Christopher Priest - The Separation

‘I dived again, picking up a great deal of speed. I passed through the layer of cloud, but there was no sign of the Me-110 where I thought it should be. I searched around in all directions, but I could only conclude that either he had escaped or he had already crashed into the sea. I resumed our former altitude and soon joined up with the others. We flew directly back to base.

‘Although I had been ordered to report to Major Limmer, as soon as we parked our aircraft we were immediately told to board a truck, where two armed Gefreiters were in charge of us. We were driven to one of the hangars on the far side of the airfield and there interrogated closely about what we had done and what we had seen. Our versions of the event were all more or less in agreement with each other, but even so we were questioned until after midnight. It was accepted that we had damaged the other aircraft but that we could not claim it as a definite kill. At the end we were allowed to return to our quarters, but we were warned in the most serious terms possible that we must never reveal what we had been doing that night.

‘Later, after the war, I met men from other Nachtjagdgeschwaders (night-fighter units) and learned from them that they too had been scrambled on the same night for the same reason: a British-operated Me-110 on a secret mission. One of them, from our base at Aalborg in Denmark, claimed to have seen the Me-110 shot down. Another, who had been based at Wittmundhafen on the Ostfriesland coast in the north of Germany, said that they had not been able to find, let alone engage with, the Me-110, but he said that their orders had come direct from Generalmajor Adolf Galland, whose orders in turn had come from no less a person than Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering. They were told that the Messerschmitt was being flown by Rudolf Hess and that Hitler had had a last-minute change of mind about making peace.’

Manfred Losen was later posted to the Russian front, where he served for two years in most appalling conditions. In 1943 his plane was shot down by a Mustang of the USAAF and he was taken prisoner. He spent three years in a PoW camp in Texas. He now lives in Houston, where he has recently retired from the Dell Computer Corporation.

In normal times I suppose it would probably take ten or fifteen minutes to stroll from the YMCA near Holborn to Admiralty House in Trafalgar Square, but on the morning of May 7, in the immediate aftermath of a raid, it turned out to be an arduous expedition. Many of the streets were blocked by fallen buildings and detours were necessary. Fire engines and ambulances were moving around constantly and at several of the worst places of bomb or fire damage the rescue workers were still digging and pulling at the fallen masonry in search of anyone trapped inside. Flood water from broken mains was in every street. Bulldozers were attempting to remove the worst of the wreckage from the streets. My walk, which began in the spirit of curiosity and discovery, ended with my hurrying along, concerned not to get in the way of the emergency services, trying not to notice the many pathetic and touching scenes of damage and loss.

I was shocked to realize how quickly I had forgotten what hell the bombing brought.

In common with many of the official buildings in the area, Admiralty House looked like a fortress: at ground level every inch of the perimeter was protected by walls of sandbags about twelve feet high. Above, the windows were sealed with metal shutters. Clearly, it would be no more able to withstand a direct hit from a high-explosive bomb than any other building, but it was certainly intended to survive almost everything else.

Dr Burckhardt, together with two other officials, was waiting for me in a small anteroom along the main hallway. He greeted me effusively, speaking in excellent English with what I discerned to be a cultivated accent.

‘Our meeting is to be delayed somewhat,’ he said, after we had reassured each other that we were well and in good order. ‘Because of the raid last night, the Prime Minister felt he should go on a short personal tour of some of the worst-hit areas. He says it is the best morale-raiser he knows. There is some tea here, if you would like a drink.’

For the next hour we waited, usually in silence, engaging only in small talk. Throughout our wait, the door to the room was open. From my seat I could see along most of the hallway outside. When Mr Churchill arrived he did so without fuss or ceremony. I saw the shadows of movement beside the main entrance as people passed through the narrow corridor created by the high banks of sandbags, then a man in a civilian suit walked in. He was closely followed by the familiar figure of the Prime Minister, who was dressed in a brown overcoat and tall-crowned hat and carrying a cane. He wore a gas-mask case on a strap hung across his shoulder. As he began to divest himself of all this, more of his entourage came into the hallway behind him: two or three more civilians, uniformed senior members of the navy, army and air force, and a superintendent of police. Churchill nodded to these people briefly and shook hands with them, then walked down the hallway towards us. He was accompanied by one other man.

We stood up quickly as he came in. He was not as short as I had imagined him to be. He was slimmer about the waist too. He was also much more spry and youthful in his movements than I had anticipated. To see his famous face so close up was, in spite of my many hostile feelings about him in the past, a considerable experience.

Finally, he spoke. ‘Let me apologize for keeping you waiting, gentlemen. I realize how important your mission to see me is, but as you no doubt know we suffered a serious raid last night. I like to get about to see the people if I can. However, I am ready to proceed.’

We followed him out of the room, Dr Burckhardt walking alongside the Prime Minister as we ascended a wide, curving staircase. The interior of the building was gloomy, because the windows were shuttered and the electric light bulbs which were in use were low-powered, but it was still possible to glimpse the grandeur of the famous building, from which Britain’s naval operations were directed. I glanced at my wristwatch - it was eleven fifteen.

UK Government; Cabinet papers protected under indefinite rule (Order in Council 1941); released under EU Public Interest Directive 1997, Public Records Office (www.open.gov.uk / cab_off / pro /)

Minutes of prime ministerial meeting, commencing 11.18 a.m.,

Wednesday May 7, 1941, Cabinet Room, Admiralty House.

Present:

P.M. (Prime Minister, Mr Churchill)

C.O.S. (for Chiefs of Staff Committee, General Ismay)

For. Sec. (Foreign Secretary, Mr Eden)

War. Sec. (Secretary of State for War, Capt. Margesson)

Air. Prod. (Minister of Aircraft Production, Lt. Col. Moore-Brabazon)

Air Min. (Air Minister, Sir Archibald Sinclair)

Pr. Sec. Air Min. (Private Secretary to Air Minister, Grp. Capt. Sir Louis Greig)

H.M. Ambassador - Spain (Sir Samuel Hoare)

H.M. Ambassador - Portugal (Sir Ronald Campbell)

Intn’l. Red Cross (Dr Carl Burckhardt)

Br. Red Cross (Mr J. L. Sawyer)

R.S.O.F. (Religious Society of Friends [Quakers], Mr Thomas A. Benbow)

Note-taker (Self, J. Colville)

[Minutes remain in handwritten note form, as agreed by all parties. File to remain exempt from 30-year rule for Cabinet papers. File closed indefinitely by Order in Council]