CZECH DRAMA

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 December 1938, Page 9

CZECH DRAMA

EXCITING DAYS IN CAPITAL POPULACE WAITING FOR WAR. SCENES IN THE STREETS. In the following lively article, dated from Prague on October 8, Virginia Cowles recounts in the “London Sunday Times” fhe exciting days in and out of the Czech capital as the most dramatic events in Europe since the Great War took place. Those who lived the last two weeks in Prague will never forget the drama and the tragedy that swept through the city with breath-taking rapidity. A week ago last Tuesday war seemed inevitable. When my aeroplane circled over the city and glided down to a landing, the manager of the airport came up and lifted his hands in dismay. “Oh, mademoiselle,” he said, “why have you returned to all this misery?” A peace-loving people had been faced for weeks with the grim choice' of war or dismemberment. Today the answer was war, and all the machinery of the twentieth century was tuning up in preparation. The streets were thick with uniforms. Tanks and armoured cars rumbled through the city; shopkeepers pasted their windows with strips of brown papei’ to keep glass from shattering during explosions; children walked along the side-walks with gasmasks slung over their shoulders.

While the Government was preparing for the ordeal that seemed inevitable, the foreign correspondents were busy acquiring military passes, studying the maps and working out methods of transmission. The telephone wires which cross German territory had been cut, and it was impossible to communicate with the outside world, except by telegraph, which was often delayed as long as 18 hours.

RUMOURS OF BOMBARDMENT. On Wednesday a rumour swept through Prague that the city would be bombarded at five o’clock. A group of correspondents gathered in one of the hotel rooms, turned on the radio and tried to get London to verify the report of the final ultimatum. As the dial swung across the yellow board, through Paris, Berlin, Moscow, and Bucharest, we heard international reports in a dozen strange tongues, until finally, through a wave of static, came the sound of an English voice. There was no news of an air attack. It was more startling than that, for the garbled report declared that the British Prime Minister had suddenly received an invitation to Munich.

The result of the Munich Conference which ended on Thursday night, was not communicated to the Czech people until Friday afternoon. At five o’clock General Syrovy broadcast to the nation, telling of the final decision to partition the country. The speech was transmitted through loudspeakers. As the General’s, last words died away, the National Anthem was played, and the people stood silently at attention, as though they had not fully grasped the significance of his words. Then the crowd broke and swept down the avenue; the people shaking their fists and crying: “No, no, no! Let Czechoslovakia live.” Thousands of police surged down the side streets and swung a heavy cordon across the avenues leading to the Palace. Soon anger had given way to despair; the throngs began to thin, and order was restored.

GERMAN ARMY’S ENTRY. Germany’s first zone of entry was in the south, near the former Austrian border. Your correspondent, accompanied by two American colleagues, H. R. Knickerbocker and John Whitaker, left for the frontier soon after Syrovy’s speech. As the countryside was blackened against air raids, the going was slow, for many of the bridges were mined and the roads were blocked at places with wagons and farm machinery. As we neared the Sudeten zone we passed long columns of Czech troops with artillery and machine-gun units slowly retreating from their frontier positions. We could feel the bitterness of an army which had been defeated without a shot being fired.

"vye crossed into the Sudeten zone shortly after midnight. The Henleinist peasants, heavily armed with rifles and revolvers, had taken over the Czech road patrol, and the atmosphere was one of high tension and hostility. My colleagues and I had substantial evidence of this,' for, after being twice held up at the point of a revolver, we were finally arrested by a group of belligerent peasants near the small village of Oberplan and spent the night in gaol. ARREST AND RELEASE. We were driving along when a group of men surged across the roadway swinging a lantern. They demanded our papers, but neither passports nor press cards satisfied them. They took us to to the town hall, where we were searched. Unfortunately a Czech policeman had come with us . from Budweis to show us the way. When the peasants discovered his identity and found a gun on him their indignation rose to fever pitch. We were locked in a small room while a burly peasant with a sub-machine-gun stood guard over us, and told us that if we moved we would be shot. We were informed that our fate would lie in the hands of the German Gestapo agent, who would arrive in the morning.

At dawn he arrived. After a long scrutiny of our papers, we were finally released, all except the Czech policeman, who was flung into gaol and told he must await a trial. On our return to Prague we made many representations on his behalf, but so far have been unable to receive any'assurances concerning him. The vanguard of the German army marched into Czechoslovakia shortly after two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Thousands of peasants had swarmed to the red and white frontier posts near Hohenfurt to cheer its entry. When the first columns came tramping down the dusty country roads, their steel helmets flashing in the sunshine, one could not help wondering how history would interpret the phenomena of an army which only 20 years before had lain crushed before the Allied Powers, but today Was making its second entry, within a seven months’ period, into a sovereign State in Europe without a shot being fired. “WE WILL RISE AGAIN.” During the next few days we toured the various zones which had been or were turned over to Germany. Although in every instance the Czechs retreated with order and discipline, the Sudeten districts were alive with pro-

paganda stories of violence and plunder. On several occasions Sudetens solemnly informed us that Czech towns through which we had just passed were the scenes of the wildest disorder. Hitler entered Carlsbad on Tuesday. We arrived in the early morning to find the city blazing with swastikas. Groups of S.A. and S.S. men filed through the streets while workmen were feverishly erecting triumphal arches in honour of the Fuehrer. It was interesting to note that the first arrivals were the propaganda section —loudspeaker radios ensconced in armoured cars and camouflaged army lorries which at once told the people what was expected of them. Two miles outside Carlsbad the Czech line had drawn up —a strange contrast to the splendour and gaiety of the German troops, pouring triumphantly through the’ city. One of the Czech soldiers stopped our car and asked us what the celebration had been like. He listened quietly, and when we had finished he said, “They can take our country but they will not destroy us; one day we will rise again.”