Major Yate faced an uncomfortable and serious allegation of spying, serious enough, it seems, for two German officers to be sent from Berlin to interrogate him. There was some substance to the Germans’ suspicions of the major. Before the war, Yate had served at the War Office and the Germans were aware that not only was he fluent in German but that he had made numerous visits to their country. Taken to the camp commandant’s office, Yate rebuffed searching questions, according to Lieutenant Breen, a prisoner with whom he shared a hut.
Yate came to me to say that he was not quite clear as to what the German Military Authorities were aiming at, but that the German officers had tried by cross-examination to obtain an admission on his part that he had been engaged on Intelligence work in Germany before the War. He did not know what the next step would be. He was very reticent on this subject, and he did not say definitely to me whether he had been engaged on work of this kind or not. I remember that I reminded him that the usage of war and, I thought, even a definite clause in the Hague Convention, precluded the prosecution of a prisoner of war for espionage committed before the outbreak of hostilities. We agreed however that the matter was serious and that the German Military Authorities were not likely to recognize any usage or written convention when they had decided on a course of action.
The son of a German mother and English father, Charles Yate was born in Mecklenburg in 1872. His parents had moved back to England by the time he was two, but he spoke German with his mother and considered himself fluent in the language. In 1892 he enlisted in the British Army, serving on the North-West Frontier and during the campaign in South Africa. In 1904 he was attached to the Japanese army in Manchuria during the Russo-Japanese War and was awarded the Japanese War Medal. Significantly, it was while he was in Japan that he became influenced by the Japanese military tradition eschewing surrender. ‘It worried him considerably that he had been captured unwounded,’ wrote Breen, ‘in his opinion no officer should surrender while conscious.’
The camp commandant at Torgau was a reserve officer by the name of Brandes. He was also Professor of Entomology and Director of the Zoological Gardens in Dresden. As camp commandant he was out of his depth and ineffectual, and camp security was, temporarily at least, lax, as Breen well knew. ‘The German Authorities,’ he wrote, ‘showed little discrimination then, in their choice of Camp Commanders and Officers.’
Yate set his mind on escaping to Switzerland, believing that security would tighten as the war intensified. He would walk to Dresden, procure a bicycle and ride over the border. His determination to leave as soon as possible was reinforced by news that he was about to be interrogated again. As if to underline the porous security, workman’s trousers, a loose cloak, soft hat and black boots were procured for Yate who swapped his safety razor for a cut-throat razor so that it could double as a blade.
The dangers of escape were very real. Even if he got away from the camp he might well be stopped and asked for identification papers, which he did not possess. The mood of the local population had been established by the treatment received on arrival in Torgau: ‘Yate was convinced,’ wrote Breen, ‘that an Englishman, speaking fluent German, would be inevitably murdered by ignorant peasantry as a spy.’
On the night of 19 September, Major Yate was helped over the high compound wall by Captain Roche and Lieutenant Breen and lowered into a moat. In the dark, a sentry passed within two paces of their concealed position but saw nothing. Both Roche and Breen waited, listening intently for any disturbance that would indicate that the game was up. Nothing was heard.
Twelve hours later, Major Yate’s bloodstained clothes were returned to the camp for identification. It was
Yate came to me to say that he was not quite clear as to what the German Military Authorities were aiming at, but that the German officers had tried by cross-examination to obtain an admission on his part that he had been engaged on Intelligence work in Germany before the War. He did not know what the next step would be. He was very reticent on this subject, and he did not say definitely to me whether he had been engaged on work of this kind or not. I remember that I reminded him that the usage of war and, I thought, even a definite clause in the Hague Convention, precluded the prosecution of a prisoner of war for espionage committed before the outbreak of hostilities. We agreed however that the matter was serious and that the German Military Authorities were not likely to recognize any usage or written convention when they had decided on a course of action.
The son of a German mother and English father, Charles Yate was born in Mecklenburg in 1872. His parents had moved back to England by the time he was two, but he spoke German with his mother and considered himself fluent in the language. In 1892 he enlisted in the British Army, serving on the North-West Frontier and during the campaign in South Africa. In 1904 he was attached to the Japanese army in Manchuria during the Russo-Japanese War and was awarded the Japanese War Medal. Significantly, it was while he was in Japan that he became influenced by the Japanese military tradition eschewing surrender. ‘It worried him considerably that he had been captured unwounded,’ wrote Breen, ‘in his opinion no officer should surrender while conscious.’
The camp commandant at Torgau was a reserve officer by the name of Brandes. He was also Professor of Entomology and Director of the Zoological Gardens in Dresden. As camp commandant he was out of his depth and ineffectual, and camp security was, temporarily at least, lax, as Breen well knew. ‘The German Authorities,’ he wrote, ‘showed little discrimination then, in their choice of Camp Commanders and Officers.’
Yate set his mind on escaping to Switzerland, believing that security would tighten as the war intensified. He would walk to Dresden, procure a bicycle and ride over the border. His determination to leave as soon as possible was reinforced by news that he was about to be interrogated again. As if to underline the porous security, workman’s trousers, a loose cloak, soft hat and black boots were procured for Yate who swapped his safety razor for a cut-throat razor so that it could double as a blade.
The dangers of escape were very real. Even if he got away from the camp he might well be stopped and asked for identification papers, which he did not possess. The mood of the local population had been established by the treatment received on arrival in Torgau: ‘Yate was convinced,’ wrote Breen, ‘that an Englishman, speaking fluent German, would be inevitably murdered by ignorant peasantry as a spy.’
On the night of 19 September, Major Yate was helped over the high compound wall by Captain Roche and Lieutenant Breen and lowered into a moat. In the dark, a sentry passed within two paces of their concealed position but saw nothing. Both Roche and Breen waited, listening intently for any disturbance that would indicate that the game was up. Nothing was heard.
Twelve hours later, Major Yate’s bloodstained clothes were returned to the camp for identification. It was
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