Holzminden was a fairly easy camp to get out of, but it required a certain amount of ingenuity in the first place. Once away, the escaper stood a fair chance of success, for the distance, though over a hundred and forty miles to the frontier, could be covered in a little over two weeks owing to the prevalence of forests along the route. Close to the camp ran the River Weser, which had to be crossed by swimming unless one was lucky enough to find a boat. All bridges in Germany were closely watched, and therefore strictly to be avoided. Beyond the river the escaper came to the edge of a vast forest, which of course afforded excellent cover and gave him a good start. Once the hue and cry had subsided, it was simply a question of hiding in the daytime, and walking at night. It was always the first two days that were the most critical, and the actual crossing of the frontier, which was excellently guarded by sentries and barbed wire in most places. But by this time we had received several instructions and detailed descriptions of the routes to be followed from those who had succeeded in getting through to England, and a properly organized system had been developed in charge of competent and clever men. It was brought to such an excellent state of perfection that practically any article, from civilian clothes to concentrated food, could be doled out to those who were ready to go. In order to prevent confusion, a waiting list was formed, and we simply had to take our turn to go – each man, or party, making his or its own arrangements as far as the actual getting out was concerned, but the actual time regulated by those in charge of operations, who also supplied the necessary “watchers” and other assistants as required.
The headquarters of this “escape club” was in one of the smaller rooms at the top of the building, occupied by some Canadian officers. As a vacancy occurred in this room through one of the men being sent to Switzerland – all those who had been captured through being wounded were in course of time transferred to Switzerland – I was invited to take up my quarters there, which I did gladly, for they were all very good friends of mine, and the prospect of being in a smaller and at the same time less congested room was very pleasant. There were only six of us here, as compared to thirteen in the room I had occupied for so long, and though I was sorry to leave my two mess-mates, with whom I had been for so many months, the opportunity was too good to be missed. However, I still continued to have my meals with Pirie and Ross, practically till the end.
My new quarters were a veritable treasure chest of escape gear. Under the floor boards, beneath the window-sills, every crack and cranny held contraband articles. By this time, the store room had been bolted up, and forbidden articles had to be hidden about the buildings. In this room, there was a small door that was used to enable the plumber to get his hand on to a tap that was placed on a water pipe leading up through the mansard roof that sloped down on either side of the room. – the room being actually in the roof. The door was so small that nobody would dream that anyone could possibly get in. However, as the thinnest man in camp, I was able, by divesting myself of all clothing, and placing pieces of card-board all round the edges of the opening to prevent the skin from being scraped off the bony protuberances of my anatomy, to wriggle through, while my companions worked my legs backwards and forwards from inside the room, making my hip-bones do the work of feet! Once inside the roof, there was considerable space for me to move about in, even in an upright position, and a narrow opening at the top enabled me to get into the attic above, which was a large bare space, and a perfect cache for gear. Ultimately, most of the stuff was transferred here, and the Huns, of course, never found it.
Of the numerous escapes from this camp I can only mention a few. The usual attempts to get out via the garbage cart succeeded on two occasions, I think, though one unfortunate gentleman of the Navy had a two-pronged fork dug into the seat of his trousers while trying to make a noise like a sack of potato peelings. His yell of pain startled the horse to such an extent that it bolted, which enabled the pseudo sack of peelings to deposit itself comfortably some distance from the camp and take to its heels.
Another bright individual managed to evade the vigilant eyes of the sentry at the gate, disguised as the camp typist (or stenographer). He was a fine female impersonator, and the remains of theatrical costumes and a wig did the trick admirably.
His explanation after recapture and return to camp that some Teutonic swain had insisted on kissing him in a lonely lane which had knocked his wig off, thus giving the show away was not received seriously.
And there was B-, who hid under a pile of coal in a coal cart when told that it was being taken back to the town, and who found himself later shot into the cellar of “A” House, much to his disgust, and the surprise of the German detailed to shovel the coal. As B- emerged from the coal (his precious civilian suit irrevocably ruined), the German gave a howl of horror and fled – or so the story went – and B-, in trying to get out again via the coal-hole got another two tons on his head which completely laid him out.
S- was another genius who tried to hoodwink the sentry by dressing himself up as Niemeyer. It was a magnificent imitation of the Commandant, and would probably have worked very well, had he not suddenly come face to face with the Commandant himself. The rest of the camp was startled by the sight of what they took to be Niemeyer running hell for leather for the doorway of “A” House, flinging the contents of his portly middle – which turned out to be his pack disguised as Niemeyer’s abdomen – in all directions! Niemeyer himself was too surprised to do anything but gasp for breath, and thereby lost an excellent opportunity of “strafing” the impersonator.
The prize attempt was made by one Capon, an astronomer, I believe, with an ingenious turn of mind, and three companions. Having commandeered a table and a few lockers from the dining room, he proceeded to transform these into a wonderful contrivance. He made a form of chute, in three sections of varying widths, so as to fit one into the other like a telescope (his pre-war duties at the Greenwich Observatory probably had a lot to do with the idea). When shut up, it occupied little space, and could be hidden under his bed, tied to the bed boards and covered in front by the dangling bed-clothes.
The fence that ran along by the side of the buildings consisted of a low brick wall, surmounted by a tall iron spear-headed railing, the distance between it and the buildings being only about fifteen feet, or possibly less. Beyond this fence was the open country. Capon’s scheme was to shoot the telescopic chute out of a second floor window, allowing the far end to rest on top of the railing and to slide down on a sort of sled or runner.
Any attempt of this sort necessitated very careful preparation, and a very thorough system of watching by confederates. The thing could only be done at the precise moment when all the sentries around this part of the camp were looking in the opposite direction – the signal being given by a master watchman who was in a position to see the signals of all the other fellows on watch. Often many days or rather nights were spent before the coast was absolutely clear, for there were probably half a dozen sentries on guard on that side of the camp – three outside the fence, and three inside, or thereabouts.
One night, I was awakened by a mighty clatter, a shout, and then a rifle shot. I hopped out of bed and ran to the window with the other fellows in the room. This window overlooked “A” House, where the stunt was planned to come off. We saw the chute slanting out of a window, with the end resting on the fence “according to plan,” and Capon sitting straddled at the top end struggling desperately to prevent himself sliding down the incline. There was a flash and another rifle shot from immediately below the chute, two pairs of hands were thrust out of the window, Capon was grabbed by the neck and jerked backwards into the window opening – his legs kicking wildly in the air!
Then there followed a most amusing spectacle. Our window looked directly on to the superimposed windows of the stair-well in “A” House, and we could see four figures tearing up the stairs, from one floor to the next at tremendous speed, while, one flight down, a party of Bosche soldiers were running madly up in pursuit. Round and round and up and up they went from floor to floor, looking for all the world like so many ants chasing each other up a corkscrew! Shouts and whistles, men with electric torches running hither and thither, Niemeyer’s bellowing voice – the whole camp was in a pandemonium.
And when all had quietened down, a dejected party of soldiers creeping back down the stairs – abject misery in every posture and movement – to face the storm that awaited them below. Their chase had been unsuccessful, and failure, to Niemeyer, was akin to insubordination.
And what a storm it was! The Commandant, brandishing his revolver and shrieking at the shivering soldiers standing in line before him! It was one of the best entertainments I witnessed during the whole of my captivity!!
We learned on the morrow that the watchers had failed to notice this one sentry standing immediately below the chute, in the shadow of the building. As soon as the chute was pushed out of the window and Capon had taken his position, he raised his rifle and fired – the bullet going right through the plank between Capon’s legs!
It was about this time that R- and I began our preparations for departure. Our scheme was simple in the extreme, though nearly as idiotic – now that I look back on it in the cold light of post-war reason – as Capon’s. Our idea was to purloin a couple of bed frames, i.e., the iron part at the sides of the beds, and to attach to one end of each a length of piano wire (to be obtained by bribery from one of our corrupted guards). The free ends of these wires were to be wound round pieces of wood, and firmly fixed.
At the critical moment, our friends were to push the bed frames out of a top floor window, and R- and I, standing immediately below at a window on the second floor, would grasp the pieces of wood, and hanging onto them – each on his own wire – swing over the fence, let go, and falling onto the ground, dash off as fast as we could. The chance of success was very remove, of course, but we both thought it was a wonderful idea. I wrote a letter to my wife asking for various articles required for our journey. The letter was written in very fine writing on the envelope covering of a Gillette blade, and taken through to Holland by C-M, a Grenadier Guardsman who was transferred there, in the heel of his boot. It was duly delivered, but we were shipped in our turn to Holland before the attempt was made.
For some time a party of prisoners had been digging a tunnel from the cellar of “B” House, and it was eventually the means by which the most spectacular and successful escape in prison history was made.
It was about sixty yards in length and took nine months to complete.
On July 23rd, 1918, two months after I had left Holzminden, twenty-nine officers got out of the camp and ten of them succeeded in getting into Holland, and thence to England. I heard later that as a result of their escape, Niemeyer almost lost his reason.
Reported Missing 