Jan

by Peter Haden

  Turning to both Gross and Neumann, Günther added, ‘I am returning to the house now. This afternoon Johann and Herr Schultz can have a preliminary discussion, then if you will join us tomorrow morning, Herr Rottenführer, we will draft a preliminary plan for turning this building into a top-class workshop for the Wehrmacht.’ Günther turned on his heels and stalked off.

  Inwardly fuming, but without another word, Gross settled himself behind the wheel and started the engine of the Kübelwagen. As he drove away, Günther was so disgusted he did not even bother to look back and watch.

  Soon after dinner Hannah announced that she would like to retire early and read. Günther seized the neck of a decanter and set two brandy glasses on the table.

  ‘What makes me think,’ said Hartmann after they had raised a silent toast, ‘that you have not exactly made a friend at court with the Herr Unterscharführer?’

  ‘Gross used to work for me,’ Günther replied. ‘But he left to join the SA. Last year, he managed to get himself transferred to the Allgemeine SS. His wife still lives in one of the cottages on the estate, but we have never seen eye-to-eye.’ For now, he decided to leave it at that.

  ‘I think there are many such people,’ Hartmann commented sadly. ‘They are uneducated and jealous of the professional classes but now, suddenly, they have authority – and they are prepared to abuse it.’

  If the sentiment was genuine, thought Günther, and he was pretty sure it was, if gave a vital insight into the young engineer’s political thinking. More than that, he knew he had taken a chance standing up to Gross that afternoon. But with Hartmann onside, Gross could not afford to cross them both. Which in turn, Günther was utterly relieved to believe, gave him a fighting chance of protecting his family and for all of them to survive this war.

  Jan was informed that later that day he would take a flight to Croydon on board a British Imperial Airways four-engined Armstrong-Whitworth European class aircraft capable of carrying 32 passengers. He was handed a Polish passport which, he was told, was genuine, and escorted through the airport to the plane by a member of the embassy staff. Major Miecznikowski had told him that he would be met at the other end by a military police escort and taken to a holding centre whilst his identity was checked and a decision taken over his future. To a country boy who had, until recently, hardly travelled at all, the flight was an amazing adventure. Equally impressive was the fact that the aircraft had a butler’s pantry from which he was offered refreshments, and there were no less than three lavatories. Fortunately, using one of the few English words he had learnt, he managed to ask for a coffee and had not needed to use the other facilities as he would have been embarrassed to ask how to operate them.

  All too soon they were crossing the coast and the aircraft settled onto the ground. A steward asked him to remain in his seat whilst the other passengers left the aircraft. Finally, two men approached, one in a uniform, which he took to be that of a military policeman, and the other in plain clothes.

  ‘Pan Janicki,’ said the latter, speaking in Polish, ‘we have come to take you to your destination.’ Jan was escorted not through the public area but via a small, separate building that avoided all customs and passport formalities, and behind which was parked a medium sized black saloon. He and the plainclothes escort sat in the rear seat, whilst the uniformed soldier settled himself behind the wheel. With the sun on his shoulder, Jan knew that they were heading in a northerly direction. He was utterly fascinated to look at the English towns, villages and countryside, and from the occasional conversation with his fellow Pole, he gathered that they were on their way to somewhere near the city of Nottingham, which was part of the eastern area of somewhere described as the British Midlands.

  He was taken to a large country house which seemed to have been converted to provide accommodation for a number of visitors, although as far as Jan could tell from Christian names on a pigeon hole rack he was the only one from Poland. He was shown into an office where he was met by a middle-aged, Polish speaking man in civilian clothes who introduced himself as Pan Szerezewski. ‘Yes, I’m Polish,’ Szerezewski replied, in response to Jan’s question. ‘Been here for nearly twenty years now. I’m Jewish and a refugee from the pogroms that started after the last war. Now, I work for the British government.’

  He invited Jan to be seated then moved to sit behind a desk and opened a folder. ‘They are still checking you out,’ he told Jan, ‘but it’s looking good so far.’

  ‘What happens now?’ Jan asked him.

  ‘Well, in a minute I’ll show you around – where you can eat and sleep, as it were. Then whilst we are waiting for clearance, you need to start learning English. We have a particular way of doing it here – a sort of crash course, if you like, for specially selected people.’

  Jan was not sure what to make of being “specially selected”, but he let that pass. ‘It’s a one-on-one method of instruction,’ Szerezewski continued, and once you meet your instructor tomorrow morning, you’ll see what I mean. He’ll be fluent in both languages, but whilst you’re under instruction the only language you will use is English.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry – it’s very efficient. Believe it or not, you’ll be chatting away after a couple of weeks.’

  Jan was shown a dining room, the lounge, and a small single bedroom. Notices in English and several other languages including Polish proclaimed a few basic rules and the all-important mealtimes. But on every notice, a point emphasised to him by Szerezewski, he was instructed not to share any personal or military information about his background with any of his fellow inmates, of whom he counted five more. Neither was anyone, under any circumstances, to use their real name. He was at all times to use only a first name, Karol, an instruction emphasised repeatedly by Szerezewski.

  Pan Aron Goldek was an ageing, rather short and thin individual who wore round, metal-framed glasses that gave him the appearance of an old-fashioned schoolmaster. His clothes looked to be English, if a little worn and frayed. But he was a master of his craft. Pointing at himself, he gave his full name. Then he pointed at Jan, who realised that he was required to do the same. ‘Karol,’ he replied. When Goldek smiled approvingly Jan knew he had given the right answer.

  Pointing and speaking, at first it was only single words. But gradually they progressed. Already fluent in Polish and German, Jan now discovered that he had a flair for languages and he picked up a basic use of English relatively easily. But one session rather puzzled him. He spent half an hour with a different instructor, who did not introduce himself and spoke to him about anything and everything, but the entire conversation was in German. Afterwards the individual contented himself with ‘Danke, Karol’ before shaking hands and leaving without further explanation.

  He had been at the house for about a week when Aron Goldek announced that instead of their usual first session that morning, Jan would have an interview with Szerezewski and the Commandant. This latter introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel Bray, although he wasn’t in uniform. ‘The colonel does not speak Polish,’ Szerezewski informed him, ‘so I shall translate.’

  After a few desultory questions about how Karol was finding life in England, clearly designed to try to put him at ease, Colonel Bray took a folder from his in-tray. It was the same one that had been on Szerezewski’s desk during his initial interview, but now considerably thicker. The British officer opened it and flicked through a few pages, as if to remind himself of the contents.

  ‘I am pleased to tell you,’ he began, ‘that we are completely satisfied regarding your identity.’ He paused whilst Szerezewski translated. ‘Tadzio sends his regards, and he was both overjoyed and relieved to learn that you are safe.’

  Jan was taken aback. How on earth, he wondered, had the British managed to speak with this brother? But before he could ask a question Colonel Bray went on, ‘Fraulein Raschdorf has also confirmed who you are. She is still safe and well, and knows that you are, too. She
was too taken aback to send a message, but I am given to understand that when she heard the news she was clearly both relieved and delighted.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he added, as Jan struggled to come to terms with the news. ‘That’s all I can tell you. But I am only too happy to pass on the information.’

  Jan tried to take it in, emotionally, and the other two men were considerate enough to wait for a few moments. Eventually, the British officer broke the silence.

  ‘Karol,’ he began gently, ‘may I ask, have you wondered why you have been brought to an establishment such as this?’

  Jan admitted that it was all rather new and strange, and he realised that he had to be held somewhere whilst his identity was confirmed, so he hadn’t given it much thought.

  ‘More and more of your fellow countrymen are arriving every day now,’ Colonel Bray told him. ‘Usually they go to a training unit – mostly to learn English and to familiarise themselves with whatever weapons or equipment they are likely to use. But this facility is for a different class of immigrant. Essentially, it is for someone who we believe might be useful to the war effort in an entirely different category of work.’

  A frisson of excitement fluttered somewhere inside Jan’s head, but he wanted to hear more. ‘Please go on, Sir,’ he requested. Szerezewski dutifully translated.

  ‘Very well,’ responded the Colonel, rotating a pencil between the fingers of his right hand. ‘I am going to ask you a question. You will have to give me a “yes” or a “no” answer for now and then confirm it again shortly afterwards. But think carefully, because after your final reply, and once you embark on this course, there will be no going back.

  ‘Whatever you decide,’ he went on, ‘no-one will think any the worse of you. Already, you have proved to be a remarkably brave and resourceful young man. If your answer is negative, we will assign you to the regular army, in a Polish unit. Considering your engineering expertise, it will be something to do with vehicles, probably an armoured fighting regiment – tanks or reconnaissance.

  ‘But if you say “yes”, there will be a very different future, both in terms of training and operations. Listen carefully, Karol,’ the colonel was speaking more slowly now, ‘and take as long as you wish before you answer. The acid question is this: would you be prepared to return in order to operate on your own, behind enemy lines? And I have to tell you,’ he added quickly, ‘that if you are caught you will almost certainly be tortured and shot.’

  ‘You want me to be a spy?’ Jan asked, almost aghast.

  ‘That’s not a word we would use,’ the colonel told him, ‘although the Germans would. To us, you would be an invaluable asset. We have no-one in your part of the world, yet we know that there are partisans living in the vast Polish forests. They are desperately short of weapons and ammunition, yet they are capable of tying down hundreds of German troops and completely disrupting the enemy supply chain. Someone on the ground to liaise with them and assist with supplies would be an enormous asset. Also, you could operate on either side of the border – I’m told that even with a slight accent, which is not unusual in that part of the world, your German is so fluent you could pass as a native. That’s perhaps all I should tell you for now.

  ‘But let me give you one last piece of advice,’ the colonel said gently. ‘If your heart is not fully in it, then don’t volunteer. I tell you that from personal experience. If you are not utterly committed, eventually you will almost certainly be caught.’ Jan was not to know that the colonel had spent nearly two years behind the German lines during the first world war, earning the Military Cross. ‘But if you accept,’ Jan was told, ‘you will be making a far greater contribution to the war effort than you could ever make in a regiment of the field Army.’

  Jan looked down at the desk, silent for a full minute. Finally, he raised his head to look directly at the colonel. ‘Sir,’ he said firmly, ‘they killed my father, raped and bayoneted my sister, and threatened to make Renate Raschdorf a sex slave in a concentration camp. I know the countryside, both sides of the border – which in any case I can cross at will, and with the contacts that I already have I am confident that I can survive. Plus, as you have said, I have the language skills, Polish and German. I volunteer,’ he finished bluntly.

  There was quite a pause, the colonel looking at both Jan and Szerezewski in turn. ‘Good man,’ he said at length. ‘Do you know,’ he said slowly, and with a slight smile, ‘I never thought for one minute that you would say anything different.’

  ‘So, what happens now, Sir?’ asked Jan.

  ‘Well, you’re not a lot of use if we can’t talk to each other,’ the colonel replied, seeking to lighten the mood. ‘You’ll be here for as long as it takes. But from what I hear, you are good at languages, so let’s say about another six or eight weeks. After that, it’ll be somewhere else, for a few skills you don’t have at the moment - weapons, explosives, communications, field craft and so forth.’ The colonel’s face broke into a comradely, rather conspiratorial grin. ‘And I hope you’re not afraid of heights,’ he added, ‘because we are going to strap a parachute on you and chuck you out of a perfectly serviceable aeroplane! We have a joke about that,’ he concluded, grinning mischievously. ‘You don’t have to worry about whether the damn thing opens or not, because if it doesn’t, it’s only the last half-inch that hurts!’

  Jan was a bit taken aback but smiled politely. ‘Go and find a cup of tea,’ he was told, ‘and think things over. Then let Mr Szerezewski have your confirmed answer. And remember what I said earlier, nobody will think any the worse of you if you change your mind. But if you want to do that, please be quick about it. And by the way,’ he continued, ‘whilst you are being trained, you will be paid. Also, assuming your answer is still the same, from now on you are free to leave the house whenever you are not under instruction. There’s a village about half a mile from here. Go and practice your English in the pub. But don’t bother asking for vodka or schnapps, because they won’t have any. My advice is to try to develop a taste for good old English bitter. But if you want something stronger, you’ll have to ask for scotch!’

  ‘He won’t change his mind,’ Szerezewski opined a few seconds after Jan had closed the door.

  ‘Nor will he,’ agreed the colonel. ‘Quite the opposite. I like the cut of his jib. To mix metaphors, if you ask me he’s champing at the bit. He can’t wait to get started.’

  Chapter 16

  A few days after Schultz’s arrival a convoy of about twenty civilian vehicles arrived unannounced. At its head was Gross in his Kübelwagen. The rest were lorries and flatbeds loaded with people, building materials and heavy machinery.

  A short, well-muscled and rather elderly man stepped down from the vehicle behind Gross’ and stood next to him facing Schultz and Günther. ‘This is Herr Maurer,’ said Gross, rather rudely not bothering to introduce either Günther or Hartmann Schultz to the stranger, whose portly frame and a face and nose well lined with blue-red veins suggested that his time was divided between building and enjoying food and alcohol – this latter probably during the daytime as well.

  ‘And to what do we owe all this?’ asked Günther evenly, his arm swinging to encompass the convoy.

  ‘They will be here for as long as it takes,’ Gross replied. ‘Your workshop is too small.’ He made it sound as if this were both an accusation and a failure for which Günther was personally responsible. ‘Herr Maurer’s civilian construction company has been seconded to the Wehrmacht. They have plans for an extension to this building,’ his hand indicated the workshop, ‘plus they will add hard standing and finally put a fence around the whole facility.’

  ‘Herr Raschdorf,’ said Maurer pleasantly, as if embarrassed by Gross’ tone of voice, ‘if you wish, we can live under canvas, but I am told that there is an accommodation area above your workshop. If you would allow my men to use it, we would be most grateful. This is not,’ he finished with a smile,
‘a particularly warm September.’

  Günther thought quickly. Gross was, as usual, obviously intent on being unpleasant, but the more he could encourage Maurer and Schultz to be on his side, the less would be Gross’ influence. And the harder he would find it to be confrontational.

  ‘Herr Maurer,’ he replied, ‘your men would be most welcome to use the upstairs accommodation. Floor space will be a bit tight, but I am sure that Unterscharführer Gross can organise some bunk beds, which would be ideal.’

  Maurer just looked at Gross and nodded, as if to say, ‘get on with it’. Clearly annoyed at having to take instruction, Gross tried but failed to hide his displeasure.

  ‘Herr Maurer,’ Günther went on, as if to twist the knife, ‘I don’t know what personal arrangements you would prefer, but if you wish there is a spare room on the upper storey of my house. Alternatively, if you would prefer something more private, you are welcome to be my guest in the house tonight and I will have a small cottage prepared for you on the estate – you would be able to move in tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That really is most kind,’ said Maurer, ‘but we are quite used to being self-sufficient on a building site. We have our own rations and my men will soon have a field kitchen up and running. If it is all right with you, I will stay with them tonight and accept gratefully your offer of a cottage in the morning – perhaps I might share it with my foreman, which would give the men a break from the pair of us?’

  Once more, Gross tried and failed to hide his irritation. He managed a half-hearted nod then stalked off towards his Kübelwagen. ‘Herr Gross,’ called out Hartmann, rather imperiously, thought Günther. The SS man paused and turned to face them. ‘When you get back,’ Hartmann went on, ‘please give my compliments and best wishes to Willi. And tell him that we will do everything in our power to make this venture a success for the Wehrmacht.’