The land of submarines

Not for the first time I fell asleep watching Das Boot on TV last night. I have never managed to see this film the whole way through although I have probably seen all of it at various times, catching a bit here and a bit there, and have enjoyed what I've seen. It has everything you want of a submarine film.

My favourite character is the chief engineer who clearly loves his engines, listening accutely with a stick-like probe he puts to his ear when he smiles serenely, transported to engineer's heaven through the poetry of motion.

Then there's the U-boat captain (stereotypically a cynical, hard-bitten veteran who hates Nazis and is therefore a "good German"), who can be contrasted against the ideologically-driven young officer who was moved to travel all the way from his parents' plantation in Mexico to fight for the fatherland.

"You gave up the good life for this undersea nightmare?" No-one needs to say this. Das Boot milks every stereotype in the submarine genre mercilessly. The sub is very quickly taken to a depth beyond that which is recommended as safe by the manufacturer.

Red zone

Why do the captains in submarine films always do this? And why do the shipyards set soft tolerance levels when they know that captains are going to take the dial well in to the red zone with all the accompanying wince-inducing cracking noises? Yet we all know in the comfort of our sitting rooms that the worst that will happen is a few bolts flying out of seals with a bit of gushing water amid the frantic shutting of valves.

If the sub actually did cave-in like a crushed egg (typically demonstrated by one of the crew) that would be the end of the film before we had chance to experience the ubiquitous depth charges, the studied tension of the propeller-listening scene, and the even more anguished leaving-a-man-behind-up-top-while-diving-to-escape-an-air-attack-scene.

In Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea you felt cheated if, ten minutes in to every episode, the crew weren't staggering and lurching as the sub rocked from side to side with sparks flying everywhere. I'm sure this was a big influence on Star Trek where the same stuff happens, only this time in deep space with slightly sexier peeps from the instruments instead of the rhythmic "poyoing" of the submarine sonar.

Hail stones

Now, about those depth charges. All submarine films must have them, but Das Boot surpassed itself in the number and intensity. They are coming down like hail stones and blasting everywhere. Yet, at least in films, the depth charge must be the most ineffective weapon known to man.

At most the blasts kill one or two crew members who, conveniently, can be shot out of a torpedo tube with some oil and other bits and pieces to simulate debris (although I don't think this happens in Das Boot). This is usually enough to see off the offending destroyer.

Had these films been available for Royal Navy training, no self-respecting destroyer captain would have been fooled by a few life-jackets, some junked food, a little slick and the odd body.

"Ah Ah, the old torpedo tube feint," he would have said and continued depth-charging from the ship's endless supply. But there is only so much that a submarine film audience can take, its tolerance levels for sustained attack, being slightly lower than that of submarine film actors and far lower than real submariners.

Steel coffin

It doesn't seem right that in the safety of my armchair I can simply fall asleep while the hardy actors must suffer endless buckets of water in their faces. As for reality, the claustrophobia of sailing in what amounted to a steel coffin for the dubious honour of making war on cargo ships, is simply beyond comprehension. Which is why, I suppose, we watch submarine films, so we don't ever have the urge to endure such an experience ourselves.

But maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps there are those who, fresh from a viewing of Das Boot, are sprinting down to their nearest naval recruiting office, clamouring for an opportunity to take that dial in to the red zone. I won't be among them.

Thiepval Monument and the Somme

Returning from a weekend in Normandy we called at the Thiepval monument to the 72,000 British dead who died with no known grave on the Somme in the First World War (1914-18).

Designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens, it towers over the battlefield and today has an interpretation centre to put the battle in context for new generations of visitors.

The list of names is staggering. Imagine your telephone directory pasted page by page on a wall. I counted three Donkins: a Thomas Donkin from Durham, a Harry Donkin from East Yorkshire, and a Stanley Donkin from Cornwall, none related to me as far as I know.

White feather

Both of my grandfathers were in the artillery. Grandad Donkin did not join the Army until he was conscripted in 1917. I'm quite proud of him for sticking it out when there was tremendous pressure to volunteer. It's probably the reason I exist. Young women would hand white feathers to young men they saw in civilian clothes. I wonder if that ever happened to my grandad? If so, I wonder how he handled it?

At Fricourt we visited one of the perfectly maintained British cemeteries. Almost all those buried there were members of the West Yorkshire Regiment and all were killed on July 1, the first day of the Somme when the British and Commonwealth losses ran to almost 20,000 with another 40,000 wounded. That's a football crowd, gone in a single day.

Mass Graves

There are more than a thousand British WWI graveyards in France but very few German graveyards. No more than a fifth of the German dead are buried there in marked graves. Some were removed after the first war and others after the Second World War when the dead were either repatriated or deposited in mass graves.

When I first went to the Somme nearly 30 years ago there were few visitors. Almost every farm you drove past had its stack of old munitions ploughed up from the fields. Yesterday at the Lochnager site where a large mine was exploded (60,000 pounds of ammonol completely destroyed a German redoubt) there was a young chap selling brass shell casings and old nose cones as mementos. Nearby there is the Old Blighty Cafe.

A good way to visit the Somme is to start from Albert, then head towards Bapaume on the D929 which intersects the battlefield. You can see the ridge line in which the Germans had dug their trenches, supported by deep underground shelters that enabled enough of their troops to survive an otherwise devastating bombardment.

Withering fire

Once the shelling had finished, whistles blew and the British troops, many from the same streets and villages, climbed their ladders and set out across no-mans land. Meanwhile the German defenders were rushing up from their bunkers to reach their firing positions from where they were able to rake the khaki lines of slowly advancing troops with withering fire.

One of them was the father of an old friend of mine, the late Godfrey Golzen. As a machine gunner, Godfrey's father must have mown down hundreds of the advancing British. Later he would lose an arm before returning to his home town of Berlin at the end of the war.

Holocaust survivor

Mr Golzen senior was a well respected Justice of the Peace who lived peacefully in Berlin with his family, including Godfrey, throughout the Second World War. What makes this remarkable is that he was a Jew, one of about 200 in Berlin who avoided transportation and survived the Holocaust.

Godfrey explained that his family were assimilated and felt as German as any other Berliner. Not that that would have made any difference to the Nazis; but his neighbours and friends stayed loyal throughout the war. Another thing worth noting is his family's attitude to Eastern European Jews. "They weren't liked by those who had assimilated as we had done," said Godfrey.

Footpath idea

The WWI sites are so important to Europe's heritage that they should be made more accessible. I would like to see a Front line footpath that follows the trench system at a certain date - say the morning of July 1 1916 - from it's beginning on the coast to the border with Switzerland.

Very little of the trench system has been preserved but a modern footpath would enable visitors to appreciate the enormity of this terrible war in a way that differs from simply turning up to a site in the car and reading a plaque. The access would need to be purchased but that should be possible. The farmers get enough as it is in EU subsidies. Why not attach a few conditions for those whose farms cross the battlefields?

Postcript: Since writing this I have been contacted by Thomas Golzen, Godfrey's son, who points out some innacuracies. I could edit them in the text but prefer to publish his note instead because it shows how stories can get mangled even given the best intentions of the author. But I also think it gives a different perspective on events where certain stereotypes have emerged. I wonder what the Nazi hierarchy would or could have said to the Jewish German highly decorated war hero?

Here is Thomas's note:

I can see from your blog that you knew my dad, Godfrey, and that you seem to have heard some family history. It's very strange for me to think that I'm only a generation or two away from all that. Actually, it was my gandmother's sister Susi who survived the war in Berlin as a Jew. My dad's family (father, mother and younger sister) managed to escape to Switzerland in 1939 and made their way to the UK from there. I also seem to remember being told that my grandfather had been mostly up against the French during the Somme. His recollection of the first day was climbing out of the dugouts after a week's bombardment with their machine guns and shooting all the attacking troops.

I never met him - he died before I was born - but I got the impression that he rather enjoyed the war. As a Jew, it gave him the chance to be treated on an equal footing with ethnic Germans, and to show them that Jews could be good soldiers too. He was highly decorated before he was invalided out.