The kommando at Schönebeck, also named ‘Julius’ after one of its Nazi officials, was situated about 100 miles north on the banks of the River Elbe, just south-east of the city of Magdeburg. Established in March 1943, the camp's main purpose was to provide semi-skilled labour for the adjacent Junkers aircraft works, producing parts for Ju88 bombers and new Heinkel He198 jets. A selection process at Buchenwald was supposed to identify those capable of handling precision tools, but unqualified workers often swapped uniforms with engineers who took the tests in their place, cheating their way onto the next transport. The reason for the deception was simple: it was known that the administration at Schönebeck considered it unproductive to work its prisoners to death and a transfer therefore offered better chances of survival. However, whilst professional tradesmen were a useful resource, their welfare was still a relatively minor concern. The SS were paid a daily rate of four Reichsmarks by Junkers for each qualified worker, but less than a twelfth of that was spent on each man's upkeep. Likewise, the mortality rate was kept low because those too ill to work or injured by factory machinery were sent back to Buchenwald if they did not recover within three weeks.
Unusually the camp was sited in the vicinity of the town, employing electrified wire fences and seven watchtowers to separate it from the poplar-lined Barbyer Strasse, the main road running through Schönebeck's eastern side. The compound was much smaller than Buchenwald and had only a kitchen, a small revier (infirmary), an administrative office, a food store, a parade ground and nine timber-framed blocks for accommodating its inmates, mostly Russians, Poles and French; the SS barracks stood on the other side of the perimeter. Since June a number of Luftwaffe personnel had also been posted to strengthen the guard, some adopting the methods of the SS with great enthusiasm.
The prisoners’ blocks followed the same design as at Buchenwald – a washroom and latrine by the entrance leading off to a dining area and office for the Blockältester and Stubendiensts (room orderlies), and a dormitory filled with wooden triple bunks, the mattresses being made of synthetic sack cloth and filled with straw or sawdust. Overcrowding was a problem, especially at weekends when prisoners were assembled together, and it was not unusual for two or three men to have to share a single bunk.
Peulevé and Hessel encountered no problems when entering the camp and were immediately placed with 300 French prisoners in Block 4. However, two days later Hessel was suddenly transferred to another branch of the Junkers works at Rottleberode, about 30 miles south near the town of Nordhausen. Although he was physically a good likeness of Michel Boitel, they had very different backgrounds: Boitel had been a machinist by profession, while Hessel had been a student. This seriously threatened the plausibility of his cover, as the skills of each new entrant were assessed before they were assigned to a relevant department, but he fortunately managed to convince one of the engineers to make use of his German and place him in an accountant position instead.
Peulevé had less luck with his employment, being given the job of pushing out stamped aluminium parts in the Presswerk, one of the three large factory halls within the camp grounds. Supervised by Kapos and Junkers foremen, teams of prisoners would be assigned to a day or night shift rota, alternating weekly: those on days (6.00 am to 6.00 pm) worked seventy-eight hours per week, while the night shift (6.00 pm to 6.00 am) was slightly shorter, at seventy-two hours. An appel, lasting anything from thirty minutes to several hours, was called before and after each shift, and also at 9.00 pm. Food, consisting of a litre of clear soup, bread, sausage or cheese and coffee was doled out in the blocks at different times according to the shift patterns. Aside from the physical demands and the tedium of this new regime, the rations compared unfavourably with Buchenwald and Peulevé started to visit a corner of the compound regularly to collect a few herbs to supplement his diet.
Although it could do no good, he found it impossible to bring himself to become a part of the German war machine: ‘To starve was to me unpleasant, but to make aeroplanes that were destined to make the last ditch for a lost cause against us was worse.’1 Any problems concerning the workers’ efficiency or discipline was usually reported by the Kapos to the guards or the Lagerältester; however, they were just as likely to deal with the matter personally, beating the culprits with the rubber truncheons they were issued with. Those that were brought before the Camp Elder, a communist and Francophobe named Walter Pidum, did not fare any better – his preferred form of punishment involved repeatedly jabbing at an offender's jaw with the heel of his hand until he was incapable of standing. The SS made a more public show of wrongdoers, standing them next to a low brick wall by the parade ground for hours on end with their arms outstretched or behind their heads, a practice referred to by the prisoners as ‘ faire le papillon’ (making the butterfly).
Despite these severe penalties many prisoners continued to resist, either by working as slowly as possible or producing defective components, and Peulevé soon followed the example of his French comrades, becoming ‘the most inefficient slave labourer they had’.2 Unfortunately the PresswerkKapo, nicknamed ‘the spectacled snake’3 by the inmates, was well known as being one of the most vigilant in the camp, and at the beginning of the new year Peulevé was transferred to a straf kommando (punishment detail) where life was much tougher. Often with only dandelion tea to sustain them in temperatures of minus 20 degrees centigrade, the kommando would be marched 14 kilometres south-east to cross the river at Barby and dig anti-tank traps against the expected Russian forces on the eastern banks of the Elbe. The effects of this brutal regime and the bitterly cold winter quickly began to wear down his reserves and he soon started to resemble the other pathetic figures that shuffled alongside him. Peulevé was aware that he was reaching his limit:
Under these miserable conditions, with my empty belly and no prospect of any news from Violet, I had many times felt that the chapter as far as I was concerned would have been better finished at the end of a rope. Constant beating by the SS, a freezing, misty and snowbound countryside, revolting and insufficient food, a moral plane at its lowest – my heart was, by this time, in my boots. Another few months and I could not have stood more. No hope, no relief from the disastrous monotony, and above all, no news of Violet.4
The thought of seeing Violette again was one of the few enduring reasons he had left to keep going, but any hopes for their reunion were about to be extinguished forever.
After spending ten days at Saarbrücken, Violette, Denise Bloch and Lilian Rolfe were transported to Ravensbrück, a concentration camp for women near Lake Fürstenberg in northern Germany. Responsible for more than 80,000 prisoners by the end of 1944, the SS worked many of them to death in numerous external sub-camps and kommandos, while those who were too ill to work were summarily hanged or killed in mobile gas chambers, or used as guinea pigs for medical experiments. Violette soon made contact with several women she had known in Fresnes, but after two weeks she, Bloch and Rolfe were transferred again, this time to Torgau, a small town on the Elbe about 80 miles south-east of Schönebeck.
The conditions here were better and like Peulevé they were put to work in an aircraft factory. Despite Denise's loss of hope and Lilian's physical weakness, Violette did her best to support the other two and managed to stay remarkably positive. As Torgau appeared to be relatively lightly guarded she also set her mind to finding a means of escape, and after a few days obtained a key for one of the doors on the perimeter. However, one of the inmates had informed the guards of Szabó's plans before she could act, and following a strike by some of the prisoners in October she and her compatriots were moved again, being sent to a derelict straflager at Königsberg on the River Oder. For the next three months they were put to work clearing trees and rocks for a new runway at the nearby airfield, having to contend with the effects of freezing winter temperatures and the sadistic behaviour of their guards. Violette still continued to seek a way out, but slowly the back-breaking work began to consume even her seemingly inexhaustible resolve.
By the beginning of 1945 the conditions at Königsberg had reduced all three to pitiful imitations of their former selves, still clad in the same clothes they were wearing when they had left Paris in August. Although Lilian had recently been admitted to hospital she, Denise and Violette were unexpectedly recalled to Ravensbrück on a special transport leaving early on the morning of 20 January; given the unusual privileges of soap and new clothes before their journey, they began to speculate that perhaps this was the end of their nightmare and they might now be heading for the safety of Switzerland or Sweden. Yet Violette's secret fears about the real nature of this transfer proved to be well founded, and upon arrival they were immediately isolated from the other prisoners and placed in the punishment block, being moved several days later to cells in the camp's bunker. As with the male agents at Buchenwald, the authorities in Berlin had been careful to eliminate SOE's agents before the Allies could liberate them, and decisions on the fates of these three women had already been passed on to Ravensbrück's Commandant, Fritz Sühren. According to the later testimony of the Camp Overseer, Obersturmführer Johann Schwarzhuber, Violette and her two crippled companions were led out one evening around 27 January, being taken to the crematorium yard where the orders for their executions were read out. Even the usually pitiless Sühren was impressed by their courage as, one by one, each of them was made to kneel in an alley where an SS NCO shot them in the back of the neck with a small-calibre pistol; the bodies were then cremated and their clothes burned, leaving no trace of their existence.
At his lowest ebb, Peulevé sought to channel his remaining psychological and physical reserves to focus on an escape plan, and concluded that the best opportunity lay in making a run for it when walking back to the camp. In order to free himself, he began to file away at the interior side of the bolt on his ankle shackle, covering the damage with dirt or soot to avoid his work being discovered by the guards’ cursory inspections. While those in the barracks amused themselves in the evenings with songs or games, Peulevé spent whatever time he could on this painstakingly slow and laborious task, and by the end of March had weakened the shackle enough to be able to break it if necessary. All he could do now was to wait for the right moment, but knew that he would have to act soon. At the beginning of the year a large pit had been dug behind the blocks for the supposed construction of a swimming pool, but many realized that the SS were preparing to liquidate their prisoners before they could be liberated.
On the evening of 11 April, Peulevé's work party was walking back to the camp when they saw flashes on the northern horizon, accompanied by the sound of artillery fire. Rumours about the advancing American forces had been rife amongst the prisoners for months, but the previous night's air raids had been particularly heavy and it seemed that this must be the sign for which they had waited so long. In fact it was the 2nd Armored Division of the US Ninth Army; dubbed ‘Hell on Wheels’, it had raced nearly 60 miles that day to reach the Elbe and secure a bridgehead at Magdeburg.
Deciding that this was his chance, Peulevé stopped for a moment to grab one half of his shackle, kicking at the other side as hard as he could. It snapped apart as planned and he immediately broke from the group towards a copse about 50 feet away, managing to put some distance between himself and the guards before they could let off their first shots. Fortunately their aim was poor in the fading light of dusk and by the time he made it to the far side of the trees he knew he was safe. Already demoralized by the thought of their imminent defeat his pursuers weren't interested in chasing after a single prisoner and he watched from his hiding place as they made a casual search of the area before heading back to join their party. Although anniversaries were the last thing on his mind, it was exactly two years since he had made his escape from Jaraba in Spain.
The day had been equally eventful for those back in the camp. Anticipating the imminent arrival of American forces, the prisoners became so restless that the SS were forced to confine them to their blocks until further notice. At 1.00 pm the usual appel was called, but many inmates refused to line up and swarmed around the perimeter, while others took advantage of the ensuing commotion, secreting themselves underneath the floors of the blocks. Resorting to the use of dogs, truncheons and rifle butts to restore order, the Camp Commandant formed the 1,546 prisoners into three groups, which were slowly herded through the gates towards Barby. Aided by members of the local Volkssturm (Nazi militia, composed of men ineligible for military service) and boys from the Hitler Youth, the SS garrison attempted to control the evacuation but were powerless to stop small groups of Poles, Russians and French taking flight along the way. By the evening the situation had become completely chaotic, as retreating Wehrmacht forces clogged the bridges over the Elbe and increasing numbers of prisoners took advantage of the confusion, disappearing into the darkness. Allied aircraft bombed and strafed the procession as it made its way over Barby's railway crossing, but around 1,100 men made it to the other side, stopping near Lindau in the early hours of 12 April.
Over the coming days the remainder of the Schönebeck kommando would be pushed east through the towns of Loburg, Belzig and Beelitz before turning north, passing the outskirts of Potsdam and Berlin. The intention was to stop at Sachsenhausen concentration camp at Oranienburg, but it too had been forced to evacuate as Soviet forces were rapidly closing in on the capital. Joining more than 30,000 other camp refugees walking on towards Wittstock, this ragged group watched the roadsides become littered with the bodies of those too exhausted to carry on, many being casually shot in the back of the neck and left to rot in ditches; with provisions exhausted, those not overcome by dysentery were also reduced to foraging for food, eating grass, slugs, corn grains and whatever else they could find along the way. After enduring a march of twenty-three days and 300 miles, the 470 or so survivors of Schönebeck would be abandoned at Friedrichmoor, about 10 miles west of the Mecklenburg town of Parchim on 4 May, many of their captors changing into civilian clothing and fleeing before the arrival of the Allies.
Although Peulevé had successfully escaped, he still had to find a way to the American lines. Waiting until he was sure that the work party had moved on, he began walking across the snow-covered fields towards the illuminated skies over what he thought must be Magdeburg. As night fell the temperature began to plummet and although he continued trudging north in the darkness he appeared to be making little progress towards his objective. For the next two days and nights he stubbornly pushed himself on in the direction of the fighting, now relying purely on his determination to survive and find out what fate had befallen Violette. However, even Peulevé's strength of character would only carry him so far, and by the evening of the 13 April he realized that if he did not find food and shelter he would soon be dead.
As it began to get dark he stumbled onto a railway line, which eventually led him towards a small village. Although he desperately wanted to reach it, the Americans were subjecting it to heavy fire, forcing him to take refuge in a wood on the other side of the track. Frustrated and completely exhausted, Peulevé came across a deserted anti-aircraft post, inside which he found a pullover and trousers to wear over his striped camp uniform, and an old pair of boots to replace his sabots. When he awoke the next morning he realized that the Americans had cleared the area and were crossing the railway line, moving east; however, as Peulevé attempted to leave the wood ‘some misguided bastard’5 opened up on him with a volley of machine-gun fire, and he threw himself into a ditch to avoid being hit. Crawling back to the anti-aircraft post, he would have to wait for the remaining Americans to move out before he could enter the village.
Even though he could do little about his immediate situation, he began to feel that at least the worst was over – sooner or later he would be able to carry on and surrender himself at Magdeburg or one of the nearby towns. Unfortunately this complacency proved to be ill-founded. Later that morning he spotted two figures in dark clothing walking down the railway track in his direction and as they came nearer he realized to his horror that both were wearing SS uniforms. It was too late to run even if he had possessed enough energy to do so and for a moment it seemed that they might pass by, but his heart sank as one of them began walking straight towards him, beckoning to his partner to follow.
The officers that confronted him were middle-aged and grey-haired; nevertheless, they were both carrying holsters on their belts. Unsure what to make of the pathetic figure before them, one of them enquired, ‘Good day, who are you?’6 Playing his last card, Peulevé told them that he was a Frenchman who had volunteered for work in Germany and had changed into a camp uniform when the Americans had arrived in the area to avoid being taken as a collaborator. They appeared to buy his story and told him that they were Rexists, Belgian fascists who served under a special Waffen-SS section led by Nazi sympathizer Léon Degrelle. Having avoided suspicion as an escaper, Peulevé now had an opportunity to take the initiative. Telling them that the Americans had surrounded the wood, he suggested that they should change into civilian clothes as he had done, as they would most likely be shot if captured in SS uniforms. They agreed, and began to undress:
My intention was to get them to remove their belts with their guns which I would then seize and march them out of the wood towards that machine-gunner who was keeping me from my Allied friends, a good meal and news of Violet. Convinced by my argument, the two men dropped their belts. I seized their arms immediately and ordered them to put their hands up. I felt like a heel, but I had to get back, so I ordered them to march out of the wood in front of me.7
As Peulevé prepared to leave the post with his two prisoners, he told them to empty their pockets so that he could hand in their papers to the Americans. Whilst going through their belongings he found a set of pictures taken of women in concentration camps:
These postcards were typical of the sort of sadistic dirt that one would expect to find amongst their type of men. But, to my amazement and horror, of the twelve naked women who were being made to jump through the snow by brawny and blowsy concentration camp SS guards, one of them was Vi.
Keeping one gun on them, I gripped one of their leather belts with my last remaining strength. The photos I had taken from the wallet had dropped in the snow. I trod on them as I lashed out at their faces with the buckle of the belt. In the middle of this fury I suddenly realised what had happened to Vi. There would be no answer when I got back. I felt like killing them both and then crawling out of the wood and being shot down by the American machine-gunner. But I couldn't stand their moaning for mercy. When the blood of one who was on his knees dripped over the snow and on to the photographs, I thought ‘No, I'm not the judge’, and I told them to get up with their hands above their heads and march out of the wood.8
It should be noted firstly that there is no evidence that Szabó was photographed for such material, though it is known that similar pictures to those described were produced and circulated; nor is there any record of this incident in any SOE report on Szabó's incarceration or death. Moreover, by Peulevé's own admission he had not eaten at all for three days (or eaten properly for over six months), was under enormous strain and had become near-obsessed with the idea of seeing Violette again. His physical and psychological state at this time must therefore raise the possibility that he saw another woman who resembled her, though we will never know for sure, as he chose to leave the picture behind in the snow.
The weary, battle-hardened soldiers of the 83rd US Infantry Division might have imagined that they had seen everything in their long struggle since landing on the beaches of Normandy nearly a year before, but even they were perplexed by the sight of Peulevé's ghostly figure emerging from the wood, ordering his two reluctant SS prisoners forward. After explaining his story, the Americans sent a telegram to the British seeking verification on some of the details that Peulevé had given as proof of his identity, such as Gielgud's interview at Room 055 and the training schools at Wanborough Manor and Meoble Lodge. The message passed through Section V (a department of MI 6 responsible for counter-intelligence) and then to SOE, who soon confirmed that he was theirs and arranged for Peulevé to be transported by air under the care of Captain Josendale of OSS (Office of Strategic Services, SOE's American counterpart) to 21st Army Group, where he reported to Major Sainsbury of 3 Special Force Detachment. Sainsbury's job would be to interrogate him over the next two days on his time in Buchenwald and the fates of those he had known in Block 17.
Apart from a rumour about Yeo-Thomas having been sent to a kommando at Jena and Hessel ending up in Dora, Peulevé had heard little during his time at Schönebeck, but Sainsbury informed London that he could still offer a lot of other relevant information and that his memory had not been impaired by his maltreatment; Peulevé was also able to tag on a short message to his family: ‘Request inform parents… that quote I am alive and well and returning in very short time unquote.’9 SOE's Chief Liaison Officer Robin Brook visited Buchenwald some days later in a further effort to try and trace Yeo-Thomas’ movements, but there was little to go on. Like everyone visiting the newly liberated camp he could not believe what he was witnessing, repulsed by the stench and the ‘matchstick people and their waif-like ghoulish appearances’.10
Though Brook's enquiries were mostly fruitless, Yeo-Thomas and Hessel were also still alive and would eventually make their way to the Allied lines. Having left Buchenwald on 9 November, Yeo-Thomas had been sent to a sub-camp at Gleina and assigned to the hospital as an orderly. In mid-April he was evacuated towards Czechoslovakia, but managed to escape from the train with several other prisoners; recaptured some days afterwards he was placed in a French POW camp only to escape again, walking through a mine-field with two of his comrades to reach the American lines in early May. After an unsuccessful breakout from Rottleberode in February, Hessel had been sent to Mittelbau-Dora, an underground complex carved out of Kohnstein mountain near Nordhausen; responsible for the production of V-1 and V-2rockets, it had an appalling death rate and was one of the worst destinations for any prisoner. On 5 April, he was evacuated and put on a train for Belsen, but escaped through a hole in the floor of the carriage and made his way to Hanover, where he was picked up by the Americans a week later.
Of the original group of thirty-seven, only three others had survived: Culioli, Southgate and Guillot (Kogon, Baumeister, Dietzsch and Balachowsky were also all liberated). Culioli and Guillot escaped while being transferred to separate kommandos, whilst Southgate evaded execution by taking jobs in the hospital and tailor's shop, before hiding in the Little Camp with Burney and the Newton brothers for several nerve-wracking days until the Americans finally arrived on 11 April. However, the SS were successful in tracking down the last remaining agent on their list – having survived more than a year in Buchenwald, Maurice Pertschuk was hanged just two weeks before the camp's liberation, on 29 March.
Concluding his interviews with Major Sainsbury, plans were made to transport Peulevé back to the UK and he landed at Croydon airport on the morning of 18 April. After being welcomed back by Buckmaster and Atkins he was driven off to one of F Section's safe houses in South Kensington; they had known what to expect on his arrival, having already undergone the shock of meeting the first four ‘walking scarecrows’11 – Burney, Southgate and the Newton brothers – who had flown back two days earlier. Peulevé sent a telegram to his parents: ‘Extremely glad to be back home again and longing to see you unfortunately unable come on leave so have booked room for you both at South Kensington Hotel from tomorrow night stop.’12
His family, having believed him to be dead for months, were naturally anxious about their reunion and arrived at the hotel, just off Queen's Gate, as arranged. However, they could never have prepared themselves adequately to meet the shadow of the person they had remembered and were inevitably shaken, though Annette noticed that he still managed to make an effort at social pleasantries: ‘His head was shaven. He was emaciated, his hands were skeletal, yet he could admire my hat.’13 His consideration for others had not been diminished by his experiences, either. Apologizing to his parents, he said that he had already made plans for them to dine with the Newtons, who had no family to greet them.
F Section had already discussed the issue of its returning agents and it had been agreed that once they had recovered enough to talk about their experiences, interrogations should be pursued with some urgency. Information about those who had been captured was often vague and came from unreliable sources, their true fates having been purposely obscured by the Nazi policy of Nacht und Nebel (Night and Fog), a directive issued in December 1941 by Hitler's Chief of Staff, Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel. This order sought to erase all trace of political prisoners, resistance fighters and other enemies of the Reich by secretly deporting them to camps in Germany, where the SS could reduce their identities to a number and ignore any international conventions or treaties regarding human rights. The chaos that ensued as tens of thousands of these ‘NN’ prisoners were liberated meant that gathering intelligence was essential, though based on their initial findings Buckmaster and Atkins were pessimistic, estimating that perhaps only thirty of the 118 missing F Section agents might now be found.14
Peulevé's first report was made on 23 April, though Atkins had warned her superiors not to expect too much, as all five men were finding it impossible to concentrate sufficiently to withstand a full interrogation; the Newton brothers gave a joint submission. Peulevé also gave an interview for the News Chronicle, which was published a few days later. Though SOE was unknown to the public, this Buchenwald story was released just as the first shocking footage from the camp was beginning to appear in cinemas throughout the country. The front-page article, entitled ‘Most Fantastic Escape’, noted ‘his quiet unemotional voice, as though he were describing an ordinary everyday occurrence’,15 and included details on his time in both camps, but did not refer to the names of other agents involved. Afterwards Peulevé went to Suffolk to see his family, during which time he began to dictate some of his story to his mother.
Though his physical state was slowly improving, it was arranged for him to report to a hospital in Birmingham for psychiatric evaluation. There is unfortunately no record of its assessment, though his mother described him as ‘a very broken young man’16 at this time, and there is no doubt that his ordeals had left him psychologically battered. Not only had he endured over a year of incarceration, interrogation, torture and dehumanizing treatment of all kinds, but also now believed that Violette, who he had been determined to see again, would never return.17 There was no question that Peulevé had finally wiped the slate clean and proved himself a man of honour, but it had cost him dearly. The effects of these experiences had taken a huge toll on him, and would continue to do so for the rest of his life.
Yeo-Thomas, who had only been in England a few weeks and was only just beginning to recover, had been swift to pass his own report on Peulevé's conduct to Buckmaster. The strong impression that he had left on Yeo-Thomas had clearly motivated this short tribute, though it is also telling of Yeo-Thomas’ own character that he made the effort to submit it:
During my captivity in Buchenwald I selected the above-named officer as my second-in-command, and found him invaluable. He displayed the greatest courage under conditions of almost incredible strain, and I have the greatest respect and admiration for his qualities and ability. I feel that it is only my duty to place this appreciation on record.18
Returning to London towards the end of May, Peulevé was unexpectedly confronted with a report found by the Resistance in the Gestapo archives at Limoges. Dated 23 July 1944, it was apparently a detailed summary of his interrogation, suggesting that he gave information on a number of maquis leaders as well as Hiller, Watney, Poirier and several of AUTHOR's helpers. His response on 28 May contained nothing to contradict his previous assertion that he had remained silent. Whilst he had fed the SD some blown addresses and other unimportant details, he concluded that the rest of the data must have been collated from a mixture of other interrogated sources (which may have included Delsanti, Bertheau or Roland Malraux), and the contents of the telegrams captured with him. The Gestapo report concluded by stating that Peulevé had been shot in June 1944 in reprisals for recent Allied bombing raids, which prompted him to offered the sardonic remark, ‘I have evidence to show that as far as I am concerned this is definitely incorrect.’19 He took some more leave from the first week of June, though he returned briefly to submit a more detailed report later that month.
Since his arrival in London Peulevé had been eager to find out what had happened to his AUTHOR network and although French restrictions made it impossible for him to return to Brive, he gathered whatever information he could on those he'd left behind. Having taken command of the DIGGER circuit just weeks before D-Day, Poirier and his team had successfully harried the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich as it made its way north from its headquarters in Montauban to meet the Allied forces in Normandy. Numerous raids by the AS maquis groups of Vaujour and Guédin delayed Das Reich's journey to the front for several days, though some vicious reprisals were carried out, most notably the hanging of ninety-nine civilian hostages along the streets of Tulle20 and the massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane near Limoges, in which more than 600 civilians were killed, including 400 women and children who were burned to death in the village church. On 14 July, a massive supply drop named ‘Operation Cadillac’ delivered thousands of containers to the Corrèze and Lot, and its effect on the morale of Colonel Heinrich Böhmer's Brive garrison enabled DIGGER and the maquis to force its surrender. On the evening of 15 August 1944, the terms were finally agreed and Brive-la-Gaillarde became the first town in France to be liberated by the Resistance. Though he had not been there to see it, Peulevé now knew that his efforts had not been in vain. Having kept up the pretence of being a British officer for the past six months, the now legendary ‘Captain Jack’ was at last able to reveal his true identity to his compatriots, and in July 1945 the services of Major Jacques Poirier were officially recognized with the award of the Distinguished Service Order.
After their arrival in January 1944, Hiller and Watney's FOOTMAN network had quickly found the Groupes Vény to be virtually non-existent, finding ‘no arms whatever, no organisation worth speaking of, and, worst of all, neither drive nor offensive spirit’,21 and had to painstakingly build up support from scratch. By D-Day they had managed to arm 600 men in the Lot and a similar number in neighbouring Lot-et-Garonne, though their efforts were dogged by infighting between the FTP, FFI and Vény. On 22 July, Hiller was seriously wounded when he and André Malraux unexpectedly ran into a German roadblock at Gramat, and he was flown back to England a few days later, leaving Watney in charge.
Circuits FIREMAN and GARDENER had been sent in March to help Vény's groups in Limoges and Marseille, but they also encountered similar problems. GARDENER's experienced organizer Major Robert Boiteux (Firmin) had been told that he would find 3,000 men in Vény's groups in Marseille and a maquis of 300 in Nice – on landing he scraped together a total of fourteen. Likewise, FIREMAN's Mauritian leader Major Percy Mayer (Barthélemy) and his brother Edward (Maurice) were dismayed to find nothing more than a ‘flimsy affair’22 on the ground, though both circuits went on to establish contact with other groups and carried out a number of successful actions in July and August.
Many of Peulevé's colleagues lived to see France liberated. André Malraux, having become ‘Colonel Berger’ the FFI commander, had been captured in the same incident that had left Hiller wounded, but was released in August; Poulou and Georgette Lachaud, Jean and Marie Verlhac, Jean Melon and Maurice Arnouil also survived, despite having to leave their homes after Gestapo raids. However, there were three notable casualties. After being separated from Peulevé, Roland Malraux and Louis Delsanti were moved to Compiègne before being deported to Neuengamme concentration camp; evacuated with thousands of others in the final days of the war and crammed onto the Cap Arcona in the Bay of Lübeck, they were amongst more than 7,000 killed after the RAF attacked it and two other ships on 3 May 1945. Louis Bertheau had also been deported to Germany, being placed in Sandbostel camp near Bremen, and died in hospital from typhus on 26 April, several days after its liberation. Adrien Dufour, the milicien responsible for denouncing them, was later arrested and sentenced by a Limoges court to twenty years’ hard labour for his actions.23
Having begun the process of winding down in late 1944, SOE was now largely preoccupied with disbanding itself, though some in F Section still felt a duty to do whatever it could for its returning agents and tried to find jobs to help them return to civilian life (agents did not receive ‘danger money’ for their missions and although they were exempt from income tax, their rate of pay was equal to that of regular officers). As a means of retaining them on the army payroll many were sent to work for the Control Commission for Germany, responsible for the post-war administration of the country, and at the beginning of August, Peulevé was to take a lowkey staff officer post with the public relations branch of the films section. Like other agents who had been reduced to nervous wrecks by their experiences, Peulevé was posted to the Commission in the hope that he could pass the time out of the way, quietly doing his job until he was released from service. But it was still too early – the veneer of normality was clearly too much to bear and by early October he was evacuated by air back to England on sick leave.
Returning to hospital where he was expected to spend several weeks, Peulevé dropped in to see Buckmaster to submit a statement for Ding-Schuler's defence, feeling that ‘he undoubtedly owes his life to Dr Ding’,24 though Buckmaster suggested that this could be sorted out when he was in a less agitated frame of mind. It is again reflective of Peulevé's selflessness that even in his mental agonies he was still thinking of the welfare of others, especially when considering that Ding-Schuler's interests in saving Allied agents had been born out of personal gain rather than altruism. However, his testimony would now be useless as the trial had been abandoned – having been picked up by the Americans in April, Ding-Schuler had managed to commit suicide in his cell at Freising on 11 August.
Peulevé had already submitted information on Dietzsch, in which he had made it clear that his administering of lethal injections was only done under the orders of the SS. He went on to declare that:
He was certainly instrumental in saving my life, and showed, to my mind, considerable courage in suggesting to the SS doctor Von Schuler [sic], that he also should co-operate. At this time, Dietzsch did not know that Schuler was willing to do so, and had he not been, Dietzsch would certainly have got himself into very hot water.25
Dietzsch would eventually be tried at the US war crimes trials held at Dachau in 1947; found guilty of collaboration with the camp authorities in the maltreatment of those in Block 46, he was sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment but was released early, in 1950. In total twenty-two of the thirty-one Buchenwald defendants were given the death penalty, including Hermann Pister, Buchenwald's last Commandant, and Friedrich Wilhelm, the man who had been sent to murder Peulevé in Block 46. Both were hanged in 1948.