My Escape from Donington Hall

Gunther Plüschow

• Publisher: Pen & Sword Military
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781473827059
• eBook ISBN: 9781473855267
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Military Biographies
• Index: History

It was an escape from a PoW camp as daring and fraught with danger as any immortalised by Hollywood. Yet the story is less familiar than most as it concerns the only German prisoner of war to escape from captivity in mainland Britain and make it home during either World War.After being caught in Gibraltar during an earlier attempt to return to his homeland, Pluschow and other captured Germans were shipped to Plymouth and then on to the PoW camp at Donington Hall, where he arrived in May 1915.On July 4 he and fellow prisoner Oskar Trefftz broke out by climbing over two 9ft barbed wire fences, before changing clothes and walking 15 miles to Derby where they caught a train to London.By the next morning the men's escape was featured in the Daily Sketch newspaper with both names and descriptions of the pair. They went their separate ways but Trefftz was recaptured at Millwall Docks. Realising he had to alter his appearance, Pluschow removed his smart tie and handed his coat in at the cloakroom at Blackfriars station. The German then used scraped-up coal dust, boot polish and Vaseline to change his fair hair to greasy black and covered himself in soot to make him appear as a dock worker. Pluschow then stowed away on a Dutch steamer ship at Tilbury docks, talked his way past a policeman in Holland before travelling to Germany by train. Upon his return home he received a hero's welcome and was presented with the Iron Cross First Class.This extraordinary story is told in Gunther's own words for the first time in English.

Chapter One

The Joys and Sorrows of a Flying-Man

It was in the month of August of the year 1913 when I arrived in my native town, Schwerin. I had stayed several weeks in England, where I had devoted days to the visit of museums and the beautiful art collections, as well as to excursions in the vicinity of the capital. At that time I did not foresee how useful the latter would prove to me two years hence.

During the whole journey I was labouring under an inner excitement and disquiet which I could not throw off, and when I arrived in Schwerin one question only burned on my lips, and yet I did not dare put it to my uncle who fetched me from the station. For the new Naval List of autumn promotions and appointments might be issued any day, and I was on the tiptoe of expectation as to whether the wish I had cherished for years was at last to be gratified.

My uncle’s question: “Do you know where they’ve put you?” gave me an electric shock.

“No.”

“Well, then, hearty congratulations – Naval Flying Corps!”

I was so overjoyed that I would like to have turned a somersault in the middle of the street, but I refrained from fear of upsetting my fellow-citizens.

So I had got my wish after all!

The last days of my leave passed in a flash, and I gaily returned to the Naval College in order to complete my course of a year and a half as Inspecting Officer; but I never packed my trunks with greater pleasure than when bound for my new destination.

Just a few days before my departure one of my brother officers called out to me: “I say, have you heard the latest news where you’re off to?”

“Yes; Flying Corps.”

“Good Lord, man! You don’t know your own luck – why, you’re off to Kiao-Chow.”

I was speechless, and probably looked as stupid as I felt.

“Yes; Kiao-Chow! And in the Flying Corps! You lucky devil – to be the First Naval Flying Officer at Kiao-Chow!”

It is hardly surprising that I refused to believe this until I received the official confirmation. But it was true. I had tremendous luck!

I had to wait three months longer at Kiel; but at last, on the 1st of January 1914, I found myself in my beloved Berlin. But there was no holding me; I was at Johannisthal on the 2nd of January already, and thought I could start flying on the spot. My experience, however, was that of the majority of flying-pupils. I learnt for the first time the time – honoured principle of flight: “Keep cool; who wants to fly must above all things learn to wait.”

Wait, wait, and once more wait. Eighty per cent of the science of flying consists in waiting and holding oneself in readiness.

Winter had come and covered the aerodrome with a deep, white carpet, making flying impossible. For weeks every morning I had the hope that the snow would melt at last, and every afternoon I returned home disappointed.

In February at last the weather changed. On the 1st of February I sat happily in my Taube, and for the first time rose into the glorious clear winter air. It was beautiful now; and every day our schooling progressed.

Flying suited me, and I grasped it quickly. And I was very proud that on the third day I was allowed to fly alone. Two days later, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, my untiring instructor, Werner Wieting, asked me whether I would not care to create a nice little record by passing my examination as pilot. I enthusiastically agreed.

Ten minutes later I sat in my machine, circling gaily in the prescribed curves. It was a real joy to keep going in the lovely winter air. And when I achieved a perfect landing, which concluded my examination, and my teacher proudly shook me by the hand and congratulated me, I felt extremely happy and filled with a sensation of inner satisfaction.

At last I was a pilot. The school-stage was over, and from now onwards I could fly daily on one of the big 100 h.p. machines.

One particular undertaking was to be the source of much pleasure to me. Rumpler had just completed a monoplane which was specially designed for climbing. It now became our aim to achieve a high-altitude flight record. The famous pilot, Linnekogel, was to fly the machine, and he asked me to accompany him as observer. It was only natural that I accepted with delight.

On one of the last days in February we started on our first trial trip. Warmly wrapped up against the severe cold, we sat in our machine, and many eyes followed us with envy as our bird rose in the air with the lightness of a dragon-fly. Watch in hand, I noted the altitude, and after fifteen minutes we had already reached 2000 metres, which at that time was considered an extraordinarily good performance. But after that we only progressed slowly. The atmosphere became bumpy, and we were flung about like feathers by violent eddies or bumps. After an hour we had at last reached 4000 metres, when with a popping and spluttering noise the motor began to run irregularly, and stopped altogether after a few seconds. We now descended in spirals towards the earth, and some minutes later the machine stood unharmed on the flying-ground.

The cold had been too great, and the motor was simply frozen – a circumstance which nobody had foreseen. New improvements were promptly added. After a few days we started again on the same adventure, but this time better luck seemed in store for us. We climbed steadily and securely 4000 metres, 4200, 4500 metres. Thank God, our last record was broken! The cold was well-nigh unbearable, and I am convinced that the thickest hide would have been no protection against it.

4800, 4900 metres! 400 more and our object was attained. But the machine seemed bewitched, and refused to climb another metre! All our attempts to induce an extra effort failed. We were running short of petrol, and the engine gave out completely this time.

An altitude of 4900 metres! We landed, without a single drop of petrol, nearly frozen to ice. We had not achieved all we had set out to do; however, it was a good result. We had won, and won brilliantly, the German high-altitude record.

But success made us ambitious. At the beginning of March weather conditions again improved sufficiently to allow us to try our luck once more. More warmly clad than last time, and fitted out with thermometers, though without an oxygen apparatus, we started on our third attempt.

We reached the first altitude with ease. The sky was covered with huge clouds, the air icy. When we rose through the bank of clouds into the glorious sunshine we had a beautiful experience. We suddenly saw a radiantly shining Zeppelin, which was likewise attempting a flight at high altitude.

What a marvellous meeting – 3000 metres up in the air! Far away from toiling humanity, high up above daily strife and pain, the two birds of the air – striking evidence of Germany’s strength and enterprise – saluted each other.

We flew several times round our big brother, and waved our hand to him in friendly greeting.

But after that we had to apply ourselves seriously to our task and work strenuously in order to attain our objective. After an hour we had gained an altitude of 4800 metres, after that 4900, my barograph soon showed 5000, and the propeller hummed its monotonous melody. Linnekogel veered quietly and methodically. The thermometer rose to 37 degrees Celsius; but we paid no attention to the cold. Only the air became rarefied. A slight sensation of drowsiness came over me, and my lungs only functioned in quick, short gasps. Every movement became irksome. Even to turn round towards the pilot who sat behind me seemed a huge effort.

The sky had cleared and looked glorious. The cloud-banks had vanished, and we could distinguish our capital lying far below us in the blue distance like a black spot, on which, however, we could still note the straight line of the Charlottenburger Chaussee, culminating in the thoroughfare Unter den Linden.

I was so carried away by this view that for some time I paid no attention to either watch or barograph. But I suddenly realized my omission with a start. Twenty minutes had passed since I had registered my barograph at 5000 metres, and by now we should have beaten our record. But I was terribly disappointed to see that the needle still indicated 5000. At the same time, Linnekogel began signalling to me to look for the aerodrome, pointing downwards with his hand. That was too bad. I turned away disgustedly, and, when Linnekogel failed to notice it, I kicked his shin with none too much gentleness. I likewise spread out my five fingers and pointed upwards. This meant: Higher, higher! We have only got to 5000 metres!

Linnekogel only laughed. He gripped my hand, shook it hard, and opened and shut the five fingers of his right hand twice. I really thought he had gone dotty. And what confirmed me in my opinion was that Linnekogel throttled the engine. We were just above Potsdam, and glided towards the aerodrome of Johannisthal. It was now my job to find the landing-place. And sixteen minutes later we stood safe and sound before the Rumpler-hangars, joyfully acclaimed by crowds of spectators.

We had done it! The world’s record was broken with 5500 metres.

The flight had only lasted an hour and three quarters in all. We stood proudly amongst our less fortunate fellow-mortals who had remained on terra firma. Linnekogel was right. My barograph had frozen, whilst his – better protected – resisted the high temperature.

The days passed, and the time came when I had to leave my country.

My Taube, which had been specially constructed for Kiao-Chow, neared its completion, and with a curious feeling I took it out on its trial flight, after it had fulfilled the requisite conditions for acceptance. I was conscious that it was the most beautiful flying-machine in the world.

But my ambition was not yet realized. It seemed imperative that before I left for the Far East I should carry out an important overland flight in Germany.

I was lucky. My request met with ready response from Herr Rumpler, and he kindly allowed me the use of one of his aeroplanes for a several days’ flight over Germany. I quickly passed my examination as field-pilot, and at the end of March, one fine morning at 7 a.m., I sat in my well-equipped Taube, and in the seat in front of me, tall and slim, my good friend Oberleutnant Strehle of the War Academy as observer.

It was the first time he had ever been in an aeroplane. But I think he will never forget his first flight as long as he lives.

We started brilliantly. And proudly I took off, until having reached an altitude of 500 metres I proceeded in a northerly direction. Everything went well. We passed over the Havel lakes, sighted Nauen; but suddenly the atmosphere became thick and murky and our bad luck set in. We were wrapped in a thick fog and could see nothing of the ground. For the first overland flight of my young life it was a tall order. But, with the fine confidence of the novice, I consoled myself with the thought that courage was-everything – even if things couldn’t help getting worse! And I flew calmly into the thick fog, directing myself by my compass towards the north, as our objective was Hamburg. After, two hours we could make out the ground again at a distance of 300 metres below us, and who can describe our joy on espying a beautiful, large, ploughed field! I glided down gently, just as though it were an aerodrome, and landed safe and sound in the middle of the field. People came running from all sides, and my joy was great when I learned that we were on good Mecklenburg soil, and exactly where, according to my own and my observer’s calculations, we had expected to find ourselves. It was a holiday, and we afforded the villagers a free entertainment.

As soon as it cleared up, we decided to depart. But the soft soil held the wheels fast, and it was impossible to rise. With shrieks of merriment, and many a rough jest which we had to accept, the willing spectators trundled the giant bird over the field.

After we had cut down a few trees, we had to negotiate a ditch and another field. Though we now intended to depart, we were only allowed to do so after partaking of most excellent coffee and pound-cake.

After a mighty hand shaking all round, and shouting themselves hoarse with endless “Hurrahs”, with much waving of handkerchiefs, we started off on a northerly course.

But our joy was short-lived, for fifteen minutes later we were again in the midst of grey fog-banks. After two hours I found the situation getting unpleasant, for the confounded motor began to choke and spit, and was either 500 revolutions short or registered 200 too many.

I examined my landing-gear and valves, and noticed to my horror that my provision of petrol was diminishing with hideous rapidity. I kept my machine balanced as well as possible, and glided down to a height of 300 metres.

But, oh, Lord! The mist lifted a little and I could see where I was – exactly over the river Alster at only 300 metres’ altitude, and this with a motor that was running dry, and with no idea where to look for the aerodrome of Fuhlsbüttel. There was only one thing to do – and that was to keep calm and cool! Above all, to get away from the town and thus avoid imperilling human lives. I pencilled these words on a scrap of paper and passed them to my observer: “We must land within five minutes or we shall take a cold bath, as we have no more petrol.” He peered about him and suddenly pointed joyfully to a cemetery which lay right under us. Good old chap! He had no idea of our predicament and could not guess what unconscious irony lay behind his gesture.

We had already dropped 200 metres. The engine was working by fits and starts; the level of the petrol showed 10 litres. But I was pleased. For we had now left the town behind us, and though a smooth landing was impossible, amongst all these suburban gardens, at least I hoped to avoid killing anyone. At such times every second seems an eternity, and my thoughts chased each other across my brain. But more than ever I had to show iron determination and self-control.

My observer suddenly started waving his hand and pointing forwards. And even now I can see his sparkling eyes shining at me through his goggles.

The sheds of the Fuhlsbüttel aerodrome, shimmering in the rays of the setting sun faintly encircled by the mist, lay before us.

Hurrah! We were saved.

Who can describe my joy? With my last litre of petrol I described a loop round the aerodrome and, gliding down in a steep spiral, landed.

I nearly fell on my observer’s neck, so happy did I feel. The dear old chap had no inkling of the danger in which we had been, and was very surprised when I told him about it. Even now, when I know what flying means, I go cold when I think of this first flight. I soon found out what had happened. The lower part of the carburettor was damaged, and the petrol leaked through the fracture with each throb of the engine. This also explained the rapid sinking of the petrol and the irregular working of the engine. To this day I cannot understand why there was no fire.

After spending three days with dear friends in Bremen the new carburettor arrived in Hamburg. Now, we wanted to move on to our next destination – Schwerin in Mecklenburg.

On a rainy, stormy afternoon we settled ourselves in our fully equipped aeroplane. I started the engine and took on full throttle.

Today I would only fly ...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• List Of Illustrations
• Introduction
• Chapter 1 The Joys and Sorrows of a Flying-Man
• Chapter 2 Beautiful Days in Kiao-Chow
• Chapter 3 Threat of War – My Taube
• Chapter 4 Some Japanese Jokes
• Chapter 5 My War Ruse
• Chapter 6 Hurrah!
• Chapter 7 The Last Day
• Chapter 8 In the Slime of the Chinese Rice-Field
• Chapter 9 Mr. Macgarvin’s Ptomaine Poisoning
• Chapter 10 Caught!
• Chapter 11 Behind Walls and Barbed Wire
• Chapter 12 The Escape
• Chapter 13 Black Nights on the Thames
• Chapter 14 Still at Large: The Chinese Dragon Clue
• Chapter 15 The Stowaway
• Chapter 16 The Way to Freedom
• Chapter 17 Back in the Fatherland!