The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII
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Oskar seemed more distant than ever. Even when the bird landed on the windowsill to feast on the breadcrumbs, he showed no spark of interest. She was losing him. Day by day, He was retreating into his shell. She took their wedding photograph from the tin box, showed it to him, and spoke to him of times long past. Hitler was a minor political figure then, a criminal rabble-rouser, head of an obscure party with no hope of ever making it into power.
“We were happy in those days. We had our lives ahead of us, everything to look forward to and anything was possible. Then the German mark became worthless, and everything changed.” She shook her head.
Oskar’s eyes lit up. “Your mother exchanged clothes for food.”
Gretchen patted his arm. “And furniture. Our credenza kept us all well fed for a whole week.”
“We had to burn our furniture to stay warm…”
She was pleased to hear her husband talk. He recalled occasional snippets of their early life together after the last war.
Why can’t he remember what day it is today, or how to put on his socks?
Martha Engels and the two neighbors turned up in the early evening, as usual.
Frau Carlson was struck dumb when she heard the news. Martha wrung her hands. “I feared this would happen, Gretchen. I never thought it would happen so soon.”
Frau Tannhäuser was indignant. “I hope you stood up to them, told them about your special circumstances.”
“What special circumstances?”
“Herr Schuster, your husband, his condition…”
“Herr Korn knows all about Oskar. There was nothing he could do. The Gauleiter has made a decision and that’s that.”
Frau Carlson said, “You could appeal to somebody in the Wehrmacht. Point out that your husband lost his mind in the service of the Fatherland. He deserves better treatment than that.”
Martha Engels snorted. “What good would that do? Honestly, Gertrud, you’re such a Dummkopf. The Wehrmacht is too busy fighting the war to spend time on such a trivial matter. You could try the Führer’s office, Gretchen, the Führer is the champion of the people. If he gave an order in your favor the Gauleiter would have to obey.”
Gretchen shook her head. “I’m sure the Führer has a lot on his plate. He wouldn’t have time to listen to my complaint.”
“So that’s it, then?” thundered Frau Tannhäuser. “You will just accept the ruling, and we will all have to live with the consequences?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Gretchen.
Frau Tannhäuser snapped her fingers. “You can give me back my earring, so.”
Gretchen gave her the earring, and Frau Tannhäuser flounced out, followed by Frau Carlson.
“I’d like my Paul’s jumper back,” said Martha.
“That’s not possible, I’ve started unravelling it,” said Gretchen.
“Show it to me.”
Gretchen fetched the half-unraveled garment and the ball of wool. “Leave it with me and I’ll knit us a warm jumper each.”
Martha put it in her bag. “I’m sorry, Gretchen. I’ll take it the way it is.”
“But you don’t know how to knit,” said Gretchen.
“I could learn.”
13
Thursday July 20, 1944
The postwoman, Frau Niedermeyer, ran into the block at midday, flapping her hands in excitement.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gretchen.
Gasping for breath, the postwoman was unable to speak.
Gretchen helped her to sit on a low wall bordering the property. “Take your time. Catch your breath.”
A crowd gathered. The postwoman was never short of a news story, and whatever she had to say this day must be something extraordinary.
When she’d regained her breath, Frau Niedermeyer staggered to her feet. She waved her hands to gather the people closer.
“I have news, amazing news. Can everyone hear me?”
The people all said they could hear her. One young man said, “I wish she’d get on with it,” in a voice loud enough for Frau Niedermeyer to hear.
“Adolf Hitler,” she said, “our beloved Führer…” she paused, wiped a tear from her eye, then raised her voice, “The Führer is dead!”
The people gasped. Someone said, “That can’t be right.”
Gretchen called out above the hubbub, “How? Tell us how he died.”
“He was killed by a bomb.” There was a catch in her voice. “The SS are being rounded up and arrested as I speak. The Third Reich is no more.”
Anton Tannhäuser stepped forward out of the crowd. “Don’t listen to this woman. This is defeatist talk. Lies intended to fool us all. Don’t believe any of it. The Führer can’t be dead.”
“But he is, I tell you,” said the postwoman. “He’s been blown to pieces by a bomb.”
Anton stomped off, shouting over his shoulder, “How can the Führer be dead? This is crazy talk.”
By mid-afternoon the news had been confirmed from other sources. A massive bomb had been planted in Hitler’s headquarters in Rastenburg, Prussia. Everyone in the room had been killed. There was no official confirmation on the radio, but the non-stop somber music on the radio told its own story.
At first, no one said anything. Then, the people in the apartment blocks began to speculate on what might happen next. Who would take over from the Führer? Would the fighting continue? Surely, the Wehrmacht would lay down their arms and the war would end. Some of the women thought the SS would try to deny what had happened, to sustain the Reich based on a huge lie.
One old man was enraged. He stood by the entrance to block 3, wearing a flat cap and a dirty grey suit, shouting at anyone who passed. “How could they be so stupid? Who will help Germany now in her hour of most need?”
Looking white as a sheet, Anton joined his small troop. With the troop leader, Ludwig, at the head, the column of six marched about aimlessly in their uniforms giving Hitler salutes to anyone they met.
Gretchen told Oskar what had happened. She got no response. She doubted that Oskar knew who Adolf Hitler was anymore. She made a meal for her husband and put him to bed early.
“I’ll be home in an hour,” she said, kissing his forehead.
Oskar gave her a weak smile.
She left the apartment and made her way to the allotments, where Hans was in his cabin listening to his radio. He welcomed her inside and offered her a beer. She accepted eagerly; she hadn’t seen a beer for six months or more.
Hans’s iron leg rested on the wall, his right trouser leg tucked under his thigh.
He smiled at her. “I thought you might come.”
“How could I stay away? Tell me how you feel.”
He took a drink from his bottle, wiped his mouth and said, “Free, that’s how I feel.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I thought we’d never see the back of that madman.”
She sat on the wooden kitchen chair and tasted her beer. It was warm – and flat – but the taste of hops was welcome. “I thought you were a committed Nazi. The way you always give the Hitler salute, and you never said anything against the Party.”
“That’s what I wanted everyone to believe. But I have no time for the murdering bastards. Look what they took from me.”
She glanced at his empty trouser leg. “I felt sure you must have regretted what happened to you, but you never said anything.”
“And you thought I was one of them?”
“What else was I supposed to think?”
“It wasn’t safe. You know how dangerous it was to say anything. All we could do was speak the Nazi line and wait for this blessed day.”
A couple of beers later, a slightly tipsy Gretchen stood outside on the warm soil of Hans’s vegetable plot. Hans stood beside her, his iron leg re-attached. Most of the other allotments were deserted, but three had happy people, shouting and singing in celebration. There wasn’t a Party member to be seen anywhere.
At 18:45 the mus
ic on the radio in the cabin stopped, and a voice announced that there had been an attempt on the life of Adolf Hitler.
Gretchen’s brain froze. An attempt?
The announcer said the Führer was alive and would address the German people sometime in the next few hours. “Stay tuned for the voice of the Führer.” Gretchen’s spirits sank. A look of horror washed over Hans’s face. He hurled his beer bottle against the wall, barely missing the window. It bounced against the wall slats and fell into the soil, refusing to break. The nightmare was not over; the war would continue.
14
Crestfallen, they returned to the cabin to hear what the Führer had to say. Within an hour, he came on. His voice was rough, but it was unmistakably the Führer speaking.
“My fellow Germans! Yet another of the countless attempts on my life has been planned and carried out. I am speaking to you so that you can hear my voice and know that I myself am not injured, and so that you can hear the details of a crime which is without parallel in German history.
“A very small clique of ambitious, unscrupulous, criminal and stupid officers formed a conspiracy to do away with me and at the same time to wipe out virtually the entire staff of the German High Command.
“The bomb which was planted by Colonel von Stauffenberg exploded two meters to my right. It seriously injured a number of my colleagues who are very dear to me; one has died. I myself am completely unhurt apart from a few minor skin abrasions, bruises and burns. This is clear confirmation that Providence wishes me to continue my life's mission as I have in the past. For I can solemnly state in the presence of the entire nation that since the day I moved into the Wilhelmstrasse my sole thought has been to carry out my duty to the best of my ability. And from the time when I realized that the war was unavoidable and could no longer be delayed, I have known nothing but worry and hard work; and for countless days and sleepless nights have lived only for my People!
“At the very moment when the German armies are engaged in a most difficult struggle, a small group formed in Germany, as happened in Italy, which thought that as in 1918 it could now deliver the stab in the back. However, this time they totally miscalculated. The claim by these usurpers that I am no longer alive, is at this very moment proven false, for here I am talking to you, my dear fellow countrymen. The circle which these usurpers represent is very small. It has nothing to do with the German armed forces, and above all nothing to do with the German army. It is a very small clique composed of criminal elements which will now be mercilessly exterminated.”
Gretchen tuned out. The Third Reich would continue. As long as this madman was in charge, there was no prospect of peace, no possibility that their suffering would end. For this man – this merciless monster – would lead the people of Germany to utter annihilation rather than surrender. Drunk with power, he would never admit defeat. Not until every man, woman and child in the country had been sacrificed on the altar of his ego.
Hans’s eyes betrayed his despair. When he moved to switch off the radio, she touched his arm. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”
Hitler’s voice was growing stronger. “I am convinced that with the departure of this small clique of traitors and conspirators, we will finally create the atmosphere here at home, too, which the soldiers at the front need. For it is intolerable that at the front hundreds of thousands of brave men are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, while here at home a small clique of ambitious, despicable creatures constantly tries to undermine this attitude. This time we will settle accounts as we National Socialists always do. I am convinced that at this time every decent officer, every honest soldier will understand that.
“Few people can begin to imagine the fate which would have overtaken Germany had the assassination attempt succeeded. I myself thank Providence and my Creator not for preserving me – my life consists only of worry and work for my People – I thank him only for allowing me to continue to bear this burden of worry, and to carry on my work to the best of my ability.
“It is the duty of every German without exception to ruthlessly oppose these elements, and either to arrest them immediately or, if they resist arrest, to shoot them on the spot. These orders have been issued to all military units. They will be carried out to the letter with the discipline typical of the Germany army.
“Once again I take this opportunity, my old comrades in arms, to greet you, joyful that I have once again been spared a fate which, while it held no terror for me personally, would have had terrible consequences for the German People. I interpret this as a sign from Providence that I must continue my work, and therefore I shall continue it.”
Gretchen thanked Hans for the beer and stumbled home. The Kaiser Wilhelm blocks loomed grey and uninviting against a darkening sky.
Part II
15
July 21, 1944
The following morning, Hitler repeated his speech, almost word for word. Inge and Dora listened on Dora’s radio. When it was finished, Dora turned the volume down, and they sat together in stunned silence.
“I can’t go on like this,” whispered Inge. “It’s a living hell. The cramps in my legs are getting worse.”
“Have you been doing your calisthenics? You need to keep that up.”
“That makes no difference!”
Dora put an arm around her shoulders. “We need to be patient, Inge, the war will end soon.”
“But when? I’m slowly going mad in the attic.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I have no friends and I miss the sun.”
Keeping her voice down, Dora lightened her tone. “The Americans and the English are fighting their way through France, moving closer every day. And the Red Army is advancing from the east. It won’t be long now until either one of those vast armies reaches Berlin and finally defeats the Nazis.”
“And then what?”
“Then we will be free. You will be able to leave the attic and get on with your life.”
“What life?” She snorted. “My parents have been taken. I don’t know where my sisters are. My whole family has gone.”
“You will make a new life for yourself. We’ll all have to do that. I will help you.”
“I’d like to find my friends Maria and Anna…”
“In Dresden?”
“They are Christians, they should be safe.”
“We’ll see after the war,” said Dora.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Tiny wings, barely audible, fluttered in the attic above their heads. Inge shuddered. “And I hate the bats.”
“The bats won’t harm you, you know that. Now cheer up.” Dora opened her bag. “I have something for you.” She pulled a tin from her bag. It had no label.
“What is it?” said Inge, turning it over in her hands.
“Let’s find out.” Dora fetched a tin opener and opened the tin.
Peaches in syrup!
Within hours, news came in about the summary executions of Oberst Claus von Stauffenberg and Generaloberst Ludwig Beck. Over the next few days they heard of the arrest and trial of many other conspirators. Henning von Tresckow and some of the others committed suicide rather than face the People’s Court. The old man in the flat cap in block 3 was jubilant. “Hanging is too good for those traitors. How could they try to assassinate our Führer when the whole country is at its most vulnerable and surrounded by enemies? Who else but the Führer can save our Fatherland?”
Gretchen knew that this man’s views were shared by many Germans, even those who had no love for the Nazis or their Party.
The trials and executions continued well into August, as the Gestapo net spread wider and wider, ensnaring conspirators, both military and civilian. Details of previous failed attempts to assassinate the Führer were published in the national newspapers under headlines of outrage.
Outwardly everyone condemned the conspirators but hidden in their hearts both Gretchen and Hans cherished secret feelings of admiration for what these brave men had tried to do.
16
Berlin life returned to ‘normal’. Gretchen continued to work in the bakery for no money. She thought about leaving, but working there guaranteed her daily allowance of bread without having to pay for it, and without having to queue for it. Besides, Herr Korn needed her, and she wanted to feel useful.
Ludwig and his troop strode around the streets like cockerels, saluting ‘Heil Hitler’ to everyone they came across, challenging them not to return the salute.
Allied night-time air raids continued at low intensity. Berliners got used to their diabolical rhythm and the increasing number of demolished buildings and fires in their streets.
Gretchen spent more and more time with Hans on his allotment. She was aware that her neighbors were making remarks behind her back, calling them ‘Hänsel and Gretel’ in loud whispers. She didn’t care. She loved and cared for her husband, but he could no longer satisfy her need for intelligent conversation.