Tante Elya and Leo met Frau Kraus and I back at the house. We hugged each other tightly.
‘We made it,’ I said to Leo, kissing him so hard that I was sure I’d bruised his lips. It had been the longest two weeks, knowing Leo was so close, but not being able to see him.
‘We did,’ he said, smiling.
I glanced around the parlour. The Gestapo and their men had left a mess. The gramophone was gone, as were Tante Elya’s records. Her precious samovar lay damaged and dented below a smashed mirror. The upholstery of the fabric lounge had been ripped and torn, and the Persian rug was gone.
‘Nothing that can’t be fixed,’ said Tante Elya, cradling the samovar in her arms. She looked gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes.
‘That’s right,’ said Frau Kraus brightly. ‘We’ll have this place cleaned up in no time.’
The parlour was tidied; we covered the slashes in the lounge with fresh sheets, washed the floors and windows, and placed flowers from the garden in a vase on the small table before the first Soviet officer knocked on our door.
‘Are you the owner of this estate?’ he asked curtly when Tante Elya came to greet him.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said in Russian, smiling broadly. ‘Gut Birkenhof belongs to my son but we’re very happy to see you.’ She had no fear of the Russians: they were her countrymen and our liberators.
‘Captain Vasily Petrovich Snopov,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘You’re Russian?’
‘Yes. We’ve been waiting for your arrival.’
‘We may have need of your skills to translate.’
‘Of course. My son and goddaughter also speak fluently. Anything to see the Nazis gone.’ She smiled. ‘Please join us for tea.’ We had little to offer him, and even less to offer his men who waited in the truck outside, but Tante Elya insisted we serve him tea from the samovar and Frau Kraus brought the last of her biscuits.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure,’ said the captain, sipping the tea with a blissful expression on his face. ‘And a compatriot so far from home.’ He gestured to the samovar while casting his eye across the room. ‘What happened here?’
‘The Gestapo,’ Tante Elya said. ‘They killed my husband two weeks ago and confiscated the property.’
‘Well, it’s not theirs anymore,’ he said grimly. ‘Your husband’s crime?’
‘Aiding the escape of Soviet POWs,’ said Leo.
Snopov raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Russians?’
Leo nodded. ‘From Sachsenhausen. We were part of the resistance, Free Germany.’
‘How do Junkers such as you come to help the resistance?’ the captain asked, intrigued.
‘I’m Jewish,’ said Tante Elya, ‘and Russian. My husband was landed gentry. Before Leopold was incarcerated at Buchenwald, they helped many Russian officers escape from Sachsenhausen. Susanna was also involved in helping young flak helpers, only children, get home to their families before it was too late.’
‘Is this true?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘I worked as a nurse at the zoo flak tower.’
He shook his head in amazement. ‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you. We’re moving on towards the city, but if ever you come to Berlin, please come and see me. I won’t forget you and your hospitality.’
This was the Russian reception I’d desperately hoped for from any of the soldiers in the Red Army, courteous and friendly, but I wasn’t sure that all Germans would be so happy when the Soviets arrived on their doorstep.
* * *
Life went back to normal, as normal as was possible after everything that had happened. Frau Kraus came each day with those who needed help from the surrounding district, requesting food, clothing or shelter and protection from the madness that surrounded the last days of the war. Gut Birkenhof was still the pillar of the community, the place villagers could turn to in times of trouble, despite the hurt many had caused Tante Elya. With them came stories from the villages that the Soviets swept through, decimating the last units of Wehrmacht resistance on their rapid march to the capital. Stories of girls being raped by Russian soldiers, mothers and daughters committing suicide to avoid the terror that they knew was coming.
‘I know they’re Mutti’s compatriots, but we can’t be responsible for what they do now. They suffered so much at the hands of Germans,’ said Leo, placing another box of jars filled with preserves and sauerkraut on the kitchen table with a thump. ‘We wanted them to bring down the Third Reich and they have. Now they’re showing their dominance. Even liberation has its shadow side.’
‘It doesn’t mean it’s right,’ I flared hotly. ‘Russian or German, both sides have conducted themselves atrociously.’
‘Some men can be monsters,’ said Frau Kraus, shaking her head as she took a box from Hans.
‘Nothing can excuse what any of those soldiers have done but even good men will do bad things in the context of war, no matter what side they’re on,’ said Hans softly.
I understood what Hans was trying to say. There were those who journeyed past the limits of their morality, sometimes pushed by trauma and deprivation, other times nudged into the grey area over long periods through circumstance. We all had that aptitude. Not just the Nazis, but also the Soviets, the villagers, Mueller or Julius. What mattered was whether we took responsibility for our actions and acknowledged the pain we caused. That was the difference between a monster and a good man.
But this wasn’t the same thing. This was revenge. What these Soviet soldiers were doing was inexcusable. ‘They’re monsters,’ I said vehemently.
‘Let’s hope common sense prevails in the days to come,’ said Frau Kraus, smiling sadly at me.
I was thankful I wasn’t still in Berlin. Nobody was safe there. I prayed that our other friends from the city had fled like many others into the arms of the Americans, where everyone knew it was safer.
News of the Führer’s death was broadcast over the radio a few days later. It was a cruel joke really, his death right at the end of the war, at the point of Germany’s defeat. But at least he was finally gone and could do no more damage. On the orders of the new President of Germany, Admiral Dönitz, Germany’s unconditional surrender was declared on the eighth of May. Tante Elya, Frau Kraus, Hans, Leo and I sat around the radio in the parlour, expressions of relief and joy, mingled with sadness on our faces.
‘Georg would have rejoiced to see this day,’ said Tante Elya gazing at the chair he usually occupied. She had placed his pipe back on the small table next to his chair where it belonged after she’d found it mercifully intact. If only he’d survived two more weeks.
‘To the end of the war,’ said Hans, lifting his glass. The Gestapo’s men had found Onkel Georg’s wine and liquor stores so all that was left to celebrate with was the cognac he’d brought to the cottage the night before he died.
‘And to all our fallen,’ added Frau Kraus. I nodded, my elation warring with the sombre facts. Our loss was so fresh, but just about everyone had lost someone. Frau Kraus had lost her son and grandson to this war, with another son missing, and Hans had lost his nephew on the Eastern Front, and his sister and nieces in the Hamburg firestorm.
The fiery liquid was bracing as it slid down my throat. ‘What happens now?’ I asked.
‘We live our lives,’ said Frau Kraus. ‘You two can bring us joy by being happy. Get married and have a family.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve waited so long to see this day. Your family no longer persecuted and you two lovebirds finally able to be together.’
‘It’s time to start living,’ said Hans. ‘No more hiding in attics, no more sneaking around.’
‘We can breathe again,’ I said, clasping Leo’s hand. Excitement thrummed through me. The life I’d always dreamed of having with him was now a reality. Despite everything, hope burned bright within me.
‘Yes,’ said Leo. ‘We can be who we are and live life on our own terms. I never thought Susie and I could have a future, but here we are.’ He squeezed my hand.
‘Yes,’ said Tante Elya. ‘A joyous occasion is what we need now. We can have a small affair here at home, a summer wedding… It’s what your father would have wanted.’
‘You’re right,’ said Leo, nodding. ‘Let’s set a date.’ He gazed at me and smiled. ‘What do you think, Susie?’
‘The sooner the better,’ I said, hardly able to believe that we were really finally going to get married.
Tante Elya took my hand. ‘You need an engagement ring. It would make me smile to see you wear mine,’ she said quietly. She twisted both rings off her finger and handed the diamond ring to me and the plain gold wedding band to Leo.
‘You don’t have to do this, Mutti,’ said Leo, the ring small in the palm of his hand.
‘But I want to. It’s all I have left to give you both.’ She closed Leo’s fingers over the ring. ‘Keep it safe until your wedding day. Now put the engagement ring on your bride’s finger.’
Leo raised his eyebrow in question and I nodded silently. I was incapable of speech and on the verge of tears. I raised my hand and he carefully slipped the ring on my finger. Frau Kraus and Hans applauded.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered.
‘It suits you.’
I stared at the diamond on my hand, watching it sparkle in the light. ‘I remember playing with your ring when I was a child,’ I told Tante Elya, ‘hoping one day to wear one just like it, and to be as happy as you and Onkel Georg.’
‘And now you have your heart’s desire. A mother couldn’t be any happier.’
I hugged her tightly. ‘Thank you, Tante Elya. I’ll never take it off.’
Tante Elya and Frau Kraus insisted on the most beautiful wedding they could plan and very soon I was swept into their vision of a June wedding in the village church where Tante Elya and Onkel Georg had been married, followed by a small reception at Gut Birkenhof. With a little good management we could still have a wedding meal using rations and Leo’s black market associates. Tante Elya and Frau Kraus were determined to make me a wedding dress from an old gown of Ida’s, adding small pieces of lace to edge the sleeves and neckline. The only thing missing was Marika, but it was impossible to get word to her in Trebbin due to the danger of continued skirmishes.
Finally the day arrived. I stood in front of the mirror in my room: the same place I’d stood with Tante Elya two years earlier on my nineteenth birthday – and the same place she’d stood on her wedding day twenty-five years ago with my mother by her side.
‘You look beautiful… I’m so happy that this day has come for you both, and that I’m here to see it,’ whispered Tante Elya, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. ‘Your mother would be so proud of you; Georg too.’ She gazed at the diamond ring on my hand sparkling in the sunlight.
‘It means the world to me,’ I said, blinking away the tears. They were mainly happy tears, but I wished my parents, my brother Friedrich and Onkel Georg could have been there too. ‘You’ve been more mother to me than I could ever have hoped for.’
‘You’re the daughter I always wanted.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Come, let’s get you married. Leopold will be waiting.’
I stepped out in my blue wedding dress, holding a bouquet of wild cornflowers and poppies with Tante Elya on one arm, beaming with pride. Frau Kraus and Hans were our escort as we walked through the village to the little church on the hill where Leo was waiting for me. Many of the villagers had come out to watch, even those who had been so against us. Now that we were no longer a threat to their survival, they stood outside their homes to wish me well with a nod or a handshake, or even a kiss on the cheek and an embrace. The breeze off the river caressed the loose hair at the nape of my neck and the dappled sunlight from the oak and beech trees fell across the delicate lacework Tante Elya and Frau Kraus had lovingly sewn onto my dress. There had been times when I thought I’d never see this day.
Leo was standing at the altar, proud and tall in his suit. He was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, like a Greek god. The pews in the church were filled with curious villagers and friends, but my eyes were only for him. He was smiling, radiant with joy, and I couldn’t have been any happier. Then I was by his side and he was holding my hands – solid, dependable and calming Leo. I sighed a little with relief. I was home.
‘We’ve made it,’ I whispered.
He nodded. ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured. The tears glistened in his eyes. I knew that, in his darker moments, he’d also despaired of us ever reaching this day.
The words of the traditional Lutheran ceremony were almost a blur because we were lost in each other. Staring into his dark eyes I saw the love and passion, the commitment and devotion, the unspoken words of a rare love. We were meant to be together and, despite it all, we were here.
Then we kissed for the first time as husband and wife and, fingers intertwined, we walked from the church. Tante Elya was the first to embrace us outside the doors, tears of happiness sliding down her cheeks, while Frau Kraus looked on with a handkerchief to her eyes.
‘I’m the happiest mother today,’ Tante Elya said, holding us tight. ‘Your father would be as happy as I am. I love you both so very much.’
‘Vati’s here and watching over us,’ said Leo with conviction. Onkel Georg’s loss was still so very raw and I’d noticed that Leo never took his father’s signet ring off his hand.
‘He’ll always be with us,’ said Tante Elya with a sad smile.
It was a small group of those dearest to us who came back to Gut Birkenhof for the wedding feast: Frau Kraus and Hans, Ida, Mina, Herr Wenck and his family, and the few villagers who had remained supportive of Tante Elya throughout the war. We sat around trestle tables under the cool green canopy of the cherry trees, eating and drinking as the sun cast its last golden glow across the garden and fields beyond. It was the most wonderful and magical day of my life, but the best was yet to come.
As night fell and the lanterns were lit, the enchanting strains of the balalaika filled the balmy evening air.
‘Listen!’ Tante Elya whispered, squeezing my hand and smiling, her face alight with anticipation.
I’d know Leo’s masterful playing anywhere. He appeared at the table, sat beside me and took my hand.
‘This is for you, my love,’ he said. ‘For my bride on our wedding day,’ he declared to the table.
I was swept away by the lilting melody and his large, expressive eyes as he serenaded me with his love song. It was a moment to remember forever and when the last haunting strains faded away I reached across and kissed him.
‘That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Leo.’
‘I might give an encore performance in private tonight, Nightingale,’ he whispered in my ear, grinning with a wolfish expression.
‘I can’t wait,’ I whispered back, shivering with anticipation.
23
It was July and time to bring in the harvest, but the Gestapo had taken whatever equipment they could and we had nothing to help with the grain or to cut and bale the hay.
‘Gut Birkenhof is the lifeblood of our community and I won’t let Vati down,’ said Leo. We were sitting in Onkel Georg’s study going through the finances.
Hans nodded. ‘No harvest, no income, no flour and no fodder for the cattle. We have to have some way of keeping milk production up. I think we’re in for a hard year with few resources across the country and many mouths to feed and keep warm come winter.’
‘Surely the Allies won’t let people starve,’ I said.
‘Nobody knows what will happen,’ said Leo. ‘We’re under Soviet occupation now, and we’ve already seen that they don’t think too kindly of us after what our soldiers did to their people. We have to be prepared for difficult times ahead. The estate is all we have.’ Germany, reduced to the spoils of war, was already being carved up like a roast chicken between the Allied occupiers into the Soviet zone in the east and American, British and French zones in the west. I didn’t know how Germany w
ould ever be the same again.
‘We have to secure your future and Georg’s legacy,’ said Tante Elya. ‘He did it all for you both. Gut Birkenhof is as much a part of you as it was for him and his ancestors before him. One day you’ll pass the estate down to your children.’
But there was nobody we could borrow the necessary equipment from. The costs to lease it were exorbitant and we didn’t have that kind of money. I couldn’t even access my inheritance now that I was twenty-one due to the chaos of the post-war administration. In the end, we sold Tante Elya’s jewellery for a fraction of what it was worth and managed to scrape enough together. We leased a tractor, a pull combine harvester to cut and thrash the grain – wheat, oats and rye – a sickle bar mower to cut the hay, and a baler to bale it when it had dried. But we couldn’t do it on our own. With the hay alone, it took one person to drive the tractor and tow the baler, another to feed the hay into the baler and two more to tie the twine around each bale as it was released. Then the bales had to be carted into the barn using a truck we borrowed from Herr Wenck in the village, and stacked. Thankfully, we had enough to pay for a small team of farm workers and we still had enough friends in the village to help us get the harvest in as quickly as we could.
They were busy, long days through July and August, falling exhausted into bed at night, only to repeat the process the next day, but I was blissfully happy despite the desperation of trying to keep the estate afloat and our animals alive. Hardship surrounded us, but though we were rake thin and constantly hungry like everyone else, we were happy, bronzed by the sun and surrounded by family. I was home and with the man I loved, and not even the uncertainty of Allied occupation, the splitting of Germany and Berlin between the four Allied powers, and what it meant for us now being in the Soviet Occupied Zone could deter us from doggedly working to get the farm back on its feet.
Letters from Berlin Page 30