The capture of Kurt Meyer in 1944

Sturmbannführer of the Waffen-SS Kurt Meyer during the Balkans campaign in World War II

The capture of Waffen-SS commander Kurt Meyer, nicknamed "Panzermeyer", took place on 7 September 1944 between 0:00 and 1:00 a.m. on the German Western Front in Durnal or Spontin, Belgium. On 7 September 1954, after 10 years as a POW, he was released and returned to his family.

Meyer during Operation Barbarossa

History

Max Wünsche is being promoted; from left to right: Kurt Meyer, Max Wünsche, Sepp Dietrich, Heinrich Himmler and Hubert Meyer.

Oak Leaves for Kurt Meyer from the Führer

Combat briefing with Kurt Meyer (right), Bernhard Krause (centre) and Max Wünsche (head wound) on the invasion front in the Caen area, 1944

Western Front, 1944

Teens of the 12th SS Panzer Division Hitlerjugend

... more brave teens after having been decorated with the Iron Cross, 2nd Class.

This is stated to be a sketch of the capture of Kurt Meyer, but its accuracy cannot be definitively proven.

Sherman tanks in Spontin, Belgium in September 1944; in the background a destroyed German motorcycle with sidecar, the rider fallen. The Hotel "Le Cheval Blanc" is still in operation today (as of 2026).

American invaders of Lieutenant Colonel Roswell H. King's task force in Spontin, September 1944

On 24 October 1944, temporary leader Hubert Meyer handed over command of the division to SS-Brigadeführer Fritz Kraemer. He was promoted to SS-Obersturmbannführer on 9 November 1944. Hubert Meyer remained with the division as Ia until its surrender on 8 May 1945. He and his newly reinforced division (10,000 men) were taken prisoner by American forces near Enns in Upper Austria. Meyer later co-founded the Mutual Aid Association of Former Waffen-SS Members (HIAG) and the war graves foundation "When All Brothers Are Silent" (Wenn alle Brüder schweigen).

Kurt Meyer caught in the gears of Canadian military victor's justice in Aurich (East Frisia)

Meyer maintains his composure even on death row.

Kurt Meyer (standing with raised fist in victory), Paul Hausser (seated) and many others at a HIAG meeting in Karlburg in 1957

Kurt Meyer, HIAG speech in 1959

Kurt Meyer, OdR meeting

Gravesite

Initial situation

In the Caen area (→ Battle of Caen), Falaise, near Trun, and along the Seine, the 12th SS Panzer Division "Hitlerjugend" fought against the enemy invaders who had landed in Normandy. SS-Standartenführer, and later, from 1 August 1944, SS-Oberführer of the Waffen-SS, Kurt Meyer led his men against overwhelming odds and held out for a considerable time. By the end of the fighting, the division had reached battalion strength. For this extraordinary achievement of his division, Meyer, as SS-Oberführer, was awarded the Swords to the Oak Leaves on 27 August 1944 on behalf of his heroic men.

The remnants of the division broke away on 20/21 August. In August 1944, they withdrew from the Falaise Pocket and were absorbed by units of the 3rd SS Panzergrenadier Regiment "Deutschland" and the 2nd SS Panzer Reconnaissance Battalion "Das Reich" of the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Das Reich".

In the fighting on the invasion front, the division lost 80 % of its combat strength, 21 commanders were killed, and it lost 80 % of its tanks, 70 % of its armored reconnaissance and armored personnel carriers, 60 % of its artillery, and 50 % of its motor vehicles. A mere 600 men retreated across the Meuse River on 4 September 1944. Since the Americans managed to quickly cross the Meuse River and get behind the German defenders, the divisional staff of the "Hitler Youth" Division under Meyer clashed with a US armored spearhead of the "3rd Armored Division" south of Namur on 6 September 1944.

Battle for the Meuse crossings

On 4 September 1944, the remnants of Meyer's division fought fiercely against the onrushing enemy masses, but even the best Waffen-SS men could not withstand the numerous American tanks, which knew no shortage of ammunition or fuel. Bernhard Siebken and Karl-Heinz Milius, with two battle groups, were responsible for the resistance along the Meuse River. Their 600 men were insufficient; the division had not a single tank, the last of which were in Liège for repairs. The heavy field howitzer made a visual impression, but there was no ammunition for it. Only an 8.8 cm Flak gun at the crossroads northwest of Spontin supported the division's infantry, who were equipped with small arms. The division's battle groups were responsible for the Godinne-Houx area, while the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Das Reich" was responsible for the Dinant area on both sides of the Meuse.

At Godinne and Yvoir, the Americans first attempted to cross the Meuse River, but were repulsed by Meyer's two battle groups. Nevertheless, they managed to establish a bridgehead at Houx and entrench themselves in the adjacent forests. The fighting was characterized not only by engagements with the enemy, but also by the criminal gangs who called themselves "resistance fighters" or "partisans." They never engaged in combat, only shooting, bombing, and murdering from ambush. German patrols repeatedly found murdered German soldiers buried in the woods.

On 5 September 1944, Meyer's men launched a counterattack to capture the enemy bridgehead. They intended to complete the mission by dusk, but the resistance—combined with the enemy's heavy weapons—was overwhelming, forcing the Germans to retreat. The Americans were able to cross the Meuse River near Namur during the night of September 5-6, just 55 kilometers from the border of Greater Germany. This was achieved by repairing a bridge that had not been completely destroyed by the Germans, but also because the commander of Namur fled eastward with his men without informing the Waffen-SS units protecting their flanks.

When Meyer arrived at his own command post (according to some sources, in Spontin at the Château de Spontin) at 11:00 AM on 6 September 1944, after a visit to Bernhard Siebken's command post, he learned from his Ia (Chief of Operations) Hubert Meyer that the lines had been breached. He initially found this hard to believe, but a reconnaissance patrol from SS Reconnaissance Battalion 12 had spotted an American armored vanguard on the Namur-Ciney road (on the Hohe Assesse). Once the dire news was confirmed, he ordered the remainder of his division to positions behind the Urt, a river in the eastern Belgian Ardennes.

Meyer, however, assembled a small assault party consisting of his staff and conducted reconnaissance with several Volkswagen vehicles (four or five, depending on the source). The lunch that had been laid out on the table would have to wait. The command post of the reconnaissance unit in Mianoye, three kilometers east of Durnal, was attacked around this time; an armored car and an amphibious vehicle were destroyed by enemy tanks. A local resident had betrayed the Germans. The soldiers managed to escape into the woods and later found refuge in Huy.

Meyer's capture

SS-Oberführer Meyer, according to his own account, drove shortly thereafter with his small column from the divisional staff towards Durnal on the Le Bocq River. The intersection there was important for the withdrawal of further German units. Shortly before, Meyer's Ia Hubert Meyer (no relation; his driver was SS-Sturmmann Helmut Schmieding), had asked his commanding officer to allow SS-Hauptsturmführer Heinzelmann (adjutant on the divisional staff) to lead the vanguard. Meyer agreed, waved Heinzelmann forward, and Heinzelmann's car took the lead when the first houses of Durnal (according to Hubert Meyer, Spontins) were reached.

The town lies in a valley, and as always, Meyer stood in his command vehicle to be able to see the town over a hill. In front of him was a 1.5-meter-high town wall, over which he could now peer. He could now see the main road towards Namur, but also the enemy, who was just turning the corner. It was a Sherman tank. Meyer warned Heinzelmann with a shout, but it was too late. The enemy tank opened fire, and it seemed as if Heinzelmann and the men in his vehicle's crew would be torn apart, but the tank shell hit the house next to the vehicle. Nevertheless, Heinzelmann was hit by shrapnel. As it later turned out, despite his severe leg wound, Heinzelmann was still able to crawl and reach the westbound vehicle of SS-Sturmbannführer Jürgensen. The engine was still running, and he was able to drive off under tank fire. Gerd Bremer later found the unconscious Heinzelmann, who had collapsed from severe blood loss. The unit doctor treated him immediately, and Heinzelmann was then taken to a field hospital, where his leg had to be amputated.

Now everyone had to take cover. The vehicles couldn't move forward or backward; they were too easy targets. As they had often practiced, the men jumped out of the vehicles and ran off in different directions. Meyer jumped over a gate and a chain-link fence, but it was a trap. He couldn't get behind the terraced houses. Any attempt to climb over an adjacent wall would have made him an easy target for the enemy. Meyer spotted a chicken coop and threw himself inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized his driver, SS-Unterscharführer Max Bornhöft, who had followed his commanding officer. Bornhöft was Meyer's eighth combat driver and always reliable and loyal. Both were now safe for the time being among the excited chickens. Outside, they heard gunfire, but also cheers as the American tanks thundered down the street. In a neighboring house, the two heard excited voices, then briefly the voice of a comrade. It was the 21-year-old officer Heinz Kölln, from whom nothing was ever heard again. He has been considered "missing in action" since that day. Now it was a matter of holding out until nightfall, hoping to escape.

It rained at midnight, and Meyer had to leave his hiding place to assess the situation. What he saw was not encouraging. The small village was teeming with partisans. He wanted to go back, but now the chickens were protesting, and the noise carried far into the night. The farmer appeared to see why his chickens were so agitated, and at that very moment, Meyer and Bornhöft aimed their pistols at the farmer's face. They didn't want to kill the farmer, even though it would have been safer. They demanded that he promise not to betray them. The farmer agreed, and they let him go. But they didn't wait; they climbed over the adjacent wall, ran past the church where the partisans had their headquarters, over a second wall, landed in a compost heap, and reached the cemetery.

Another escape seemed impossible. The two decided to attack the partisans in the church, hoping to take as many as possible with them. At that moment, they were spotted by two policemen, but Meyer fired first. He and Bornhöft then ran along the southern wall of the cemetery. The partisans spread out and surrounded them. They reached another wall, the subsequent drop being almost four meters. But now they had reached an old road and began to run. Shots echoed through the night, and Bornhöft cried out briefly and collapsed. Meyer turned and shot at the pursuers, who were taking cover. Meyer took cover behind a door in the wall, further protected by a tree and a boulder. The leader spoke in German and promised that if they surrendered, they would be handed over to the Americans and not shot. Meyer raised his weapon and was about to shoot himself, just as he had sworn to himself on the Eastern Front—never to fall alive into the hands of the brutal enemy.

The partisans still couldn't see him, but he saw them. They had come within a few meters. Some faces were bloodthirsty, others calm and collected. The leader was now almost upon him, and Meyer was ready to fire, when the partisan leader's 14-year-old son cried out and warned his father. Shots ricocheted off the wooden door behind which Meyer stood. He crouched down and shouted to the leader that his next shot would be for the son. The leader pushed his son behind him and spoke to Meyer. He promised Meyer that if he surrendered, he would be spared any harm. In that first hour of 7 September 1944, Kurt Meyer had to decide: to surrender and potentially live, or to fight and perish.

In the hands of murderous partisans

Kurt Meyer had made his decision. He glanced one last time at his wounded comrade, and then he threw his pistol to the ground. Some of the Belgian partisans raised their rifles and were about to shoot him immediately, but Meyer simply looked into the eyes of the leader, who had made a promise. The leader gestured to his men to lower their weapons, and they reluctantly complied. There was some heated discussion. Later, the partisan leader told Meyer that he had worked in Germany during the war, learned the language, and had experienced only positive things there. He didn't want to lead a band of murderers, he told Meyer, but he was unable to stop the young men, in particular, from committing murder and manslaughter.

The wounded Bornhöft, who had suffered a severe gunshot wound to the hip, was still lying in the street. Meyer and a few of the partisans carried him to the police station (Gendarmerie), where he received exceptionally kind and competent care from the village doctor, Dr. Louis Kaux. The two policemen then pulled out their handcuffs and applied both pairs to Meyer. They cut into his flesh, but he didn't cry out in pain, something the partisans, who had certainly used this torture method many times before, were eagerly anticipating—but in vain. Bornhöft, himself shrouded in pain, looked at the tormentors and simply said, "Swine."

The Germans were then led across the cemetery to the church's boiler room and locked inside. Beforehand, Bornhöft had been laid down on a mattress filled with hay. Meyer appeared surprised when the policemen took off their uniforms and put on the partisans' civilian clothes. He was annoyed by this, because just weeks earlier, German military police (Feldjäger) had had their headquarters next to the church and apparently hadn't realized that the local policemen they were working with were members of criminal gangs.

Fate of the reconnaissance assault squad

SS-Sturmbannführer Hubert Meyer, as the divisional Ia, had thoroughly studied the maps of the area; this would save his life and the lives of the remaining men. He knew that railway tracks ran about a kilometer south of Durnal, through the small Walloon town of Spontin, and then eastward. They now had to reach them. He understood that the enemy's motorized units used the roads, but partisans would be guarding the railway lines. Like his commanding officer, SS-Oberführer Meyer, back in the village, Hubert Meyer had decided that the group should remain in cover until midnight. They were worried about their comrades in the village but knew they had no way to escape, and it was also possible that Meyer, Kölln, and Bornhöft were on their way back.

At midnight, they set off. Crouching low, they moved quickly across the cow pastures of the agricultural area. The sleeping cows galloped away, but all remained quiet in the village. They couldn't have known that if they had waited another 30 minutes, they would have heard the shooting in the village (Meyer and Bornhöft running from the chicken coop) and possibly intervened. They quickly reached the railway line in the warm, albeit slightly rainy, night. Now, with this orientation, they made even faster progress, always prepared for ambushes by local gangs. After a few hours, they reached a brightly lit railway station, with a bridge spanning a river ten meters below.

To bypass the station, they would have had to swim, but Meyer chose the riskier route and stayed on the tracks. And they succeeded, although they also knew that the railway employees would see them and report them. So far, neither American troops nor partisans had been seen. They had barely marched on when the words echoed through the night: "Halt, who's there? Password!" Beautiful, familiar words in their own language. Finally, they had reached German troops. The soldiers belonged to Kampfgruppe "Siebkin." They had received orders from the I. SS Panzer Corps to establish a thin network of sentries in the Ciney area. They now had to turn back.

Second search for Kurt Meyer

Since the division commander, Kurt Meyer, had been considered missing, possibly captured or killed in action, since the afternoon of 6 September 1944, Hubert Meyer temporarily assumed command of the remainder of the division, which was now barely the size of a battalion, starting on 7 September 1944. Meyer's first order after returning to his troops and the arrival of the division's reconnaissance detachment was to proceed via Spontin towards Durnal and, if possible, rescue or recover the commander.

This order was given to SS-Sturmbannführer Gerhard Bremer, commander of the 12th SS Panzer Reconnaissance Battalion "Hitlerjugend," which had once been commanded by Erich Olboeter (⚔ 2 September 1944 in Charleville). During the Allied invasion in June 1944, he had been responsible for flank protection on the left side of the division in the Caen area. There, he offered fierce resistance to the enemy troops. He then broke out of the Falaise Pocket with the remnants of his unit and followed the general retreat of the Wehrmacht behind the Seine to the Meuse River. There, in the Namur area, he established a defensive line, enabling him to hold a broad section of the 5th Panzer Army's retreat zone against US troops under General George S. Patton.

On the morning of 7 September 1944, Bremer sent an initial reconnaissance platoon with two light armored cars to Spontin, but the town had since been occupied by the enemy (3rd US Armored Division), and the platoon had to retreat under heavy fire. A second platoon reached Durnal via an alternative route (according to other sources, only two elite soldiers set out for the village). Heavily armed, they entered the village and secured the perimeter. Surprisingly, they received information from the townspeople that a dead officer lay in the street and another, with a "decoration around his neck", was being transported out of the village with a second soldier. The dead man was probably Kölln, the other two were certainly Meyer and Bornhöft. Now it was clear: Meyer was (still) alive.

Skirmish of Durnal

Bornhöft suffered terrible pain, and the hours in the boiler room in the church cellar dragged on. He repeatedly begged Meyer to notify his father; he himself suspected he would never see his homeland again. The partisan leader brought them bread; he was visibly nervous, for the criminal gang feared a German relief effort, and Durnal seemed defenseless, since the Americans had moved on toward Dinant. Meyer constantly listened to the night, always hoping his men would come for him. They were guarded by a young partisan who remained silent, except when Meyer tried to make Bornhöft's situation more comfortable, at which point he would shout and aim his pistol. The Belgian was fearful, but also full of hatred. Meyer always felt he desperately wanted to shoot the Germans.

At midnight, the partisans suddenly set off; 8 September 1944 had just dawned. Then vehicles could be heard in the village. Meyer wondered whether it was friend or foe. An hour later, he knew for sure: a German reconnaissance patrol was in the village and was now being fired upon by advancing partisans and Americans. Meyer could hear a vehicle, presumably German, catch fire and its ammunition igniting. The firefight continued until dawn, when the German machine-gun fire, which Meyer could clearly hear, gradually faded away. Even heavy machine guns stood little chance against an enemy tank column.

The guard was beside himself with fear. Meyer asked for some water for his wounded comrade Bornhöft, which the Belgian refused. Then it happened: the Americans attacked the church and fired into a cellar window. One of the attackers shouted for them to surrender. The young guard retreated to a corner and, trembling, aimed his weapon at Meyer. He had to yell at the young man to open the door, otherwise the Americans would kill everyone. He expected hand grenades to come through the window at any moment. Finally, the young partisan opened the door. An American ran down the stairs and kicked the Belgian in the chest, who, as it turned out, was a deserter from Lorraine. A second enemy was already in the room, and both turned to Meyer. He shouldn't resist; they want his medals, the second American said in German. The first stepped forward and tore Meyer's neck decoration off; he had worn the Knight's Cross since April 1941.

He trembled with rage but was powerless. The young German-American then approached Meyer and spoke briefly with him. He told Meyer that his mother had been born in Germany. Most importantly, after Meyer had revealed his identity, he whispered to him portentously that he must not, under any circumstances, reveal this to the others, because Waffen-SS men were treated very badly. Barely 24 hours later, he would learn what the young lieutenant meant by this.

Robbed and abused by the American "liberator"

They were forced out of the cellar, and immediately a machine gun opened fire—a German one from the adjacent woods 150 meters away. Meyer lay among the graves with several Americans, and to his astonishment, he was robbed again, this time of his watch and rings, including his wedding ring and the SS death's head ring. During a lull in the fighting, Meyer was dragged behind the church, where his wallet was also stolen. An American was now acting as a guard, and since there was nothing left for him to steal, he stabbed the handcuffed Meyer in the back with his rifle butt. Meyer had to keep walking, the butt repeatedly swinging. They passed two frightened village women when the American struck Meyer again with the butt. Meyer stumbled forward and tried to look at his assailant, but then he received an angry blow to the temple with the butt. The women screamed and complained, but now the dam had broken. The American then shoved him forward and into a front garden. Meyer's eyes were filled with blood, and blood was simultaneously running from his left ear. He was pushed into the bushes and lay there, ready to receive the coup de grâce. He just registered the enemy raising his rifle, but already felt like he was in another world. At the last second, the assailant lowered his weapon, muttered "damn," and ran off. Meyer then saw the German-American lieutenant who had saved his life and even tried to explain the soldier's actions.

The lieutenant gave him a ride in his vehicle. To avoid staining the seats with blood, Meyer had to sit on the fender and hold on tight. After a few meters, the windshield behind him was covered in his blood. Meyer was taken to a supply convoy stationed to the northwest, and the officer ordered the men to drive Meyer to the field hospital after unloading the supplies. The supply convoy consisted of 12 trucks and a command vehicle. Each truck had a driver and two backup drivers, as well as a machine gun. Meyer could hardly comprehend the sheer volume of supplies. The vanguard being supplied consisted of a tank battalion and an infantry battalion. They were formed up as if for a parade and were being supplied without fire support—neither on the ground nor from the air. Meyer thought that attacking from the woods with just five Tiger II tanks, he could annihilate the entire American vanguard. But between the Meuse River and the Reich border, there were no more Tigers, only men exhausted by battle and broken by fate, with hardly any ammunition or supplies.

Unexpectedly, Meyer saw a waving hand; it was Max Bornhöft in the third truck, which had been loaded with fuel. Bornhöft was lying on the empty barrels. By now, the convoy had taken on 60 German prisoners of war, many of them wounded. In the truck in front of him was a soldier with a gunshot wound to the stomach, unable to suppress the pain. Meyer also recognized several Fallschirmjäger and about 15 men from his division. Then, late in the afternoon, the convoy finally set off, guarded by the infantry battalion that had previously escorted the enemy tanks. During the drive, Meyer repeatedly considered escape. A paratrooper beside him whispered the same idea and moved closer to the loading ramp. But the opportunity never arose, and Namur was reached sooner than expected.

The Namur Massacre

Namur was reached; American engineers had repaired the bridge over the Meuse without much difficulty. The civilians looked at the prisoners on the trucks with either indifference or hostility. The convoy drove through the city center and stopped next to a large building near the train station. It was a prison. Meyer saw Bornhöft being unloaded; shortly afterward, police officers and partisans carried him on a stretcher to the entrance, surrounded by onlookers. An armed man stepped forward and shot Max Bornhöft in the head. The bystanders began to cheer, whistle, and clap. Meyer was to call the perpetrator a cowardly, vicious animal in later reports. The Americans shook their heads and pushed back the crowd but made no move to capture the murderer. This, however, was only the beginning.

The first trucks in the convoy continued on and stopped in front of a police station next to an old church on Rue de l’Arsenal. Partisans stood guard at the entrance. The Germans all had to get out, and as the Americans drove away, the armed gangs began to attack the German prisoners of war. There was nothing but shouting, and the Germans, in the last trucks, were met with rifle butts. Meyer saw an American talking to one of these criminals and pointing at him. Partisans approached him and ordered him to follow them. He was led to a German medical sergeant who was supposed to treat and bandage Meyer. Then he heard cries of pain as the young Belgians with the red neckerchiefs began to brutally mistreat the prisoners. The captured Sanitätsfeldwebel, who had witnessed the ritual several times before, explained that the gang members would now select Waffen-SS men and Fallschirmjäger of the Luftwaffe to execute them immediately. He had barely finished speaking when the hail of bullets began. Around twenty young Germans were murdered that day.

At 10 p.m., Meyer was led by two partisans through the now empty and dark streets of Namur. Meyer expected to be murdered, but they even offered him a cigarette and told him they were taking him to a doctor because of his wound. They expressed surprise that he could still walk despite a skull fracture. Meyer suspected he didn't have a fracture but remained calm (it later turned out that a blood vessel in his ear had burst). The Americans apparently passed this information on at the behest of the young lieutenant in Durnal. Shortly afterward, they were in a kind of school hall filled with young partisans. They shouted at him: "SS, SS..." Their companions, however, remained resolute; no, he was a colonel and regimental commander of the 2nd Panzer Division of the Wehrmacht "with very high decorations" and had to go to the hospital on the orders of the Americans. Once again, the German-American lieutenant from Durnal had saved his life, for the legend that Meyer was a Panzer colonel in the Wehrmacht originated with him. With grumbling, they pushed him into an ambulance bound for the Catholic hospital. On the way, a seminarian serving as a medic told him that Waffen-SS men and paratroopers were being shot dead by partisans. Meyer wondered how many of his 17- and 18-year-old soldiers had lost their young lives to these murderers. Since everything had been stolen from him, he remained undetected until then. He was wearing, as he had on the Normandy front, a camouflage uniform with an Italian pattern (Telo Mimetico), which had only been introduced in 1944 and then only to two SS divisions. These uniforms were often mistaken for the field uniforms of the Wehrmacht's Panzer troops. However, he still had his Soldbuch, and he had to get rid of it.

The Merciful of the Catholic Hospital

When he arrived at the hospital, he asked the nurse if he could use the restroom. The partisans took up a guard outside the door, but bent over the toilet bowl, he swiftly destroyed his pay book. The doctor decided he needed to go to bed and should have an X-ray in the morning. He could barely walk; the blood loss was taking its toll. The partisans helped him and put him to bed. Then they removed his soiled clothes and searched them. Then came the expected question about his Soldbuch. Meyer could only briefly open his eyes and convincingly say "Americans." Satisfied with that, they even shook his hand and left. Now, completely exhausted and at the end of his strength, Meyer sank into a deep sleep in the last hour of 8 September 1944. During the night, his blood-soaked pillow was changed once more. What he didn't know was that other members of his division were also being treated in the hospital, disguised as "ordinary soldiers."

“‘Hands up!’ we heard on the night of 8 September 1944, a Friday, around 2 a.m. We complied. The next question was in French: ‘Are you ?’ Knowing what would happen, I answered: ‘No, we are infantry and aviators.’ We were on the tracks leading to the train station in Namur. The day before, we—three Wehrmacht Landesschützen and two men from the 12th SS Panzer Division ‘Hitler Youth’—had removed all rank insignia and national eagles, destroyed pay books and incriminating photos, and disposed of dog tags and remaining weapons. One of the Landesschützen still had an Luftwaffe belt buckle, which he gave to me. My SS comrade threw away his belt so that the buckle wouldn’t identify him as an SS member. Friendly Belgians in Huy had warned me that members of the the Waffen-SS and Fallschirmjäger were shot on sight, without questioning their guilt.

After the Belgians determined we had no weapons, they allowed us to lower our hands and took us to the guardroom in the station building. We were forced to empty our pockets, and they found photos of me in my Luftwaffe uniform and of my brother as an infantry lieutenant. When asked about him, I told them, "⚔ in Leningrad." They replied regretfully, "that's war." A young girl brought the Belgians warm waffles. She was asked to bring us bread and other provisions. A short time later, she returned with what had been requested, including drinks. Since they had taken our knives from the cutlery sets, I asked the guards what we should use to cut our bread. They gave us the knives back but indicated that we shouldn't do anything 'foolish.' We continued talking until dawn. We managed with my limited French and the Belgians' lack of German.

When it was light, we were taken to the Maria Antoinette barracks in the city, where there were hardly any German soldiers yet. The Belgians brought us five thick Wehrmacht winter motorcycle coats, remarking that winter was approaching and we would probably need them. Around noon, more German soldiers arrived at the barracks. A Belgian military doctor also appeared and immediately examined all the prisoners, assisted by a German medical sergeant. The doctor saw the small wound on my left collarbone and asked about its cause. When I told him that the wound was from a pistol bullet, he ordered my immediate transfer to the Catholic hospital. A lieutenant in the Belgian army took me there by tram on Saturday. I was taken to a hospital room where several Germans were already lying. I had to undress and was immediately put in a bathtub. My uniform and underwear were taken away, and I was given a white nightgown in their place. A pristine white bed awaited me, and I lay down with pleasure. A doctor examined me and said, in a mixture of French and German, that I had been lucky. The bullet hadn't penetrated. Afterward, a Catholic priest, who spoke excellent German, came and chatted with me. He wanted to know personal things, such as how long I had been fighting, what I had done before, what my career aspirations were, and so on. After supper, a young nurse came to me and asked if I would like to attend the early Sunday Mass that her brother was celebrating. I thanked her for the offer but said that I would prefer to sleep, as I hadn't slept in a bed since the end of May. She understood and said that she would bring me breakfast after Mass.

On Sunday morning, after Mass and a good breakfast, the chaplain came to see me again and told me during our conversation that In the next room lay a colonel of a tank regiment, a man with very high decorations. He had a serious head injury. I immediately thought of my division commander, Major General Kurt Meyer, nicknamed Panzermeyer, but didn't dare ask if I could see him. Firstly, I didn't know what kind of head injury he had or if he was conscious, and secondly, it might arouse suspicion if a private wanted to speak to a wounded colonel. I had to be careful to maintain a veil of secrecy on both sides."

The doctors had treated Meyer superbly, and the nuns made a point of secretly bringing him cigarettes, as well as the occasional extra treat. Every day he felt a little better and stronger. He began to think about escape, but after two weeks he was transferred to the heavily guarded King Albert Barracks, where he spent the first 48 hours alone as the only prisoner.

Prisoner of war

Namur

After 48 hours on the third floor of the Albert Barracks, Meyer's wishes were granted: a fellow sufferer arrived. Lieutenant Aumüller had been captured north of Namur while trying to reach the border of the German Reich with a group of infantrymen. For three weeks, they had fought their way hundreds of kilometers through France to Belgium, only to be picked up just short of the safety of the border. Now they worked together to make life as prisoners more bearable. It grew increasingly cold, and the two officers burned everything they could dismantle in the empty building. Rations were meager; they had the same soup every day. Two days later, Lieutenant Wagner, an infantry platoon leader, arrived. He had been captured after weeks of fighting back on the Meuse River. He had somehow managed to conceal several hundred francs on his person, which would now ensure their survival. The three were supported by a former Belgian cadet, now a career officer, who had been a well-to-do German prisoner of war until 1943 and was released through the king's intervention. Now tasked with guarding the Germans, he befriended them. He was deeply ashamed of the countless murders of German soldiers, inhuman acts he claimed were carried out by the "red partisans." A second helper was a Russian prisoner of war who had been captured by the Germans in 1942 and had last worked in a Belgian mine; he now served the Belgians. The German prisoners often heard the low-flying Allied bombers on their way, terrorizing their German homeland from above. The desire to escape was strong, but no opportunity presented itself. The Belgian provided them with uniforms from old Wehrmacht stocks, which they now wore together in a mismatched fashion against the cold.

Compiègne

In early October 1944, two Americans and a major from the military police appeared. Without explanation, the German officers were loaded onto a truck and taken to Reims, where they arrived in the evening. They had to spend the night at the local police station; the cells were full of rampaging Negros, Belgian colonial soldiers who had been arrested in the city for drunkenness and much worse offenses. In the morning, they continued across the Reims battlefield. Kilometer after kilometer, Meyer and his companions were constantly amazed. Everywhere, supply depots were overflowing with ammunition, fuel, food, and medicine, while German soldiers and civilians were dying of hunger and disease at the front and at home. Entire artillery and tank reserve units stood ready, no camouflage whatsoever; the German Luftwaffe had become a toothless tiger on the Western Front.

In the late afternoon, the transport reached the large prisoner-of-war camp near Compiègne. Here he was registered as "Colonel Meyer of the 2nd Panzer Division." The commandant was a Berlin lawyer who had emigrated to the USA in the 1930s. After lengthy discussions, Meyer, due to his high rank, was appointed the commandant's assistant, responsible for overseeing the officers' camp. Initially, Meyer remained unrecognized; he only had to share a room with Aumüller and Wagner, which afforded him a degree of privacy. The following day, the three officers inspected the camp, which was divided into three sections: officers, non-commissioned officers/enlisted men, and the so-called "Blitzmädellager" (a camp for female auxiliaries). A Feldwebel (sergeant) from the 1st Parachute Division (de) warned Meyer that there were many spies and traitors.

"This camp, too, was subdivided. Looking from the street entrance, behind us, separated only by a guarded gate, was the 'female prisoner camp' for the girls of the signals units and nurses. To our left was the officers' camp, where Panzermeyer had been sent after his release from the hospital. The first thing we did was delouse us, then shower and put our old, dirty clothes back on. Our rations consisted of chlorinated tap water and biscuits. Once every 16 to 18 hours, we got a hot soup, about a liter per man. Despite operating 24 hours a day, the camp kitchen couldn't keep up, especially since our numbers kept growing. The barracks contained the usual military wooden beds with boards as bases. There were no straw mattresses, blankets, etc., so we slept on the wood, but at least we had a roof over our heads." — a German soldier

Meyer clung to the idea of ​​an escape; several comrades had agreed to join him, including a Fallschirmjäger doctor. After the Battle of Aachen in October 1944 (de), a few hundred German prisoners of war were transported to Compiègne. Finally, the men received news from home. Among them were members of the Leibstandarte SS, who informed Meyer about the fate of his division, but also about the cowardly murder of his loyal comrade Hans Waldmüller by the Maquis. He also learned that his division was being reconstituted in the Plettenberg area of ​​the Sauerland region (by the final phase of the Ardennes Offensive, the division was combat-ready again and deployed on the bloodiest front of the war, under the command of the 5th Panzer Army). Now he made all the necessary preparations for his planned escape. On 7 November 1944 at 5 p.m., he met the camp commandant, who pulled him aside and asked for help. He had heard that a high-ranking SS officer was in the camp, which was a disgrace to him. Meyer was speechless, and only the dark corridor saved him. The commandant couldn't see his face clearly. Meyer took a deep breath and promised to help with the search. He asked what the officer's name and appearance should be. The camp commandant, a naturalized American citizen, didn't know, but he said it would be an officer whom the prisoners would greet with particular gusto and smile joyfully as he walked through the camp.

The game was up; Meyer had been exposed. On 8 November 1944, he planned to escape, accompanied by Wagner, Aumüller, and Feldwebel Müller. That morning, they had volunteered for logging, but at the gate, they were told there was already enough. Disappointed, they returned. At 11:00 a.m., the moment arrived: Meyer was led away by military police. He barely managed to say goodbye to his comrades. In the commandant's office, he was ordered to undress and raise his arms. Now everyone could see his blood group tattoo. The commandant lost his temper, shouting and calling Meyer an "SS pig." Meyer, however, calmly asked what was going on. He had completely forgotten about the tattoo. Now, he concocted a story that the Panzer troops had adopted this custom following the successful example of the Waffen-SS, and that all graduates of the Panzer schools also received such a tattoo. Now he was allowed to get dressed again; the commandant remained seated, exhausted.

Half an hour later, the camp was in an uproar. The American military police searched everything. They claimed they were looking for radios, as a large-scale breakout was planned for 9 November 1944; the German Luftwaffe was to drop a shipment of weapons by parachute that night. Pure nonsense. All the prisoners had to assemble for transport; they were driven through the city and loaded onto freight trains an hour later. Meyer, Aumüller, and Wagner were still together. Just before departure, the guards called out for "Colonel Meyer"—now they had him. He was taken back to the camp in a jeep, where he saw his traitor, a young, cowardly German infantry lieutenant who looked away in shame. Very early the next day, 9 November 1944, Meyer was taken from Compiègne to Paris and at 2 p.m. by plane via Dunkirk to England, where he was interrogated for several days in London.

Trent Park and Camp 18

From 17 November 1944 to 24 April 1945, the youngest general in the German armed forces was a prisoner of war in Trent Park (Generals' Camp Enfield, Great Britain), where he was reunited with his friend Max Wünsche. He was then transferred to Camp 18 Featherstone near Thyne. There, in mid-September 1945, Meyer was informed that he had been charged as a war criminal by the London District Prisoner-of-War Cage and was to be sentenced to death. General der Fallschirmtruppe Hermann-Bernhard Ramcke, the paratrooper general also imprisoned there, gave Meyer his own Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, with homemade swords attached, so that he would not appear before the tribunal without war decorations.

Promotion to Major General

On 31 January 1945, assuming he had been killed in action or captured, SS-Oberführer Meyer was retroactively promoted to SS-Brigadeführer and Major General of the Waffen-SS, effective 1 September 1944. As a fallen officer, this was intended to acknowledge his service; as a prisoner of war, it was meant to influence his treatment, since generals, including those of the Waffen-SS, generally enjoyed better protection from the enemy, as they were otherwise treated considerably worse.

Indictment as a "war criminal"

In Normandy, a number of Canadian prisoners of war were shot as reprisals for the indiscriminate and mass murder of German soldiers. Initially, the professional soldiers of the Canadian Army, serving the British, mocked the 17-year-old Hitler Youth who were now fighting in the bloody battles on the invasion front, including as members of the 12th SS Panzer Division. They amused themselves by cutting open their trousers and sending them back to the division with the comment that the Germans should send men, not children. The mood quickly changed, however, as these "children" proved to be bitter and deadly adversaries. It wasn't long before some Canadian units began murdering captured Waffen-SS men and paratroopers. This did not go unnoticed, and the hatred of the German soldiers was understandably intense.

Meyer, as commander of the 25th SS Panzergrenadier Regiment under Division Commander Fritz Witt, was held responsible for the killing of 18 Canadian prisoners in June 1944 in the area of ​​the regiment's command post in France. The Canadians grandiosely dubbed the incident the "Ardenne Abbey Massacre," even though they were committing such massacres of Germans almost hourly. From November 1944 onward, the incidents worsened even further; hardly any German prisoner was truly safe anymore.

The captured SS rifleman Alfred Helzel was forced to testify against Meyer, but he retracted his statement in court. The central and only witness against Meyer was then the Polish soldier Jan Jesionek, who was likely serving in the German army. He claimed to have heard Meyer order that no more prisoners should be taken.

Military court proceedings and verdict

On 6 and 10 December 1945 , after two months of preparation, Kurt Meyer was brought before a Canadian court-martial presided over by his adversary in Normandy, Major General Harry Foster. The trial took place in the barracks of the Naval Signals School in Aurich, today's Blücher Barracks. A major advantage of Aurich was that Meyer's family (his wife Käthe and daughter Ursula, who were provided with a hotel room in Aurich) were allowed to visit him for 20-minute periods. This was made possible by Captain Wadi Lehmann (28 years old and seconded to Aurich since October 1944) of the Canadian War Crimes Investigation Branch, who spoke fluent German. The Meyers had last seen each other in the spring of 1944.

Despite the horrific experiences of bombing raids, imprisonment, escape, hunger, and the loss of all their possessions, Käthe had managed to bring the entire family to safety. They had first heard about their father on the radio. Everyone cheered up when they learned he was still alive, even though a war crimes trial was imminent. Shortly before their first visit to Aurich, a communist agent from the Soviet zone had tried to kidnap Käthe Meyer. He claimed her husband had fled and was waiting for her. She accused him of being a liar. Her husband wouldn't run from anything, and then she threw the agent out of the house.

In the trial, hearsay evidence was admissible, which many Canadian officers also considered dishonorable. Quite a few Canadians quietly and privately called for an investigation into their own war crimes during Meyer's trial. Although Meyer was acquitted of the charge of ordering the murder on 28 December 1945, he was nevertheless sentenced to death by firing squad as the responsible commander on two of the five counts. Foster, like the Bishop of Münster, Cardinal Clemens August Graf von Galen, advocated for Meyer. After Meyer's conviction and his decision not to appeal, the Aurich lawyer Dr. jur. Wilhelm Schapp took over Meyer's legal representation and campaigned for a pardon. It was thanks to Schapp that Graf von Galen and the president of the consistory of the Reformed Church in the Province of Hanover championed Meyer's cause.

In Aurich, the local Red Cross collected signatures for a petition for clemency. Partly for this reason, Meyer was pardoned by the Canadian commander, Major General Vokes, on 14 January 1946, and his death sentence, which had been scheduled for 7 January 1946 and had then been postponed for the clemency decision, was commuted to life imprisonment (on the grounds that the degree of responsibility did not justify the maximum penalty; Vokes was also not convinced by the court's evidence and did not want to burden his conscience with the death of a potentially innocent man). Meyer initially served his sentence in Dorchester Prison in the Canadian province of New Brunswick.

Act of mercy

Dr. Schapp, along with his wife Luise, supported Meyer's wife and five children, who were living in financial hardship, during Meyer's imprisonment, which lasted until 1954. At the same time, he pursued a retrial, or alternatively, a pardon with a reduction of his sentence. When Meyer fell ill in prison, the Aurich City Council appealed to the Canadian Prime Minister in June 1953 to ensure he received proper medical treatment. In early 1954, the Canadian government reduced his life sentence to 14 years.

Military advisor and dismissal

During the Cold War, Meyer was released from prison to advise Canadian officers on Canada's defense against a Soviet invasion, while wearing a Canadian uniform. In 1951, he was transferred from Dorchester Prison in Canada to the British military prison in Werl (North Rhine-Westphalia), Germany. German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer visited him in Werl in July 1953. On 7 September 1954 (some sources state 6 September), he was released for "good behavior", with time already served in pretrial detention being credited.

Post-POW period

Now a free man, he immediately visited Aurich and thanked the Schapp family and the people of Aurich who had shown concern for his fate. Upon his arrival in Niederkrüchten, his wife's home since the end of the war, he was greeted by a torchlight procession; a church choir and a fire brigade band performed. Meyer became a sales representative, later head of shipping for a brewery in Hagen, and spokesperson for HIAG. He dedicated his life to advocating for the equal treatment of Waffen-SS veterans alongside Wehrmacht veterans – a goal he, like others, was unfortunately unable to achieve. Otherwise, he remained politically inactive. The countless wounds, torture, and years spent as a prisoner of war had left their mark on the otherwise indestructible warrior. After three strokes and a severe heart attack, "Panzermeyer" found his well-deserved rest and firmly believed he would enter Valhalla to join his fallen comrades he had lost in the war, who were already waiting for him.