The Grand Escape: Chapters 7–10

They did not know whether this was true, but the very possibility fostered great debate, both dour and hopeful.

Broad-shouldered and thickset, Rathborne had soft features and a welcome smile. One likened his visage to “the face of an archbishop.” Whatever his look, it belied the grit and ambition underneath.

Broad-shouldered and thickset, Rathborne had soft features and a welcome smile. One likened his visage to “the face of an archbishop.” Whatever his look, it belied the grit and ambition underneath.

Niemeyer was tall and stout, like an upright rectangle. Except for his muttonchops and brows, his bowling ball of a head was pasty white and cleanly shaved. He wore a military cap, perched at a rakish angle.

Although they were desperately hungry, the guards offered no food and the doors clanged ominously shut when they left.

Beside Niemeyer stood the titular head of the camp, Habrecht.

An elderly man, he had the look of a doddering old fool and merely stood by and watched as his camp officer addressed the new arrivals.

They hurried to the dining hall on the second floor of their block, only to be served some tepid imitation coffee made from acorns.

No slight from a prisoner—a weak salute, a roll of the eyes, an impertinent remark—passed unnoticed or unpunished.

He was a “cad,” “a low-bred ruffian,” “the personification of hate,” “a bloated, pompous, crawling individual,” “a man of unbridled ferocity and bravado,” “a cheat,” “a plausible rogue,” and “a coward with all the attributes of one: he deceives, he is cruel, he blusters, he is dishonest, he cringes.”

He was a “cad,” “a low-bred ruffian,” “the personification of hate,” “a bloated, pompous, crawling individual,” “a man of unbridled ferocity and bravado,” “a cheat,” “a plausible rogue,” and “a coward with all the attributes of one: he deceives, he is cruel, he blusters, he is dishonest, he cringes.”

Prone to apoplectic fits of rage, typically while brandishing a revolver or his walking cane, Niemeyer ran down and threatened prisoners with a zeal that left him redfaced and panting for breath.

Prone to apoplectic fits of rage, typically while brandishing a revolver or his walking cane, Niemeyer ran down and threatened prisoners with a zeal that left him redfaced and panting for breath.

Prone to apoplectic fits of rage, typically while brandishing a revolver or his walking cane, Niemeyer ran down and threatened prisoners with a zeal that left him redfaced and panting for breath.

The root of his grievances was unclear, and, given his propensity to tell lies, his background was murky.

If this was a prisoner’s Mecca, it was a spartan one, the epitome of disorganization.

If this was a prisoner’s Mecca, it was a spartan one, the epitome of disorganization.

Not wishing to risk further subterfuge, a British officer who had helped prepare the escape stood forward. In a calm voice, he announced that Thorn “had left the evening before on a journey to Holland.”

Back in his office, Habrecht gently suggested to Hänisch that the British major, and the prisoners overall, deserved some modicum of respect.

“You are very clever? Yes? Well, I make a special study of this escaping. You will not escape from here. You think I, the commandant, know nothing. You are wrong. I know damn all.” Paroxysms of laughter followed his mistaken admission of being a know-nothing.

They waited for a paltry breakfast of bitter coffee and hard biscuits.

They waited to use a stove, of which there were too few, to cook their lunch. They waited for yet another round of inoculations. They waited to use the lavatory.

They tried to create a cricket pitch and soccer field in this limited space, but Niemeyer prohibited most games, telling them that one of the arc lamps had been broken by an errant ball.

Niemeyer also extorted charges for such necessities as food, hot water, and fuel for the kitchens. As well as turning a blind eye to outright theft, he also set the tone of abuse at the camp—and reveled in it.

Niemeyer also extorted charges for such necessities as food, hot water, and fuel for the kitchens. As well as turning a blind eye to outright theft, he also set the tone of abuse at the camp—and reveled in it.

His voice could change from a soft dolorous coo at one moment to a harsh rasp the next.

Some had lost a great deal of weight, others went listless, and one or two were spiraling into madness.

“The wearisome sameness of the days, the monotony of the faces, the unchanged landscape, the intolerable talk about the war, all these tended to produce the effect of complete and utter depression,” one prisoner wrote.

The Holzminden inmates were clearly jailbreakers of the first order, and not only did he intend to make the prison impervious to their schemes, he would crush their spirits while he was at it.

Cash managed to survive the maggot-infested squalor and rough attention accorded many wounded Allied prisoners and spent the next couple months at a hospital in Hamelin.

The Germans then typically assigned the orderlies to some menial task around the camp such as bundling up paper or hauling firewood.

Even though Colquhoun was tall and gangly, nobody paid him—nor Ellis—any mind.

While the carpenter watched the affray, one of the officers slipped behind him and nicked almost everything apart from the toolbox itself, including a fine-toothed, thin-bladed saw.

After the melee had ended and the officers cleared away, they waited to see if there would be a search for the missing tools.

On charging for boiling water: The men were not “compelled to pay this sum.” On the exorbitant prices at the canteen: “Most of the articles were sold at a loss.”

The whole inspection was a charade. When Römer’s report was released, it stated that there was little cause for concern.

The officers’ complaints were minor in nature and “could be obviated with a little mutual goodwill.”

Informants suspected that he had compromising connections with German high officials, and, according to Römer’s former colleagues, he was “professionally incapable,” “amenable to bribery,” and “a pathological liar.”

Informants suspected that he had compromising connections with German high officials, and, according to Römer’s former colleagues, he was “professionally incapable,” “amenable to bribery,” and “a pathological liar.”

Other prisoners, who had been sent away from Holzminden only to escape from their next camp, recounted much the same. One said that Hänisch ran his camps with “organized malevolence.” Another that “Holzminden was an inferno.”