1

          Branches of sycamore trees lovingly caressed each other as the funeral party gathered around the grave below. The Hamburg sky hung low. The light was grey and dark for mid morning, while clouds strained to retain nourishment for leaves and roots at the Friedhof Ohlsdorf cemetery. The noise of the day could be heard faintly on the Fuhlsbuttlerstrasse, beyond the civilian cemetery wall.  It was 11.30 am on Friday 12th March 1938. A day all Austrians and Germans would remember for different reasons but in this city graveyard, the family congregated with their personal thoughts as they buried Dr Willy Richter.

          The graveside was surrounded by supportive patients, sad to see such a relatively young man deprive them of his caring attention at their popular surgery. There were many from the professional ranks of the city retaining their solemnity. They had to suppress the exciting news developing that morning of the Anschluss, for the moment.

          Fleur Richter, now a widow in her mid forties held the hand of her son Otto, smartly dressed in his Hitler Youth uniform, his swastika on his outside arm.

          ‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. In The Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.’

Then the Lutheran pastor, closing his prayer book of common order, invited the doctor’s widow and her son forward to sprinkle the sunken coffin with a dusting of earth. The trowel was passed from mother to son. Otto then stood back as his mother opened her handbag and from it took a sprig of heather. She kissed it then dropped it onto the centre of the coffin. Unintentionally, it masked the brass nameplate.  A hand gently touched Fleur’s shoulder.

‘Willy would have liked that,’ said Karl Richter.

Fleur turned and smiled at her brother-in-law who had been as shocked as anyone on hearing of Willy’s sudden heart attack.

          ‘I mean your gesture,’ he explained.

          ‘The sprig of heather?’

          ‘Yes.’

          ‘He loved our holidays in Scotland.’

          ‘I can’t help but feel Fleur that Willy died in the best of days. There are clouds gathering, more menacing than the skies above us this morning.’

          ‘Shhh Karl, ......not so loud.’

          An invitation by the pastor invited mourners to attend a reception at the Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel. Shortly after noon, the mourners entered the hotel’s reception room garnered by a black paper table cloth with a central motif of the swastika. Sandwiches were offered from this table which had a coffee urn percolating at the far end. It was a table full with fruit and biscuits too but the party emblem remained uncovered for all to see and appreciate.

          ‘My condolences Frau Richter,’ said a man in a dark green suit, his lapel supporting the party emblem.

          ‘Thank you,’ replied Fleur, unaware of who had addressed her.

          ‘Do excuse me. Herr Gerhard Eicke. I am one of your son’s training officers. Otto is a fine young man, one of the best in the Hitler Youth, without doubt. He is a credit to you and of course his late father,’ he said holding a cup of coffee and revealing a nugget of a ring which matched his armband. It was on his marriage finger but it was not gold.

          ‘I see. So Otto is doing well?’

          ‘These are exciting times.  The Führer has taken Austria into greater Germany today. He has wedded us to the German speaking Austrians. It is a bitter sweet day for you I am sure Frau Richter. But Otto will be a great comfort to you, I am sure.’

          ‘I had not heard the news,’ she said.

          ‘Your mind has been elsewhere and quite understandably but 12th March will go down in history. I can assure you of that.’

          ‘Then it will be a day I shall have no difficulty in remembering,’ said Fleur.

          ‘Indeed. Now, if there is anything I can do for you at this moment of distress, or indeed any time, I hope you will not hesitate to get in touch with me.’ Herr Eicke bowed slightly as he made his offer.

          ‘I will bear your kind offer in mind,’ said Fleur.

          ‘Here is my card. Again, my condolences Frau Richter. I beg to take my leave of you now.’

          ‘Certainly, you must have much to do.’

          Fleur placed his card in her black bag as he left and turned to find her brother-in-law behind her.

          ‘I hope you would come to family first,’ said Karl.

          ‘You heard our conversation?’

          ‘No, not fully. But I saw he gave you his card. My advice, should you take it, would be to pay no attention to him.’

          ‘You know him personally?’ asked Fleur.

          ‘Let me just say that as some may welcome German troops in Austria today, some Austrians will not be as content. We should not forget that in the present hysteria. I feel Herr Eicke is narrow-minded. He is also a Gestapo officer when not training the Hitler Youth.’

          ‘But he is Otto’s training officer. Karl, I think you may have to speak to Otto from time to time, for me,’ suggested Fleur.

          ‘If you feel that would be appropriate.’

          ‘It was something that troubled Willy I know but what could Otto do? He would stand out if he had not joined,’ said Fleur.

          ‘Yes, it’s true. I may regret my reservations, on the other hand, as there is also something of me wishing Germany to regain its place in the world,’ said Karl.

          With an egg sandwich in his hand, Otto looked lost amid the adults in groups of funereal and political conversation. He approached his mother.

          ‘Mother, all these people, I don’t know many of them.’

          ‘I’m not surprised Otto. Many were your father’s patients. He was a popular man.’

          ‘Yes I know. I’m glad Herr Eicke he came to show his respects.’

          ‘Did you know he was coming to the funeral?’

          ‘No. But I hoped he would.’

          ‘Your father did not know him,’ said his mother walking over to the window to have this conversation in greater privacy.

          ‘Herr Eicke is fun mother. He is in the Gestapo, you know. That’s his day job. We learn lots of skills with him and he gives us sweets. He is firm but good to us. He’s a good leader.’

          ‘Maybe so Otto, but remember you are the man of the house now. You must study hard at school in your last year and make your father proud of you.’

          It was enough Otto wished to hear or say. His nod ended the conversation and he left to find more juice. Fleur returned to the centre of the room, where her family were in discussion in a loose ring. It opened up to accommodate Fleur.

          ‘Will you have a headstone, Fleur?’ asked Renate Richter.

          ‘Yes, in time.’

          ‘Do you need help with the wording? If you like, I could help you,’ said Karl.

          ‘That might be a good idea,’ said Renate.

          ‘I know what it will be already,’ replied Fleur.

          ‘May I ask what?’ asked Karl.

          ‘Of course. It will read: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of one of his Saints.’ Then his name, profession and dates of birth and death will appear leaving enough space for me and Otto.’

          ‘I like that Fleur,’ said Renate.

          ‘Yes. Without any flag waving,’ said Karl.

          ‘Yes, I’m pleased with what I have chosen. But these are hardly my words. The Psalmist, as always, said it perfectly.’