Countrymen

by Bo Lidegaard

  No one could know what was in store for the refugees in the attic, but the 1,270 kroner they entrusted to the priest, in a church that was not theirs, for distribution to the poor without regard to whether an individual had helped with the escape or not, constituted the refugees’ confirmation of the underlying social contract and of mutual solidarity within society—the solidarity on which their lives now so acutely depended. Their gesture was one of trust, not only the trust uniting the refugees and their helpers, but trust in society. However, by no means should the moment be construed as one in which all social divisions and internal strife, conflicting interests or contradictions, were abandoned. Among both the fugitives and those who aided them, all opinions and differences were represented as well as individual antipathies and sympathies. The situation changed none of that, and neither the refugees nor their local helpers were homogeneous groups. But overriding all these differences and tensions, the imperative was now to act in unity against the very purpose of the German roundup.

  Meanwhile, in the attic, there wasn’t much the confined could do. Time seemed to stand still as the hours crawled by. It was quiet, so quiet that Dr. Meyer and his sister-in-law had ample time to think through the eventuality of a new Gestapo raid revealing their hiding place and leading to their arrest. The two seniors faced their situation without sentimentality, and they were in no doubt what line to take in such circumstances. The doctor reflected upon their decision in his journal: “The day passed slowly, I was tired and everyone was nervous but admirably calm. I had a 10cm3 syringe ready and 2×10 cm3 morphine for injection, and I promised Mary that if the Gestapo came, I would inject her first and then myself. (I had the syringe from home, the morphine I got the morning of October 5 from Dr. Hart, who had promised to give it to me the day before.) It was a gripping and unsettling thought, but I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  There is no reason to doubt Dr. Meyer’s determination. As a doctor he was accustomed to facing death, and several days earlier he had made the necessary preparations. Now the agreement with his sister-in-law was set, and the doctor knew what had to be done if it came to that. It would have comforted him to know that by this time his children and grandchildren were all safely in Sweden, and it would have saddened him to know how much they now worried about his fate. Mary and he had endured their hardships with calm and with their dignity intact. Now they had decided to take their own last, definitive step in accordance with their own willpower.

  The Hope

  Meyer continues his report: “I could not bear the thought of another day in the barn, but luckily we got a message at 6 p.m. to go downstairs for transfer. The stay down there was almost the worst thing. We were told that we would be picked up in cars, but it dragged on and dragged on, and we felt our friends’ nervousness, which infected all of us.”

  Marie Olsen, the mistress of the house, helped organize the delicate relocations of the many refugees from the hayloft. There was reason for anxiety. A German car was posted at the corner of Østergade and Hovedgade, just twenty-five meters from the Olsens’ property, and after the night’s experiences everyone feared that the Gestapo would show up any minute. A journalist had turned to Marie Olsen to hear how things were, which only caused more anxiety. County Officer K. V. Kirkeskou, who was on the Jewish Committee, stood near the German car in civilian clothes and thereby kept in touch with other guards, while the mechanic Petersen and his sons led Meyer and his companions past the church, through the courtyard of the local cooperative shop, past the railroad to the gas company.6 Meyer writes: “Finally at 7 p.m. a car came, and now in the space of half an hour more cars, we were up to 7 in each car, we drove deep into the country, a significant detour to an orchard in Smidstrup, where we were 60 accommodated in 4 houses, summer cottages, which belonged to one Miss Fanny Cohn (ownership was now transferred to another name). It was called ‘Hope 1’ (the others Hope 2, 3, and 4), which was the password, followed by three knocks. The grocer of Smidstrup, whom we called the Scarlet Pimpernel, arranged for our meals; there was hot and cold water, toilets, electric cooking in the big house, where we were 12 people.… We were not allowed to go out of the house and not recommended to open windows, it was poorly blacked out, there was a fireplace, which gave good heat. I got a private bedroom, the Gelvans one together, and all the others were in the large living room on couches and mattresses and a cot. It was a relief to go to bed, and I slept until 5 in the morning.”

  It’s quite clear that the helpers have better control of the organization, locally represented by the thirty-seven-year-old grocer Gilbert Lassen, the only member of the Jewish Committee who had a little experience with resistance work, and who was responsible for shipping from the coastal settlement of Smidstrup, some five kilometers west of Gilleleje. It was Lassen who for Adolph Meyer was the Scarlet Pimpernel, as August Jensen had been for his twin daughters’ families departing from Falster the preceding week. Shortly after the liberation Lassen himself described his role in Smidstrup:

  When the summer of ’43 was over, I got a chance to get into the unified security company that patrols along the beach here from Gilleleje to Vejbystrand, overseeing approximately 60 cottages. I had to ride by bicycle 3–4 times a week between 10 at night and the next morning.

  It was a dirty job, but it gave me more liberty—I could move everywhere, regardless of the curfew which was in effect at that time—I could bear arms and I could take underground papers along at night, and those I placed along small streets in all garden gates, particularly in the Gilleleje region.

  Sabotage also developed more and more as a form of struggle, and we were several who had more or less good plans for such, including about the Gilleleje Beach Hotel and Cinema, owned by a German-friendly man, and which was used a lot by the Germans and the German Gestapo men, among whom were several Danes who now often came for raids along the coast and later settled in Gilleleje and Raageleje.

  Around August–September rumors began to leak that the Danish Jews would be interned, where previously only Communists and a small number of other saboteurs were incarcerated in Horserød camp.

  In mid-September a young Copenhagener suddenly showed up at his mother’s summer cottage and was living there alone. I understood that something was wrong and had a confidential conversation with him. He said he had to flee to Sweden.… I knew that wealthy Jews had begun family by family to pack up and either by motor or fishing boat travel to Sweden from the coast here or elsewhere. Therefore we drove to Gilleleje and felt our way with the most sympathetic fishermen, and one evening luck was with us, and we got him over with a rich Jewish group that had paid many thousands to the fisherman for the trip—he only got a few packs of good tobacco from us to give—that was what we had.

  In those days when it began, the wealthy Jewish families came out to the summer cottages, and a few days later they were gone. One evening, just as I was sitting at home alone with my young maid, a frightened young married couple came, two young Jews I had dealt with several years ago in Copenhagen. Could I help them? I biked to Gilleleje, leaving them behind to eat the roast pork, which it turned out was the first time they tasted it. In Gilleleje I felt my way with various acquaintances, and during the evening I found an old outbuilding in the backyard, where there were already some Jews gathered, ready for departure. My two Jews had 1,000 kroner for the trip, and managed to agree to what was necessary, so they came up with that amount, I hurried home and retrieved them with a car, and they were happy in all their nervousness.

  After such lending a hand from time to time it all went fast, the Jews now came in large numbers, and I had to let business take care of itself in the first days of October, as I was now known to help, and a rumor travels quickly, I knew many Jews, and they gave their friends and family a hint that there were many of my “white” customers with the belief that I, living on the coast, could help. The other permanent residents here on the coast also knew a little about my national attitude and turned to me when they had Jews living w
ith them.

  The grocer Gilbert Lassen is an example of a man for whom assistance to the Jewish refugees gives the final push into organized, illegal work—and on to active, armed resistance. His report also reflects the ethos he shared with most other helpers, that in addition to general human considerations, they also saw helping from a national perspective. As a result of this, Lassen even calls it his “national attitude.” This was the key to the helpers’ success. Having a national attitude implied helping other nationals—including as a matter of course Jewish citizens. That was the whole point.

  Lassen writes further about the events on Wednesday and Thursday and about Meyer’s move to Smidstrup: “On the evening of October 4 we got a large boat away, and in the morning the Frydendal went with approximately 200 on board. For this boat 40,000 kroner were gathered in butcher Olsen’s outbuilding. One of the organizers was Assistant Professor Schmidt from Helsingør. The boat was departing prematurely as Jews rushed like mad along the harbor quays with children, suitcases, and bundles, and all of a sudden there were false warnings that the Gestapo were coming. The boat left amid great confusion and did not even get money, which was buried in the butcher’s garden, and later a man came out to me with the package. In the meantime we started a committee in Gilleleje, to whose treasurer, Dr. Vilstrup, I handed the money.

  “There now began to spread some panic caused by the steady influx of Jews by train and by car, and one or more families lived with the majority of the city’s residents, or they huddled in attics, in sheds, in stalls, in the shipyard, and all other places.”

  Lassen describes the confusion among Gilleleje’s residents on Wednesday, as there seems to be no end to the arrivals. He participates in the previously described improvised stopping in Paarup of the evening train to Gilleleje, takes part in the placing on farms of refugees from the train, but when he returns to Gilleleje late in the evening, he finds the situation much changed: “Our meeting place at teacher Frederiksen’s was closed and dark, and after a long time knocking the only reply was that the Gestapo was in town. All the town’s good citizens had completely lost their heads and were hiding under the covers, and there was no one to find. I hurried to the harbor, and luckily I had my raincoat and watchman’s hat on, so I could continue unimpeded.”

  Lassen passes the church as the Germans are chasing the refugees out, and he continues his reconnaissance: “The port was occupied by Danish police and it was illuminated by floodlights. At some corners in town there were German soldiers and several Danish and German cars stood by.… I went around during the night and found that there were still many refugees in the lofts, the brewery, the hayloft above a horse stable, and with many individuals, who dared not move in the night.”

  Lassen recounts the formation of the Jewish Committee the next morning, the first contacts with skippers concerning embarkation from the coast, and organizing transport of the Jews to the holiday cottages at Smidstrup to which he had access as a watchman:

  In the meantime I found 3 or 4 men from Smidstrup who would undertake the ferry from the coast to the boats and have two boats ready. Similarly, we called the skipper of the Jan, a ship from Aarhus, which was in Gilleleje, up to the meeting. We offered him 50,000 for the human cargo and 5,000 to the men who ferried them out to the ship. We took the car out to look at the departure point in Smidstrup and to agree on a signal.

  I stayed behind to bring the Jews out there, now that there were still Germans in the town and on the roads. We used all means, mostly large trucks with straw and hay, vehicles with herring boxes along the sides, medical cars, and the like, and all the transports went around the town a little and towards the country first, then along secondary roads to Smidstrup. Eight of the largest houses were ready for use, we did not ask the owners, but simply borrowed everything we needed. Food and drink we brought from the grocery store and from the guesthouse Havregården. Many Jews found themselves at peace with their fate, others were totally nervous and hysterical. We let the blinds and blackout curtains cover the windows, and in many cases we even locked them inside.… My sons and a few others that I could trust were used as sentinels in the corners that led into the orchard and farther on to the houses. We also had an agreement with officer Kirkeskou concerning a telephone warning if something bad was on its way from Gilleleje.

  The concentration of Jews inside Gilleleje itself was now limited after the raid the day before, and the Jewish Committee took a firm grip of the organization. The refugees who continued to flow into Gilleleje were transferred to holding residences, typically in the summer cottages at Smidstrup, where they awaited their embarkation for Sweden. Accommodation in the deserted cottage areas was safer and more convenient, guards were placed to warn if something unexpected should occur, and the vital connection between collection and shipment became far more effective than before.

  The organization is also clear to the fugitives, and Meyer’s report reflects the immense relief that someone—personified by Gilbert Lassen—now seems to have a grip on things.

  Like Salt in a Hollow Tooth

  Rumors about the dramatic events in Gilleleje reached Copenhagen the day after the big raid. As usual, Bergstrøm was quick to gather the information at Politiken, and that evening he noted in his diary: “Up at the paper, I heard that last night there had been a great panic in Gilleleje. Many hundreds of Jews had been up there. Whole travel groups were arranged. A ship had gotten away. But then the Germans came in large cars. The Jews had sought refuge in the church and parish hall. There were 103 persons, men, women, and children, taken. It was miserable. It was said that saboteurs had arranged several things up there, but had to yield to superior force. In the parish hall all the Jewish property was deposited, and lists were written there, which were held by the Germans. All of Gilleleje, with the priest in charge, was implicated in the emigration. The fishermen had earned floods of money. Now the coast to the north and down to the other side of Copenhagen has been closed by the Germans. But is it not partly the Swedes’ fault because they have talked so much about the crossings on the radio? Of course, it has been to reassure those remaining in Copenhagen, but it has also alerted the south [the Germans].”

  Although Bergstrøm could see only part of the game, he, like other contemporary observers, perceived that the German representatives in Denmark had an understanding of the Danish attitude that differed substantially from the one prevailing in Berlin: “As for the Germans here in the north, you have a feeling that they really had the greatest desire to make themselves human. Here you understood better that it was a sore thing to touch the Jewish question. It directly touched the Danish legal consciousness. It is like salt in a hollow tooth. But they have not understood this in the south. One cannot escape this thought, when one considers that so many have come over.”7

  Bergstrøm’s diary from those days also bears the mark of intense rumors that journalists would be the next to be interned by the Germans. Arrest lists were to have been drawn up, and in the unrest all sorts of rumors flourished about an imminent action. Bergstrøm kept his cool distance, but was obviously pondering whether it really could be true. He also felt more and more personally exposed because of his meticulous documentation of life under the occupation, including a large collection of clippings and documents from underground newspapers. Still, he can’t help being sarcastic in his depiction of the release from prison of the onetime editor of Politiken, Valdemar Koppel, who had been arrested with his family during an escape attempt a few days earlier:

  Priemé [a colleague at Politiken] had just talked on the phone about Koppel, when he came out of the editorial office and saw—Koppel, as if he had seen a ghost. He nearly had an accident. It was Koppel. Freed. He immediately began to make calls. Where was his family? Well, it was said that they got over. The employees gathered at a distance and looked at Koppel as if he had been a ghost. When he had finished telephoning, we gathered around him, and he willingly gave his story. He had no collar on, but a vest that ended with a zip
pered neck. It had been pretty hard on him. He was standing with his hands clasped in front of his chest. He wrung his hands. With eyes on the floor he recounted his story. But he had not lost his sense of humor.… He grunted a laugh when he said that Jews had taken refuge in the Christian church in Gilleleje. He talked whimsically about his arrest. The skipper in Humlebæk had asked Koppel and his group to go a little further up the coast before they were taken on board. A German car came. He had not had time to hide. When he was interrogated, he could not figure out any lie, but said straight out that he had intended to flee. So he had been driven to Helsingør. From there to the Vestre Prison. The Jews had to stand facing the wall. But he had finally been driven to the Horserød camp, where things went very well. He was released because he was married to an Aryan woman.8