Memorandum by Frederick H. Boland on a conversation with Budge Clissmann

Mrs. Helmut Clissmann (née Mulcahy) called to see me on the morning of the 3rd June. She enquired about some of her furniture which had been stored in the German Legation in Northumberland Road, and also about her property in Denmark regarding which the Department has made representations to the Danish authorities. I informed her of the position with regard to both these matters.

Mrs. Clissmann went on to say that she was quite without news of her husband, but that she had heard from an English officer whom she had known in Copenhagen that her husband had been brought to London for questioning and was about to be brought there again. The letter said that he was being 'pushed very hard'. Mrs. Clissmann said she did not know quite what this meant. Her husband had really nothing to hide, and there was only one point on which she felt slightly apprehensive. She had been in doubt whether or not to mention it to us, but she had decided to do so.

During the war, a very high official of the German Government, who was later Gauleiter in Hungary, had visited Mr. Kerney in Madrid. The visit had been made at her husband's suggestion. Her husband was a great friend of the official concerned, whose name was Veesenmayer.¹ So far as she knew, the only person here who knew that the visit had been made was the Taoiseach.

I told Mrs. Clissmann I had a vague recollection that Mr. Kerney had reported the interview in question in the ordinary course, and asked why she was so apprehensive about it. She said she thought that the British were trying to fix her husband with responsibility for espionage activities in this country prior to the war. Actually, his work here had been purely of a cultural and propaganda character, but she was afraid that her husband's connection with the interview in Madrid would be used to convict him of political activities.

Mrs. Clissmann said that she had been in touch with Mr. Kerney herself during the war, mainly about Frank Ryan. She had known Frank Ryan well and saw him from time to time while he was in Germany. She thought all this was well known to the British, especially as it was clear from the Nuremberg trials that several members of the German Secret Service were in the pay of the Allies.

There was no mystery about Seán Russell's death, as Colonel Lahausen² had stated in evidence. She knew all the circumstances because she had heard them from Frank Ryan.

Frank Ryan and Seán Russell set out for Ireland in a submarine in August, 1940.³ They were to be landed on the coast of Clare. The journey was physically severe for Ryan and Russell because they had to keep under most of the way. Seán Russell was suffering from intestinal trouble, but, being a shy sort of man, he did not mention it to anyone until the submarine was a considerable way on its journey. By then the trouble had become bad, there was no doctor on board, and the medical chest - which was stocked mainly for the treatment of wounds, etc. - contained nothing suitable for the kind of intestinal obstruction from which Russell was suffering.

The submarine went out by way of Norway. The journey took a long time and Russell continued to get worse and worse. Finally, his whole system was poisoned. Frank Ryan gave her a description of Seán Russell like a man in a daze, obviously suffering from general toxaemia. Eventually, one night, he got very bad and died. The submarine was at that time just about one day's journey from the Irish coast.

Frank Ryan told her that at first they were at a loss to know what to do in face of this development. The captain wanted to put Frank Ryan ashore with Seán Russell's remains. Frank Ryan would not agree to this because, he said, Seán Russell was a quiet, secretive man and had really told him very little about the mission on which they were engaged. Frank Ryan did not know what the plans were and what were the contacts on this side. He was largely in the dark. On the other hand, the captain was unwilling to return at once to Germany. His instructions were to land Russell and Ryan in Ireland and then to go on a mission in the Atlantic attacking Allied shipping. Finally, it was agreed that Seán Russell should be buried at sea and that Frank Ryan should remain on board the submarine during its mission, eventually returning in it to Germany. This was done. The submarine's mission proved shorter than was expected owing to the development of engine trouble, and Frank Ryan was eventually landed at Brest in France about two weeks later.

Mrs. Clissmann said she had heard this account from Frank Ryan. The commander of the submarine, whose name was Von Stockhausen, was to have come to Berlin where she would have seen him. Immediately after this mission, however, he was appointed to a submarine training base at Pilan on the Baltic, so she did not see him. Some time later, he came to Berlin and was driving with the Finnish Naval Attaché after lunch when their car collided with a lorry carrying iron girders. Stockhausen was killed outright and the Finnish Attaché was blinded.

I asked Mrs. Clissmann what Frank Ryan and Seán Russell were doing coming to Ireland during the war on a German submarine. She said that one thing was perfectly clear - Germany's only desire was that Ireland should remain neutral. All her plans were directed to ensuring that, if Ireland were attacked by the other belligerents, her resistance should be as strong as possible.

Mrs. Clissmann said that Seán Russell had arrived in Germany in April, 1940.