by Alex Gerlis
Then he turned his attention to the boy. Where are you from? Switzerland? I LOVE Switzerland! The Swiss are our friends! YOU are my friend. Where have you been in Germany? Tell me what you saw in Berlin.
Henry struggled hard to conceal his amazement as Alfred confidently enthused about everything he’d seen in Berlin, not least the soldiers – he loved seeing the soldiers and the marching, and it was so exciting, far more exciting than anything we have in Zürich or indeed anywhere in Switzerland. He’d love to return to Germany, maybe when he was older he could even…
Fortunately the SS man seemed to be oblivious to Alfred’s apparent lack of a Swiss accent, helped no doubt by the contents of the flask he’d finished since joining the train. Within minutes he had insisted on being called Karl and was showing Alfred his Mauser automatic and describing how he had captured Paris single-handed. When you’re old enough to meet girls, Andreas, the first place you go is Paris! Which football team do you support Andreas? FC Zürich? Ah, Grasshoppers! A good team.
Just outside the city, still in the blanket darkness of the countryside, the train pulled to a noisy halt. It was seven o’clock. Silence for a few minutes, then shouting and the sound of dogs barking. It took an eternity for the commotion to work its way down the train. When it reached them, a Gestapo officer who seemed to be wider than he was tall squeezed into their compartment, breathless and with sweat dripping from his brow. He was wearing a leather raincoat that was so tight it remained unbuttoned. He looked around then shouted at Alfred.
‘You: get up… now!’
Henry clutched the seat to stop himself swaying. The boy was so terrified he did not move a muscle, but all the blood drained from his face.
‘Did you not hear me? Come with me now.’
The SS Obersturmführer rose slowly and slightly unsteadily, standing directly in front of the Gestapo officer and very close to him. He was at least a foot taller than the other man and used every inch of that to ensure he looked down on him with the maximum effect.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘We’ve had reports that some Jewish boys got on the train at Würzburg. The police discovered some of the vermin hiding in a cellar and had been chasing the gang: they last saw them in the vicinity of the station. We’re checking all youths on the train.’
‘Well, Andreas is my friend and it’s impossible he’s Jewish.’
He was shouting at the Gestapo officer, flecks of spit spraying onto the other man’s reddening face. When the Gestapo officer replied, it was in a much more uncertain voice.
‘And how do you know that?’
‘Because he’s Swiss!’
The big man wiped his face with his sleeve, clearly puzzled by the Obersturmführer’s logic.
‘I still need to check his papers and question him though…’ He held his arm out towards Alfred, beckoning him to join him. The Obersturmführer grabbed hold of the Gestapo man’s arm and pushed it down.
‘You won’t need to be doing that.’
‘How come?’
‘Because I got on the train at Würzburg and Andreas was already on it, so stop wasting your time.’
The Gestapo officer appeared reluctant to argue. By now a pair of Alsatians were barking outside the open door of the compartment. ‘Let me have a look at your passport,’ he said to the boy.
Andreas passed it to him. Henry noticed the Gestapo man’s hands were trembling as he quickly flicked through the passport, before handing it back.
‘That’s all in order.’
‘Next time, try and serve the Reich in more useful ways,’ the Obersturmführer spat at him as he left the compartment, defeated.
It was nine o’clock by the time the train arrived in Stuttgart. Henry knew he could have gone to the nearby Hotel Victoria, where he imagined that Katharina Hoch was still the night manager, but it would be too risky. He decided instead they would stay overnight in the station, where there was a large air-raid shelter. The first train to Zürich was at 8.20 in the morning, which meant he would also have an opportunity to send a telegram to Hedinger.
The air-raid shelter where they slept was crowded. The boy was still in a state of anxiety and stress from the events of the day, and Henry had to whisper to him how well he had done; how proud his parents would be of him. We’re nearly there now, you’ll be safe. They found a corner of a wide bench at the back of the shelter into which they wedged themselves. Henry put his arm round the boy and gradually felt him relax, and within a few minutes he was fast asleep, on what he both hoped and feared would be his last night in his homeland.
***
Chapter 20: Stuttgart, Zürich & Berlin, March 1941
For the first few hours in the air-raid shelter in Stuttgart, Henry hardly slept. The spot they had found turned out to have a noisy pipe running directly above it and every time he dropped off he was soon woken by the sound of clanging hissing air. Then, when he did sleep, Roza would appear: her admonishing eyes fixed on him, telling him what he knew all too well. For a full hour she haunted him: she was there if he shut his eyes tight and still there when he opened them wide and there when he held his head tight in his hands.
But then the strangest thing happened: Roza stared at him in her familiar fashion, her eyes full of sadness and hatred. But then her face began to dissolve and when it came back into focus the dark brown eyes were there as was the dark hair flowing over slim shoulders, but now the features belonged to Rosa and, with that, an unexpected calm came over Henry. Rosa was no less sad, but there was the faintest of smiles on her face and a look of pleading in her eyes. And as the very beginnings of an idea began to emerge in Henry’s mind, a calm he was quite unused to came over him and the few hours of sleep between then and when he woke up were the deepest he’d experienced for years.
People began to leave the shelter from six in the morning and by half six it was almost deserted. Henry had hoped to stay until nearer to eight o’clock, but when they ventured up onto the main station concourse they spotted a café was open and they were able to remain there for the next hour and a half. At eight, the telegram booth in the station opened and Henry sent a message to Michael Hedinger, who he knew would have gone into the bank that morning as arranged.
Departing Stuttgart 8.20 stop Arriving Zürich 2.40 stop Papers all in order stop
Papers all in order: Alfred is with me, a successful mission… so far.
The train left Stuttgart at 8.30 but then was held at a red light on the outskirts of the city to allow a military train to pass, its open trucks carrying dozens of tanks. By lunchtime it had made its steady progress through Swabia towards the border town of Singen, the last stop in Germany before Switzerland. They were held at an isolated platform, where they were told by a loudspeaker announcement that any passengers wishing to travel on into Switzerland should remain in their compartments: all other passengers should leave the train forthwith.
For half an hour there was no sign of anything. There was just one other passenger in their compartment, an immaculately dressed German man with the long elegant hands of a pianist and the complexion of someone who rarely ventured outdoors. He had spent most of the journey reading sheet music and attending to his nails, occasionally removing a watch from his jacket with a flourish, studying it with some fascination, tutting then returning it to his pocket. Eventually, the delay in Singen was too much for him. He was going to see what was going on, he told Henry, and left the compartment. Henry leaned over to Alfred, who he had noticed looked considerably more relaxed than yesterday. ‘Don’t forget, this is the most dangerous part of the journey. The Swiss border police will be watching for anyone trying to get into Switzerland who shouldn’t. Don’t make any mistakes. Soon you’ll be able to relax. You have done very well, my boy. But be careful now…’
Alfred looked worried and Henry wasn’t sure he’d said the right thing. Maybe I should have just kept quiet.
Their fellow passenger returned to the carriage. ‘They’ve got to wait for the S
wiss police to arrive,’ he told them. ‘I thought the Swiss were meant to be efficient. Ridiculous.’
Ten minutes later the Swiss border police arrived on the platform, where they and the German officers greeted each other like old friends. Working in pairs – one Swiss, one German – they went through the train compartment by compartment.
The Swiss officer who eventually arrived looked no more than 20. He checked the passport of the pianist, asked to see his return ticket then handed them to the German policeman. Both appeared to be satisfied.
The officer then turned to Henry. Passport. It was only when he saw the Swiss passport and said ‘grüezi’ that a fatal flaw in their plan they had overlooked until now hit Henry hard in the face.
The Swiss border policeman had used the traditional Swiss-German greeting. If he was going to speak in Swiss-German, the boy would not understand. He and his story would unravel very quickly.
‘Where have you travelled from in Germany?’ he asked, still speaking in Swiss-German.
‘I’ve been in Berlin, on business for Bank Leu. Here’s my letter of accreditation.’ Henry made a point of replying in standard German.
The young policeman took it and read it carefully. ‘So how long have you been in Germany for?’ Still in Swiss-German.
‘Since Monday.’ Standard German. It had become like a surreal game.
‘The boy: is he with you?’
‘Andreas is the son of friends. He’s been visiting Berlin.’ Henry had tried to avoid looking at the boy, but caught a glimpse of his worried face as he mentioned him.
‘And you stayed where in Berlin?’
‘Jan, I keep telling you! Speak proper German; don’t confuse me!’ It was the German policeman, standing in the doorway of the carriage and clearly impatient.
His Swiss counterpart shrugged and took the passport of Andreas Hedinger. He checked the visa, looked up at Alfred and back again at the photo, repeating this three or four times, his bright-blue eyes darting up and down.
‘How old are you?’ He spoke in standard German. Alfred gave Andreas’ age and date of birth.
‘Did you enjoy Berlin?’
‘Yes sir, thank you. But I’m looking forward to going home.’
***
He was in Zürich for less than 40 hours.
They arrived in the city at three o’clock on the Saturday afternoon and were met at the station by Herr and Frau Hedinger. Alfred had shown no signs of relief as they crossed the border into Switzerland and by the time they arrived at the station he was in a state of shock, totally overwhelmed by what was happening to him. The fact he was free and safe did not seem to occur to him as he was warmly greeted by the Hedingers. Frau Hedinger led Alfred over to the station café for a hot chocolate while Michael Hedinger and Henry found a quiet bench. Henry handed over the papers.
‘Everything was in order?’
‘Yes, thank you. Your arrangements were very good; faultless in fact.’
A tall man in a trilby was strolling purposefully towards them: it seemed he had appeared from nowhere. He removed his leather gloves and shook Henry’s hand.
‘So that’s Alfred, eh?’
‘I wondered when you might show up, Edgar.’
‘You didn’t imagine I’d miss this, did you? I trust there were no problems?’
‘No. It was nerve-wracking, but we’ve arrived in one piece.’
‘As I can see. Hedinger, have you sorted your wretched documents out?’
Hedinger took the sealed envelopes from Henry and handed him a few more in return. ‘You’re returning to Berlin on Monday,’ he said as he stood up. ‘Edgar will tell you all about it. He has your tickets.’
‘You’re going to be alright with the boy?’
Hedinger nodded.
‘And you’ll send the telegram to Reinhart?’
‘First thing Monday morning, as we arranged.’
‘Won’t Reinhart want to know sooner that Alfred’s arrived safely?’
‘I’m sure he would, but this all has to look proper,’ said Edgar. ‘It’d be odd for an official of the Reichsbank to receive a telegram from Bank Leu on a Saturday acknowledging safe receipts of papers. It’ll have to wait until Monday. By the time you see Reinhart on Tuesday morning, he’ll know Alfred arrived safely and he can hand the other document over to you. Go on Hedinger, you’d better take Alfred off. Henry, perhaps you want to go and say goodbye?’
Alfred had relaxed by the time Henry approached him and Frau Hedinger in the station café. He had been drinking a hot chocolate and was devouring an enormous cream pastry. He had a big grin on his face.
‘Alfred was telling me he loves dogs but has never had one. He’s so looking forward to meeting Mitzi! And guess what, Herr Hesse? She’s expecting puppies! I’ve told Alfred he can choose one of them to be his very own pet.’
Henry embraced Alfred and promised he’d come and visit him. He mustn’t worry; everything would be fine. When he released the boy from his embrace he noticed Alfred’s eyes were moist. He kept saying ‘thank you’ and as he disappeared out of the station he turned round and gave Henry a nervous little wave.
***
Henry and Edgar spent what remained of the weekend in the apartment above the hardware shop on Basteiplatz. When they arrived there, Basil Remington-Barber was making up a camp bed in the lounge. The three of them sat around the table.
‘You’re booked on the six o’clock train on Monday morning. That got you into Berlin that evening, didn’t it?’
‘Yes: I was fortunate with the connection in Stuttgart. Coming back yesterday was a different matter. True, we left Berlin a bit later, but whether it was bomb damage or something else, it was a much slower journey: hence the reason we had to stay over in Stuttgart.’
‘I trust that you didn’t go anywhere near the Victoria?’ asked Remington-Barber.
‘No, we stayed overnight in the station – in an air-raid shelter.’
‘Let’s get down to business. Here’s your ticket for Monday. We want to get you and the document back here as quickly as possible, so the plan is that you go to the Reichsbank first thing on the Tuesday morning, hand Bank Leu’s envelopes to Reinhart and he’ll give you the ones to be brought back here. One of the sealed envelopes will contain the document – he’ll let you know which one. According to Hedinger, neither the German nor the Swiss police have ever tried to open a sealed envelope from any of the banks. I imagine that’d be bad for business. I can see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to leave Berlin by lunchtime. I know the couriers often hang around for a few days, but we need to get you back here so we’ll risk it. You won’t make it into Switzerland that night, but go to Stuttgart then take the first train out on Wednesday morning. Does that all make sense?’
‘Yes… but shouldn’t the document be concealed?’
‘We thought of that,’ said Remington-Barber, ‘but if they decide to search you then they’ll probably find it anyway. As Edgar says, they don’t touch bank envelopes. You’re booked in the Kaiserhof there – here’s the telegram confirming it. You still have the letter of accreditation from the bank? Good. And of course your passport has the correct visas. Tell me Henry, what’s Gunter Reinhart like?’
Henry shrugged. ‘He’s a German banker, which seems to be rather like a Swiss banker and I daresay British bankers: efficient enough, but what do you want me to say? I’ll doubt we’ll become close friends, if that’s what you mean. He’s very tall, too, for what it’s worth.’
‘What I think we mean,’ said Remington-Barber, ‘is what kind of a chap do you think he is? Is he trustworthy? After all, we’ve used one of our few agents able to travel in and out of Germany to help his son escape. How do we know this document he’s promising us is genuine, or is it a trick. Has he just been leading us along as a ruse to get Alfred out?’
‘I’ve really no idea,’ said Henry. ‘He seems genuine enough. I suppose if the document turns out to be either a fake or not exist at all then he runs t
he risk of upsetting us and that could have implications for his own safety – and that of Rosa and Sophia.’
Edgar and Remington-Barber looked at each other, partially reassured.
‘You see, he still wants to help Rosa escape and obviously that means little Sophia too.’
‘I can see why Reinhart wanted to get his son out, but why his ex-wife?’
‘He obviously cares very much for her and, to be frank with you, I can see why. She really is the most marvellous woman, you know. She’s been holed up in that house for well over a year now. Poor little Sophia can barely speak; she’s so terrified of making a noise. It would be marvellous if we could do something to help them.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Edgar was staring at Henry as if he had completely misheard him.
‘I was just saying I thought it’d be marvellous if we could help Alfred’s mother and sister.’
Edgar sat there open-mouthed. It was Remington-Barber who spoke next.
‘Help in what way, Henry?’
‘Possibly help them to leave Germany?’
‘Has Reinhart asked you raise this?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s not a condition of his handing over the document?’
‘No.’
‘So why on earth are you raising the matter then?’
‘Don’t forget I’ve just come back from Berlin, Edgar. It’s like a bloody prison camp, uniforms everywhere. It can only be a matter of time before they’re caught. If there was any way we could help get them out before that happens then we’d be doing the decent thing.’
Edgar slammed the table with his hand. ‘Are you stark raving mad? Who the hell do you think we are – the Red bloody Cross?’
‘I was only thinking…’
‘Well don’t. What’s got into you? Have you fallen in love with this woman or something?’