by Mick Hare
She continued to administer MB 760. During her days at Leicester Royal Infirmary this had been hailed as the new wonder drug and all hospital staff had been crying out to get sufficient quantities of it. Winston Churchill had gone on public record in praise of it, claiming it had saved his life when he had succumbed to a bronchial infection. But even as it had been arriving into the hospital pharmacies talk was already spreading that it was not as effective as its proselytisers claimed. Already there was talk of a newer, stronger, miracle medicine that would alter infection treatment forever. Some said that humanity was about to win the final battle in the war against infection. The end of infection was in sight. Alexander Fleming’s penicillin was the great hope of the future, but he was struggling to find a company prepared to find a way to produce it in sufficient quantity to make a difference.
Lily had a supply of penicillin but she did not know if she had enough. She was sufficiently knowledgeable about the new medicine to know that it would be better not to give the patient any penicillin at all rather than not give enough or not continue the dose for long enough. But how much was ‘enough’ and how long was ‘long enough’? These were the things she did not know. So she trusted the MB 760 throughout Sunday and Monday morning and afternoon, hoping that Winston Churchill knew what he was talking about.
Her concerns proved superfluous when she entered Robert’s bedroom on Monday evening to find him injecting himself with a dose of penicillin. She started across the room and began to scold him. She stopped herself when he raised his eyes to meet hers. As their eyes met she recognised the hatred in his. The look was like a blow and she turned away. When Robert spoke his voice carried none of the emotion his face had shown.
“Tomorrow is the day,” he said.
“I know,” replied Lily.
“We need to agree a plan.”
“Yes.”
“What about Friedrich?” asked Robert. “Is he still here?”
“Yes.”
“Do we need him? Shouldn’t we send him on his way. We do not need to endanger him further.”
“I agree,” said Lily. “But if you want him to go you will have to tell him. I have told him many times and he takes no notice of me. He wants to help us.”
“Does he know what we are about to do?”
“I do not think so. He knows we are subversives. He knows we are part of the resistance. He wants to help us.”
“Go down,” ordered Robert. “Send him up. Tell him I want to talk to him.”
Lily waited downstairs. She could hear the men’s voices from above but she could not make out what they were saying. After just over an hour they both came down. Lily looked at Robert. He answered her with a shrug. She looked at Friedrich, “Well?” she asked.
“As I said to your husband, my good Lily, I did not know I had a grudge against the Pope, but if Robert says I have, that’s good enough for me.” And he shrugged again. “I think,” he continued, “I have persuaded your husband that I might be of some use somewhere along the line.”
Lily looked at Robert. He shrugged. That was it. Lily was getting used to this particular male form of communication.
They shared a meal of tinned meat followed by tinned pears. They sat down to discuss the following day’s activities and then retired to their beds. Lily went straight to the guest room at the back of the house. She made no attempt to share a bed with Robert that evening. In the eerie silence of a bomb-free night she cried herself into a short, fitful, hallucinatory sleep.
Forty-eight
The arrival of the Pope’s train in the Hauptbahnhof coincided with the imminent departure of a troop train for southern Poland. Alongside Wermacht troops waiting to embark were uniformed Waffen SS. As the Pope’s train slid to a halt at the terminus the troops crushed cigarette butts beneath their heels and following the barked orders of their officers, they placed their caps on their heads and came to attention.
Until this moment they had only been aware that an important friend of the Third Reich would be arriving. Now some of the more devout Catholics amongst the troops recognised the Pope’s insignia on the side of the coaches. Word soon spread and even the most committed atheists amongst them were hurrying into position driven by curiosity to see this unique individual.
All the doors of the three coaches opened to the platform simultaneously. Half a dozen Swiss Guards stepped smartly out of each door and formed a human cordon between the train and the rest of humanity. In their blue doublets and berets they looked particularly non-threatening in comparison to the battle-hardened troops all around them. Clerical members of the Pope’s entourage then descended to the platform and unrolled a purple carpet. Finally the Pope’s immediate coterie stepped from the train followed immediately by the Pope himself. The last man off the train, directly in the shadow of the Pope, was the former curate from Cork, Monsignor O’Shea.
His feet hidden by his long flowing robes, the Pope glided over the carpet towards the exit from the platform where the Wermacht and Waffen SS officers stood waiting to greet him.
There were no handshakes and no kissing of rings. The officers saluted and then politely bowed. The Pope acknowledged their greetings with a slight tilt of his head. Whilst this was happening O’Shea was being assisted to light the incense in a thurible he was carrying. The Pope turned and stepped off the purple carpet. He walked behind the protective line of Swiss Guards and along the lines of troops standing at attention. As he went his hand worked the sign of the cross, constantly blessing individuals as he passed them. Twice he stopped in front of individual soldiers who wore the marks of battle on their faces. Speaking softly in Latin he caressed the blemish with his warm soft hand.
On returning to the platform barriers he took the thurible, which was now smoking abundantly, from O’Shea. Turning to the ranks before him he waved the thurible high and, clanking the gold chain from which it hung, blessed those about to embark for duties in Poland and beyond.
Those amongst the crowd who understood Italian and had ears strong enough to pick up his soft words would have heard him assure the troops that Mary, the Mother of Our Sweet Lord Jesus blessed them and the holy mission they were about to undertake. If they were successful in returning atheistic Russia to Jesus, Our Lady would intercede on their behalf and their place in heaven would be assured.
Mother Superior and representatives of the convent had been asked to stay away from the Hauptbahnhof so as not to unnecessarily advertise the whereabouts of the Pope’s accommodation. So, following the formalities the Pope and his entourage climbed into three cars and set off through the streets of Munich to the convent.
As a fervent devotee of Mary, the Pope insisted on being driven first to Marienplatz. Here, without his loyal Swiss Guards, who were being accommodated at a local police barracks, he walked about amongst the populace, which was going about its business. Before arriving at the statue of Mary he paused to speak to and bless one or two individuals. The crowd that gathered to watch this unexpected visitation was visibly lifted. Many would talk ever after of the saintliness and godliness that emanated from this slight, fragile man.
Having knelt and prayed before the statue he returned to his car and the entourage continued on its way. En route to the convent, the Pope insisted on stopping twice more. Each time it was at the site of a bombed church. In each case he got out of the limousine and knelt to pray for the restoration of God’s house.
Finally, just before midday on Tuesday 13th March 1944 the Pope’s entourage swept into the grounds of the convent and crunched to a halt outside the grey-pillared entrance. Mother Superior, who was waiting on the steps with her senior nuns, could not suppress the full flush of colour surrounding the beam that had taken control of her mouth.
Forty-nine
The mood at the home and surgery of Dr. and Mrs. Robert Hermann was starting to undermine the fragile equilibrium of Friedrich. He was struggling to deal with his own recent experiences and what they signified for his opinion of himself.
The deep shame he felt was all directed against himself. How could he possibly come to terms with being a Jew? Half of the time he wanted to vehemently deny it. At others he felt self disgust when he fleetingly acknowledged the truth of the allegation. Everything he had learned to hate was what he had turned out to be.
These feelings would be suddenly swamped by ones of relief at the thought of the narrow escape he had had. Of all people he had a pretty good idea what happened to Jews who were relocated to the so-called work camps. That had nearly been his fate.
Then his dislocated mind would fixate on the love of his life. He cringed when he recalled how he had related the tale to Robert. How Friedrich, the superior Aryan had ditched Sadie the Jewess. In the company of his German ex-pats all those years ago in Warsaw he had confidently asserted his racial superiority and turned his back on the love of his life. Now, not only was he forced to face the fact that he was not an Aryan but a lowly Jew himself. He was also forced to admit that, even back then, he had known all along. What kind of man was he? Capable of mental self-deception powerful enough to get him to deny the very fabric of his being. Capable of turning his back on love in order to fit in with the flow of the tide. Had he ever really known himself? Could he ever really know himself?
Into this maelstrom of self loathing spilled the evil atmosphere that existed between Lily and Robert. As they finished some cabbage soup and dry bread, washed down with a hot chicory coffee, Friedrich had had enough. He roughly pushed his plate away and stood up at the table.
“I’m going upstairs,” he growled. “Give me a shout when you two have decided whether you’re on the same side or not. If you ask me, whatever you’ve got planned won’t work until you sort that out! One thing I know – without Lily, you’d be a dead man now Robert. You’d better factor that in to your calculations.” With that he left them to it.
They slowly finished their tasteless meal and found themselves looking across the table at each other. Robert spoke first.
“Why did you get me out? Friedrich is right. You saved me. But it’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense.”
Lily opened her mouth to speak but Robert went on as if not noticing.
“I know you are a German agent. There’s no use denying that. You must be extremely important for the Reich to have invested so much time in you. Concocting your story; transporting you to England; allowing you to ‘sleep’ for so many years. Well it’s paid off. You’ve infiltrated the mission and, but for your intervention, it would have been destroyed by now. Why did you not let Netzer finish me? It’s the one aspect that doesn’t make sense.”
Robert stared at her. Lily met his stare and did not flinch.
“If you will let me,” she said calmly, “I will explain.”
Robert sat back in his seat and waited for her to continue.
“You are wrong about the success of my mission. I have not succeeded. My instructions were not to foil your plan but to discover who in the German establishment or Wermacht was involved in the Resistance. I know about Robert Hermann. I know about Sean Colquhoun. You are risking your life in the employ of the power you once found the most repulsive on the planet. You took up arms against the British Empire. Now you are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for that same Empire. You should understand all about how a change of heart can come about. I too grew to hate the British and their Empire. British guns deprived me of a mother and brother in the Great War. Growing up I agreed with everything the Nazis stood for. My father and I disagreed on just about everything. His love of democracy blinded him to the deficiencies of the Weimar Republic. While he was fighting to establish that fragile state, I was secretly joining the Nazi societies open to girls. Nazi dogma had an attitude to women that I saw as traditional respect and at that time in my life I was convinced of its correctness. Although the Party wanted women out of public life I found it possible to make contacts with boys and men in the Party structure. So when my silly father was making himself a target for the Brownshirts, I was able to arrange our escape to England through those contacts. My father never knew that his argumentative daughter had been the one to save him from Nazi justice. However, the price I paid for his life was to agree to act as an agent of Germany in Britain. Until war was declared they had no use for me. But then I was instructed to volunteer myself for active duty with the British Secret Service. They thought that my father’s history would make me most acceptable to the British. The Gestapo would have been proud of Peter Herbert, the police inspector assigned to my case. Despite Herbert, I managed to convince Andrew Trubshaw of my reliability… and the rest is well-known to you.”
“A disloyal elite in the Wermacht has long held the view that the war cannot be won. With even a little encouragement from Roosevelt and Churchill they might have been able to persuade more of their number that a negotiable peace was possible and that therefore it was time to get rid of Hitler. Unfortunately for them, no such encouragement was forthcoming. The network of state intelligence is so thorough that they have been unable to raise their heads above the parapet. Since Stalingrad, however, it is becoming increasingly obvious that the war cannot be won by Germany, and the Resistance is becoming bolder. My mission is to do everything possible to enable you to carry out your mission in the hope of flushing out those elite conspirators who want to bring down the Reich and negotiate another Weimar peace.”
“Everything possible?” interrupted Robert.
Lily grimaced ironically.
“Everything except let you kill the Pope.”
“So that’s why you saved me from the clutches of Netzer? In order to carry on with your mission.”
Lily dismissed him summarily.
“Now you are being ridiculous. I’m sure I’d be telling you all of this if that was my aim. Robert! Wake up! I have turned. I no longer serve the Reich. Just like you turned from your Irish rebellion activities to become and agent of the crown, so have I turned.”
Robert leaned on the table closer to Lily. He cupped her chin roughly in his hand.
“If you have turned, tell me, who do you work for now?”
As if he were squeezing them out of her glistening eyes with the physical force of his grip, the tears began to flow.
“You,” she whispered. “You, you damned fool, you!”
Robert released his grip and for a few minutes they sat in silence. Eventually he said, “I really don’t understand. You haven’t been converted to the Allies’ cause. I can’t believe that. I don’t really believe you’ve rejected Nazism. Attachments and beliefs formed in youth are the hardest to break.”
“You broke with yours,” she countered. “Catholicism, Irish Republicanism.”
“You’re not completely right there,” he argued. “Catholicism, yes. Irish Republicanism, no. I might not agree with current government policy in Eire, but I still believe in republican democracy. I have elected to fight with Britain against what I see as a terrible evil. I have first hand experience of your beloved Nazism. I have to fight it. If it succeeds I do not want to survive.” The vehemence with which he spoke had left him breathless and he was forced to pause. Into the silence Lily interjected a quiet comment accompanied by a flush of embarrassment on her face.
“It is not my beloved Nazism.”
She struggled to continue. Her statement hovered as a reproach to Robert. “I was doing what I thought was right,” she finally went on. “Just as you were.” Looking down at her hands which were playing with a piece of stale bread, she continued, “Once we arrived here in Munich and things got underway I began to realise that I was not doing things I ought to.” She tossed the bread onto the tablecloth in front of her. “I was holding onto information I should have passed on. I was deceiving my superior, Sturmbannfuhrer Netzer. I began to ask myself, why? In the end one answer kept coming back no matter how hard I tried to push it away. Robert. I was doing it for Robert. I wanted you to win. I wanted you to succeed. Against all of my training and beliefs I wanted your mission… our mi
ssion to succeed. I believe in you. I…” she choked and reached to wipe away a tear with a gesture of annoyance, “...love you.”