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Love finds a way
Chapter 29
Next morning Hilda sat in the gallery of the vast arena as the prosecution began the closing statements. She could tell from the summary that her evidence had dovetailed with that of other witnesses who had testified before and after her.
The defence counsel's summary was less encouraging. Much was made of Hilda’s work for the Reich, and little of the contribution she had made to the Allies' cause. Inevitably, the covert training at Bautzen was highlighted, and she was described as a German spy in the making. She could not deny any of it; yet in truth, the information she had already supplied to the Reich regarding the airfields had hardly helped their cause. Then, of course, came the universal defence: Eicke claimed he was acting under duress, working from instructions issued by Heydrich himself. How could he not do as he was told? After all, he was a happily married man, not a heartless beast; he could not put his family at risk.
The defence counsel concluded by describing Hilda as no more than an unreliable witness and a woman with a grudge: a German widow, or more accurately a Scottish widow, with an axe to grind. It was no more than she expected. The stakes were high for his client, and attacking the prosecution witnesses was any legal representative’s duty. On the plus side, however, Eicke might still have believed she was an imposter, but his counsel did not and she didn’t believe anyone else in that hall did either.
Oh, how she wished to break the silence regarding her translation duties at Bletchley Park, but that information remained strictly out of bounds. It did not seem fair.
The closing statements lasted until midday. Hilda could not claim she took in every word; her mind kept wandering down darker alleys. First, she imagined the fear in Renate’s eyes when she was taken from her home. How they would have starved and abused her as they herded her towards the gates of hell, through which she would never return.
Next, she saw the rifle being loaded by some young Russian marksman. A soldier who was only doing what was asked of him to defend his country. In her mind’s eye she watched the bullet’s trajectory and saw its death trail to where Otto stood.
And Karl: she would never know the truth. Did he invite death in the heat of the desert, or was he obeying orders too? She saw him step forward into the path of a mine which in all probability had been laid by his own troops earlier in the conflict. She set that aside; she had no wish to pursue the unfathomable.
Hilda was not expecting the court to break for lunch when it did. That was when she realized the defence had concluded its closing statements and the jury of judges had retired to consider the evidence.
She took a walk during the lunch hour to get some fresh air, and found others had the same idea. No one spoke. The gravity of all the Nuremberg trial cases was such that the victims felt it incumbent upon them to maintain a certain decorum was required. That was the least they could do.
Everyone walked smartly back to the gallery in good time to ensure they had a clear view of the afternoon’s proceedings. All the seats open to the public were occupied. There were many more men than women, and Hilda could not tell what nationalities were there. Some were obviously court-appointed journalists who continued to take shorthand notes of every utterance for their readership. Photographers had descended during the recess, to take photos of the courthouse from all angles, for the front pages on breakfast tables the following morning. It was rather odd to think that her evidence would be read over marmalade and toast.
Many of the women observers were German. They all had that gaunt look of the dispossessed, and their faces seemed to ask why? Some were there to witness the end of the Third Reich, and would not have attended otherwise. Why did the war end this way, they seemed to be asking. Why were all these atrocities carried out in the name of ordinary German citizens? It was a heavy burden to bear, but perhaps it was a necessary bleeding to prepare for a new era of peace in the land. But at the moment, they looked even more distressed than the accused, who maintained stoic countenances which belied the gravity of their situations.
It was almost five minutes after three when the judges returned. The chairman of the judges asked Eicke to stand and the court fell silent.
The President of the Court cleared his voice.
‘This International Court of Justice finds you, Gerhardt Eicke, guilty of crimes against humanity. You are guilty in respect of murder, and complicity in the mass murder of Jews from Hamburg and elsewhere in the State of Holstein. The court sentences you to death by hanging. The court is adjourned.’
Hilda could not raise a smile at the verdict. It was not appropriate. Eicke looked up towards her with a smirk, and shook his head. He had been prepared for this. At that moment she wondered if she should go to his cell and make her peace with him. Then she thought of Otto, and of Renate and Karl, and the millions of Jews who died at this man's hand. What would they have thought? Even if Eicke broke down in tears as he returned to his cell, he would deserve no compassion. It was a word he did not understand.
Just before the prosecutor’s office closed, she went to make arrangements to leave Nuremberg that afternoon. . She asked to be flown to Helsinki, and did not have to wait long for an answer. Alas, there were no planes going to Finland at present, but they would fly her back to England.
That night she telephoned Francis to let him know of the satisfactory end to the trial. The line was both crackly and out of sequence; she seemed to be answering his last question as he asked the next.
‘Darling, this line is no good. I will get to Finland from London. I’ll do that as soon as I can. Do take care, my dear.’
‘Let me know when you will fly from London. I need to know the date,’ he said.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘I said why? Why is the date so important?’
‘Because some things are important. That’s all. I send my love to you. Goodbye, darling.’
She replaced the handset. What an enigmatic phone call. But it was good to hear his voice again, and it had lifted her spirits. She had been seeking a purpose in life, and now she had found it.
When she returned to MI6, Dynes was eager to hear how the trial had gone. He was delighted with the outcome.
‘All in all a just verdict,' she told him, 'but I have one bitter regret.’
‘What's that, Hilda?’
‘That set of co-ordinates I sent to Berlin will always be on my conscience.’
Dynes listened solemnly, but offered no response for a few moments. He paced the room tapping his pen on the side of his forehead. Then he said, ‘You must be realistic, Hilda. The Athenia was one ship. If you had shown your cards too soon, the Americans would have gone on to sink many more, and you might not have been in a position to trap them when you returned home. Of that I and the American authorities are certain.’
She nodded. ‘I suppose so. All the same, so many lives were lost, and at sea – a terrible way to die.’
‘War is terrible in a great many ways.’
Dynes moved towards the fireplace.
‘Your work at Bletchley Park made up for that incident hundreds of times over. You must remember that also, Hilda.’
She nodded; that was a valid point. All the same—
‘Bletchley Park?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?’
They both laughed. They needed that occasional surplus of nonsense after discussing the horrors of war.
Hilda left for Helsinki two days later: the same day the second atom bomb fell on Nagasaki, only three days after the first at Hiroshima. Still there was no word of surrender from the Japanese. How many more would it take? Would Tokyo be annihilated next? She boarded the plane in a sombre frame of mind.
Fortunately, although her bags were in excess of the stipulated allowance, the plane was not full and the cabin crew turned a blind eye. Francis would meet her at Helsinki airport; a long and rather clearer telephone conversation the previous evening had confirmed that.
To fly freely over what had been a war zone for so long gave hope to the world, Hilda felt. They were flying so high that she saw little of either land or sea. Each time the cloud broke, she looked out, and saw only mountains and fields, no fractured towns or tortured cities. It seemed the land was unscathed.
Four hours after take-off the plane touched down, and her heart fluttered as if she was a young girl once again. She saw birds on the grassy runway, pecking at the stubble. She saw the obligatory fire engine stand down. She had made a safe landing.
Hilda left the plane and followed the line of twelve passengers to the terminal. They awaited their baggage, which arrived on airport trucks and deposited on the ground to be reclaimed. Next they passed through Customs; she had nothing to declare, but was asked to show what was in her black case.
‘It’s my oboe. Do you wish me to play it?’ she offered playfully.
‘No, ma’am, but I wish you and your fiancé well.’
She looked at the man curiously. ‘You know him?’
‘I have no idea who he is, but I see you are wearing an engagement ring.’
She smiled.
As she passed through the door marked Welcome To Finland, she saw Francis for the first time in almost two weeks. He looked immaculate in his dark blue suit.
She dropped her baggage and ran into his outstretched arms. They hugged for a long moment planted kisses on each other’s cheeks, then she turned to pick up her cases. But they were gone.
Francis laughed at her look of consternation. ‘My driver will be packing them in the boot of the car. Come on, time to get you home.’
Outside the airport, the first thing she noticed was the Union Jack, which hung limp on the bonnet of a Daimler. The car was black, but shone in the sunlight, and Francis opened the door for her. They sat together on the rear seat. The glass partition separating them from the driver was closed.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I am as a matter of fact. Shall we go somewhere for lunch?’
‘I have somewhere in mind.’
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the residential and diplomatic district of Helsinki. They drove up the drive, and she saw a guard of honour outside the main entrance.
‘Goodness me, Francis, what’s going on here? Are you expecting someone important? I mustn't keep you from your duties...’
‘Oh, it's nothing much. Just an official welcome party for the ambassador's fiancée.’
It was a very fine welcome indeed.
That night Francis and Hilda sat in the front lounge by a crackling log fire which gave off a pleasant aroma.
‘Well, my dear, you've been engaged for a couple of weeks. How does it feel?’ he asked.
‘I must be honest, with you. I did not wear my engagement ring at the trial. I worried that it might reflect on you if I incriminated myself, or said too much. It was a huge responsibility, doing my bit to convict Eicke, and I'm afraid there wasn't much time to think about you. Except at night, of course. That's when I indulged in some pleasant dreams.’
Francis took from his pocket a pristine white handkerchief and polished his glasses. ‘Doing your bit, you say?’
‘Yes, Francis. You couldn't be with me, but Otto, Renate and Karl were there beside me, giving me courage. It may not make sense to you but I needed them.’
Francis moved closer to her and stroked her arm gently. ‘It’s all over now, Hilda. The war, the espionage, the trial. It is a new era, darling. A time for new beginnings.’
He was right of course. She had reached the end of her war and all the demands it made. But it had left an indelible mark on her life. Its repercussions would not fade from her mind for some considerable time.
Francis stroked her hand, running his fingers over her engagement ring.
‘So we’re engaged. The next step is marriage,’ he said.
‘Have you any thoughts on the subject?’ she asked.
‘Well, I don’t think we should wait for any length of time. Do you?’
‘I agree,’ she said. She had no wish to be the woman in the back attic for very long at all.
‘How would a couple of weeks suit you?’
‘Goodness. That doesn’t give us much time,’ she said, but realized she had no guests to invite from anywhere at all.
‘How much time do we need? The Lutheran pastor here says he will marry us, and the staff is beside themselves with the prospect of a reception at the embassy.’
‘And the guest list? I assume you’re thinking of a small wedding, as it's the second for us both.’
‘Darling, if you like we can fly all our distant cousins over. But I'm quite content with a very few.’
She found she was slightly disappointed at the thought of such a small affair, but she detected a crease in his eyelids, then a broad smile. Had he been teasing her?
‘There will be enough guests, I assure you. Some of the other national embassy staff have already been invited, and the staff of our own embassy. I suspect we'll have about a one hundred and fifty all told. We will dance to the music from the Finnish military band, and there will be a few smorgasbords for everyone to enjoy.’
‘My goodness, have you been planning this since your return to duty?’
‘Well, yes. I’ve had some time on my hands – work has been quite quiet ever since I arrived. Mind you, I've had some very helpful administrative assistance too – one of the perks of the job. I hope you don’t mind?’
She smiled and kissed his cheek. Francis was a man who got things done, and she was tired of responsibility. It was good to have someone in her life who knew how to take charge. At last she could look forward to the future.
She looked up at him, and kissed him on the chin. He let his hand slide down her dress and caress her left breast. He held her firmly, and she found she liked it very much. Then she tapped his hand.
‘Two weeks. I'm sure you can wait that long. You can start to count down from today.’ He smiled, and they came together in a final embrace. Then she retired to her bedroom at the back of the embassy and Sir Francis climbed upstairs to his.
Chapter 30
Next day she mentioned that she’d like to go for a walk around Helsinki. When she went upstairs in search of warm clothing, she found a blue and white scarf lying on her bed. At home it would have looked like a football scarf, but in fact it represented the national colours of this proud Scandinavian nation. The white scarf tails bounced on her back as she walked down the Ehrenstromsvagen beside the sea. The waves were at rest, but she imagined the low-lying islands would almost be submerged if it became stormy. A multitude of these islands surrounded the capital’s southern flank. Sea birds darted and soared all around the coast, gannets, razorbills and gulls as well as plenty of humans.
The Finnish language was strange to Hilda's ear. It had Germanic overtones, but the influences were also perhaps Estonian, a country now swallowed up by the Russian advance. There would be little point in her learning to speak Finnish; Francis’s terms of appointment would no doubt lead him elsewhere before long. That was just as well; it sounded a difficult language to master. Besides, there was no incentive to learn more than a smattering of words or phrases, just as she had done in Portugal. Where might they be after Finland she wondered? For a moment she dreamt of Pacific islands, Caribbean banana crops or treks in the Peruvian Andes. Only time would tell. The Helsinki posting might turn out to be short-lived, but it would become very special to them both.
She asked for directions to Helsinki Cathedral, which proved to be a longer walk than she anticipated. This was where Francis had arranged for them to be married. She went inside. The organ was playing but no service was taking place. She sat down on a pew and reflected on her new life.
She remembered a quotation from Heraclites: ‘War was the father of all things.’ It seemed to her that the world needed to shed blood from time to time. New borders had been forged, and fathers would tell sons of their adventures, so that their children could tell their children. Twice Germany had been brought to its knees, and this time had lost its eastern border. Surely, it had learnt a lesson and would not start yet another war. Brakes and checks were needed, to anticipate conflict and defuse aggression. There was talk of international bodies making rules. She was optimistic about the new United Nations, which was receiving frequent positive coverage in the papers. Its members would surely strive to prevent more international conflict.
Hilda had lived through two wars now, and she was weary. Glad that she had survived both, yes, but at what price? A wonderful loving family had been torn from her, eating out her heart. Yet now here she was, on the brink of a new beginning. The swelling cathedral music seemed to say to her, be at peace, my child; I will give you peace.
Two weeks later as she sat at the embassy waiting for transport to take her to church, she felt fresh, invigorated and ready to formally take Sir Francis Simpson’s hand in marriage. Colin Hunter, deputy ambassador, bachelor and the most handsome of Sir Francis staff, stood ready to accompany her to the wedding and lead her down the aisle.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ he admitted.
‘I’ve only done it once, and a long time ago. Makes us both inexperienced, I suppose.’
Colin laughed. ‘You're one ahead of me. I only hope I let go of you at the right moment.’
We laughed again, and then looked at each other reprovingly. Marriage was a serious matter, after all.
‘That’s the car driving up. No turning back now. Let’s go, Colin.’
He stood up, set off, then stopped in his tracks and swivelled round to face her.
‘Miss Campbell, or Frau Richter, whichever you prefer... Sir Francis will make a fine husband. I know he will. He will make you as happy as you make him.’
She patted his arm gently, smiling to show she agreed with him.
As they approached the cathedral, she heard the unmistakable groans of the bagpipes. The car stopped at the foot of the church steps, and Colin took her arm as they proceeded to the huge doorway which had a piper on either side, playing A Wee Sprig o’ Heather. Francis had clearly had a hand in the selection of the music, after their late-night chats about her past. When she reached the top step she turned to show her appreciation to the pipers and the Finnish crowd that had gathered outside. Then the thunderous tones of the Edvard Friedrich Walckeer organ began to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
She walked down the aisle clinging to Colin’s arm. With his other hand, he gave her a reassuring pat to calm her nerves as she saw Francis turn to watch her progress down the aisle. He looked very smart in his morning coat, and she hoped she would not let him down in the dress she had chosen. She assumed everyone present knew she was a widow, so would not be wearing the traditional white.
In the congregation were diplomats wearing their regalia and medals. It seemed Helsinki’s embassy staff felt they had something to celebrate that afternoon; it occurred to her that this was probably the first happy occasion they had attended since the war ended. Ladies in glittering tiaras turned and smiled as she made her way down the aisle. She looked forward to chatting to them at the reception. Women of her own age had been few and far between in her life over the past few years, and she needed that comradeship. And then, with a fluttering heart, she found herself standing beside the man she was about to marry.
She retained little memory of the details of the church service or signing the marriage certificate, but she vividly recalled leaving the church to the strains of the organ playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. When they passed through the great arch at the front of the cathedral, the organ stopped and the pipes resumed their more raucous melodies as they proceeded down the steps to an open landau. The horses clip-clopped back to the embassy under blue skies, and after a sumptuous meal with rowdy laughter at the groom’s witty speech, they danced till after midnight.
Their short honeymoon touring Sweden and Denmark made her realize just how fortunate she had become.
Francis was a caring and loving husband. He opened her mind to the wonders of the diplomatic world, and she surprised herself by how quickly she adapted to the elegant life of an embassy wife. Her days as a reluctant spy were well and truly over.
One mid morning, shortly after their first week of married bliss, she was enjoying coffee with a honey-coated waffle on the embassy lawn. The skies were clear; it was autumn, but the sunshine was more like late summer. Not a single cloud could be seen. A silent world lay before her as she looked out beyond the embassy grounds towards a misty far-off hillside. She should have been happy. She had found her feet and the adventure of embassy life had just begun. Perhaps, in the future, they would explore new countries still finding their feet after the war. That would give her life a renewed purpose.
But today she was sad. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and doubts assailed her. Had she really earned this position? Was she not better employed translating German texts in a new Europe? Or as a teacher of modern languages at a secondary school somewhere? A few quiet sobs accompanied her thoughts because in each scenario she saw Otto smiling at her, no longer a soldier in uniform, but a young man making his way in the world with his lovely Gisela on his arm.
And she saw Karl, lost in the desert, stretching out a hand, but nobody there to help him. She wiped her eyes as the thought of a stripped Renate being thrown into a gas chamber’s death oven, still maintaining her Aryan status. Or was that not what happened? Was she saved in the nick of time? Was she raped and tortured before dying, or could she possibly have survived? These fruitless questions kept filling her mind, though she knew there would never be answers.
Francis took a break from his work and joined her on the lawn. He steadied himself as he approached.
‘You’ve been crying.’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Yes, I have. Thoughts of how I arrived here in peaceful Finland.’
‘Peaceful indeed. But why the tears, my dear?
She placed her coffee down on the grass. She turned towards Francis and clutched his hand with both of hers.
‘I have been remembering all the loved ones I’ve lost. The ones I’ll never see again. And I am determined I am not going to lose you.’
‘Hilda, I have no wish to lose you either. I could not have been happier marrying you,’ he said, placing his cup and saucer on the lawn.
‘Really? Even with all my nerve-racking experiences, my dual loyalties, my mistakes and my doubts? I keep being afraid you'll find me out.’
‘We all have flaws. We learn from them, and develop through our experiences. Yes, you have had a remarkable life, and against all the odds you have survived. You deserve to be rewarded by this new life, and I feel privileged to be at your side.’
She nodded. 'Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.' She stood up, closed her eyes and faced the sun. He gulped down the last dregs of his coffee and joined her, and they walked arm in arm down the embassy lawn towards the boundary flower bed. They disturbed a ginger cat basking in a suntrap in the flowers. She called to it, but it ran away. Not all cats liked her, it seemed. She was suddenly reminded of something she had seen during her walk to town the previous day.
‘Francis, I saw some dachshund puppies for sale.’ She let the moment linger.
‘A dachshund?’ he reiterated, sucking his cheek. ‘Hm... to complete the family, as it were?’
She looked up at him and saw a twinkle in his eye. They were too old for children. A dachshund puppy would be their substitute.
He smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I think that’s a very good idea, Hilda. A dachshund… a very good idea indeed.’
THE END.
POSTSCRIPT
Gerhardt Eicke was hanged on 19th November 1945.
Fergus Harper of the 10th Highland Light Infantry was mentioned in dispatches in 1943 during the Allied invasion of Sicily. He was killed during the assault on Tilburg, Holland, on 28th October 1944.
After five years in Helsinki Sir Francis was appointed Ambassador to Iran between the years 1950-52. Their final posting was to Warsaw, Poland, where Sir Francis was British Ambassador from 1952-54. Hilda died in 1956 and Sir Francis in 1961.
Hilda wrote a letter to Dr A. S. Caldwell, my late uncle, in 1951 containing some of her German stamps and news from Iran. Over the years somehow page one of the letter went missing from the three-page letter. She wrote:
*The Jim and family referred to was my father, Rev Jim Caldwell 1916-1995, the author’s father. ‘And family’ referred to myself and my sister Joan. My late brother Bruce was yet to be born.
This is the British Embassy envelope from Tehran which contained several German stamps and the letter from Mrs Campbell, Solindira, British Embassy, Tehran, Iran.
A selection of her German stamps are also displayed.
The German Eagle Silver Civilian Medal with crossed swords established in 1937 for notable German nationals and foreigners.
Hitler’s plans to invade northern Scotland in 1940
Previously classified files, which have been unseen for 75 years, were released on 1st January 2016. They reveal that the war cabinet became convinced that a Nazi invasion of northern Scotland was imminent. (The Reluctant Spy was completed in November the previous year when the author was unaware of this classified document. The need for information about the north of Scotland’s air bases and troop movements by the enemy was crucial, and Hilda was at the centre of this espionage.)
The threat of invasion only receded after the Royal Air Force regained air superiority following the Battle of Britain between June and October of that year. In August British commanders were still uncertain how Hitler’s armies were planning to invade the UK from occupied continental Europe. One document brought to the attention of General Alan Brooke the commander-in-chief of Home Forces was entitled German airborne landings in northern Scotland with a view to the neutralization of fleet bases as a preliminary to the invasion of England.
The document from August 6th 1940 claimed that there was every chance that the Germans ‘could land in Scotland 20,500 airborne troops during the first three days for the purpose of capturing and holding all aerodromes north of the river Tay.’ It further stated that ‘they could reinforce these troops by approximately 900 men per day, bringing the total number of airborne troops landed during the first week of the operation to 24,000.’
This file which was recently opened and placed in the National Archives at Kew, London, warned that: ‘enemy forces could capture RAF airfields at Dyce, Inverness, Perth, Lossiemouth, Leuchars, Kinloss, Montrose, Evanton as well as a further six bases on Orkney and Shetland. It was further thought that 440 parachutists could be landed round the outskirts of each of the aerodromes in some cases after a preliminary bombardment. Losses before landing would not exceed 20%. After releasing their parachutists, transport aircraft would return to bases in Norway, Denmark and Holland to refuel and reload.’
One entry which demonstrates how serious a prospect of invasion was being taken, states: ‘An attack may come at any moment. The most dangerous time is from now until the end of September.’
The briefings were drawn up at a time when Britain was isolated and vulnerable. The Germans had just completed the occupation of Norway and the Channel Islands. Nazi troops had reached Paris and the battle of Britain was being fought.
General Alan Brooke adopted a pessimistic view on whether an invasion of Scotland and the Northern Isles could and should be repelled, writing: ‘It is not possible to send and maintain in the islands a garrison which would be proof against a large-scale air and sea-borne operation, and I have told the commander-in-chief, Scottish Command, that he is to make it a primary objective to secure and hold the port of Lerwick, without which the enemy would also find it difficult to maintain himself. The moral and psychological effect of a German occupation of the islands which are separated by so short a distance from our main fleet anchorage would be most unfortunate.’
General Brooke concluded: ‘As regards the rest of Scotland, I have only a certain number of troops and I consider it preferable to maintain preponderance in East Anglia and the Home Counties for the defence of London.’
Had General Brooke maintained this stance, Germany could have invaded Scotland successfully and in a short time occupied the whole of Britain.
Hitler congratulates German paratroopers after the capture of a key Belgian fort in 1940. Fears that Scottish air bases were next on the Nazi list were taken seriously. General Alan Brooke said that he did not have troops to defend them.
Photo by courtesy of Marc Horne of the Times.
By courtesy of Marc Horne of the Times.
Hitler’s plans to invade Scotland in 1940 would involve 1,000 Junkers 52; 100 Junkers 86; 15 Junkers 90 and 15 Condor planes all flying from air bases in occupied countries and particularly from nearby occupied Norway.
Hilda’s oboe
Acknowledgements
First my thanks go my godmother Vera Wild (neé Caldwell, 1900-1994), who told me Hilda’s story when she was 92 years old. Then grateful thanks to my late uncle, Dr A. Stanley Caldwell, former medical officer of health for the Kingdom of Fife who provided me with the letter and stamps belonging to Aunty Campbell. Stanley also told me about Hilda’s travels around the north of Scotland in 1938 to locate air bases. I am indebted to my mother-in-law G. Shirley France, who served in the Wrens at Bletchley Park during the final two years of the Second World War. It was in her 90th year that the government at last gave her, and the surviving workers at Bletchley Park, a medal in recognition of their valued and most secret work. Many died never having divulged what they did at Bletchley during World War 2. Much gratitude goes to Marc Horne, the Times journalist, who permitted me to reprint Hitler’s plans for invading Scotland in 1940. To the Society of Editors for preparing the final copy and film executive Mathilde Vuillermoz in whose hands I await developments.
Other books by Miller Caldwell
Novels:
Operation Oboe
A Scottish widow becomes a Second World War spy in West Africa
ISBN 0755200090-X New Generation Publishers
The Last Shepherd
An arrogant city banker clashes with the rural ways of the Last Shepherd, in south-west Scotland.
ISBN 978-07552-0643-4 New Generation Publishers
Restless Waves
A writer-in-residence aboard a cruise ship faces daemons on board and onshore.
ISBN 0-7552-0260-0 New Generation Publishers
Miss Martha Douglas
Martha, a nurse and seamstress, obtains a royal position but becomes a suffragette. When released from prison she serves in the trenches, where she finds true love.
ISBN 978-0-7552-0689-6 New Generation Publishers
The Parrot’s Tale
The comic tale of an escaped parrot in the Scottish countryside sits alongside the tragedy of a missing girl.
ISBN 978-1-910256-05-3 New Generation Publications
Betrayed in the Nith
In this modern romantic novel set in south west Scotland, fraternal devotion turns to an unexpected romance as the mystery of Danny Kimber’s death comes to light.
ISBN 978-07552-0625-4 New Generation Publishing
The Crazy Psychologist
Set on Rousay in the Orkney Islands, the childhood difficulties of Dr Angle Lawrence come to light to explain her bizarre treatment programmes while her fragmented family come to terms with their past, placing her marriage in jeopardy.
Hear The BBC Orkney interview at http://netherolmpublications.co.uk/…/10/Miller-Caldwell-1.
ISBN 978-1-910667-24-8 Matador
Love Amongst Flanders Trenches
A nurse in the trenches battles with her conscience but finds romance in the wards.
Biographies
Untied Laces
The author’s autobiography
He confronted Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad, brought an African dictator to tears, and has two international sporting caps. So why did untied laces trip him up?
ISBN 978-07552-0459-5 New Generation
Jim’s Retiring Collection
The illustrated cartoons and musings of a city and then rural Church of Scotland minister. gathered and set in biblical context.
ISBN ASIN B00ND 3F7PM New Generation publications
Poet’s Progeny
A line of descent of the national bard, Robert Burns, maintains his influence over succeeding generations.
ISBN 0-7552-0178-7 New Generation Publishing
7 point 7 on the Richter Scale
The diary of the camp manager in the NWFP of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan following the 2005 earthquake. (Profits have gone to Muslim Hands for earthquake relief
ISBN 978-0955-47370-8 Alba Publishers
Take The Lead
The quirks of dogs, as experienced by the author over his life in Scotland, Pakistan and Ghana, together with canine poetry and a record of medical advances in their training.
ISBN 9-781910256213 Netherholm Publications
The Trials of Sally Dunning.
An autistic and brain damaged victim of grooming and fraud, house burglary and drugs poisoning seems to be a poor witness but her life changes round in a remarkable way. Matador Publishers
A Clerical Murder
When a psychotherapist realises he has many clerics on his books, group work is his answer. But how accepting are they of each other’s point of view? Which cleric is murdered and who did it? And the psychotherapist falls head over heels for a patient but must tread carefully. Matador Publishers.
Children’s books
Chaz the Friendly Crocodile
Chaz the Nigerian crocodile visits a Scottish river to help people keep their towns tidy. Set as a poem, this is a book parents could use to teach their growing children the value of good manners.
ISBN 978-1-84963770-1 Austin Macauley
Lawrence the Lion Seeks Work
There are no more animals in the circus. So what happened when Lawrence the lion went in search of a new job?
ISBN 978-0-75521656-7 Netherholm Publications
Danny the Spotless Dalmatian
Dalmatian puppies have no spots at birth; they appear after three weeks. But Danny’s spots never appear. Follow him as he searches for spots to make him a real Dalmatian.
ISBN 978-1-91066715-6
e-pub ISBN 978-1-910667-16-3
mobi ISBN 978-1-910667-17-0
Self-Help
Have You Seen My Ummm... Memory?
An invaluable booklet for all whose memories are declining. Student memory tips as well as advice for those more senior moments to get through life.
ISBN 0-7552-0146-9 New Generation
ISBN American edition 978-1-4327-3364-3 Outskirts Press
Ponderings IN LARGE PRINT
Poems and short stories, as it says, in large print.
ISBN 0-7552-0169-8 New Generation Publishing.
(BACK PAGE)
Frau Hilda Richter was born Hilda Campbell in the Highlands of Scotland. Married to a Hamburg doctor, Willy Büntner Richter, they had a son Otto who grew up and entered the German Army. She was widowed in 1938. After visiting her ailing parents in Elgin the same year, she returned home to Germany just before the Second World War began. She became a double agent. Controlled by Gerhardt Eicke in Germany and Lawrence Thornton in Britain, how could Hilda cope under the strain and how did one handler confront her at the point of his death?
This is an extraordinary story based around the author’s great-aunt’s life.
‘The Reluctant Spy is just what the best historical novel should be: the individual’s story from the heart of great events.’ Mark Sadler.
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Web Site:
The Reluctant Spy
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The letter from Hilda two pages
Her German medal
Hitler's Plans to invade Scotland
and
Hilda's oboe
are all featured at the back of the book but are unable to download on AuthorsDen.
Ron