IF HITLER DROPPED IN

New Zealand Listener, Volume 4, Issue 100, 23 May 1941, Page 10

IF HITLER DROPPED IN

An Amusing Paratiel With Hess’s Flying Visit

ARLY on the night of Saturday, May 10, a Messerschmitt fighter roared low over the Duke of. Hamilton’s estate in Lanarkshire, near Glasgow, Scotland. It was heard to crash, and a little later a German officer in a "magnificent flying suit" was found sitting on the ground near his parachute, nursing a broken ankle. When he had been taken to hospital (refusing a cup of tea offered him by a hospitable Scots ploughman), the officer proved to be’ none other than Rudolf Hess, deputy Fuhrer of the Nazi Party, and Adolf Hitler’s successor-des-ignate after’ Field-Marshal Goering. Thus broke what the New York Times excitedly described as "the most fantastic story in all history." As we go to press, one ear on Daventry for the latest developments, as the boys of the diplomatic service say, the full story has not been told, and with the rest of the world we wait with bated breath to learn the real reason for Herr Hess’s visit, whether his 1.Q. is all that it should be, and what Herr Hitler thinks about it. Why the Fuhrer Flew In the meantime, how many people have noticed the remarkable parallel to Herr Hess’s flight and landing by parachute that is to be found in a whimsical little volume entitled The Flying Visit, written a year ago by Peter Fleming, former Times correspondent, and author of Brazilian Adventure, One’s Company, and News From Tartary? Mr. Fleming has writted a delightfully authentic little story of an imaginairy visit Herr Hitler paid to England soon after the outbreak of war. Partly to prove to his ple that their Fuhrer was eager to share the dangers of his fighting forces in this war against plutocratic England, partly out of curiosity to view the country on which he confidently expected to set a conquering foot before the turn of the year, Hitler flies from Germany in a bombing ’plane, and soars over England at a height of 30,000 feet. Unluckily, some enemy agent has inserted a time bomb in a thermos flask of vegetable essence which the Fuhrer has taken along to sustain him on his dangerous mission, and high over the parish of Bix in Oxfordshire it explodes, destroying the aeroplane and all of its occupants but one.

Hitler Arrives This sole survivor, who is the Fuhrer himself, floats gently to earth by parachute, eventually landing on his rump in a horse pond. This is an interesting variation in the etiquette for conquistadors, Mr. Fleming points out. William the Conqueror. when stepping for the first time on to English soil, stumbled and took seisin of it with his hand. Recovered from the shock, the Fuhrer plans his next move with char-

acteristic initiative. What was his ultimate objective, he asks himself? To compass the downfall of England, no less. Could that be done in his present situation? Yes. If he could only get hold of Mr. Chamberlain or Sir Horace Wilson he was sure he could persuade them that he had come to England on a peace mission. There would be a great sensation, treaties would be signed, and when he had built up his resources still further, say in a couple of years’ time, he would be in a much better position to put an end to England. At a Fancy Dress Party His immediate problem, however, is how to make contact with someone who will understand who he is. Stumbling into a little village, he comes across a hall in which a noisy meeting of influential foreign personages seems to be taking place. Hitler finds his way to the stage, determined to address the meeting. "English men and women," he yells in German, "it is I, Adolf Hitler, who stands before you! I am not your enemy! You are not my enemy! We are not each other’s enemies!" Whereupon the audience cheers him to the echo, and an Arab potentate laughs uproariously, claps him on the back and roars in his ear, "Magnificent! A bloody marvel." Another person comes up and says, "My dear fellow, I haven’t the slightest idea who you are, but you win in a canter," and hands the Fuhrer a pound of butter done up in pale blue ribbon. Herr Hitler then realises he has won first prize at a county fancy dress ball. Later, by the greatest good luck, he encounters a certain Lord Magnus Scunner, who before the war had achieved some notoriety for his whole-hearted support of the Nazi regime and his osten-

tatious friendship with Hitler. "Magnus, my old friend," cries the Fuhrer. "Grasp in comradeship the hand of Adolf Hitler." But Lord Scunner, who has discovered that pro-Nazi sentiment has lately become most unpopular in England, smiles and says in English loudly, "Jolly good, old chap, but you can’t fool me. You see, I used to know the little-" War Cabinet Meets But finally, thanks to a young woman who has a hunch that this is really Hitler, the German Chancellor is locked up in a lavatory while Mr. Churchill gets on the job of deciding what is to be done with him. Mr. Churchill, at this time First Lord of the Admiralty, is perplexed, especially as he learns that one of Herr Hitler’s doubles has just made a speech to workers on the German tailways, and decides to summon the War Cabinet. The War Cabinet, having heard Mr. Churchill make a statement "on a somewhat unexpected development in the progress of our war with Germany," is also perplexed. For several good reasons, the blank announcement that they had captured Hitler would embarrass them and quite likely make them the laughing stock of the whole world. If they tried to conceal his capture, and the news got out, they would be even more seriously embartassed. The News Gets Out Then, due to the alertness of an American newspaperman, the story breaks in the U.S., and Mr. Churchill is confronted with newspaper posters in London, "Hitler in England. Sensational U.S. Report." (Continued on next page)

(Continued from previous page) Useless for Downing Street to issue categorical denials: "It was learned in London to-day on the highest authority that authoritative circles were undisposed to attach any credence to the reports from a neutral source that Herr Hitler is in England. Herr Hitler has never visited this country, and it now seems doubtful whether he ever will." Why Not Send Him Back? The news will soon be out. Something must be done about Hitler. England’s War Cabinet is stumped. Can’t someone suggest what to do with the fellow? Then up speaks a certain junior Minister. "I suppose," says this Minister, "it would never do to put him back? He’s not doing us much good, and as I see it, he’s not going to do the Germans much good, in the long run." And so Herr Hitler finds himself in a British bomber somewhere over Eastern Germany. He is given a drink of brandy and a stick of nut-milk chocolate, and in a few seconds he is parachuting down into a wide, shallow bog. A Flying Visit is a delightful fantasy, and a quaint forecast of the manner of arrival of Herr Hess. But so far no one has suggested returning Aim to Germany,