The Exit Strategy - Act 1, Part 1

Surviving Against All Odds

Nov 22, 2024

The Skellytown Portable Cemetery by night and by day.

At the beginning of October 2024, I installed a cemetery to celebrate the Day of the Dead and pay homage to the lives of the few ancestors I had on my father’s side of the family. November 14th was my birthday, so it felt like a fitting time to begin sharing the story of my fractured family. It is a tale filled with terror, tragedy, heroism, despair, and, ultimately, hope—set against a backdrop of uncertainty, fear, inequity, and instability. Oh yeah, and some laughs too, of course.

I am the last male in my line bearing my name. Historically, that has often meant that when I die, my name will die with me. But being as I am King of my Cassel, I have personally decreed a change to that legacy! Why should it be that only a man can carry on a family name? It seems clear to me that this tradition exists solely because of centuries of patriarchal dominance, dictating that only men have the power to continue a name.

In this age of female suffrage and emancipation, I see no reason why the rules can’t change to allow women their rightful place in carrying on the lineage. After all, they are the ones who endure the pain, anguish, and joy of growing, giving birth to, and raising their children.

Owing to the tragic circumstances surrounding my mother’s death, I have spent my life believing that women should have the right to control their own bodies and futures. It only makes sense that they should ultimately decide who will supply the seed of their progeny and whether they have the financial, spiritual, and familial support to bring children into a world dominated by greed, exploitation, and oppression. If such support is lacking, they should not be forced to have children.

Some elements of our society seem intent on protecting children while they are still in the womb but offer little to no care for what happens to them—or their caregivers—after they are born. To me, this seems like a system designed by those who prioritize their own interests over human dignity, as if intent on breeding workers or dependents for exploitation. Nobody wants to be born into poverty or servitude, and no one should have to.

I never expected to have a child, but then I met a woman who did, and, in 2012, she chose me to be the father. Together, we named our daughter Grace Juno Cassel.

She was named Grace after my mother, who endured a most undignified death. My mother spent much of her adult life facing challenges and hardships in her pursuit of realising her dreams and true independent self in a so-called modern world that, at the time, was still denying women those opportunities. With such an antiquated view of “equality,” I often wonder what modern truly means.

The name Juno comes from classical Roman mythology, where Juno was the equivalent of Hera and symbolized the protectress of women and marriage. She was also regarded as the "Queen of the Gods," a fitting tribute to strength and sovereignty.

The origins of the name Cassel are harder to determine. As my father’s family was of German origin, it could be speculated that the name is connected to the city of Kassel in Germany. Kassel, founded in 916 A.D., was spelled with a “C” until 1926, when the spelling was officially changed.

And so, I am no longer the last of my line. It is my hope that my daughter will want to retain her name and pass it on to her children, thus beginning a new chapter in history—one where women’s names are remembered. Of course, she may not want to do that and I will be fine with whatever she ends up doing. I want her to be in control of her own future.

The very fact that she exists is the reason I feel compelled to tell the story of how she ended up here and the things that happened along the way. Had things turned out differently for my father, neither she nor I would be here.

Owing to the trauma I inherited from my father, I don’t think I ever truly grew up. I feel like a 10-year-old boy trapped in an old man’s body—someone who delights in digging perfectly round holes in his chocolate mousse, crafting giant balls from cheese wax, dressing up in costumes, making music and escaping into endless fantasies. For most of my life, I’ve genuinely believed I was destined to be amazing and change the world. Honestly, I still do. What 10-year-old doesn’t?

People often ask me, "How did you end up like this?" or "How did you end up living here, in a bus, rent-free, on a prime piece of undeveloped real estate in the center of Germany’s capital city?"

Well, let’s start here…

Escape - 1935

An exit strategy is a means of leaving one's current situation, either after a predetermined objective has been achieved, or as a means to mitigate failure. An organisation or individual without an exit strategy may find themselves in a “quagmire”.

A Quagmire is defined as an awkward, complex, or hazardous situation.

Heinrich Wilhelm Oigen Casel with his parents Herbert and Lotte

This is my Dad, Heinrich Wilhem Oigen Cassel, with his parents Herbert and Lotte Cassel (nee Petrie) …and a picture of my Dad who I think is pretending to smoke a cigarette.

My Great Aunt Hilda Petrie (1892=1976) - Guardian and Protector

THIS is my great aunt Hilda. She was the first in our family to have an exit strategy. Like much of my family, I don’t know much about her. What I do remember are the occasional big, soft parcels she sent, containing sweaters she had knitted for my dad and me. I only met her once, when she visited us in Canada when I was 13 years old. She was my dad’s sister, and when things started getting tough in Germany, she made sure my father had somewhere to go.

The Nuremberg Laws were passed in Germany on September 15, 1935. These laws prohibited intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews and stripped Jews of their political rights. My great-aunt was Jewish, so her exit strategy was to marry a Catholic Englishman and move to England.

When my father was just five years old, his parents decided it was best to place him in the protection of an orphanage housed in a synagogue. Apparently, after that, they split up and went their separate ways.

My Dad at age 7, on his first day at school, 2 months before Krystal Nacht

This is my Dad on his first Day of school in 1938. Two months later Krystallnacht occurred. Kristallnacht, also known as the "Night of Broken Glass," was a violent attack on Jewish communities orchestrated by the Nazi Party on November 9–10, 1938. Members of the Sturmabteilung (SA) and Schutzstaffel (SS), alongside Hitler Youth and some German civilians, carried out the pogrom across Nazi Germany. German authorities stood by and did not intervene during the events. The name "Kristallnacht" refers to the shattered glass from the windows of Jewish-owned shops, homes, and synagogues that covered the streets. The attacks were presented as retaliation for the assassination of German diplomat Ernst vom Rath, who had been shot on November 9, 1938, by Herschel Grynszpan, a 17-year-old Polish Jew living in Paris.

Back in 2006, I visited my dad in Canada and recorded his life story on video. I interviewed him, and he shared as much as he could remember. He recounted how Nazi officers and “brown shirts” stormed into the Jewish synagogue that had been his home for two years. They carried torches ablaze, pushed people around, and screamed their intent to burn the place to the ground. He spoke of the overwhelming fear that gripped him as he huddled with the other children, his chest pounding and his head throbbing with anguish as he watched the caregivers desperately plead with the men in brownshirts to let them get the children to safety. Eventually they left, but my father told me that he couldn’t sleep for weeks after that.

While I am certain his trauma began when his parents dropped him there and then disappeared, this night cemented his lifelong preoccupation with what ended up happening to his father, my grandfather, Herbert Cassel.

Ernest Cassel K.C.V.O., G.C.M.G., G.C.V.O., G.C.B.

This is Sir Ernest Cassel. He has a lot of letters behind his name.

He was the richest man in England at the turn of the 20th century, a personal friend and financier to King Edward VII and Randolph Churchill, as well as a benefactor to a young Winston Churchill, who would later become Prime Minister of England in 1940. This connection is significant for several reasons, not least because, many years before I learned this story, I became good friends with Arabella Churchill, Winston Churchill's granddaughter. But I’ll get into that later.

It is nearly impossible for me to determine whether I am related to Sir Ernest Cassel. Upon further reflection, even if I am, I’m not sure I would want to be. However, I will never truly know. The destruction of Stettin, Poland—where the Cassel family had deep roots—has destroyed any pre-World War II documents and records that could provide clarity.

My research suggests that my father survived the Second World War with the help of an endorsement from Felix Cassel, the nephew of Sir Ernest Cassel. This indicates a potential familial connection, as such a recommendation would likely require validation for an exit visa. My great-aunt Hilda, German by birth, facilitated the process, allowing my father to live in England with her and her husband from the ages of seven to fifteen.

Ironically, it seems that Ernest Cassel’s actions—first as a Jewish banker, later as a Catholic—may have inadvertently set in motion forces that contributed to Hitler’s rise to power in Germany and the extermination of six million Jews, including members of his own extended family. This tragic paradox carries a dark, almost absurd quality, resembling something out of a grim satire.

Ernest Cassel was born in 1852 to Jewish parents in Germany. At fourteen, he began an apprenticeship as a banker and moved to England at seventeen to further his career. Upon his arrival, he distanced himself entirely from his German-Jewish heritage, anglicized his name, and eventually converted to Catholicism. By the outbreak of global hostilities in 1914, he had been knighted as a Catholic Englishman.

Cassel was a formidable financier and founder of the Bank of Egypt in 1898.1 He secured the exclusive right to issue Egyptian currency and acted as the government’s banker. By the turn of the 20th century, he was reportedly the richest man in England, serving as personal financier to both Randolph and Winston Churchill. His relationship with the Churchill family extended beyond business—he was a close family friend and even helped furnish Winston's first apartment in 1905, ten years after Randolph's death.2

Cassel’s significance in the financial world was first publicly recognized in 1889 when Queen Victoria conferred upon him the K.C.M.G. (Knight Commander of the Order of St. Michael and St. George). In 1896, he began breeding and racing horses, which led to his acquaintance with the Prince of Wales, later King Edward VII. Their friendship deepened over time, and under King Edward’s reign, Cassel received numerous honors, including K.C.V.O. in 1902, a Privy Councillorship in 1902, G.C.M.G. in 1905, G.C.V.O. in 1906, and G.C.B. in 1909. He was also the recipient of several foreign decorations.

As a philanthropist, Sir Ernest Cassel donated approximately £2,000,000 during his lifetime—equivalent to around £250,000,000 today—solidifying his reputation as one of England’s most significant public benefactors..3

Of course, none of his wealth ever made its way to my side of the family. It was amusing to know it existed, though less so to learn how he acquired it. In my view, Ernest Cassel was one of the early pioneers of what we now call the modern military-industrial complex.

Ernest Cassel and Winston Churchill

Twelve years later Churchill found himself being denounced all over England by a brilliant lecturer, Lord Alfred Douglas, the poet friend of Oscar Wilde. Douglas claimed that Churchill had been in the pay and pocket of Sir Ernest Cassel, a Jew, to such an extent that after the Battle of Jutland in 1916, Churchill had concocted an incredible plot: the Government would announce a naval defeat (which indeed it did-DC), British stocks would collapse on the New York stock market (which indeed they did-DC), and Winston Churchill, centerpiece of this swindle, would then issue a statement (as indeed he did-DC) saying, in effect, "Well, you know, it wasn’t such a defeat; our fleet is still on the seas and has a good chance of beating the German navy next time. (His statement was issued at request of the Government for the sake of public morale.-DC)
One result of Churchill’s reassuring statement was that the stocks went up in New York and speculators made several hundreds of millions. Lord Alfred Douglas claimed it was Churchill who had mastered this whole financial episode, which he portrayed as a deliberate swindle. He pointed to Bolton Street and the fact that Ernest Cassel had provided the furniture. So there, it was surely clear for all to see, these two were obviously fellow-conspirators.4

Shortly after the events surrounding the Battle of Jutland, economist John Maynard Keynes emerged as a staunch critic of Churchill’s handling of the Pound under the Gold Standard.5

Fredrik von Hayek, an advocate for unregulated free-market economies and co-winner of the 1974 Nobel Prize in Economics, may have drawn inspiration from the successes of Ernest Cassel. The economy of the 21st century closely aligns with Hayek’s vision—one that Cassel had already exploited long before the global rise of British socialism. The shift from Keynesian economics to Hayekian market psychology was catalyzed by Nixon in the late 1960s and further solidified by leaders like Reagan, Thatcher, and Mulroney, along with other members of the G7 nations in the early 1980s.

Keynesians had long highlighted the challenges of maintaining the gold standard, but the transition to fiat money brought its own issues. Neither system has eliminated the cycles of economic expansion and contraction, and both carry the potential for catastrophic consequences. The enduring question remains: How do we balance the needs of society with the rights of the individual? Can we live with the constant tension this creates? Given the state of the world, it seems this friction is unavoidable.

In the early 1990s, I befriended Arabella Churchill, Winston Churchill’s great-granddaughter, quite by chance. We met in New Zealand, and, as fate would have it, Arabella was the organizer of the outdoor theatre and circus fields at the Glastonbury Festival—one of Britain’s most celebrated outdoor events. Some time later, whilst staying in her home as a family friend, I discovered several mentions of my family name in the library of her great-grandfather’s published journals and archives. Was it serendipity? Perhaps.

Sir Felix Cassel (1869–1953)

After the death of his wife in 1881, Ernest Cassel invited his sister Wilhelmina to live with him, bringing along her two children, one of whom was Felix Cassel. Though Felix was actually his nephew, he grew up under Ernest’s care as a father figure. Felix eventually became a knighted member of the British Parliament, and in 1937, he introduced the concept of third-party automobile liability insurance to England (and the world).

That’s all I really needed to know about him. My potential relative was the one who helped introduce the scourge of litigation culture. There are two things I find most difficult about humanity: litigation and petroleum based automobiles. What more did I need to know? This wasn’t my fault, and there was no need to punish me. Nobody gave me any money, but if they had, I imagine I would have been a pragmatic philanthropist, using the funds to mitigate the damage caused by these aberrations.

Felix Cassel is the man that my Aunt Hilda got to assist with the paperwork that got my Dad on a kinder transport to escape Nazi Germany in 1938. My dad was one of 10,000 children to escape.

This is the exit visa arranged for my father by my Great Aunt Hilda.

Leaving Berlin

My father told me about a child that was sitting in front him on the train. A man in a uniform with the nazi emblem on his sleeve was moving through the carriage asking for papers, but the child didn’t have the appropriate documents and was escorted off of the train, He told me he was terrified when his turn came, that he was short of breath and could feel the blood pulsing in the temples of his head. It turned out that all was in order and he was on his way out of this particular quagmire.

After much research I found out from the International Red Cross that, in 1943, his father, Herbert Cassel, had died in the Auschwitz Concentration Camp. There was no exact date or cause of death specified. Herbert’s last official address was Gosslerstrasse 25, Berlin Friedenau.

His mother, Lotte, had escaped but at the time nobody knew to where. It struck me as odd that, despite all those years of separation, she never tried to reunite with her child.

To be continued…

My Life as a Movie

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