Hans Erikson v. General Tojo - His true role in WW2

From the collection of the National Archives of Australia

World War 2 officially began on 3 September 1939 with the British declaration of war against Germany. Unlike Canada, Australia didn’t bother making a declaration of war; Prime Minister Menzies simply accepted that the British one applied to his own country automatically. Wartime measures came into force throughout Australia including the National Security (Aliens Control) Regulations that required all aliens to be registered and monitored. The aliens targeted by these regulations were not the likes of E.T. or Dr Who but non-British subjects. Lars Olof Grebst duly presented himself for registration in Adelaide on 25 September 1939. He was then living at 14 Hutt Street, Adelaide and his occupation is listed as “cleaner.” He produced his Swedish passport and had his fingerprints taken. He was described as 6 feet 2 ½ inches tall, grey eyes, slim build, “scar under left eye, partly bald.”

A line is then drawn through the handwritten name “GREBST, Lars Olof” on the Form of Application for Registration and the name “ERIKSON, Hans” is inserted. A second form, Notice of Change of Name, was also completed on that date. So it was that Lars Olof Grebst officially became Hans Erikson.

Erikson's true Sovereign Lord, King Gustaf V (right) in Berlin in February 1939 with Hermann Goering and Prince Gustaf Adolf.   Erikson went to school with the Prince: source Wikipedia

Two burning questions I have always wanted to ask Hans Erikson are why he changed his name and how he chose his new one. The decision to become “Hans Erikson” seems to have been hasty, possibly even made while standing at the counter of the Aliens’ Registration Office in Adelaide. We know that the name Grebst is of German origin going back many centuries. With the outbreak of war against Germany, perhaps he feared that having a German surname would lead to discrimination and ostracism similar to that meted out to many German Australians in World War 1 when the shocking fatality lists began to come back from Gallipoli and the Western Front. More likely he may have feared that his family’s pro-German past would come back to haunt him. On top of that, perhaps he had used his real surname when submitting anti-British articles to German newspapers and seeking payment. Of some significance is the fact that he didn’t adopt a more English-sounding name: Lars Olof Grebst didn’t become “Lawrence Greves”, for example. Whilst “Hans Erikson” is far easier for English speakers to pronounce than his birth name, it still sounds Scandinavian and Germanic. It therefore seems to me that the problem was not with a German-sounding name; the problem lay with the name Grebst itself and all it stood for: Vidi, anti-semitism and embargo-busting. If the Australian authorities ever put this jigsaw puzzle together (which, of course, they never did), he would have been treated with suspicion and possibly even locked up for the duration of the war.

What Erikson was doing in Adelaide at this time is a mystery. However, by early March 1940, he was back living in Sydney. His alien control records show that he moved about regularly, residing at the following addresses:

·      10 Herford Place, Darlinghurst (3 weeks);

·      Alexander Avenue, Tarin Point, Kogarah (7 months);

·      Labert Flats, Crick Avenue, Potts Point (5 months);

·      11 Short Street, Darlinghurst (4 months);

·      Manning Court, Manning Road, Double Bay (2 months);

·      37 “Chatsbury”, Ithaca Road, Elizabeth Bay (1 month);

       Manning Court, Manning Road, Double Bay.

In February 1942, Erikson went to Paddington Barracks and volunteered to enlist in the Australian Army. In The Rhythm of the Shoe, he says he did this because he thought that fighting for his adopted country was “noble and praiseworthy.” However, he refused to give up his Swedish citizenship and therefore did not technically qualify for enlistment. He had certainly not rushed to join the Army at the outbreak of war. His date of enlistment was 27 February 1942. A week earlier, the Japanese had bombed Darwin and invaded Timor. On 23 February 1942, the Australian government was in a state of panic and Prime Minister Curtin – the very same man who had criticised Erikson in Parliament in 1935 – rebuffed Churchill’s pleas and recalled all Australian troops from abroad in anticipation of a Japanese invasion. The country was in desperate straits. With this came enormous pressure for all adult males not engaged in essential employment to join the army. Australia would soon be fighting for its very survival against the barbarous Japanese. In this extraordinary atmosphere, the military bureaucrats turned a blind eye to Erikson’s Swedish nationality in order to get one more soldier in the ranks. On Erikson’s attestation form, against question 3 asking if the volunteer is a natural born or naturalized British subject, somebody has noted the words “friendly alien.” The form notes his occupation as “dealer,” marks him as married (to “Diana”) and states he has never been convicted in a civil court. It leaves blank the optional question about his religious denomination. As part of the enlistment process, Erikson took the following oath:

I, Hans Erikson, swear that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lord, the King, in the Military Forces of the Commonwealth of Australia until the cessation of the present time of war and twelve months thereafter or until sooner lawfully discharged, dismissed or removed, and that I will resist His Majesty’s enemies and cause His Majesty’s peace to be kept and maintained and that I will in all matters appertaining to my service faithfully discharge my duty according to law. So Help Me God.

In truth, Erikson’s Sovereign Lord was not King George VI of Britain but Gustaf V, King of the Swedes, the Goths and the Wends, a neutral in this conflict. Back in old Europe, however, the Swedish Crown’s neutrality did not stop a significant number of Swedes from fighting for the Third Reich against their traditional enemy, Russia. Here in Australia, one Swede at least took up arms to fight the Japanese and save the British Empire: Lars Olof Grebst. Uncle Willy, who had cycled through Japan marvelling at their efficiency and who had reported on the Japanese naval victory over the Russians, would not have approved.

Erikson did his basic training at Dubbo. In The Rhythm of the Shoe, he says that he was then “transferred to M.I. as a private.” M.I. stands for Military Intelligence. The Australian Army had no doubt learned that Erikson could speak German and thought he might be useful as a spy. He was more than willing to give it a go with “great ambitions of becoming a kind of male Mata Hari.” He writes that he did undercover work for a few years before his identity was blown and he was transferred back to an infantry unit. This seems to be yet another lie or gross exaggeration. His military records show that, after basic training, on 29 March 1942, he was “transferred to (Chauffeurs Duties) HQ”. This certainly sounds like a good cover for an M.I. spy. However, just over two months later, on 12 June 1942, he was transferred to the “North Aust. Observer Unit.” In his memoirs, he says he was “in a commando unit up north” when the war was over. To add to the confusion, the military records show that Erikson was discharged from the Army “at own request on compassionate grounds” on 23 November 1942. His personal effects were sent by registered mail to Manning Court, Manning Road, Double Bay and he signed for them on 30 November 1942. So his entire military career lasted only nine months. This, however, entitled him to an Australian war veteran’s pension and he ultimately died in an Australian military hospital.

What was the personal crisis that caused Erikson to request a compassionate discharge from the Army in November 1942? Perhaps we will never know. It was 1945 before he learned of his mother’s death. Was he stressed about not hearing from her? I doubt it. More likely his woes were marital and probably to do with unnamed wife number 2, the Englishwoman who left him for his own good only later to marry a man “with two cattle stations and one sheep property.” That is my best educated guess but it is decidedly shaky.

On discharge from the Army, he moved once more, this time to Flat 12, “Headingly”, Elizabeth Bay where he stayed until 20 October 1943. He was then at Barrenjoey House, Palm Beach until 29 February 1944 after which he returned to Headingly until war’s end.

Even though Erikson was no longer pointing a rifle at General Tojo, he continued to work for the Allied cause in another capacity: as inventor. In 1943, the Army Inventions Directorate received two submissions from Hans Erikson. The first, made on 24 June that year, proposed a special water bottle for commandos. Erikson signed the following typed summary:

Mr Erikson when on commando manoeuvres in the Northern Territory found that the slapping of water in the water bottle was audible for a distance of 100 yards on a quiet night. He suggests that water bottles for Commando troops should be constructed with at least 4 compartments, each with a screw top. The noise would be stopped and a knowledge of the contents of the bottle when strict rationing becomes necessary is very essential, and would be easily provided by this type of water bottle.

The Directorate was not impressed and gratefully rejected the idea in a letter to Erikson dated 26 July 1943. They argued that inserting loofah into the bottles would easily stop the noise without adding to the cost and complexity of the units.

Undeterred, Erikson returned with a second idea on 16 August 1943:

Mr Erikson submits the idea that from his observation glass articles remain free from fouling in harbours. He deduces from this that if a ship’s hull were sprayed with glass, freedom from marine growths would result, and much expense and saving of running costs and time would result. The spraying to be done in the manner in which metal spraying on surfaces is accomplished.

One detects a slight hint of ridicule in this notation as if Erikson was beginning to be viewed as eccentric. Again, the Directorate dismissed the idea by letter dated 1 September 1943 citing technical difficulties achieving cohesion between wood and glass and suggesting that collisions with such things as wharves would fracture or pit the glass coating. Perhaps the Directorate’s dismissal of this idea was a little too casual. In Europe at this time, the British and Germans were conducting espionage on developments in polyester resin, the forerunner of fibreglass. They mainly wanted to use it in aeroplane construction but, as we now know, a big part of its future lay in boating. Who knows what the Australian Army may have come up with if they had given Erikson some money to develop his idea?

By 1945, the writing was on the wall for the Third Reich. No doubt Erikson had been keenly following all the news from Europe and Scandinavia in particular. In Nazi-occupied Denmark and Norway, the resistance movements were becoming emboldened and in neutral Sweden herself, those who had been pro-German in 1939 were now out of favour and the Government was secretly assisting the Allies. In February 1945, Erikson sent a cable to his mother pleading for contact. Unbeknown to him, she had been lying buried in Östra begravningplatsen in Gothenburg for three years, a few gentle paces uphill from Uncle Willy’s mausoleum. One can only imagine his sense of isolation and confusion when the news finally arrived: his mother, the woman he loved and resented, was no more. The Grebst clan was well on the way to extinction.