Fritz appeared in front of me and reached over my head to nail a placard to the top of the post, with the words “Barbara Moore, espionne britannique” scrawled across it in large Gothic block letters. Then he dipped his forefinger in a small metal cup he fished from his pants pocket and proceeded to smear a dark smudge on my breastbone ... presumably to give the firing squad a target point.
As the squad lined up, facing me, it was Reichenbach’s turn to draw near. He wanted to know if I wished to be blindfolded. I thought for a moment and nodded yes, after which he produced a strip of black cloth from his tunic pocket, and reaching around my head, tied it in place. It was rather small, and I found that by looking down past my chest I could quite easily see the ground at my feet, but that the firing squad was out of my restricted field of vision.
As the squad lined up, facing me, it was Reichenbach’s turn to draw near. He wanted to know if I wished to be blindfolded. I thought for a moment and nodded yes, after which he produced a strip of black cloth from his tunic pocket, and reaching around my head, tied it in place. It was rather small, and I found that by looking down past my chest I could quite easily see the ground at my feet, but that the firing squad was out of my restricted field of vision.
