Countrymen

by Bo Lidegaard

  It is difficult to understand that the Hannover family, in their precarious situation, still tried to hide from the Marcuses how serious the situation had become with the raids the previous night and the radio broadcast of the occupation’s denunciation of the Danish Jews. The desire to spare their traveling companions hearing the Nazi message may perhaps be explained by their extreme discomfort with the intimidation and suspicion that were now publicly addressed toward all Danish Jews. In any event, Poul Hannover did everything in his power to keep the ominous knowledge to himself, even though his son, Allan, also had the news directly from the radio. The teenager wrote: “We drove to Frey’s Hotel in Stubbekøbing, where we met Samuel Goldstein, who had gone back to Stubbekøbing the previous evening to bring us news. At the hotel we got a solid breakfast. While we sat in the restaurant, we heard on the radio the Danish/German controlled announcement that ‘the Jews had been separated from public life that night.’ I was later told that it was crucial for Mother, who had hitherto been in doubt as to whether it was necessary to leave the country. Now she knew for sure that it was necessary.”

  Soon the families faced a fresh dilemma as outlined by Poul Hann- over: “At a certain point—it was along about 12—a lady came—Mrs. Goldstein—and asked me to go in to Director Ledermann.… They told me what other people who were working on our behalf also confirmed during their brief visits to our room, that many were now engaged in finding a solution.

  “Thus the hotel was apparently seeking to help—both the host and the waiter who told Goldstein that he would wait to submit notification of who was at the hotel for the evening—and it was the impression that the police were also being helpful. A group of leading citizens—including the local vicar and the bank manager—had also offered their help—and they asked me to go down to the latter to thank them and discuss how we could possibly be helped. I did it—accompanied by a young man, Mogens Margolinsky. The residents were obviously aware of the danger and immediately offered to take care of and hide our children. I thanked them very much—but asked, in case we didn’t manage to get away, whether they could provide hiding for us all, because I was quite aware that we could not risk staying at the hotel at night—and this was in line with the hotel’s view.”

  The short record of the exchange between the refugees and their Danish helpers in Stubbekøbing reveals choices that loomed large. Both the people of Stubbekøbing and the fugitives had to imagine a situation that could develop in ways that might require a more lasting accommodation. Entire families could be hard to hide—but the kids, perhaps. Maybe it would be better to split up the families, and the Germans might content themselves by taking the adults, if the children had previously been separated. And who could know whether such a split might offer the kids the best chance of survival?

  From the local vicar, Niels Lund, who came with the offer, there is an undated report, probably written somewhat later, that adequately reflects the bewilderment of the local helpers: “Some Jews, who a few days before had fled from Copenhagen, were staying in town at Frey’s Hotel when the German radio announcement came about the action. They came here hoping to slip unnoticed over to freedom’s Promised Land on the other side of the Sound.

  “On Saturday, October 2, attorney Ernst Thomsen, bank manager N. P. Jensen, and I spent all morning making plans about how we should help these people. One proposal after another was rejected, and when we finally got completely stuck, we did what we should have started with: We walked into the hotel, greeted them, and offered our assistance.”20

  It must be at this point that the offer to take care of the refugees’ children was made. It was well intentioned, but for the parents the idea of leaving the children and then rallying against an unknown fate must have been almost unbearable. And yet we know that it was a reality for many Danish Jews. Only very recently a group of surviving children has come forward with their stories. They represent widely different fates and family circumstances, but each had the essential experience of loss and of emotional deprivation. Overall at least 149 children were left in Denmark when their parents fled. This is roughly one in ten of the children who were involved in the action, and it’s estimated that one in five of the youngest children (under the age of five) were hidden in Denmark. Fewer than half of them subsequently came to Sweden, while the rest were separated from their parents until Denmark was liberated in May 1945.

  Both the children and their foster families came from all professions and walks of life, and the path to each relationship was purely coincidental. In some cases public authorities were involved, but most were strictly private arrangements. The children were not physically hidden as in other European countries. They became open foster children with a secret identity. Even though there are examples of middle-aged couples with adult children who from one day to the next acquired school-age foster children, there are no recorded examples of such astonishing developments causing a stir for any of the children or families. The local communities kept quiet.21

  A Swedish doctor who examined refugees upon their arrival in Höganäs on the Swedish coast notes in his diary how traumatic it was when families were separated during the escape: “Many had left their young children to benevolent people who had undertaken to take care of them, but the grief over the little ones was horrible.”22

  The bottleneck was still the transport. As the hours went by, Poul Hannover grew more desperate and hence more willing to take chances: “It seemed that it was very difficult—if not impossible—to get someone to undertake the journey—the said fisherman apparently wasn’t allowed by his wife—time marched on—when Erik returned around 2 o’clock, he came in pretty exhausted and asked me: ‘Poul—you can sail a boat?’ I said it was impossible. He said he thought it was the only chance—and he had just bought a boat for 20,000 kroner—plus the same amount to he paid after the war.

  “It was a terrible question to be faced with. I was aware that we had to go at any cost—but first, I had no concept of sailing—partly, I tend to get seasick—partly, I barely understand engines. Inger supported me—it would be certain death. On the other hand, I knew only too well that to stay might also mean certain death. The predictions from Max Rothenborg [a member of the Jewish community] in terms of the action had proved to be true—why shouldn’t the rest be right, too?”

  Poul Hannover held a senior position as the director of a major company. He was used to making decisions and to acting in difficult situations. But this was not a question of an order or a business challenge. The question was whether he would take the responsibility for sailing his family to Sweden knowing that he had no concept of either sailing or navigation. Seen in reverse, could he defend not assuming this responsibility? How would he, and others, judge his hesitation if in a few hours the family was divided and on the road to deportation and a terrible fate in German camps? Was there really another option than to do it and try to cross when the first opportunity presented itself? And all the more so, as a significant part of the family’s cash was now about to be invested in the boat, which currently represented the best—and only tangible—opportunity to get to Sweden. While Poul Hannover ponders yet another impossible choice, his son, Allan, puts on paper his perception of the crucial discussion between his parents: “In order not to take up additional rooms in the hotel, we borrowed the Goldstein family’s room to wash ourselves and rest. We did not know if we would sleep a wink the following night. While Mette and I rested, Erik Nyegaard and Goldstein came back and repeatedly told us that now there was a chance. Erik Nyegaard announced that the city’s police chief had promised to keep the coast guard ships away and to reveal where the German patrols were. Later Erik Nyegaard reported that he had bought a boat that Dad had to manage because the fishermen would not go, but Mother was strongly opposed, and therefore it was dropped.”

  The Scarlet Pimpernel

  Poul Hannover continues his account: “In this terrible moment, the door opened and someone—probably one of the Goldsteins—asked me
to go down with them. We didn’t go into the restaurant—but into a fairly large room in the back. There were a good dozen people in the room all gathered around a man—apparently about my age—with the national emblem in his buttonhole—and he took the floor right away: ‘You don’t know me—and who I am, I cannot say. Suffice that the Germans know me—I’ve been in their claws twice. I’ve arranged it this way: At half past seven tonight there will be a boat at Grønsund’s ferry berth. How to get out there is your own problem—but no crowding or anything of the sort—you must get out there individually and in random order. I’ve got the fisherman to make the trip for you for 15,000 kroner, but he doesn’t have to receive it before the trip—he just has to see the money. But I have three refugees somewhere else that I need to get away—and they have no money. Therefore I am making it a condition that you must give me a further 5,000,—to get them off too.’ ”

  The Grønsund ferry berth is situated in the countryside some seven kilometers east of Stubbekøbing, providing the ancient critical link between the islands of Falster and Møn. It was to be closed, as earlier in 1943 a ferry service had been established from Bogø to Stubbekøbing. Poul Hannover goes on:

  It was a tough decision to make, but there was no choice. We knew that if we gave this man our money—most of what we had—and he failed, we were lost. But against all the other hopeless options, what should we do? The man—let me call him the Pimpernel—for it was vividly the Scarlet Pimpernel—continued calmly: “If one of you meets me at the place and gives me the money there—I don’t want to deal with collecting the money, you’ll have to figure that out between yourselves—but I’ll take care of the rest. I cannot tell you my name—but I can mention a name”—and he named a young sculptor—I asked if it was him—but it was not—it was probably his family—but it was just one of his acquaintances, not himself. It was our own matter to get the luggage out there. The trip out there was approximately 7 kilometers—and no one was supposed to drive all the way there. He asked me if I was in—and there was no choice. He disappeared again, just as suddenly as he had come—I said to the others, to come to our room within 5 minutes and pay me—it was 1,200 per person—even a little cheaper than had been promised us by others.

  Within 5 minutes I had the money. As I had promised to be there very early—after only an hour and a half, I immediately ordered dinner for us—Erik ate with us in our room. What about Talleruphuus? The others were of a mind to hide it all from him. Erik felt that was wrong. We agreed that he should come to an agreement to cover their costs—obviously they had already received the 1,000 kroner from me and apparently also something from the others. Erik also believed that he had to give the man whose boat he had purchased some small compensation. He found another young fisherman who was willing to drive down to the ferry in a closed grocery truck with our bags—the guy, a brilliant young man, just wished he’d had his boat and had been able to take us over.

  The Goldsteins had been in contact with the police—and it appeared that they had promised to stay away from the place of departure—even trying to give us the position of the patrol boats. Things really began to brighten.

  I gave Erik the 400 kroner, as I had received too much for the tickets, besides 600 of my own—so there should be plenty considering that I have paid 1,000 kroner in advance—if the man didn’t demand that we had to pay for his burst head gasket. There would even be a few hundred kroner left over—which I asked him be sent to the vacation colony as compensation for the break-in.

  Allan keeps track of the timetable—perhaps for the teenager an attempt to bring an element of order into a process that is at once frightening and fascinating. There is an element of adventure in the dramatic events, so far removed from the everyday, which had been interrupted just a few days ago. And yet the boy, if not in quite the same way as the adults, grasps the deadly seriousness of it all. The solid breakfast also helped his mood: “When we had rested and washed ourselves, Mette and I went into another room and played with Dorte and Palle. While we were playing, Moritz Goldstein came and announced that he had gotten hold of a boat. At 1:20 p.m. a whole lot of men came in to Father. The one who had arranged the whole thing gave Father the message to collect money from everyone who would travel and be at the old Grønsund ferry berth at 3:30 p.m. and pay him the money. The other travelers would be at Grønsund ferry berth at 7 to 7:30 p.m. He also informed us that the boat might come a little earlier and circle a bit.

  “At 1:30 p.m. we ordered some food, but it only arrived at 2:15 p.m. The idea was that Erik Nyegaard was supposed to take all our suitcases to the embarkation point by car, but while we waited for the food, a fisherman came and offered—free of charge—to take the suitcases out in a grocery truck. It was decided that Erik Nyegaard should take care of our and Kis & Gunnar Marcus’s suitcases, while the fisherman should take those of the Goldstein family.”

  Kis Marcus later inserted the name of the unknown Pimpernel, August Jensen. He was forty-five years old, living in Klampenborg, the director of an insurance company, and an active airplane pilot. His further connections to resistance work are not known.

  Kis Marcus mentions another episode that, in a few words, reveals how the refugees’ desperate situation exposes an individual’s character in a way that rarely happens in everyday life: “I will not fail to quote a beautiful trait of the young (light-haired) Goldstein. Gunnar met him that afternoon in the hallway, and he told Gunnar not to be nervous. They would not go alone, even if they had the chance, they would only go if all of us could go.—That was generous, and I do not know if we would have said the same.”

  All three accounts reflect that the two young members of the Goldstein family were better prepared for the situation than the Marcuses and Hannovers. Mrs. Goldstein was traveling with her two adult sons, one of whom was an engineer. In addition, the youngest, Samuel Goldstein, apparently did not look typically Jewish, and therefore felt less exposed. Kis Marcus’s brief acknowledgment of Goldstein’s assurance that they would not leave the two families in the lurch reflects more than her natural gratitude. It also contains an important insight about themselves: Would they—with responsibility for their young children—have shown the same solidarity if the possibility of escape had been presented to them alone? It is extremely difficult to answer how you would behave faced with a decision that could mean life or death for both yourself and your loved ones. And it demonstrates how deeply Kis Marcus is affected that when she writes her account of the family’s escape, she is so brutally honest with herself that she remembers the doubts that assailed her. Samuel Goldstein assured her that they were all for one: Would she have said the same? The question has no answer. But it was the same choice thousands of hapless citizens throughout Europe faced when Nazi persecution hit them. And elsewhere few escaped to make such decisions. Regardless of the circumstances, each person who faced such a dilemma lived with the terrible choice between trying to save themselves and their loved ones, perhaps—or sticking together in a larger group with less immediate chance of surviving. The variations on this theme are endless but all cruel—and in many cases the executioners deliberately played on the devastating effect of making the individual face such choices. The Danish refugees were spared many if not most of the effects of such decisions. But no one was spared facing themselves at this critical juncture.

  Poul Hannover tells about the plan’s execution. The first step was to get the family fed. They didn’t know when there would be another opportunity for a meal—and the previous evening and night at the cabin without food and drink had made a strong impression on the refugees:

  I would not say that we had much appetite—nor for a meal in the small room where there was barely room for us, which was not particularly cozy—we did not think it right for us to show up in the restaurant. But it also had to go fast, since we were the first to set off. And then we went—at full speed. Thank God that our children are healthy—for it was a fast pace we had to keep up—and with pretty warm clo
thes, and each with an additional coat. The weather was almost warm—but the wind picked up—and there were dark clouds on the horizon. We marched a good kilometer in 10 minutes—well done for the kids—as we approached the ferry berth there were only a few people to see—mostly trucks that drove the sugar beets to the ferry. Ten minutes before the final destination, Inger and children lay in the forest—I went out past the customs officer’s house—and met the Pimpernel and a woman—both on a bike.

  Quietly—as if it was a perfectly ordinary event—he directed me to where the place was—where one could be sheltered—where the boat, whose number he gave me, went at 6 p.m.—its captain came while we stood and talked, and the Pimpernel talked to him—all while the beets were weighed near the departure point, but that would probably stop around 6 p.m. So I gave him the money. He counted it—then asked if he could get an address where he could return the 5,000, if there turned out to be no need for it. That sounded reassuring. He asked how things were with the others. I said that our children had done well—but I was afraid that it would be a predicament for Palle—even though they have twice as much time as we did. Indeed, it was a long trip. Jensen’s wife said: “I think I’ll take him on my bike.” They asked if there was anything we needed. I had ordered a quantity of sandwiches and asked Erik to ensure that we had mineral water—but I had forgotten fruit. All right—she would take care of that.