LINER BREMEN

Gisborne Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20109, 1 December 1939, Page 2

LINER BREMEN

FLIGHT FROM U.K. FLEET REFUGE IN SOVIET PORT NO LIGHTS SHOWN LONDON, Oct. 13. The Amsterdam correspondent of the Daily Herald has sent his journal the story of the escape of the Bremen. The information was given by a ship's cook belonging to Holland, the only member of the crew who was not a German. The man, Eduard Post, had arrived from Murmansk. The Daily Herald this morning presents the story. On August 30, as the American authorities allowed us to leave New York, he said, we put to sea at high speed. At nightfall the ship was blacked out All portholes were closely shuttered. Nobody was allowed to smoke on deck. The red and green navigation lights were not lit. No light showed at the masthead as the ship sped at 30 knots into the darkness. Where we were going only Captain Ahrens knew. But it seemed ominous to some of us that we had taken no passengers aboard. Early next morning all hands were mustered on deck, and everybody who had no essential duty to perform was served out with a paint pot and a long brush. Then lifeboats were lowered into the water alongside, and we began to paint the whole ship a dull grey. Speed was not slackened, and those in the boats towing alongside had a hair-raising time as they painted the side close to the foaming bow-wave. Four days passed—days of increasing strain for the crew, who did not know what was going on in the political clash of nations. Crew’s Oath On the morning of September 3 the whole crew was called into the welldeck below the bridge. Escape would be difficult, said Captain Ahrens, but he had sworn that the ship would never fall into the hands of the enemy. Then and there the German seamen took an oath—to destroy the Bremen rather than allow her to fall into Allied hands. The band played “Deutschland Über Alles,” and the crew cheered and gave the Nazi salute. Next day the captain again called the crew together, and said: “Between England and Iceland, where we are now, British warships are watching every 10 miles, We are in the lion’s den.”

Every day lifeboat drill was held while the forepart of the ship had been evacuated in case we ran into a

mine. Everywhere on deck were set barrels of petrol to be set on fire should a British warship come near. The carpenter and his mates had everything ready to bore holes in the hull to make the ship sink faster should it be necessary to scuttle her. Every officer and man was told to make a small bundle of his most necessary possessions. No trunks or bags would be taken into the boats if we had to leave the ship. Everyone put on his best clothes so that these at least could be saved. Still we were not told where the ship was going. But we knew tha„ we were entering sub-Arctic waters, for it grew colder hour by hour. Continual mists and fogs were the captain’s- allies in dodging the British cruisers. But the same mists and fogs added to our depression as we steamed we knew not where. At Murmansk None of us could sleep soundly in our watches below. None of us undressed, as we feared that at any moment we might crash into another ship in the darkness. At last we were told that we were between Iceland and Spitzbergen, in a latitude so high that it was unlikely we would now be intercepted. Until that moment we had scarcely dared hope we would escape. Then we sighted land, and a few hours later we picked up a Russian pilot. As we steamed into Murmansk Bay, the Norddeutscher Lloyd flag and the Soviet Hammer and Sickle were hoisted on the foremast, while the Swastika flag flew from the main. Sent Home During the days which followed as we swung to our anchors in the Russian harbour, none of us knew what was to be our fate. It was impossible to write to our families, and our onl;v news came from German broadcasts. We were forbidden to listen to the radio stations of any nation but Germany.

Oil September 18 we were told that we could leave the ship. We were taken ashore and put on a train for Leningrad. From there we were sent by sea to Germany, where I was kept until a day or two ago, when I was told I could return to my home.