THE SECRET BETRAYAL             (1/16/1988)
                         Nikolai Tolstoy
                  From IMPRIMIS, December 1988]

            [Kindly uploaded by Freeman 10602PANC]

[Count  Nikolai  Tolstoy,  heir  to  the  senior  line  of  the
world-famous literary family, is the author of a number of books,
including  The  Minister  and the  Massacres  [1986],  Victims of
Yalta,  Stalin's Secret  War  [1981], The  Tolstoys:  Twenty Four
Generations of  Russian History, the  Quest for  Merlin, and, The
Coming of the King: The First Book of Merlin.  He is president of
the Association  for a  Free Russia  and the  Soviet Prisoners in
Afghanistan  Rescue  Committee.  Inquiries  regarding  the forced
reparation defense case  mentioned in this  essay may be directed
to  Messrs. Rubenstein  Callingham,  Z, Raymond  Building, Gray's
Inn, London, WC1R 5BZ, England.]

   Editor's  Preview: At  the end  of World  War II,  two million
Russians  --  including  White  Russians,  Cossacks,  Slovenians,
Croats and Serbs who were POWs  or simply living in exile -- were
forcibly  repatriated  to  the  Soviet  Union.   Men,  women  and
children  were  turned  over  to  the  Russian  secret  police at
gunpoint.   Non-Soviet  citizens   were  supposedly  exempt,  but
historian Count Nikolai  Tolstoy charges that  they were secretly
betrayed by a few key  military officials, a future British prime
minister among them.
   This tragedy, although nearly a half-century old, ought not be
forgotten.  What  happened in 1944-47  was more  than a sinsister
episode.   Even in  this era  of  ``glasnost,'' the  Soviet Union
still denies freedom  of emigration, one  of the most fundamental
human rights, to its people.
   Our thanks  to the  U.S. Business  and Industrial  Council who
co-sponsored  this  Shavano  Institute  for  National  Leadership
lecture of the Hillsdale campus in the fall of 1987.
   The last world  war was a long  time ago, and  for many of us,
even those  with first-hand  experience, it  does indeed  seem to
have  become a  distant memory.   Yet  some images  remain vivid.
Only a child at the time,  I remember the London bombing raids as
if they happened yesterday.   But the particular experience which
has occupied much  of my adult concern,  oddly enough, involved a
story which I understood very little  of in the 1940s or for many
years  afterward.  I  had heard  people talking  about it  in the
Russian church where emigres and refugees gathered in London, but
the rest,  for me,  came later.  Though  the story  is over forty
years old and may not be  widely known, it is one which continues
to gain in significance -- and tragedy.

   In  1941,  after  the demise  of  the  brief  cynical alliance
between Hitler  and Stalin,  Germany invaded  Russia and advanced
very swiftly.  The  German forces took  several million prisoners
in the first  three months of  their offensive.  Mistakenly, many
of these  prisoners and  the inhabitants  of the  invaded regions
regarded the Germans as liberators who were expected to overthrow
the  hated Stalin  and restore  their freedom.   Some surrendered
Russian Army units marched to meet their supposed liberators with
bands playing, and Nazi  propaganda films depict Russian peasants
cheering as the  German troops paraded  through their villages in
flower-strewn glory.
   What happened to the Russian POWs after that, however, was far
from glorious.   They were  thrown into  wired camps  on the open
steppe.  During the  cruel winter of  1941-42, without shelter or
proper  food,  millions   died.   This  is   a  Nazi  war  crime,
undeniably, but it is not one which should be laid exclusively at
Hitler's door.
   During  World  War  I,  Russian  prisoners  received  the same
treatment as the  British, French and  American troops; they were
all signatories of the Hague  Convention.  Ironically, it was not
Imperial Russia under Czar  Nicholas II [1868-1918; r. 1894-1917]
which refused  to be  bound by  the Hague  agreement but  the new
Soviet regime which  supplanted it in  1917.  Twelve years later,
the world  powers reached a  more detailed  agreement, the Geneva
Convention, but the Soviets remained aloof.  Throughout World War
II, Russian  POWs were completely  unprotected.  Except  on a few
rare occasions,  the Red Cross  was forbidden to  enter the camps
and Stalin refused to discuss the issue even though Germany urged
Red Cross intervention.
   Often with nothing  but a barbed wire  fence to separate them,
the  beleaguered Russians  were  forced to  watch  their British,
French and  American counterparts receive  food parcels, clothing
and letters  from home.  Still  on record in  the British Foreign
Office  are  documents  discussing  requests  from  White Russian
immigrants in  Britain who pleaded  for permission  to help their
countrymen.  Foreign Secretary Anthony  Eden [1895-1977] said, in
effect,  ``Well, for  some reason  which  we know  nothing about,
Stalin is determined that nothing  should be done for the Russian
prisoners'' and  nothing indeed was  done.  It  is significant to
note that Stalin did not oppose humanitarian aid for other Allied
POWs;  only  for Russians.   For  those who  recalled  his brutal
methods of subjugation in the Ukraine, the message is clear.
   Thousands  of  Russians  were   drawn  into  the  Third  Reich
willingly  or  unwillingly.   Many, of  course,  had  opposed the
communist revolution  of 1917 and  desired autonomy,  so they did
not consider  it treasonable to  work for the  Nazis.  Men, women
and  children  were  also abducted  from  occupied  zones  by the
hundreds to  work as forced  labor in Germany.   Great numbers of
refugees fled eastward for all sorts of reasons, not the least of
which  was to  get  out of  the line  of  fire during  the German
   Consequently,  at  the  war's  end,  some  six  million Soviet
citizens  were  located  in  Central  Europe.   The  Allies  were
completely  unable to  comprehend the  scale  of such  a problem.
They  had  no way  of  assessing  how many  Russians  were inside
Germany or  anywhere else, for  that matter, but  huge numbers of
them showed up in North  Africa, Persia, Normandy, and Italy too.
During  the D-Day  invasion in  June  1944, British  and American
military authorities estimated  that one out  of every ten German
soldiers captured  was in reality  a Soviet citizen.   Of all the
nations in Europe, the  USSR was to only  one to witness nearly a
million of its subjects enlisting in the enemy army.
   Many of the Russian prisoners  were transported to Britain and
were held in  training camps originally  used for British troops.
Of politics,  most of  these men  knew nothing.   All their lives
they had been harried  hither and tither in  the name of confused
ideologies by commanders whose languages more often than not they
could  not understand.   Among  the more  educated,  knowledge of
their  precarious  situation  only  contributed  to  a  typically
fatalistic attitude.
   Soon the British  authorities received their  first glimpse of
what  it meant  to be  faced with  the possibility  of compulsory
return to the  world's first Marxist  state: Russian POW suicides
began in July of 1944.  The matter was brought before the British
Cabinet (the Americans were only marginally involved at this time
because  they  had  been delivering  all  captured  Russians into
British  hands),  but already  the  decision had  been  made: All
Russian POWs would be returned  to the Soviet Union, whatever the
fate in store for them.
   One member of the government  who spoke up for the unfortunate
prisoners was Lord  Selborne, then Minister  of Economic Warfare,
who  was  also  responsible for  occupied  Europe's  sabotage and
espionage  operations  under  the  Special  Operations Executive.
Russian-speaking officers under his  direction recorded dozens of
appalling stories of  suffering from the POWs.   Common to all of
them  was an  absolute dread  of returning  to the  Soviet Union.
They  were certain  that they  would  be killed  or, at  the very
least, sentenced to  the unspeakable horrors  of the labor camps.
Selborne wrote to Winston  Churchill [1874-1965], who promised to
consider  the matter  again.  But  at  a second  cabinet meeting,
Selborne,  not  being   a  Cabinet  Minister,   was  barred  from
presenting his evidence and Anthony Eden was able to convince the
Prime  Minister  that  all  Russian  POWs  must  be  repatriated,
forcibly if necessary.

   In December  of 1944,  the first  shipload of  Soviet soldiers
sailed  around  the North  Cape  of  Murmansk by  the  White Sea.
Nothingly overtly  terrible was  witnessed on  this occasion, but
rumors of  the fate that  awaited the Russians  abounded and were
verified later by first-hand and  other reliable accounts of mass
executions in  abandoned quayside warehouses  and factories.  The
prisoners were marched to  these after disembarking and divesting
themselves of  the clothes and  possessions the  Allies had given
them.    Many   were  allowed   to   live,  and   were   sent  to
``educational'' camps.  Regarding the  other group, however, here
is one British observer's account:
     The disembarkation started at 1830 hrs. and continued for
   4 1/2 hrs.  The Soviet authorities refused to accept any of
   the stretcher cases as such  and even the patients who were
   dying were  made to  walk off  the ship  carrying their own
   baggage.  Two  people only were  carried off,  one man with
   his right leg amputated and  left one broken, and the other
   unconscious.  The  prisoner who  had attempted  suicide was
   very  roughly  handled  and his  wound  opened  up  and was
   allowed to  bleed.  He was  taken off the  ship and marched
   behind a packing case on the  docks; a shot was then heard,
   but nothing  more was  seen.  The  other 32  prisoners were
   marched or dragged into a  warehouse 50 yards from the ship
   and after a  lapse of 15 minutes,  automatic fire was heard
   coming from the  warehouse; twenty minutes  later a covered
   lorry drove  out of  the warehouse  and headed  towards the
   town.  Later  I had a  chance to glance  into the warehouse
   when no one was around  and found the cobbled floor stained
   dark in several places around the sides and the walls badly
   chipped for about five feet up.
   These were not the only victims in this incident.  Altogether,
about  150  Russians were  separated  from the  rest  and marched
behind  sheds  on the  quayside.   There they  were  massacred by
executioners, many of whom appeared  to be youths aged between 14
and 16.

   It must be  remembered that the early  debate over the Russian
prisoners had been won on Eden's insistence (1) that it was vital
to placate  the Soviet  government if  British POWs  liberated in
Russian-controlled zones were to be  safely returned and (2) that
Stalin would not  help them win  the war unless  his demands were
met.  What is surely suspicious, however, is the fact that Eden's
detailed  plan for  forcible  repatriation was  formulated before
Stalin or any other Soviet official had raised the issue.
   When Churchill and Eden traveled  to Moscow in October 1944 to
meet with Stalin, the Foreign Secretary offered the unconditional
return  of all  Russian  POWs.  To  Vyacheslav  Molotov's [1890-]
suggestion that Soviet citizens  should be returned regardless of
their personal wishes, Eden replied that he had no objection.  At
Yalta in  February of 1945,  however, the  Americans balked.  All
prisoners captured  in German uniforms  were considered protected
by the  provisions of the  Geneva convention.   U.S. Secretary of
State Cordell Hull [1871-1955; Sec. State, 1933-44] telegraphed a
message  to Ambassador  Averell  Harriman [1891-;  amb.  to USSR,
1943-46] in Moscow the  previous September to state unequivocally
what had been American policy  since December of 1943: No Russian
POW could  be returned by  force.  After the  Yalta Conference it
was  agreed, however,  that those  designated as  Soviet citizens
would be forcibly repatriated.  [Footnote: Only one country stood
firm against Stalin's demands: tiny Liechtenstein, with an entire
population of less  than 13,000 people, most  of them farmers, no
army,  and a  police force  of eleven  men.  No  refugees, Soviet
citizens or otherwise, would be sent back to Russia by force, the
government of  Liechtenstein courageously declared  to the Soviet
delegation which came to claim them in 1945.]  With the surrender
of the Nazis in May of 1945, the logistics of repatriation became
much  easier.   The  Russians liberated  in  Germany  were simply
handed over to Soviet troops on the spot.
   Altogether, some  two and three  quarters of  a million people
were repatriated.  Most  did not have to  be physically forced --
all their lives they had been used to following the orders of the
state,   and  Stalin   had,  after   all,  broadcast   a  general
``amnesty.''  But many brutal scenes did take place.
   A particularly grim experience  for American soldiers involved
the notorious extermination  camp, Dachau.  After  the Nazis were
defeated, the Americans  used it for  an internment center.  When
they handed the Russian POWs over to the Soviet authorities, they
discovered to  their horror  that a  number hand  hung themselves
from their bunks in the barracks.  In another camp, soldiers were
ordered to  break up a  religious service;  they dragged Russians
out of a church and threw them into trucks.  A rare American Army
film showed a POW stabbing himself  56 times to avoid being taken
into custody by SMERSH officers.
   In the British zone,  as in the American-controlled territory,
SMERSH operatives  were allowed  to roam  freely and  on frequent
occasions they resorted  to kidnaping and  murder.  Their blatant
violence, combined with  the obvious injustice  and illegality of
their  actions,  eventually led  military  commanders Eisenhower,
Montgomery and  Alexander to unilaterally  issue orders outlawing
forced  repatriation.   This  placed  the  British  and  American
governments in an awkward position.  Individual soldiers refusing
to carry out orders was embarrassing enough, but this amounted to
a mass revolt  at the highest  level of command,  and was further
complicated by  the fact  that if  the unpleasant  details of the
Russian repatriation effort were made  known to the public, there
would certainly be a huge uproar.
   But under strong pressure from the British Foreign Office, the
U.S. State  Department reluctantly  agreed to  pursue the policy.
American resistance was sufficient only to severely limit the
categories of  repatriation candidates.   Previously, mere Soviet
citizenship, regardless of age, sex, career, or war record, meant
mandatory repatriation, but  now in late  1945, stipulations were
made that only citizens who had  actually lent aid and comfort or
wore  a German  uniform were  to be  returned.  The  trouble was,
almost all who  fit these categories  had either been repatriated
already or had escaped, often with the help of sympathetic Allied
soldiers, including officers, who provided them with false papers
or simply looked the other way at the right moment.
   In  1946 and  1947,  the policy  known  in Italy  as Operation
Keelhaul  was  typical.    Unlike  earlier  repatriation  efforts
carried  out in  the  chaotic final  days  of the  war, Operation
Keelhaul was very carefully  executed.  The officers who actually
conducted the screening felt privately that  it was up to them to
shield as many  Russians as possible.   But it was  made clear to
them  that they  were to  fill their  ``quota,'' else  the SMERSH
agents would take things into their own hands.
   In  May of  1947, Operation  East Wind  handed over  its final
contingent of repatriates, bringing the  long sad story of forced
repatriation  to a  close,  for the  moment.   Ironically enough,
another simultaneous  operation in  the British  Army, code named
Highland Fling,  was assisting Soviet  soldiers to  defect as the
Cold War Commenced.

   Over thirty  years later,  I wrote  a book  on the  history of
forced repatriation  called Victims  of Yalta,  which appeared in
the U.S. as The Secret Betrayal.   At the time, I thought that my
research, based  on numerous  documents and  eyewitness accounts,
had also drawn to a close.  I never dreamed that within a decade,
I  would  be   publishing  an  even  longer   book  on  a  single
repatriation operation.
   The new book, The Minister and the Massacres (1986), describes
the  fate  of  some 40,000  Cossacks,  White  Russians, Slovenes,
Croats and  Serbs, including  many women  and children,  who were
interned  in  Austria  after  the  British  military  authorities
accepted  their  surrender  in 1945.   One  group,  the Fifteenth
Cossack Cavalry  Corps, had  been fighting  in Yugoslavia against
Tito [1892-1980; pres. Yugosl., 1953-1980].  Large numbers within
this group and others were not Soviet citizens.  They had escaped
Russia during  or before the  Revolution, rescued  in British and
French  warships.  They  had taken  new citizenship  or possessed
League of Nations passports attesting to their stateless status.
   Throughout  the   repatriation  campaign,   both  British  and
American authorities had adhered  to an extremely legalistic view
of  their obligations.   Even the  British Foreign  Office stated
after  the Yalta  Conference that  only Soviet  citizens, i.e[.],
residents of the Soviet Union after September 1, 1939, were to be
compelled to  return.  This  order was  echoed in  writing by the
Supreme   Allied   Headquarters.     Field   Marshall   Alexander
accordingly issued stringent orders against the use of force.
   But in  May of  1945 the British  Army in  Austria handed over
thousands of non-Soviet citizens, men, women and children, by the
most  brutal means  imaginable.  How  did it  happen?  Was  it an
accident -- a case of mislaid orders and fouled up communications
-- or was it a deliberate act, covered up these past forty years?
   After  examining  the  relevant evidence  and  talking  to the
soldiers involved, I came to the conclusion that the ``accident''
theory was untenable.  First, it  was clear that the presence and
status of  the non-Soviet Cossacks  was well known  to all levels
within  the  British Fifth  Corps,  the  unit to  which  they had
surrendered  at the  close  of hostilities.   Second,  all orders
relating  to  the  handover   of  the  Cossacks  emphasized  that
non-Soviet  citizens  were   to  be  screened   and  retained  in
accordance  with  policy  laid down  by  the  British government.
Given  these  indisputable  facts,  how  could  the  surrender of
Tsarist exiles be attributed to an oversight?

   Among the  Cossack officers  were many  famous heroes  who had
lead the White Russian Army  in alliance with the British, French
and Americans during the Russian  civil war.  One, General Andrei
Shkuro, had been honored for gallantry  by King George V with the
Companionship  of the  Bath,  whose cross  he  still wore  on his
uniform alongside others awarded by King George's cousin, Emperor
Nicholas  II.   SMERSH  operatives,  significantly,  had detailed
lists of all former White  Russian officers on which they checked
off the names as the British relinquished custody of them.  These
same operatives arranged to have Shkuro detained in secret by the
British before he  was forcibly repatriated.   When he was handed
over, the General tore  the cross from his  chest and threw it at
the feet of the attending British  officer.  He and the Ataman of
the  Don Cossacks,  Peter Nikolaevich  Krasnov,  one of  the most
famous  Russian  leaders  of  all,  were  hung  together  in  the
Lefortovo  prison courtyard.   Beyond a  brief notice  in Pravda,
their  passing went  unnoticed.   Their helpless  compatriots lie
buried in mass unmarked graved in Gulag forced labor camps.
   It seemed that  two versions of  the event existed.  According
to the  official record,  preserved among  War Office  files, the
non-Soviet  Cossacks  were  screened   and  retained  in  British
custody, and  nothing in  the files  suggests that  any thing but
this took place.   In reality some two  or three thousand Tsarist
emigres, holding foreign  or League of  Nations passports and for
the  most  part  dressed  in  flamboyant  Tsarist  uniforms, were
deceived into  traveling to  the Soviet  lines at  Judenburg.  We
seem to be  inhabiting two different worlds:  one fiction and one
tragic reality.
   Further research revealed that  elaborate precautions had been
taken to ensure  that the Soviets  regained this particular group
of  their  most  inveterate enemies,  and  that  equally skillful
measures had been adopted to prevent this aspect of the operation
from  becoming  known outside  the  Fifth Corps.   In  short, the
evidence suggests strongly that the tragedy resulted not from the
muddle or  oversight that  one could  so readily  envisage in the
chaotic  circumstances   of  the   time,  but   was  planned  and
implemented  throughout  with  great   care  and  forethought  in
deliberate contravention of orders from above.
   But if this view were correct, who could have been responsible
for flouting undeviatingly clear government instructions in order
to  perpetrate  an  atrocity  greatly  beneficial  to  the Soviet
government, but of no perceptible advantage to British interests?
What was the motive for  such action?  These were questions which
I was unable to  answer in Victims of  Yalta, and I was compelled
to conclude my  investigation with the  admission that, ``whether
we shall ever know the full story is questionable.''
   For the  time being matters  were left  in this unsatisfactory
state.   Some years  later  I discovered  that  Winston Churchill
himself, with all the resources of  the Cabinet and War Office at
his disposal, had been similarly  unable to penetrate the secret.
In the spring of 1953,  disturbed by allegations received from an
emigre  Cossack general,  he ordered  a  full enquiry.   After an
exhaustive  search  among  the  files,  Brigadier  Latham  of the
Cabinet Office was obliged to  confess that ``though we know most
of the details of  what happened we are  at present unable to say
why these events took place.''
   On  first  launching into  research  for Victims  of  Yalta, I
addressed   appeals  for   information   to  all   the  surviving
protagonists.   The response  was  fruitful, with  one remarkable
exception.  As  Minister Resident  in the  Mediterranean in 1945,
Harold  Macmillan  bore  responsibility  for  providing political
advice and decisions  in British occupied  Italy and Austria.  In
view of his  high authority in  a region where  many thousands of
Russians   fell  into   British   hands  and   were  subsequently
repatriated, he  was an obvious  person to consult.   At the same
time  I  had no  reason  to  believe that  he  had  been directly
involved in  the business with  which I was  concerned, since the
decision  to  repatriate Soviet  citizens  had been  made  at the
Cabinet level.  His task,  on the face of  it, had merely been to
transmit  and  explain  that   decision  to  the  Supreme  Allied
Commander, Field-Marshall Alexander.
   It was  with some  surprise, therefore,  that in  April 1974 I
received a  curt reply  from Mr.  Macmillan, informing  me simply
that, ``I am sorry that I cannot  be of help to you.''  Though he
was  clearly  under  no  obligation  to  assist  every  historian
approaching him, this  refusal appeared perplexing  and, as I was
later to  learn, unusual.   My suspicions  were aroused,  and his
name moved to the forefront of my concern.
   At the time of the  public outcry which greeted the appearance
of Victims of  Yalta, I was approached  on different occasions by
Yugoslav emigres, who urged me to write about the parallel plight
of thousands of  their compatriots handed  over to be slaughtered
by  Tito at  the time  of  the Cossack  tragedy.  I  was strongly
sympathetic  to  their  cause,  but  had  to  reply  that  as the
Yugoslavs did not come under the Yalta agreement, and as my field
of study  lay largely  if not  exclusively in  Russian affairs, I
felt their story should be told by a Yugoslav specialist.
   But  then it  happened  that my  friend  David Floyd  wrote an
important article on the subject at the end of 1979, published in
the magazine Now.  I read it  with detached interest until I came
across this quotation from a report by a Foreign Office Official:
``The handing over of  Slovenes and others by  the Eighth Army in
Austria to  Tito's forces  at the  end of  May was,  of course, a
ghastly mistake which was rectified as soon as it was reported to
   It was  the phrase  ``a ghastly  mistake'' which  attracted my
attention.  Two ``ghastly  mistakes'' occurring at  the same time
and place appeared an improbable coincidence.  I saw at once that
the Yugoslav  tragedy represented  not only  a subject  in itself
worthy of study, but one which  might open up fresh avenues in an
investigation which for  some time seemed to  have reached a dead
   Examination  of the  relevant  Foreign Office  and  War Office
files revealed  anomalies even  greater than  those attending the
Cossack   handovers.   The   Cossacks   were  divided   into  two
categories,    Soviet    and    non-Soviet,    repartriable   and
non-repartriable, which might (but  for the evidence I uncovered)
suggest a  source of  confusion.  In  the case  of the Yugoslavs,
however, there existed  no ambivalence of  any sort.  The British
and American  governments had throughout  maintained a consistent
policy that no Yugoslav citizens  falling into British hands were
to be  returned against their  will.  Despite  this, thousand had
been surreptitiously handed over.   Something was very wrong, and
it looked as if the twin  operations might represent aspects of a
single covert exercise.  So at least I reasoned.
   Gradually, the evidence began to accumulate.  It soon began to
look as  if some  hand had  been at  work, altering  and removing
documents,   with    the   apparent    purpose   of   implicating
Field-Marshall Alexander.  By this  stage, however, the existence
of what  could only be  a deliberate false  trail merely provided
further evidence of the extraordinary thoroughness with which the
real culprit had covered his  tracks.  Slightly unnerving was the
discovery that  a crucial  public document  which I  had actually
handled had some time after been removed or destroyed.
   Then  came the  moment  in a  hotel  room in  Toronto  when my
friend, The Croatian  scholar Dr. Jerome Jareb,  handed me a copy
of Alexander Kirk's revealing report of May 14, 1945.  Now I felt
I knew who my  man was!  But the manner  in which he deceived not
only his Cossack and Yugoslav victims but not his own colleagues,
at  Fifth  Corps   Headquarters  in  Austria   and  Allied  Force
Headquarters in Naples,  the Foreign Office  and the Cabinet, was
so  complex and  ingenious  that it  was  still no  easy  task to
unravel the skein of events.
   Patiently I built up a circumstantial case which proved, to my
satisfaction  at  least,  that   Harold  Macmillan  (later,  Lord
Stockton and Prime Minister of Great Britain) had himself largely
engineered  the whole  affair.  I  published the  fresh evidence,
such as  it was, concerning  the Cossacks in  Stalin's Secret War
(1981),  and on  the Yugoslavs  in an  article in  Encounter (May
   The  case  I  presented   was  admittedly  circumstantial  and
speculative,    leaving   considerable    room    for   differing
interpretation even if the  salient points appeared clear enough.
It also included  a number of errors  of commission and omission.
I would  regret what  proved to  be a  jejunely premature venture
more  than I  do, were  it not  that publication  stimulated anew
public interest in the matter.  As  a result I began to receive a
fresh flow  of information, some  of it implicating  Toby Low, at
the time Brigadier-General of the Fifth Corps: the man who signed
the  orders arranging  the handovers  of Cossacks  and Yugoslavs.
Today, Toby Low is Lord Aldington.
   Harold Macmillan died several  years ago without answering the
charges leveled  against him in  The Minister  and the Massacres.
Reluctantly, Toby  Low has  been pressured  into a  court case to
which I am a  party.  The full facts will,  I hope, come to light
in the near future.  Whatever vindication come for the victims of
forced repatriation, it comes too late.

[Reprinted by permission  from IMPRIMIS, the  monthly journal of
Hillsdale College, featuring  presentations at Hillsdale's Center
for Constructive  Alternatives and  at its  Shavano Institute for
National Leadership.]

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