FLIGHT FROM NEUTRALITY

Press, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23203, 14 December 1940, Page 14

FLIGHT FROM NEUTRALITY

Four days before the German invasion of Denmark and Norway I was fortunate enough to arrive in Stockholm from Denmark. Lucky though I had been to leave Copenhagen in time, there remained the problem of getting back to England. To fly via Holland, still a neutral country at that time, was out of the question since the aeroplane lands iDenmark: to go westwards, either through Norway or from Gothenburg, was impossible. In theory, one could go north to Petsamo in Finland in the hope of catching a boat, or eastwards into Russia, whence one had the choice of continuing further eastwards to Vladivostok and North America, or going south V; the Black Sea and home via the Balkans and Italy. There was risk whichever route was chosen. In practice the problem was still more fantastic. There had been so much traffic on the Finnish road to Petsamo during the Russo-Finnish war that the snow had been pressed into ice. This had to be hacked away before the thaw set in; otherwise the road would be ruined. That meant that this route was impossible until the end if May or the first week in June. For a return via the Balkans a Russian visa was necessary. On inquiry it appeared that this was unobtainable unt'l one had the right to enter Rumania—which one could not have before being permitted to leave Russia. Similarly, no Latvian visa was granted until a Russian one had been obtained. In this extraordinary situation the only thing to do was to wait until someone came to his senses.

Legation Whirligig Even to obtain application forms for a Russian visa was no easy matter. Everyone who wanted to get out of Sweden—Europeans or Asiatics of all races and colours —was besieging the Russian Embassy. The first time I went it was impossible to get near the appropriate office, especially as legations generally are opei to the public for only about two hours a day. The next time I tried I at least got m. In the general hubbub a gentleman of doubtful nationality informed me in English that “Now we were all in the same soup”; but I was not in the mood to explain that he was confusing two idioms. Having obtained and completed a number of forms, I waited a few days longer and tried the Rumanian Legation again. The day chosen proved to be Easter, according to the Greek Orthodox calendar; hut I was assured a visa would be forthcoming the following day, as the Minister had issued fresh instructions. The next day I was courteously received by a dignified gentleman with six rings and a monocle, who, while wrestling with a rubber stamp and my passport, informed me that the paper in a British passport, while of excellent quality, “is not at all sympathetic to ink.” Having duly condoled with him, I hastened to the Russian Legation again, where a transit visa was promised in two or three weeks. The following days, during the limited hours when legations and consulates deign to receive the ordinary public, I collected visas for seven other countries which I might have to touch on the way home. By the time snecifled there'was* no news of my Russian visa; but the weather was getting better, I was not short of money, and I waited in a not too pleasant fashion. Into Russia

Meanwhile,'the British authorities in Stockholm were organising an official repatriation scheme for

Odessa Express

[By J. E, NILSON]

stranded nationals via Northern Finland. That, of course, meant waiting until the road was passable. Just when we were due to leave, every available British ship was required off Dunkirk for a far more important job than evacuating a few civilians; so that scheme fell through. Then, after waiting nearly six weeks, I received my Russian visa. Although everyone ' -ght it highly probable that Italy would declare war the following Tuesday, I decided to risk a Balkan journey ■md left Stockholm by air for Moscow early on Saturday June 1. Though the papers that morning announced that Mussolini had broken off negotiations with a British trade delegation in Rome, I trusted to luck t.o get me through in time. _ The aeroplane—a Russian-built Douglas, I was told—was certainly comfortable. In Riga I discovered that there were two other British subjects aboard, bound for Vladivostok. The aeroplane having filled up with Germans, we set off for Russia. From the air Latvia seemed to flow into Ru. sia without any obvious frontier demarcation. We landed at Velikiyo-Luki for the usual customs formalities. Tea was obtainable at a reasonable price; but when one of ny‘compatriots tried to buy a few biscuits he found that, through knowing no Russian,

He had bought a whole box. For the quantity obtained the price was not too dear and the transaction was written off as penalty number one for not having learned the language, irom then on the weather grew worse and worse until we reached Moscow at b o’clock in the evening.

Metropole, Moscow Immediately by the door of the aeroplane was a car in which we. weie driven out of the aerodrome to a wait-ing-room with opaque windows. As guide and interpreter we had a young woman, plainly but neatly dressed, hair parted in the middle and severelj drawn back, her face innocent of makeup except lipstick. Before leaving Russia I saw many women of similar type engaged on such work. The pamd face °ut by the vivid red line of the dps was at first rather startling; but, as men must, one soon grew accustomed to this as to any other female fashion. The drive from the airport to the hotel was a long one. My first impressions of Moscow were formed by the unevenness of the road surface, resulting in enormous and deep puddles through which the car splashed its way. Clothes were as styleless as I had been led to believe: but, although shabby, everyone seemed surprisingly clean, what surprised me most, however, was the multiplicity of small shops with the most odd assortment of _ merchandise exposed for sale. Unreliable as any such judgment must be, there was no obvious sign of planned retail distribution. The Metropole Hotel was large, shabby, and clean. On exchanging a voucher for tickets, I learned that I had to change at a place called Razdelnaja, just before Odessa, in order to get to'the Rumanian frontier. Someone was good enough to write down the name of the station for me in English and Russian script, neither of which, of course, was the same as the printed characters likely, to be found on a name-board. I could only hope that, somehow, I would be able to make myself understood on the train or to learn enough Russian on the Journey to decipher station names myself. The temptation to stay a lew flays in Moscow was strong; but I dared not hand'cap myself In the race with Mussolini’s niaking up his mind. Military Passenger;; .

Dinner consisted of a fatty clear soup, an escalope with rice and potatoes, blancmange, and a bottle of beer. This cost well over a pound. Fearing that Russia must be a dear country I changed some more money. Having got over my astonishment at the size of the bill, I was fdrther surprised to hear a ladies’ orchestra playing swing, and singing In American. In Stockholm I had been warned that there might not be any first-class or eating accommodation on the train, and had accordingly provided myself with reserve rations for a 940-mile journey. Having confirmed the fact that there would be no dining car I bought more food and drink. This, also, was quite expensive, especially as it was wrapped in inky newspaper. After sending a telegram home to say I was on the way, I had to wait for the guide who was to Take me to the station and filled in the time drinking tea and watching the - many Germans of whom the hotel seemed to be full. My guide spoke a little German and less English; but we got on quite well until we were in the compartment. There were four sleeping berths. I was tlrying to find out in German which of them was mine, an inquiry in which my friend seemed to be helpless, when a Russian officer in the corridor if I spoke English. Learning that I was an Englishman, he said, “That is very well,” cleared up the difficulty, and gave me a cigarette. The coach was full of officers, and through this new acquaintance I was very soon able to sort out those who spoke a few words of any language I spoke myself. All of them were extremely friendly, fit-looking, and well equipped. I had imagined many things that might happen, but not that I should travel in cheerful military company. Fixtures and Fittings

Second (or “soft”) class consist, of compartments, each containing four large, comfortable sleeping berths, adequately lighted and ventilated. It momentarily embarrassed me to see that the sexes in each compartment were mixed; but I quickly fought this feeling down as being far too insular. Besides the officer, my companions were a young woman who had taken an exceedingly tender farewell of an officer in Moscow, and an elderly nurse in charge of a charming little girl. I discovered later that the girl’s name was—almost inevitably—Natasha, and that her father was' a singer in the Moscow Opera. Normally, I gathered, six trains a day ran from Moscow to Odessa; but that figure had been reduced to one each way, stopping at every station. Possibly through its extreme length, every time the train stopped or started there was a fiendish

As representative of a British firm, Mr Nilson went to Scandinavia early In March, 1940, intending to stay about two months. This account of his journey home was sent here recently through his wife, formerly Miss A. H. Powell, of Christchurch.

jolting and clanging, but the berth wa| too wide to let one fall out. Before we went to-bed my officer friend showed me the best way of shutting the door from the inside to foil the efforts of “criminal men,” who, he assured me, made a habit of stealing baggage at night on that line. I slept well—so well that I did not know until the morning that one of my bags had been jolted out of its place during the night and in its fall had bounced on to everyone except myself! On Sunday I was up before the others, started to dress in comfort and went along to wash and shave. I had heard tales of all sorts about everyday things in Russia, sanitary arrangements included. My own experience showed me that if one pulls a chain water runs; if a plug is removed from a basin, the waste runs away. A number of people, it seems, do not do these elementary things: but if only they did there would be nothing of which to complain. It was not easy to open the door of the lavatory, because the top corner of the door fouled a steel bracket supponine an enormous cistern. It was necessary to push hard, not only on the first train I was on, but on others as well. I experimented with as many such doors as possible, and found the same result each time. (To be Continued.)