Countrymen

by Bo Lidegaard

  For Meyer and other refugees streaming into the harbor, the early departure was fatal, which Meyer already realizes: “When we came, the ship had sailed (because information had come indicating that the Gestapo had set off from Helsingør). The ship could easily have waited until we had come; the Gestapo had not yet come, and for all of us it was cause for many troubling hours and for more a cause of fatal accidents.”

  On board the schooner the many Jewish refugees were able to breathe a sigh of relief, although they undoubtedly feared for a while that the Gestapo would sound the alarm and take up the pursuit. The skipper and his crew had sailed with the certainty that they had been seen, and that the police would have to report on their departure. The police report confirms this, as it inevitably concludes with the information that could be fatal for those concerned: “The said schooner Flyvbjerg, which is 81 tons, is owned and led by Captain Gunnar Flyvbjerg, born 5/20/1915 in Uggerby, and also had a crew of two men.”

  The harbor report from the Swedish authorities contains a telling footnote concerning the Flyvbjerg’s arrival at Höganäs later the same day with, according to the exact head count by the Swedish authorities, 186 refugees on board: “When Flyvbjerg arrived in Höganäs port … a German cargo ship was also here … which took cargo to Bremen, where it would sail on October 7.”

  It was no wonder that skipper Flyvbjerg and his crew decided to stay as refugees in Höganäs until the war was over.7

  · · ·

  While the confusion was approaching a climax in Gilleleje, Herbert Levysohn had, via Helsingør, returned to Copenhagen’s northern suburbs, where he had friends and acquaintances. But it turned out that several contacts with whom he sought refuge were at least as vulnerable as he. In his distress he sought out the parents of a classmate he had recently come to know: “I felt that the best place was with my good friend Jacob Grauer’s parents on Bøgevej, it was nearby.… I took a taxicab there and rang the bell. Mrs. Grauer opened the door. ‘Good God, child, you haven’t left yet?’ she exclaimed when she saw me. ‘Hurry and come in and stay.’ …

  The motorized schooner M.A. Flyvbjerg, painted in 1943. The Flyvbjerg was built in 1911 and in 1943 had recently been renovated after a shipwreck in 1941. The schooner, which was co-owned by two brothers from Fyn, was one of the first big boats that went to Sweden from Gilleleje with Jewish refugees.

  On October 1, the coastal police had ordered all smaller private vessels to be removed from the harbors and nearby surroundings. Therefore, the transfer by small private vessels, such as rowboats or kayaks, occurred infrequently.

  Most transfers, by far, departed from harbors on Sjælland and the southern islands, both because of their proximity to Sweden and because some 80 percent of the Jews lived in the Copenhagen area. For the same reason, the Copenhagen harbors were the most frequently used for the escape. But from Hundested in the north to Gedser in the south, there are seventy harbors along the coastline of the eastern Danish islands, and in 1943 a total of 1,300 fishing vessels were registered in those harbors. Mostly, smaller cutters were used for the nightly transports, and it is estimated that a total of 600 cutter passings were conducted, on average holding 10 refugees each, and probably engaging 200 to 300 smaller boats. But larger vessels like Flyvbjerg were also used, especially at the peak of the escape during the first two weeks of October when there were seven major transports totaling 1,400 refugees, three of which departed from Gilleleje.

  Most of the vessels involved no longer exist, but a few do, and the schooner Flyvbjerg still sails Danish waters, now under the name of Brita Leth.

  The center of the fishing hamlet Gilleleje. The church is in the middle. The harbor is located a bit beyond the top of the postcard. Behind the church to the left is Østergade with Marie Olsen and her husband’s stables.

  Photo of painting by Fr. Ernlund, 1943 (above)

  The Church of Gilleleje (below)

  “When in distress you have to know your friends, the old proverb says, and this was again brilliant proof of the unique friends one has. Despite the fact that my friendship with Jacob is of a relatively recent date, and the family does not know me as well as so many others do, I felt that day that they had known me since I was born, and even more than that, like I was a son of their own, so well did they treat me. First I got a tremendous meal that I needed without any forethought, for it had been about a day since I last had anything, but one was not hungry in those days, there was no time. Then I got at least five buckets of hot water so I could wash myself thoroughly, which I also really needed, and in the end I came up to Jacob’s bed wearing his pajamas to get some sleep.”8

  Between the Church Loft and the Stable

  In Gilleleje there was no time to rest. In the panic on the pier at the Flyvbjerg’s sudden departure, families were separated; some were on board, other family members not. Many refugees were left on the pier desperate to find new hiding places. One such place nearby was in the private home of the local parish council chairman, A. Christian Petersen, who lived on Havnevej. Many from the harbor sought refuge there, while others who were headed for the harbor, hoping to catch the schooner, were redirected to the local church. This latter group included Dr. Meyer: “We were now brought up to the church loft, probably 50 people, after some time a whole host of other refugees arrived.… We got sandwiches, beer, and milk there. After a good hour when it was around 1:00 p.m., someone came to subscribe us for the crossing, the ship would cost 50,000 kroner, Mary and I each paid 5,000 kroner, and the required sum was quickly subscribed, but the great majority didn’t subscribe, nor could they. Then the priest came and held a short religious speech. We went down and were led along the harbor, where there were a lot of residents who stood and watched us, as we went to the parish council chairman or a fisherman’s house. He [A. Christian Petersen] was touching, very unhappy for our sake, cried, and promised that they would do everything to help us get over. Some others came to this house; we took up all the rooms and kitchen and had a total of 60.”

  The close packing of the many refugees at the parish council chairman’s home was a big risk, and the helpers were nervous. The groups were constantly moved and interchanged, which contributed to the fugitives’ stress while inevitably whipping up emotions. Meyer speaks drily, in a businesslike way, and he sticks to the facts. But it is precisely in these passages that it emerges how deeply affected the confident doctor was when someone—it is not known who and for what reason—decided to evacuate the group: “At 2 or 3 o’clock we were rapidly led along some back roads up to a loft by a stable. At the back of the loft there was some hay. We were 50 up there, including several young children, where I met several acquaintances. We were not allowed to smoke or light candles, it had windows on one side ajar; we had been warned not to talk.”

  The group was accommodated in the stables of the carrier Kaj Olsen, who was out working with his horses. Therefore the practical details were arranged by his wife, Marie, who was one of the active local helpers whose houses, farms, and stables were filling up with desperate refugees. The helpers estimated on Wednesday afternoon that the small fishing hamlet contained up to five hunded Jewish refugees, and after the incident at the port earlier in the day, there was no embarkation. The Danish police were at a loss. There was imminent danger that the Gestapo would come back. The situation grew increasingly tense. The church loft was filled again, and still more came from all sides. The local residents acted haphazardly without any overall plan, while the city’s leading citizens began to gather to discuss how the relief effort could be organized. They worked to arrange a major new transport with another schooner whose skipper was willing to depart when police felt the time was favorable.

  The Mutiny

  While far too many refugees jammed together in too little space in Gilleleje, Herbert Levysohn was pleased to find the shelter and solace of his friend’s parents, who immediately activated a large network to find a safe way to Sweden for their new lodger. In the meantime they let him use th
eir son’s clothes and room, assuring him that he could safely stay with them until a way out was found. But late that afternoon a message arrived for Levysohn to stay clear and expect to spend the night at the national hospital. At around 5 p.m. he was picked up by car, still assuming that he was going to the hospital, which in those days served as a transit point for many refugees. But new plans were constantly developing:

  It turned out that I should not be at the hospital, but on the contrary I had to leave immediately. At the corner of Stockholmsgade and Upsalagade we stopped again, and a couple jumped in; to my great astonishment one was Preben Holten [an acquaintance], who also had to flee because he had helped 46 over, and the Gestapo were looking for him. And so we went on down Østbanegade and Århusgade past the Danish Industry Syndicate and down to Skudehavn. Here our helper said goodbye to us 5, after we had arranged payment of 1,500 kroner. We were hidden in a shed, and a little later we were taken in 2 teams in a roundabout way that led down to a fishing boat. Yes, no matter how reluctantly, one had to leave one’s fatherland, let’s hope only for a short while.…

  It was about 6 p.m. and it was light. There were already some passengers; we were a total of 12, also the skipper and a helper. Some were crammed into a small hold, some into the cabin, and 3 men, among them myself, were hidden behind the nets inside the railing on the deck. Was I nervous? No, I can’t say that. Now you were out, and hopefully it would work, but you could not possibly turn around, so there was no reason to be nervous. My thoughts were as before with my mother and Kate, thinking of the joy that we would have when we met; thoughts went to Father, but there they entered in a vacuum, at this moment it did not help, the thoughts only made it all worse.

  Among the larger group of prominent Danes the Germans had taken as hostages on August 29, at least seven were known to be Jews. Two were later released, one because of illness, the other because he had been arrested by mistake. The five remaining hostages were prominent members of the Jewish community, including the businessman Willie Levysohn, Herbert’s father. They were all deported, four to Theresienstadt and one to Poland. The last died there.

  Levysohn’s account generally stays on the lighter side, seeking to apply a more humorous tone to his personal hardships. This excludes mention of his father’s fate—and for good reason, as it turned out. The son’s tribulations were not over either. The fisherman who was to sail the refugees over was obviously not used to sailing across the Øresund—let alone on a dangerous journey, pursued by unknown enemies. Levysohn’s description of the voyage gives an excellent firsthand impression of the anxiety that prevailed among some of the helpers, and of how much the actual experience of being hunted differed from the cooler assessment in hindsight of the real risk of being seized by German patrol boats:

  At the same time the skipper did everything to make us nervous. It was the first time he was out, he did not know the waters, and he was overly nervous himself. In the beginning it went fairly well, but by the Middelgrundsfort [at the exit from Copenhagen harbor] he began to cover us even more, and then he began to see Germans everywhere. At intervals he said, “I hope it works out—what kind of ship is that approaching?—right there—I guess it’ll be the Germans—it’s all going to hell.” Later it turned out to be a Danish ship, but he wasn’t quieted for long: “So now it’s fucking all wrong, here comes a German patrol boat.” The boat’s nationality was never cleared up since it only appeared on the horizon, which Preben Holten could see, but we who lay under the fishing nets while the water splashed over us had no idea how bad it was. It was not exactly cozy. Eventually the skipper got so nervous that he took down the lantern and turned it off. The hours slipped away. The idea was first that we were meant to dock at Malmö, but he abandoned that in favor of Landskrona, he thought, anyway. I think the time was about 8:30 p.m. when we were allowed to come out of the fishing nets, for now the skipper felt there was no more danger, which in Preben Holten’s opinion there had never been anyway.

  It is telling that the experienced helper, Holten, who had apparently already been involved in several transports, was aware that the risk was limited once the boats were out on the water. But the fisherman seems not to have known, and the attempt to escape from real or imagined enemies leads him both off course and away from elementary seamanship:

  Now the words began to flow, spirits rose as the lights in hospitable Sweden appeared, and even the skipper livened up, went from his rudder, and sat down to chat with one of the young ladies. He should never have done that; suddenly the keel scraped the bottom, and so we sat there stuck. Using poles we got off the bottom, but with the result that we got stuck on a different place and so forth. The situation was quite hopeless, and I was seasick. The light was turned on again after much discussion, and we tried alternately to swing it and to call for help, but to no avail. We had heard that the Swedish boats were out to help the Danes in, but that night we did not see any. Finally we had been sitting so long on the bottom that the propeller broke, and at this point the engine also stopped completely.“Now only God can help us,” said the skipper, and gave up. His assistant and another who was sea savvy had to deal with it. One of us who knew about engines finally got the engine going again, the propeller remained quite inactive, no sails were to be found, so we had to make do with the poles until the seas also carried us. It is probably exaggerated to say that the atmosphere was good, however our spirits weren’t completely gone. There was no question of swimming ashore, we were too far out, and it was neither Malmö nor Landskrona we saw in the distance; if anything it was Barsebäck, but that wasn’t sure either.

  There is in fact talk of a small mutiny on board, where the crew of a single assistant and the fleeing passengers remove the confused skipper and take matters into their own hands. So close to freedom and safety, the refugees are determined to make a last effort to get the boat afloat and find safe harbor. They work with poles and the engine and have the sound judgment not to try to swim ashore in cold water on an October night in the Sound:

  After sitting aground for 2 to 2½ hours we finally got completely free, and so the trip went on. At this time we definitely did not know where we were, only the lights told us that it was not darkened Denmark, the chance did not exist that it was anything other than Sweden, but beyond that we didn’t know anything. Finally we reached something that looked like cliffs in the distance, and as we approached we saw some lights between high slopes. After much discussion with the completely exhausted skipper, we sailed between the cliffs and approached the lights, and we finally sailed into a port, but where? It was neither Malmø, Landskrona, nor Barsebäck, that much we knew. Had someone said it was Australia, we would have gladly accepted it as no one knew anything. We ran into the harbor and in the strong harbor lighting we saw some gray-green uniforms. If only they were not Germans!? “Welcome to Sweden!” cried the gray-green soldiers in Swedish. “Where are we?” we shouted back. “On Hven,” was the reply, and a moment later we set foot on Sweden’s small outpost to the west, the former Danish island of Hven. Never in my life have I been happier that it is Swedish than at this hour. We were all rescued and under the Kingdom of Sweden’s protection. The skipper disappeared soon after we all had come ashore.9

  The island of Hven has a population of a couple of hundred souls and is situated approximately in the middle of the Øresund, to the north of both Malmø and Landskrona and quite a distance from Copenhagen. It was Danish until the mid-seventeenth century, when the ancient Danish provinces in the southern part of the Scandinavian peninsula were captured by Sweden.

  The Raid

  In Gilleleje late that evening, no solution had been found for the many refugees who huddled together in almost every house, in every loft, and behind every shelter. The Gribskov line’s evening train, with about fifty refugees following the same route as Meyer the day before, was halted in a daring action. A couple of helpers organized a regular holdup at the tiny station in Paarup, before Gilleleje, where they boarded the train an
d shouted that everyone who was going to a destination beyond Gilleleje should get off there. The train emptied of passengers, who sought refuge in the farms outside Gilleleje, leaving only three perplexed local people in the ongoing train.

  Meanwhile Danish coastal police seized the harbor. A force of thirty men occupied the entire port area in accordance with a police notice issued the same morning by the central authorities in Copenhagen following events on Tuesday. The order put into immediate effect a ban on any unauthorized person moving in the harbor areas in all the ports in North Sjælland. The intention was to forestall a German intervention, which in Gilleleje in particular seemed imminent. That same evening the Danish Press Service in Stockholm reported the new order, which was also read on Danish radio. The press service stated that violations would be punished with fines and imprisonment up to two years and did not hide the fact that the new measures were intended to curb the flood of refugees from the Danish ports. The press service’s addition worried the Danish helpers: “It is alleged that several fishermen have been arrested in the ports of Northern Sjælland, suspected of helping refugees across the Sound.”10