Peter Bromhead: Great robo escape

Even though it's 70 years since World War II ended, my home still resonates with traces of the event, thanks to my purchase of a robotic vacuum cleaner that responds only in German.

I call the robot "Hildagard", after my late wife, having inadvertently programmed it in the German language, and never figuring out how to correct the error.

This results in the machine suddenly shrieking "Achtung!" when it starts choking on over-sized toy flotsam, such as Lego.

Hildagard has been diligently vacuuming around the house for the past year, but recently I've noticed it has been stopping unexpectedly and the female voice commands seem a bit sullen.

Deciding it required some time for rejuvenation, I moved the charging station to an outlet in our garage.

The first indication of trouble came when I noticed the vacuum had gone awol and I found it hiding under a car.

Apparently, once recharged, the robot has been going walkabout while the household sleeps.

More puzzling, I've twice found Hildagard jammed against the garage door, indicating that it has been trying to escape internment.

My suspicions were further aroused when I found it hiding among garden tools with a small trowel half-stuck in its brushes.

I immediately recalled the actions of prisoners of war in World War II trying to escape from Stalag Luft 3 by digging tunnels under the barbed wire fences using their bare hands and modest garden tools.

When I discussed my apprehensions with the caregiver, she responded by giving me one of those wary looks hinting that she could sniff imbecility in the air.

Of course, being much younger, she has no concept of World War II and the importance of keeping a wary eye on what "Jerry" might be up to, and refused to assist me in searching the garage for possible escape tunnels.

But she may change her mind after the garage door was left open, and, as we were enjoying a morning tea break, the robot spotted an opportunity and bolted for freedom.

After negotiating the drive, it started powering up the public footpath, probably uttering "Auf Wiedersehen". Fortunately, my son was out walking the dog and swiftly recaptured the device, returning it to the garage.

Initiating POW camp justice, I've now stuck it in the "cooler" - a cupboard under the stairs - to give it time to reflect on its rebellious Teutonic behaviour.