Countrymen

by Bo Lidegaard

  A chance encounter with a neighbor, but one that would prove to be more important than Kis Marcus could imagine. In a macabre coincidence the annual hunting season traditionally opened on October 1. In many families it was customary to gather on the farms that day to eat a festive meal. In many places a game of cards in the evening, accompanied by an aquavit or two, was also part of the order of the day. That was also the case at the Busch-Petersens’, and Kis Marcus would soon find out that the family farm was not, as she assumed, located on Falster, but on the nearby island of Lolland.

  But that evening Kis Marcus didn’t give much thought to all this. She finishes the day’s entries: “We took something to sleep, like the previous nights, and slept fairly well. I was the only one who heard the air-raid warning during the night. We had previously heard that they had an air-raid warning in Oslo when they rounded up the Jews, so I did not say anything about the alarm to Gunnar.”

  *Denmark’s bicameral parliament, Rigsdagen, was abolished after a 1953 referendum when the dominant first chamber, Folketinget, became the singular legislative body.

  *In the Danish Lutheran state church all bishops are equals. There are no archbishops.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30

  THE ESCAPE

  The First Leg of the Journey

  Poul Hannover also noticed the air-raid alarm—but did not notice when it stopped: “Did not know until the next morning that it had been called off—and lay there imagining all sorts of horrors that the air alarm had only been a pretext to begin the attack against us. At 6 a.m. I got up—I woke Ole—and he got up too. We gathered at Mads’s [their housekeeper]—she gave us breakfast with real tea and eggs. Then our maids came in with packed lunches—and we left with them, half crying—off by tram—divided between the main and second compartment—accompanied by Ole, Grethe, and Mads. They even bought tickets to Valby and followed us. In the distance we saw Kis and Gunnar with their family on the platform—but we traveled separately until Næstved. So we got in—the train left—and we were on our way. We said good-bye to our friends in Valby—they were absolutely magnificent. They promised to go home immediately and to empty out as much as possible from our house—I think they succeeded.”

  Kis Marcus also gives her account of the trip’s first step:

  After a lovely breakfast of bacon and eggs we said good-bye to our good friends and rode the tram from Charlottenlund to the main station. Poul and Inger were on the platform with Allan and Mette.… We kept clear of each other on the train as well, until Poul and Inger’s compartment was empty of other travelers. Then we moved in there and enjoyed having someone to discuss the situation with, while the children were playing nicely with Mette and Allan.—We ate lunch, which the others had brought for all of us. At around 11 a.m. we were in Nykøbing. Talleruphuus was not at the station, as agreed, but in a restaurant, Gunnar recognized him from a photograph.

  It turned out that he did not know we were coming, and the boat, which we almost had the impression was in “regular service” to Sweden, had not yet been over at all, and he did not know yet if he could arrange anything at all. It was a disappointment, but we still hoped that something would turn up. We went with all the luggage (we had 3 small bags and Inger’s family had their own—in addition we had our traveling blanket) to a hotel: Stad Nykøbing, where we had coffee. Meanwhile Erik had come to join Talleruphuus, who was going to Gedser to talk to a fisherman who might sail for us.

  When we had drunk our coffee we dragged our luggage back to the station where we put it in the cloakroom. Then we all went for a walk. Later the men went back to the station to be in contact with Talleruphuus. Inger, the children, and I waited in the town square, where we were cold and tired and it felt like a long time. Poul and Gunnar finally came, and we ate dinner at the Industry Café.

  Poul Hannover’s diary describes the same sequence of events through his own eyes:

  I think it was in Næstved that the others joined us. I hardly need to say that it was all a big question mark—we knew nothing. We ate our packed lunch—or at least part of it, but we didn’t have much appetite. We came to Nykøbing. The idea was that a man whose picture Gunnar had seen would meet us by the express train. We saw a few other refugees—a lawyer and a judge. Where they went, I do not know—we couldn’t even give any information ourselves—they probably couldn’t either.

  Gunnar found Talleruphuus. Frankly, he didn’t know much. He could only say that the original plan had failed—but that he would take the express south. It did not sound good. He went on the same train that Erik Nyegaard came on. We went to the hotel he had indicated—it was a good distance from the station—I was not happy to lug our baggage over there. We drank some coffee—Erik, who hadn’t any food, ordered a chop. The host sat a little away from us—and a German soldier came down and talked with him—apparently he lived there in Stad Nykøbing—and spoke Danish. I was aware that we had to get away. When we had eaten, we dragged the luggage back and put it in the cloakroom at the railway station—and then went for a walk. There was a cold wind—and the children couldn’t help being tired. There was little hope that Talleruphuus would come back on the next express—it was over half an hour late—but he was on the train. Unfortunately things had not been arranged—but perhaps there was hope somewhere else. It was 21 kilometers away. We began to feel seriously troubled. Erik offered to go with him—in a car. We agreed, and the rest of us went down to the Industry Café and ate.

  The situation was already untenable. Two families traveling to Nykøbing with their essential belongings and a large amount of cash, only to find out that their contact, Talleruphuus, who is completely unfamiliar to them, doesn’t have a clue and barely knows where to look for one. The day passes, the children are restless and tired, and confusion spreads. They do not dare stay at the hotel. What to do?

  Poul Hannover continues: “Now I must interject something different: While Kis and Gunnar lived with us—or rather with Erik—they had talked to his neighbor—coincidentally he went down to see his brother and go hunting on the same day we left home. The brother owned some property at Lolland. Erik and his neighbor had been on the same train to Nykøbing—and Erik had explored with him the possibility of us hiding at his brother’s farm if we did not succeed in getting over at once. The neighbor promised to find out, if we called. We were told that taxi cars were not allowed to run after 8 p.m. It all started to pinch—my head was bursting with speculation. I must say that the children were magnificent. I had said to Allan not to ask questions that day—it was hard, but he managed.”

  One can immediately understand both of their positions. The father, who is still in the dark and utterly unfamiliar with the situation, has to make fateful decisions on behalf of the family. He cannot stand the questions. He does not know the answers himself. The adolescent boy who tries to follow as best as he can, who is bursting with questions, who understands that things are all wrong but only halfway why. Who would like to share responsibility with his beleaguered parents but gets the message: Do not ask questions. Not today. Keep your spirits up, but do not ask questions. He accepts that this is his contribution, and he restrains himself, while the secure world he knows collapses in front of his eyes—with no questions asked.

  Adapted from: Kreth and Mogensen, Flugten til Sverige (1995).

  His father continues his account: “I realized that we couldn’t keep the kids calm. I called our representative in Nykøbing. I didn’t dare say my name—and as he knew nothing about the whole thing, it was hard to persuade him to come down to us. In the meantime I called Herbert Jerichow to see if there was anything new. He was somewhat surprised to hear where we were—I had to give a false name, when you said who was calling—he asked me to call again the next day, as he had not yet acquired space for us. Then Gunnar rang up Erik’s neighbor, Busch-Petersen—who said we were welcome even if they did not have much space. We would have to manage. Then my representative cam
e—he was thunderstruck to see us. I asked him if he could possibly make room—no beds, just room for us.”

  The Titan Machine Factory’s chief executive stands on the street in Nykøbing with his family and, under a false name, gets his representative to come only to ask the astonished man for shelter. Initially the representative took Kis Marcus and the kids home so they could rest. But the situation is still in flux, as evidenced by Poul Hannover’s entries: “Erik came back again. Nothing new—he doubted that it was possible to get us over—but now Talleruphuus would go to Gedser again, and Erik suggested that I go along to talk to the man with the boat, so I could see with my own eyes if I believed in it or not. Inger opposed it, utterly determined. Erik was willing to go alone with Talleruphuus. I called our representative to take the kids down to the station where the clothes were—and we all met there, got a big car and drove around 30 km out in the country.”

  Kis Marcus describes parting from the representative: “We were urgently asked to go to the station again, kids with pockets full of pears and apples.—From the station we went on in a hurry with the car out to Busch-Petersen’s brother’s farm, as they could only drive up to a certain time in the evening. The farm was about 30 km outside the city. While this was going on, Erik was in Gedser with Talleruphuus, who earlier in the day had made various unsuccessful attempts to get us a boat.”

  It’s a long drive from Nykøbing Falster to Busch-Petersen’s farm just outside Øster Ulslev on Lolland. The farm by the pond is perhaps a good hiding place—but far from the most obvious starting point for embarkation. The families could hide there, though they could not escape from there. Poul soon realizes this: “We came to nice and good people—but they were certainly ignorant of everything that was going on. There was not too much space, but Busch-Petersen immediately gave up his room—and they had another. In one room there were two beds and a cot. Palle got the cot, Allan one bed, and Mette and Dorte lay at opposite ends of the second—using the same quilt. For us it was even worse—there were two beds—in one lay Kis and Gunnar at each end—in the second Inger and I in the same way. We quickly got the kids to bed, and then just sat and talked.”

  It was becoming clear to this little traveling group that the step from legitimate travel to the illegal crossing was not as easy as they had hoped. They had not yet taken part in any illegal activity at all, and no special measures had been announced, let alone taken, in relation to the Jews. But the feeling of insecurity and vulnerability had taken hold, and the presence of an observant German soldier was now more than enough to drive the family to flee. Something that just the day before would have been quite obvious, such as calling Titan’s representative in Falster, was suddenly shrouded in secrecy and difficulty. Everything seemed uncertain and threatening. When it came to the actual situation, the fear of eavesdropping and “disclosure” might have been exaggerated—but who dared to run even a small risk that could cost the family’s life? And when it came to the next step, they were on shaky ground having to decide on a crossing that still seemed unlikely. Whom could they trust? What was possible? What would it cost?

  “The good thing was that we were probably fairly well hidden—but we quickly realized that we could not stay there for a long time—and then there was the problem that the connection back to Falster went over a bridge—and the next connection from Falster toward Copenhagen over yet another. All this was not reassuring. I pondered and pondered what to do the next day—but I was determined that we must at least cross the first of the bridges. I also saw with some horror that the distance to Sweden from down there was great—you could hardly expect less than 6–8 hours—and the wind was not calm.”

  Poul Hannover’s diary begins to reflect the thought that the situation might not find an immediate solution. Their next moves had to allow for flexibility if it turned out to be impossible to cross the water. Strategic considerations began to emerge. The boundary between law-abiding citizen and persecuted refugee loomed ever closer: “It was probably half past eight p.m. when a car came—it was Erik who despite the curfew had gotten his driver to drive him out there. He had been in Gedser and talked to the man—and he could at least say that he trusted him. He had explained to him that this was a life-or-death situation for us—that he could not play with our lives—and the man had said that his boat had been out of order—but he expected to be able to sail either Friday or Saturday. That relieved us, and we went to bed. Of course we slept terribly, or not at all. Mette was crying because she was cold, so we had to swap quilts—and since we could not use our blanket to black out the windows—they didn’t have blackout-curtains—we didn’t dare turn on lights, otherwise we would have found out that if we took off the duvet cover the quilt became somewhat bigger.”

  Kis Marcus’s version reflects the uncertainty spreading in the precarious circumstances:

  At the Busch-Petersens’ we were welcome, and we all had places to sleep. All the kids in one room with Dorte and Mette in the same bed. In another room we 4 adults slept, also 2 in each bed, while Mr. Busch-Petersen gave up the room and slept downstairs.

  At approximately 8:30 p.m. Erik came by car. He persuaded the driver to drive out there despite the driving ban after 8 p.m. He believed the fisherman in Gedser could be trusted. His boat had been out of order, but he expected to be able to sail on Friday or Saturday. We discussed a lot about what we should do next day. Inger preferred to stay in Denmark, possibly at Herbert Jerichow’s house on Møn.—The rest of us wanted to go to Sweden. One thing we agreed: We could not stay where we were, because if the Germans began their raids, we would not be able to get over the bridges back to Sjælland. There was also talk about going down to Poul’s representative’s house, but we didn’t dare, since a Nazi lived nearby. We would only be here 1 to 2 days until the boat came. In any case we had to wait to make any decision until the next day, when we would get a telephone message around noon confirming whether the boat could go that day.

  From Irony to Indignation

  The many Jewish families who had been set in motion were visible especially around Copenhagen and along the coastline stretching north along the Øresund. It was noticed that people of Jewish origin suddenly disappeared or did not show up at their jobs or at prearranged meetings. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to understand what was going on. At Rådhuspladsen, the Town Hall Square in central Copenhagen, Bergstrøm commented sarcastically: “It was reported from the court of Frederiksberg that a Jewish defense attorney was absent and a Jewish clerk as well. Herbert Steinthal [a German-born colleague affiliated with Politiken as a book reviewer since 1936], himself a Jew, heartlessly amused himself over all the Jews he had met the day before with bewildered expressions and a suitcase in hand. The Jews are on their way out to the countryside.… Mrs. Lassen entered. She spoke of a Jew who should have been assessing a doctoral thesis but had made himself invisible. An Aryan professor had replaced him on one day’s notice. She was also aware that many Jews had disappeared from their homes these days.”

  Although rumors of the impending action were now on everyone’s lips, nothing had happened yet. On the contrary, the authorities continued to deny categorically that anything was in the wind. There were therefore no special restrictions on travel or movement, and the many Jews who ventured forth traveled quite legally—but with nagging uncertainty about when the occupation forces would strike. This meant that they were already making an effort not to attract attention or seem obvious. This was hard, because often entire families traveled in groups with their jumble of possessions. Most were utterly unaccustomed to any illegality, and strangers to the idea of standing on the wrong side of the law. For the same reason the German security police did not intervene: Everyone insisted that everything was perfectly normal. And yet no one believed it.

  A few days earlier these travelers had been ordinary citizens who were completely assimilated into society with their fellow citizens. As a group nothing special united them to or separated them from colleagues, friend
s, and neighbors. Now, suddenly, they were aware that they were something special. They were brought together into a common destiny with others who happened to be of Jewish origin, who saw their lives and future threatened—and who needed help from the surrounding community.

  For those citizens who did not feel directly threatened, the development was equally incomprehensible. It is characteristic that Bergstrøm, who was hardly plagued by excessive sentimentality, still found it hard to believe that things really were that bad. Together with a colleague he still finds the commotion and panic slightly ridiculous—the point being that the person he’s trading ironies with is himself a Jew, even one of German descent, who apparently fails to realize that the looming disaster could affect him personally. But the little exchange between Bergstrøm and Steinthal also reflects what made it so difficult to implement an effective action against the Danish Jews: Regardless of whether people were personally affected, the grim ideas driving the Nazi actions were completely foreign to them. It was a tremendous strength that these ironically inclined colleagues could meet at Politiken and find amusement in the fuss—together. This was not something that concerned one more than the other. It was something they shared. The distinction between “them” and “us” did not separate the two journalists, only one of whom was a Jew. Instead it separated the Nazis from the surrounding community. The gentlemen journalists traded ironies simply because they could not believe that something so insane could really be happening. But the distance from irony to indignation is only a short one.