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Miller H Caldwell, click here
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Chapters 23 and 24
Chapter 24
The plane’s brakes were let loose. It groaned along the runway, pointing north. The engines got louder and louder. The ambling monster dragged its heavy load off the runway and I breathed a sigh of relief. I hoped that the cargo behind me would remain restrained.
The sun was up early and we followed the river Thames out to the North Sea. The water was deep blue and peaceful with flecks of sunshine reflecting on the ripples of waves beneath us. No angry ships or threatening air flak again. It was a pleasant flight over the water made even more pleasant by the cup of strong coffee I was given with a doughnut. It even had jam inside.
‘You say you are flying to Hamburg Airport? Won’t it be demolished too?’
‘What? You’ll have to shout louder.’
‘Is Hamburg airport....bomb free?’ I shouted as loud as I could.
‘Hamburg Airport Hilda has been going since 1910 when the Airships were in vogue. Between 1937 – 45 it was the Luftwaffe base but very cleverly disguised with trees and bushes to make it look less like an airport. So by the end of May we got it working, just fine. There might have been gross starvation without us getting the food through. These people are starving.’
‘I see,’ I replied to Zak relaxed at the controls.
The British coast slipped behind us and the summer’s sunshine seemed to warm the aluminium fuselage. My seat rested against the structure which was in constant tickling vibration. It was not an uncomfortable feeling. Rather it was a comfort to the thoughts I was having about what I would encounter in Hamburg. I finished the coffee, draining every drop of this black strong aromatic drink. I dusted off the icing sugar of my doughnut from my knees. Sure enough chewing gum was always at hand, so very quintessentially American. Perhaps I could never be a Yank.
‘You know where you’ll be staying?’
‘Zak, I’ll get into the city and work my way along to my home. I’ll take it from there. In fact, I’m not sure what I’ll find or how long I’ll be.’
‘Then keep your eyes peeled. Look out for scraps of paper pinned to doors, railings, anywhere, that sort of thing. I’ve seen that in Nicaragua when we flattened some towns.’
‘Flattened?’
‘Well not exactly flattened but many of the homes were set alight, burnt to the ground.’
‘When was that?’
‘Part of the Banana Wars in Central America. It ended in 1933 after many years of troubles.’
A different country, a story not well known in Britain. The same human suffering at the hands of might; not necessarily right but the brutal strength of military prowess having the final say. When will they ever learn? I shook my head at that thought. I had heard the United Nations in New York was about to be born replacing the League of Nations. I pinned my hopes on that being a more successful organisation. If it could intervene in conflict in time, it might lead to a more settled world. I had high hopes for its future.
The moments ticked by in the skies so recently holding pilots driven by fear of flak and being shot down or shot at. How quickly the difference it seemed. The descent was direct from the North Sea. Light cloud hid the city revived from the great fire of 1842 and the pestilence and cholera, fifty years later, to become the second city of the Republic. A home to millions of northern German people; home to me for thirty five years. We taxied along a debris-free runway and came to a halt near the airport.
‘Guess we drop you off here.’
‘Yes, into the unknown.’
Zak nodded. ‘Make your way back here when you’re done. There will be a rota of flights back to Northolt, sure thing.’
‘That’s a good safety net for me.’
‘Sure is honey,’ he said winking at me as though he had just been in the company of a southern belle.
The airport was not far from the city. To get my thoughts together I declined a lift. Once I was underway I realised any lift would be slowed down by the damage of homes blitzed and left sprawling across roads. The stench of rotten dead dogs made me hold my nose. They lay unloved unsure of why they suffered after years of loving care. Cats were not seen. These agile comrades must have lost some lives. Goodness knew how many lives left they would have. They were more likely to survive as rats were seen every few steps ahead scurrying under the debris, escaping cats’ attention. Some elderly women passed by pushing prams but there were no children inside. They were gathering anything they could find whether food or wood to light a make-do stove. I could not address them. No words came to me in their distress or mine. They must have looked at me with my recently soap showered face, my clean clothes and my well-fed waist.
A few telegraph lines stood undamaged but they were lifeless. The next was a broken pole and the wires lay on the ground in a puddle. The plaintive meowing of a cat provoked others to join in and brought back memories of Inka that came into my life in Portugal. Their wail reflected the despair of the people. Where was Inka now I wondered? Surely in a better place than this?
Sitting on the door step of a home that once was, a woman raised her eyes as I passed by. Still I could not find words to speak. Her face lowered as I passed. I felt guilty to have avoided all this destruction.
To the east of the Alster, the oldest part of the city lay in more dishevelled ruins. The oldest part being the new town as the great fire consumed the old town in 1842. It retained its archaic name. I walked by seeing little semblance of life. The Carl Hagenbeek’s Tier Park had a British jeep at its edge which its mine clearing occupants were making safe the unexploded allied bombs. The park showed some uncut green grass but it had no borders or flower beds. No natural colour at all for dust had settled on the ground like a winter cape in this early summer of devastation. Everywhere was a desolate sight; the cries of children and the despair of their parents unable to provide any food or meaningful comfort. Few men were in sight and those who were seen were elderly, dishevelled, depressed and looking lost with only a make-do walking cane and the heavy winter coats they possessed for a different season.
I was within a half mile of home and knew I was more than likely to find damage there. Miraculously some dwellings did stand untouched. How the bombs could miss a home seemed remarkable and gave me hope that I still had a home.
Hamburg prided itself in its wildlife in its waterways. I had been used to seeing in the great pond hundreds of natatorial birds and waders. They were nowhere to be seen. Had they migrated in 1940? Would they ever come back?
I was now in the administrative centre of the city. Standing before me was Gestapo headquarters, Eicke’s citadel where he ordered the Jewish cleansing of the city and its environment. Perhaps he had died in the devastation? I would lose no sleep over him. The Nazi flag lay on the ground partly hidden by the rubble of grey stone. Everywhere, man-made devastation. Despair and the smell of rotting flesh. Even the London blitz seemed insignificant in damage compared with Hamburg that morning. But deaths both German and British were the consequences of a brutal war. Bomber Harris had certainly been seeking revenge in Hamburg,
I was within two hundred yards of home. The nearer I got the more anxious I became. I passed former neighbour’s homes. Some had a wall standing, even two or three but all the windows had been blown out. Glass lay in sharp scatterings. Only sturdy footwear which I wore made progress possible. Ankles took the strain. Then I looked up. Where our house, our home, had been was blue sky with a pile of rubble some twenty feet high as a reminder of our blissful family life only five years ago. Tears came to my eyes. I struggled to climb over the debris, my foot slipped often. I steadied myself anxious to see more while risking injury. I looked around for anything to save but all I saw was a split open tin of white paint. I remembered Willy painting the ceilings with it. I sat down on a level stone and cried my eyes out. My thoughts were everywhere and nowhere, overcome by the devastation and desolation. I had no home. Nowhere for Otto to return to. I found no energy trying to trace any more artefacts of my loved ones. Where would I start? How could I start without an army of help? We all needed that. I was no different.
Approximately an hour and a half later, still seated like Guy Fawkes on a stack of rubble, I saw a soldier, a dishevelled German soldier approach. He carried no gun and no helmet or cap. His hair seemed matted, in need of a soapy wash. A camouflaged shoulder bag seemed to be his worldly possession. Even his boots were lace less and muddy. His matted blond hair and grit splattered face epitomised what Germany had become fighting too long to the call of a mad dictator who had now taken his own life.
The soldier stopped. He looked at me without speaking. It was a gaze as if to say, how could you have possibly survived? He took another tentative step forward.
‘Frau Richter?’ he said quietly and hesitantly.
I looked up and stared at his face. I smiled.
‘Yes, Otto’s mother,’ I said.
‘Then you know about Otto?’ he asked.
My heart fell. Did I know about Otto, my only son? ‘No, I came looking for him. You know where he is? Is he in Hamburg? Do you know?’ I asked with growing anticipation.
The soldier’s face dropped. He sat down near me. At that point I feared the worse, that I’d never see my son again. Surely not?
‘Otto was with me in 1941 when Operation Barbarossa began.’
‘You mean Otto is dead?’ I had to ask.
The soldier nodded and I felt my heart thud an irregular pace. I bit my lip as the reality of his death hit home. I stifled a cry, yet I was anxious to know what had happened. My eyes focused on his. My hands trembled. His expression fought to inform me as best he could.
‘Otto and I, that’s me Marcus, Marcus Baumann had been with each other through the invasion of Poland. It was far easier than we expected in those days. We thought the Russians would be as easy to overcome. The Blitzkrieg was so effective. But summer of 1941 ended and winter approached as we set in, outside Moscow. We were making no progress. Then the Russians rearmed and we had a set battle. It was... it was then in November, mid November, Otto was hit by a Russian shell. He died instantly. Honest, I was near him, it was that instant.’
I dried my eyes and felt a bond with all German mothers on learning of the sacrifice they had made in losing a son. The five year war inevitably killed so many. I should not have expected Otto to have survived yet finding him was my first aim, in returning to Hamburg.
‘His body, I mean was he buried? If so where?’
‘I wish I could tell you. I don’t know. Our strategy was not successful. Our positions were run over by the Russians. His body must be in Russian land. I think it best not to think where his remains are but value the time you had with him over his years,’
I smiled through my tears. Such fine words from such a young man. We shook hands. He left walking lonely, away from me. I failed to ask where he was going or what he was looking for. He turned out of sight. Then I let the tears and howls of anguish flow down my face and shatter the eerie peace of the dead city.
Chapter 25
I looked at my wristwatch. It was my normal lunch hour. I was not hungry. The anger of Otto’s death somehow prioritised my responses. Grief fed me.
There was nothing worth saving that I could see. Everything lay damaged once I poked around the rubble. I noticed some crockery broken like an archaeological Roman find. Treasures of the home now had no worth. Broken chair legs, a buckled bed. Even if the mantelpiece clock could be found and undamaged, nobody could buy it. Money was worthless. Roof slates covered much of the debris and I had no energy or incentive to lift each one up.
‘Hey lady, get off the site. You’ll fall and break your leg or something worse.’
I turned round to see a man probably in his seventies. He had said his piece and turned to go. His good deed of the day had been delivered. He noticed my response was like a naughty child caught doing wrong; I turned and made for the street below.
I stood still for a moment, unsure what to do next. Otto was no more. I tried to place that in my mind in a convenient place. I could not go around in a daze like so many others grieving. Otto had to occupy a place of easy access storage. Somewhere I could always enter and recall the memories of his short life. He was born at the wrong time in the wrong place. If only Willy had been Scottish, then Otto, or whatever he would have been called, would be alive today.
Now I must seek out the family I still had. I had to see if I could find Karl and Renate. I turned my steps towards their house.
I passed a man stoking a brazier which restrained dancing yellow flames. He hardly noticed me passing as he gazed into the glow of his fire. I saw a swallow dart undulating over the uneven ground seeking a roof top which was no longer there. Then I heard a low grating sound. It came into sight as I turned right towards Karl’s house. It was an army, American army machine clearing the road of its spilled damage and carnage. I watched it perform its duties and waited until it passed. I was grateful to see a cleared road ahead. It seemed the start of Hanover reclaiming its veins. Life was in its infancy. I knew then that Germany’s second largest city and main seaport would survive, in time. In time it would flourish as it had done so before the madness of the Second World War.
In days gone by, it would have taken me about fifteen minutes to reach Karl’s home. It had already taken me twenty five minutes and I was at least still three hundred yards away. I recalled the Pied Piper of Hamelin who played to drive the rats out of town. How Otto loved Willy telling him that story. If I had my oboe with me I may not have had the same effect but it would have given the city a moment of musical magic to take away the sadness which I saw on everyone’s face.
Many of the buildings in this part of the city seemed less damaged. I even saw a couple of untouched homes with uncared for gardens. Such was the indiscriminate destruction of the bomb hurtling towards the ground.
I saw Karl and Renate’s house. The windows had blown in but the building seemed relatively lightly damaged. I approached it hoping I might a catch a glimpse of either of them. My heart grew more hopeful.
‘Renate.’ I called out three times.
A voice heard me but it was not hers.
‘You are looking for Renate Richter?’
I glanced to my left to see a woman holding a young boy’s hand. She walked towards me. I vaguely recognised her as one of Karl’s neighbours.
‘Hilda Richter isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I am the sister-in-law of the Richters.’
‘Yes, I know. Where have you been? Where have you come from?’
I wondered if my truth might worry her and prevent her divulge what I need to know. I chose my words carefully.
‘I was visiting my parents in Scotland when the war broke out. I was away for the duration of the hostility,’ I lied.
‘You remember me? I am Martha Roth.’
I nodded. ‘I remember your face but I had forgotten your name. Your son, of course, is very young. I don’t remember him.’
‘No, he’s only three. He will grow up in peace. I had him at the right time, although he will have no father. He was killed in Italy.’
A moment’s silence was required. ‘I am sorry for you. My condolences.’
‘That’s all we are saying to each other, condolences, condolences ..... condolences.’
She beckoned me into her home. I followed. I opened my bag and gave the young boy a water biscuit. His mother smiled and placed a kettle on her temporary kitchen stove.
‘This part of the city got off lightly. I am pleased for you,’ I said.
‘Lightly perhaps, but not without pain, much pain.’
The pain was everywhere, seen by all who passed by but I heard it said for the first time.
The family dog lost its reservations and came to my side. I stroked the affectionate Hygenhund. Its eyes seemed to linger at me as if to say bad news was forthcoming and I have a duty to stay with you to comfort you. I stroked it gently. It did not flinch but came even closer.
The ersatz coffee was poured into a mug.
‘I am sorry there is no sugar or milk, of course.’
‘I am sure things will slowly get back together again. It will take time,’ I said.
Martha joined me at the table.
‘You know about Gerhardt Eicke?’
I wondered why she mentioned my handler. ‘Yes, I know who you mean. He was my son’s Hitler Youth leader and a Gestapo man of course.’
‘Yes, that’s true but he was also the man who cleared Hamburg of its Jewish population.’
I looked at Martha. She was clearly not Jewish. I wondered where her narrative would take her.
‘The early years of the war saw the Jewish community being rounded up and taken away in trucks. Now we know where they went, where they were killed in great numbers in gas chambers. It will live on our national conscious forever.’
‘What could stop it? No-one could. That is the shame of it,’ I said.
‘I did not know that Renate was Jewish.’
‘Renate, she isn’t Jewish. Her grandfather was but two generations later and two Lutheran generations at that. Renate married Karl in the Lutheran Church here in Hamburg, ‘I replied.
‘That’s not how Eicke’s men saw it. Renate was accused of not wearing the yellow star.’
‘Of course not, I said she was not Jewish!’
‘But her grandfather was and that to Eicke meant a direct line. She was taken out of the house one afternoon in plain sight. Many saw her being taken away. I’ve never seen her since. That was about three years ago. But I now know what will have been her fate.’
I replaced my cup on the table. The dog nuzzled between my knees. I gently massaged his ears.
‘Muggi, come here,’ Martha said.
‘No, I need Muggi right now. My world is crashing down. My son dead, my sister-in-law gassed. Her husband....you wouldn’t know about Karl would you?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I suspect the worst. Tell me.’
She nodded and came towards me and rested her hand on my shoulder.
‘Of course it’s hear-say. Everything is hearsay.’
‘There is a saying no smoke without fire. If it’s hearsay in the present situation, it will be the truth.’
‘You know Karl was with the medical corps, a dentist of course.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘He was with Field Marshall Rommel in Africa. From Libya in 1941 they made great strides through to Tobruk. But the following year they ran out of supplies and fuel. They dug themselves in and laid mines to thwart General Montgomery’s advance, while Rommel’s orders from Hitler were to stand firm to the end. The Field Marshall knew the war in North Africa was lost. The British broke through and secured the territory along the north Mediterranean coast. Karl was killed not taking out teeth but being taken out by a mine. Some said he could have avoided it. Others said he had heard his wife had been taken into custody being a Jewess and his brother was already dead. He may have been depressed. Maybe he saw a brighter future in death. All we know is that he was killed by an exploding mine in the desert. I have no reason to doubt the story. I know it to be true, Hilda. I am sorry.’
I had never felt so alone. I now had no close worldly relative. ‘What a day. I feared this would be a possible outcome. It could not have been worse.’ Muggi’s eyes looked up at me expressively. He raised his paw and placed it on my lap. He seemed to know my tears were about to fall.
It was late in the afternoon I made my decision. I left Martha giving her some tinned meat and the remainder of my biscuits.
Germany offered me no comfort. Hamburg was not the city I had known and loved. The culture was gone, all the people I knew too, the city had a long way to go to resurrect itself and I saw no part in that process. I made my way back to the airport. A passing jeep stopped and gave me a lift when I stopped to look at it. The driver took pity on what he presumed to be a German wife.
‘So you’re not German after all,’ he said when I thanked him for the lift and told him where I was going.
‘No, no longer German, I have no home. I’m Scottish with no home either.’
I got a plane later that night heading to Northolt. The pilot was Polish and he asked no questions. His mind must have been as full of grief as mine. The view got darker by each half hour. The North Sea was as dark as the inky sky. Somehow it seemed a longer flight back. Time moved slowly that night and I had much to contemplate.
I was recognised by the American contingent at the hut where I’d spent another night but I chose not to socialise with them. I went straight to bed and cried until I slept. I cried till my pillow was saturated by tears.
‘Where to this morning, Ma’am? A flight to the United States can be arranged. We’re taking a platoon of boys home today. Fancy joining them?’ asked one of the airmen.
‘A lift to the nearest bus stop will do. I’ll be heading back to the city once more,’ I replied still contemplating the tempting offer. A new life in America was being gifted on a plate and in truth, it was appealing but it did not matter where I was, I had to find my purpose in life once again.
When I got back to the MI6 offices Dynes was at work. Thornton this time was not around and I wasn’t told where he might have been. Perhaps Dynes did not know.
‘It’s a pity Thornton is not here,’ said Dynes. ‘If he knew you’d be here, he’d want to discuss things with you. But I am privy to these matters anyway.’
‘You mean my oboe?’
‘Your oboe? No I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Well I do. If you open that high cabinet, you will find it.’
Dynes did as he had been told and found the steps to mount. He opened the top half of the cupboard. ‘Ahh that black case I presume.’
‘I’m pleased to see it is just as it was placed.’
Dynes handed me over the instrument. I tapped the box with a loving touch.
‘My true comfort box,’ I said.
‘In the circumstances I must decline a recital this morning. I have some news to break to you.’
‘Really?’ I could not think what he had in mind.
‘Indeed, first I have some good news. One Gerhardt Eicke, I think you know him, has been arrested and been charged with crimes against humanity.’
‘Good news? That’s great news. That’s the best news I’ve had for some time.’
‘You realise you will be seeing him again?’
‘What? Are you joking? There’s no way I’d want to encounter that man again. Heaven forbid.’
‘Hilda, I’m afraid you may well have to.’
‘Why?’
‘You will be cited as a main witness in his prosecution.’
A couple of thoughts fought for my attention. Could I face him again and would my evidence be enough to convict him?
‘So back to Germany some time?’
‘Yes, Nuremburg. The trials will start there in August.’
‘The sooner the better,’ I heard myself say with a bitter tongue.
A smile came over Dynes face. ‘Some more pleasant news, I hope.’ His mischievous eyes glanced at mine.
‘The Foreign and Commonwealth office has close ties with MI6 as you can imagine.’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘We have heard from one man who seems keen to meet you.’
‘Meet me? Are you sure?’
‘One Sir Francis Simpson.’
‘Sir Francis? Wonderful,’ I exploded in a louder than anticipated voice of excitement. Is he not in central Africa?’
‘Yes he was. He’s now in Finland.’
‘You mean Ambassador to Finland? What a contrast.’
‘Indeed it is. They move them quickly in that department. I’m sure he’s missing the heat of the Dark Continent. But he’s not there just now, nor is he in Helsinki. He’s on leave, he’s in London.’
‘Really?’ I asked in delight.
‘Yes. Now I have a meeting to attend to. But before I go,’ he said rising from his seat behind the desk, ‘I have a piece of paper for you.’
‘I see,’ I said not really understanding what he meant.
He took a pad from his drawer and produced a pen. ‘Here Hilda, have a seat. This is Sir Francis’s number. He passed the pad and the pen to me. He is awaiting your call. I’ll send through a coffee for you,’ he said as he made his way out of the room.
‘If you don’t mind, a glass of cold water might be better.’
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Web Site:
The Reluctant Spy
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compelling read
I missed reading chapters 21 and 22. Perhaps they were deemed unimportant by you. And, in Chapter 23, you wrote "Hanover" when I think you meant Hamburg.
Ron