HISTORY OF SPECIAL INVESTIGATION BRANCH

Corps of Royal Military Police

At the end of the second World War, in May/June 1945, when the Military Police moved into
Germany, they set up their first base at Bielefeld. Detachments were sent to Hamburg, Berlin,
Hannover and the Ruhr, to maintain law and order as the German Civilian Police were all
disbanded, and responsibility for policing Germany was taken on by the Military Police. A Special
Investigation Section was formed to investigate both civilian and Military crime, and that too was
initially based at Bielefeld. The Provost Marshall was Lt. Col. K.G.Thrift.

In the Autumn of that year 89 Special Investigation Section was formed in Berlin and housed in
very poor premises under the main stand at the Olympic Stadium. The Military Police section was
housed next door. Over the course of the next few months, SIB sections were formed in Hamburg,
90 Section; Hannover, 70 Section; and in the Ruhr at Cologne, 83 Section.

Most of the staff in those early days were ex-civil Policemen who had joined the Army and served
in various Corps and Regiments, and later transferred to SIB because of their knowledge of police
work. An SIB training school started in Cairo in 1942, to train officers and NCOs for SIB work in
the Middle East, but there was no specialist training elsewhere.

In the spring of 1947, when the Military Police Training School moved from Mychett to Inkerman
Barracks at Knaphill, near Woking, Surrey, it was decided to include an SIB training school, and
the first course of 10 men completed their six weeks training just before Christmas 1947. The
school was housed in a building at the side of the Officers Mess, just outside the main barracks and
students were housed in the four rooms on the first floor. Ablutions were very basic and as all
students wore civilian clothes, they used the Sergeants mess inside the main barracks. They were
all ex-civilian policemen, who had been recruited from British Armyunits cross the globe and at the
end of the course, some of the senior NCOs were promoted to Lieutenants and went on later to
become Deputy Assistant Provost Marshal's with SIB. One of those was Sergeant Tom Baker
from the Kings Own Scottish Borderer's, later known as the Border Regiment, who was promoted
to Lieutenant and then six months later to Captain and posted to Germany, where he became
Deputy Assistant Provost Marshall SIB at 70 Section based in Hannover. Six week courses were
then held every three months under the Chief Instructor, Major `Bill` Burcher, OBE, who was
assisted by a CSM.

National Service conscription continued at the end of the war for all young men when they reached
the age of 18, although for some, who were serving apprenticeships or in a reserved occupation,
their two year service in the armed forces could be delayed until later. The National Service Act
1948, reduced the length of time served from 24 months to 18 months, although it returned to 24
months shortly after, with the Suez crisis in 1950. It also allowed some conscripts to volunteer to
go into Coal mining where pay was much better than in the armed services. Conscription finally
ended in March 1963.

About 10 National Servicemen served in the SIB. One of the first was Patrick Colson, who was
called up for National Service on the 8th August 1947. He was a North Londoner who had worked
in a City Stockbrokers Office from the age of fourteen. He was sent to a Primary Training centre
at Central Barracks, Shrewsbury, the home of The Kings Shropshire Light Infantry and spent the
next six weeks learning to be a soldier. Foot drill or square bashing as it was called, was an
everyday exercise, and being the home of light infantry every move was double quick time. Small
arms training using that very heavy, but pretty efficient rifle, the Royal Enfield .303, was carried
out in the butts halfway up the Wrekin, three quarters of an hours march at double quick time from
barracks, and the three soldiers who shot the most bull eyes were taken back to Shrewsbury in the
back of the three tonner everyday. It tended to concentrate the mind. Physical training in the
well equipt gym, some basic first aid and plenty of boot polishing and blancoing of equipment
made up the rest of the time, at the end of which he went in front of a selection board, consisting of
a Major and two other Officers and asked where he would like to spend the next two years. He
told them he was a driver and held a full driving licence, so he would like to go into the Royal
Armoured Corp and learn to drive tanks. The Chairman suggested he would be of more use in the
Military Police where his driving skills would be be put to good use.

Thus, on the 3rd October 1947, after a weeks home leave he reported to The Corps of Military Police
Training School at Inkerman Barracks, for the thirteen week course. His Squad Instructor was
Sergeant R. Thompson. I will let Patrick tell you the rest of his story:-

“I arrived at Woking Railway Station with about 25 other recruits on that Sunday afternoon about
4pm, and we were driven to Inkerman Barracks in two, 3 ton Bedford trucks. The depot RSM.
Percy Sedgwick, the highest rank in the Military Police at that time, apart from the Captain
Quartermaster, welcomed everyone outside the main entrance in his usual eloquent style and one by
one we were marched into the Guardroom to complete the necessary paperwork. We were then
marched around the parade ground, nobody was allowed to walk across, until we reached an
entrance to the main barrack block where half the recruits, or probationers as we were now to be
called, were shown into a barrack room on the ground floor and the remainder went upstairs to a
similar size room on the first floor. I went upstairs where a trained soldier made us stand in front
of a bed for about ten minutes whilst he read out a list of do`s and don`ts. On the bed were two
blankets, three straw filled paillasses, two white linen sheets, a white pillow case and a straw filled
pillow. There were no chairs in the room and the ablutions were situated outside at the top of the
staircase were there were six toilets, six washbasins and a bathroom. It was all very primitive.

Inkerman barracks had been a women`s prison, then called Knaphill Prison and the bars were still
fixed across some windows which added to its foreboding appearance. The tall dark brickwork and
no outside lights, apart from a light outside the Guardroom and a flickering bulb outside the Naafi,
made the place even more gloomy at night. The walls of the barrack room had been painted with
white gloss paint and on that damp October evening, the walls ran with condensation We were
told to hang our clothes on the back of the bed and if pushed up against the wall they would have
absorbed most of the moisture. I asked the Trained soldier if we could light a fire in the fireplace
at the end of the room. He had no objection, but had no idea where we would find any wood or
coal. I noticed in his cubicle at the end of our room, he had an electric fire burning.

Together with the fellow in the next bed – John Dent, we went out in search of the necessary
essentials and after about half an hour stumbling around in the pitch black, we came across a metal
coal bunker full of coal, a pile of chopped wood and a metal bucket to put it all in. The noise from
the adjacent building suggested that a party was in full swing, so I grabbed the bucket, scooped it
full of coal, we grabbed a bundle of wood each and started to walk back to our barrack room.
Suddenly, a door opened and bathed the whole area in bright light. Our friendly RSM, was
standing at the door, silhouetted against the light inside shouting out a mouth full of obscenities.
Within seconds the bucket of coal disappeared and we both found ourselves in the brightly lit
Guardroom, standing to attention being told by the RSM, that stealing coal from the Sergeants Mess
was a criminal offence and that within twenty-four hours we would both find out what life was like
in a real Military Prison. It seemed that my new career as a Military Policeman had abruptly ended
before I had even a chance to find out what a Military Policeman's life was all about.
That night we missed our evening meal, although the cell I spent the night in was probable warmer
and certainly much more comfortable than the damp barrack room back in the main block. The
following morning after washing and scrubbing all six cells out, we were marched in front of the
Commanding Officer. I explained to him why we needed to light a fire to dry out the room,
something I had not been able to define in words to the RSM. I also told him that hanging clothes
on the back of the bed with the walls running with condensation was not how the Army advertised
life in the Military and that a dry cupboard at the side of each bed together with a chair, was the
very least I would have expected to find in such an elite training establishment. I would be writing
to my Member of Parliament asking for him to arrange some sort of dry cupboard to hang our
clothes. In fact my local M.P. was a friend of my fathers having served with him in local heavy
rescue in London. He was also my Group Scout Master.

The Commanding Officer looked at me in discussed and told me how he hated barrack room
lawyers, a characteristic feature I would have thought useful in a young Military Policeman. He
then proceeded to give us a lecture on how young Military Policemen were expected to set
examples to others, although when he asked me how the condensation got onto the walls, I felt he
just might be trying to understand our predicament. Finally he made an order that we would both
be confined to barracks for five days and that each evening we would report to the RSM at the
Sergeants Mess where he would find an odd job for us to do. In my case the odd job turned out to
be the green coloured, hot copper water tank, situated in the kitchen high above the cooking range
which he wanted to see gleaming in the dark. I felt like telling him it was an impossible dream, but
I don`t think he would have understood. Four tins of Duraglit and twenty hours of hard labour
certainly cleaned it a great deal but it would never look like a new pin. The consolation prize came
about a week later when we all returned to our barrack room at the end of the day to find wooden
wardrobes had been delivered to each bed space, and that week end, orders were issued by the CO
that each barrack room would be supplied daily with a bucket of coal and wood to light a fire.
Four wooden chairs also appeared in the room. Life wasn`t so bad after all, and I hadn`t even
spoken to my M.P.

The next ten weeks proved to be very educational and I filled two exercise books with lecture notes.
On the Friday of the tenth week we sat an examination and all those who passed were given a forty-
eight hour pass and a railway warrant and told to report back by 9pm Sunday evening.

The final three weeks we spent learning to ride a motor cycle. As I had a licence and a motor
cycle, a 1938 350cc Rudge Whitworth, two years older that the 350cc BSA`s used on the course, I
was given a test and then sent to Borden in Hampshire, the British Army Driving School for two
weeks, where I passed a test for driving cars, trucks and light goods vehicles.

The course finished on Christmas Eve, 1947, and we were told that in future the Military Police
were to be known as the Royal Military Police. We were given Lance Corporals stripes, RMP
shoulder flashes, a weeks leave and a railway warrant, and as the snow had covered the Parade
ground to a depth of about six inches, the passing out parade had been cancelled and that our
postings would be sent to us in the next few days. As a result I have no idea where any of my
colleagues on the course were eventually sent, although some years later I was told that a number of
1947 recruits were sent to Palestine, where more than 20 were murdered by Jewish Terrorists,
whilst assisting the Palestine Police.

A brown envelope marked OHMS, arrived at my home address a few days later addressed to L/Cpl
P. Colson CMP, the royal bit had yet to work its way through to officialdom. My mother gave it
to me with a big smile on her face. It told me to report to the Commanding Officer, 193 Ports
Provost Coy, Western Heights Barracks, The Citadel, Dover, by 1700 hours on Sunday 29th
December, 1947, and a railway warrant was enclosed. Little did I realise then, that my great
adventure was just about to begin.

I arrived at Dover Station at about 3pm on Sunday afternoon and managed to find a taxi to take me
to The Citadel. The taxi driver gave me a potted history of wartime Dover, The Citadel, the
Military, the Castle and all the events he had witnessed during the war, and when we arrived at the
main entrance he told me to look back. The view was breath-taking. The harbour was set out
below like a child`s model and the panoramic scene across the English Channel was a sight to
behold. I have been back to that spot on a couple of occasions since and it still takes my breath
away. When I turned back however, to look at the Citadel, my heart sank I paid him off and
stood looking at this historic building. It was almost as foreboding as Inkerman. I crossed the
drawbridge, opened the small wicket door in the main gate and noticed the Portcullis raised high
above my head. As I closed the door behind me I expected to be challenged - but to my
amazement there was nobody there. I shouted out – but apart from my echo, there was no reply. I
walked on for about 20 feet and saw a door on my right with a notice reading `Guardroom` on the
front, in typical Military Police style. I knocked on the door, but again there was no reply. I
turned the handle and to my surprise the door was unlocked. I entered and looked around. The
centre light was on and a Sergeants jacket was hanging on a coat peg. I looked over to a desk and
noticed a large envelope with my name on the front. The message inside said:- `Meet me here at
8pm and I will explain. There is food down at the cook house and I have left a light on outside
your billet` It was signed – Sgt. Hawkins.

In the cook house I found a table set out with a single place, covered in a freshly ironed white table
cloth, with a large plate of sandwiches in the middle. At the side was a metal tray with a single
cup and saucer, teapot, bowl of sugar, a tin of tea and a jar of coffee, with a small note that read –
milk in fridge. The fridge was huge and contained just about every joint of cooked meat you could
think of, pork, beef, chicken, a container full of bacon, eggs, butter, milk, enough to feed a large
unit. Outside in civvy street, war-time food rationing was still in place and one persons weekly
meat ration was 4ozs. The cook house was as warm as toast and on a large black range a big black
kettle simmered. All very civilised, I thought.

When Sgt. Hawkins arrived he explained that 193 Ports Provost Coy, had moved during the week
before Christmas to Harwich, as the Military were now using the Parkstone Quay ferry to the Hook
of Holland, but the Dover/Calais ferry still had to be manned until secure accommodation for those
in custody had been built on the Harwich ferries. I had been sent to join him and Corporal
Simmonds who ran the Guardroom and admin, as neither of them were officially drivers, although I
noticed Sgt. Hawkins owed and drove a Ford Anglia. A Lance Corporal from the Army Catering
Corp came over from Dover Castle every day and cooked my meals. He even asked me to tell him
if I fancied anything special. This was some man`s Army.

The Sergeant and I met the incoming ferry every morning at 6.30am, and returned at 5.30pm,
staying on the quayside, monitoring any Military personnel that disembarked until the ferry left on
its return journey at 6.30pm. During that first week we only spoke to two American Officers who
both had diplomatic passes. On our return to the Citadel, Sgt Hawkins and Cpl. Simmonds would
go home to their married quarters in Folkstone, leaving me as the sole occupant at the Citadel. One
consolation was, there was always plenty of food in the cook house and I would never go hungry.

On the Friday afternoon it snowed and our journey back to the Citadel that evening was very
dangerous. The Citadel is situated about half a mile from the main Dover/Folkstone road, rising
some 300 feet with some very sharp `S` bends. At the top of the hill the snow was nearly two feet
deep and only the 15cwt Bedford truck we were using was suitable for driving in those conditions.
The vehicle was normally garaged about 100 yards down the hill outside the main gate, but that
evening I parked it under the archway inside the Citadel because the hill was so slippery. When
we saw Sgt Hawkins car it was almost buried beneath a snow drift, so they both decided to stay at
the Citadel that night and we all went off to the cook house over deep snow to have supper.

The snow continued to fall all evening and about 9.30pm, Cpl. Simmonds volunteered to go off and
make some cocoa. Suddenly, there was a lot of shouting outside and Sgt. Hawkins jumped off his
chair and ran to the billet door. As he went through the door onto the steps leading to the snow
covered concrete footpath, he slipped, fell backwards and struck his head on the bottom step.
Army boots unfortunately, are not the type of footwear that provide a sure footing in such inclement
weather. I was wearing a pair of civilian shoes with rubber soles and carefully went to his aid but
he was completely unconscious. Slowly and carefully, I managed to get him back in the billet, laid
him on a bed and covered him in a blanket. I then went out to find Cpl. Simmonds who had also
slipped on the snow covered footpath and was lying in deep snow, moaning in agony. He had
fractured his collar bone. With great difficulty, I managed to get the Corporal onto his feet and
back to the billet, sat him on a chair near the stove and put a blanket around his shoulders. Up in
the Guardroom I found a first aid box with some bandages, put a sling around the Corporals arm
and examined the back of Sgt. Hawkins head, who was still unconscious. He had no open wound
at the back of his head but his breathing was giving me cause for concern.

I returned to the Guardroom and dialled 999. I explained to the ambulance operator what had
happened and where we were, but they were reluctant to attend due to the heavy snow and said they
would try and get up to us in the morning if conditions improved.

I had two casualties who both needed hospital treatment, and the fact that the Sergeant was still
unconscious, worried me a great deal. I decided I would have to take them both to Folkstone
Hospital myself. I drove the 15cwt across the snow covered grass to the billet door. With his arm
in a sling and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, I managed to get Cpl. Simmonds into the
cab. Then, with great difficulty I carried the sergeant and put him on a stretcher in the back of the
truck and strapped him and the stretcher, to anchor points in the base of the truck. The journey to
Folkstone, normally 25 minutes, took nearly three hours, in conditions that I doubt any other
vehicle in those days could have made. The main problem was stopping every 10 to 15 minutes to
check on Sgt. Hawkins condition who was still dazed when we arrived at the hospital. Although it
was nearly one o`clock in the early morning, staff at the hospital were brilliant, and within minutes
about twelve people were attending to both men.

I returned to The Citadel later that morning, told 193 Ports Provost Coy at Harwich what had
happened, but they were unable to send any replacements, and I was instructed to manage on my
own. I continued to meet the morning ferry and see the evening ferry out as usual.

About a week later I went off early to meet the morning ferry. It was a dark, wet morning and very
cold with icy snow covering the ground. I parked the Bedford next to the Ports Police office which
was still in darkness, so I tapped on the window to alert them that I had arrived and that it was time
to awake from their slumbers. I walked down to the quayside and stood about 20 feet back as the
ferry eased its way close to the quayside. About a dozen civilians walked down the gangway and
headed across the dockside to the London train. I noticed a man wearing a raincoat about to get
off, but when he spotted me, fully dressed, red cap, white belt and gaiters, loaded Webley pistol in
its white blancoed holster, standing looking at him, he turned around and stayed on board. I
thought I had better have a word with him and walked up the gangway and crossed to the other side
of the ferry. Suddenly, I turned around and saw him running down the gangway and heading off
towards the London train. I gave chase and caught him as he was about to board the train and
escorted him back to where I had parked the Bedford. I soon discovered that he had escaped over
the new year from a Military Prison in Germany. I think he was glad to be caught, he was cold and
hungry and had been sleeping rough for more than three weeks. I took him to the Military Police
unit at Shorncliffe Barracks in Folkstone, where an SIB Sergeant Wallace, dealt with the matter and
he was escorted back to Germany a few days later by Military Prison Staff.

Sergeant Hawkins was off sick for about ten days and returned to work as if nothing had happened.
Corporal Simmonds I believe was off for about six weeks but I never saw him again.

The Sergeant and I fell into a regular routine. I learnt a lot about the administration side of
running a Provost Coy, and discovered many secrets about the unknown world that exists within the
walls and battlements of the Citadel. It was the most fascinating building I have ever seen, having
been in the possession of the British Army for more than 500 years. It was honeycombed with
brick built tunnels, some going for miles, out as far as the Dover/London road, 3 or 4 miles out of
Dover town and others as far as Shakespears Cliff where the WW2 Channel gun emplacements
overlook the Straits of Dover.

During the first week of February, 1948, I received a telephone call from Sgt Wallace SIB. He
asked if I was interested in SIB work as he had been approached by the Provost Marshalls office in
London. That Friday I received notification to report to the SIB Training school, Inkerman
Barracks the following Monday morning.

There were fifteen NCOs on Major Burcher`s third SIB course, which lasted six weeks. I was the
youngest, the only soldier from the Military Police and the only Lance Corporal. The other
fourteen had arrived at Woking from all corners of the globe, or theatres of operations, and were
either CSMs, Staff Sergeants, or Sergeants from various Army Regiments, who had either previous
Police experience, or who had served with their Regimental Police. We were all issued with a
navy blue civilian suit, white shirt and tie and a pair of black shoes, which we wore every day. We
all eat meals in the RMP Sergeants mess within Inkerman Barracks, given a warrant card which
stated, name, rank and number and the words `SIB Investigator attached to the training school`.
We were billeted in four rooms, in the same building as the SIB training School, with fires in each
room which were looked after by a room orderly. The beds were comfortable, the wardrobes had
fitted mirrors on the front and there was a lounge were we could sit down and study. What a
difference to the poor RMP recruits billeted less than a few hundred yards away.

One evening I was sitting in the Sergeants mess chatting to a couple of colleagues on the course
when we were approached by RSM Sedgwick who offered to buy us all a drink. Obviously, I did
not remind him of our little encounter four months previously and he certainly did not recognise
me. I became quite popular with others on the course because I was the only one of us who had
been to Inkerman before and knew my way around, especially places like the gym which were quite
difficult to find in the dark. For some of them it was there first time in England since before the
war and one week-end I showed them around bomb damaged London.

At the end of the course Major Burcher interviewed everybody separately and read out a report he
had written. I was fortunate enough to have achieved the highest marks and he told me that I was
going to be posted to Northern Ireland. He thought it would be an excellent training ground and
that I was being promoted to a full corporal for six months and if I achieved the desired grade I
would eventually get three stripes. I was absolutely delighted.

Some years later, in 1958, I attended an eight week course at the Detective Training School,
Hendon. Major Burcher`s course was far more instructive, much better put together, dealt with far
more ways of both preventing and detecting crime, dealt with more specialist issues such as –
taking plaster casts, examining finger-prints, removing fingerprints for photographing, how to use
certain chemical aides, how to photograph scenes of crime, developing, printing and enlarging
pictures and the whole course was far more comprehensive than the Met Police course.
I arrived in Belfast at the beginning of April 1948. The Deputy Assistant Provost Marshal in
Northern Ireland District SIB, was Captain David Basnett, an ex-CID Detective Constable from
Birmingham. Lance Corporal Waddington RMP was in charge of administration, Sgt. Ashley in
charge of investigations and there were two other Sergeants, one of whom I never met as he was
working in Lisburn Barracks. The office was situated in a first floor room above the garages in
Victoria Barracks, and the vehicle fleet consisted of two large Humber Hawks, both painted green
and a Hillman PU. I was billeted with Sergeant Ashley and a civilian family in a three storey
house in the Antrim Road, near Carlisle Circus, about five minutes walk from Victoria Barracks.
The man in the house was an ex-Royal Marine Commando, who had done everything and been
everywhere, Dunkirk, the Loften Island Raid, the Dieppe Raid, the raid on St Nazaire, the
Normandy landings and Arnhem. We all wore civilian clothes, but there were no handcuffs,
truncheons, or weopans issued and even the small notebooks were rationed.

Captain Basnett hated driving and when he read that I was a driver, he immediately appointed me as
his chauffeur. He lived in married quarters in the newly built Lisburn Barracks, where the new
office for both RMP and SIB were being finished. I would therefore go to Lisburn Barracks
every morning, pick him up and drop him off when he finished at night. We soon became friends
and his wife would often cooked an evening meal for me. Every Monday morning he would
collect a diplomatic bag from the Government Office in Belfast and we would take it to the British
Consulate building in Dublin. There was no food rationing in Eire, as there was in Britain at that
time and I would park the Humber in the grounds of the Consulate and someone would load the
boot with a box that would contain joints of meat, butter, sugar, jam, chocolate etc, and we would
bring it back to Belfast where it was shared out with our married families. I have no idea how it
was paid for, who was responsible for giving it to us and when I did ask, I was told to mind my
own!!!!

Most of the serious crime committed in the six counties in those days was laid fairly at the door of
the IRA. Bank robberies were the most common, but there were a few break-ins at British Army
barracks where the poorly protected armoury`s were mostly the target. When they were moved to
a more secure building next to Guardrooms for instance, the break-ins stopped. A Royal Ulster
Constabulary team of three, one Inspector and two Constables, were stationed at Victoria Barracks
to assist SIB investigate these type of offences. One week-end a TA Hall in Belfast was broken
into and all the rifles stolen. Fortunately they were training rifles and all the firing pins had been
removed. The thing about being in Ireland I found quite amusing, were the stories that abound
about Irish Paddys, which seem to be based on fact. For instance, at Hollywood Barracks where
the Naafi was constantly being broken into. An empty wooden hut was placed near the Main gate
which could be seen from the road , with the word NAAFI written in huge letters on all four sides.
The sign outside the real Naafi building was removed. The empty wooden hut continued to be
broken into whilst the real Naafi was never touched.

Another case I remember happened in Londonderry. A British soldier was reported to have been
seen walking out of a departmental store with a till under his arm. The following morning Captain
Basnett and I interviewed the female shop assistant, who had previously seen the soldier at a dance
and knew exactly which unit he was from. We took her to the barracks in question and on the
way, she spotted the till dumped on some waste ground at the side of the road. I put the till in the
boot of the Humber and continued on to the barracks. There, we spoke to the Duty Officer, and he
together with the Regimental Guard Commander went off in search of the soldier. About thirty
minutes later they returned with the soldier and forty odd pounds, which they had found in his
locker. In those days forty pounds was a lot of money. The soldier was taken to the local RUC
Police Barracks and charged with theft.

I accompanied Captain Basnett on a number of investigations during the next six weeks, but I never
wrote a report the whole time I was there, so much for getting a lot of experience. During the
middle of May, a telephone call, was received from SIB Headquarters in London, instructing me to
report to Detective Sergeant Hassell at Lancashire County Police Headquarters in Preston,
Lancashire, as soon as possible. I arrived the following morning, having caught the evening ferry
from Belfast to Heysham, and was shown into a conference room with about 40 other people
waiting for a Scotland Yard officer to brief us all. Eventually, Superintendent John Capstick –
Capstick of the Yard – as he was known, took the stage. The crime was the Bolton Child murders.
A newly born baby had been taken from the Maternity Ward at Bolton Hospital and it was found
outside the hospital gates where it was presumed it had been killed by striking its head against the
stone wall. A similar murder had taken place the previous year at another hospital in Bolton. A
number of good fingerprints had been found at the scene of both murders and a good footprint, and
every male who lived in Bolton and the surrounding area was going to be fingerprinted. DS
Hassell and I, had to visit every Mental Hospital in a large part of South Lancashire and beyond, to
fingerprint patients who were allowed out each day. Police Officers from other forces and SIB
Investigators from as far afield as London and Scotland were drafted in to assist. In all more than
100,000 people were fingerprinted and after about four weeks, Guardsman James Griffiths was
charged with the Bolton Child Murders, found guilty of the crimes and eventually hanged. The
footprint, taken by an SIB Sergeant in soft mud, which he first sprayed with shelac to harden the
mud, then filled the footprint with plaster of paris, matched one of Griffiths army boots exactly.
The exhibit was on show at Scotland Yard`s Black Museum for years.

I returned to London and SIB HQ, which was situated on the third and forth floor of 47, Russell
Square. The following day I accompanied SIB Sergeant Don Laing to Ashchurch Vehicle Supply
Depot, near Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire, where a Bren Gun Carrier had been taken from a
vehicle park and driven about 2 miles away crashing into a railway bridge. We left London just
after 9am in a Hillman car, and as we had no map, and neither of us knew the way to Tewkesbury, I
drove to my home in North London and borrowed my father`s latest AA book. On arrival at
Tewkesbury about 5 hours later, we were told by the Adjutant that the Bren Gun Carrier had been
recovered and a driver had been arrested. It was thought he had been drinking. Sgt. Laing took a
statement from the man and suggested to the Adjutant that the matter be dealt by the Commanding
Officer. We returned to London.

A few days later I was asked if I would be willing to go to Germany. It was not the usual type of
posting, close observation, was the term used and I would only go if I volunteered. `Of course I
volunteer`, I told the DPM who was briefing me. I then spent about 3 hours listening to his words
of wisdom and what I was expected to do. I was to be sent to a District Supply Depot in
Hannover, as a Lance Corporal driver in RASC, who had just finished a Staff Drivers Course at
Borden. They hoped I would then be appointed to drive one of the three senior officers at the
Depot. The Supply Depot was suspected of being at the centre of large scale black market
activities which could have only been achieved with collusion from senior officers, and whilst they
already had sufficient evidence to make arrests, they wanted some concrete evidence to charge the
big fish at the top. I was given a telephone number to remember if I had any problems, and told
that I would be pulled out in about 4 weeks time.

I arrived at the DSD in Germany on a Friday afternoon and the embarrassing thing was, nobody had
been told in the MT department that I had been posted there. The Sergeant in charge told me to
get lost until Monday morning although he did find me a bed in a single room close to the garages.
He was married and lived in quarters outside the DSD. I noticed he drove home that evening in an
official Army Green Mercedes saloon car, the type normally used for driving Staff Officers. Over
the weekend I had a good look around the DSD but I had no idea what I was really looking for. I
guessed that stock was going missing, so I made a note of lorries coming and going through the
main gates during the weekend but very little happened. On the Monday morning admin staff
admitted they had forgotten to tell the MT Sergeant that I was expected. The strange thing I
quickly noticed, I was not marched in front of any Officer to welcome my arrival and the Sergeant
told me to make myself scarce as he was away for most of that day and he would see me the
following morning just before lunch time. I spent the next couple of days washing and cleaning
cars, taking them to the pumps and filling them with petrol. On the Thursday afternoon he called
me into the MT Office and said he had a job for me the following morning. He put me in charge of
a convoy of six three ton trucks, which were carrying the weekend food supplies and a mobile
kitchen for a Royal Armoured Corp manoeuvre on Luneburg Heath.

Halfway through the following week I was walking back to my billet after having breakfast one
morning, when I saw a rather scruffy looking soldier with three stripes on his arm walking towards
me. I was about to pass him when he said, `Are you Colson?` I said, `I am.` He said, `Good,
I`ve been looking for you for the past hour. I`m SIB. Go and get all your gear, you`re getting out
of here.`

That is how I joined 70 Special Investigation Section RMP in Hannover. He told me that together
with local RMP, they had carried out a series of raids over the previous weekend and the CO at the
DSD, the Adjutant and three Officers, together with a number of NCOs and soldiers had been
arrested and charged with black market offences. A number of German civilians had also been
detained. He said, `I suppose you were wondering when we were going to pick you up, when you
heard what had happened?` I said, `I`ve heard nothing.` Thinking back however, I realised I
had not seen the MT Sergeant since Monday morning, but I had not heard any rumours going
around that all this activity had taken place. He then surprised me by saying, `Your contribution
has been a great help.” I should have said, - what contribution, but I just smiled and said nothing.

We arrived in Hannover and parked outside a detached, three storey house in Grunewald Strasse in
the Buckholz area of North Hannover. This I was told was 70 SIS combined Officers and
Sergeants mess. I was shown into a first floor bedroom where all my kit had been carefully laid
out on a bed. In a wardrobe were hanging my other jackets and overcoat and I noticed that three
stripes had been sewn on each arm together with BOAR flashes. I learnt the following day that
sergeants pay had been back dated to the day some three and a half months previously when I
finished the SIB course. As a matter of interest, Sergeants pay was 10/6 per day, plus 3/- per day
Corp pay and SIB were paid weekly expenses which had to be claimed for. These included a night
away from base allowance which was 3/6 per night, a contingency allowance if you worked more
than eight hours in one day and a travel allowance, but in Germany we were all supplied with a
vehicle. My weekly pay usually worked out to about £10 per week and paid in a little brown
envelope on a Thursday morning in BAFs – British Armed Forces money. In Germany in those
day there was very little one could spend money on, everything you needed was supplied,
including the alcoholic drink available in the mess.

I was then taken to 70 SIS Office situated just around the corner at 8 Holbien Strasse, where I was
introduced to Captain Tom Baker, Kings Own Scottish Borderers, the DAPM SIB. He was an ex-
Detective Constable from Huddesfield. He thanked me for my assistance over the past two
weeks, congratulated me on my promotion and hoped that I enjoyed my time with them in
Germany. I smiled, as if I knew exactly what he was talking about, we shook hands and I was then
introduced to the remainder of the staff. His deputy was Lieutenant Roseberry, an Officer
seconded to SIB from The Green Howards, RSM Jack Burton, CSM `Smudger` Smith, who was in
charge of investigations, Staff Sgt. Cooper, the Chief Clerk who ran the administration, Sergeants
Jonny Parr, Tom Morris, Corporal Anderson, an ex-Police Constable from Wales who had joined
the section two weeks previously, and a German speaking interpreter, Sergeant Sanders.

The house at 8 Holbien Strasse, had been used by a Field Security team from the Intelligence Corps
until February 1948, when they moved to Hamburg and 70 SIS moved in. It was a detached two-
storey property with a very large garage under the house, which was approached via a slope at the
side. One of the small store rooms in the front of the garage had been fully equipt as a dark room,
enlarger and all. The house inside was very modern and built just before the war, with a solid
concrete floor in a very wide hall and a matching terrazzo staircase with stainless steel banisters.
On the ground floor were five rooms, a toilet in the hall and upstairs were four double bedrooms,
one with a large outside balcony overlooking a well kept and sizable garden. The bathroom was
very modern with a large sunken bath in one corner, and overlooking the front was a kitchen.
Captain Baker and his wife used the flat as quarters. The house had been occupied from new by a
Staff Officer in Hitlers elite bodyguard, a man by the name of Genlan and his family. I discovered
many years later that in May 1945, he was General Major Reinhardt Genlan, then the Officer
Commanding Hitlers personal bodyguard and one of the last people to see Hitler and Eva Braun
alive. He turned up in the late 1950s at CIA HQ in Langley, Virginia, USA, running a spy
network for the Americans in East Germany.

I was also introduced to two German female typists who were employed through the PCLU -
(Pioneer Corp Labour Unit), busy typing from a large pile of statements. Everybody was hard at
work, either writing out statements or interviewing witnesses. As I had learnt shorthand typing at
school and noticed a spare typewriter on a desk, I told one of the typist that I would assist her. She
was very pleased as they all had to be finished by early afternoon. Her name was Gerda
Ridenbach, and she spoke impeccable English, and as I was later to discover, she had been a senior
female Kreigsmarine Officer. I will enlarge on that story later. That evening after dinner, Captain
Baker asked me if I would type out a report of the whole investigation whilst he dictated it, so that it
could be at the Provost Marshall office in Bad Oeynhausen the following morning. I was pleased,
because I had shown that I was an extra pair of useful hands and although I was only 18 years old,
the three stripes on my arm won everybodys approval and acceptance, including the married wives,
who can be very influential in a small close knit unit.

My first investigation also worked out in my favour. Royal Engineers and REME, shared a heavy
workshop outside Hildeshiem, called `Hanomag`. The manufacturing workshops where German
Tiger Tanks were made during the war was badly damaged, but a number of repair workshops were
intact and used to service and repair large vehicles, tanks and even aircraft. A German Speedway
Stadium nearby had been re-started by the British Army and teams from all over BAOR had started
to have meetings on a Sunday. The bikes that they used were mostly old ones or re-built from
spares, and a few riders had designed new frames using spares or old engines, anything that was
available. One REME Sergeant had made his own frame and sent off for a new JAP engine, made
in North London by J.A.Preswick Ltd. It arrived in a wooden crate and left overnight in a
workshop where the Sergeant planned to work on it the following day. When he arrived in the
morning the engine and crate were missing. It was reported to Regimental Police who searched
the entire site but when they could not find it, they reported the loss to SIB about four days later. I
went there on a Sunday morning and took a statement from the Sergeant, who was sure nobody in
his particular workshop would have touch it. It was obvious that who ever stole it must have had
help and probable used a vehicle to get it out of the base, because of its weight. I checked the base
MT records but no clues were forthcoming. I went to the Speedway meeting being held that
Sunday afternoon and realised there was a lot of interest in Speedway from the number of local
German civilians at the track. A - `No Fraternization` - ban which was still in force in Germany,
meant that they occupied a part of the track that was fenced off. I had noticed however that a large
number of German civilians were in the Army enclosure and I enquired why? Apparently the
CO allowed German civilians who were employed by PCLU at the `Hanomag` to mix and converse
with soldiers they worked with. The following day I went to see the Adjutant and asked him for a
list of names and addresses of all German civilians who were employed at the base. He told me in
rather an abrupt manner to get that information from the Civilian Supervisor. I told him that I
wanted him to supply me with the information and on no account was he to ask a civilian
supervisor. I realised that his records were probable out of date, so I told him that no action would
be taken providing he could give me their names. I knew I could get up-to-date information from
PCLU. It was also clear from his attitude that he was annoyed at being given an order by some
young wipper-snapper of an SIB Sergeant. However, the following morning the office received a
telephone call from him to say he had the list I wanted. I went to his office late that afternoon to
collect it. I thanked him for his help and invited him to our mess on the following Sunday where I
would be pleased to buy him a drink. To my surprise he turned up with his wife and became a
regular visitor. I showed him around our office and explained the type of work we did, because he
had no idea such an organisation as ours existed. We later became friends and he proved to be a
great help to SIB.

I discussed the case with Sgt Jonny Parr, who had been in SIB for two years. I told him that I
proposed to visit some of the addresses of the civilian mechanics in the hope that I might find
someone who worked on Speedway Bikes at home. He agreed and said – `Lets go now`. It was
three-thirty in the afternoon and an hours drive to Hildeshiem, so we left. To cut a long story short
- we drove past a couple of addresses when I spotted a wooden shed in the back garden of an
address on my list. I jumped out of the Jeep and found the engine still in its wooden crate in the
shed. It was all the two of us could do to get the wooden crate in the back of the Jeep. We
arrested the mechanic when he came home from work . In the shed we also found about 10 gallons
of petrol, which was not illegal for a German civilian to possess, but in this case he could not
satisfactorily prove ownership so I confiscated it and it was eventually returned to the `Hanomag`,
from where it was probable stolen. The case came before a British Judge sitting in a British
Control Commission Court. He pleaded not guilty to stealing the engine, saying that a British
Officer had paid him to hide the engine. In cross examination I ask him for the name of the British
Officer but as he was unable to give one, he was found guilty and sentenced to four months
imprisonment. He also lost his precious job.

About a month after I arrived in Germany, the Russians started interrupting the free flow of Allied
vehicles to and from Berlin, and the British check point at Helmstedt, just outside Brunswick,
became the scene of a number of dangerous incidents involving the elite Russian Guards unit and
soldiers from the Black Watch. Because of this and problems at the Volkswagen works at
Wolfsburg, an SIB detchment was formed and set up in the old town of Brunswick, which became
known as – Brunswich detachment 70 SIS RMP. RSM Jack Burton, was in charge with Sergeants
Morris and Sanders, the interpreter. I will explain in a later chapter how the British Army, together
with Major Ivan Hirst REME, and RSM Burton, SIB RMP, saved the Volkswagen Works from
total destruction and helped build the company into the largest vehicle manufacturer in Europe.

The Russian situation, particularly in Berlin began to get worse and the American Military
Governor, General Clay, threatened to force the Russian back into East Germany if they didn't stop
searching Allied vehicle and trains to and from Berlin, illegally. The Russians said that it had
become necessary because of the criminal gangs causing mayhem in East Germany, which they
alleged were coming from the west. The British Military Governor, Major General Sir Brian
Robertson, was a much more level headed man and invited all parties to a meeting in Berlin,
pointing out that all the borders were open along the Russian frontier, and searching Allied vehicles
and trains, would not stop criminals from getting across their borders. I am sure that he and the
Russian leaders would have sorted the matter out on amicable terms had he been allowed to so.
Unfortunately, Ernest Bevan, the British Foreign Secretary, wanted to get involved and he was as
bullet headed as the Americans. Needless to say, the meeting ended in stalemate and the Russians
threatened to throw the Allied powers out of Berlin. However, when they realised this was an
impossibility they decided to cut supplies to Berlin altogether and stopped all traffic to and from the
city. The only way to keep Berlin alive was to supply the Army and civilian population by air.
Thus, in early June 1948, the Berlin air lift started. The RAF bases at Wunsdorf and Buckeburg,
just north of Hannover were set to be the main British supply bases and although RAF SIB had
small, three man detachments at each base, Lt Roseberry and Corporal Anderson, who was
promoted to Sgt. Anderson, set up the Celle detachment of 70 SIS RMP. They were joined a few
days later by Sergeant Altman from the Interpreter Corp. The American Air Force also wanted to
use these bases, as the only concrete runway suitable for there large freight aircraft in their Zone
was Rhien Main, later to be known as Frankfurt International. The journey to Berlin from Rhien
Main was mostly over Russian Occupied territory and twice as far.

At Hannover we were joined by two new faces. Sergeant`s Maycock and Howard, who had just
completed an SIB course at Woking, and had spent most of their military service in the Middle East
as Regimental Policemen. They were both married and moved into luxury quarters at ex-Luftwaffe
Officer homes in Celle. The vehicle fleet was increased, and we now had a new Mercedes Saloon,
one of over a hundred confiscated from the factory in Stuttgart after the war, which were originally
made for the German Army, two Jeeps, four new Volkswagens built by Major Hirst and his REME
Engineers at Wolfsburg, and the old faithful, the 15cwt Bedford truck. Ours was an unusal four
wheeled drive version and would go literally anywhere. These were all garaged at night nearby in
the Pelikan Factory at Buckholz. Although the building had been destroyed, the garages were still
intact and we used them to keep our vehicles, and as a Property Store. In fact the houses
surrounding the factory were all untouched by bomb damage when in 1942, two Mosquito bombers
came and bombed the place, which manufactured German uniforms, leaving all the other buildings
untouched. The German caretaker who told me the story was most impressed, as they also left his
house at the main entrance to the factory, intact. Because our unit had now reached a certain
strength we were allotted a messing officer, who was responsible for collecting food and other
supplies from the District Supply Depots and delivering it to our married families and the mess.
He was Lance Corporal Dave Scot, from the Royal Armoured Corp and he was billeted at 125
Transit Camp in North Hannover.

When I first arrived in Hannover, the city centre was badly damaged and only two buildings
remained intact within a square mile of the main railway station, situated at the heart of the city
which had itself been rebuilt by the British Army. They were the Opera House and the Town Hall,
known as the Rathaus. This building was used by the British Control Commission as their
headquarters, from were they controlled the civilian authorities necessary to run a large city, and
with the Police Force disbanded and little in the way of public utilities working properly, it was a
very difficult job. The Rathaus was situated on the far side of a large man made lake – called the
Maschee, used as part of Hannover`s water supply system. By comparison to the city centre, the
Buckholz area of North Hannover was virtually untouched by bomb damage and many of the pre-
war owners still occupied some quite large properties. They were mostly professional or business
people.

Military Police mobile patrols maintained a 24 hour presence on the city streets, with one static post
at the railway station during the day. The main German Police Station in Podbeileskistrasse had
re-opened, as one by one Policemen were re-trained and denazified, a process that took about 12
months. When they returned for duty, they were all called – Shulzman. There were also three
Kripo Officers, criminal investigators, who had been re-trained and they were supervised by a
British Police Inspector, who had been seconded on a three year appointment, to the Control
Commission Police Service. Occasionally, the Military Police would take a Shulzman on patrol
with them.

The crimes we investigated were as varied as any big city today. Murder, rape, breakins, theft and
crimes of violence. Most SIB Sergeants had at least 20/25 jobs or more on the go at any one time
and everybody`s workload was high, seven days a week and many worked 14 to 16 hours a day.
Every weekday morning immediately after breakfast, CSM Smith would hold a meeting in the
office, usually about 8am, and every current case would be discussed. Suggestions and ideas
would be put forward and every investigator would be required to keep detailed notes in a diary so
that everyone know they could take over from one another. I am sure this system was the reason
for our high success rate solving crimes and in some cases for preventing the crime taking place in
the first place. Years later when I suggested a similar idea in the Metropolitan Police, it was
dismissed as being unworkable. Relaxation was allowed on Sunday evenings when a local
German five piece combo would come and play live music in our combined Officers and Sergeants
mess. Married staff together with their wives would come and so would invited Officers and
senior NCOs and their wives from local units. This helped us all with gaining local knowledge,
and getting to know the local Military Commanders. The British Military Governor, Major
General Sir Brian Robertson and his wife, were also frequent vistors as they lived nearby in
Hannover.

One of the most interesting stories I heard whilst serving in Germany, came from the German
civilian typist I mentioned earlier. As I said, her name was Gerda Ridenbach and within a few
months we became friends. I often took her with me on investigations, especially rape cases were
she knew exactly what to do and what points to include in statements. She would often take the
victim to 29 British Military Hospital and collect swabs, and she was excellent in the witness box.
It was nothing to find her hard at work in the office late in the evening. Both her mother and
father were doctors and before the war they ran a private Medical Practise from a purpose built
building at the side of their home situated about 100 yard from our office. In 1947, her father was
appointed the Senior Civilian Medical Consultant at 29 British Military Hospital in Hannover.
Her mother was sadly killed in Berlin in 1945, when the hospital in which she had been sent to
work was bombed.

Gerda had in fact been born in Hammersmith in London, in 1919, when both her parents worked at
St Thomas Hospital. Her father had trained as a Doctor there before the First World War and met
her mother, who was English, and worked at the hospital as a nurse. Gerda also wanted to be a
Doctor and in 1937, she was sent to St Thomas Hospital to complete a three year medical course.
Every summer she would return to Germany for the holidays and then return to London to continue
her training. In the summer of 1939, she returned home as usual, but after two weeks her father
suggested she would be safer in London with the war approaching, so at the end of July she said
goodbye and caught the train to Calais. Unfortunately, she was stopped at the German border and
sent to Hamburg, where she was recruited into the German Kriegsmarine. After six weeks training
she was made a junior officer and sent to join Admiral Canaris staff as an Interpreter. He was
head of the German Abwehr, the German Military Intelligence Service, and had been so since Hitler
became the German Chancellor in 1933. He also spoke English fluently – as well as Spanish and
French, which Gerda also spoke. She met his wife, Erika and their two daughters and occasional
accompanied him home for a long week ends at their home in Schleswig Holstein. She told me he
hated Hitler from the start of the Third Reich, in particular the Nazis philosophy and was involved
in plots to assassinate the German Chancellor, first in 1938 and again in 1939. Both plots failed
miserable and Canaris considered himself very lucky to escape being found out and continued doing
his job. In 1940, she was promoted and appointed as one of his official Interpreters/PA and
accompanied him with two male colleagues where ever he went.

That September, four of them left Hamburg in civilian clothes, travelled by train to Geneva, caught
a Swiss Air Flight to Dublin, where she was present when he met Eamon D`Olivera, the Irish Prime
Minister. The purpose of the meeting was to arrange a bunkering service for German U-boats in the
North Atlantic, so they could use three small west coast Irish ports. In return the Irish got meat
from Argentina, fresh fruit from Spain and Italy, and oil and petrol from Romania. Somehow, the
Royal Navy found some of the U-boats and sunk them as they were leaving the Irish ports. She
thought that English sympathisers had seen a U-boat in the port, and reported the matter to an
English agent. The Irish Prime Minister had warned Canaris to be careful when eating out in
Dublin as the English had many agents there. I suspect that signals to and from U-boats were
being intercepted at Bletchley Park and information passed on to the Royal Navy. She also said
that members of MI6 based in Geneva, used the same route to Dublin, via Swiss Air and then by
ferry to Holyhead, when travelling back to London. She even knew that names of most of the
British staff in Geneva.

Later in the war, she was with Canaris and a party of German Abwehr, when they took over an Irish
Hotel south of Cork City at Skibbereen for a three week holiday. She was also with the Admiral
when he went to meet the head of MI6 in Geneva, a Mr Claude Danvers. Apparently, Admiral
Canaris knew him well and through him had tried to get the British Government to strongly oppose
Hitler`s plans to invade Austria and the Sudetenland in 1939. Unfortunately for Canaris, the
British Prime Minister, Mr Neville Chamberlain was not tough enough in his negotiations with
Hitler and he accepted a worthless treaty – declaring `Peace in our time`. Canaris was the only
person who knew that Gerda was born in England and held a British passport. He suggested to
Danvers at a meeting in the later stages of the war, when he was still trying to negotiate a peace
treaty with the British, that Gerda would act as his personal envoy if he would take her to England
and allow her to talk to Mr. Winston Churchill.

One story she told me I refused to believe. She was sent to a British Prisoner of War camp near
Berlin where Allied airmen would be questioned about the RAF. They wanted to know about on
board radar in aircraft. The pilot she interviewed had crashed his fighter and was wearing a pair of
tin legs which were damaged in the crash. His own legs had been amputated above the a knees.
German mechanics had repaired his tin legs so that he could walk again. I told her that the RAF
would never allow a pilot, particularly a fighter pilot to fly with no legs. In any case, it would have
been impossible for him to fly the aircraft, he needed legs to operate the foot controls, but she
insisted it was true. Some years later I had to swallow my words when I read about Wing
Commander Douglas Bader.

Sadly for her, Admiral Canaris was placed under house arrest by the Gestapo in early 1944, after
another attempt on the Fuhers life at the Wolfs Lair in Poland, and she never saw him again. He
was of course executed on Hitlers orders in April 1945, in Flossenburg Concentration camp. Gerda
had however, kept in contact with Erika and in 1948 still corresponded with her.

A few days before the war ended, Gerda was told by the German General who had taken charge, as
were many others in the Abwehr, to burn all her uniforms and papers and return home to her family
in Hannover and say nothing about her wartime experiences. I believe she was then the second
highest ranked female Kreigsmarine Officer in Hamburg. She was also given details of people she
should contact if she ever needed help with finances. This was a fund set up in Switerland by the
Nazi heirachy before the war ended to help the `Officer Class` survive after the war..

She became her fathers receptionist and surgery nurse in Hannover, and was never interviewed by
the Allies after the war. One day she was out walking and noticed a British Field Security team
from the Intelligence Corp, had moved into Genlan`s house in Holbienstrasse. She cheekily went
in and spoke to the OC, telling him she was an excellent shorthand typist and spoke English fluently
and asked for a job. They did, and the rest is history.

I suggested to her that a lot of the information she had told me would be of interest to certain people
in England, and she readily agreed to tell her story. I spoke to Captain Baker and apart from being
surprised as I was, he suggested we put a report together and he would submit it to the proper
authorities thro` the Provost Marshalls Office. This we did, and a thirty odd page report was
submitted. I personally heard nothing more.

The Berlin Air Lift provided the international criminal with a vast array of goods and equipment to
come to Germany for. American gangsters were mostly after armaments, including tanks, half
tracks and guns of all descriptions. There hunting grounds were the hundreds of displaced persons
camps scattered all over Germany, especially the larger sites such as those on Luneburg heath. The
German Military barracks at Belson, which were quite badly damaged at the end of the war, housed
hundreds of displaced persons and eventually were taken over by the British Army, re-built and
became known as Holne Barracks. RMP and SIB raided most of the camps on a periodic basis and
the items that came to light were quite astonishing. Valuable paintings and rare works of art that
had originally been stolen from all over Europe by the Nazis`, had then been re-stolen by displaced
persons or criminals, and in a few cases, re-stolen again by people whose basic intention was to see
them returned to there rightful owners. The problems for SIB investigating these matters was
finding the real owners and in our property store we had some truly remarkable objects.
Photographs and full descriptions were sent to all sorts of interested parties, including newly set up
Governments in occupied countries, auction houses in London, New York and Geneva, and in some
cases we were able to trace the original owners.

One case that I dealt with highlights the difficulties we were often faced with. Two sealed
ammunition boxes that had been found in possession of D.Ps on Luneburg Heath, became one of
my jobs to sort out and and I was instructed to give the ammunition back to the Royal Engineers. I
took the two very heavy boxes to an RE unit in North Hannover to have them cut open. To my
amazement, and the astonishment of the RE Corporal using the welding torch, the boxes each
contained 22 bars of gold all carefully wrapped in wood wool. Each bar was stamped with the
German Eagle mark of the Reich bank and were emblazoned with numerous sets of numbers. Sgt
Anderson SIB, who had originally confiscated the boxes during one on our routine searches,
suggested that we went back to the DP Camp and check to see if there any more. These camps
always had one person who was unofficially in charge and it was always the best policy to speak to
them if one had any problems. Eventually we found such a person, told him that these sealed
ammunition boxes contained stolen German Gold and that we wanted the rest. He agreed to call us
as soon as he had any news. When we left I was fairly certain that we would not hear from him
again, but about a week later the office received a call from him. Sgt Anderson and I returned to
the camp and true to his word, he had found another box. When it was later opened, this too
contained 22 bars of gold. We gave him two bottles of Camp Coffee and you would have thought
we had given him the Crown Jewels. I eventually submitted a report to the Comptroller at the
Bank of England, together with a photograph, in accordance with standing orders issued by them at
the end of the war regarding Gold, Currency, Printing plates and printing presses that might come
into our possession.

About a week later Captain Baker received a request from a Department of the British Control
Commission based in Koln, saying they wanted to inspect the Gold in our possession with an
American expert. Captain Baker called me into his office and we set a date for this delegation to
attend . Only one bar of gold would be available for them to look at and three of us would be
present at that meeting, CSM Smith, Captain Baker and myself. On the day four men arrived,
two dressed as Majors in the British Control Commission, One American Army Major and an
American civilian who was introduced as Agent so and so. They were shown the bar of gold and
the American Agent asked if he could see the rest. Captain Baker told him that all 66 bars in our
possession were identical to the one on show, they had consecutive numbers thereon and if they
wished to take a photograph, that would be fine but the remainder was locked in our property store
and that was where they were staying. He then asked where our property store was situated and
Captain Baker touched his nose – as much to say that was our business. The American looked
annoyed and said, `This gold is part of a consignment that was stolen from a bank in Frankfurt at
the end of the war and I will arrange for it to be collected in the next few days.” Captain Baker
jumped up from his chair, grabbed the single bar from the Americans hand and said to him. `This
gold belongs to the German Reich Bank. I would not release it to you so don`t bother sending
anyone to collect it. Now, we all have work to do so if that is all, we bid you good day.` The four
men then left the office. That evening about six of us went to the property store, we put all the
gold in the back of our 15cwt truck and I drove it into the garage under the office. We wrapped
each bar in newspaper and stacked it in a locked cupboard in Captain Baker`s lounge. The
ammunition boxes in the property store were filled with bricks and they we tied up with ropes and
left there. That is how much the CO trusted the Americans. Eventually, the gold was collected
by the RAF together with a representative from the Bank of England and flown to London.

The black market case involving the District Supply Depot that bought me to Germany in the first
place, was another case that turned up some interesting bits of property. A German Mercedes
Benz six wheeled car with a soft top, that had been part of Hitlers personal transport unit, one of six
in fact, was found in a warehouse at the DSD. How it got there and who it belonged too was never
established. The case started when two SIB Sergeants had visited the DSD regarding the theft of
money from a soldiers locker. They noticed a large Motor Cruiser on an RAF Queen Mary, parked
at the back of the DSD which was being worked on and which was obviously being kept in one of
the warehouses. Enquiries revealed that it was the property of the Commanding Officer, a
Lieutenant Colonel. RAF Queen Mary`s were large 38 foot long trailers towed behind a Diamond
T Truck and used to recover crashed aircraft or for transporting aircraft by road.

At the same time complaints were received from British families in both Germany and Trieste, that
fresh vegetables being supplied to them from the DSD in Hannover, was of a much poorer quality
than that supplied a year earlier.

At the end of the war the Dutch Government were given a contract to supply fresh vegetables to
both the British Forces and the German civilian population in a very complicated agreement. Fresh
goods would be sent by train to the DSD in Hannover, three times a week in two distinct grades.
The `A` grade was for the British and the `B` grade for the civilian population. Obviously the two
grades were being switched somewhere along the line and someone was making a great deal of
money. There were a number of other considerations but to keep the matter simple we will stick
to the vegetables. The British Government complained about the deterioration in quality to the
Dutch who insisted the quality had not changed. The SIB were asked to investigate. Many
German civilians were employed at the DSD through the PCLU system, and they were all
supervised by a German civilian. He was watched and his background checked and it was soon
discovered that he was not who he said he was. The CO at the DSD was informed and he agreed
to deal with the problem. It was only when he was arrested about a month later and his
fingerprints checked that he was found to be an ex-Gestapo Sturmbahnfurher, who was wanted in
the American Zone for war crimes and currency offences.

SIB continued to investigate and found out that labels on goods trains were being changed at the
DSD in Hannover, so that supplies to British Forces in Trieste were sent `B` grade and in some
cases goods were being kept at the DSD for more than a week before being distributed. Supplies
to British units in Germany, including supplies to the Control Commission were also being
switched to `B` grade. An SIB team in Koln were asked to check a DSD in their area and they
arranged for an SIB Sergeant to travel incognito aboard a train from Holland to Hannover. He
discovered that trains were making unauthorised stops at railway sidings in the Ruhr where some
good vans were being swopped for others. The difficulty SIB faced was finding the person at the
top of this activity for although they could have stepped in and arrested the minions, the British
Military Governer and the Provost Marshall, wanted to find the people at the top. The CO and
senior staff at the Hannover DSD were strongly suspected, so when a vacancy occurred in the MT
section for a Staff car driver, I was sent in the hope that I would be appointed to drive one of these
senior officers and able to find some evidence of there involvement.

Eventually, luck played an enormous part in the success of this investigation, for on the day that I
took six vehicles to Luneburg Heath, the Colonel went to his office and removed a lot of files and
correspondence. He placed them in the back of his official car and he and a Major, who I believe
was the Adjutant, together with his Corporal driver, drove out of the DSD and headed for the
Major`s married quarters on a Military estate in Celle. Captain Baker, CSM Smith and Sergeant
Parr SIB, were already at the estate making enquiries amongst Officers wives whose husbands were
not attached to the DSD, when they saw the Colonel`s car pull up outside the Major`s house and the
three men started to unload the contents. The SIB team had seen enough and stepped in. There
was all the evidence they needed. The Colonel had apparently been warned who I was and
realising he was now under suspicion decided to get rid of much of the evidence by having a
bonfire. SIB later discovered that the Colonel was also running other DSD`s in Germany as he
had been somehow able to control postings to Germany from London`s Second Echelon, the
department at the War Office responsible for appointing senior officers in The Royal Army
Ordnance Corps. He had appointed his own senior staff at other DSD`s and two Major`s were
found to be only Captains and should not have been wearing a Crown on their shoulder.

The Colonel was eventually Cashiered under Army regulations and two other officers were
similarly dealt with and a Captain in RAOC committed suicide. A number of NCOs were dealt
with at Court Marshall`s and some received prison sentence, as did a few German civilians. About
18 months after I left the Army, I was a serving Police Officer in the Metropolitan Police when I
was subpoenaed to attend the Old Bailey to give evidence as a witness in the trial of three men
charged with theft of War Department property. One of the men was the Ex-Colonel. On the
morning of the trial I was told that my evidence would no longer be required as all three had
pleaded guilty. The Ex-Colonel received a three year prison sentence and sent to an Open Prison.

From an SIB point of view, it was a very successful outcome to a very complicated enquiry, and
from my personal point of view, I was credited with a success that I did not really deserve. One sad
note however, came when the body of an SIB Sergeant was found at the side of a railway line near
the Dutch border. I believe he was attached to SHAEF Headquarters in Paris and working on a
similar type of enquiry. News also filtered through that two SIB Sergeants had been found
hanging from a tree in an olive grave on Mount Sinai in Palestine. The region was subject to a lot
of terrorist activity against British Forces when Jewish Terrorist organisations such as – Irgun Zuei
Leumi – the Stern Gang and Hagana – were all fighting for the Jewish State of Israel.

Dead SIB Sergeants was certainly on my mind when Captain Baker showed me some
correspondence he had found amongst the papers confiscated that morning in Celle. It was the
letter from the War Office informing the DSD of my being posted there. These letters were sent to
Commanding Officer`s warning them of new postings and contained brief details of the soldiers
military service, prior to his records being forwarded later. Mine read – Name, rank and number,
last unit was shown as RASC Borden, but previous units – RMP SIB Training School, Woking,
CMP Training school, Woking. It might just as well have said in big letters – We are on to you -
You Have been warned. Captain Baker submitted a report that day pointing out the dangers
involved when Investiugators were sent to do a job at another Army unit incognito, and hopefully
the system was changed.

Staff Sergeant Cooper, our Chief Clerk was married to an Officer in the ATS. She became
pregnant in January 1949 and was posted back to the UK. He asked to be posted to London and I
was promoted to Chief Clerk. Unfortunately, because I was a National Service conscript I was not
given the extra rank. RSM Burton and his team at Brunswick were working at full stretch and he
ask if I would help out with some of his admin. The typing up of reports was his biggest problem
as they had not been able to recruit a reliable typist. The trivial matters at the frontier post at
Helmstedt when the elite Russian Guards would continue to cause as much harrassment as possible
to both the British Military and German civilians travelling to and from Berlin, would take up a lot
of time and so I wrote most of there reports. In one incident a Second Lieutenant acting as a CTO
– Convoy Transport Officer – was badly assaulted by Russian Guards when he carried out standing
orders by refusing to allow his convoy to be searched, and had to have hospital treatment for his
injuries. The Russians took him to a small German Village hospital about twenty miles inside the
Russian Zone for treatment and then refused to have any knowledge of his whereabouts. The
RMP Sergeant on duty that day was Sergeant George West, a very smart, regular soldier who
always carried a swagger stick. When he heard about this incident he immediately went to
Helmstedt, marched the 40 odd yards from the British frontier post to the Russian post with his two
Lance Corporal at his side. Five or six Russian Guards saw the RMP`s approaching dressed in
Red Caps, white blancoed belt, gaiters and pistol holster and quickly disappeared inside their brick
built post. Sergeant West banged on there door, which they had locked. When they refused to
come to the door and discuss the matter with him, he took out is revolver, fired four shots at the
door and blew the lock off. He went inside and disarmed the Russian Guards, locked them in
their own cells and took their Officer in charge in his Jeep to the Hospital where the Young British
CTO had received treatment. A British Military Ambulance was then called and took the young
Officer to 29 British Military Hospital where he stayed for more than a week. I don`t think the
incident helped smooth over the problems that existed at that time but it did give the Russians a bit
of there own treatment and calmed down Officers and men of the Black Watch who were quite
ready to start a war. In other cases German civilians were taken off trains and in some cases
never seen again. All these incidents had to be investigated and a report submitted even though we
knew that no Russian soldier would ever be disciplined for these offences.

RSM Burton had his hands full sorting out problems at the Volkswagen factory at Wolfsburg,
which ultimately, he, and the British Army, in particular Major Ivan Hirst and his Royal Engineers,
saved from complete destruction. So important is this period to the history of SIB that I have
devoted the next chapter to the story.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end and when my demob date loomed in October 1949, I
received a letter from the Provost Marshal`s office, asking if I was interested in taking a short
service commission and remain in the Army. I would stay in SIB. In private, I was keen on
joining the Police Force back home, but provisionally agreed to stay. I had thoroughly enjoyed my
time in the Army, in particular with SIB, where I had learnt an unusual skill. I had meet some very
talented people, I enjoyed the comradeship that exists in a small unit and handled the responsibility
as competently as everyone else. A few days later a Police Inspector from Hendon Training
School came to the office looking for recruits and discovered that I was shortly to be demobbed.
He guaranteed me that with the training I had and the position I held, he would arrange automatic
entry into the Metropolitan Police, no exams and after a two year probationary period I would be
selected for the CID. Foolishly, I believed him and even Captain Baker agreed that it was a a
better opportunity than staying in the Army for another five years. Reality however, proved very
different..

I joined the Metropolitan Police at the end of October 1949, and after thirteen weeks at Hendon
Training School, I was posted to Southwark Police Station. From a Policeman`s point of view it
was a very interesting place to work. Something different happened everyday and one of the beat
patrols covered the site where the Festival of Britain was being built. The staff were either young
men with a few months service or older men who had served through the war, but everybody got on
well. The problem was living accommodation. I was billeted in Gilmour House, a Police Section
house above Kennington Police Station. It was one very large room divided into cubicles about
eight feet by ten feet, with a single bed, a wooden wardrobe, and a small table and chair. The
whole room housed about 40 men. I did have a outside room with a window. Some cubicles had
no windows. Surprisingly there were no locks on the doors and the lighting was very bad, about
eight large lights situated high in the ceiling to light to whole room, that were on day and night..
There was no privacy, no silence, no security and worst of all nowhere to keep my motor cycle. I
know we were all Policemen but things did go workabouts. I padlocked a leather suitcase to the
bedsprings under the bed in which I kept my valuables, something I never had to worry about in the
Army. The washing facilities were far worse than anywhere I had ever seen in Military
establishments, and my dirty clothes I took home to my mother on rest days because there were no
laundry facilities. Eating arrangements were disgraceful. One had to go two floors down to the
canteen to make a cup of tea, where there was one kettle to serve about 180 single men and 20
women who lived in fairly respectable rooms on the top floor. The cooked meals available day
and night in the canteen were poorly cooked and the only way one could cook their own meal was
in a frying pan. My weekly pay was less than I had in the Army and every week I had to draw
money from my Post Office Saving book to exist. After three months I had enough. I was
suffering from severe stomach pains and the Police Doctor advised me what to do.

He told me to submit an application to get married and find a flat to rent outside central London.
I explained that I had no regular girl-friend, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “ Thats the
least of your problems.”

The first long weekend off, I went looking around the Estate Agents shop windows in North
London. The first advert I saw showed a house for sale in East Barnet for £2250.00. I had come
out of the Army with about £2600 in my Post Office Savings book I realised I had enough to buy
the house outright, so I went to view it. It was semi-detached, kitchen, lounge and dining room
downstairs with three bedrooms upstairs, and space at the side for a garage. There was a large
garden at the rear which backed onto open park land. I went back to the Estate Agent and told him
I would buy it.

He sent me to a Solicitors office situated across the road where I signed a few documents and I
promised to pay him a £500 deposit the following week, which I did. About five weeks later I
received a letter at Gilmour House from the Solicitor, informing me that I was now the proud owner
of a house in East Barnet and would I call and see him as soon as possible to collect the keys.
There was mention of money which I thought was rather strange. I was on duty the following
morning from 6am to 2pm, so I applied to have the last four hours off which was approved.

At 10am that morning I dashed back to the Section House, changed my clothes, ran all the way to a
local garage where I kept my motor cycle and sped off to North London. During that period of five
weeks I had opened a bank account and transferred sufficient money to pay for the house by
cheque. The Solicitors office was one of those old fashioned places where all the clerks worked
standing at sloping desks. One of the clerks handed me a sealed envelope and a set of keys and
asked me to sign a couple of documents. He said,“I hope you will be happy with your new
purchase and enjoy living there.” He then showed me to the door.

I crossed the road and went into the Estate Agents office to thank him for his help. I asked him
quietly if he knew how much I owed the Solicitor and when he would want me to pay the rest of the
money. He said, “You don`t owe him anything, he gets a commission for arranging the
mortgage.” When I arrived at my new house I opened the envelope and discovered he had
arranged a mortgage for the balance owing, which meant I now had sufficient money to buy some
furniture. I was ecstatic. Wouldn`t it be nice if those sort of Solicitors were still about today.

PATRICK COLSON Ex Sgt. SIB RMP