‘In the end it all came out that I’d deliberately falsified registration forms in order to save my patients. I was dismissed without notice and escaped a punishment battalion only by signing up of my own volition for the medical battalion.’
‘It’s absolutely unbelievable.’
‘It’s absolutely true.’ Richard struggled to hide his bitterness.
‘No, don’t misunderstand me, I wasn’t questioning what you say. It’s just that I’m lost for words.’
‘I’ve been lost for words for a long time,’ said Richard. ‘At the moment, my wife’s trying to do her bit. She’s a doctor, trying to spare as many of the sick and handicapped as she can, but it’s a struggle.’
Fritz gave Richard a nudge. ‘I wouldn’t like to break up your new friendship, you two, but I fear it’s time for us to get moving.’
‘Have you taken any pictures?’ Maxwell asked Arthur.
‘No, my camera can’t cope with the light down here.’
Richard grinned. ‘When the war’s over, I’ll send you a couple of prints. It’s definitely paid off, getting a Leica III.’
‘Show-off!’ said Arthur again. This time it was said in a spirit of fun.
‘As we were the first to arrive, it’s probably best if we’re the first ones to leave,’ Fritz suggested, ‘and you two had better wait until we’re out of sight.’
‘What do we do if your or our people are running around outside?’ Maxwell wondered.
‘OK, if any of them catch us together, just play it depending on whose side it is. If they’re Brits, you say that we’re your prisoners, and if they’re ours, then you’re our prisoners.’
‘But are medical officers allowed to take one another prisoner?’ asked Richard.
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever expected anything like this to crop up, to be honest.’
‘Then we need to make sure we don’t establish a precedent!’ Maxwell smiled, then said his farewells to Fritz, enthusiastically sending his warm regards to Dorothea and the children.
‘If someone had told me when I got up this morning that I’d be telling a German it had been a pleasure to meet them, I’d never have believed it,’ said Arthur, ‘but that is the case. Perhaps we’ll even meet up after the war.’
‘Never say never,’ replied Richard, shaking hands with Arthur, then they all made their way out of the burial chamber as planned and back to their own lines, unscathed and undiscovered.
‘I owe you two beers,’ said Fritz when they were safely back in their quarters. ‘That trip to the tomb was a really good idea. The whole world has gone mad, but at least some things stay the same. Maxwell told me about a few really interesting medical developments and I explained rotation flap surgery to him.’
‘That was the long-overdue conference you’ve been wanting to attend!’ Richard said, laughing.
‘And all set against the backdrop of ancient history and high culture too! Can’t wait to see those photos.’
Chapter 47
In her efforts to spare as many patients as possible from transfer to the death camps, Paula turned next to the Church. She had fully expected most parish leaders to be responsive to her concerns, but in fact came up against highly varied degrees of willingness to help. Three of the pastors she approached were immediately ready to pitch in with practical support, but many others were evasive and one rejected her outright, warning her not to go around spreading such stories. It was only then that she realised that this pastor’s front room boasted a Hitler portrait. So even their spiritual leaders were not immune to signing up to the NSDAP. She resolved to be more careful next time.
But she was even more taken aback when a well-known member of the NSDAP offered to employ four of her patients on light duties in his own painting and decorating business.
He explained his decision to her. ‘Look, I’ve never been particularly interested in politics and only joined the party in 1938 because I couldn’t have kept my business going otherwise. I could see that party members were getting all the work contracts. But that’s never meant that I condone what’s going on here. Pastor Weinheim knows that and that’s why he mentioned you to me. When times are tough, we have to find ways and means of getting things done.’
Paula nodded. Even Professor Ewald had become a member of the NSDAP and thus of the NS medical association. From the outset, however, this had never stopped him from speaking out against euthanasia, even though nobody in authority listened and he himself had had to find a way of saving as many of his own patients as he could.
And what was the right way? Taking direct action against the system could lead to your own death. Alfred Schär was just one example. Then there was Richard’s way, where he’d refused to comply but failed. All that remained was to walk the tightrope between adapting and resisting. She couldn’t save everyone, whatever she did. It was similar to triage on the battlefield, when doctors had to decide who to treat on the spot and who was already beyond help. Paula wished Richard was there with her, or her father at least. She’d have given anything to pick up the phone, but her landlady didn’t have such a thing and the only one at the hospital was in the ward office, where her colleagues could hear every word. What brought her some comfort was the first letter from Leonie for three months.
My dear Paula
Your last letter took all of six weeks to get here and has brought such distressing news. Everything I hear from Germany is so sad and depressing. Thank God you all escaped the bombing of your home. I may be far away, but I can’t tell you how much I feel for you and the children. I hope very much that Göttingen keeps you all safe from the bombs. Richard and Fritz are often in my thoughts too, and I hope they’ll return unharmed from this war.
Everything continues to go well for us here. We’re distanced from the conflict, although there are huge numbers of refugees seeking a new home in Switzerland – they are overwhelmingly Jewish. What we hear is so terrible, with rumours of ghettos, of camps in the east, but nobody knows exactly what’s going on. I’ve volunteered to help care for the many children coming in as refugees. Many have lost their parents and many more were sent off to make the journey alone. We’ve heard that high-ranking Nazis are pocketing bribes and the money serves only to take the children to initial safety. Think how desperate these people must be that they’re sending their children off alone to another country. My father is always so glad we left when we did, when all routes were still open to us. Any worries of mine are insignificant compared with yours. I’ve had to do battle at work to survive in this male world of hospital doctors, but I’ve coped. A few weeks ago I became the first ever female senior consultant in this place.
As well as that, I adopted a little girl two months ago. Her name’s Arlette, she’s three years old, comes from France and was in a camp for Jews to be deported to Poland. Her parents died from typhus – the conditions there must have been appalling. Arlette was among a group of children saved by members of the French Resistance and brought here to us in Switzerland. At first, she was deeply disturbed, sat in silence in the corner, wouldn’t eat or speak. My heart went out to her. I knew immediately that I wanted to look after this child with the huge, sad eyes and give her something of what she’s so painfully lost. Sometimes I ask myself whether, amid all the horror, there really is a higher power guiding us and whether it’s always been meant that I’d find Arlette.
She’s starting to speak a little German now, and at times I can even get a little smile – so you see, I’ve achieved everything I wanted but in ways I’d never have dreamt possible. But our old life in Hamburg comes back to me in my dreams: our time together as young students, those wonderful hours spent by the Alster and everything that we both loved so much. If I could turn back the clock, I’d do it all again and not change a single thing.
Keep your courage up, Paula, and let’s hope this dreadful war ends soon so we can see each other and you can meet Arlette. I’d like so much to see Emilia and Georg too, and how much Fritz’s Henriette
has grown, and, of course, meet little Harri for the first time. If you need anything, please be sure to let me know. I’ll do everything I can.
Your dear friend
Leonie
Leonie’s letter left Paula pensive. Her friend was successful and had an adopted daughter, albeit one with such a sad story. She hoped that Leonie’s care and love would help her grow up to be contented. At the same time, she found herself wondering what kind of life her own family would have had if they too had emigrated in 1936. A life without war and bombs. A life spent worrying about the loved ones left back home. A life in which she’d have been reduced to a passive observer of all these events. No, they’d been right to stay. Unlike Leonie, they’d had the choice. Germany was their homeland and it was worth the fight not to allow all their old values to be trampled into the dust – even if that fight had to take place in silence and away from the ear of the authorities and hateful informants.
The weekly newsreels continued to report victories for the Africa Corps, but Richard’s letters made things sound rather different. At the beginning of November, German troops were finally defeated at El Alamein and had to retreat to Tunis. Richard still sent home photos, as if he were on a research expedition and not in the thick of war. Among them was one of Egyptian wall paintings in what appeared to be a dark and narrow vault. He’d simply described it as a newly discovered tomb. It wouldn’t have been wise to put the whole story in a letter likely to be scrutinised.
At Christmas, Fritz and Richard were both granted home leave – they were now working at the main military hospital in Tunis and there were plenty of other doctors. The train to Hamburg went through Göttingen, so Fritz and Richard did most of the journey together. The train even had a fifteen-minute wait at Göttingen, so Fritz had a chance to see Paula and the children.
‘I’m so sorry about your flat and the bombing,’ he said to her. ‘After what we’ve all been through together, it would have been wonderful if we could have spent Christmas together too.’
‘Yes, it would have been, and I do miss Hamburg, but it would have been too risky for Georg, even if we hadn’t been bombed out of house and home.’
Fritz was about to say more, but the guard had his whistle at the ready and Richard felt it was time to stop talking. ‘If you don’t hurry up, you really will be spending Christmas with us instead of with Doro and your two!’
‘I love you all, but Doro and the children come first!’ Fritz said as he climbed back on board. ‘See you here in seven days, when it’s back to Tunis for us, Richard!’
They stood watching the train until it disappeared from sight.
‘Papa, what’s Tunis like?’
‘Nothing like as nice as here with you. And we used up your special cream ages ago. I’ll need another pot to take back with me.’
Emilia giggled. ‘But, Papa, it’s nearly two years since I got you that one!’
‘Wartime thrift – look, I’ve still got the pot!’ And he pulled it out of his pocket to show her.
While Emilia revelled in the fact that her gift had been treasured for so long, Georg asked about the photos that Richard had sent them. ‘Where was the tomb you described in your letter, Papa?’
‘That was in Egypt. A Bedouin lad tipped us off and so Uncle Fritz and I went off to look for it, found it and took some pictures. But the sarcophagus itself had been looted and the mummy stolen. All we saw were the wall paintings.’
As they made their way to the bus stop, the children were full of questions still. Paula noticed how Richard often hesitated before replying.
Once they’d got back to Frau Heiroth’s flat and Paula had introduced Richard to their landlady, she seized the first opportunity alone together to ask him what it had really been like for him over there. She was preparing herself for horrific tales of blood and death and assumed he would want to spare the children the gore, so she was surprised when he regaled her with the full story of discovering the tomb.
‘I wasn’t sure that Emilia would be able to keep the story to herself,’ he confided. ‘As a child, I don’t think I could have, to be honest.’ He grinned. ‘And I don’t want the whole world to know Fritz and I have had contact with the enemy. It would put us in a very bad light.’
‘You and Fritz are impossible!’ Paula said, shaking her head and laughing fondly. ‘I bet it didn’t even enter your heads that it might be dangerous!’
‘Not really,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘I don’t think our English colleagues thought about it either. Well, you know, you don’t shoot your colleagues, do you?’
‘Is that so?’ said Paula drily. ‘I thought being a soldier was the only profession where you’d shoot at colleagues if they work for someone else.’
Richard burst out laughing. ‘That’s a good one! I must tell Fritz, although he’ll just say that we’re doctors, not soldiers.’
‘Seriously, though, Richard, be honest with me. What’s it really like at the Front? The newsreels are always telling us about great victories, but you write to me about retreating. Do you believe we’re winning the war?’
‘I have no idea. But I do know that the magnificent victories you’re being told about are mostly retreats. At El Alamein we lost hundreds of men. Fritz was working to his absolute limit. There were days when he’d stand at the operating table for fourteen hours at a stretch, and yet life slipped through our fingers so many times. And none of the vehicles cope well in the desert atmosphere. The tank division is always moaning about breakdowns and the mechanics are almost as busy as the doctors. Flesh can heal, bones can knit, but the machines have no spare parts and fuel is short. Then there are all the infectious diseases caught from contaminated drinking water. Fritz and I stick to beer when we can get it. I reckon if everything else is going like it is in Africa, then we need to be prepared to take a few whippings in the next six months.’
Christmas flew by all too fast. While they’d celebrated it in their own flat the previous year and had pictured life continuing as normal, here they were now in cramped lodgings, with their landlady feeling wretched about her son, who was fighting in Stalingrad.
Nonetheless, Richard put up a fine Christmas tree and Frau Heiroth looked out all her own decorations for it. Presents arrived from Hamburg for the grandchildren and Richard had brought them a beautifully carved set of chess pieces, the figures all from ancient Egyptian mythology.
‘I think you’re old enough to grasp chess now,’ he explained as the twins gazed at the pieces in fascination, so between Christmas and New Year the children learned the basics of chess with great enthusiasm.
The second of January, when Richard was due to return, came all too soon. Snow was falling and the air had turned icy, and as they made ready for the long and difficult journey to the railway station Paula thought wistfully of their car, still garaged at her father-in-law’s place in Hamburg.
‘Well, that’s the one good thing about Africa – the weather’s much better,’ Richard said, in an attempt to raise a few smiles as they arrived at the station.
When his train rolled in, he hugged Paula and the children one last time. Fritz was waving from the window of their compartment. Richard handed up his case, then pushed his way in through the doors, along with all the other soldiers.
‘Do you think Papa will be able to stay with us for ever after next Christmas?’ asked Emilia as they stood waving at the disappearing train.
‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Paula. That was the first time she had caught herself thinking she no longer wanted to contemplate the future . . .
Chapter 48
Throughout January and February Paula’s life in Göttingen became a cheerless daily grind. She continued to fight on behalf of her patients and even managed to find more employment opportunities for them within businesses willing to help out. But still the war cast its shadow over everything. At the end of January Frau Heiroth received the letter feared by every parent. Her son had fallen at Stalingrad. Paula did her utmost to console and support h
er landlady through this harrowing experience. Then in February they heard that the Sixth Army had been decimated at Stalingrad and any survivors had ended up as Russian prisoners of war. In spite of this dark news, Paula felt some relief that all reports from the African front continued to be positive. She couldn’t begin to picture what any transfer to the Eastern Front would have meant for Richard. All reports about conditions in the prisoner-of-war camps were horrific.
With the arrival of May, the children were at last able to play outside and take regular dips in the little lake near their home. Meanwhile, news came that German troops in Tunisia had surrendered on 13 May and more than one hundred and fifty thousand German soldiers were now British prisoners of war. For Paula the expression ‘Tunisgrad’ reminded her too much of ‘Stalingrad’ and her fears for Richard’s safety grew. She’d last heard from him in March.
To share her worries with someone, she phoned Dorothea in Hamburg from the hospital. She’d heard nothing from Fritz either and had already turned to the Red Cross in an attempt to establish whether her husband was among the prisoners of war.
‘All they could do was feed me a few empty promises and say the situation was very unclear. It could be our letters haven’t come because of so many supply ships being sunk. Maybe both our men are safe and sound somewhere.’
‘Yes,’ was all Paula could say. How she hated the uncertainty, but she was forced to live with it over the next few weeks, as neither she nor Dorothea received word from their husbands.
By Richard’s forty-second birthday, 23 July, Paula still didn’t know whether or not he was alive. How was she supposed to carry on reassuring the children when she herself was close to despair? But when she came home from work that evening Emilia greeted her with even more excitement than usual.
‘Mama, there’s a letter from Papa at last!’ She waved the distinctive field post envelope as she ran towards her mother. ‘Exactly on his birthday – it makes it seem as though he’s here too!’
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