Letters from Berlin

by Tania Blanchard

  We’re working ten to twelve hours in the cold, the work is physically demanding and we have only basic rations, but most of us are managing. Some are struggling, though, and they’re punished for their low productivity with beatings. We try to help them as much as we can, but we all know that we’re expected to work like this until our bodies can’t take any more. But all we have to do is make it to the end of the war. Looking out for each other is the key to our survival.

  This job is only until the end of the month when they want the airfield ready. Then our crew will be moved on to another project.

  Tell Mutti and Susie that I love them.

  I’ll write again when I have more information.

  Your loving son,

  Leopold

  ‘He knows what to do,’ said Onkel Georg grimly. ‘Now we know where he is, the resistance will keep an eye on him. He’s tough and smart and he’ll make it to the end.’ I grasped Tante Elya’s hand and nodded. If anyone was going to make it, it would be Leo.

  But I had no idea we should’ve been worried about Tante Elya. Early the next morning, I awoke to pounding on the front door. I cracked open my eyes but it was barely light yet. The hammering continued and I heard hurried steps move past my room and down the stairs. Pulling on a dressing gown, I followed the sound of raised voices, stopping at the top of the stairs. I froze at the scene unfolding in front of me in the pre-dawn.

  ‘We have deportation orders for Frau Elya Hecker,’ said the SS officer at the door, handing across some papers. The breath caught in my throat.

  ‘No, that’s not possible,’ said Onkel Georg in shock. ‘She’s my wife. The law protects Jewish people married to Germans.’ He stared blankly at the pages in his hand.

  ‘The Reich Main Security Office have issued a new edict – all those with Jewish blood are to be deported. We’re just following orders. As you can clearly see, the paperwork’s all there.’

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ said Onkel Georg, his eyes wild. I felt light-headed. This was the moment we’d always dreaded.

  ‘You’ll have to sort it out with headquarters but, in the meantime, we have our orders.’ The officer pushed past Onkel Georg and into the entry.

  My heart thumping in my chest, I raced to Tante Elya’s bedroom and closed the door behind me.

  ‘You have to hide,’ I whispered urgently.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go, Susanna,’ she said, dressing quickly. ‘I’m not hiding like a rat in the dark. I’ve done nothing wrong. If the law no longer protects me, then I’ll have to go with them.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I sobbed. ‘I won’t lose you too.’ Visions of the day Leo left rolled across my mind, and then flashes of the old nightmare – of the car accident that killed my family.

  She smoothed the hair from my face and gazed at me lovingly. ‘We all have to be brave, myshka. Even me.’

  The bedroom door opened. ‘Frau Elya Hecker?’ It was one of the officers.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, standing tall and defiant.

  ‘Pack a small bag and then I’ll escort you downstairs while your husband speaks to our superior about your deportation order.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said calmly. ‘Susanna, get my overnight bag from the wardrobe please.’

  I did as she directed. Her hands shook as she placed items into it. I placed my hands on hers. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said gently. She handed me what she wanted and, numbly, I folded and packed them until she was done. I turned to the SS guard. ‘She’s just a harmless mother and wife,’ I said beseechingly. He stood in the doorway, stony-faced, keeping his eyes on his prisoner. ‘How can you be so cold-hearted?’

  Tante Elya touched my sleeve in warning. ‘Let’s see what Georg has managed to find out.’

  Carrying her bag, I followed her down the stairs. Onkel Georg was on the telephone in the hallway and he looked up at us, his face grey. A second SS officer waited in the entry.

  ‘Sit here, Frau Hecker,’ directed the SS soldier, pointing to the seat next to the telephone.

  I sat beside her and took her cold fingers in mine, willing myself to remain calm for Tante Elya’s sake, although every sense screamed at me to take her and run. It seemed like hours that we listened to Onkel Georg speak, argue, yell and wait until, finally, in the bright morning light, he handed the receiver to the SS officer.

  ‘Your superior,’ said Onkel Georg, his shoulders sagging. He stood beside Tante Elya and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Very good,’ said the SS officer. He placed the receiver down and turned to us. ‘There’s been a mix-up. Your deportation order has been lifted. Good day to you.’ With that both men walked to the door and left.

  Onkel Georg hugged us both to him and I felt faint with relief.

  ‘It’s over now,’ he said. ‘The law hasn’t been changed. They had no right to come here.’ I could feel him tremble and Tante Elya’s body shuddering with silent sobs. Julius’s protection had been worth more than I knew. We still had the law to protect us, but I wondered for how much longer.

  * * *

  Marika’s wedding day in December was beautiful. It made me smile to see her so happy with Johann, but I longed for Leo. Would we ever be able to have a day as joyous as theirs?

  The deportation incident had shaken everyone at Gut Birkenhof but we were determined to continue with our resistance activities, moving on Russian prisoners of war as we always had, and listening to the BBC, which daily contradicted the Nazi propaganda still fed through Germany’s radio and newspaper channels. We weren’t going to be cowed into submission through fear. But I was still coming to terms with the cost of leaving Julius.

  His telephone calls and letters to me at Gut Birkenhof went unanswered. I was still furious that he’d removed his protection from Tante Elya. At least he had the decency not to come calling, although part of me wished he would. I would have delighted in seeing Frau Kraus, Hans, Onkel Georg and Tante Elya tear strips off him. There wouldn’t be much left afterwards.

  When I wasn’t working at the hospital, I was home on the estate. Leo’s letters assured us that he was surviving, but then they stopped. Onkel Georg reached out to his contacts to find out why. Christmas came and went. Soon the year would turn to another: 1945.

  Tante Elya and I were in the kitchen one afternoon, putting together a box of fresh supplies for the new Russian who would be arriving after escaping a transfer to another camp. Onkel Georg’s frame filled the doorway.

  ‘You’re back,’ said Tante Elya, folding a blanket. ‘We were worried about you.’

  ‘I think you should sit down,’ he said, his face grim.

  ‘No, just tell me.’ Tante Elya clutched my hand, her eyes wide.

  ‘Leo’s been transferred to Buchenwald.’

  Tante Elya cried out and stumbled, and I helped her to a chair, my own breath ragged.

  Buchenwald was a concentration camp in the German state of Thüringen. We’d heard much about it from the resistance. Many political prisoners were interned there, including a number of prominent communists. It was notorious for its harsh conditions and the starvation inmates had to endure, exacerbated by long hours of forced labour – ‘extermination through labour’ as it was called. According to our ex-prisoner sources, camps like this had their fair share of executions too, usually shootings and hangings.

  The world around me began to swim, the voices distorted and not making sense. I felt like I was underwater and drowning. Strong arms held me and guided me to the kitchen table where I sank onto a chair.

  ‘Susie. He’s alive. You can’t give up hope yet.’ Onkel Georg’s words penetrated the shock and brought me back to the excruciating reality. He nodded encouragingly. Tante Elya sat beside me, her face as bloodless as I was sure mine was.

  ‘I think it’s my fault,’ I whispered.

  ‘How can it be your fault?’

  ‘Julius has tried to make contact, but I’ve refused to have anything to do with him, and then with the visit from the SS…’


  Tante Elya shook her head. ‘We don’t know it was his fault the SS came knocking. I know Julius has always been a jealous man, wanting what Georg has, and I’ll never forgive him for what he’s done to you, but surely he wouldn’t stoop to something like this?’ She couldn’t believe he was capable of such malignant actions and once I would have agreed. But now I knew better. He was a monster in the guise of a charming, chivalrous man. I wasn’t sure what he was truly capable of anymore.

  Onkel Georg pulled a chair out from the table and sank onto it. ‘I thought I knew him, but he’s become a Nazi to the core. Perhaps I should pay him another visit. I want to know if he’s had anything to do with this.’

  ‘No, Georg!’ Tante Elya put a restraining hand on his arm, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘It makes no difference now, and we need you here.’

  ‘Please let it go, Onkel,’ I begged. ‘After everything that’s happened… Tante Elya’s right.’ I felt sick thinking about what Julius could do if he wanted to.

  ‘Shh, I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ Onkel Georg said, putting his arm around me. ‘This family’s protection comes first, but he’s responsible one way or the other. He started this by refusing to help with Leo’s labour service. If I ever set eyes on that bastard again… one day he’ll get what’s coming to him.’

  None of us could be sure just how deep Julius’s involvement went, but tucked safely into Onkel Georg’s side I felt like a small child and this fleeting feeling of safety gave me strength. I wasn’t alone. I never was.

  ‘What can we do for Leo?’ I asked in a small voice.

  ‘The resistance has contacts within Buchenwald. I’ve already sent word to the kapo of the construction labour detachment. He’s a prisoner functionary and intermediary between the SS and prisoners,’ explained Onkel Georg. ‘He’ll keep an eye out for Leopold and ensure he’s placed in a good work detail.’

  Tante Elya kissed my forehead. ‘See, we have a plan,’ she said brightly, ‘we’ll all be together again, I know it.’ But I could see the worry in her eyes.

  18

  There was no hiding from news of the advancing Soviet line. More soldiers arrived at the Tiergarten hospital with terrible injuries, and those who were able told us the truth of the matter.

  ‘The Russians have taken Krakau and Warsaw,’ muttered one solider, barely old enough to shave. I doubted he’d last the week with his horrific wounds. ‘We can’t beat the Soviets, there’s too many of them,’ he said despairingly. ‘They’ll be here in Berlin before long. You should go while you can.’

  ‘We’re safe here,’ I said soothingly, but spikes of fear stabbed through my gut at the thought of facing a vengeful, victorious army. I’d heard enough now to wonder how we’d be treated by the Russians if they arrived in Berlin before the Americans and the English. I still found it hard to reconcile the heroic, romantic people of Elya’s Russian folklore and stories with the cold-hearted avengers marching our way.

  ‘You’re not safe,’ the soldier said. ‘I’ve seen thousands flee along icy roads and through thick snow before the Red Army. Even the prisoners from the camps in the east are being marched west before the Soviets arrive. I don’t know how they walked at all. Most could hardly stand. They were so thin; a gust of wind could knock them over.’ His eyes were wild with the sights he’d seen. ‘It was as though I’d reached the gates of hell. It won’t be long before we’re all there.’ He shuddered. I touched his forehead, expecting a high fever with his ranting, but he was only warm, not burning up. I frowned, wondering how much of his rambling was true. ‘Can I write a letter to my mother?’ he asked plaintively. ‘I wish I could sit in her lap and hug her as I used to one last time.’ He was crying now, pitiful as a child.

  ‘Shh,’ I said, smoothing the hair from his brow. ‘I’ll help you write your letter after you sleep. You’ll see your mother soon, when you go home. You won’t be going back to the front.’ He nodded, sighing deeply as he closed his eyes. The medication was setting in. I checked his file – he was only fifteen and yet he’d seen more than most people had in a lifetime. Generations of men were being wiped out, thousands dying in each new battle.

  I began to pay closer attention to the youngest members of our strange community, the flak helpers. I was surprised to find that Ida’s granddaughter, Mina, was here. She was only thirteen.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked as she hugged me tightly, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Four weeks,’ she murmured. ‘It’s so good to see someone from home. I’ve missed everyone.’ I kissed the top of her dark head, my heart clutching at the cruelty of taking children away from their families and into the face of danger.

  Mina explained about her work and introduced me to her new friends at the Zoo Tower, as it was affectionately known. There were boys from the Hitler Youth and girls from the BDM, probably much the same age as my young patient, I thought, but once I began chatting to them, I discovered some were as young as twelve years old. I was appalled that children so young were being made to handle and move munitions, helping man the anti-aircraft guns and learning how to operate them. None of them seemed terribly worried because we’d seen few air raids in the past months, but I wasn’t sure how long that would last.

  I began bringing fruit and biscuits to them every now and then. Many told stories of older brothers on the front line, some had sadder stories of fathers and brothers who had already perished, and mothers who were barely able to put food on the table. To them, the flak tower seemed like a much better place – here they had warm beds and full stomachs and the camaraderie of their units. But I remembered what the city had been like a year earlier, when much of Berlin had been battered by the bombings. I kept an eye on Mina.

  The next day, Tante Elya called me home. They’d received a letter from Leo.

  Frau Kraus brought tea and joined us in the parlour as we read it together. Onkel Georg sat straight and tall with the letter in his hands as though preparing himself for a blow.

  23rd January, 1945

  Dear Vati,

  When we finished at Zerbst my unit was transferred to another job, but I was transferred to Buchenwald. I don’t know why. I’ve made the transition well enough, having come from a work camp, but there are other new arrivals who aren’t coping with the conditions, the constant hunger.

  I squeezed Tante Elya’s hand. ‘He’s all right,’ I murmured. But none of us touched our tea, the steaming cups of yellow liquid cooling quickly on the coffee table.

  Because of our contacts, I’ve been accepted by the resistance here. It’s a very strong group, a mix of political and non-political prisoners, not just communists, and from a range of countries and backgrounds. We’re preparing for Germany’s defeat, smuggling weapons into the camp and organising sabotage in the munitions factories. When our overlords become preoccupied with the advancing armies of the Americans or Russians (who knows who will arrive first) and then with their own survival, we’ll hit back.

  ‘There’s no stopping him,’ said Onkel Georg, his eyes shining with pride.

  Robert Siewert is a very important man in the leadership of the resistance and uses his position as kapo here to help as many of us as he can. He’s been teaching the children bricklaying so they have useful skills, and helps to hide any prisoners at risk and gives them new identities. After the execution of Ernst Thälmann last year and the speech he gave at his memorial, he’s being watched by the camp administration and has to be careful what he does.

  ‘Who’s Ernst Thälmann?’ I asked.

  ‘He was the leader of the Communist Party of Germany and a candidate for the presidency against von Hindenburg and Hitler in 1932 before the Nazis took power and he was arrested,’ said Onkel Georg, looking up from Leo’s letter.

  I nodded, understanding why he had been murdered – he would have been a rallying point of opposition to the Third Reich, a threat the Nazis could not afford as Germany drew closer to defeat. Sadness washed over me as I wondered how many good
people would be left by the end of this war, and how many more the Nazis would murder before they were toppled from power.

  But he’s been good to me and has made sure I’ve been placed in a good labour detachment, not in the quarry attached to Buchenwald itself. I’m now at the Ohrdruf work camp, about sixty kilometres away.

  Ohrdruf was created a couple of months ago and already there are thousands working here. We spend our days digging tunnels, removing rock and rubble, building roads and a railway line. It’s hard to tell what we’re working towards, but there’s talk of secret underground headquarters and a communications centre for the government. SS guards from Auschwitz have joined our own guards here and that makes me believe that the rumours are true.

  The days are long, fourteen hours. I’m used to the hard work, but the conditions are unimaginable. We survive on nothing more than watery soup. Those who fall behind from exhaustion or starvation are severely beaten. Some can’t go on any longer and drop dead or are shot dead, but in my crew we are all still fit and strong enough, and we look after each other. We’re some of the lucky ones, sleeping in huts. It’s cramped because there are so many of us, sleeping on the floor on old straw with nothing more than the clothes we wear for warmth. It’s the one advantage of sleeping pressed together like sardines. Those who sleep in the tents are often the first to suffer from exposure or get sick. There’s no medicine or extra food for them. I’ve seen those who are ill or injured on the job just disappear, sent to Bergen-Belsen, so I’ve heard. I can only guess what happens to them there…

  There’s no thought of refusing to work because any dissent is punished with execution. They make us watch and then carry the dead to a shed where we pile them up and sprinkle the naked corpses with lime. It’s sickening; prisoners who have been executed or those who have died from starvation and are so emaciated that they’re little more than skeletons. The shed holds about two hundred corpses and when it’s full they’re taken to a pit about a mile away to be buried in a mass grave. It’s horrific, but it only makes me more determined to survive until the Allies liberate us.