reported that he had committed suicide, camp authorities refusing all requests for an RAMC officer or British chaplain to examine the body. The funeral took place four days later and, although the Germans laid a wreath on behalf of Yate’s comrades, not one British officer attended the interment. The camp commandant cited the volatile attitude of civilians as reason enough for his refusal to permit prisoners outside the camp. The burial took place at dawn (5 a.m.) so as to avoid any possible friction with local people.
The secrecy surrounding Yate’s death sparked rumours that he had been murdered. On hearing the news, the British government protested, demanding more information. The Germans held firm that Major Yate had been responsible for his own demise, as described by eyewitness testimony. Major Yate had been spotted crossing an estate by the manager of a sugar factory, Herr Brottwitz, who became suspicious. ‘I was cycling towards Cosdorf, between 10 and 11 a.m., when I met a strange looking man walking on a path under some trees. The man wore a shabby cloak much too short for him, workman’s trousers and was hatless. I hailed him but got no answer.’ Brottwitz called to a group of men who were walking to work, giving one of them his bicycle so that he could overtake and stop the suspect. The others hurried in pursuit. It seemed to them that the suspect’s features were ‘those of a gentleman’ and did not correspond with the shabbiness of his clothing.
The workmen pointed to his hands which were small and obviously unused to hard work. I asked the man whence he came and got the answer ‘Schleswig Holstein’. I asked for papers, he said he had none. ‘You know you cannot travel without papers in wartime.’ The workmen removed the man’s cloak and were proceeding to unfasten rather roughly a haversack, which he had fastened to his back by cross straps, when he suddenly took a razor from the inner pocket of his vest and drew it several times across his throat. The action was utterly unexpected; we all drew back in dismay, and nobody interfered when, dropping the razor, the stranger commenced to walk away. He walked on some forty yards when he suddenly collapsed and died at once.
Major Yate’s body was removed but returned to the estate in which he had first been stopped, and buried; an oak cross was erected over his grave. His belongings were eventually returned to his wife. Two months later, in November, Major Yate was awarded the Victoria Cross for his outstanding bravery during the bayonet charge at Le Cateau.
In the febrile atmosphere of the times, Yate had been accused of being a spy, perhaps with some justification. More significantly, his case exposed what might happen to an escapee if caught by civilians. In a post-war investigation into his death, Herr Brottwitz was interviewed and asked specifically what he recalled about the incident.
The peasantry were naturally excited and handled the man roughly, asking him questions, shouting ‘You are a spy’. Asked if he thought Major Yate was liable to be ill-treated if he had not committed suicide, he replied, ‘You know the feeling of the people at the time . . . I cannot say with certainty but I should think he would have been roughly handled and possibly severely beaten when the men discovered from the contents of his knapsack that he was not a German’.
Such threats did not put off officers from escaping, and many made the attempt. Captain William Morritt, who had been surrounded and shot during a bayonet charge against the Germans, was one who remained undeterred. He made several attempts to escape, on one occasion being recaptured on the Dutch frontier. The Germans placed him in solitary confinement, put him on short rations and sent him to increasingly secure camps but his urge to escape remained undiminished. On 27 June 1917, Morritt made yet another attempt but as he emerged from an escape tunnel he was spotted by a sentry
The secrecy surrounding Yate’s death sparked rumours that he had been murdered. On hearing the news, the British government protested, demanding more information. The Germans held firm that Major Yate had been responsible for his own demise, as described by eyewitness testimony. Major Yate had been spotted crossing an estate by the manager of a sugar factory, Herr Brottwitz, who became suspicious. ‘I was cycling towards Cosdorf, between 10 and 11 a.m., when I met a strange looking man walking on a path under some trees. The man wore a shabby cloak much too short for him, workman’s trousers and was hatless. I hailed him but got no answer.’ Brottwitz called to a group of men who were walking to work, giving one of them his bicycle so that he could overtake and stop the suspect. The others hurried in pursuit. It seemed to them that the suspect’s features were ‘those of a gentleman’ and did not correspond with the shabbiness of his clothing.
The workmen pointed to his hands which were small and obviously unused to hard work. I asked the man whence he came and got the answer ‘Schleswig Holstein’. I asked for papers, he said he had none. ‘You know you cannot travel without papers in wartime.’ The workmen removed the man’s cloak and were proceeding to unfasten rather roughly a haversack, which he had fastened to his back by cross straps, when he suddenly took a razor from the inner pocket of his vest and drew it several times across his throat. The action was utterly unexpected; we all drew back in dismay, and nobody interfered when, dropping the razor, the stranger commenced to walk away. He walked on some forty yards when he suddenly collapsed and died at once.
Major Yate’s body was removed but returned to the estate in which he had first been stopped, and buried; an oak cross was erected over his grave. His belongings were eventually returned to his wife. Two months later, in November, Major Yate was awarded the Victoria Cross for his outstanding bravery during the bayonet charge at Le Cateau.
In the febrile atmosphere of the times, Yate had been accused of being a spy, perhaps with some justification. More significantly, his case exposed what might happen to an escapee if caught by civilians. In a post-war investigation into his death, Herr Brottwitz was interviewed and asked specifically what he recalled about the incident.
The peasantry were naturally excited and handled the man roughly, asking him questions, shouting ‘You are a spy’. Asked if he thought Major Yate was liable to be ill-treated if he had not committed suicide, he replied, ‘You know the feeling of the people at the time . . . I cannot say with certainty but I should think he would have been roughly handled and possibly severely beaten when the men discovered from the contents of his knapsack that he was not a German’.
Such threats did not put off officers from escaping, and many made the attempt. Captain William Morritt, who had been surrounded and shot during a bayonet charge against the Germans, was one who remained undeterred. He made several attempts to escape, on one occasion being recaptured on the Dutch frontier. The Germans placed him in solitary confinement, put him on short rations and sent him to increasingly secure camps but his urge to escape remained undiminished. On 27 June 1917, Morritt made yet another attempt but as he emerged from an escape tunnel he was spotted by a sentry
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