by Peter Haden
Jan let this sink for a moment. ‘So, what’s to become of us?’ he asked eventually.
‘You will assist the new manager,’ he was told bluntly.
‘Under what terms of employment?’ Jan responded instantly.
‘You will not be employed – if you are fortunate, the new manager will tell you where you can live, although I suspect he will make himself comfortable in this farmhouse, so perhaps for you the barn, and in exchange for your labour you will be allocated food. But you will no longer enjoy life like contented pigs whilst our soldiers in the field struggle for rations.’
Tadzio could stand it no longer. ‘My family has owned this farm for generations,’ he almost hissed at the NCO. ‘You have no right to take it. And I do not intend to work for your new manager.’
‘Also,’ came the reply, the “s” a long “zzz” sound, then an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. ‘If you don’t wish to work here, you will be taken to Germany. We need labour there, too.’
‘I do not intend to work in Germany either,’ said Tadzio defiantly.
‘You will not have a choice,’ the NCO sneered. ‘If you stay here, you will work for food and a roof over your head. If you are exported to Germany, you will not be a worker. Herr Himmler has decreed that in Germany all Poles are now slaves. You will wear a large purple “P” on your clothing, and you will toil for as long as your daily calorie allowance permits. When you are no longer fit for work you will be replaced. You are a conquered people, so it’s your choice,’ he stated bluntly, barely masking a note of contempt in his voice. ‘Alles klar?’
‘All is clear,’ said Jan softly, placing a restraining hand on Tadzio’s arm.
‘Well it’s not all clear with me,’ said Hedda defiantly, speaking for the first time. ‘I have a German passport. You will not treat me – or us – like this.’
Her German, compared with the NCO’s rather uneducated speech, was definitely Hochdeutsch. ‘We know who you are,’ the Obergefreiter said unpleasantly, ‘so don’t try and lord it over us. You are no more than a Mischling, and if you choose to make your life with these Polish Untermenschen, you will be treated as one.’
The corporal stepped in front of her. ‘But you will not be deported. I think we will take you with us this afternoon – there are other ways in which you can be of benefit…’ His left hand settled on Hedda’s right breast.
Tadzio flew at the German, who had expected a reaction. He simply took half a step to one side and jabbed the young Pole viciously in the stomach with the muzzle of his rifle. Tadzio bent over, grimacing with pain. The German took a further step sideways, out of the line of fire, and at the same time the bolt actions of six more Mauser Kar 98s chambered a round, almost in unison, as they came into the aim.
‘Keine Bewegung!’ Jan said softly, knowing that the others would understand and the order not to move would placate the Germans. Now under the threat of seven rifles, the three of them could only stand and wait.
The NCO seemed to think for a moment. ‘We only need one person here to watch the farm till the others arrive, a new manager and some more labour,’ he announced. ‘That will be you,’ he said simply, pointing at Jan. ‘These two,’ he ordered, indicating Tadzio and Hedda, ‘put them in the back of the truck. Any trouble, shoot him first,’ he grinned at his men, ‘after all, we don’t want to damage tonight’s entertainment. We’ll keep the girl, and you will go to Germany,’ he barked at Tadzio as two soldiers, rifles still aimed from the waist, moved round behind them.
Unterscharführer Gross settled himself comfortably in Günther Raschdorf’s drawing room. This time, other than his driver outside, he was alone. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Günther asked evenly. He had no wish to antagonize Gross even further, but that was as far as he was prepared to bend. Maurer and his construction team were long gone. They had left behind a good standard of accommodation and sanitary facilities for the twenty or so Polish mechanics who were now forced to work in the repair shop – no longer employees, of course, but labouring in exchange only for a roof over the head and an absolute minimum of German calories per day.
Herr Rottenführer Bauer’s guard force of six men were accommodated in two cottages on the estate. They knew they were well off, compared with comrades stationed further east. And Bauer turned a blind eye to the additional rations from the farm that he knew were delivered to the Polish slaves. He and Herr Raschdorf had reached a guarded but polite understanding.
‘The workshop is performing as intended,’ Günther pointed out deliberately. ‘Willi told me that our efforts are well received when he was here for dinner last week,’ he added, deliberately playing the card of social status. ‘And financially, the Reich’s reimbursement is just enough to cover our costs.’
In fact, this was an understatement. What with food production and the marks provided to fund the workshop, the estate was generating a good surplus. But Günther would not give Gross the leverage of knowing this.
‘I am not here to discuss the workshop,’ Gross replied sullenly, knowing that thus far he had been out-flanked. ‘As you know, I am a member of the Allgemeiner SS – the racial division. It is my duty to know the whereabouts of all Jews and non-Aryans within my district. There remains one small outstanding matter.’
He paused to let his words sink in. Günther sensed a fear in his stomach of what was about to come.
‘We know about your Jüdische Frau, of course.’ Günther forced himself not to react to this vulgar reference to his wife. ‘But you told us that your Mischling had gone to stay with her grandmother in Berlin.’ He pointed a finger at Günther. ‘We have checked. She is not there. Nor has she ever been, these past few months. ‘You have lied to us,’ he concluded deliberately. ‘So where is she?’
Günther tried frantically to think through his options. ‘I honestly do not know, for sure,’ he said eventually, ‘but her grandfather is now in Switzerland. I am hoping she has gone to join him… to be safe from the war,’ he finished uncertainly.
Gross let the silence hang. He was well trained in the techniques of interrogation. ‘I do not think so,’ he said at length. ‘Our information is that she left in your wife’s car soon after the beginning of the war. It was driven by your Polish apprentice – Jan Janicki, if I am not mistaken. Where he is now, I admit that we have no idea. But we very much doubt that he would have been allowed to cross into Switzerland – a Polish driver with a German passenger in a German registered car? They would have been searched, their papers examined.’
Günther could hardly indicate that Jan had a false German identity document, but that was not the point. The excuse that Renate was in Switzerland was, to say the least, thin. He was spared further thought when Gross voiced his own opinion.
‘We are not interested in Janicki,’ he continued without waiting for a reply. ‘But almost certainly, your Mischling is somewhere in Germany. You would be well advised to order her to return.’
He paused as if to emphasise his last point. ‘With your wife and daughter here, we are reasonably sure of your continued co-operation. This estate, and particularly the repair facility, are important to the war effort. The presence of your family would offer us a reasonable guarantee of your future support. But now that everything is up and running, we have decided that your future here, and that of your wife and daughter,’ he emphasised the last few words, ‘is desirable but not absolutely essential. You would be well advised to reflect upon my words.’
With that he rose to his feet. ‘And by the way,’ he added nastily, ‘don’t bother to phone your friend Hauptsturmführer Willi Richter – we are already agreed on this issue. I shall show myself out.’
Hartmann Schultz had, by mutual consent, taken to breakfasting in the kitchen whilst Frau Brantis made up a packed lunch. It allowed him, he pointed out, to put his work coveralls on first thing in the morning, but they were more suitable for the
kitchen bench than Frau Raschdorf’s damask covered dining room chairs. Some evenings they all dined together, but occasionally and usually on a Saturday he would walk to the Bierstube in the village for a few beers and a bowl of stew, or perhaps a Bratwurst with Kartoffelsalat. He and Johann, who often joined him, had become firm friends and Schultz learned quite a lot from talking to the marine engineer. The other benefit was that it gave the Raschdorfs the occasional evening to themselves – welcomed kindly as he had been, and although he thought he fitted in well, he was acutely conscious that at the end of the day he had been imposed upon them.
Returning from the workshop that evening he found Günther Raschdorf waiting for him in the hall. He took the unusual step of asking Schultz if he would take supper with them – the usual seven thirty for eight. Even as they started on the vichyssoise he could tell that his hosts were unusually ill at ease. Eventually he felt moved to ask if everything was all right.
‘I was going to talk later,’ said Günther hesitantly.
‘It’s all a cold collation tonight,’ Hannah put in, rising to remove their soup dishes. ‘Perhaps, Günther, you might speak with Herr Schultz now. I think it might help set our minds at rest. Then we can serve ourselves afterwards – it’s all set out on the sideboard.’
‘We had a rather disturbing visit from Gross earlier today,’ Günther began. ‘It concerns Renate.’
Hartmann Shultz knew they had a daughter. He had enquired after her, having seen a photograph of a beautiful young woman set in a silver frame on a side table in the drawing room. He also knew that Hannah Raschdorf was said to be Jewish, from a wealthy family in Stettin. Johann had told him, one evening over a beer, that it was village gossip. Even now, the Raschdorf’s wedding feast had not been forgotten and having found the menorah, Gross’ wife could not resist the temptation to gossip. But the villagers were also acutely aware of what the family had done for them during the terrible years of inflation and famine. Both Günther and Hannah were well liked locally so the news was accepted and then quietly forgotten.
‘As you know, Renate is not here,’ Günther continued. ‘I told Gross that she was with her grandfather in Switzerland for the duration,’ he went on. ‘But he doesn’t believe me. He’s trying to make me bring her back to the estate, arguing that the presence of the family, rather than just Hannah and I, would ensure my continued loyalty. At least that’s what he says. I think he has other motives. I don’t trust him at all, and I am absolutely convinced that she would not be safe even if she did return. His parting shot was that your friend Willi Richter was onside. So now you know why we are so worried – we have spoken about nothing else all day.’
Schultz noted that Günther had chosen his words carefully. He had told Gross that Renate was in Switzerland but not confirmed that this was indeed the case. However, this was not a question he wanted to ask, and in any case, it was not his affair.
‘So, Gross has implied that Willi is supporting him,’ Schultz said eventually, toying with a fork set in front of him. ‘But I have known Willi Richter for years. He might be a member of the Party but I suspect that’s more of a political gesture – it’s the times we live in. I also know he’s a decent man. I’m not sure that he would be complicit in this.’ His right hand moved to twirl the stem of his wine glass, as yet unfilled. ‘I haven’t seen him since the night he came over for dinner. Do you think it might help if I talked to him… find out what’s really going on? It might not be as bad as you think.’
The anguish seemed to drain from Hannah’s face. ‘Would you?’ she almost pleaded. ‘At least if we knew…’ she tailed off.
‘I cannot tell you how grateful we would be,’ Günther added. ‘If nothing else it would set our minds at rest – or at the very least we would know what we have to do,’ he finished without further explanation.
‘If I might use your ’phone tomorrow morning,’ Schultz replied immediately, ‘I’ll make sure he’ll be available then drive over and see him.’
‘No need to use your motorcycle in this weather,’ Günther offered. ‘Take my Mercedes, if you wish.’
‘Thank you,’ came the reply. ‘But I’ll take a Kübelwagen. We have several behind the workshop waiting to go back to the front. There’s every reason to take one for a road test, and I won’t need to explain myself to anyone here. Besides,’ he added, ‘might as well use the Wehrmacht’s petrol and not our own!’
Hartmann Schultz was as good as his word and left shortly before ten the next day. Lunchtime came and went and by late afternoon Günther and Hannah were beginning to become anxious. Finally, amidst a late afternoon shower, the Kübelwagen scrunched to a stop on the gravel at the top of the drive.
‘Sorry to have been so long,’ he apologised in the hall, ‘but Willi insisted on giving me lunch in the mess. Rather a long one, too, as it turned out. Had to drive very carefully on the way back, but I think I’ve sobered up by now.’
‘Come into the drawing room,’ said Hannah, taking his coat. ‘We must know how you got on, but we are almost afraid to hear the result.’
‘Actually, it went quite well,’ Schultz told them. ‘I started by telling Willi that I was concerned about the on-going efficiency of the workshop.’
‘And?’ queried Günther. Hannah placed a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Let the poor man speak,’ she urged him.
‘Well, when he asked why, I told him that you were worried about your long-term future here. Then I told him the reason why – Gross’ visit and all that. He obviously knew about it, because he didn’t ask any questions.’
‘So, there is nothing to be done…’ Hannah’s voice tailed off.
‘Not at all,’ Schultz countered. ‘I made out that it was for my future that I was most concerned, and that depends on the success of our workshop. I then told him that you and I,’ he nodded towards Günther, ‘were the only two qualified engineers on the estate. I didn’t mention Johann, and neither did he, but even though he knows at least as much as we do I would have claimed quite rightly that his experience was literally all at sea.’ He smiled at his own choice of words.
‘Anyway, I then told him that it wasn’t just a question of workload, although that alone needs two of us to supervise. I also pointed out that you were the only one with any experience of tracked vehicles, from your time on the land, and that because of your experience in the last war, you were the only one I could trust to repair or replace any weapon systems. As I said to him, we might try to keep our Polish mechanics alive, but we are not in the game of letting them test-fire a loaded machine gun.’
‘And so…?’ put in Günther. Again, his wife’s hand rested on his arm.
‘I think he rather took the point,’ said Schultz, trying but not quite managing to hide a small smile of satisfaction. ‘He said that whilst he was here he would do his level best to make sure that you and Hannah are safe. But he also said that – politically – it would be unwise of him to order Gross to drop the matter entirely. He was actually quite helpful, though rather I think because of our long friendship than for any other reason. His last point, however, was that he thought it would support your case if Renate could write from Switzerland and say where she was and that all is well. Any foreign mail to you is almost certain to be checked, but even if it isn’t, were you to have such a letter he feels that he could tell Gross to stop wasting his time and worry about more important matters. One last thing,’ he concluded. ‘You and Frau Raschdorf have been very good to me since I have been here. So, I want to make it quite clear whose side I am on. If there is anything further that you feel I can do, you only have to ask.’
Hannah took Hartmann Schultz’ hand in her own and squeezed it hard, her eyes glistening. Günther patted him in the shoulder in silent gratitude and moved to a decanter on a side table. ‘Hannah and I will have to talk this through,’ he said, handing Schultz a glass of brandy. ‘But thank you, from the bottom of our
hearts.’
The problem, they agreed once they were alone after dinner, was sending a letter purporting to come from Renate and from Switzerland. ‘My father could arrange it,’ said Hannah, ‘but how can we ask him without anyone being able to monitor a phone call or intercept correspondence that the Nazis would be bound to use as evidence against us?’
In the end, and with the Raschdorfs’ agreement, Hartmann Schultz broached the subject with Johann a couple of evenings later over a glass of beer. ‘I need to get a letter to Switzerland,’ he said simply, ‘but it’s very personal and it can’t go through the German post. I give you my word that in no way are the contents against Germany’s best interests. But you still have a lot of contacts with the shipping world. And it would be of huge service to me and particularly to the Raschdorfs. Any ideas?’
Johann had long held the view that Hitler and the Nazis were entirely mad, but these days he had learned to keep his opinions to himself. He guessed, albeit wrongly, that the letter probably had something to do with the dollars he knew the Raschdorfs had earned during the Derresford days. But he didn’t hesitate. ‘The Port Captain in Stettin is an old friend,’ he said, ‘and we both have good contacts with the shipping lines. Your letter can be posted from a French or Spanish port – might take a little while, but it should reach Switzerland safely, no problem.’
The older engineer was as good as his word. Six weeks later an envelope covered with Swiss stamps dropped through the letterbox. Günther tried to see whether it had been opened but it was impossible to tell. It was a short, newsy letter in what looked to be a feminine hand. They knew it wasn’t Renate’s writing, but neither was it that different, and in any case the authorities had no means of making a comparison. More to the point, it said all the right things.