Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

As she was ushered into the witness box, a flash hit her eyes. She looked up and saw a group of photographers aiming their cameras at her, for the next day’s papers, she assumed. She lost count of the number of flashes which followed and continued until she lifted the bible.

‘Not yet, Frau. The accused is not in the dock yet. His counsel is still with him,’ the court usher informed her in a whisper.

She replaced the bible. Her keenness to begin must have been noticed by the scribbling journalists from all over the free world, who sat alongside the photographers. She pretended nothing had happened and remained standing in the witness box, looking around her and absorbing every detail of these enormously significant proceedings. The defendants seated at right angles to the judges’ bench, looked distracted. All the journalists were scribbling furiously like exam students, ensuring that the eyes and ears of the world were upon this court. She was acutely aware that they would be on her in particular, in just a moment. Perhaps her evidence alone would not convict Eicke, but it could be a brick to build his anticipated scaffold.

At last she caught sight of Gerhardt Eicke. As he entered the dock, he looked haggard, much older than his years. He wore dark glasses, possibly to disguise himself, and he seemed to peer blearily in Hilda’s direction. Gone was the swaggering visitor to her house who strode from hall to living room making his presence felt, emphasizing his importance. He seemed a timid mouse now. At least his defence counsel had seemed to advise him not to appear defiant; it was to his credit that he had accepted that instruction, she thought.

She took the oath. The international prosecution lawyer stood beside her and spoke into his microphone.

‘Tell the trial your full name and age.’

‘Frau Hilda Richter. I am fifty-six years of age.’

‘You are a citizen of Hamburg?’

‘I was. Not now.’

The defendant leant forward, agitated. The slight disturbance attracted the prosecutor’s attention and he gave way to the defence lawyer.

‘Objection, this witness is an imposter,’ said Eicke’s counsel.

The judges looked at each other. They shook their heads. They called the prosecutor over and spoke with the microphones turned off. The prosecutor returned and began to question her again.

‘You have told the court you are Frau Hilda Richter. Remember you are under oath. Tell the court your real name.’

There must have been two hundred people in the courtroom. No one moved an inch as she explained. ‘Very well, I was born in Scotland and grew up as Hilda Campbell. I married Dr Willy Richter in Hamburg in 1913. I have been known as Hilda Richter ever since then.’

The court awaited the defence counsel’s response.

‘My lords, the objection stands. My client maintains that this is not Frau Richter. Frau Richter drowned in Portugal. Her body was washed away several years ago into the Atlantic ocean off the rugged coastline. She could not have survived. She was pronounced dead by the Portuguese authorities some years ago. This woman, I assure you, is an imposter. It is a serious matter which must be investigated.’

The prosecutor raised his eyebrows at Hilda. She smiled and told him she would explain further.

‘During the war, I worked as a double agent.’

‘And where did your loyalty lie? Germany or the Allies?’ the prosecutor cut in before she got into her stride.

‘My loyalty was to the Allies and I acted primarily on their behalf. That did involve training in Germany, and some espionage in Portugal on behalf of the Reich, but when I learned I was transmitting messages, which would put Allied convoys at risk, I feigned my death by giving the impression that I had drowned. Herr Eicke is right. I drowned, to all that was their conclusion. In fact, I made it look as if I had drowned off the Portuguese coast. However, they never found my body; indeed, my body was never in danger, and appears before you today.’

It took a moment for all to digest what she had divulged. Then the questioning continued. ‘What did you actually achieve while you were under the direction of your German handlers?’ asked the tall, lean, bespectacled prosecutor.

‘Initially, I was asked to identify airfields in Scotland. When I returned to Germany, I informed Herr Eicke of airfields which did not exist. I minimized the importance of others, which may already have been known to him. Back in Germany, under Eicke’s orders, and after a period of telecommunication training, I was posted to Peniche on the Portuguese coast. Herr Eicke saw me off on my flight to Lisbon. That was where I made the biggest mistake of my life, which will remain a source of eternal regret to me. I passed on one set of coordinates to Berlin from an agent in America. That led to the sinking of an Allied cargo ship. It was at that point that I realised I had to return to my British handlers as quickly as possible. The only way I could think of achieving that was to feign death, death by drowning.’

‘And your work for the British?’

Hilda looked across the room towards Eicke, but his two hands covered his eyes.

‘I gave to the British Security Services the information gained while I was in Portugal. It led to the capture and imprisonment of the Fritz Duquesne Spy Ring. I was also able to provide evidence of their training in Germany too.’

‘Did this lead to any convictions?’

‘Yes, as I said, six days after the tragedy of Pearl Harbour, every member of the ring had either pled guilty or had been found guilty in a court of law in America. They were all imprisoned, although I believe they will be released soon, as the war has terminated.’

‘And who informed you of this?’

‘My British handlers.’

‘Who were…?’

Hilda hesitated. Why, oh why had she mentioned her handlers? There was no time to think about the consequences, which might arise if she answered this question, but she had no choice. She braced herself and lowered her voice. ‘They were Lawrence Thornton and William Dynes.’ She decided not to mention MI6 directly, unsure if she had already broken the Official Secrets Act by naming them. She would know soon enough. The press would publish her statements verbatim tomorrow.

The revelation of the names of her British handlers was a bitter pill for Eicke to swallow. He was staring at her open-mouthed, and it was plain he knew he had lost the battle. He bit the back of his hand as the court heard how she first met him at her late husband’s funeral, where he had presented himself to her as her son’s Hitler Youth leader; and how, in 1938, when she set off home to Scotland to see her ailing parents, Eicke saw a role for her as a Nazi spy. She gave the best part of thirty-five minutes of evidence making this clear, but she was still not finished.

She informed the court through appropriate further questioning that on her return to Germany, when she was acting for the Allies, she learned that Herr Eicke’s main purpose was to cleanse Hamburg of its Jewish population. Hilda’s eyes then seemed wet. Her voice was strained. ‘My sister in law, Renate Richter, was arrested and sent to the gas chambers. She was deemed to be Jewish, not having associated with Judaism for two generations. Eicke’s men took her three years ago. He relished his work. But he still kept a close eye on me,’ she told them.

There was a pause as Eicke summoned his defence counsel.

‘Objection. How could Herr Eicke keep a close eye on you Frau Richter, and why would he want to?’

Hilda rephrased her response. She looked up and took a long breath. ‘Herr Eicke found my dual nationality useful. He sent me on a training course where I learnt radio transmission skills, how to work undercover, in fact all the aspects of a covert posting in time of war. As a Nazi spy I was issued with a death pill should it be required. Eicke sent me to Baden-Baden personally. That was where I met the American spies. They were to contact me when I got to Portugal. All this was arranged by Herr Eicke, who saw me off on my flight to Portugal, as I said a moment ago.’