Over the next two days, Strasser taught Lockhart about the SS training routine. It was similar to that of the British army, although there was a greater emphasis on political “education,” as Strasser called it—“indoctrination,” thought Lockhart, but he kept his mouth shut. Lockhart learned that recruits were woken at six o’clock for an hour’s gymnastics before breakfast. The morning could be taken up by weapons training, the recruits learning how to strip and assemble a whole variety of weapons, or it could involve infantry training, in which skills such as bayonet practice and unarmed combat would be taught. After a good lunch, there was a “make and mend” session, in which recruits would have to clean the barracks and their boots and uniforms, as well as attend to any other chores. The afternoon was filled with further physical exercise—a route march or a cross-country run in full kit. In the evening, the recruits had time to themselves. Normally they would read, play cards or listen to the radio, although they were encouraged to play chess. Some would have earned a pass to go into the local town, where they had to be on their best behavior—drunkenness was not tolerated in the SS, Strasser reminded Lockhart.

There were at least three political lectures given per week. These often covered the policies of the Nazi Party, and lectures on racial superiority were frequently given. Jews, Slavs, Gypsies, Communists and even Freemasons were all regarded as Untermenschen, and SS men were taught that they were superior in every way. In short, said Strasser, the SS were not just frontline troops, but missionaries of a new world order. Lockhart asked if Strasser believed in it all, especially as the SS was even taking so-called Untermenschen, such as the Ukrainians, into its divisions. Strasser said that what he thought was of no consequence. But did Strasser expect him, Lockhart, to believe in all this claptrap? No, said Strasser, he did not, but he added that the BFC’s men would receive the same lectures, in addition to their daily German language classes. They were perhaps a little more amenable, he told Lockhart.

The last day of 1943 began in the way Lockhart was starting to consider routine. A wash and a shave, and then on with the old Wehrmacht tunic and trousers he had been given in Crete. Breakfast with Strasser and Lange followed, and then some exercises in an area away from the glare of the other prisoners, who Lockhart had caught glimpses of from time to time. At around noon, it had started to snow, and he made his way in, not looking forward to the inevitably cold shower. As he walked down the corridor, he heard brisk footsteps behind him.

“Lockhart! There you are!”

It was Strasser.

“Yes?”

“Follow me—I have something for you.”

Strasser led him to Lockhart’s own room. There, hanging on a hook, was the uniform of an SS officer.

“Your uniform, Hauptsturmführer Lockhart,” announced Strasser, with an air of satisfied formality.