The Nuremberg Trial
Chapter 28
Monday morning dawned, and their last moments together for some time approached. A few European flights were already scheduled from the new Heathrow airport, and they arrived to find a Scandinavian airliner parked on the runway.
They had time to say a lingering goodbye. Hilda had not taken her engagement ring off since the moment Francis had placed it on her finger for all to see; its purpose was to ward off any suitors, she told herself – a silly thought really, as Francis was the only one to approach her since she was widowed.
She watched his plane lift off safely, move into the clouds and become a fly in the sky. When it was out of sight, she made her way back to her flat at MI6 to pack. She would be leaving herself in twenty-two hours.
‘Many congratulations, Hilda. Have you named the wedding day?’ asked a delighted Thornton.
‘What? We have not even decided on the venue. I will be leaving here though, as soon as the trial is over.’
Thornton looked over his hornbill glasses. ‘I assume you won't be returning to live in Germany?’
‘No, that's quite out of the question! It will be Helsinki initially, after that, who knows? We might be sent anywhere in the world until Sir Francis retires. After that I expect we will settle in the Cotswolds.’
‘Ah, God’s country,’ said Thornton, his eyes growing dreamy.
‘That’s where you are from?’ she asked.
‘No, but I have a sister who lives there with her husband, so I know it well. It’s peaceful. Quiet rural lanes and many thatched cottages.’ Thornton began to wax lyrical.
She looked through the window with unfocused eyes. ‘How wonderful to have family.’
‘Have you no regrets at all about leaving Germany?’ Thornton asked.
He touched a raw nerve, but she forgave him. She owed much to Thornton. ‘Regrets, no. I have memories, wonderful memories which no one can take away. And the memory of first meeting Francis in Hamburg of course. But Germany has nothing to offer me now except grief. My future will be wherever Francis is.’
All her worldly possessions went with her when she reported at Northolt air base the next day. Her suitcase was packed so full that the seams stretched, and her hand luggage was quite bulky too. Strapped to the smaller bag through the leather handle was her oboe case.
It was a three-and-a-half-hour flight to Nuremburg. Throughout the journey she turned her evidence over and over in her mind. Would there be a QC for Eicke’s defence, determined to ensure she was seen as more of a Nazi spy than a British agent? Could she end up in the dock herself? She examined every possible angle, and came to no conclusion other than the certain knowledge that it would not be plain sailing. Her best defence of her own actions would be Bletchley Park, but of course, she was unable to make any mention at all of that.
She was driven in an army jeep to her hotel in Nuremberg and booked in. The driver informed her that he would let the prosecutor’s office know she had arrived safely: a kind and welcome gesture on his part.
That night, in an attempt to relax, she played her oboe. She put a glove into the end to reduce the volume, so as not to disturb any of the other hotel guests. The first piece she played was the Shepherd’s Song from Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. She played from the heart, and imagined the composer wandering in the countryside as he composed the melody. Then she played a passage from Carl Maria von Webber’s opera Der Freischütz. She closed her eyes as she played, and walked around the bedroom slowly as if she was a huntsman stalking game. It seemed right to play German music in Germany. As she contemplated what to play next, there was a knock on the door. She laid the oboe on her bed and answered; the hotel manageress stood in the corridor.
‘That was you playing?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I hope I did not disturb or annoy you,’ Hilda said, a little concerned.
‘No, no, not at all. You play so beautifully,’ the woman said. Her lips seemed to be quivering with emotion, and Hilda saw tears begin to well up in her eyes.
‘Do come in,’ she beckoned.
The woman followed her into the room. ‘German music is so beautiful,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know,' Hilda said. 'I have often played with tears in my eyes.’ She had a lot of sympathy with the other woman; the war had brought a great deal of pain on both sides.
‘All I have heard for many years now is military music. In the square, on the radio, always marching tunes. It has been years since I heard the music I first learned as a child.’ Her voice faded to a whisper.
She was clearly grieving. ‘My son, Otto, was killed in the war,’ Hilda said, hoping to encourage her to talk about it.
‘My son too. Herman. I am lost without him.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Just twenty-two. He was the man of the house since his father died.’
Their stories were the same. ‘My son too was the man of the house. That is one more reason we feel the loss so keenly.’
‘Yes,’ the woman said. ‘Herman played the piano beautifully, so beautifully. Your music was the first I had heard here in the hotel since his last visit home.’
So many German homes were grieving; it was the national condition. Hilda wondered if the dominant feeling in the public galleries at the court would be revenge for all the pain and grief.
The following morning as she was having breakfast, she listened to the radio news. A nuclear bomb had been dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The announcer spoke of a dreadful fire which had ripped through the city, and deaths running into thousands. The world was waiting to hear Emperor Hirohito accept defeat.
Hilda sat motionless for a few moments; this was shocking beyond belief. A city almost wiped out; thousands of deaths. What did it mean for the future of the world if these fearsome bombs were to be the main weapon in any conflict?
All the same, this momentous event brought with it a grain of hope. Despite the burning of the city and so many deaths, if the bomb had brought to a halt the Japanese military's barbaric treatment of prisoners, and an end to the war in the east, it had done some good. Strangely, she had thought little about the war in the Far East. It was just that: Far East, and her main preoccupation had been with her own war, closer to home. Now that hostilities had ceased in Europe, she prayed that the Japanese would surrender as soon as possible. Surely the global conflict was now coming to the end, dramatic though that end had proved to be? Surely this was the beginning of a more peaceful world?
That morning she reported to the prosecutor’s office as requested. She was told she would be witness number four in Gerhardt Eicke’s case, and would remain in the witness room with everyone else until she was called.
Hilda took the opportunity to read the newspaper which she found the room. The developments in the Far East formed the main headline, but there were no photos of the atom bomb or its target city of Hiroshima. Perhaps the general public were being protected. But there were plenty of photographs of the accused here at the court. Hilda looked at them carefully; they were smartly dressed in suits or uniforms, though any decorations they had earned had been torn away. On the end of the second row was Eicke, looking dejected, much the same as Hermann Göring in his high-collared overcoat.
Hilda did not recognize any of the other witnesses, and was unsure how to feel about that. If she had known any of them, she might have been tempted to speak to them about Eicke, but she did not know if that was permitted. On the other hand, she had no idea what other people would say in evidence. Would their memories support or contradict each other? And of course another, far more pressing anxiety was the possibility that she might be exposed as a German spy. At least there was no one here who might recognize her in that capacity, she thought.
She watched the clock tick slowly round; each minute seemed to hesitate as it clicked by. The tension in the claustrophobic room amplified as the day progressed, becoming almost palpable. The three previous witnesses were called, and returned in due course. Each broke their silence, as if to purge their evidence one last time. All were mothers from Hamburg, who knew exactly what Eicke was doing. One had witnessed Jewish neighbours being taken away; another had seen his brutality at first hand, and spoke passionately about his impassive demeanour as he shot dissenters. Their recollections were all too vivid, and liberally laced with tears and sobs.
At last Hilda heard her name called. She stood up and left the witness room hardly acknowledging the men and women she left behind. Her senses were heightened, on full alert. She was led along a corridor and into the arena, which was larger than she anticipated, almost like a vast theatre. A crowd of legal professionals were engaged in close discussion, both on the judges’ bench and around the long tables where photographical evidence was laid out and labelled. Soldiers, resplendent in white helmets and leg protectors, surrounded the room, some standing at ease, others ready for action with guns resting in their holsters.
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 did not come to an end until she lifted the bible.
‘Not yet, Frau. The accused has not been brought into the dock yet. His counsel is still with him,’ the court usher informed her.
She replaced the bible. Her keenness to begin would have been noticed by the scribbling journalists from all over the free world, who sat alongside the photographers. She decided to pretend nothing had happened, and remained standing in the witness box, looking around her and absorbing every detail of these enormously significant proceedings. The defendants were seated at right angles to the judges’ bench. 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 and emphasizing his importance. He seemed a timid mouse now. At least his defence counsel had advised him not to appear defiant; it was to his credit that he had accepted that, she thought.
She took the oath. The international lawyer prosecuting stood beside her and spoke into his microphone.
‘Tell the trial your full name and age.’
She replied into hers. ‘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 another 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 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 was drowned in Portugal. Her body was washed into the Atlantic sea off the rugged Portuguese coast and she could not have survived, and she was pronounced dead by the Portuguese authorities some months ago. This woman, I assure you, is an imposter. It is a serious matter which must be investigated.’
The prosecutor raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled and whispered 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 had 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 appearing to drown. Herr Eicke is right. 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.’
‘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, and minimized the importance of some which may already have been known to him. I subsequently returned to Germany, under Eicke's orders, but with the blessing of my British handlers, and after a period of training, I was posted to Peniche on the Portuguese coast. That was where I made the biggest mistake in my life, which will remain a source of eternal regret to me. I passed on one set of co-ordinates to Berlin from an agent in America. That led to the sinking of an Allied cargo ship. It was at that point that I realized I had to return to my British handlers as quickly as possible. The only way I could think of to achieve that was to feign death.’
‘And your work for the British?’
Hilda looked across the room towards Eicke, but his eyes were covered by his right hand.
‘I passed on information gained while I was training for radio work in Portugal. It helped to lead to the capture and imprisonment of the Fritz Duquesne Ring. Thirty-three spies were charged with acting against the Allies from American shores, even before America joined in the war. In a way, it was like a pincer movement because a German double agent named Sebold, who took the pseudonym Harry Sawyer, confirmed the names. Sebold was at one time under Herr Eicke’s control too. I was able to provide evidence of their training in Germany.’
‘Did this lead to any convictions?’
‘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 till the end of the war.’
‘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 of 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. 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 the funeral of her husband, presented 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, and was still not finished.
She informed the court further 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 a deemed to be Jewish, not having been associated with Judaism for three 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. Then:
‘Objection. How could Herr Eicke keep a close eye on 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, all the aspects of a covert posting in time of war, in fact. I was even issued with a death pill. That was where I met the American spies who were to contact me when I got to Portugal, and, as I discovered later, send co-ordinates to sink Allied shipping. All this was arranged by Herr Eicke.’
The prosecutor wished to hear no more from her. Her evidence had confirmed that Eicke was indeed the main Gestapo man in Hamburg, and responsible for mass deportations of members of the Jewish community. Similar evidence had come from the previous witnesses. In addition, his overseeing Hilda’s work in Portugal did show Eicke’s hand in its planning and execution.
The court adjourned for lunch, which was provided in the waiting room. Hilda was not hungry. She sipped some water, on edge and anxious to return to the court and get the process over with. The prosecution had been gentle despite being wrong-footed at first by Eicke’s allegations. She knew his defence counsel would be less compassionate. Eicke’s life was at stake and she anticipated some tough questioning.
She returned to the witness box at five past two. She was reminded she was still under oath and nodded firmly.
The defence lawyer was an imposing man, well over six feet tall. Beneath his black gown wore a dark suit with a bright red tie. His expression was fierce; Hilda thought he looked as if he was after her blood.
‘You say, Frau Richter, that Herr Eicke was your son’s youth leader; a responsible position, is that not so?’
‘That is true. He was the Hitler Youth leader for several years before the war. My son did speak highly of him,’ she said, trying to showing she could offer him an honest and balanced view.
‘And this man, whom you trusted to care for your son, also rewarded you, is that not so?’
‘Rewarded?’ she queried, wondering what he trying to dig out of her.
‘Yes. Did your association with my client not lead to a rather prestigious award?’ he reiterated.
She hesitated. She was being forced to admit to something very uncomfortable indeed.
‘Your answer, Frau Richter, I am waiting.’
There was nothing for it but to tell the truth – though perhaps not quite the truth the defence counsel was expecting.
‘Indeed, I must be the only British agent to have been awarded the Eagle Civilian Cross. Not for a piece of espionage on behalf of the Axis, I assure you. The intention was to guarantee my loyalty, an incentive as it were. Or so I overheard.’
‘Overheard?’
‘Yes., When I left the room after receiving the medal, I bent down to tie my shoelace by the door. The only people left in the room at that time were Gerhardt Eicke and Reinhardt Heydrich, who had presented me with the medal.’
There was a gasp of astonishment when she identified the men involved. It also brought into sharp focus the fact that Gerhardt Eicke was in personal touch with Heydrich, the Butcher of Prague, the prime mover behind the Final Solution. That was a blow the defence lawyer had not expected. He pondered for a few moments, but no question came. He then went over to Eicke and spoke to him for a minute or so. Hilda fiddled with the button on her cardigan and felt the palm of her hands begin to sweat as she waited for his next sally. It never came. So far, whatever he had asked, she had found a response which put client in an even worse light than he was already. Hilda held her breath as the defence lawyer returned to his position on the floor.
‘I have no more questions,’ he said.
The button broke loose and fell to the floor of the witness box. She bent down to gather it, and a court usher ran to her aid, apparently thinking she had fainted. She stood up quickly, and, feeling a need to explain her jack-in-the-box act, she raised her hand and showed the orange button. Her relief as she stood down from the witness box was a physical thing; she was afraid her legs would not support her as she walked away. Surely, her evidence had added some weight to the prosecutor’s case. It appeared that Eicke had been so amazed at the fact that she had apparently come back from the dead that he had failed to feed his defence with the most damning aspects of her work for him: the enthusiasm she had worked hard to show during her training had slipped by, and they had made no reference at all to the first set of Portuguese co-ordinates she had supplied to Berlin. Perhaps the button had been a lucky one; she held it firm in her fingers as she made her way to the public gallery to view the remainder of the proceedings.
The afternoon session lasted until after half past four. By the end Hilda was drained, exhausted first by her own interrogation and then by the oppressive atmosphere of the court. Yet it was a sight to remember, this was the concluding act of the war, and she had played her part in it.
That evening she ate in a local restaurant, relishing the sense of freedom. Her evidence would help to imprison Eicke for life, or possibly worse, and her departure from Germany was fast approaching. When she returned to the hotel, the manageress invited her to the lounge to play her oboe. Together they played some German children’s tunes, which reminded them of their sons' childhood when they were young; then she moved to the piano and found the music her hostess's son had last played, Mahler’s Piano Quartet in A minor. Else, the landlady, told her that her son had still been practising the piece and had not perfected it. Soon Mahler’s rich melody filled the room, bringing more guests to the lounge. As she played, Hilda wondered how Austria could have produced within such a short span such a joyous composer and such an evil dictator.
Tomorrow she would start her journey to Finland and prepare for a happy future. First, there was a pressing engagement. She needed to return to the court to hear the conclusion of Gerhardt Eicke’s case.
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