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previous: Chapter 6 This webpage reproduces a chapter of Captured by Bessy Myers published by D. Appleton Century Company, New York and London, 1942 the text of which is in the public domain. This text has been carefully proofread and I believe it to be free of errors. If you find a mistake though, please let me know! next: Chapter 8

 p185  7
Cherche-Midi: Cross-examination

As I could hear Darby's voice, I knew her cell must be open. She was talking to some one speaking English with a deep resonant voice; he spoke so fluently that I took him to be English. I heard Darby say, "Oh, no" with such misery that I wondered what the bad news could be. It might be we were to be separated; little as we saw of each other in the prison, at least we had not lost contact completely.

I was still lying on my bed when the Bald-headed Man unbolted my door; the Fussy Man was with him. A huge man stepped forward entirely blocking the doorway. He wore a grey flannel suit and might have been English, American, anything. His face was striking, his eyes being the most outstanding feature. They were deep and penetrating, and immediately held one's attention. His manner and speech were as direct as his appearance. He said, "I've just been talking to your friend."

"What about?"

"I have come to see how you are."

"I don't suppose you found her very happy?"

"No —" He broke off abruptly. "My dear girl, your skin!"

"Oh, that . . ."

The swelling had now gone, but my face was scarred by  p186 bites, and I had long since lost interest in it; but my visitor seemed appalled.

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"Yes, I have, but there is nothing he can do except give me some soap. The only way to cure my skin is to kill the bugs."

"I know that, but it's impossible to fumigate this prison satisfactorily."

"I realize that."

There was a slight pause, which was broken by three abrupt questions.

"Are you well treated?"

I refused to be drawn and shrugged my shoulders.

"Do you get enough to eat?"

"We get a certain amount of food."

"Are people kind to you?"

It was too much of a coincidence that he should ask the same questions in the same order as those I had mentioned in my diary. . . . So he had read it. Was that why he was here? If he wished to discuss it he would; if he did not, I guessed that it would be hopeless to try to get anything out of him.

"Are people kind to you?" repeated for the second time, broke into my thoughts.

The Bald-headed Man and the Fussy Man were still in the background; I indicated them both. "These gentlemen have been kind to me."

He interpreted what I had said. The two men clicked their heels and bowed, and the Fussy Man rattled off something in German, which my visitor interpreted literally. "He regrets he can not speak English, as he would like to make you a charming speech."

"Oh, how very nice of him! Will you tell him at Soissons  p187 I met quite a lot of Germans and they taught me to say auf Ihr Wohl. Had I any wine I'd drink to his health with pleasure."

I had hit the right nail on the head. The atmosphere became convivial.

"Is there anything you want?" my visitor inquired.

I thought of my diminishing cigarettes and asked if I could have a packet. The Bald-headed Man produced a packet from his pocket. My visitor told me my guard had just brought them from the canteen and asked rather apologetically if I would pay for them. I got off the bed and handed the money to the Bald-headed Man without a smile at this official transaction. Ordinarily he seldom let me pay.

"Have you any matches?" my visitor inquired.

"I have just a few."

"What is the good of cigarettes without matches?" he said impatiently, handing me his box.

"You are the first person I have met here who sees that point; are you some high official?" I asked.

"I am an official — I wouldn't go so far as to say that I am a very high one."

"You speak English without a trace of accent."

"That is a compliment."

"It's the truth. Your English is absolutely perfect."

"As a child I always had English governesses, and I spent a great deal of my time in England; I was over there just before the war started."

"You are the first German I have not seen in uniform."

"I don't always wear it."

"Why have you come to see me?"

"I heard you were here, and I was interested."

 p188  "Can you tell me how long I shall remain here?"

"I'm afraid for the duration of the war."

I heard myself saying, "Oh, no," in exactly the same tone as Darby.

"You will not stay here. In a few days you will all be moved to Fresnes, which is one of the most modern prisons in France."

"If we are to be kept in solitary confinement it's hardly a question of sending us to another prison; what we shall need is a lunatic asylum and padded cells." The bitterness in my voice surprised me.

"Have you no books to read?"

I waved my visitor into my cell, but he didn't bother to look.

"I will send you some English books; they will help you to pass the time."

"When will you send them?"

"This afternoon."

Had he said to‑morrow I should hardly have believed him. How many times had we been told that this, that, and the other would happen to‑morrow, only for us to draw a blank, but I felt my visitor would keep his word.

Here at last from out of the blue was an official who actually seemed to know something about us, and he had told me we were here for duration. I felt too sick at heart to take any further interest, and muttered, "Thank you." Our eyes met, and I found myself thinking, "You are really quite a human person. Surely you are too intelligent to believe in all this fantastic Nazism. . . ."

I became conscious that I was staring into a pair of blue-gray eyes. I had no idea how long we had been staring at each other.  p189 As I turned away feeling rather embarrassed I heard his resonant voice saying, "Have courage."

The Bald-headed Man bolted me in, and I paced up and down. Why on earth should that man say, "Have courage"? Is Fresnes as bad as this, and he knows one will need courage to bear it for the duration? Or is it possible that in some way or another he knows I have no intention of enduring it for long? It was impossible to guess the reason, but I could not get his words out of my head.

I lit one of the cigarettes and went over his visit in my mind: "Is there anything you want?" I must be mad. I had often thought I was going mad and now I knew I must be. All I had asked for was a packet of cigarettes! Could I cable to England? Could I get in touch with the American Ambassador or Consul or Huffer? Why was I here? What was the charge against them? All questions of real importance I had never thought to ask, and I had just been in touch with a man who probably knew the answers and who might have told me. There it was. . . . At last I definitely knew that I was mad. I was quite mad. That did not worry me. The crux of the matter I now knew: "I'm afraid you will be here for duration."

I threw myself on the bed and fell into my customary doze.

During promenade Darby managed to exchange a few sentences. "Did that man come to see you?" she whispered hurriedly. "It looks as though we are stuck here."

"Yes. Did he ask you if there was anything you wanted?'

"Yes, he did."

"What did you ask for?"

"Some things to be brought up from my knapsack — why?"

"You didn't by any chance ask if you could send a cable — or if you could get into touch with any one?"

 p190  "No, I didn't — how damn' silly. Did you?"

"No."

Darby said, "One should make a list of all the questions one wants to ask. These officials arrive so suddenly that I'm too surprised to ask much, and anyway most of them know nothing about us."

Later on in the afternoon the Bald-headed Man came to my cell. The Fussy Man was still with him. They were holding an armful of books. "Your friend is downstairs and he will do something for you," the Bald-headed Man said, looking excited and pleased.

"My friend! Do you mean a French poilu?"

"No, no — your friend of this morning."

"Oh! You mean that man. Who is he?"

The Bald-headed man pronounced something in German. I said, "What on earth does that mean?"

"It means Criminal Investigation Department."

"Is that the Gestapo?"

"Yes."

"So he is attached to that. . . ." It did not surprise me. After all, sooner or later my diary was bound to find its way there and would be read by some one who knew English.

"How do you know my friend will do something for me?"

"Because when we went from here to the Kommandantur he told us he would."

"What will he do?"

"We do not know."

"Do you really think he will do something?"

 p191  "Yes, we are sure of it. Otherwise, why should he tell us he would? He has sent you and your comrade these books. You must choose quickly — we can't stay any longer."

I chose the first three without looking at the titles — I was too surprised to take much interest in the books.

So now I had a "friend," a most intelligent, capable one, who held some important position with the Gestapo. My "friend" obviously had read my diary and from it had come to the conclusion that I was in no way guilty of espionage, or, for that matter, of any serious offence.

I now knew enough about the Germans to realize that should I stand in a shadow of doubt I need expect no mercy; but the gods had been with me. It must be clear from my diary that I had done nothing more than drive an ambulance for the French Government. Had the Gestapo man come to any other conclusion he would not have dreamed of sending me books or helping me in any way. So what! Now I had a "friend." My first instinct was to get hold of him again and pour out my troubles, but I realized his job was to separate the sheep from the goats. Weeping or gnashing of teeth would be neither here nor there.

A definite feeling of hope grew within me. I found my brain trying to function once more. I must try to get hold of him again — it was imperative. Sooner or later we were bound to have some sort of "trial." At most of these interpreters were needed, in our particular case it would be essential, and one was entirely dependent on the interpretation being accurate and fair. Would my "friend" interpret for us?

My only chance of finding out was through the Bald-headed man, whom I seldom saw these days, for the Fiend and the Bully were in chief command of us. There was nothing at all  p192 to be done except console myself with patience. I turned my attention to my books. The first was a collection of Edgar Wallace short stories; the others were a romantic novel by Rafael Sabatini and My Man Jeeves, by Wodehouse. With these it was amazing how quickly the time slipped away.

I did not see the Bald-headed Man until he crossed the courtyard the following day during promenade. I went up to him and said, "I must speak to you. When can you come over to see me?"

"I am very busy at the Kommandantur, but I will come when I can."

He came late in the afternoon, and, handing me a little parcel wrapped in paper, said, "Here is a piece of white bread with butter." I was too absorbed with what I wanted to say to take in the magnitude of his gift or even thank him.

"I must see that man from the Gestapo again. Is it possible?"

He shook his head. "I do not know when I shall see him."

"Can't you possibly get hold of him?"

"I'm afraid not, but he while surely come back for his books. I have brought you a piece of white bread and butter — I do my very best, my very best."

This was only too true; I felt so disappointed that I could not speak.

"I must go now. I should not be here at all."

It was some time before I could bring myself to appreciate the piece of white bread and butter. Then I wondered to what lengths he had gone to bring it to me.

With the books finished I returned to my old lethargic ways. Twenty‑two noughts were now marked on my wall.

 p193  A few days later in the courtyard I saw the Kommandant of the Cherche-Midi talking to the Sly One. He beckoned to me. The Sly One interpreted and said, "You will be questioned to‑morrow, and I have been told to interpret for you."

This was news. From the mixture of broken French and English I gathered the Kommandant was asking me if I had ever done any espionage.

"No, never," I replied.

He seemed rather amused and in very good humor.

"If you are guilty of espionage . . ." He made a suggestive gesture, running his finger across his throat, and grinned all over his face.

I could not take him seriously and asked the Sly One to tell him that I was glad I should be questioned to‑morrow, as I had had enough of this place.

The Kommandant seemed to appreciate my remark and nodded his dismissal.

Darby managed to get close enough to me to say, "What did he want?"

"We are to be questioned to‑morrow."

"We've heard that before."

"Yes, but if the Kommandant has said so I should imagine we would be."

The next day, toward evening, a soldier whom I had not seen before unbolted my door and told me to follow him. I found Darby and the Sly One outside in the corridor. I had not been looking forward to this moment with any anticipation; I was beyond thinking about it. Now that the moment had actually arrived I found myself quite unperturbed, the only feeling I had was that at last we should know what it was all about. Darby was in the same frame of mind.

 p194  With the Sly One, who was Alsatian and knew French and German as her mother tongues, we followed our guard through steel doors and innumerable corridors which were new to us; we were shown into a medium-sized room which contained a large desk and several chairs. A soldier was sitting at a table with a typewriter in front of him; two other soldiers with rifles and tin helmets were standing to attention.

In a few moments the Kommandant came and sat at a desk facing us. He had brought with him two large green folders which he placed in front of him. Across one was written "Fräulein Darby"; on the other "Fräulein Myers." He opened the one marked Fräulein Darby, and I watched him glancing through typewritten sheets.

He spoke to the soldier by the typewriter, and although they were speaking German I several times caught the word "espionage." He turned to Darby, but, realizing that he would have to speak through an interpreter, addressed himself to the Sly One. We could make little sense of the charge until we realized that Darby was accused of having said to one of the doctors at Soissons, "When the English arrive they will show the Germans how to behave."

To dare to criticize the Germans was serious.

"My God, Myers, I'll probably get years for this," Darby said.

As it was possible she might, "It's a grand life if you don't weaken," was all I could think of to say.

Endless questions were put by the Kommandant through the Sly One. When had Darby joined the Mechanized Transport Corps? Why had she joined it? What had she done before that? What date did she come to France? And where exactly had she been while in France? Where and how was  p195 she taken prisoner? How did it come about that she was at Soissons?

Over and over again she denied ever having spoken to a German doctor in that way, or having discussed the Germans. But the Kommandant was adamant. Although up till then he had been very patient, he seemed to think the true facts were in front of him in black and white, and that Darby was being perverse.

"Do not deny it," he said. "Do not lie. The charge against you as it is now is not serious — lie, and it may become so."

"But I'm not lying. I never spoke to any German doctor the whole time I was at Soissons, except one who came over to the French wing which was being run as a maternity ward. Then we only spoke for a few minutes about the mothers and babies."

We then found that there had been a mistake in the interpretation. The accusation was that she had made the remark to a French doctor.

This was too much for Darby. Seething with rage she turned to me and, regardless of every one and forgetting we were in the Kommandant's room, we lapsed into a heated argument in English.

"To think one of the French doctors could do such a thing! Why, why, should he do such a thing to me?"

I quickly murmured, "It's the snake in the grass."

"Yes, but it may get me years. . . . To think that I came to France to help them and this is what they do to me!"

I saw that going off at a tangent about the doctors at Soissons at that moment would do anything but help. I know Darby well enough to know that she had never made that remark. The Kommandant could not have dropped a bigger  p196 hint than to say that as the accusation stood it was not serious. Therefore, although not true, it seemed best to admit it; after all, it was her word against a French doctor's, and the Kommandant had already explained that if she denied it the whole case would have to be referred back to Soissons, the doctor brought to Paris, and the delay incurred might mean months.

It was incredibly petty, yet we both knew how serious it could be — two years for saying sales Boches.

Darby admitted that she might have made that remark to one of the French doctors. The Kommandant continued to glance at the sheets before him and read out the second charge made by the same French doctor — that Darby frequently went over to the German side of the hospital to see whether she could hear any of the orders given during a rappel.​a Without the baker, Henri, and myself, Darby had never been over to the German side, and she says, "Myers, they must be mistaking me for you," and emphatically told the Kommandant it was not true.

"But you have been seen there," he told her.

If they wanted to bring that absurd charge, then it was just as well for me to insist that Darby must have been mistaken for me, After all, they had in my diary the number of times I had been there, so I chipped in: "Mademoiselle Darby never went to the German side of the hospital. I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding; she must have been mistaken for me."

The Kommandant asked why I had gone there. I explained I went to fetch things from the official interpreter's bureau, which happened to be that side of the hospital, also to fetch milk for the mothers.

 p197  "Were you ever there during a rappel or when there was a large gathering of soldiers?"

"I saw only one official grouping of soldiers and that was when one of the doctors got about fifty soldiers and nurses in a group to be photographed."

"You were never there while a rappel was being held?"

"No, never."

"How many times did you go over that side of the hospital?

"Oh, three or four times. I really can't remember exactly — I know I went one day in the morning and again later in the afternoon."

The Kommandant seemed not to press the point of Darby's being seen over on the German side, and continued with the French doctor's last remarks, which were that she went about the hospital in such a proud and haughty manner that, regardless of the other facts, the doctor wished her removed.

There was not much one could answer to that except what Darby said. She was reserved and shy by nature, and she thought the doctor at Soissons must have entirely misconstrued the situation.

Everything took such a time, even the slightest sentence. First the Kommandant spoke to the Sly One, who in turn interpreted it in French. Darby replied in French, and this again had to be interpreted in German. Then the Kommandant made a synopsis which he dictated slowly to the soldier at the typewriter; typewritten sheets were gradually piling up by his side.

The Kommandant earlier on had abruptly turned to me and asked, "Have you ever done any espionage?"

"No, never."

 p198  "Well, it is best for you that you have not done so. If you have you will be shot."

I did not take the remark seriously. I had been longing to smoke for some time and, looking at the large box of cigarettes in front of the Kommandant, said, "I have not done any espionage, but if you are thinking of shooting me the least you can do is let me smoke beforehand."

The Kommandant said, "Ah, so! . . . You would like to smoke?"

"Yes, I should very much."

He offered cigarettes to us both. Darby, who seldom smoked, took one; I imagine she needed it. He also offered them around the room and there was a slight complication with the soldiers on guard, as apparently they were not allowed to smoke with their steel helmets on. However, the difficulty was overcome by their taking their helmets off.

While the questions continued and the hours passed the Kommandant made no comment when I frequently helped myself to his cigarettes.

Darby was asked every conceivable question about her family; and all particulars of the Mechanized Transport Corps were minutely gone into. Was it a military organization? What did we get the petrol? Did the Army supply us?

I chipped in occasionally, but where we got our petrol from was difficult to answer, for Huffer's maréchal des logis had always seen to the petrol and oil for our ambulances, and we had no idea where he had procured it. We explained that to the Kommandant and assured him we had nothing to do with the Army except to carry their wounded, and at last we made him understand that the Château de Blois was a unit organized by Huffer, an American, the ambulances given by Americans and  p199 the drivers English, but attached to the Mechanized Transport Corps, an English organization whose members in France were under the command of the French Government.

It was the Kommandant who said, "But the Château de Blois unit then is an international affair — American, English, and French?"

The last question was about our uniform, which had always puzzled the Germans. Why was it khaki? Why was it an exact replica of that of English officers?

We explained that the head of our unit in London had chosen it.

"Then the English Government did not give it to you?"

"No, we are nothing whatsoever to do with the English Government. They gave us permission to come over to France as ambulance drivers, but that was all. We are an entirely voluntary organization, and we paid for our uniforms ourselves."

This seemed to conclude Darby's questioning. It had lasted three and a half hours without a break.

The Kommandant rose, said he was going to have his dinner, and left the room. The soldier finished typing and followed him. The Sly One picked up the typewritten sheets and sentence by sentence interpreted the résumé which the Kommandant had made.

Everything Darby had said was accurately and concisely stated; in fact, the Sly One said it was most favorable toward her. Darby had to sign each page. She signed the last one with a flourish.

The Bald-headed Man came in and anxiously asked, "How does it go?"

"We really don't know. The charge is so silly. Our interpreter  p200 seems to think that the Kommandant has given the best possible aspect."

The Bald-headed Man quickly looked through the sheets, muttering, "Very good, very good. And your sheets?" he asked me.

"Oh, I haven't got any yet; I have not been questioned."

"I hope it will go very well for you too."

"Thank you very much. Nobody hopes that more than I do."

It was not quite dark. We were on the second floor, and the barred window of the room looked off on to the street. Below was a small garden surrounded by a high wall. I could see the people sitting and strolling along the boulevard; I envied them, but they were not so very free, for a whispered word, an accusation, and they would be in the prison.

The Kommandant returned with the soldier who had been typing; the Bald-headed Man bowed to him and slipped out of the room. The Kommandant sat down and told Darby that he did not want her any more. She could return to her cell and rest. "You look very tried," he added.

Darby illustrated the truth of the saying that one can go as white as a sheet. The blood had drained from her face, and she looked ghastly. She told the Kommandant that she preferred to stay with me. We all sat down once more, and the Kommandant picked up the folder with my name and said, "Fräulein Myers, you are held here on the charge of espionage."

I shall never forget what a feeling of comfort the pressure of Darby's hand on my knee gave me. "Poor old Myers," she muttered.

"This is quite fantastic," I told the Kommandant.

He shrugged his shoulders and asked me a few questions  p201 about my family. When I had joined the M. T. C. he already knew, and that I had been to Angoulême, for all the particulars Darby had given him of her travels applied also to me.

The Kommandant leaned back in his chair and droned on and on in German; the soldier was kept busy typing as fast as he could. I watched half an hour pass by the clock on the mantel-piece, and still the Kommandant droned on and the typewriter clicked away. It was infuriating to have probable years of one's life sentenced away on the typewriter without following a word. I could bear it no longer and banged on the table. Every one looked up in surprise. "Will you please tell the Kommandant," I said to the Sly One, "that I want to know what he is saying about me. I want to know the exact charge. I am not guilty of espionage at all. If I had any information I would not know how to pass it on. I am simply an ambulance driver, nothing more; and I want to be sent to a neutral country."

The Kommandant nodded to the Sly One's interpretation and continued to drone away in German. The typewriter clicked away.

I felt it was hopeless to intervene again. There it was, my fate was being sealed for me, and I could do nothing about it but wait for the result. I knew the importance to the German mind of papers and documents. These typewritten sheets would be very much my "affairs." Upon them rested my future, and all I could do was to watch my future being typed away.

At last the Kommandant finished. He told me the Sly One would interpret what he had dictated and that he would return in a few minutes. I have forgotten now the exact wording of the document; not having a German viewpoint, I could  p202 not possibly have written it as well as the Kommandant had done. It was to the effect that I wasn't interested in politics, neither had been my father or mother or my grandparents, or any member of my family. We were not a politically minded family, and I knew nothing about politics whatsoever.

I had been accused of espionage, but no precise charge had been made against me. I desired to know the exact accusation. I was an ambulance driver and guilty of no offense against the German people. As I was attached to the Red Cross, I desired to be sent to a neutral country.

The document gave a brief description of my family and circumstances, and said that I had listened to Mary Darby's statement giving particulars of how and why we came to France, why we had stayed there, and where we had been taken prisoners, which I declared were absolutely true.

I signed each page, and when the Kommandant returned with the Bald-headed Man I asked him if he personally thought I was guilty of espionage.

"Fräulein Myers," the Kommandant replied, "if I thought either of you was guilty of espionage do you think that I should have questioned you in each other's presence? I'm sure you have a clear conscience, and there is no reason why you should not sleep well to‑night."

"Except for the bugs, I might," I replied.

The Kommandant smiled and shrugged his shoulders. So I went on, "You can understand we simply hate being here. Do you think we really will be sent to a neutral country?"

The Kommandant said he did not know, it rested entirely with the Kommandantur.

"But what do you think?" I persisted.

"Well, you can always hope," he replied.

 p203  "But what is this silly charge of espionage against me? You don't believe it?"

"Since there is a charge against Fräulein Darby, and you have been her close companion, until she is cleared you are held as her accomplice."

I realized now that we swam or sank together; my diary had not been mentioned, but had it been brought against me, then Darby would be held with me for that.

It was now getting on for a quarter to twelve. The Kommandant offered a final round of his cigarettes and gave Darby and me three English books each from a pile in the corner of the room — so the Gestapo man had brought a good collection of them. We thanked the Kommandant, and, as the atmosphere seemed so friendly, I asked if I might fetch several odds and ends which I needed from our peasant's bundle. The Kommandant nodded and told the Bald-headed Man to take me down the next day to fetch what I wanted. We parted in a cordial manner and thanked the Sly One for her interpretation.

We knew that interpretation by a fellow-prisoner could never be legally correct, but although she looked sly (and probably was) we never doubted the accuracy of her translation.

It was the Bald-headed Man who led us back through the innumerable corridors to our cells. It was now pitch dark, and we followed him by the light of his torch. When we reached our own corridor we met the young doctor who had spent such a pleasant time at Margate. A light was switched on, and for a few minutes we stood and chatted.

The Bald-headed Man asked me if I had eaten my supper.

 p204  "No," I replied. "I was just about to when we were told to go down to the Kommandant."

The Bald-headed Man thought my cell too dark for me to grope around for my food, so by the light of his torch he found my bread and the small portion of paste, which happened to be very good that night, and brought it to me in the corridor. As we never had any knives, we had no method of breaking out quarter loaves of bread other than by tearing them with our fingers; when the Bald-headed Man automatically produced a pen‑knife and cut and pasted me slices of bread I felt I had returned to the refinements of life.

The two Germans were terribly interested in what had passed. We told them the Kommandant had been most patient, kind, and helpful, and that we were sure he believed us innocent of any crime, and I added with joy that he had put into my questionnaire that I wished to be sent to a neutral country. They dolefully shook their heads; I knew they liked us and sympathized with us and they wished us all the best; if they could do anything to help us, I knew they would, but they said, "How would it be possible to send you to a neutral country? Neutral countries no longer exist. If you are innocent, which we are sure you are, you will not be kept in prison, but will be sent to an internment camp for the duration of the war. England is interning all German people, therefore we will do likewise. Do not think you will be freed. You will be interned; that will be much better than imprisonment."

I protested, "I can not agree with you. Why should the Kommandant of his own accord have put in my statement that I wished to be sent to a neutral country?"

"Oh, he wished to encourage you," said the young doctor.

 p205  "I do not believe that. If the Kommandant wished to encourage me he would not do so unless there was some hope. Otherwise to do so would be cruelty, and the Kommandant is not a cruel man."

Doubtfully they looked at me. The Bald-headed Man went to investigate some bangings on one of the cell doors. He came back and said one of the prisoners was very hungry; could I spare a little bread?

"Yes, I can spare some bread but I am afraid not any paste."

"Oh, she did not ask for paste," the Bald-headed Man hurriedly said.

The excitement of the evening had taken the edge off my appetite. "You can give her three slices." I watched him cut them without a qualm. He returned, and we continued to chat in the corridor until the Bald-headed Man said regretfully, "It is time for you to go to bed."

Darby said — and it was so true that I shall never forget her remark — "Well, Myers, at least we've had a night out."

To those who have not been subject to absolute solitary confinement in a small space it is impossible to appreciate what those five hours of contact with human beings meant. It certainly had been a night out for us.

Before we were bolted into our respective cells we hurriedly said, "Good night, Myers," "Good night, Darby, until we meet again, and it's a great life if you don't weaken."

"Sleep well," said the Bald-headed Man in response to my "good night."

Waschen and my usual doze afterwards — until I was awakened by a strange soldier unbolting my door, and from his signs I realized I was to follow him. As I never washed at  p206 Waschen those days I hastily combed my hair and put some powder and lipstick on to make the best of a bad job. The Sly One was standing outside my door.

"Where is my friend?" I asked.

She had no idea; she said she had been told to interpret for me only. The moment I had so dreaded had apparently arrived; the endless questions about my diary would now be asked. I had imagined myself going through every type of emotion, but I felt indifferent.

We were not led through the innumerable corridors of the previous night, but down the main stairway into the courtyard. The Kommandant was sitting on a bench in the sun, and it struck me that were I to be questioned seriously it would not be in the courtyard. The Kommandant beckoned us to sit down beside him on the bench. He smiled, said, "Good morning," and offered us cigarettes. His questions were brief and took only a few minutes. He wanted the fullest particulars about Herman Huffer — why and how and when he had inaugurated the Château de Blois unit. For the first time the Sly One was at a loss for a word; it was only after much thought and conversation with the Kommandant that she came to the conclusion the German word for château was Schloss. I explained that I thought Herr Huffer was in Bordeaux, but the American Embassy and the American and French Red Cross could give full particulars of him. I could not remember whether his address was 25 or 125 Avenue Henri Martin, but the Embassy would know. The Kommandant scribbled a few notes, and the Sly One told me he hoped that "our affairs" would soon be arranged.

"I hope that they soon will be." I repeated what I had said last night: "We simply hate being here."

 p207  The Kommandant said he could well understand. He rose as though to dismiss us. There were two soldiers standing on guard in the courtyard as well as the one who had brought us down. It had been such a joy sitting in the sunshine that I didn't want to move. I asked the Sly One to tell the Kommandant that I so appreciated the sun that I should like to sit there for a few more minutes. The Sly One replied. "But you know it is not allowed for us to stay here. We must go back to our cells."

"Will you ask the Kommandant if we can stay here? He may give us permission."

She raised and lowered her eyes, twisted and turned and muttered broken sentences to the Kommandant; she could not have behaved in a more suggestive manner. Her attitude so infuriated me that I cut her short and, pointing to the sun and the bench, said, "Fünf Minuten."

The Kommandant understood and said five minutes only, with a smile. We returned to the bench, and he again offered us cigarettes. The Sly One told me that the Kommandant well understood that I had no wish to return to my cell.

The Kommandant took a snap of me with his camera. I told him when I got back to England — and I put the accent on the when — my family would be very interested to see a snapshot of him. Would he allow me to take one? He replied his wife might not like it, and in any case he did not consider his features photogenic. He told us the "fünf Minuten" were over; the Sly One and I were led back to our cells.

The few minutes' break in the sun made all the difference to my otherwise weary existence, as for some reason or other we had no promenade that day.

Twenty-four noughts. . . . At Waschen Grand'mère was  p208 chatty and full of news; to‑morrow for sure we were going to Fresnes. I had heard the rumor so often that I could hardly bring myself to believe we were off to‑morrow, even though the Gestapo man had said we would go.

Grand'mère was full of Fresnes. She told me there was running water in the cells. "And I suppose two sheets and a pillowslip for each bed?" I asked.

"All the beds have sheets — everything is very clean," she says.

"We don't have reading lamps as well by any chance?"

Grand'mère thought I was being unduly cynical.

In the evening the Bully brought the Sly One to my cell. She told me that we were leaving to‑morrow morning at five o'clock and that I was to be ready. The Bald-headed Man came to say good‑by.

"But aren't you coming too? I thought all the German soldiers were."

"I shall follow later. I have to clear things up at the Kommandantur."

"Shall I see you when you get to Fresnes?"

"I do not think so; the men will be in a different section."

"Won't you be able to come over to see me?"

"So I shall not see you again?"

"No, I do not think so."

He stayed and chatted for a few minutes, and I felt very sad when he left, for I had said good‑by to a friend.

Our large peasant's bundle was kept downstairs with our knapsacks, so I had little to get ready. Fresnes could hardly be worse than the Cherche-Midi, and might be better; there would probably be no bugs. From the moment they had  p209 started to bite they had never ceased in their attacks, but I didn't fear any more bites on my feet or legs, as they were already covered with them. I had learned from experience that if one could break the skin and squeeze the bites the irritation ceased. Scratching had been my usual method, but occasionally I had used too much zeal. The last few days I had been unable to wear a shoe with any comfort, as I had scratched the top of my right foot raw. It struck me that a far less painful method might be to prick each bite with a pin; I took a safety‑pin from my uniform. My legs became appallingly sore and looked, if possible, worse, but they no longer irritated.

I did not sleep, and in my tossings and turnings listened to the woman sobbing in the cell next to mine. I could hear her quite clearly through the wall. She had arrived in the afternoon; she was Polish, and her name was Zeta. Occasionally her sobs broke into groans which reminded me of the men dying from gangrene at Soissons. It is better, I reflected, to listen to other people's groans than to your own. David again started his mournful dirge. Fresnes could be no worse. . . .

The Fiend called us at four in the morning; the dawn had not yet broken. I half-dressed sleepily, but in the darkness could not find my garter. This was a serious loss, as I had nothing with which to keep up my stocking.

In honour of our new prison I had a desultory wash, and on returning to my cell continued my search by the light in the corridor. The young doctor from Margate was about to close my door when I told him I was looking for my garter. He translated this to the Fiend, who for answer slammed the door in my face. I came to the conclusion that the Fiend was a psychological case. We had been allowed ten minutes for  p210 Waschen that morning and during that time he had stood with a fairly amiable expression banging his revolver against the enormous steel door. Just as a child can amuse itself by thumping on something for the sheer joy of the noise it creates, so had the Fiend been enjoying himself. What would make him suffer most, perhaps, would be to tie him up and leave him in complete silence.

It was now quite light. Just before we were due to start the Bald-headed Man came to see me. I told him that in the darkness I must have kicked my garter outside, and he went into the corridor to look for it; to my joy he returned with the familiar, dirty piece of elastic. It was really good‑by this time.

We were marshaled on to the landing. We each had to answer to our names in the courtyard; there were twenty‑one of us. Our parcels were packed into a lorry which was large enough to take us all in comfort. Carmen Morey sat opposite me; she had one of the most unpleasant faces I had ever seen. Her large, loose mouth full of wolflike teeth stretched right across her face. She had a broad, ugly nose and hard, intelligent eyes. She was full of Fresnes, where the French had held her for a year. She gave a gloomy picture of the place; the food was appalling, and one was looked after by nuns.

"No one, Bessy, can be as cruel as women. Men may be brutal, but women are far more cruel."

I made no comment; Carmen Morey was cruel enough to be a good judge. She got on to her pet subject of being considered a second Mata Hari.

But I always thought Mata Hari was supposed to be a very beautiful woman?"

"She was," said Carmen, purposely missing the point.

 p211  We rumbled along the streets, and my thoughts returned to the Cherche-Midi. I would not call the Herculean Man, Baron von X, the Fussy Man, the Bald-headed Man, the man from the Gestapo, or the Kommandant brutal or cruel; they were intelligent and probably the best type of Germans, but in the main I found the soldiers and the German nurses I had seen childlike in their minds. Their belief in everything they were told was amazing; they seemed to prefer to be told something rather than to think it out for themselves. I tried to put a finger on what it was they lacked as a nation. Perhaps a Spaniard whom I met some weeks later at Narbonne gave me the answer. He remarked that the English had a superiority complex, whereas the Germans suffered from an inferiority complex.

I replied, "If England wins this war alone her superiority complex will at least be justifiable, and I don't see how the Germans can have an inferiority one at the moment — after all, they control most of Europe."

"That is nothing, Señorita, for a complex is in the soul," he replied.

We turned down a long avenue shaded by trees, passed through a courtyard, and entered a second, where a line of French nuns stood waiting for us.

---

Thayer's Note:

a Google won't help the French-challenged here (I checked). In this context, the word is obsolescent: a military formation is meant, often for the purpose of briefing one's troops.

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