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First 3 chapters of my latest novel.
1
Branches of sycamore lovingly caressed each other as the funeral party gathered around the grave beneath. The Hamburg sky hung low. The light was grey and dull this frost lifting mid morning. Clouds strained to retain their 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 but in this city graveyard, our family congregated with their personal thoughts and memories as they buried my husband, 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 medical surgery. There were many from the professional ranks of the city present retaining their solemnity. For the moment they had suppressed the exciting news developing that morning of the Anschluss.
I, Hilda Richter, suddenly a widow in my late forties held the hand of my son Otto, smartly dressed in his Hitler Youth uniform. His swastika emblazoned on his outside left arm.
‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. In The Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.’
The tall lean young Lutheran pastor, closing his prayer book of common order, invited me and my son forward to sprinkle the sunken coffin with a dusting of earth. I passed the trowel for Otto to add his earth. Otto then stood back as I opened my handbag and from it took a sprig of heather. I kissed it then dropped it onto the centre of the coffin. Unintentionally, its fall masked the brass nameplate. A hand gently touched my shoulder.
‘Willy would have liked that,’ said Karl Richter.
I turned and smiled at my brother-in-law who was as shocked as anyone on hearing of Willy’s sudden fatal heart attack.
‘We loved our holidays in Scotland,’ I said looking at the sprig of heather.
‘Yes, I know. But I can’t help but feel that Willy died in the best of days. The gathering clouds this morning seem so menacing.’
‘ Karl ....careful....not so loud.’
An invitation by the pastor invited mourners to attend a reception at the nearby Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel. Shortly after noon, sympathisers 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, sandwiches 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. He then shook my hand, bringing his dark bushy eyebrows into focus.
‘Thank you,’ I replied unaware of who had addressed me.
‘Do forgive me. Herr Gerhard Eicke. I am one of your son’s training officers.’
He lifted a cup of coffee from the table, only momentarily taking his eyes off me. ‘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. Hilda noticed his cup holding hand reveal a nugget of a ring which matched his lapel. It was on his marriage finger.
‘I see. So Otto is doing well?’
‘These are exciting times. The Füehrer 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, at present.’
‘You must forgive me. I had not heard the news,’ I said.
‘Your mind has been elsewhere. I understand. But 12th March will go down in history. I can assure you of that.’
‘It will be a day I shall have no difficulty in remembering, none at all.’
‘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, Herr Eicke.’ I showed the minimum of politeness to this opinionated man.
He gulped down his last mouthful of coffee and returned his cup to the table. He fumbled in his side pocket.
‘Here, my card. Again, my condolences Frau Richter. I beg to take my leave.’
‘Certainly.....you must have much to do.’
I placed his card in my velvet black bag as Herr Eicke walked smartly to the hotel exit. I turned to find my brother-in-law standing behind me.
‘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 Hilda, would be to pay no attention to him.’
‘You know him personally?’ I enquired tilting my head a little.
‘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 a Gestapo officer when not training the Hitler Youth. He’s a man on the up, from a very lowly base indeed.’
‘But he is also Otto’s training officer. Caution is required Karl, but I think you may have to speak to Otto from time to time, for me,’ I suggested.
‘If you feel that would be appropriate?’
‘Yes, Otto has loyalties beyond our family. It was something that troubled Willy I know, but what could Otto do? He would stand out or worse still, be ostracized if he had not joined with all of his friends. He would have been fed to the wolves, if he had stayed apart.’ I clutched my bag in both hands.
‘Yes, it’s true. I may regret my current reservations. After all, something of me wishes Germany to regain its rightful place in the world,’ said Karl.
With an egg sandwich in his hand, Otto looked lost amid the adults circulating and sharing their funereal memories and political conversation. He approached me.
‘All these people, I don’t know many of them.’
‘I’m not surprised Otto. Many were your father’s patients. You know how popular a man he was.’
‘Yes, I know he was. You saw Herr Eicke? I’m glad he came to show his respects.’
‘Did you know he was coming to the funeral Otto?’
‘No. But I hoped he would.’
‘Your father did not know him,’ I said 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, really mother.’
‘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.’
That was enough Otto wished to hear or say. His nod ended the conversation and he left to find more juice. I returned to the centre of the room, where my family were in discussion in a loose ring. It opened up to accommodate me.
‘Have you a headstone in mind, Hilda?’ asked Renate Richter.
‘Yes, I have. One in keeping with his ideals, without all the trappings of nationalism and banner waving.’
‘Need any help with the wording? If you like, I could help you,’ suggested Karl.
‘That might be a good idea,’ said Renate.
I smiled in gratitude. ‘I already know what it will say.’
‘Really?’ asked Karl.
‘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, in due course.’
‘I like that Hilda,’ said Renate.
‘Yes. Without any flag waving,’ said Karl.
‘Yes, I’m pleased with what I have chosen. But these are hardly my words.’
‘Then whose?’ asked Renate.
‘The Psalmist, as always, says it perfectly.’
Chapter 2
Widowhood had its highs and lows. Kind words from my late husbands’ patients increased my confidence. But I feared I could not depend on many patient friendships forever. I my memory lurked the pain and anguish of being an alien during the last world war. If a second world war broke out, as many considered inevitable, it would be a war to defeat Communism on Germany’s eastern front door. There would be no Willy to support me. As the weeks progressed these thoughts grew stronger in my mind. My blood was not German and never could be.
One morning I rose early and started the day by organising an April spring clean. I dusted the high ceilings, folded rugs and hung them on the clothesline by the side of the house. I took a cane beater to them, assaulting the rugs with a fury I did not know I possessed. Puffs of dust drifted skyward. In my concentration I did not hear the postman approach.
‘Post, Frau Richter. I thought I heard some beating. Goodness me, I’m glad you were not my class teacher. You have a strong right hand,’ he laughed.
‘You surprised me.’
‘I could see that,’ he said.
This man in his late fifties had been our regular postman over the last decade and he knew me well. He handed her letters over.
‘There’s one from abroad in this lot,’ he said.
‘Thank you....ahh from home....great.’
News from home was always welcomed. My parents’ letters following Willy’s death had been a great solace. Another letter would add to my comfort. I wondered if they had received her last letter written a month ago. Would this letter just be a response to that or would there be more news of home? I gave the hanging rug one final thrashing and looked upwards. The sky was clear. I left the rugs to hang while I attended to my postal rituals, prior to reading personal correspondence.
The whistling kettle bubbled on the stove. Then I washed my hands with vigour and excitement. Clearing the kitchen table and setting the hot black coffee by my placemat, I took hold of a sharp knife to open her letter from Scotland. I smiled as my eyes lingering on the Aberdonian franked envelope. The glue gave no resistance. I lifted the letter to my nose. There was a whiff of two glues keeping this letter closed. There could be only one explanation.
The letter was brief but contained news that made me anxious from several different perspectives.
I sipped my coffee and held the cup with both hands as the letter lay flat before my tearful eyes. I read it twice then sat back to decide how I could respond to her parent’s satisfaction. But what would satisfy me and what would become of 17 year old Otto? The letter had perhaps come at an inconvenient time.
I cringed at mother’s last line. Criticism of the State provoked dire consequences. What on earth was mother thinking about? The table shook as I vented my feelings with my fist.
Perhaps the censor skimmed the letter in a way he might have read ‘more love enough to launch Hitler’s latest battleship’. Otherwise I feared a knock on the door was not out of the question. I shook my head in despair at mother’s casual and caustic remark.
My parents’ aging was a constant concern too.
I had not visited them for eight years and when leaving them on that occasion, as each time before, I wondered if I might never see them again. But now it was more pressing, not just because of their age but also because of the tension my life I was experiencing. Whenever I felt anxiety, I could rely on a personal solution contained in my black box. A box I had not opened much since Willy had died. I retired to her sitting room, unclipped the lid and assembled the double reed into my oboe. On this occasion I placed on the music stand Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No 5 in B flat major and sat on a hard ladder-backed chair to play the Adagio: Sehr Langsam. While I played soulfully, I remembered Anton Bruckner was not German, he was Austrian. She dedicated her music that day to all who might suffer because of the forceful acquisition of Bruckner’s land and people.
I had the rest of the day to reflect on my options but one I had already taken. I had left mother’s letter on the dining room table for Otto to read when he returned home from school.
At 4:25pm the key turned in the latch. A bag was thrown down on the hall floor. Otto was home.
‘Hello darling. I’m in the sitting room.’
Otto came in holding a glass of water. He raised it to his lips and drank it all in one gulp. A loud burping sound came from his larynx and echoed in the room.
‘Otto!’
‘Sorry mother. I was thirsty.’
‘Hmmm. Not what I expect you to do elsewhere.’
‘Of course not,’ he replied as if the reprimand was not necessary.
I said no more and awaited Otto to find the letter. But Otto sat down somewhat exhausted having run home from school.
‘Mother, I don’t think I could be a doctor just yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, the Hitler Youth takes most of my time in preparation for my joining the army. I can’t see me studying medicine too. When I turn seventeen on October 6th, I’ll be sent to the 7th Hamburg Motorised Unit.’
‘Really? It’s the first I’ve heard of this. Are you sure? Is this what you want to do?’
‘Yes, Herr Eicke told me.’
‘Maybe so Otto, but even the army needs doctors. They must study first.’
‘True.’
‘Give it some thought. Or perhaps you might like to be a dentist. The army needs them too and your Uncle Karl can advise you on that profession, not so?’
‘Hmmm.....maybe.’
‘There’s a letter from your grandparents on the table for you to read,’ I said at last.
Otto got up from his slouched position and gathered the letter. He read it as he returned to sit by his mother.
‘You’re not going are you?’
‘I probably will.’
‘What will I do?’
‘Karl and Renate would be pleased to have you stay with them, while I’m away.’
‘So it’s all agreed? You have made your mind up. You have decided to go to Scotland. For how long?’
‘I’m not sure. Your grandparents are aging. I’m not sure if I’ll see them again if I don’t go soon.’
‘So when are you going?’
‘September I think.’
‘I’ll have one month left at school. That means only a month with Karl and Renate?
‘Yes, I suppose so. By the way, your father left a sum of Marks which you will receive on your twenty-first birthday.’
‘I may need it then. If Communism is defeated, I can then start to study medicine.’
‘You have the crystal clear mind of youth. Otto, you make me proud. Come here.’ We lingered for a moment in an embrace.
Otto smiled at me knowing his perceived plan had met my approval. They came together again in a stronger clench. Otto’s lips lay close to Hilda’s ear. Otto whispered quietly like a wave sinking in the sand.
‘Give my love to Grandmother and Grandfather.’
‘I will of course Otto. I will.’
Chapter 3
The doorbell rang one afternoon as I was ironing one of Otto’s brown shirts making sure his arm creases were pressed firmly and in the right place. I was pleased to open the door for Karl.
‘Carry on Hilda. Don’t let me stop you,’ he said.
‘I’m ready for a break,’ said Hilda filling up the kettle.
‘Having second thoughts about us taking Otto on?’ he asked.
‘No, no second thoughts. That matter’s happily settled I think, but is Renate comfortable with the arrangement?’
‘Yes, certainly. We’d both have Otto anytime. That’s not my worry,’ said Karl.
‘Something else?’
‘A couple of things have been on my mind.’
‘Uh....hu?’
‘Otto’s lack of regular education, because of his Hitler Youth meetings is one concern. It seems it’s run on strict activity lines. No time for proper learning or education. It’s certainly not like the Boy Scouts, which I remind you, they banned as well as church youth groups.’
‘I’m more concerned what happens after the Hitler Youth. When a boy is seventeen and Otto is not far off that now. He told me he’ll be with the 17th Hamburg Motorised Unit.’ I stirred sugar into Karl’s cup.
‘It’s almost certain they are drafted into the growing army at that age,’ said Karl.
‘Otto told me as much. He reckons he’ll only be with you for a short while.’
‘Hilda, it’s not that he’s naive or gullible. He’s going with the other boys. They are all in the same circumstances. But of one thing I am certain.’
I served coffee to Karl.
‘And that is?’ she asked.
‘Thank you. Hmmm .....That’s good. Yes, there can be little doubt we are heading for war. But what allegiances are forming? Hitler sees Britain as Aryan and equally opposed to a Communist nation taking over Europe. He assumes Britain will not oppose him. That however is an assumption. We cannot be sure. That is why I think you should consider staying in Scotland until we see which way the wind is blowing. You follow me?’
‘But how long should that be?’ I asked contemplating his hypothesis.
‘You could help run the hotel for a while. I am sure your parents will appreciate that.’
‘How long do you think the authorities will let me stay?’
‘Hilda, I think you''ve forgotten. You have dual nationality now haven’t you? Remember what troubles that caused last time when you didn’t? I think you could put it to good use now.’
‘A one way ticket?’
‘Exactly. Just what you need.’
♦
I booked the sailing from Hamburg for September 30th and began to gather my luggage together. But I also made a seminal decision. The house would be placed in Otto’s name when he turned twenty-one. That meant I would take as much as I could to Scotland and that meant travelling with two large trunks.
I sorted out what I felt I could take and what I could leave. Then I started a notebook of instructions for Otto. It would be a book about cooking; washing and shopping. I covered the exercise book in a grease proof paper then in the excessive wall paper of the lounge which had been recently decorated. On the front cover she wrote in bold ink: OTTO’S BUCH Kochen; Bugelservice; Waschen und Einkaufen. Satisfied with my afternoon’s work, I opened my oboe case and began to play. Its melodic notes ventured into each room in the house. When I played, I was in a world of my own. All the cares and worries of the world were gone. I was set free by this instrument. As I came to the end of a sombre passage, I heard a knock on the door. I did not like to be interrupted when I played but had little control over that wish. Still holding my oboe, I undid the latch.
‘Oh Herr Eicke! I was not expecting you!’
‘No Frau Richter. But I have been standing outside your front door for the past few minutes. You play Mozart particularly well.’
‘You know your music Herr Eicke,’ I enquired.
‘Only that it is Mozart. You will have to enlighten me as to which piece you were playing.’
‘The Hostias from Mozart’s Requiem in D minor K626. Not usually played by the oboe of course. I was playing the choral part.’
Herr Eicke entered the house uninvited. I stood aside to let him in.
‘The sitting room is on the left Herr Eicke.’
‘It was remiss of me, I agree, not to notify you that I intended to see you before you returned to Scotland,’ he said.
‘You knew I was returning to visit my parents?’
‘If my wife and I go on holiday, as we did to Bad Liebenzell last year, we each took one case. That was sufficient. I see you are packing two trunks,’ remarked Herr Eicke as he observed the obstructions in the hall.
‘I am taking quite a lot as you can see to make the house less congested.’
‘I see. Yes, Otto told me. Well in fact he didn’t. It was a change in his next of kin which alerted me to your intentions. Not just a short visit abroad, I suspect. He has named Karl and Renate Richter as his guardians. A little unusual? Not so?’
‘Otto will be seventeen and before long he will have this house in his name. I cannot say how long I will be in Scotland but of course I have family and friends in Hamburg and so you can assume I shall return in due course.’
‘I understand, Frau Richter. And I wish you a safe voyage, both ways.’
‘Thank you,’ I said with a genuine smile thinking his wish was his valedictory remark.
‘You will leave with fond memories of our land and your much respected late husband.’
‘Of course, naturally,’ I folded my arms in a defensive manner.
‘And Karl and Renate and especially Otto, you will miss them?’
‘Herr Eicke, these are personal family matters. I do not require your attention to these details, surely?’
‘You are quite right. Of course I would not interfere with domestic arrangements.’
Herr Eicke stood up and went to the window where he gazed up and down the street. I watched him feeling his pose was somewhat theatrical.
‘We are all insignificant as individuals. But together we realise Germany is strong and on its way to recapture its prominent and rightful position in Europe once more and that England is, how shall I say, sympathetic to our cause, perhaps?’
‘It always amuses me to hear that Germany has so much in common with England, or to be more precise Britain.’
‘Forgive me. Yes, Great Britain you are right of course. The British Royal Family has Hanoverian connections; the English are Saxons from central Europe and of course the Scots are pure Viking stock, not so?’
‘Well, some are, most are lowland Scots of Irish and naive Picts and Dalriadan stock but why should this interest you?’
Herr Eicke took a cigarette from a silver case emblazoned with a black swastika on a red background. He lit up and inhaled a second time before exhaling towards the ceiling then turned to look at me. His eyes seemed to be closer than ever.
‘Since 1912 you have been a German wife. You will be the mother of a brave German soldier soon and so I expect you will retain a firm loyalty to the ideals of our nationhood in all its aspects?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I replied with apparent conviction.
‘It would be good if you would keep in touch with me. Not on a personal basis of course, although I would always value your friendship if it were granted.’
‘I am confused Herr Eicke. I am going to be in Scotland for a while. I cannot see how I could be of interest or assistance to you when I am there.’
‘Elgin is in the north of Scotland, isn''t it?’
‘How do you know that?’ I asked indignantly.
‘Otto has only told the truth. He told me you would be staying with your parents in Elgin at their hotel, not so?’
‘Well of course I have to go somewhere when I arrive and it is my parental home.’
‘We have our contacts in that area,’ said Herr Eicke with gravity.
‘I doubt that Herr Eicke. What a claim. It is in a remote part of Scotland. I tell you it is most unlikely that you have agents there,’ said Hilda laughing at the pomposity and arrogance of Herr Eicke.
Herr Eicke seemed uncomfortable as he stubbed out his cigarette.
‘You know the airbase at Lossiemouth and the garrison fort at Fort George?’
I realised he was being serious and was playing his hand with caution and precision.
‘If you know all these things then what use am I likely to be?’
‘Frau Richter, these are bases we would need if there was a Russian naval attack. We would rely on the British in such an event but if they refused, well.... we would have to take the matter into our own hands, you understand.’
‘I see. So that’s why you need British assistance.’
‘Exactly. Our agents may not have your ability to speak such fluent English. They may need some assistance, some reassurance perhaps. Or even just the opportunity to speak to someone who is familiar with both languages and cultures.’
‘I would have no hesitation in helping any stranger if they needed assistance whether they are German or any other nationality.’
‘Yes, but if there should be a war, would you help our cause? In fact Frau Richter just where would your loyalties lie?’
His questing seared my heart. I had avoided this pressing issue which had raised its prominence in my mind in recent weeks. I turned her back on Herr Eicke, composed and hurt.
‘Why would Germany be at war with Britain?’
‘Of course not. But should it come to war, you realise the Gestapo has to secure its borders.’
‘Of course. That makes sense. But Herr Eicke I think you have a lively mind. Britain has no borders. You seem to enjoy playing mind games.’
‘Then let me make myself clearer. Your sister-in-law Renate and her husband Karl, Otto’s guardians. We don’t want any weakness there do we?’
I found my hands were clasped together tightly behind my back. Beads of sweat came through my forehead.. I awaited his next pompous remark.
‘Most loyal Germans are keen to attend rallies when the opportunity arises. I think I can say quite confidently that neither Karl nor Renate have attended such grand occasions. They may have to be given some ... ............ perhaps......some .....encouragement.’
‘And just what do you mean by that?’ I asked indignantly.
‘Times are changing. If Karl and Renate don’t want to change, then I must see to it that they do. Everyone must, with no exception. We must all support and serve the Füehrer.’
‘Karl and Renate do too, as does Otto as you know. Karl is a busy dentist and his wife is his secretary. They work long hours,’ I said.
‘It’s my job to mend the cracks, Frau Richter. You don’t see the cracks do you?’
‘I only see what is right.’
‘Then we agree.’
‘What exactly are you expecting of me Herr Eicke?’
‘Nothing at present, I assure you. We will contact you when we need to. Frau Richter, I am glad you see the need to remain loyal to the Fatherland. Rest assured that Renate and Karl will be treated fairly. As I said, you will hear from me or one of our agents abroad at the right time.’
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Web Site:
A Reluctant Spy
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well done
For some reason, it seems like I've read some of this before. I know I read that when she was managing the hotel, she was visited by someone from England and asked to work for the Crown. I can easily see, with dual citizenship and the facility with both languages, that she would make a wonderful spot.
I spotted one error: "Then I washed her [my] hands."
Ron