“Thank you, Corporal, I thought I might just wander over yonder and have a look in the shed,” said Kelly, nodding in the direction of the execution block.
Corporal Hopkins hesitated briefly, then fell in alongside Kelly as he walked to the building. “I suppose you know what it is, sir?”
“Yes,” said Kelly, “I know what it is.”
The doors of the building were slightly ajar and required minimum effort to open fully. Standing in the first doorway, Kelly found himself looking into a non-descript room from which virtually everything had been stripped. Moving to the next set of doors, he opened them apprehensively. This, the corporal confirmed, was the actual execution room. The guillotine had been removed, and all that remained to testify to its previous use was a row of hooks hanging from a metal beam which stretched the width of the room. Kelly counted five hooks. At one time there would have been eight, each of which would have had a short length of piano wire suspended from it, the end of which would have been formed into a noose. The Nazis favoured the short drop method of hanging. The bound prisoner would be bodily lifted by two guards whilst the executioner placed the noose over his or her head and tightened it. The two guards would then lower the prisoner, allowing the piano wire to take the weight of the victim.
Using this method, the neck was not broken as in long drop hanging. Instead, the unfortunate victim slowly choked to death while the piano wire cut deep into the flesh. It must have been an excruciating form of death; unconsciousness would have come as a blessed relief.
During the Nazi regime, around three thousand prisoners were executed in this shed. Most by hanging, the lucky few by guillotine.
Kelly removed his hat and bowed his head in silence until the stillness was disturbed by the corporal.
“Sir …” said the young NCO in a hushed voice, “we really need to go.”
Kelly nodded and followed him out of the building. As they made their way towards the temporary Hochsicherheitstrakt, the special secure unit, or ‘HS’ for short, known colloquially to the young squaddies seconded here from their infantry units as the ‘High Sick Unit’, the corporal turned to Kelly with a grim look on his face.
“Gruesome, isn’t it, sir?”
Kelly managed a wry smile. “Yes, it is. I seem to be making a habit of going into gruesome places at the moment!”
Kelly was met at the HS admin office by the unit commandant, an RMP major, who suffered from the unfortunate name—for a British soldier in occupied Berlin—of Siegfried Vogel. He had explained on one of Kelly’s previous visits, that his grandfather was a German immigrant. He had considered changing his name to Fred Bird but decided on balance that he would prefer to be known as Siegfried Vogel. Rather that, he said, than suffer the nickname ‘Dicky’.
Kelly was then introduced to the unit sergeant major, Warrant Officer Fraser from the Black Watch, the regiment supplying the guard on a two-monthly turnabout basis. Fraser looked like a handy chap to have with you in a tight corner.
“Did I see several civilians in the courtyard as we walked over, taking measurements and making notes?” asked Kelly.
“Ah yes,” responded the commandant, “that would be the surveyors. They’re knocking us down, Colonel. Flattening the whole prison with the exception of the execution chamber, which is destined to become a memorial. They then intend to build a borstal on the site.”
“What about the prisoners?”
“All to be transferred to Moabit Prison on Lehrter Strasse within the next two weeks, our HS lot included.”
Vogel set about scrutinising Kelly’s paperwork which he duly signed, handing one copy to the sergeant major for filing and the second back to Kelly.
“You’ll need that copy to get Manteufel past our German friends on the gate,” he said and nodded to the sergeant major.
“Right, sir!” said Fraser in a broad Scots accent, as Kelly tucked the release slip into the inside pocket of his ‘British Warm’. “If you’d like to come this way?”
Kelly fell in beside Fraser as they walked down the corridor.
“I had a couple of my lads watch his cell yesterday, turn and turn about as you suggested. I caught a couple of unsavoury characters sniffing around, so I gave them a piece of my mind. We had no more trouble after that.”
Kelly winced. He could imagine that a piece of Sergeant Major Fraser’s mind would be an excellent deterrent.
“We’ve tidied him up as best we can for you, sir,” continued Fraser. “One of the boys pressed his trousers and polished his shoes. He looks a little better.”
“I’m really grateful to you, Sarnt Major.”
“Least we could do, sir. If he’s an innocent man, let’s treat him reasonable and get him out of this place and away from the rest of these heathens.”
Kelly decided that it was ‘least said, soonest mended’ in respect of Manteufel’s past. After all, hadn’t the Black Watch fought in Crete and North Africa?
The sergeant major showed Kelly into Manteufel’s cell. He was stood up ready, with a little brown paper parcel of his belongings neatly tied with string. He certainly did look better. As well as the pressed trousers and polished shoes, his suit had been given a thorough brush, he had shaved that morning, his hair was neatly combed on one side—and he was smiling. Kelly wondered if that was the first time he had ever seen him smile. He looked ten years younger.
“Right, Horst,” said Kelly, switching to German, “if you’re ready, we’ll be on our way.”
“I’m ready, Colonel.”
Having deposited the release slip at the
