German agents around
Chapter 5
‘Baruch ata adonai eloheinu melech haolam...’ David noticed Hilda approach and brought the grace to an end. He stood up from the table and pulled a seat out for her.
‘I’m sorry, I interrupted you,’ she smiled.
‘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.’
She nodded, and sat down. ‘You have heard the news about Sudetenland?’ she asked after a pause.
‘Yes, it was no surprise. What will stop Hitler now?’ asked Anna.
The news cast a sombre shadow over their breakfast.
‘I could 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.
Hilda's lips tightened. ‘You're right, of course. Fortunately, like many others, you are escaping from the madness,’ she said, lifting her coffee cup from its saucer.
‘Yes, we are the fortunate ones. We leave so many behind: German Jews who have no other nationality, and fear for their lives from their fellow countrymen.’
‘Yes, sadly true, David. I distrust Hitler more than ever now. He has lied to the Prime Minister and the British people as well.’
After breakfast, Hilda retired to her cabin and began to think about 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 and Mother’s cooking. There was still time in early October to sit in the hotel garden with her parents, enjoying the sunshine until late afternoon, and seeing the chrysanthemums, dahlias, sprouts and kale that her parents planted each spring come into season. Apples and pears, too, should be in abundance. That meant stewed fruit and crumbles... oh... how Hilda loved a Scottish autumn.
She let her thoughts slip back for a moment to the sadness and awfulness of the news from Germany. What would be Europe’s future? Life was a tapestry, woven from moments of pure tranquillity, time to appreciate good fortune and solemn days of sadness. Above all, she reminded herself that we are only a blink of nature’s eye on the planet.
During her afternoon stroll on deck, she espied a grey-blue ship in the distance, and then another and another flanking the first. Puffs of steam rose from their funnels: not pure virginal white clouds, more a dirty grey billowing trail from each ship. Behind the ships was an even larger ship, a battleship most surely, like the ones she had seen offshore at Cuxhaven. They eventually passed by, stately, soundless and with a sinister grace, trailing menace in their wake, despite the red ensign displayed at their sterns.
On the other side of the ship, she could never remember which was ‘port’ and which was ‘starboard’, she strained her eyes to detect land on the horizon. She desperately willed it to appear, just some ribbon to relieve the grey monotony of the sea. When it did appear, she was unsure whether to believe her eyes, and puzzled over the distance between Scotland and Germany. She rubbed her eyes and refocused; land indeed it was. They were due to dock in two and a half hours, so they must have been somewhere off the east coast of Scotland, maybe Arbroath or Montrose; that meant Aberdeen would soon appear. She returned to her cabin to pack. It did not take long, and she returned to the deck, excited to see her beloved land and the Granite City grow bigger.
When Aberdeen became unmistakable, it shone like a palace of diamonds. The familiar spires of Marshall College, her alma mater, seemed to recognize her return too. She felt at home already, and the train journey to Elgin in the afternoon would bring her to her parents' home and back to the centre of her loving family.
The Grampian Empress docked and the gangways lowered. She shook the hands of the Hortowski family and wished them good luck. They were clearly pleased to arrive on a welcoming shore, and gathered their luggage wreathed in smiles.
Hilda spotted the livery of the transport company that would deliver her larger trunks to the hotel, and made her final farewells to the Hortowski family, encouraging Lilli to play her clarinet every day, and to stay happy.
Guided by crew members, Hilda found her way from the ship to the customs hall, smiling when she 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 in a high-pitched Aberdonian accent.
For a moment, she wondered if he’d increase his sales if she played her oboe beside him. She kept the black box close by her side and proceeded through the customs, still smiling. There were more smiles all around her, as families greeted passengers and wives were reunited with their ocean-going husbands, due a two-day break. She enjoyed hearing once again the distinctive Aberdonian Doric tongue. She even recalled speaking that way not so long ago when she was a language student in the ancient city.
The salty air and the freshness of the north-east cold winds had been part of her life all those years ago, during her studies and at her graduation. The German language tutorials had prepared her for her life in Hamburg. Had she taken French as her main foreign language, how different her life might have been. But she loved the guttural language of the Germans, its nuances remarkably similar to her Aberdonian accent.
The granite-grey city of Aberdeen was the same as ever, and Hilda loved it, even the cobblestones made wet and greasy by the recent rain. She sought a cab to take her to the railway station. As she kept a lookout on the street for its arrival, two men approached her, both in trilby hats and formal suits under belted trench coats. They also wore gloves, which she felt was a little premature in early autumn. They stopped before her, like a brass band obeying the drum major’s raised mace.
‘Frau Richter?’
She hesitated before responding, more than a little concerned in case they had brought bad news from Elgin.
‘Y-e-es.’
‘Frau Hilda Richter?
‘Indeed.’
‘My name is William Dynes. I am with the British security services. Mr Thornton accompanies me. Frau Richter, we would like to ask you some questions. About your real identity.’
‘What? Good grief. What utter nonsense,’ she protested. Her mouth began to dry up.
‘Please come this way. Please,’ said Mr Dynes. Mr Thornton led the way into a rather small room next to the ticket office. It was sparsely furnished, but a gas fire faced the table at which she was asked to sit. It glowed with bright orange flames and gave off some welcome warmth. Hilda was in a state of shock, and little else gave her comfort. Was she dreaming? Perhaps she was back in Germany. This seemed like a confrontation she’d rather avoid.
‘Were you expecting family to meet you?’ asked Mr Dynes. He appeared to be much the same age as her, but his demeanour was nonetheless overbearing.
‘No. My parents are elderly. I was waiting for a cab to take me to the railway station, to get a train to Elgin.’
‘You won’t be going to Elgin tonight, I can assure you,’ said Thornton. He was the younger of the two, and wore a striped tie; some old boys’ organization, Hilda thought fleetingly.
‘I have been instructed by the security services to detain you and to ascertain your real purpose in leaving Germany,’ said Dynes.
Hilda shook her head from side to side in disbelief. ‘To think a homecoming would end like this,’ she replied, casting her eyes towards the tobacco-stained ceiling.
‘A German surname, a son in the German army, and as tensions rise you suddenly come to Scotland. I cannot overlook these facts, can I?’ suggested Dynes.
She shuddered, hoping they did not see how tense she was. They were so well informed. She answered slowly, clearly and in her best Aberdonian accent. ‘That is one interpretation,’ she eventually said. ‘Let me offer you another. I am Scottish, and I was under house arrest in Hamburg during the war. I have ageing parents in Elgin and I am heading there to stay. I have no connections with political forces in Germany or Britain.’ She lifted her chin defiantly and added, ‘You have a very weak case against me.’
They smirked. ‘We think we have a rather stronger case than you might think, Frau Richter. You cannot deny being under the instruction of one Gestapo police chief in Hamburg. I refer to Herr Gerhardt Eicke.’
Dynes sat back, studying her face, and she realized these men knew much more than she had given them credit for. She would have to be as open as possible with them.
‘Yes, I do not deny I know Herr Eicke. He is my son’s Youth leader.’
Mr Dynes tapped a cigarette on the table and lit it up. ‘Come, come, Frau Richter, Herr Eicke is not just 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.’
‘Yes, as I said, 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. I told you, my parents are ageing. It was an appropriate time to travel here,’ she said.
Mr Thornton took over. His northern Irish lilt was tuneful but no less incisive.
‘Your son, Otto. He must put you in a difficult position,’ he said.
Her head was reeling. She could not fathom how they were so well informed. It would be impertinent to ask, but she did.
‘Our consul in Hamburg runs a very busy office.’
‘The Hamburg British Consulate. I see. I suggest that would be either Armstrong or Simpson perhaps?’
That took them by surprise.
‘You know the British Consulate staff?’ asked Dynes.
‘Yes, I have played my oboe there on several occasions. Mr Simpson the military attaché sang. However, I’ve not been there recently. The staff will have changed.’ She recalled the late 1920s when the soirées musicales were popular, but her inquisitors cut through the memories.
‘And Otto, Frau Richter?’
‘If Otto had been younger when my husband died, we would have returned to Scotland right away. Otto has visited Elgin often in the past, and has many friends there. He would have settled. But that was not to be. He was at school in Hamburg, and when the church groups and youth groups were banned, all children were enrolled in the Hitler Youth. All children. What was Otto to do? Dropping out is not an option these days in Germany, you realize? He’ll be a man soon and he must make his way in life. But no matter what, he will always be my son.’
Dynes gave a brief nod. ‘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,’ he said.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed them away. Clearly she had no redress to her inquisitors’ thorough knowledge of her family’s background and movements. Her allegiances were being stretched beyond belief, and it threatened to tear her apart. She was German in culture, language and family. Herr Eicke's clipped tones resounded in her mind. To side with him would save Otto, Karl and Renate, but she was also a Scot, by birth and inclination. Why could she not be both German and Scottish?
‘I thought this was a new start for me. I considered teaching in a local school, returning to my roots as it were. The only difficulty I foresaw was my German surname. But even that... my husband Dr Willy Richter was a fine man, a peace-loving man and a quiet opponent of Germany’s military ambitions.’
‘So how did you really get mixed up with Herr Eicke?’ asked Thornton, his tone less threatening.
Was he softening her up, she wondered. She decided to accept it at face value. ‘As I told you, I met him first on a black day for me. Perhaps that was when he realized my value to him, as an alien. I shunned him at first, as did my brother- and sister-in-law.’
‘Karl and Renate?’
She gasped. ‘You know them too?’ My, you are very well informed indeed.’
Mr Thornton nodded. He opened a tobacco pouch, broke down a rough leaf in the palm of his hand and placed his pipe between his teeth. It was a pipe with character with a bend in the stem that made it droop towards his chin. Hilda noticed he smoked St Bruno tobacco. He opened his bluebird box of matches and struck one. It failed to light, and so did a second.
‘Blasted dampness up here in this darn city,’ he said.
He took another match out. This time it sparked, and clouds of sweet-smelling tobacco smoke wafted into the room. Hilda realized why it was familiar; St Bruno was the tobacco her father smoked.
She watched Thornton continue his ritual, asking herself how she could convince them that she had no wish to hurt her countrymen. All she could do was go on co-operating with them.
‘I did not see much of Eicke 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.’
She raised her oboe case from the floor and placed it on the table. She laid her hands on top of the box and gently caressed it. She continued to feed information to the men in the hope they would see how she was trapped, and not a shark in their midst.
Dynes told her that there were German agents in Britain. Even up here in the north. That shook her; it was exactly what Eicke had said. Dynes gave her a penetrating look, and glanced towards his colleague, who took up the questioning.
‘Did Eicke mention the names of his agents?’ asked Thornton, pen poised over his notebook.
‘No, he said they would contact me.’
‘So Eicke knows you will be staying in Elgin?’
‘Yes, at the hotel, my parents’ home. Otto told Eicke his next of kin were to be Karl and Renate on my departure. That was how he found out I’d be returning home. That was my fault, my weakness, I suppose.’
‘In what way?’ asked Thornton.
‘Herr Eicke is using Karl and Renate’s lukewarm support for Hitler to frighten me. He threatened me because he suspected I am not an enthusiastic sympathizer, and you're interrogating me thinking I am his spy. I think you and Herr Eicke ought to sit round a table and sort the whole unsavoury mess out,’ she said, frustrated and close to tears.
Dynes leaned towards her, half-smiling.
‘I like your humour. Maybe I might meet Herr Eicke one day,’ he said.
Hilda shook her head, still frustrated and a little afraid of what might happen next. A court appearance? Detention? Imprisonment? She was all too well aware that the stakes were very high.
‘Look, you can search my bags if you wish. I assure you, you won’t find papers from Herr Eicke. I have no address for him other than Gestapo HQ in Hamburg. It is he who has promised to contact me. Moreover, 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. Hilda was cautiously relieved; she had now nailed her colours to their mast, and they seemed to have accepted it. Now she was back in Scotland she knew where her loyalties lay, especially here in Aberdeen, in the great city where she had been educated.
‘You mentioned your two trunks. We have already checked your goods in the hold of the Grampian Empress and found nothing incriminating,’ said Thornton.
She gave a light gasp. ‘You are thorough, but I’m not surprised. You might as well investigate my suitcase here too. I’ve nothing to hide.’
Mr Dynes opened her suitcase. His hands fiddled around in the case and he shook his head.
‘Nothing, sir.’
Hilda noted his deference. Thornton was the one in charge.
Clearly she came with no spy paraphernalia, but they probably knew there was more information to be extracted from her. She determined to be completely honest with them. Spying was not her forte.
‘Eicke requested only two things.’ They each looked at her expectantly, and she did not disappoint them. ‘That I report on troop movements in the north of Scotland, and also note how many new or existing air bases we have in the north.’ She gave an audible sigh, relieved that her German orders were now out in the open, divulged not under pressure but freely and voluntarily.
Dynes made a note of what she had said, and he and Thornton exchanged smiles. She found it awkward that neither responded immediately to her statement.
Instead, Thornton pointed to the black box on the table. He opened it and revealed the oboe resting in three pieces. The instrument’s make was emblazoned in gold leaf beneath the case handle.
‘Udall Carte, is that German?’ he asked.
‘No, English. Makers of oboes and flutes since 1822. They are very well established. Even German orchestras play them.’
In a compartment were the double reeds. Thornton turned them over, then carefully examined the instrument by looking down its barrel. He felt the velvet lining inch by inch and was satisfied there had been no tampering with the box.
‘Over to you Mr Dynes.’
Hilda was puzzled. 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. She was glad to accept some nourishment after the nerve-racking questions which still showed no sign of ending. The tea refreshed her as it slid over her tight throat, but she was not prepared for the next round of questions. Mr Thornton pulled up a chair.
‘Frau Richter, we have to make sure who we are interviewing. That means uncovering any obscure areas. Your background gave us some challenges. However, we are satisfied with your explanation, and with your Scottish background.’
Hilda's heart leapt and she made to stand up. ‘Does that mean I can leave?’
‘Wait a moment. Don’t jump the gun. We understand your loyalty to Otto and your extended family in Germany, but we’d like you to work for us rather than against us. We need to track Eicke’s demands. You are very well placed to help us do so. In a nutshell, Hilda, we want you to act as a double agent. Do you understand?’
She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Was this a trick question? Had this volte-face always been on the cards? And his use of her first name: was that to persuade her? It had certainly disarmed her. Most important of all, if she agreed, would it mean she could go home? But the world of espionage terrified her. She was not suited to it. She felt trapped in its intricate web. Her 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 suspicious everyone is 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.
Hilda had a sense of chickens coming home to roost. But a double agent?
‘So what happens now, am I allowed to ask?’
Dynes fumbled in his suit pocket. ‘Here’s my card. You can call me on that number at any time. Let me know when the German contacts get in touch with you, and especially if Eicke makes contact. You understand?’
‘Yes. I will. I promise.’
They were leaving her with no choice, but as soon as she had agreed she felt calmer. The rules were straight in everyone’s minds, and they all looked at each other, satisfied.
‘Just before you go, and just out of interest. Does that oboe you have make a fine sound?’
She looked at the instrument, her soul mate. Then she looked up at her questioner. ‘It depends how you play it, Mr Dynes, doesn’t it?’
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