by Peter Haden
They breakfasted well enough on ham and eggs, with yesterday’s slightly stale bread toasted on a long forked twig in front of the range. Jan and Tadzio each took a Schmeisser and gathered wood, some fallen, the rest freshly cut, although they were careful not to stray too far from the cottage. Hedda prepared a substantial meat broth for later in the day, but always with a Walther not too far from her elbow. They all heard the sound of hooves on the single track leading to the cottage when, towards midday, Günther cantered Alger, then slowed to a walk for the last few yards. He unslung a large shoulder bag and set it on the kitchen table.
‘Decided to ride,’ he announced. ‘That way I can set off in any direction and then loop round. Also, I can’t be followed, unless someone else has a good horse tacked up, ready and waiting. Brought a few more supplies,’ he went on. ‘We can have a beer whilst we talk things over, then perhaps lunch.’
‘Do we have Frau Raschdorf to thank for this,’ asked Jan cautiously, ‘or have you had to take Frau Brantis into your confidence?’
‘Hannah just asked her to make a picnic lunch for four,’ Günther explained, ‘but there’s no way my wife could take these provisions from the larder without cook knowing about it. As Hannah was putting things into the bag, Frau Brantis said that it wasn’t her place to ask questions, but if they were for whom she thought they just might be, then “if that young man leaves without saying hello and goodbye,” quote-unquote, she would be both sad and disappointed.
‘Right,’ he went on, ‘last night Johann had supper at the house after Frau Brantis had gone home. We trust her completely, but for the moment the less that she knows the better, if only for her own safety. Hannah was there, too, of course. I told Johann that I had another problem, and he offered to help even before he knew what it was.’
‘And what did he say, when he did, I mean?’ asked Jan.
‘The bottom line is this,’ Günther replied. ‘Jan, you have German papers that would almost certainly be accepted. So you might be allowed to take ship legally for Sweden, especially if you had a good excuse – maybe buying essential agricultural machinery or machine parts for the estate, for instance. Hedda, we know, is already documented as having a Jewish mother,’ he refused to use the abhorrent Mischling word. ‘So for you,’ he looked at her sadly, ‘probably not possible. They wouldn’t give you permission. Tadzio,’ he turned to the young Pole, ‘you have only Polish papers, so no chance.’
‘We can’t go back, we must stay together,’ Jan stated quietly, placing his palms flat on the table.
‘Understood, that’s what we thought,’ Günther reassured him. ‘So, Johann is going to Stettin tomorrow. With all his contacts, he won’t have any problem getting into the port and talking to a few of his old friends in the shipping business. He said there are two avenues he wants to explore. The first is that you stow away with the help of a friendly captain on a Swedish flagged vessel. The second is that you either buy or steal a small vessel, maybe something like a fishing boat or perhaps a private launch, but one that could still make the crossing to neutral Sweden.’
‘Aren’t there German patrol boats or something?’ asked Tadzio, who until now had remained silent.
‘There are,’ Günther confirmed, ‘but that’s also something he will look at whilst he’s away. Johann will leave for Stettin first thing in the morning – he’s going to take a Kübelwagen and we have any number of good reasons why he should want to visit the port in support of the war effort. He’ll have all the right paperwork and stamps for the vehicle and journey issued from the workshop – quite genuine, by the way. He plans to return as soon as he can, but will probably need to be there for at least a couple of days.
‘All right,’ said Günther, ‘that’s probably about as far as we can go for the moment. Today’s Wednesday. Hartmann Schultz is taking some leave this weekend, so he’ll be away from Friday lunchtime till some time on Monday. With Johann possibly away as well, I might have to supervise the workshop, but it pretty much runs itself these days. We have some damned good Polish engineers. Would you like to come to the house for Sunday lunch?’ he looked round at the three of them. ‘And how about Frau Brantis,’ he turned to Jan, ‘she could be there or not, whatever you think best?’
She had mothered him for almost three years. Jan knew, absolutely, in his heart of hearts, that she would never betray him. ‘I would love to see her,’ he said quietly. ‘Renate would never forgive me if I didn’t.’ Without consulting the others, he went on quietly, ‘When we were driving to safety, your daughter opened a picnic hamper. Almost the first thing I found,’ he said sadly, still touched by the reflection, ‘was a bottle of Pilsner beer. She had put a label on it – “for Jan, from Frau Brantis”. If you think it’s all right, I would dearly love to see her. God knows when I’ll see my own mother again, but for the last few years Frau Brantis has come a pretty close second.’
Next morning, in the kitchen, Hannah Raschdorf did not beat about the bush. ‘I would be grateful for a change from our usual arrangements this Sunday,’ she said to Frau Brantis. ‘We will have three guests so including yourself we’ll be six at the table. No,’ she said firmly, holding up a palm as Frau Brantis wiped her hands on an apron, clearly disturbed by the suggestion that she should eat with the family. ‘Times are changing, and on this occasion, we will cook the meal together and I shall help you bring it into the dining room, where we will set everything on the sideboard. Then we will all help ourselves and you will join us. It will be something of a celebration, as well as a reunion. I don’t have to tell you that all this has to be a matter of the utmost secrecy – you can’t discuss it with anyone or we shall all be in the greatest danger.’
‘Who are the guests?’ asked Frau Brantis nervously.
‘Can’t say the names,’ said Hannah mysteriously, beginning to enjoy the pleasure that the possibility might be offering her longest serving and most loyal member of staff. ‘But I’ll give you a clue. One guest you know very well, two you have yet to meet. But the one you do know won’t be satisfied unless together we can make him an enormous, absolutely splendid Schweinshaxe. In fact, we shall need several!’
Frau Brantis’ eyes began to well up. Hannah touched her gently on the arm. ‘I’ll leave you to think about what best might go with them,’ she said, then turned tactfully to leave the kitchen.
It was a full minute before Frau Brantis could dry the last tears on her apron.
Chapter 22
Saturday evening and Martha Brantis sat at the kitchen table, glass of wine to hand. Gudrun had served dinner and gone home – she would not be on duty again till Monday morning. In truth Martha, too, should have left by now. But Frau Raschdorf had always said that if she would like a drink, she should help herself. Martha rarely did, but this evening her thoughts were in turmoil.
She was, in her own mind, simply a cook in an upper-class household and the employee of a kindly family. Her parents, long since dead, had been farm workers. She still lived in the family cottage on the estate and had every confidence that she would see out her life rent-free in that accommodation on her modest savings. Perhaps her employers would even grant her a small pension. Martha felt that she had done well – at first just a scullery maid, she had advanced through a mixture of observation, application, hard work and a talent for making tasty dishes. Her proudest moment had been when Frau Inge asked her to take over as head cook for the estate. She pulled a handkerchief from beneath the wrist strap of an inexpensive watch and – not for the first time that evening – dabbed at her eyes.
She understood why Frau Hannah had been reluctant to speak his name, but equally she knew that she would see Jan again on the morrow. With no family of her own, just a cat in her cottage, she loved that boy. He had left his own country, assimilated into Germany, mastered the language, and – according to Johann, with whom she sometimes enjoyed an occasional drink – also become an accomplished engineer. What’s m
ore, she had seen him drive off with young Miss Renate and from the reaction of her parents there was little doubt that her darling girl of the estate had been taken to safety. Martha feared for her employers because she was acutely aware that Frau Hannah came from a wealthy but Jewish family. And ironically, although she was of purely ethnic German heritage, Martha was totally unaware that her own Christian name had a Hebraic origin.
Her thoughts turned to tomorrow’s Sunday lunch. She would serve Schweinshaxen, perhaps some red onion and cabbage, with a little cranberry sauce. And roasted potatoes and parsnips, both cooked in fat from her dripping pot, the latter drizzled for the last half-hour in honey from the farm’s hives. She would need another green vegetable, too, but sprouts from the kitchen garden were still in season. They were always better after the winter frost. Much as she loved and admired Frau Hannah, she wasn’t sure how tomorrow would work out with two of them in the kitchen. Eventually she set down her glass in the sink. Tired now, she would rinse it in the morning. Martha hung her pinafore on the hook next to the kitchen door, pulled on her overcoat and set off into the night.
In the drawing room, Hannah paused from her embroidery. ‘That sounded like Frau Brantis,’ she said casually to her husband. ‘I’ll go and make sure we are locked up.’ These days, they did many things that formerly would have been left to the staff.
Günther, already a bit drowsy after a splendid supper and a bottle of red wine, eased himself from an armchair for a last glass of Armagnac. He was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door. It was Johann. ‘I left the Kübelwagen down by the workshop,’ he explained, ‘but if it’s not too late I can tell you how I got on.’ Günther, suddenly wide awake, almost pulled him into the hall, then beckoned for him to follow into the drawing room where he poured his fellow engineer an equally generous glass.
Martha need not have worried. Frau Hannah insisted that she would not be in charge, but rather she would help prepare things and otherwise do anything else to assist. To Martha’s absolute delight, just after midday the kitchen door opened and in walked Jan, followed by two strangers. She was not even put off by the sub-machine guns they off-shouldered and clattered down on the end of the kitchen table. Martha grabbed hold of Jan and gave him an enormous hug. Then just as Günther had done, she stepped back and looked at him. ‘Mein Gott,’ she said approvingly, ‘but you are now truly a man!’
‘This is my brother Tadzio,’ said Jan, more than a little embarrassed, ‘and this is Hedda.’
‘You should have come to the front door,’ said Martha, shushing them towards the hall with her hands. ‘I have to finish here, but the master has been so kind as to say that we will all enjoy the meal together. You must go through and say “hello” to Herr Günther and Frau Raschdorf.’
Once introduced to Tadzio and Hedda, Hannah Raschdorf excused herself to go and help Frau Brantis. Together, they set out a huge platter of meat on the sideboard together with heaped dishes of vegetables and a tureen of gravy. Unusually, for he normally liked to serve the meat, Günther waved at the utensils and invited his guests to help themselves. Suspecting that her husband was somewhat overtaken with worry, Hannah stepped up and transferred the Schweinshaxen onto plates for her guests.
Gradually, over rich food and a few glasses of wine, they relaxed. ‘Johann came back late last night,’ said Günther suddenly. Conversation came to an abrupt halt round the table.
‘Should we be talking to him?’ asked Jan cautiously.
‘Let’s finish our meal,’ suggested Günther. ‘Then I’ll fill you in on what he said. But right now, he’s in his office in the workshop, watching the road. We agreed that there is a risk in having us all here together, so if anyone approaches he will ring me and you will have time to melt away before anyone can reach the house.’
This seemed to cast a shadow over the lunch party, so after a quick slice of Apfelkuchen it was not long before dishes were cleared and they settled to coffee and, for the gentlemen, a glass of brandy. Hannah and Frau Brantis left the others at the table and took their coffee into the drawing room. Hannah closed both doors behind them.
‘Johann had no difficulty getting into the port,’ Günther began. ‘There was an armed soldier on the main gate, but the civilian watchman recognised our man from the old days. The bottom line is that this is not an entry you can use,’ he waved a hand to indicate the three of them. ‘However, whilst I don’t want to compromise Johann’s sources, if you can get into the port itself there are a number of Swedish flagged ships that will leave you an entry ladder down the seaward side, where you are unlikely to be seen from the dock. In fact,’ he went on, ‘you won’t be the first to leave in this way, and I suspect you wouldn’t be the last.’
‘But first, we have to get into the harbour itself,’ observed Jan quietly.
‘Ja,’ Günther replied. ‘But there is another complication. Apparently, the authorities know that people are leaving the country illegally. So now they search some of the outbound merchantmen. Not all, so it’s a matter of luck. But to cover themselves the captains have to insist that any “passengers” hide as stowaways. Maybe in a lifeboat or something like that. It’s the only way they can deny all knowledge, otherwise they, too, risk arrest and even having their ship impounded. Jan’s contact at the port also added that none of the “stowaways” that have been discovered have ever been seen again.’
He paused to let this sink in. ‘So as things stand,’ Hedda said gently, ‘we have a chance of making it to Sweden, but perhaps an equal chance that we might not. And you don’t need me to tell you, Herr Raschdorf, what they would do to Jan and Tadzio, not to mention a Polish-German Jewess, caught in a German port trying to take ship illegally for Sweden.’
‘Johann and I are only too aware of what could happen,’ Günther said quietly. ‘Which is one of the reasons why he is helping me. But he also mentioned that there might be another way. First, we have to get you into the port. Johann finished at the docks on Thursday evening. That night he slept in a local tavern where he has often stayed before, then on Friday spent most of the day driving upstream alongside the river Oder, away from where it flows into the port. As you leave the city, there are any number of substantial riverside residences, and many of them have a boat-house set into the river bank. Johann reckons that there are a number of possibilities.’ Günther ticked them off on his thumb and two fingers. ‘One might be that you steal a small vessel – quite honestly a rowing boat would do. In the meantime, we make arrangements for a Swedish vessel to put a boarding ladder along the seaward side, away from the dock. Then with the help of the captain you stow away.’
‘Which gives us a chance of escape,’ observed Jan, ‘but only a chance – no guarantee of success.’
‘Second,’ Günther continued, ignoring Jan for the moment, ‘you try to find something in one of the larger boat sheds that would take you to Sweden, or at least to the off-lying island of Őland. But you would need a big-ish motor cruiser with enough range – we are talking something like two hundred kilometres here. We might be lucky, but there’s no guarantee of finding the right craft. Also, the Germans patrol the harbour with launches and in their coastal waters they have converted fishing boats armed with cannon and machine guns. You would have the advantage of speed if intercepted, but a luxury peacetime power boat would stick out like a sore thumb. If seen, it would bound to be challenged and assuming you don’t stop they would certainly open fire. Perhaps you could take evasive action, but there is still quite an element of risk.’
They waited, sensing that there was more to come. Günther paused to sip his brandy. ‘What Johann suggests,’ he said eventually, ‘is that you find something small and inconspicuous that has a good chance of floating down river, into the harbour, and alongside a fishing boat without being seen. After he had spoken with the port captain Johann strolled round the harbour on his own – for old times’ sake, he told him. There were a number of fish
ing boats obviously still going out into coastal waters under the supervision of the Kriegsmarine.
‘But there were also quite a few,’ Günther went on, ‘that appeared to be laid up – in mothballs, if you like, probably because their crews have been drafted into the Navy proper and there aren’t enough men left behind to man them. Johann noted several that looked to be seaworthy. He thinks the best chance might be to take one of these, go to sea one night with the rest of the fleet, then try to sneak away for Sweden. With luck and perhaps a bit of foul weather, he thinks that overall this idea could have the best chance of success. But that said, at this stage he doesn’t want to rule out any of the options. His advice to me was that we need to do some further reconnaissance before coming to a decision.’
‘Who would do that,’ asked Jan, ‘and when? After all, grateful as we are, there is a risk in hiding here.’
‘Agreed,’ Günther affirmed. ‘Johann wants to stay here tomorrow, then take a couple of days off and spend Tuesday and Wednesday looking round the river and harbour area – mostly during the hours of darkness. He would like you to go with him,’ he added, looking at Jan. ‘Johann has all the papers to take a military vehicle like last time, and you can use your Ausweis.’ Jan did not see the need to let on that he now had a German passport that would pass muster – he would tell Johann about it once they had set off. ‘Johann can always explain that you are working for the Wehrmacht,’ Günther concluded, ‘so even if you are stopped, there shouldn’t be a problem.’
There was little point in prolonging the afternoon. Frau Brantis bustled off to prepare another basket of provisions, including the remains of the apple cake because she knew it was one of Jan’s favourites. ‘Just in case it’s not safe to say goodbye later,’ she said after the three of them had shouldered their weapons, ‘I’ll give you a big hug now. But be careful and try to stay in touch – if only when this ghastly war is over.’