‘[You will enjoy this,]’ said Hess.
I took the heavy pot, raised the lid and sipped the frothy liquid. It was sweet and cold and had a strong but not unattractive flavour. I noticed that Hess himself was not drinking the same stuff but was holding a small tumbler containing fruit juice.
‘[Thank you, sir. It is a pleasant beverage.]’
‘[You have tasted Bismarck already?]’
‘[Bismarck?]’ I said.
‘[It is a great favourite, I am told, at your Oxford. Maybe you know it by its English name, which is Black Velvet?]’
‘[No, I’ve never tasted anything like it. Because I have been training for the Games I drink only beer, and that in modest quantities.]’
‘[This Bismarck is popular in the Reich with many people. Most of them like to drink it when you Britishers are here, as today. You have a good black beer, as you know, which you bring from Ireland. It is called Guinness? Then we mix the Guinness with champagne from France. So we are all friends in Europe, as your ambassador advises us!]’
Selwyn-Thaxted was still standing beside me, smiling attentively, while the banal conversation proceeded.
‘I have other guests I must attend to,’ he said, speaking softly and quickly in English. ‘I shall be on hand if you need any advice.’
‘Advice?’
‘You never know. Do excuse me.’ He nodded with deep courtesy to Rudolf Hess. ‘[We are greatly honoured by your presence here this evening, Herr Deputy Führer. You must make yourself feel welcome. Do let me or one of my staff know if there is anything you require.]’
‘[Thank you, my gentleman.]’ Hess turned directly to me, in a gesture of dismissal to Selwyn-Thaxted. Hess had already removed his jacket and was wearing a khaki shirt tucked into grey trousers. An Iron Cross on a ribbon hung at his throat. He moved his burly body closer to me. ‘[Why have you not brought your brother with you this evening?]’ he said in his rather disconcerting tenor voice.
‘[He was unable to be here.]’ I saw from Hess’s reaction that it was not a satisfactory answer, so I added, ‘[He is training alone this evening. Only one of us felt able to take advantage of the invitation.]’
‘[That is a great pity. I was looking forward to seeing you together again. Your bodies are so healthy and muscular. And you are so alike! It is a marvellous deception and a great novelty.]’
‘[We never try to deceive anyone, sir. Joseph and I feel that—]’
‘[Yes, but surely you realize how useful it must be, if you wish not to be somewhere! To be there in your twin brother’s guise so that others you do not know think that you are somewhere else or that you are not what you appear?]’
I barely followed that. I thought to take a sip of the drink in order to cover my confusion, but when I raised the tankard to my lips the sweet, malty smell deterred me.
‘[We are either seen together,]’ I said, thinking how pointless all this was. ‘[Then people know we are twins. Or we are seen apart, when no one need know.]’
‘[That is so true, Mr Sawyer. Do you do everything together, even those things that—?]’
‘[We lead separate lives, sir.]’
‘[Unless we speak of your rowing! You could not do that alone!]’
‘[No, sir.]’
‘[Where and how did you learn to speak German?]’ He was moving closer to me. ‘[It is excellent and almost without fault.]’
‘[My mother is from Saxony, sir. She emigrated to England before the last war. That is where I was born, but I grew up speaking both English and German to her.]’
‘[So you are half German! That is good. Half your medal is ours, I think!]’
He laughed uproariously and repeated his observation to some of his associates, standing close behind him. They laughed as well. I looked around to see if Mr Selwyn-Thaxted was anywhere near, but I could not spot him. I needed what he had called his advice. The small talk went on.
‘[Herr Speer is an oarsman also. You should meet him perhaps.]’
‘[Herr Speer?]’
‘[Speer is our leader’s architect. Look around you when you are in Berlin. Herr Speer is designing most of our great buildings and arenas. But he is fanatical about talking of boats.]’
‘[I should like to meet him, of course,]’ I said, but as vaguely as I could. ‘[What about Herr Hitler? Is he interested in sports?]’
‘[He is our leader!]’ Hess was suddenly alert and upright, and for a moment I thought he was going to raise his arm and salute. His deep-set eyes stared away across the room, apparently not focusing on anything in particular. Then he said, ‘[After the reception we are going on to a private dinner. Will you and your handsome brother accompany us?]’
‘[My brother cannot be present at all this evening,]’ I said.
‘[Then you will come alone. We have good drinks and you will eat wild boar for the first time and we will explain many interesting things about Germany to you.]’
I was becoming increasingly anxious to escape from this man. I knew Joe was waiting for me in one of the streets outside the building. The longer I delayed the more furious he would be with me.
‘[I’m sorry, Herr Deputy Führer,]’ I said. ‘[It is not possible. I am really sorry.]’
‘[We will make the arrangements for you. In the Third Reich all things are possible!]’ His voice had taken on a bantering quality, which gave it a threatening undertone. ‘[What else is there for you to do in Berlin, while you are here? You will come with us when we leave in a few minutes. You will enjoy the rest of the evening. There will be no women, no one to interrupt what we wish to do. You understand, of course! We all have a good enjoyment and you can show me how you stroke. I your little boat shall be!]’
He laughed again, his eyes squeezing momentarily closed beneath his jutting eyebrows. I felt a wave of confusion, embarrassment, uncertainty, fear. His associates were watching for my reaction.
Hess tipped up his glass and finished the fruit juice. As he placed the glass on the table beside me, leaning forward so that his shoulder pressed against me, Selwyn-Thaxted materialized beside me with marvellous deftness.
‘Ah, Sawyer,’ he said. ‘I see you need another drink.’ My tankard of champagne-Guinness was still almost full, but Selwyn-Thaxted took it from me and put it down on the table. He flipped the lid closed. ‘[The ambassador has specifically asked if it would be possible to meet you, Sawyer,]’ he added loudly in German, for Hess’s benefit. ‘[Nothing formal. Do come with me straight away.]’
Hess was looming beside us.
‘[We have decided already to leave, my gentleman,]’ he said to Selwyn-Thaxted, then looked directly at me with his dark, worrying eyes. ‘[Come, we will depart, I think!]’
‘[The ambassador presents his compliments, Herr Deputy Führer,]’ said Selwyn-Thaxted. ‘[With your permission he asks if he might have a private audience with you also, but in a few minutes’ time?]’
‘[That is not possible.]’
‘[Then His Excellency will not insist.] Come, Sawyer.’
With his hand firmly gripping my upper arm, Selwyn-Thaxted led me at a relaxed pace across the ballroom, then through a pair of double doors to a small room adjacent to the hall. He closed the doors behind him, cutting off most of the noises of the reception.
‘May I assume you will be staying on in Berlin until the closing ceremony?’ he said.
‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible.’ I told him about my brother’s unexplained but urgent need to set off for home, to which Selwyn-Thaxted listened intently. He thought for a moment, staring at the ornately woven Persian carpet.
‘Yes, I think that’s probably wise,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what your brother has in mind, but as far as you are concerned it’s probably sensible not to see Herr Hess again.’
‘May I ask why you encouraged me to meet him?’
‘He asked for you by name. We also knew that you are a fluent German speaker, which suggested there might be an extra dimension that would possi
bly be useful.’
‘It was small talk,’ I said.
‘Nothing at all of any interest?’ Selwyn-Thaxted asked mildly.
‘In what respect?’
‘Well, did he happen to mention anything about Chancellor Hitler’s plans, for instance?’
‘No, that didn’t come up. He is intrigued that my brother and I look so much alike. And he said that Herr Speer was interested in rowing.’
Selwyn-Thaxted smiled fleetingly. ‘I don’t think we knew that.’
‘Is it important?’
‘Probably not … but you never know.’ Without being obvious about it, he was already steering me towards the door. ‘I’m grateful to you, Mr Sawyer. I hope you didn’t mind speaking to him.’
‘No, sir.’
In the outer hall Selwyn-Thaxted asked one of the undersecretaries to conduct me out of the building by way of the main entrance.
By this time it was twilight but the air remained warm. I saw a line of open-top Daimlers waiting in Unter den Linden, ready to collect Hess and his colleagues, but of the Nazis themselves there was no sign. I walked quickly along Unter den Linden in the direction of Brandenburger Tor, beyond which I had agreed to meet Joe. I saw the van from a distance: the two shells were lashed once more to the roof. As I walked closer I saw Joe himself, pacing impatiently. He greeted me without more than a gruff acknowledgement and went quickly to the driver’s side.
In no time at all we were driving at speed through the darkening streets of Berlin, going north. I said nothing. Night fell as we left the outskirts of the city and headed out into the German countryside, using the new autobahn that led towards Hamburg. It was not the same road as the one on which we had arrived. I mentioned this to Joe. He made no reply.
14
The Air Ministry car made several more stops during our long drive south from the hospital: for fuel, for Gilbert Strathy to make a telephone call, and finally for a snack and a cup of tea in a pleasant market town somewhere on the way. Without road signs it was difficult to recognize towns if you did not already know them. Neither of the other men commented on the route.
After our final stop I fell into a doze, rocking uncomfortably in the back of the car, my head lolling forward. I was in that peculiar state of non-sleep that it is possible to achieve while travelling, in which you remain partly aware of your circumstances yet able somehow to rest. I heard the other two men discussing me, presumably thinking I might not hear them.
I heard Mr Strathy say, ‘I’ve managed to arrange a place for Group Captain Sawyer to stay tonight. It’s a great asset that he doesn’t need nursing.’
‘Is he staying where we’re going?’
‘No, that wasn’t possible. He has to be in London after this. There’s a room in the Officers’ Mess at Northolt. He could make that his base for as long as he needs.’
‘Northolt’s still a long way.’
‘I know, but it’s the best I could do. I have to return to London, so I can give him a lift as far as Northolt. After that, Downing Street will have to take over.’
I dozed on, interested but not interested, feeling exhausted after the long drive, with my left leg starting to hurt like mad, my neck stiff. The unfamiliar uniform, which at first had felt like a good fit, now proved to be cut too tightly under my arms and at my crotch. The fabric felt prickly where it pressed against uncovered skin: my legs, my neck, my wrists. I waited until the other two fell silent again, then popped an eye open surreptitiously, looking through the passenger window on my side. It was dark and the car was moving slowly, the shielded headlight beams throwing only a restricted glow forward. I thought sympathetically of the young driver in her glassed-off compartment at the front: she had been driving all day along narrow, difficult roads without town or direction signs, without many traffic signs, now without daylight. She too must be exhausted.
Mr Strathy reached over and gently touched the back of my hand, to rouse me.
‘Are you awake, Sawyer?’
‘Yes, I am,’ I said, instantly alert. I realized that I had been dozing more deeply than I had thought. I felt myself plunged back into reality. The car, the other occupants, bulked large around me. The engine noise sounded much louder. I was aware of a draught flowing from the door and playing around my leg.
‘We will be arriving shortly,’ Strathy said. ‘I thought you would like time to compose yourself.’
‘Where are we?’
‘We are about to drive through Wendover, which is not far from Chequers. I’m able to inform you now, Group Captain Sawyer, that the P.M. has asked to see you. Naturally, we could not tell you before.’
‘The Prime Minister?’ I said. ‘Mr Churchill has asked to see me? I can’t believe he even knows I exist.’
‘Mr Churchill knows, I do assure you.’
The real Group Captain spoke. ‘It’s a short-term staff secondment, Sawyer. You’ll be told the details when we arrive, but from time to time the Prime Minister’s office makes personal appointments from within senior echelons of the forces. Many young men like you are chosen from the armed services for this kind of experience. It’ll stand you in good stead later on.’
‘What will I be expected to do?’ I was still slightly dazed by the news.
‘The P.M. or one of his people will explain that to you. Tomorrow you’ll receive a more detailed briefing from the staff at Admiralty House. Tonight, you are simply to meet the P.M. for a few moments. After that we’ll drive you to your quarters, which will be at RAF Northolt. You’ll be based at Northolt for the time being.’
‘Sir, I thought I was going back on ops.’
‘You will be soon. This is a temporary posting. The promotion is also an acting one, although if you acquit yourself well in the next few weeks I dare say you won’t be returned all the way to your former rank.’
The driver suddenly braked the car and swung it to the left, as if until then she had not seen the turning she was looking for. As I lurched sideways in my seat I glimpsed tall, brick-built gateposts in the quick glare of the headlights, then wrought-iron gates. Uniformed police officers stood beside each gatepost, saluting as we passed through. Beyond the gate itself there was a more familiar military-style checkpoint, with a guardhouse next to it. Here the car halted and an army sergeant leaned down and examined everyone’s papers with careful movements of his torch. It was almost impossible for me to see what was going on. Strathy and Group Captain Dodman waited patiently. I carried no papers: my service identification had been lost or destroyed when the Wellington crashed into the sea. However, there appeared to be no problem as to my identity.
We drove on down the unlit driveway, passing between mature trees, with white-painted stones set at intervals on the sides of the track, each one gleaming briefly as we passed.
I remember those few seconds vividly. No one in the car spoke from the moment we left the barrier until we were inside the famous house called Chequers, giving me an opportunity to collect myself and prepare for what was to come.
As I write these words it is many years since the Second World War ended. I live in a time when it is fashionable in some quarters to be cynical about patriotism, bravery, political leadership, national purpose. I feel it myself sometimes, as in a properly sceptical democracy who should not? In 1941 things were different, for which I make no apology.
Winston Churchill then was an incomparable figure, almost unique in British history. For those of us who were alive at that time, we happy few, Churchill was the man who mustered the nation’s spirit when everyone expected defeat. We held out alone against Hitler’s Germany, then the most powerful military nation in the world. The result, a few years later, was the eventual military victory of the Allies, although in 1940 and 1941 there were few who would have seen victory as inevitable, or even likely. When the war ended in 1945, everyone was so relieved to be able to put the war behind them that they turned their backs on the years they had recently lived through. The war was over. What had mattered most then
suddenly mattered not at all. Churchill fell spectacularly from power and languished in Opposition while much that he predicted came to pass. He returned as Prime Minister in 1951, for one more short term of office when he was physically enfeebled by old age. It is also true that for many years before he came to power in 1940 Churchill was a controversial figure on the margins, unpopular in some quarters, distrusted by most of his political contemporaries. But he rose to the moment. Churchill, in those long and dangerous months before the USA, the Soviet Union and Japan were involved in the war, quickly became a legend to most ordinary British people. He seemed to sum up a certain kind of British spirit, a symbol of British willingness to fight, perhaps never before identified until that need arose.
I was of that world, that generation. I was serving in the RAF when war broke out, with the rank of Flying Officer. Our early attempts to launch daylight bombing raids were met with fierce resistance. We suffered terrible losses and the raids were soon discontinued. The Blenheims we flew were too slow and badly defended for daytime use and did not have the range for deep-penetration night flying, so for most of the first winter and spring of the war we restricted ourselves to anti-ship ‘sweeps’ across the North Sea, rarely engaging, or even seeing, the enemy.
With the invasion of France, the war entered a deadly earnest phase and Britain’s safety was at risk. As the dangers loomed, Neville Chamberlain’s reputation as the man who had appeased Hitler made him an unsuitable war leader. He stood down, Churchill took over and a new spirit swept through the nation. Never was the peril greater, never were the British people so willing to face it. If you were there, if you lived through those times, you were in awe of Churchill. There is no other word for it, and it was awe that described my feelings as we drove slowly up to the main entrance of the Prime Minister’s country residence.