and fellow Australian Tom Leigh, were driven to a wood.
The prisoners got out of the cars and were lined up next to each other. They were told that ‘the sentence was about to be carried out’. Given that they were accompanied by men with guns, it was clear how they would die. Albert and his fellow escapees showed considerable calm. And then the order to fire was given. A second salvo was delivered, and all the prisoners were dead.


Noela had lost her husband. They may have spent most of their brief marriage apart, but he was dearly loved, and sadly missed. And that was the inscription she had placed on his memorial gravestone.
As Albert had begged in his final letter, Noela remembered. She put in memoriam notices in the paper, year after year, as did other members of his family.
She relived the handful of days they had spent together. She recalled their future plans. She treasured Albert’s personal effects, returned after the war. She kept safe the certificate which stated that Albert had been mentioned in despatches for distinguished service.
She read and reread her husband’s letters, just as he had done with hers, while he was in Stalag Luft III. She never remarried.
In the late 1980s, Noela was approached by an historian who wanted to know about Albert’s background. She told him what she could and then asked one of his childhood friends to fill in the gaps.
Jean Heckendorf’s letter was full of vivid details of Albert’s life-before-Noela and, in thanking Jean for sharing her memories, Noela said that she ‘was very grateful as he’d never told me anything of his early life’.
That almost broke my heart when I read it.
Albert had been dead for over forty years before Noela learned of his deep grief over his mother’s early death.
Four decades passed before she learned about the time he and a friend stayed out all night in the sailboat that Albert had built under the house. Jean had sat up half the night, frantic that there had been an accident, waiting for word that all was well, and then, he sauntered in at breakfast time, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Noela was slipping into old age when she first laughed at the story of the possum that had escaped from Albert’s pocket during church.
She had to wait 43 years to discover the boy and man she had never known.
Fifty deaths was a tragic outcome of the Great Escape. But so too was the effect on those who were left behind. Those who never lived the life they’d planned. Those who never heard the stories. Like Noela.
My thanks to the Preen family for personal details of Albert and Noela Hake, and for photos from their collection.

Sunday, 24 April 2016

ANZAC Day 1944


Anzac Day 1944 in SLIII

At 2.30 am on 25 April 1944, Minnie Archer and her daughter, Mavis, walked from Sydney’s Brighton Le Sands to Rockdale, where they caught a special train to Martin Place. Mrs Archer thought that only 3 or 400 would make the effort to attend the Dawn Service but ‘I got a shock when I saw so many people there. … Martin Place was crowded. 20,000.’ As well as honouring the war dead, it is likely that Mrs Archer would have prayed for the safe-keeping of her son, George, who had been a prisoner of war since July 1942. Apart from a 6 month stint in Oflag XXIB, he had spent all of his captivity in Stalag Luft III’s East Compound. ‘The service was beautiful’, she wrote in an airgraph to George a few days later. (He didn’t receive it until September.) ‘I was glad I went’.



Later that morning, during the Solemn Requiem Mass held at St Mary’s Cathedral on 25 April 1944, Father O’ Brien told the congregation that ‘Today Australia is deep in thought as well as in sorrow for the 70,000 men dead, prisoners of war, missing and wounded.’ If some of those prisoners were also deep in thought, they weren’t letting on. They were making the most of the day.

In Stalag Luft III’s East Compound, a church service was held in the theatre by Padre Thompson, a British Methodist padre who had been captured in North Africa. Almost certainly, George Archer was present at this service as he was one of the Camp Church stewards. Afterwards, the Australians and New Zealanders staged a sporting carnival which included basketball, soccer and golf. The prisoners of war may have been denied many liberties during their incarceration but the Australian sports lovers were better off than their home front compatriots: in early April, Prime Minister Curtin had announced that organised sports meetings were prohibited on Anzac Day. Gerald Carroll, an army orderly was proudly nationalist and noted when the Australians beat their New Zealand opponents.

 




The Australians in North Compound also mixed faith and sport. There, Padre Walton—‘a Church Army type from NZ’, as Harry ‘Gobi’ Train recalled him—conducted a service for the Australians and New Zealanders. After that, Hauptmann Hans Pieber took some group photos. As well as gathering for the North Compound photo, the Australians divided into state groups, including the West Australians and New South Welshmen. For one New South Welshman, the day meant more than sport, community and commemoration: this was also Ronald Bowen Anzac Pender’s 29th birthday (and his second in captivity). He had been born on the very first Anzac Day.
Copies of Pieber’s photos appear in a number of books and the collections of many of the North Compound Australians such as Laurie Simpson, Ken Carson, Ronald Baines, Len Netherway, and Torres Ferres.
The ranks of those gathering for the group portraits were depleted by the five Australians who had recently been killed in what would later be called the Great Escape: James Catanach, John Williams, Tom Leigh (whose Australian connection would not be recognised for many years afterwards), Reginald Kierath and Albert Hake.


Their deaths were felt by all their fellow prisoners of North Compound, but their Australian friends in East Compound too felt the shock of their loss. On 8 May, George Archer sat down to write his monthly letter to his mother Minnie, his father, and the ‘rest of [the] gang’.



Tumbled in among a catalogue of letters and parcels received, instructions to the family to send more parcels to his English friends, details of the basketball games he enjoyed playing in order to keep fit, and greetings passed on to friends from another prisoner, was an oblique reference to the deaths of two of the Australian Great Escapers: ‘Bill Catanach and Allan Hake met with an accident and were buried last March’.
It is not likely that someone who had worn a black armband to commemorate the deaths of fellow Australians, with whom he had shared a compound (they had been in East Compound with George when they first arrived at Stalag Luft III) would forget their names. George’s letters home had been censored in the past and so it seems he deliberately obscured the names to ensure the news slipped past the censors.

It would be a few months before Minnie Archer received this sad news, well after the kin of the Escapers had been notified.
In due course, their names were added to Australian casualty lists and, on 17 May 1944, Albert Hake’s wife received the telegram advising that her husband had lost his life on 25 March 1944—one month before his former friends gathered to remember all war dead—‘while attempting to escape from confinement of a prisoner of war’.



Noela Hake spent a life time remembering her young husband and her extended family also remembered Albert. A proud moment was when his great nephew and great niece honoured him on Anzac Day 1997.  

Friday, 25 March 2016

Another Book Review: A True Story of the Great Escape

When I read Louise Williams' A True Story of the Great Escape I did something I don't often do. I wrote two reviews. A short one which was published in Flightpath (and which appears on an early blog post) and longer review where I could explore more deeply some of the issues highlighted by Louise when she told her uncle's story. That review has now appeared on Aircrew Book Review, my favourite aviation book review site (and it is not my favourite just because Andy has invited me as a guest reviewer on a number of occasions, OR because Andy has reviewed four of my five books and I understand that in due course it become five out of five, but because Andy is such a thoughtful reviewer of good aviation books). Anyway, below is the long review as I wrote it. Follow the link for the final edited version!


 
A True Story of the Great Escape. A young Australian POW in the most Audacious Breakout of WWII by Louise Williams. Allen & Unwin, September 2015, 284 pages. ISBN: 9781743313893. $29.99
 


The author of A True Story of the Great Escape is the niece of John Williams, one of five Australians killed on Hitler’s order after the mass breakout from Stalag Luft III. Little was known about John’s fate, other than the fact of his death, and Louise Williams has devoted much of her life to discovering exactly what happened.
Despite the author’s connection to John, this is not just his story, nor is it simply a retelling of the Great Escape from an Australian perspective. It follows the career of John’s friend and fellow escaper Reginald ‘Rusty’ Kierath. It encompasses those who were affected by John’s death, particularly his mother, Mildred. It also chronicles a family’s unresolved grief across half a century. Finally, it tells of Louise William’s journey to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of John’s life and death and provide closure for herself and her family.
 
 
Reg Kierath courtesy Peter Kierath 
 
Williams faced many challenges. Some of John’s letters were destroyed in storage, there are gaps in the chronology where no records or witnesses exist, and other participants who could have shed light are now dead. To overcome these obstacles, she had to look sideways and around. Supplementing extracts from John’s extant letters, family reminiscences, and official documents, Williams fleshes out the known with vivid genealogical surveys and explorations of his school ethos, his home suburb, surf life-saving and surf sports. John is thus placed within a social and historical framework which illuminates the scanty personal record.

Much of John’s Royal Air Force service is known. He excelled as a trainee pilot and was granted a pre-war short service commission. Instead of a posting to an operational squadron, he became an instructor. After transferring to the Western Desert, he gained experience in RAF squadrons before notching up a series of victories for 450 Squadron RAAF as one of its new flight commanders. He gained a reputation as an aggressive pilot and the culmination of his flying career came when he was promoted to commanding officer. The 23-year-old’s promising leadership stint, however, was cut short when he was shot down by one of his own men in October 1942 and taken prisoner. 

What is not known is why John embarked on the Great Escape and what happened in the moments before his death. These essential mysteries are at the heart of A True Story of the Great Escape. While the author knows that these final secrets will probably never be uncovered, she has provided some clues. Fellow escaper Bertram ‘Jimmy’ James, for example, shares what went on his mind before and during the escape, thus giving some hint to John’s thought processes. Perhaps the most telling clue, however, comes from John’s close-knit family life which is lovingly described (with no sign of rose-tinted glasses). Maintaining the familial link to her son, Mildred’s weekly letters reinforced that John was a much-loved and much-missed son and brother. John diligently wrote back, demonstrating that for him, too, the bonds had not slackened during his long absence.

Captivity is not an easy state but, for many, a continuing connection to home makes it bearable. Paradoxically, that closeness also makes incarceration unbearable and some yearn to go home. When that desire is enacted, the prisoner is willing to take any risk, as John did. But when risk leads to death, grief is more intense than if a beloved son had been lost in battle. There is honour in combat and solace in knowing that he had done his duty in contributing to the undoubted victory but, in breaching the Geneva Conventions which had provided surety of John’s safety, there had been nothing honourable about his murder. Mildred’s grief was bitter and intense. It was never assuaged, and percolated down to the next generation.

A True Story of the Great Escape is a saga of compelling sadness and keen tragedy. Even so, we recognise the joy of a life lived well and full, despite its brevity. Perhaps the central mysteries of John’s death can never be explained but through Williams’ poignant account we gain a firm sense of the man and can imagine why he participated in the Great Escape. Even if we don’t know exactly what happened in his last moments, this moving and well-illustrated story of discovery and the consequences of war leaves us in no doubt about its impact.