Free If Hitler Comes by Christopher Serpell

this disorder, sent its first direct orders to Naker, and he obeyed. At midnight I was sitting by my wireless trying to collect European reactions to the doings of the day, when I suddenly heard Hamburg announcing an “important bulletin”. It was addressed to “the people of Greater Germany” and it was as follows:
    â€œThe British Government is meeting with certain difficulties in controlling Jewish-organized anarchy which has occurred in every part of the country, and it has appealed for help to the Führer and Chancellor, in accordance with the obligations assumed under Article VI of the Treaty of St. James’s. Adolf Hitler, whose mission, now as ever, is the maintenance of peace and good order, has decided therefore to dispatch a limited number of picked units of the Special Police to England to help in the work of restoring order to that country.”
    I sat motionless as the unctuous voice of the German announcer repeated his tidings, and during those seconds thereflooded in upon me a full realization of the fate that had come upon us. The Treaty had been a shock and a portent, but the imagination had shrunk from envisaging its consequences . The rioting and the Government crisis had strained our nerves and demanded our attention, but it had been a day-to-day anxiety and had left little time to look ahead. Now I saw that these things were but as the chill wind that blows before the tempest, which at last had burst upon us. I will not say that at that time I foresaw all the horror and humiliation which was to come, but for one moment of vision I felt like a man standing on a hilltop and watching the shadow of a cloud sweeping across the land towards him. The last light of liberty was blotted out, and before me I could see nothing but darkness and terror. So I sat, and then the firelight and the familiar room came back to me, and I went to tell my wife the news.
    It is said that the first Germans arrived at dawn, by air. How many there were of them has never been disclosed. They were not unduly conspicuous; one never saw them cantering on horseback along the principal streets, or standing , hand on holster, in the neighbourhood of the great railway stations. Yet anyone who had business with the C.I.D. or was concerned with the organizing of public assemblies would be sure to observe them standing in the background, taking notes; and public figures, in politics or industry, were apt to be politely questioned by them. But the surprising thing was that, beginning almost with the day of their arrival, the rioting lost its force, became sporadic, and at last gave way to an unnatural calm. It would not be right to say that the Greyshirt movement collapsed, but it became respectable. It marched now, but did not fight. When it beat up Jews and Socialists it did so with nice selectiveness, and calculated method. The Lord Mayor of London reviewed it. It formed a guard of honour for Professor Döppelganger, the great German authority on Henry VI, Part I , when he visited Stratford on the Birthday. It became almost as respectable as the British Legion.
    Where, then, was Patrick Rosse? Was his passionate struggle over? A few parades, a little organized and cold-blooded cruelty—were these the marks of a Britain reborn? It is sad to admit it, but Rosse’s doubts on these points were, for the time being, swiftly set at rest. Herr Meyer, joined now by a number of equally insistent Parteigenossen , firmly but gently took Rosse in hand. They waved cheque-books, and at the same time made suggestions. They took him to the Savoy, where many long dreams for the future mightquiver in a golden haze of champagne—and many concessions might be granted for the immediate present. Rosse regained his self-respect in these surroundings, among the uniforms and pretty women; it was possible there to believe of Germany everything that Herr Meyer said; and political ideals, if they lost in precision, glowed splendidly