Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

On completion of the training, she got five microphotographs containing instructions for preparing a code and detailing the type of information she was to transmit to Germany. She also got a capsule to swallow only, if she found herself trapped and grilled by the enemy. A caught spy is a dead spy, they were reminded, and only by their own hand could they swallow the capsule.

On 1 stSeptember 1939, she heard on the radio that Germany had invaded Poland. She cringed. Hitler had started his game of chess. The same day, she received a package from Eicke containing her British identity pass a different one from her previous one. The photograph was not the same, though it was definitely her. His message was brief; he simply wished her luck and assured her of his total faith in her. Details of her assignment would follow, he said. He hoped to provide them personally. The good news was that a British pass meant she was surely heading for Britain and would therefore be able to extract herself from this situation. She knew Dynes and Thornton would be delighted with the revelation of enemy agents in America’s backyard.

Tucked into the package too, she was delighted to find a letter from Otto, and she put all other thoughts out of her head as she opened it. She was disappointed to find that it was no more than a brief note. He wrote that he was heading North West to Poland, but could say no more than he was happy to be in the motorized Hamburg unit. Part of the invasion, she reflected. He did not mention Gisela but spared his mother three kisses.

That morning she approached Major Glauber in the dining room as he drank his coffee with a thick cigar. She took the opportunity to compliment him on his command of the English language.

‘I studied English literature at Oxford. Brasenose College 1934-37. I stayed with my aunt in Reading.’

‘We have something in common then,’ she teased.

His smile was warm. ‘Yes, indeed so. It would appear you married a German and my father married an Englishwoman,’ he laughed.

‘We must look towards a better future for both sides,’ she suggested.

He stood up as he placed his cigar in the ashtray. Then he patted her shoulder. ‘You will be a credit to the Reich.’

Three days later, it was time to pack her bags and await a driver. Max, Karl and Nancy were already on their way back to America, and Hilda would genuinely miss them. The four of them had become friends over their short time together, and Hilda wondered if their paths might ever cross again, though she was unable to give them any hint of her own intentions.

Her driver was a young army escort, a boy trained to do his duty and ask no questions, and she wheedled no answers out of him as they drove at speed along back roads. His cropped hair and his high hairy collar seemed to have rubbed an angry red weal on his neck. He touched it frequently; it obviously irritated him.

Everywhere flags were flying. The news of the Gleiwitz incident provoked rage and had fired up the townsfolk in fury. They thronged the village streets as if it was a national holiday. Trumpets were playing, dogs barking and children running along the pavements waving flags, all in support of National Socialism.

Hilda’s car then passed through a flat area of countryside. She loved this fresh and peaceful Germany. She still had no idea where she was going, so she made one last effort to engage the youth in conversation.

‘You know, my son Otto must be about your age. He is almost twenty. He’s in the army too,’ she said, leaning forward.

‘I am not meant to talk to you. Those are my orders.’

‘But surely you can tell me where we are going? Is it far?’

‘We’ll soon be there,’ he replied

It was a pleasantly warm German summer morning. Five miles later, she gazed out at the green terrain, and above the hedgerow, she spotted camouflaged aircraft hangars. She was not surprised when the car slowed down at the airfield entrance. Sentries stopped them and eyes invaded the car. The driver showed his pass, and two armed guards satisfied themselves that Hilda was alone. She felt awkward, and when the car eventually passed the guards, she indulged in a sigh of relief. She noticed a road sign indicating 3 kms to Ettlingen. It gave her some idea where she was.

‘Security is essential, I suppose, but still scary,’ she said. There was no response.

At last, she would be heading home to report all she could to Thornton. Just in time too. Following the invasion of Poland, Germany would soon be at war with many more countries. The sooner she arrived home in Scotland the better.

The car drew up in front of the administrative building, and she gazed out at a variety of aircraft, all different sizes but all bearing the swastika on their tail fins. She committed a description of every aeroplane to memory.

When she alighted, the greeting came from no other than Eicke himself. He had come down from Hamburg. She recalled he would inform her of her assignment and it was something she was eager to have confirmed. She hoped her tight-lipped smile pleased him.

‘Good morning, Frau Richter.’

‘Good morning. I am delighted to see you here this morning,’ she confidently lied.

‘I had to come, no, I needed to see you off to a good start. First, a coffee? We have some business to undertake. Follow me.’

She followed him to the building as her departing driver engaged first gear. She waved to him. He responded with a raised arm and a genuine smile. She turned and gave him the Nazi salute, making sure Eicke noticed.

‘He is a fine young man. He’ll make a good soldier,’ she said.

Eicke looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Did you have conversation with him during your journey?’

She shook her head. ‘He was as silent as the dead. I tell you he’ll make a good soldier.’

The room he took her to smelled of a fresh coat of paint. There were faded markings on the walls showing where partitions had formerly divided the space into four, all of equal size. It looked like a series of school classes had once been there. It was now a dining room with its rows of tables and chairs, and two offices divided off at the end of the building. Eicke took her across the large room to the office on the left, where he had arranged the meeting. From the coffee pot on a stove, he poured two mugs and offered her a plate of Schwartzwalder roulade.

‘Ahh, my favourite cake. A real treat. Don’t tell me you baked it?’ she asked, her mouth watering. No, surely that would be beyond his capabilities.

‘I’d be proud if I could. No, my wife is from the Black Forest, and makes it for special occasions.’

‘And today is special?’ she queried.

Eicke turned to her as if surprised she was not privy to dramatic developments. ‘Third of September 1939, and you ask me, is it special? Have you not heard the news?’

‘The news? I don’t think so. We were too busy saying our goodbyes this morning.’

‘Britain has declared war on Germany.’

Hilda flinched. Her worst fears had apparently materialised. Her Mother’s love now denied her daughter’s affection. However, this was not a topic for discussion with Eicke. That her return to Scotland was slipping focussed her mind.

‘So it might be tricky for me to return to Britain?’ she suggested.

‘Oh, we will arrange it, but not yet.’

Not for some considerable time she thought, but eventually. She would just have to bide her time. Yet a German aeroplane crossing the English Channel would be unlikely to survive. What focussed her mind was that her return to Scotland would now be compromised.

For the moment, there was coffee, and the cake was rich and spicy, warm and satisfying.

‘Your wife is a fine baker.’

Eicke nodded. Then he opened a brown file. ‘Now Hilda, I need to explain. You will be flying in less than an hour, but not to Britain. The flight will take you to Lisbon this evening. You will be a guest at the German Ambassador’s house tonight.’