My Great Aunt was a double spy during WW 2.
Chapter 1
The funeral party gathered around the grave beneath the branches of a row of sycamore trees that caressed each other in the spring breeze. The Hamburg sky hung low, and the light was grey and dull for mid-morning; the clouds struggled to hold on to their moisture. Beyond the wall of the Friedhof Ohlsdorf cemetery, the traffic on the Fuhlsbüttler Strasse was a distant rumble. It was 11.30 a.m. on Friday 12th March 1938, a day all Austrians and Germans would remember, while in this city graveyard the Richter family congregated, each with their personal thoughts and memories as Dr Willy Büttner Richter was laid to rest.
Grateful patients gathered round the grave, many of them in tears to see such a relatively young man deprive them of his caring attention at their popular medical surgery. There were also many mourners from the professional ranks of the city. For the moment, the exciting news of the Anschluss which was developing that morning had to take a back seat.
Hilda Richter, the doctor’s widow, resplendent in her black fur-lined overcoat, took comfort holding the hand of her son Otto, smartly dressed in his Hitler Youth uniform.
‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.’
The tall, lean young Lutheran pastor closed his prayer book of common order and invited Hilda and Otto to step forward and sprinkle the sunken coffin with a dusting of earth. Hilda did as he bade her and passed the trowel to her son. Otto brushed away a tear as the earth left the trowel a little ashamed to show weakness, especially in his uniform. He stood back as Hilda opened her handbag and took out a sprig of heather. She kissed it then dropped it on to the centre of the coffin. Unintentionally, it masked the brass nameplate.
A breaking twig alerted her to an approaching footstep and a hand gently tapped her right shoulder.
‘Willy would have liked that touch.’
She turned and smiled at her brother-in-law Karl, who had been as shocked as anyone on hearing of Willy’s sudden fatal heart attack. They had been close brothers.
‘We loved our holidays in Scotland,’ she said.
‘I know you did, Hilda. These were happier days, much happier. The gathering clouds this morning... seem so menacing.’
‘Karl... shhh.’
She looked over her shoulder. Sympathetic eyes met hers, and she felt uncomfortable. Like Otto, she was embarrassed to show any emotion, and schooled her expression to mask her sadness.
Shortly after noon, the dignified group of mourners entered a reception room at the nearby Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel. A black paper cloth with a central motif of the swastika covered a table at the side of the room. There were sandwiches, fruit and biscuits, and a coffee urn percolated happily at the far end. In the middle of the table, the party emblem remained uncovered for everyone to see and appreciate.
A man in a dark green suit approached Hilda. ‘My condolences, Frau Richter.’ He wore the party emblem on his lapel, and was a little overweight, exaggerated by a ruddy round face. He shook her hand, bowing his dark bushy eyebrows as he did so.
‘Thank you,’ she replied politely, wondering who he was. It was an awkward moment for both of them as she tried to place him. Not knowing the man or how he knew her late husband left her struggling for words.
‘Do forgive me. I am Herr Gerhardt Eicke. I am one of your son’s training officers.’
Instantly she recalled that this was the man who impressed Otto so much. She smiled weakly at him. He seemed briefly embarrassed by her cool response, and turned away to take a cup of coffee from the table nearby.
‘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 to his late father.’
There was a ring on the hand holding the coffee cup; it matched his lapel badge, and was on his marriage finger.
‘I see,’ Hilda said. ‘So Otto is doing well?’
His demeanour oozed confidence now. ‘These are exciting times. The Fuehrer has taken Austria into Greater Germany today. He has wedded us to the German-speaking Austrians. It is a bittersweet day for you, I am sure, Frau Richter. Otto will be a great comfort to you at present.’
‘You must forgive me. I had not heard the news,’ she lied. As it broke that morning, she had been preoccupied, and had failed to understand fully the consequences of the Anschluss. Now concern prickled in her mind.
He nodded understandingly. ‘I appreciate your mind has been elsewhere. The twelfth of March will go down in history. I can assure you of that,’ he said pompously.
‘It will be a day I shall have no difficulty in remembering, certainly,’ she said, looking away.
‘Indeed.’ Eicke shuffled uneasily. ‘If there is anything I can do for you now, or indeed any time, I hope you will not hesitate to get in touch with me. I have resources at my disposal.’ He peered at her over his glasses with a smile, which struck her as artificially sincere. It seemed he was willing to use trickery to gain an advantage.
‘I will bear your kind offer in mind, Herr Eicke.’ She could not warm to this self-opinionated party man.
He gulped down his last mouthful of coffee and smacked his lips together. She was glad to see him return his cup to the table; this was surely the end of a sticky conversation. However, he approached her once more, fumbling in his side pocket and holding out his hand.
‘Here, my card. Again my condolences, Frau Richter. I must leave now.’
He bowed to her, and her smile was one of relief. ‘Certainly... you must have much to do,’ she said, feeling her shoulders relax.
As Herr Eicke walked smartly to the hotel exit, she placed the card in her black handbag and turned to find her brother-in-law standing nearby. Karl was quite different from Willy, perhaps because he was six years younger, and would have mixed with different people. He had a slightly cynical sense of humour that did not lie deep under the surface. Hilda was fond of him.
‘I hope you would come to family first,’ he said with a troubled brow.
Hilda wondered how much of her conversation with Herr Eicke he had heard. He smiled, and slipped a hand under her left elbow ‘I saw he gave you his card. My advice, should you take it, would be to pay little attention to him.’
Hilda smiled; she had reached the same conclusion, and that was reassuring. ‘You know him personally?’ She was keen to hear more of this man who had a lot of influence over her son.
‘I find Herr Eicke rather narrow-minded – dogmatic, even. He is a Gestapo officer when he isn’t training the Hitler Youth. He’s a man on the up, from a very lowly base indeed.’
Karl’s assessment did not surprise her. ‘He is Otto’s training officer.’
‘Yes, that’s true. We can’t change that. Caution is required, Hilda. That’s all I am saying.’
She nodded. That was sound advice. ‘I think you may have to speak to Otto from time to time, for me.’
Karl nodded. ‘If you feel that would be appropriate?’
Without a father figure for her son, Hilda felt she would be leaning more and more on Karl. She knew he recognized that fact.
‘Otto has loyalties beyond the family,’ she said. It was something that had troubled Willy, she knew, but what could he do? The boy would have stood out, or worse, been ostracized if he had not joined the Hitler Youth along with his friends. He would have been fed to the wolves if he had stayed apart. She clutched her handbag in both hands, and her shoulders tensed.
‘Yes, it’s true. Though I may come to regret these reservations I have. I''m as keen as anyone for Germany to regain its rightful place in the world.’ Karl took out his handkerchief to catch a sneeze. ‘Excuse me,’ he said wiping his nose. ‘It’s the right policy I am sure, with the wrong leader.’
Hilda was concerned about who might be listening to Karl’s observations, so she moved a few paces from the table. Then for the first time since they arrived at the hotel she spotted her son. With an egg sandwich in his hand, Otto looked lost amid the adults sharing their memories of his father and dipping into political conversations. He approached her.
‘All these people, mother. I don’t know many of them.’
She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m not surprised, Otto. Many were your father’s patients. You know how popular he was.’
He raised his arm to remove her hand. ‘Yes, I know.’ He lifted his eyes to hers, seeking her full attention. ‘You saw Herr Eicke? I’m glad he came to show his respects.’
She seized the opportunity to gauge Otto’s view of this enigmatic man. ‘Did you know he was coming to the funeral?’
‘No. But I hoped he would.’
‘Your father did not know him.’ Her voice seemed to carry into the room. She walked to the quiet bay window so that they could talk in greater privacy.
‘Herr Eicke is fun, honestly. 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, he really is.’
‘Maybe so, Otto, maybe so. But remember you are the man of the house now. You must study hard at school and make your father proud of you.’
It seemed that was all the conversation Otto wanted for the time being. He nodded and left to find more juice. Hilda returned to the centre of the room, where her in-laws were talking. They turned to greet her.
‘Have you a headstone in mind, Hilda?’ asked Karl’s wife, Renate.
She was on comfortable ground now, not only with the question but also with her dark-haired sister-in-law. She and Karl were a perfect match.
‘Yes, I have one in mind and in keeping with Willy’s ideals, without all the trappings of nationalism and banner-waving.’
Karl turned towards her. ‘Need any help with the wording? If you like, I could lend a hand.’
Renate smiled. ‘That might be a good idea, Hilda.’
Hilda gave a little smile. ‘I already know what it will read.’
‘Really?’ Karl’s eyebrows raised an inch or two. Renate tilted her head to the side, obviously keen to learn more. Hilda held the floor. ‘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, leaving enough space for me and Otto to add ours in due course.’
‘I like that, Hilda,’ said Renate, patting her arm.
‘Yes,’ said Karl. ‘Without any flag-waving, as you said.’
She smiled at them. ‘Yes, I’m pleased with it. Though the words are hardly mine.’
Both Karl and Renate appeared perplexed.
‘Then whose fine words were they?’ asked Renate.
Hilda smiled, keen to reveal the source. ‘The Psalmist. As always, the Psalmist says it perfectly.’
Chapter 2
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Your readers need to read the entire the book to see how fascinating this fictional story based on very true events plays out. I can't wait to see the movie!
Ron