A Gift from the Gods

by Martin Gunn

  By the time war had broken out in Europe, Gustav was four years old and completely at the mercy of a strict domineering matriarch, whose methods of upbringing bordered on abuse. With a complete absence of any love or tenderness in his life, the poor child withdrew into himself and generally accepted his lot. Not knowing any better, he assumed that this was the norm. All this changed though, when his father came home for a week’s leave in late July 1914, just before hostilities commenced, and his mother fell pregnant again.

  This time it was different. The birth was easier and the baroness did not go into depression again, in fact it seemed to snap her out of it. She doted on the new baby – named Wilhelm, after the current Prussian king and emperor – to such a degree that it accentuated her complete and utter indifference to her first-born. Although at this tender age he couldn’t articulate his feelings, it was at this moment that the seeds of resentment and bitterness were sown in Gustav.

  As the years passed Gustav became wilful and difficult to handle. There were two children in the nursery now and Fräulein Ute had to moderate her caring methods; especially as the Baroness, because of Wilhelm, was taking a greater interest in nursery life. This put the nanny on the back foot somewhat and she found it more and more difficult to control what was becoming a problem child.

  The war had been raging for nearly four years and the situation was looking desperate for Germany. Protected from the grim realities of war, all that Gustav could think of was why his father hadn’t come home to see him. He was eight and still had to look on with envy as he watched his mother indulge his younger brother, whilst he was mostly ignored. When she did speak to him it was never kindly.

  “Look at Wilhelm,” she cooed, “isn’t he handsome? He will make a fine officer one day. Not like you Gustav – you will never amount to anything.”

  Upset, Gustav would run off and find somewhere to hide. His tears were more out of anger now than sadness, though he was determined that no-one was going to see him cry. In the past Fräulein Koetz had beaten him every time he had cried, stating that, if he was going to cry, she was going to give him something to cry about.

  So, it was on a warm summer’s day in early July 1918, panic broke out in the von Brandt household when the three-year-old Wilhelm went missing. Everyone, including the staff, was deployed to find the toddler. The Baroness and nanny frantically searched the house, whilst the rest of the staff searched the grounds. Eventually the butler looked over the large lake set in the vast estate and saw a rowing boat heading for shore. As it got closer, he ran down to meet the boat. Stumbling out, Gustav was clearly upset and crying.

  “Where’s Wilhelm?” he enquired, shaking the boy.

  “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault,” was all he would keep saying.

  “What happened?”

  “I took him out on the lake to do some fishing and he went overboard,” he sobbed, “he went under and I didn’t see him again.”

  At this point, Fräulein Koetz had made her way down to the lake and overheard the conversation. She just stood there, both hands over her mouth. For the first time in her life she was lost for words. On hearing the news Baroness Freida was inconsolable, and took to her bedroom once again, refusing to see the boy and insisting that he be removed from the house. Her husband had to be called back from Berlin, which at such a critical point in the war was considered most inconvenient. He had no choice however, something had to be done with the boy.

  Gustav was questioned again and again but couldn’t really give a satisfactory explanation as to what had happened on the lake, but when he was alone, he would sit in his room and smile, running over in his mind what actually happened. Gustav had encouraged his brother to stand on the seat of the boat to enable him to cast his line into the water more effectively, and as the gullible toddler did so, Gustav rocked the boat. Wilhelm fell into the water with a yelp and started to thrash about trying desperately to keep his head above water. He managed to splutter for help as his head went under for the last time, and the final image he saw was his brother watching expressionless and perfectly still, with his arms folded, emotionless and resolute.

  Gustav had learned an important lesson. A lesson that Fräulein Koetz could never teach him. And that lesson was – life is cheap.

  ***

  As Baron von Brandt looked out of the window of the train heading west, he could see the sun setting on the distant horizon. To him it seemed a fitting metaphor for the end to German hopes of an empire to match Britain’s. The previous week had not been easy. He had come home to find his household in disarray. The baroness was hysterical and inconsolable. Fräulein Koetz was questioned about the events and since she could not give a satisfactory answer, the baron could only conclude that it was through neglect, and as a consequence he let her go, on the grounds of dereliction of duty. With pressure from the High Command for him to return to Berlin, he had appointed a nurse to look after his ailing wife, who for the short term at least, was being kept sedated. He would rather have stayed and overseen her care but the war was going badly, the last German offensive had been successfully routed by French and American troops, so it was only a matter of time before the inevitable defeat ensued, and to make matters worse, the baroness refused to have the boy in the house.

  Just as the last rays of sunlight were extinguished by the encroaching darkness, the baron turned and looked at the boy lying opposite him, fast asleep in the first-class compartment. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know Gustav and wondered what really happened on the lake. The problem now was, what to do with him.

  Gustav opened his eyes a little and strained in the darkness to look at his father sitting opposite, studying him. He closed his eyes again and pretended to be asleep. The place that represented so much misery was behind him now and he didn’t care whether he never saw his home or his mother ever again. Eventually, they both drifted off to sleep only to be awakened just before dawn, by the jolt of the train coming to a halt in Berlin station.

  Whilst his father had to leave and try and help rally an army on the brink of collapse, Gustav was left in a guest house at the hands of a governess who looked after and educated him. This time it was different, however; instead of the domineering and indifferent attitude of the previous women in his life, Gustav found himself with an authority figure who actually took an interest in his wellbeing. He found this change of events completely alien to him and found it difficult to cope with. Often, he would sneak out into the streets to be alone and explore the city. Berlin was, alas, a dangerous place to be in by November 1918; people were going hungry, there was a general strike, the defeated army was slowly filtering back, and to make matters worse revolution was in the air.

  When his governess had got word to the baron that she had no control over his son, that the boy had almost become a feral street urchin, he decided it was time to act. It was in the new year of 1919 during the Spartacist Uprising that the situation became untenable. The streets of Berlin were a war zone and the baron couldn’t allow his son and heir to be in the streets, running the risk of being shot. The general had no choice, he resigned his commission and took the boy out of Berlin.

  ***

  The problem of where to take Gustav was a difficult one. Germany was in complete disarray and it seemed to the baron that it could be fifty years or more before the country was stable again. His perception was, instead of weakening British imperialism, the war had strengthened it. The future, he conceded would be in an English-speaking country and resolved to ensure that Gustav learned to speak the language and learn it well. On the recommendation of a former colleague, he moved Gustav to Freising, just north of Munich where he was enrolled into a small private school, where he could improve his basic understanding of English. With the boy settled in, he decided it was time to go home and check on his wife. The baron had received a telegram, informing him that she had succumbed to the flu pandemic, which had bee
n sweeping through Europe this last year, and that she was critically ill. By the time he arrived home however, it was too late. She had passed away the day before, and now her nurse and half of his staff were showing symptoms. Eventually, five members of staff including the nurse, succumbed to the disease and by the time he had dealt with all the funerals and organised a skeleton staff to run the house, several weeks had passed. When he returned to Freising, the baron was much relieved to see that Gustav had settled in and was doing well in his studies. He was especially pleased to see the boy’s English had improved greatly. When Gustav was informed of his mother’s death, he gave no response whatsoever. To him it was of no consequence.

  As a temporary measure, the baron checked into the luxurious five-star Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten in Munich, much favoured by royalty and the aristocracy. Then one day in mid-April, he was enjoying a late breakfast when a young man in his mid-twenties approached nervously and stood by the baron’s table, clutching a flat cap in his hand. The man was of average height and slim. His face was narrow with pointed features and he had a moustache which drooped over the corners of his mouth. The baron looked up and frowned.

  “Can I help you?”

  The young man motioned to a chair.

  “May I sit down Sir?”

  “If you must,” replied a perplexed von Brandt.

  The man sat down and looked around him, he seemed to be concerned that they might be overheard.

  “My name is Peter Diemer, Baron,” declared the man, offering his hand in greeting.

  “You know me?” responded the Baron, surprised and shaking his hand.

  “We have been watching you for a little while now,” he replied, “there is a group of people who meet here periodically who have tasked me with inviting you to join one of our meetings.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  Peter looked around again surreptitiously, then put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and took out a pamphlet, placed it on the table and slid it over to the baron.

  “We meet here again next Wednesday,” he whispered, with a hint of a smile, “your presence will be most welcome.”

  At that moment a waiter came over and the baron turned to speak to him, but when he turned back again Peter had gone. He turned his attention to the pamphlet in front of him. It was about six inches by eight, had few pages and a curious emblem on the cover. The emblem had a vertical dagger with the blade pointing downwards. Wrapped around the blade were oak leaves and just behind the handle was a swastika. The legs of the swastika were curved and inscribed in a circle. At the top of the page, the pamphlet read 1919 and at the bottom it said, Thule Gesellschaft. Baron von Brandt had been invited to join the Thule Society. On closer inspection the baron was surprised to read some of the contents of the pamphlet. Subjects ranged from the origins of the Aryan race, racial purity through ethnic cleansing, anti-Semitism and anti-communism. More disturbing to the baron was the interest the pamphlet suggested in the occult. The one thing that struck a chord with him however was the anti-communist element. The newly established Socialist Soviet government in Bavaria did not sit well with him and he welcomed any group that might actively try to overthrow it, so on this basis alone he decided to attend the next Thule Society meeting.

  On the Wednesday of the meeting at 7:00 pm, Baron von Brandt stood in the lobby of the hotel wondering where this meeting was actually going to take place. He began to feel self-conscious so decided to order a drink, sit down and wait. Halfway through drinking his brandy, Peter walked in and approached him.

  “Good evening Baron,” he greeted cheerily, “I assume you are waiting for me.”

  The baron nodded and stood up.

  “Follow me sir, we have our own entrance.”

  They both walked out of the main hotel entrance and round to the side of the building. As they approached a side door, Peter knocked and turned to the baron.

  “We use the tradesman’s entrance. It’s more discreet.”

  The door opened and both men walked past a lookout, who vetted all entrants. Inside there was a long corridor with doors off either side. Very soon they reached a staircase leading up, and Peter started to ascend.

  “We have a few flights to walk up I’m afraid, as we use a suite of five rooms at the top. That way we don’t get disturbed.”

  When they finally reached the top, the baron stopped to catch his breath and Peter waited until he was ready to enter the main meeting room off the landing. As they walked in, the Baron noticed several people standing around talking, many with drinks in their hands. What struck him as extraordinary however, was the way the room was bedecked. The walls were adorned with banners hanging from ceiling to floor alternating in red and black. The red banners were emblazoned with the Thule logo, whilst the black banners were festooned with runic symbols including the stylised swastika that von Brandt found so intriguing. The overall effect was spectacular, and more than a little intimidating. A man approached the baron with a welcoming smile. He was of average height, thick set with a receding hairline. His dark three-piece suit and bow tie were smart, but not too dressy. He held out his hand to introduce himself.

  “Baron von Brandt, so good of you to come,” his manner was confident and convivial, immediately putting the baron at ease, “my name is Rudolf von Sebottendorf. Can I offer you a drink?”

  The baron declined for the time being, as he was curious about the décor.

  “This room, it’s quite impressive.”

  “Yes, we are very proud of it,” confessed Sebottendorf, proudly looking around him.

  “Tell me, this symbol you use on your pamphlet, and around this room,” continued von Brandt, “what does it mean?”

  “Ah – the swastika,” smiled Sebottendorf, “it’s a sun symbol which goes back to ancient times. We have modified it slightly but it is essentially the same. It started to gain attention in this country last century, when the mystic Helena Petrovna Blavatsky used it as part of her Theosophical Society symbol. We believe it to be a powerful symbol of the Aryan race, which you are undoubtedly part of. Normally we ask our members to pledge an oath of racial purity, but your ancestry is beyond doubt. The oath for you is optional. If of course you choose to join us, that is.”

  Sebottendorf sensed that Baron von Brandt was a little nonplussed.

  “You are in luck, we are going to have a discussion about her tonight, and if there’s time, hopefully we will touch on the works of Alistair Crowley and his Gramarye.”

  Back in his hotel room much later that night, von Brandt pondered on the evening’s proceedings. He found it all very fascinating, but it was clear that he had stumbled into something esoteric and wondered whether he might be out of his depth. So as the evening continued, it became evident that many members of the Order of New Templars were in attendance. He identified with these people who were very similar to the members of his Freemason lodge. This at least he found some comfort in. He trusted their judgement.

  As the months wore on it became apparent that von Brandt was recruited for his military expertise. He played a part in the defeat of the communist Soviet Republic in Munich as an adviser to the Freikorps troops, a paramilitary organisation with connections to the Thule Society.

  By late autumn of 1919 the Baron had taken an interest in the German Workers Party which formed earlier that year, and he enquired about the short man with the moustache who seemed to be causing a stir. To the baron he looked quite unremarkable but seemed to have a charisma about him that drew people in. The name Adolf Hitler meant nothing to him and he quickly dismissed the man as just another face in the political turmoil of Weimar Germany.

  Revolution continued within the country; the Kapp Putsch of 1921 and yet another communist uprising in 1922 saw the baron disillusioned and feeling a strong desire to get out and retreat back to his ancestral home in Prussia. Events took a tragic turn however after he notified his
intention to withdraw completely from Thule activity. He was conveniently knocked down and killed by a hit and run driver. Nobody was ever prosecuted for the accident, but it was suspected that the secret society had a hand in it.

  When Gustav was finally informed of his father’s demise, he was genuinely saddened. His father was one of the few people to treat him with any semblance of kindness, and now it seemed he was all alone in the world. But then for Gustav, this was ever the case.

  Just before his twelfth birthday, Gustav was taken to meet a solicitor to advise him of his future. He informed the boy that his father had appointed him guardian in the event of his death, to oversee his estate and any future plans that he had for his son. Gustav learned that a place had been reserved for him at Harrow public school in England, and that he was to start in September. This was not a problem for him, his English was fluent now with only a trace of an accent. Living in England would only help to improve it. He didn’t for a second consider the implications of a German boy living in a country that had recently been at war with his, and still suffering from its aftermath. It may have been three and a half years since the Armistice but memories were long. This fact was not lost on the solicitor, though he kept his misgivings to himself.

  ***

  Standing in the hallway of Druries boarding house; one of twelve which pupils of Harrow public school occupied, Gustav looked around at all the Shells, new boys just like him saying their goodbyes to parents and loved ones. The death of his father only served to accentuate his own isolation and what to him was a nauseating show of emotion. This was of no consequence however; since the demise of his mother, he had been shunted from pillar to post like an unwanted refugee, so boarding in a new school with strangers in a strange land was nothing to him. After registering his arrival, Gustav quickly dismissed his chaperone, a dour severe-looking woman who had, it seemed grudgingly, accompanied him over on the journey. Now he could get on with what he did best, studying and keeping himself to himself. This wasn’t going to be as straightforward as he thought however, before long an affable young lad sauntered up to him in their dormitory.