|
Miller H Caldwell, click here
to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
‘Baruch ata adonai eloheinu melech haolam ...’ David got up from the table and pulled a seat out for Hilda.
‘I’m sorry, I disturbed you,’ she apologised.
‘God knows we give thanks for our daily bread each day. He also expects us to show humility and service. And He lives and travels with us when we ask. No, you did not interrupt.’
‘You have heard the news about Sudetenland?’ asked Hilda.
‘Yes, it was no surprise. What will stop Hitler now?’ asked Anna to no one in particular. The news made it a sombre breakfast with the Jewish family.
‘I’ll never trust Hitler and I feel for all my brothers and sisters in the Sudetenland. The man must be mad. He is leading us into Armageddon,’ said David
‘True. I believe you. Fortunately, like many others, you are being led away from the madness,’ I said lifting my coffee cup from its saucer.
‘Yes it’s true. We are fortunate. We leave so many behind. Lots are German Jews, they have no other nationality, and they fear for their lives from their fellow countrymen.’
‘Yes, sadly true David. I distrust him more than ever now. He has lied to the Prime Minister and the British people.’
I retired to my cabin and focussed on arriving in Scotland again. Perhaps a day walking in the heather hills with old friends, a picnic by a quiet deep loch, back to a good traditional supper of peas brose, mealy and black puddings. Buchannan, the butcher’s steak pies ahh.... and Mum’s cooking. There was still time in early October to sit with my parents in the garden of the hotel in sunshine until late afternoon seeing the chrysanthemums, dahlias, sprouts and kale that mum and dad planted each spring, come into season.
I let my thoughts slip for a moment into the sadness and awfulness that the news brought from Germany. What would be Europe’s future? At that moment I saw in life moments of sheer tranquillity, time to appreciate good fortune and days of sadness. Above all was the time to remember that we are only a blink of nature''s eye on this planet.
During my afternoon deck-stroll, I focussed on a grey-blue ship in the distance, and then another and another flanking the first. Moments later puffs of steam rose from their funnels. Not pure virginal white clouds of smoke, more a dirty grey bellowing trail from each ship. They grew larger as the moments passed. Behind the ships was an even larger ship, a battleship most surely, like the ones I had seen off shore at Cuxhaven. They eventually passed by in their soundless and sinister gracefulness. Menace was in their wake, even although the red ensign was displayed at their stern.
On the other side of the ship, I could never remember which was ‘port’ and which was ‘starboard’, I strained my eyes to detect any land on the horizon. I desperately wished land to appear. Some ribbon of raised interest. When it did appear, I was not so sure. It made me think how close Scotland was to Germany geographically. I rubbed my eyes and refocused. Land indeed it was. Given docking was in two and a half hours, it must have been somewhere on the east coast of Scotland, maybe off Arbroath or Montrose and that meant Aberdeen would soon appear. I returned to pack in my cabin. The chore did not take long. I returned to the deck in excited anticipation of seeing the growth of my beloved land, the Granite City.
When it came into unmistakable view, it shone like a palace of diamonds. The familiar spires of Marshall College seemed to recognise this graduate’s return to her alma mater. I felt very much at home and only a train journey to Elgin in the afternoon would bring me to my parental home and be back in the centre of a loving family.
The Grampian Empress docked and the gangways were lowered. I shook the hands of the Hortowski family and wished them luck. I could sense that they were pleased to arrive on a welcoming shore and their relaxation was seen in their smiles and agitated excitement gathering their cases. I met with the liveried transport company which would deliver my larger trunks to the hotel. I said my farewells to the Hortowski family and encouraged Lilli to play her clarinet every day to keep happy, now she was in Britain.
Uniformed crew assisted in delivering passengers from the ship to the customs hall. I smiled when I heard a familiar cry from the street outside.
‘Aberdeen Press and Journal, tuppence a copy. Get your Press and Journal. Only tuppence a copy,’ shouted the young flat capped youth.
I wondered for a moment if he’d increase his sales if I played my oboe beside him. I kept the black box close by my side as I proceeded through the customs with the cheeriest of smiles. There were smiles all around as families greeted passengers and wives reunited with their oceangoing husbands, due a four day break. I enjoyed hearing once again the Aberdonian Doric tongue. It was so distinctive. I even recalled speaking that way when I was as a student in this city.
Setting foot in Aberdeen again after all these years, I enjoyed the salty air and the freshness of the north-east cold winds. It was with me during my studies and at my graduation all those years ago. The German language tutorials had prepared me for the complexities I now faced. I wondered how different life would have been if I had taken French as my main foreign language. But I loved the guttural language of the German voice and it readily accepted my Aberdonian accent to its nuances.
Aberdeen was ever the granite grey city and I loved it. I looked for a cab to take me to the train station. As I kept a lookout, two men approached me. Both wore trilby hats and formal suits could be seen under their belt buckled trench coats. I noticed they also wore gloves, too premature surely in early autumn? I had no time to question further their attire. They stopped before me, like a brass band adhering to the drum major’s raised mace.
‘Frau Richter?’
‘Yes, I am,’ I responded with a degree of concern. Perhaps they had brought bad news from Elgin.
‘Frau Hilda Richter?
‘Indeed.’
‘My name is William Dynes, British security services. Mr Thornton accompanies me. Frau Richter we would like to ask you some questions. We have a suspicion that you may be an agent of the German government.’
‘What. Good grief. This is nonsense, utter nonsense,’ I protested.
‘Please come this way,’ said Mr. Dynes with Mr. Thornton leading the way.
I was led into a rather small room sparsely furnished. A gas fire faced the table at which I was asked to sit. It glowed with bright orange flames and gave off some welcomed warmth. Little else gave me comfort. Was I dreaming? Perhaps I was back in Germany. This seemed like a Teutonic confrontation I’d rather avoid.
‘Were you expecting family to meet you?’ asked Mr. Dynes, a man contemporary with my age. His presence was overbearing.
‘No. My parents are elderly. I was trying to find a cab to the railway station to get a train to Elgin.’
‘You won’t be going to Elgin tonight. That I can assure you,’ said Mr Thornton, the younger of the two who wore a striped tie of some old boy educational network.
‘I have been instructed by the security services, to detain you and to ascertain your real purpose of leaving Germany,’ said Dynes.
‘To think a homecoming would end like this!’ I replied.
‘A German surname, a son in the German army and as tensions arise, you suddenly come to Scotland. Well, these facts I cannot overlook, can I?’ suggested Dynes.
‘That is one interpretation. I offer another. I am Scottish and I was under house arrest during the First World War in Hamburg. I have aging parents in Elgin and I am heading there to stay. I have no connections with political forces in Germany or Britain,’ I said in defiance and added for good measure, ‘I think your case must be weak.’
‘We think we have a rather stronger case than you might think Frau Richter. Your spirited defence has a crack. You cannot deny being under the instruction of one Gestapo Police chief in Hamburg. I refer to Herr Gerhardt Eicke.’
On conclusion of his coup de grace, Dynes sat back to study my face. I realised these men knew much more than I had given them credit. I would have to be as open as possible with them from now on.
‘Yes, I do not deny I know of Herr Eicke. He is my son’s Youth leader.’
‘Come come Frau Richter, Herr Eicke is not a youth leader. He’s a senior Gestapo man in Hamburg and you know that. He is also a schemer and deceitful man. Ideal for the German secret police, I would say,’ said Dynes.
‘Yes, I do not deny that I know him. I first met him when he came to my husband’s funeral, but to say I work for him or that he sent me here is quite outrageous, in fact preposterous,’ I said.
Mr Thornton took over the questioning. He had a Northern Irish lilt to his voice. It was tuneful and equally incisive.
‘Your son, Otto. He must put you in a difficult position,’ he said.
My head was now reeling. I could not fathom how they were so well informed. It would be impertinent to ask but I did.
‘You are extremely well informed.’ My question sought to delve further into their secret working.
‘Our Consul in Hamburg runs a very busy office.’
‘The Hamburg British Consul? That would be either Armstrong or Simpson perhaps?’ I suggested. He ignored me.
‘And Otto, Frau Richter....?’
‘If Otto had been much younger when my husband died, I would have returned to Scotland. He has friends at school and when the church groups and youth groups were banned, all children were enrolled in the Hitler Youth. I said all children. What was Otto to do? Dropping out is not an option you realise? He’ll be a man soon and he must make his way in life. He will always be my son.’
‘Indeed as you say, making his own way in life. Choosing to serve the German Army in Hamburg. Not the proud profession of your late husband,’ said Dynes.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I took a handkerchief from my sleeve and dabbed my eyes. My voice now had a pained tone to it as I realised I could not compete with their thorough knowledge of my family’s movements. Herr Eicke appeared in my mind with his expectations being mouthed in silence in my head. To agree with him would save Otto, Karl and Renate. My allegiances were stretched and tearing apart. Two sides of the same coin. I was German in culture, language and family. I could state also with confidence I was also a Scot. Why could I not be both? Yes, why indeed.
‘And I thought this was a new start to my life. Perhaps I could teach in a local school, returning to my roots as it were. The only difficulty I foresaw was my German surname. Dr Willy Richter was a fine man, a peace loving man and a quiet opponent of Germany’s military development.’
‘So how did you really get mixed up with Herr Eicke?’ asked Thornton in a less threatening voice.
‘As I told you I met him first on that black day for me. Perhaps that was when he realised my value to him was as an alien in his midst. I shunned him at first as did my brother and sister in law.’
‘Karl and Renate?’
‘You know them too? My, you are very thorough indeed.’
Mr Dynes nodded as I looked up to him. He opened a pouch of rough tobacco and broke it down in the palm of his hand. He placed his pipe between his teeth. It was a pipe with character. Almost an S bend made it droop down his chin. I notice he smoked St Bruno tobacco. He opened his bluebird box of matches. The first match failed to light. He gave the sandpapered side of the box another strike. It failed to ignite.
‘Blasted dampness.’
He took another match out. This time the phosphorus sparked and sweet smelling tobacco wafted clouds of pipe smoke into the room. Then I realised the St Bruno’s vapours were the tobacco my father smoked. I observed his ritual while thinking what more I could say to convince them that I had no malice to hurt our countrymen.
‘I did not see much of him after the funeral. I heard about him of course through Otto. It was when I was preparing to return here that he took a greater interest in me.’
I raised my oboe case from the floor and placed it on the table. I laid my hands on top of the box and gently caressed it. I continued to feed information to the men in the hope they would see how I was a trapped fish and not a shark in their midst.
Dynes told me that there were German agents in Britain. Even up here in the north. That shook me, I can tell you. That’s exactly what Eicke said too. He was taking his time to asses me. I felt his eyes penetrate mine. His glance to his colleague was deliberate but I could not think what he meant.
‘Did Eicke mention the names of his agents?’ asked Thornton as he poised his pen over his notebook.
‘No, he said they would contact me.’
‘So Eicke knows you will be staying in Elgin?’ asked Dynes.
‘Yes at the hotel, my parents home. Otto told him his next of kin were to be Karl and Renate on my departure. So that was how he found out I’d be returning home. That was my fault, my weakness, I suppose.’
‘Why, in what way?’ asked Thornton.
‘Herr Eicke is using Karl and Renate’s weakness in support of Hitler to frighten me. Eicke threatened me because he suspected I am not an enthusiastic German sympathiser and you interrogate me thinking I am Eicke’s spy. I think you and Herr Eicke ought to sit round a table and sort the whole unsavoury mess out,’ I said frustrated and not too far from tears.
Dynes sat on the edge of his seat to get nearer to me.
‘I like your humour. Maybe I might meet Herr Eicke one day,’ he said. I shook my head frustrated by their questioning. I feared what might happen to me next. Would this arrest lead to a court appearance? Detention then imprisonment? I felt the stakes were high.
‘Look, you can search my bags if you wish. I assure you won’t find papers from Herr Eicke. I have no address for him other than Gestapo HQ in Hamburg. It is him who has promised to contact me. And if he does contact me, I can keep you informed. I’d also inform you of the agents in Britain who are acting for him as soon as I know who they are.’
Dynes sat back clasping his hands behind his head and crossing his legs.
‘You mentioned your two trunks. We have already checked your goods in the hold of the Grampian Empress...and found nothing incriminating,’ said Thornton.
‘You are thorough. I’m not surprised. You might as well investigate my suitcase here. Be as thorough as you like, I’ve nothing to hide.’
Mr Dynes opened my suitcase and placed his hands in my handbag. His hand fiddled about, and then he shook his head.
‘Nothing sir.’
Hilda noted his deference. Thornton was the one controlling the interview.
Thornton pointed to the black box on the table. He opened it and saw the oboe resting in three pieces. The instrument’s make was emblazoned in gold leaf beneath the case handle.
‘Rudall Carte, German?’ he asked.
‘No English, makers of oboes and flutes since 1822. Very well established. Even German orchestras play them.’
In a compartment were the double reeds. Thornton then carefully examined the instrument by looking down its barrel. He then felt the case’s lining inch by inch and was satisfied there had been no tampering and the box was passed back to me.
‘Over to you Mr Dynes. I believe it’s your turn now.’
Hilda made no sense of the interchange. Mr. Dynes left the room as if he had no more questions to ask. He returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and some Glengarry biscuits. I was glad to accept some nourishment after the nerve wrecking questions which showed no sign of diminishing. The tea refreshed me as it slid over a tightened throat. I was not prepared for the next round of questioning. This time Mr Anthony Thornton pulled up a chair.
‘Frau Richter, we have to make sure who we are interviewing. That means uncovering any dark areas. Your background gave us some challenges. We are however satisfied with your explanation and your Scottish background.’
‘Does that mean I am no longer arrested? Can I leave?’
‘Wait a moment. Don’t jump the gun. We understand your loyalty to Otto and your extended family in Germany too but we’d like you to work for us rather than against us. We need to track Eicke’s movements. You are very well placed to do so. In a nutshell Hilda, you will have to act as a double agent. Do you understand?’
I took a deep audible breath. Was this a trick question? Had the volte-face always been on the cards? Mentioning my first name for the first time, was that to persuade me? Would this lead to me getting home or imprisonment? The world of espionage terrified me. I was not suited to it. I felt trapped in its intricate web. My worry was that it was too late to break out.
‘I’d not accept a posting back to Germany. I’d never survive. You cannot imagine how everyone is suspicious of everyone else. I’d make little progress and Eicke would be on my tail as soon as I returned. He might even send me back here, with more instructions.’
‘That’s very true. That’s why I was thinking you should be sent back. However we’re not ready for that,’ said Dynes.
What I had let myself into was coming home to roost.
‘So what happens now, may I ask?’
‘Here’s my card. You can get me on that number at any time. Let me know if the German contacts get in touch with you and especially if Eicke makes contact. You understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just before you go, just out of interest. Does that oboe you have make a fine sound?’
‘It depends how you play it Mr. Dynes, doesn''t it?’
|
|
Web Site:
The Reluctant Spy
|
|
|
|
|
|
