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CHAPTER TWO

THE IRISH CAMP

Friesack Camp, June 1941

Major John McGrath, a tall, well-built, middle-aged man, was apprehensive about the task he was about to undertake. He was being driven to a POW camp north of Berlin, where he was about to take on the role of Senior British Officer (SBO) in a camp designed to turn British servicemen with Irish backgrounds into traitors. There had been disciplinary problems at the camp and the Germans felt that a senior officer, preferably one sympathetic to their designs, would improve matters. They had sought an Irish-born officer from a Catholic nationalist background and McGrath seemed to fit the bill. The son of a Roscommon farmer, both his mother and father’s families were active in Irish nationalist politics; even more encouraging from a German perspective, was the fact that he had indicated a willingness to co-operate with them.

The Germans were mistaken about McGrath. He had only agreed to go to Friesack at the urging of a senior officer, in his previous camp in Laufen. Like many Irish servicemen, McGrath had mixed allegiances, but he was never going to dishonour his uniform. His relative’s involvement in the Irish War of Independence happened after he moved to England in 1911. Although, like the majority of his class and religion, he was brought up in a nationalist environment, this was of the early twentieth-century constitutional and parliamentary variety that was, for the most part, ‘culturally and politically comfortable with the trappings of empire’.1 Before the Easter Rising in 1916, careers in the police or British Army were seen as legitimate options for young Irish Catholics and McGrath was no longer resident in Ireland when the post-1916 transformational change occurred within Irish nationalism.

The mission he was about to undertake was, as he was later to describe it, to ‘investigate and endeavour to smash’ the Germans’ project.2 It was a difficult and dangerous task. He had to convince the Germans he was prepared to fight for Ireland against Britain while, at the same time, win the confidence of the men and conspire with them to frustrate the Germans’ plans.3 For this role, McGrath would have had to draw upon whatever acting skills he had gleaned during his previous work in cinemas and theatre management in Ireland. He seems to have proved a capable actor, for he ‘played the collaborator so convincingly that, for a time, even the British thought he had gone over to the other side’.4

However, it seems not all the Germans were convinced. He had been wined and dined in Berlin in the company of a number of German officers before being taken to the camp. Jupp Hoven, a member of the Abwehr, was the host and he was joined at the restaurant table by his friend and colleague Helmut Clissmann. Both had lived in Ireland before the war when they were involved in an Irish–German Academic Exchange service, most likely a cover for intelligence work. While there, they cultivated relationships with a number of senior IRA activists. Clissmann married a Sligo woman, Elizabeth Mulcahy, whose family were immersed in the Republican movement. Over dinner in Berlin, he confided to McGrath that his wife wished to return to Ireland and, knowing he had good business connections, sought his advice about finding her suitable employment. Whether this was a genuine request on his part, or a stratagem to gain McGrath’s confidence is unclear, but in the course of the discussion, he began to doubt the Irish officer’s collaborative potential. Clissmann is likely to have conveyed his doubts to Hoven, but the latter doesn’t seem to have shared his friend’s suspicions, at least not at that time. Even if Hoven had some concerns about McGrath’s commitment, there wasn’t a ready alternative. The previous SBO had been removed when a camp informer disclosed that the officer was leading an escape party. Other candidates for the position were likely to be Anglo-Irish, or have had a family tradition of service to the British Empire, making them probable British Intelligence plants.

On entry into the camp, McGrath’s forebodings appeared justified. ‘From the hour I entered the place I knew it meant trouble,’ he later recalled.5 The inmates were unhappy, suspicious and resentful. German promises of better food and recreation had not been kept and the majority of the prisoners were without proper footwear or clothing.6 They were not allowed to write home, no Red-Cross parcels were being delivered and they were left without soap or cigarettes. Other grievances related to inadequate food and the absence of canteen facilities.7 Adding to the discontent, many of the inmates felt they had been tricked or forced into the camp and were fearful that their very presence there could be viewed as disloyal. McGrath sensed that he was suspect in the eyes of these men. Seeing him arrive in the company of Abwehr officers, the inmates could be excused for assuming him to be a renegade officer, an aspiring Casement.8

McGrath was a veteran of the First World War, having seen action in the Dardanelles and France, where he was promoted to the rank of Captain. Wounded twice, he spent the final year of that war in a military hospital in Blackpool (see John McGrath: Truth and Invention, Addendum I). He remained a reserve officer in the inter-war years, even after he returned to Ireland. He could have readily avoided returning to duty in 1939. He was then forty-five years old and living in a neutral country. He had a good job – he was manager of The Royal, Dublin’s premier theatre – but he immediately answered the recall. His return to service may not have been entirely a matter of contractual obligation. Through his employer and good friend, Louis Elliman, he had friendly contacts with the Jewish Community in Dublin and the anti-Semitism of the Nazis is likely to have appalled him. Perhaps, to quote the Irish poet Francis Ledwidge, a casualty of the First World War, he decided to join England’s fight ‘because she stood between Ireland and an enemy common to our civilisation’.9 McGrath was assigned to the Royal Engineers and embarked with the British Expeditionary Force to France. Like thousands of others, he was left behind after the Dunkirk evacuations. He fought on and was wounded before being forced to surrender. We can safely assume that McGrath proved to be a brave and resourceful officer during the retreat for he was awarded a field promotion to major.

The evacuation of British troops from Dunkirk in 1940 is lauded, not without cause, as a heroic event; a deliverance snatched from the jaws of defeat. Less well known is the plight of the forty thousand service personnel who didn’t board the boats. Those left behind fought on before surrendering, in many instances only when their ammunition and supplies were exhausted.10 They were force marched from France to Germany during which time they were given little food and had to forage from fields. Notwithstanding occasional rain showers, it was a hot summer and in some French towns the inhabitants left out buckets of water for the prisoners which the German guards regularly kicked away. They were forced to drink ditch water and most suffered from dysentery as a result. They slept in open fields, often in their wet clothes. Whips, truncheons and rifle butts were employed on stragglers. McGrath later claimed that he escaped with a number of others and he was at liberty for three days, but a face wound led to his being identified and he was recaptured.11 Through France, Belgium and Luxembourg the POWs trundled, until after two weeks, hungry, dirty and exhausted, they reached the German frontier town of Trier. There they were paraded through the streets as war trophies to be mocked and spat at, before being dispatched to various prisoner-of-war camps. About two hundred didn’t make it; those who couldn’t keep up or tried to escape were shot, including one of those who attempted to escape along with McGrath. This was an ominous start to what was to be five long years of captivity for thousands of British POWs. It was an experience unlikely to endear even nationalist Irishmen to their captors.

McGrath was first placed in an officers’ camp in Laufen, a town on the Bavarian side of the Austrian border near Salzburg. Conditions were difficult at first, but later improved. Officers were treated much more favourably than regular POWs. Under the Geneva Convention they could not be forced to work and were relatively free to mingle and organise their own activities. McGrath seems to have had a relatively benign existence for most of the eight months he spent there. He had access to a library, attended lectures and, with Red Cross parcels supplementing camp fare, he was reasonably well nourished.12 He couldn’t have viewed the prospect of a move to a special Irish camp with much enthusiasm. During interrogation he refused, on a number of occasions, to be persuaded to go there. Whatever the content of the information provided by the Germans, it would have been clear to him what they had in mind. When his superior officer in Laufen, Brigadier Nicholson, suggested that he volunteer to go there in order to find out what was going on, he was obliged to give the matter serious consideration. It is possible that a coded message was sent to Nicholson suggesting Irish-born officers consider volunteering for this mission, for there is evidence that other British officers with Irish backgrounds were asked by MI9 to pretend to the Germans that they were anti-British and to double-cross them.13 In any event, he sought the guidance of the most senior officer in captivity, the somewhat optimistically named General Victor Fortune, who had surrendered the remnants of his 51st Highland Division to Rommel after Dunkirk. Fortune is believed to have encouraged McGrath to take up the offer. The Irishman was also required to train some trusted men in the use of codes developed by the War Office that had been designed for intelligence purposes in letters posted home.14

McGrath agreed to take on the task and decided to self-promote himself from major to lieutenant colonel in the process.15 He told himself that this would increase his credibility within the ranks in Friesack, although it’s doubtful that this would greatly impress anyone, especially as he was still going to arrive in a major’s uniform. It should, however, have led to his pay being increased as, under the Geneva Convention, the imprisoning power was obliged to pay officers according to rank. In any event, he may have felt he deserved a promotion for his gallantry in France, and for the dangerous task he was about to undertake.

The Germans, following their victory in France, had begun a process of identifying and segregating some POWs along ethnic and national minority lines. Breton, Flemish and Irish were among those chosen for special attention. The Irish section of the Friesack Camp was initially intended to facilitate the recruitment of Irish POWs into an Irish Brigade as per Roger Casement’s efforts in the First World War. Sean Russell, the IRA Chief of Staff, proposed the idea to the Germans, but he died aboard a German U-boat before the scheme could be put into effect. The intention had been to land him in Ireland to coordinate German–IRA actions directed against Britain. The Germans had contingency plans to land an expeditionary force in Ireland, either in the event of a British re-entry into the Irish Free State, or as a prelude to a German invasion of Britain. In either case, they hoped an Irish Brigade, formed from Irish POWs, would fight alongside the Germans against the auld enemy. Following the failure of the Battle of Britain, the invasion plans were shelved and the task of the Irish camp in Friesack was downgraded to one of selecting and training a number of men deemed suitable for sabotage and espionage work.

The project came under the remit of Dr Edmund Veesenmayer, later to be directly complicit in Holocaust crimes, but at that time responsible for Irish matters, in particular liaison with the IRA. Hoven had been assigned by him to manage the Irish camp and he held the view that most Irishmen serving in the British forces had only joined because of economic necessity.16 His contacts with the IRA during his time in Ireland may well have coloured his view about the extent and depth of Irish Anglophobia. It is estimated that there were more than 100,000 Irish in British uniforms throughout the war and motives for enlisting varied greatly. For many, especially those who joined before the war, an inability to find gainful employment at home would have been a factor, but there was no necessary correlation between this and anti-British sentiment. The attitude of Irish recruits towards Britain was likely varied and nuanced, and, like many involuntary emigrants, resentment was as likely to be directed homeward.

The selection of ordinary POWs for Friesack had begun in late 1940. Some merchant seamen and civilians were also included in the selection process. Prisoners were promised improved conditions and offered the prospect of release from captivity should they cooperate. The process involved POWs being questioned about their reaction to a theoretical British invasion of the Irish Free State and how they felt about a united Ireland. The purpose was to gauge Irish nationalist and anti-British sentiment. Frank Ryan, a legendary Irish Republican, participated, albeit briefly and reluctantly, in the selection process at the request of the Abwehr. A charismatic figure, he had left the mainstream IRA for the left-leaning Republican Congress and later fought with the International Brigade in Spain. He had become friendly with both Clissmann and Hoven during their time in Ireland and they were instrumental in having him removed from a Spanish prison, where he faced execution. Clissmann, with whom he shared accommodation for a time,17 asked him to help verify claims of past IRA involvement by certain prisoners. Ryan, who was not introduced under his own name, withdrew from the process when one of the Irish servicemen recognised him.18 Presumably, he feared reports portraying him as collaborating with the Nazis. Francis Stuart, the Irish writer who had taken up an academic post in Berlin University just before the war – an arrangement facilitated by Clissmann – also participated in the vetting process.19 Unlike Ryan, Stuart had no qualms about being associated with Nazi propaganda, at least not at that time, for he later went on to make weekly broadcasts on a German propaganda radio station directed at Ireland.20

For some reason the selection process was slipshod and even chaotic. The Germans found the initial responses disappointing, so an adjudged absence of hostility to the possibility of German support for Ireland in the event of British occupation was deemed sufficient reason for selection. One decidedly hostile group was dispatched to Friesack in error following a mix-up of lists, and because the camp was a secret project they were kept there.21 At its peak, about 180 Irish prisoners were housed in Friesack. When one considers that there were likely to be close to 1,000 Irish-born servicemen in POW camps in 1940, this represented only a small percentage of the total. Of those sent to Friesack, only about a dozen volunteered for sabotage or radio training and, it seems for most of these, it was just a ruse to get home and, or, to enjoy the privileges on offer. Volunteers for training were provided with rented accommodation in Berlin, paid an allowance and permitted relative freedom of movement, an alluring prospect at a time when there were few air raids or food shortages in the German capital.

After McGrath settled in the camp he consulted with the senior NCOs present. One of them was a fellow ‘sapper’, Sergeant-Major Whelan from Cork, who was actively warning prisoners against having any dealings with the Germans.22 But McGrath decided on a different approach. He had learned that a number of prisoners had already volunteered to undergo training in radio communications and sabotage. This presented him with a dilemma; if he attempted to stop them, it would have exposed him and undermined his plans. His approach was to sanction their ‘collaboration’ provided they agreed that on landing in Ireland or Britain they would immediately report to the authorities and make no contact with the IRA. In clandestine briefings, he promised those he felt he could trust that ‘he would stand by all’ if ‘they were not influenced by the Germans to undertake anything behind my back’.23 Although most assured him of their support, McGrath wasn’t confident that all would comply with his instructions to double-cross the Germans. There were, in addition, three or four active collaborators and informers outside of his influence. These were hated by the vast majority of inmates and when McGrath publicly set his face against them it enhanced his credibility as SBO with the rest.

Among the prisoners spoken to by McGrath were ‘Sergeant’ Thomas Cushing; Lance Corporal Andrew Walsh and Private Patrick O’Brien all from Tipperary. All three had joined the British Army before the war and, after being placed in Friesack, volunteered for training by the Germans. All were considered at the time to have strong nationalist and anti-British sentiments. Cushing was the dominant personality among the three. A chaplain who spent some time in the camp considered him ‘too active a man to stand prison life’ and someone who would ‘do and say anything to get out of prison’. The priest, though, didn’t believe that he would, in the end, do anything to help the Germans.24 One of the Abwehr officers in the camp painted a more disparaging picture of Cushing during post-war interrogation, when he described him as a stool pigeon who had informed the Germans of McGrath’s predecessor’s escape plan.25 Although it’s not clear if McGrath knew of this, he had his suspicions about Cushing from an early stage. While it remains a matter for conjecture, it is unlikely that Cushing seriously contemplated working for the Germans. He felt little commitment to any cause, least of all that of his jailers, though he may have intended to make a final call depending on which side he perceived as offering the best opportunities for freedom and survival.

Cushing made the most of the freedom afforded him during his training in Berlin. He was less interested in sabotage techniques than the opportunity to indulge in his passion for drink. When captured in Normandy, he and a few colleagues were found to be inebriated, having earlier taken shelter in a well-stocked wine cellar. He was, as he later defined himself, a ‘soldier of fortune’26 and a feckless one at that. He claims to have been involved with the IRA during the Irish War of Independence and Civil War, but this is highly unlikely as he would have been only about ten years old in 1921.27 He was sent to live with a relative in America at the age of fifteen where he subsequently enlisted in the US Army. There, he was regularly in trouble for being drunk and brawling. Soon after his return to civilian life, he claims he enlisted in the Lincoln Brigade to fight on the Republican side during the Spanish Civil War.28 He liked to be known as ‘Red’ Cushing, but this was in reference to his hair colour, not his politics. In fact, he often boasted about his anti-Communism, something that would have placed him at some risk within the International Brigade. The problem with Cushing as a source is that he is entirely unreliable. Barry McLaughlin, who has researched Irish participation in the International Brigade during the Spanish Civil War, is doubtful that he was ever in Spain, or at least not on the Republican side.29 Although he spent his time in captivity known as ‘Sergeant Cushing’ he wasn’t a sergeant.30 In the chaos that was Friesack, he had convinced the Germans and his fellow prisoners that he held that rank, most likely to avoid manual work, as under the Geneva Convention NCOs were only required to do supervisory work. Although some in the Abwehr had confidence in him, at least one considered him to be ‘a rank opportunist, without backbone or moral fibre, a loud mouthed braggart with little courage or intelligence, whose reliability was highly doubtful’.31 He may well have been a braggart, but he was also clever, if irresponsible. The assignment for which Cushing was being trained would have had him transported to Central America on a mission to blow up a lock on the Panama Canal where he had been stationed during his service with the US Army. That the Abwehr could believe that Cushing would carry out such a dangerous and difficult mission for them, in a place where he could easily abscond, illustrates the irrationality that permeated the whole Friesack venture.

Cushing was, by all accounts, loquacious. To use an Irish expression, he had the gift of the gab, and he seems to have used this talent to charm women he met during his stay in Berlin. According to a fellow trainee ‘he led a wild sort of life in Berlin and seldom slept in his own room’.32 One of his alternative sleeping quarters was the lodgings of a former model. He sought permission from the Germans to marry her, but his request was refused.33 Whether he was lovestruck or just hoping to use her as a ticket to gain more freedom, it’s impossible to say, although, as he makes no mention of her subsequently, it’s safe to assume he was not inconsolable. It was likely through her that he became friendly with some German black-marketeers, an association that attracted the attention of the Gestapo. He also got into trouble for ‘getting drunk and singing Irish songs in a café’ where he offered ‘to fight all and sundry’.34 It’s not difficult to conceive how this might have occurred: the sight of a drunk, obstreperous, tall, red-haired ‘Britisher’ having a good time in the company of a German woman, was bound to provoke some Wehrmacht soldier on leave. These skirmishes may have troubled the Abwehr, but of greater concern was the fact that the Irishmen might be defying strict orders not to fraternise together, for the Germans didn’t want them disclosing their respective assignments to each other. In fact, Cushing was meeting regularly with Andy Walsh.

Lance Corporal Andy Walsh, a RAF aircraft fitter, had been considered by the Abwehr to have the most potential. He was described as tall and dark with ‘large, rather tragic brown eyes’.35 The Abwehr judged him to be intelligent and ‘a mature, determined and quiet person, who seemed to have genuine Irish nationalist feelings’, although, like Cushing, he had a fondness for drink. In fact, he was probably only semi-literate at best.36 Walsh was being trained by the Germans to blow-up a power station within the large aluminium works in Kinlochleven in Scotland where he had worked before the war. He was at an airport in Oslo, about to board a plane from which he was to be parachuted out over Scotland, when he was arrested. It was the day after he had met with Cushing in Berlin. Already under suspicion, Cushing was being followed and he and Walsh had been seen to be ‘behaving very furtively’ and exchanging notes.37 A report was filed the following day leading to a decision to arrest them both, by which time Walsh had left for Oslo. Walsh seemed to be the type of person everyone felt drawn to. The Germans, prior to his arrest, felt confident that he was on their side, while McGrath felt certain he could trust him to comply with his instructions to report his presence to the British authorities. In fact, Walsh was as unreliable as Cushing and, like his companion, he had been making up for lost drinking time in the bars of Berlin, befriending Germans involved in the black market and smuggling.

After their arrest, Cushing and Walsh were faced with a classic ‘prisoner’s dilemma’: whether to deny everything in the hope that the other would do the same, or accuse the other before being betrayed by him. Both chose the latter course, fiercely accusing each other of planning to double-cross the Germans, and implicating John McGrath into the bargain. Another Irish ‘trainee’ Private William Murphy was also arrested at this time.38 Their confessions were likely to have been extracted after fairly rough treatment by the Gestapo. Walsh later described being kept ‘in total darkness’ with very little food and being ‘beaten up and kicked’.39

The other Tipperary man, Patrick O’Brien, was also undergoing training in Berlin at that time. He was considered by the Abwehr to be of sub-normal intelligence although their judgement may have been influenced by his insolence towards them. Within Friesack he had played the role of an ‘irrepressible comedian’ according to one account. When Jupp Hoven would appear, O’Brien would usually greet him with: ‘Hello Joe, how’s the scheme going?’40 (Hoven was known to the inmates as Gestapo Joe.) If he was of below-average intelligence it might explain, but not excuse, a disturbing aspect of O’Brien’s persona. He was arrested by the criminal police for molesting a child living in his lodgings in Berlin.41 The Abwehr convinced the enraged parents to withdraw the charges, presumably to avoid any disclosures about the nature of his assignment.

Despite McGrath being fingered by Walsh and Cushing, no immediate action was taken against him and he remained at Friesack for another few months. Perhaps, the authorities felt they couldn’t believe anything Cushing and Walsh told them, but later they discovered more compelling evidence of McGrath’s attempts to undermine their project. This may have been the result of the inadvertent action of a good friend.

About a month after McGrath arrived in Friesack, he was joined by a young Irish priest. Hoven, dressed as a civilian, had earlier visited Rome seeking to have an Irish Catholic chaplain assigned to Friesack. He alleged that this was the wish of the camp inmates. In fact, no such request had come from the men and it seems the Germans hoped that a priest, ideally one with strong Irish nationalist or pro-German sentiments, might assist with their plans. A number of religious orders were contacted before Hoven had success with the Society of African Missions in Rome. The Superior agreed to one of his young priests, Thomas O’Shaughnessy, being seconded to Friesack for a six-month period with salary and costs being paid by the German government. O’Shaughnessy seems to have been selected because he was studying German at that time.42 Hoven may have assumed from this that the priest had pro-German sympathies, but, if so, he was again mistaken. O’Shaughnessy was not at all pleased with the arrangement. He suspected the motives of the Germans and feared he might end up as their captive rather than their employee. Although assured by Hoven that there was no military or political scheme afoot, he was not convinced. Before departing, he told his Superior that he would use a code in his letters to Rome. In the event of there being no problem, he would state that he was ‘studying German’, but if he found the camp was a ‘political racket’, he would write that he was ‘studying Italian’. In the latter event, he expected that he would be immediately ordered to return to Rome. While in Friesack, he wrote a number of times, repeatedly emphasising that he was ‘studying Italian’, but his Superior, who had apparently forgotten the conversation about the codes, was merely impressed with his young charge’s commitment to expanding his capability with languages.43

O’Shaughnessy, like McGrath earlier, was appalled at what he saw when he entered the camp. It seemed to him that the men were in rags: presumably their only clothing was the uniforms they had been wearing when captured. The men also viewed him with suspicion at first, some believing that he was an IRA agent disguised as a priest.44 McGrath was also cautious initially, although the two men were soon to become good friends and allies. Most of the prisoners worked outside the camp during the day, so the two of them spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. Together they successfully lobbied for the delivery of Red Cross parcels and achieved other improvements, which endeared them to the prisoners. It helped also that news spread about angry words being exchanged between the priest and a despised academic whose role was to propagate the virtues of National Socialism in lectures delivered to camp inmates.

McGrath took O’Shaughnessy into his confidence and they became allies in their secret endeavours to frustrate the Germans’ intentions. Both men tried to counter the ceaseless propaganda inflicted on the inmates. Apart from lectures, a loudspeaker system broadcast news of repeated German success on the battlefield. The invasion of the Soviet Union had begun shortly before O’Shaughnessy arrived, and each victory announcement was preceded by a trumpet fanfare.45 Tracts, believed to have been written by Lord Haw-Haw, were distributed. Although all this was a source of annoyance to the men, the seeming invincibility of the enemy was affecting morale. McGrath tried to convince the men that they would win in the end and to ignore their propaganda although, for a time, even he had his doubts.46 There were a number of escape attempts from Friesack which both McGrath and O’Shaughnessy were likely to have been privy to or have aided.47 These only led to short periods of freedom, but even this was seen as a victory of sorts over the ‘Boche’.

When the time came for O’Shaughnessy to return to Rome, McGrath prepared a five-page briefing document for British intelligence which the priest agreed to hide on his person. The document contained information about the camp and the names of persons being trained by the Germans. It seems McGrath was making certain that none of them would succeed in any sabotage operations. The document had an added importance for the Irish officer in that it would provide proof of his continued loyalty. O’Shaughnessy, at some risk to himself, smuggled the report to Rome. McGrath had asked that it be delivered to the British envoy to The Holy See, D’Arcy Osborne, but instead he met with the Irish Ambassador, Thomas Kiernan, and showed him, or perhaps just told him about, McGrath’s document. O’Shaughnessy soon travelled to Lisbon via Spain and managed to get on a flight to London where he briefed a British Intelligence agent about Friesack. He told him about the document in his possession which he intended to deliver to Irish officials when he reached Dublin. There he met with Joseph Walsh, the Secretary of the Department of External Affairs, and senior Irish Intelligence officers. He also met with the Taoiseach, Éamon de Valera, who seemed more interested about conditions in Lisbon than in hearing about Friesack.48

In Rome, information about the existence of the document had somehow become known to the Germans. The Irish Ambassador sent a coded message to Dublin containing information about O’Shaughnessy’s visit and McGrath’s report and it seems the Germans had broken the code.49 As a consequence, McGrath was arrested by order of the head of Abwehr II, Erwin von Lahousen.50 A search of his room seemed to provide evidence that he was gathering information on those being trained by the Abwehr, although McGrath insisted that all they found was a list of recipients of Red Cross parcels.51 He was handed over to the Gestapo in November 1942 for in-depth interrogation.52 He was stripped and his uniform, even his shoes, were ripped apart, presumably in the hope of finding documents or other incriminating items. When nothing was found, he was taken to Sachsenhausen and deposited in a cell in the camp’s prison. His future prospects were dim. His action in smuggling out details about Friesack would have been viewed by the Germans as espionage, for which the death penalty applied.

By this stage, any hopes the Abwehr had for the Irish camp were rapidly fading. Apart from the escape attempts, a riot had occurred in which loudspeakers were disabled and propaganda posters torn down and burnt.53 The Abwehr decided to abandon the project and the inmates were dispersed to other camps. Walsh, Cushing, Murphy and O’Brien were deemed to know too much and, after a period of Gestapo detention, they too were sent to Sachsenhausen, although to a different section than McGrath. His position was more serious. He was being accused of having espionage contacts outside Friesack54 and was threatened with execution unless he named them.55 He was, as he later said, ‘locked up in an ordinary prison cell, with not even the privileges of a convict. I was now under the S.S. for whom I have not a good word to say.’56

Beyond this terse statement, McGrath never recounted his experiences in the Sachsenhausen bunker. Judging by the experience of others, he would have been kept in solitary confinement and manacled to the wall or floor during the night. He would have been subjected to a process of ‘intensified interrogation’, kept in isolation and deprived of sleep.57 McGrath, although physically diminished, survived the ordeal. He may have been spared execution due to news of his presence in Friesack being made known to the British and Irish authorities thanks to Father O’Shaughnessy. The Germans were anxious to keep secret their executions of prisoners, not least a citizen of a country the Germans wished to remain neutral.

McGrath would have suffered most from being isolated. A naturally gregarious person, his only human contact was with his ever-present guards, but as he didn’t speak German he, unlike Payne Best, wouldn’t have been able to establish any meaningful communications with them. Payne Best and Stevens were in the same bunker at that time, although they were kept apart and he never met them there, although McGrath caught a glimpse of the former on one occasion. The Irishman continued to be deprived of all home contacts. His father had died in 1936, but he didn’t know if his mother was alive or dead. In fact she was alive, and writing to the war office expressing her concern about not hearing from her son for over a year. She died in October 1944 without ever knowing if her son was alive or dead.

John McGrath spent ten months in solitary confinement in the Sachsenhausen bunker before being taken to Dachau. The reputation of his new abode would have been known to him and he would have journeyed there with some trepidation. He was not to know it then, but his relocation was to result in some improvement in his conditions.

We will encounter McGrath again. In the meantime, we will focus on the misadventures of other military figures who were later to become his colleagues in the Prominenten. Among them, his former charges in Friesack – Cushing, Walsh, Murphy and O’Brien – who were located in a special section of Sachsenhausen, sharing accommodation with two notable Soviet prisoners.