Working on my article Guardsman Bishop, I Presume, which appeared in the January 2003 issue of the Coldstream Guards Association Newsletter, was a pleasant task. Had I not lost my diary on a troop-ship returning home, I would have had many more tales to tell. Nevertheless, writing it was useful in igniting a few choice sparks in my mind of events of yesteryear. For example, reading a review of a new book (Double Standards: The Rudolf Hess Cover-up, by Lynn Picknett, Clive Prince and Stephen Prior), about top Nazi Rudolf Hess and his spectacular flight to Scotland in May 1941, brought back memories of this strange incident in history and its close connection to my life during the war. Hitler’s deputy-feuhrer flew a Messerschmitt 110 fighter-bomber solo from Germany to Scotland and bailed out over farm country just south of Glasgow. The plane crash-landed in a farmer’s field at Eaglesham, about eight miles south of my home. His injuries were slight and he was whisked off to the south of England (we presume) before you could say ‘Sieg Heil.’ He did not resurface until the War Crimes Trials in Nuremberg in 1946, having been kept incommunicado for the duration of hostilities — five years. This episode is shrouded in mystery to this day. Very few facts are known and there has been much conjecture. Some rumours are flying that he was dead by 1942 and that a doppelganger replaced him at the Nuremberg trials. Whatever the case, I got to witness part of that famous trial, at which he was a defendant. (See footnote re new book.) In early spring 1946, our battalion, the 4th, now minus our Churchill tanks, occupied part of the Rhineland in the British Zone. We exchanged places with a detachment of the U.S. Army in Nuremberg, a part of the American Zone. It was a semi-treaty whereby we performed their garrison duties and vice versa. Every group saw a part of the other’s army lifestyle. Our home base in the Ardennes was lovely, hilly country, and had been the site of the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944. The American home base was in Nuremberg and included a massive compound full of POWs in the vicinity of the court-house where the Nazi war criminals were on trial. The compound contained Gestapo, S.S., and high-ranking military personnel, about 2,000 of them. Besides doing security duty at the compound, the Coldstream visitors were invited to attend the courthouse for a day to watch the trials, where 21 major war criminals were in the docks. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was a rare lifetime opportunity, as very few people were ever admitted to the trial of the big names: Goering, Hess, Ribbentrop et al. The list, including the magistrates, was a ‘Who’s Who’ of 20th century history. Well turned out in our best uniforms, a group of us arrived at the courthouse where we underwent a careful security identity check and body search before being seated. It was astonishing to be looking at these famous faces, easily recognizable, as little as 30 feet away from us. Wearing suits with no ties, or uniforms with no insignia, they appeared somewhat less imposing than expected. Our seating was well located to view the group in the dock, slightly below us to our left. To our right, at our eye level, was the bench with the distinguished judges. Earphones at each seat allowed the occupant to select English, French, Russian, Polish or German. The court proceedings were thus easy to follow, thanks to clear, instantaneous translation — quite an innovation for the 1940s! Much of the evidence on this day was presented by a prosecution witness. It was intriguing to study the facial expressions of the prisoners. They were mostly devoid of emotion as the horrible accusations were hurled at them: Hermann Goering, Frank, Kaltenbrinner, Sauckel, Von Ribbentrop, Frick, Jodl and so on. Albert Speer, Hitler’s controversial architect, was in the second row, and seemed alternately remorseful and suffering mental anguish. (Had this man been to Actor’s Studio?) They all had pleaded ‘not guilty’, of course, to their monstrous crimes (‘I was only obeying orders’). It was quite a show. Our guard duty was an enervating experience. We were overseeing prisoners in the compound on behalf of the Americans. They were a formidable bunch. We had been thoroughly briefed on our duties by our hosts: to be extra vigilant at all times, watch them and continue to watch them. They were a desperate group who looked as if they would try anything, strutting around, congregating for little meetings, staring at us as if they were still in charge. These were high-ranking officer types awaiting trial for horrific crimes — committing atrocities against civilians. A nasty lot. Night duty was particularly stressful on us guards, with the eerie silence, the shadows, and the search-light beams constantly circling and playing peek-a-boo with our eyes. We were checked every thirty minutes on our weapon status and our state of mind. It was most assuring under the circumstances, to know that we had responsible support. On the lighter side, we socialized well and relaxed cheerfully with the GIs. We enjoyed their food, their coffee and cigarettes and refrained from criticizing their beer. We sang songs around the piano at the PX canteen, some British songs, some American songs and some raunchy songs. Before we departed a week or so later, we received a gracious thank-you speech from the American commandant, who complimented us on our turnout, our competence and our savvy. The ten-day all-inclusive package tour to Nuremberg, with choice tickets to the best show in town, was a great success. Our counterparts up north in the Rhineland had a good time too, apparently, touring the battlefields at Malmedy, St Vith, Duren and Bastogne, where we and their predecessors one year previously had stopped Hitler’s last bash through the allied lines heading for Antwerp during that horrible December 1944. The Sixth Guards Tank Brigade had been suddenly attached to the U.S. Ninth Army, having moved rapidly south from northern Holland down through Maastricht to beef things up to meet Von Runstedt’s Sixth armoured division and light infantry division, plus paratroopers — in all some 200,000 enemy combat troops. We missed out on our Christmas pudding that year but it turned out all right in the end. A combination of snow, ice, fog and bitter cold contributed (with Santa Claus) to the Allies’ infliction of a crushing defeat to General Von Runstedt, Royal Tiger tanks and all. It was so cold that winter that while guarding our tanks at night we would check at intervals for ice formation on our engine anti-freeze, placed in shallow lids around our tanks. If a film formed we had to alarm the sleeping crews to start the engines. This happened occasionally. I am sure the enemy heard the clatter of the big engines miles away. The heroic resistance at the siege of Bastogne was a significant factor, thanks to the U.S. Army Group holed up there, and their refusal to surrender. Casualties were heavy. In the early morning of New Year’s Day, 1945, as the sun rose in a clear blue sky, the RAF were out in force, their Typhoon rockets blazing in perfect attack weather, a sight for sore eyes. It was mopping-up time. The massive German counter-offensive thrust had failed — the last really big enemy attack on the Western Front. Resistance remained strong, of course, for many months to come, with much bitter fighting still imminent. The Brigade departed and turned back north to friendly Maastricht and northern Holland, to prepare an advance toward the River Rhine for the big assault crossing. We stopped at Helmond. Our crew billeted with the Bernsson familly at 50 Julianalaan, for a few days’ rest, where it was well cooked food (army rations in the right hands can be very tasty). That and the silverware, table linen etc. were a rare treat for tank men, not to mention a warm house overnight. Always meant to go back to Helmond and see that family. Never did. The Coldstream Gazette reports that a group from England visit Helmond every year. Very hospitable people. Our Churchill tanks looked rather out of place parked on the pretty street, clean as a whistle, except for the odd clump of bullet-holes in the stucco walls of the houses. Young Piet Bernsson, age 14, placed a German helmet atop the hydro pole and used it for target practice. Let’s see: Young Piet will be about 73 now. As a footnote to the story on the war crimes trial, of the twenty-one top Nazis, eleven were sentenced to be hanged. One of them, Hermann Goering, beat the gallows by committing suicide, having concealed a cyanide capsule on his person for days. The remaining prisoners received life imprisonment or twenty years. Hess for example, was given life and Speer twenty years. Hitler, Himmler and Goebbels evaded capture and took cyanide. We are not sure what became of Martin Borman, Hitler’s white-haired boy, the archetypal blonde Aryan super-man. The bodies of the ten executed on the night of 17th October, 1946 were transported to Dachau Camp, just outside Munich, where the ovens were fired up for the last time. Rudolf Hess was put in Spandau Prison in Berlin, in solitary, as was Albert Speer. From 1966 on, after Speer was released, Hess was sole occupant of the big jail, where he died in 1997 at age 91. A far cry from the farmer’s field near Eaglesham, Scotland, where a young future Coldstream Guard had hoped to glimpse him in 1941. Donald Hugh Barr McIntyre Coldstream Guards, #2666149, June 1943 to June 1946 Army Intelligence Corps June 1946 to June 1947 Rank at Army Discharge: L/SGT Toronto, May, 2003 Footnote: Double Standards: The Rudolf Hess Cover-up by Lynn Picknett, Clive Prince and Stephen Prior © 2002 L.I.B. AOL Time Warner Published by Little, Brown & Co., U.K. Sidebar: General Monck The interesting article in the January 2003 Newsletter about General Monck in Scotland, by Sally Guyoncourt, reminded me about other highlights of the life of the founder of our regiment. This man was no slouch. It started when he fought in the Civil War for Charles I. He was taken prisoner in 1644 by Oliver Cromwell’s forces and was a prisoner of war for two years. Our lad said, ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ When he was released in 1646, he joined the Roundheads. Cromwell had Charles I executed and became head of state. He turned his attention to Ireland and Scotland. In 1650, General Monck, under Cromwell’s orders, raised a regiment of foot at Coldstream and proceeded to hammer the Scots and the Irish for having sided with the Monarchy. Once the Parliamentarians’ power started to disintegrate a few years later, our man disowned them and became a Monarchist once again, supporting the Stuarts’ Restoration cause. He fought in the Anglo-Dutch war of 1665, picked up a dukedom (no bother at all) and was in charge of the administration to fight the Great Plague in 1665 and the Fire of London in 1666. A very busy man. It would appear that the First Duke of Albemarle did not let the grass grow under his feet, while changing hats frequently — a very resourceful Coldstreamer.

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