‘We can’t take the painting in the dining room, but if we can find his cache, we could sell those. As long as he does not trace it to us we should be safe. He can’t exactly go to the police to report it.’ Lotte was excited as she spoke, seeing a way out of their financial difficulties.
Peter stood in silence. He looked pensive. When he eventually spoke, his words surprised all except the Professor.
‘Those paintings have almost certainly been stolen from Jews like my parents. They are family heirlooms and should be returned to their rightful owners.’
‘Peter my boy,’ the Professor said, placing his hands on the young man’s shoulders. ‘Of course you are right. However, the original owners may not even be alive. If they are, they can be reunited with their property when this war finishes. Until then is it better to use them to save many more lives or leave them to those who have stolen them in the first place? We must make use of them.’
Peter did not argue. He was no longer thinking of family heirlooms as reluctantly the idea that his parents may no longer be alive dominated his thoughts.
‘What will we do about money in the meantime?’ Franz said. ‘It could be months before we sell any paintings, if we ever find where they are?’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll survive for a few more weeks. If we are careful,’ Lotte replied, ‘In the meantime I will write to Aunt Berta. I am sure she will help.’ Lotte was suddenly much happier. She was thinking about those paintings.
Thankfully, within a week of sending her letter, Berta had responded and with a very generous cheque, written on her Swiss bank account. She had understood the hidden meaning when Lotte had written that the boys were ‘doing well if a little undernourished; that is only to be expected with the shortages. We struggle on regardless.’
The clandestine rescues could continue as normal for many months to come. In spite of the new wealth, Lotte did not forget the prospect of finding the hidden works of art.
* * *
As the summer months of 1943 passed, Peter and Franz continued to fish the lakes and trap game. Whenever possible they would pick fruit or mushrooms and gather chestnuts. They became so successful that some of the produce was bartered for other items they needed. They still had printing paper to make many more identity cards and they had since obtained a new supply of ink. Franz was particularly careful not to waste either paper or ink and scolded himself ferociously if he ever made a mistake. His skill was such that these occasions were few and far between. The chemicals for developing photographs were close to running out, though they hoped to barter for more.
‘Herr Riesen’ was much more comfortable in his new abode. He soon gained the admiration of the residents by remaining in the building, even during air raids. It was to protect their property from looters, he had claimed. It was actually to avoid close scrutiny of his children and himself in the confined space of an air raid shelter. The devotion to duty even prompted some of the residents to make gifts of extra food for the children and the occasional bottle of schnaps for him. One even wrote to the authorities praising this ‘fine patriotic Aryan, a great example of National Socialism’. His original worries as to his abilities in maintenance were unfounded as he quickly adapted to the new skills required. The children’s non-attendance at school he explained away by saying that they were being privately tutored at home. It was costing him a fortune, but it was worth it. This selfless sacrifice for his ‘darling children’ attracted yet more praise. The only danger now facing Herr Riesen was his popularity. Everyone loved him so much he was seldom left alone.
In the period since Wolfi’s injury the chance to rescue anyone had seldom presented itself. In the main their actions had consisted of providing forged papers to those who required them. Most fugitives were cautious and slow to trust anyone. It was sometimes the most they could do to submit to being photographed. None were permitted to leave without some sort of food parcel, some money and whatever clothing was available.
To reduce the chances of detection and arrest, Franz had located a new venue for their forgery and photography. It was ideal. It was in the basement of a nearby block. The majority of the building had been destroyed and outwardly it appeared that only a pile of rubble remained. It took a very close inspection for anyone to discover the entrance through the huge pile of concrete and bricks. It was so well disguised they had contemplated whether to use it as a hideout for some of those they were attempting to rescue. In the end, their forgery activities were so important to their plans they decided to keep it separate from their other work.
* * *
‘This is perfect Franz. Completely uninhabited with plenty to hunt. And no chateaus or peacocks to attract the tourists. Plus an old stone ruin that can easily be rebuilt. Best of all, it is so difficult to land a boat that very few will even try.’ Peter was pleased that their long search for a new camp was over.
They were standing on top of their newly discovered island paradise. It was a small island in the Havel, where the river widened to form a lake. It lay a short distance below the island of Schwanenwerder and was only to be reached by private boat. It was situated away from any of the ferry services that conveyed day trippers to the other islands of interest.
Apparently inaccessible, they had found the one approach to the island that allowed a small boat to land. As the water flowed swiftly down one side, on the other, it moved at a more sedate pace. On the southern tip of land where the two bodies of water met, a whirlpool was created. Provided a boat approached at the right angle to the swirling water, it was in fact possible to turn inwards to the shore and moor out of view in a small inlet of rock. Only by crossing the whirlpool and continuing on this one course was the inlet of rock visible from the water. On the other side of the small island the land fell sharply to the water and the banks were guarded by heavy foliage, that from the water appeared impenetrable. This foliage served to hide the activities of anyone living on the island from the outside world.
Where possible Peter and his friends would try and provide the ‘u-boats’ with new identities and hence the prospect of ration cards and accommodation. With the new papers and proper lodgings there was some chance of survival, although the daily search for food would continue.
Not everyone could be helped in this way. Some poor souls were so dejected and dispirited and physically weak, that they had no realistic hope of surviving in everyday Berlin society. Some like ‘Robin’, were convinced that their ‘Jewish’ appearance was such a giveaway, they would not risk using even the most genuine of papers and so were forced always to remain in hiding. For this category of u-boat, those permanently hidden from view, life was especially hard. Never being able to wander freely outside; always disappearing when the doorbell rang or the door was knocked; constantly whispering for fear neighbours might detect their voices; the never diminishing fear of discovery; the uncertainty as to whether and when it might end: all of these restrictions led to an overwhelming feeling of imprisonment and hence depression and despair. For all u-boats two matters constantly occupied their minds: when will I next eat and how long can I stay here?
‘At least we can stop worrying about anyone wandering off and getting caught,’ Franz commented.
‘Yes, I suppose that is an advantage. I just hope they don’t feel trapped here,’ Peter replied.
They were conscious that those living on the island might have the feeling of swapping one type of prison for another.
Whilst Peter and Franz were checking the new hideaway, Lotte was making an important phone call.
‘Of course it’s urgent. I wouldn’t ring otherwise. Tell him it’s his wife. I am not going to tell you what it is about. Now just put me through to my husband.’ Lotte was on the verge of losing her patience with the operator. Eric was in a meeting and not to be disturbed. She wondered what her name was, this ‘meeting’.
‘Yes! What do you want now?’ Eric balled down the telephone line, ‘More money no doubt?’
‘Sorry I bothered
to ring,’ she replied. She tried to sound concerned. ‘I just thought you might like to know about the visitor earlier. He was asking about that horrid painting in the dining room. You know? The hunting scene. Anyway goodbye.’
‘Wait darling Lotte. Wait!’ Eric pleaded, his manner suddenly altered. ‘Tell me about this visitor. Who was he?’
‘Oh I can’t remember his name. Actually there were two of them. They were both wearing those hideous black leather coats and hats, you know that the Gestapo like.’ Lotte was beginning to enjoy her husband’s discomfort.
‘Don’t speak to anyone. Anyone! You understand? I will be home tomorrow.’ Eric slammed down the phone. Lotte smiled. He had taken the bait. Peter’s idea had worked. So far.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘It can’t be, can it?’ Peter asked, uncertain of what he was looking at.
Peter and Franz stopped and stared. Wolfi strained on his lead, barking noisily. The Nazi seizure of power and the subsequent war had turned life upside down to such an extent that many bizarre sites seemed common place in Berlin. Even for these strange times, this was something unheard of. The two boys were in the Tiergarten, just off the Charlottenburger Chaussee. The area brought back happy memories as it was close to Aunt Berta’s house.
In the centre of the park was a large ornamental fountain. In the water surrounding the fountain was a giraffe drinking and splashing water. The water was obviously much colder than it was used to, as it coughed from time to time. It was November and very cold. A few metres away, and eyeing up the giraffe, was a lion. It appeared as if the lion was uncertain whether the giraffe had the physical advantage and so was unsure whether to strike.
Behind the lion was a keeper with a net and a long pole. On the end of the pole was a loop of rope, presumably to restrain the lion. Behind the keeper was a crowd of Berliners egging the unfortunate man closer and closer. He would creep a few steps towards the lion and then a few steps back, as the lion periodically turned towards him.
Some of the crowd were wondering what giraffe or lion might taste like as it was so long since proper meat had graced their tables. For most however, it was the best entertainment they had enjoyed for many long months. It was a welcome respite from the tribulations of everyday life, especially the terrifying bombing raids that had destroyed much of Berlin, including the zoo that very day.
Peter and Franz left the park smiling. Wolfi was still keen to herd the escaped animals. Like most of the crowd they were supporting the lion and the giraffe. Unfortunately they did not have time to dawdle any further for they were on their way to the new island camp. Currently it was occupied by just two people, a young married couple who had taken to their new surroundings very well. After life in a cramped cellar, the couple found life on the island much more bearable, especially as they had decided to treat it as the honeymoon they never had. Peter and Franz were making the weekly visit with supplies of everyday items they could not obtain, most importantly salt.
There was another purpose to their visit. They were going to live on the island for a few days. Peter relished the prospect. He enjoyed the comfortable surroundings of Lotte’s apartment and the companionship of his friends. There were times however when the simplicity of life in the outdoors appealed to him. Especially at this new camp where less caution was required. He particularly enjoyed spending the whole day with Wolfi.
The reason for their temporary exile was the impending return of Lotte’s husband, Eric. He now believed they were Lotte’s cousins, but it would arouse suspicion if they were once more on leave.
Lotte’s telephone call the previous day had the desired effect. In spite of his position in the Party and in government, even Lotte’s husband feared the consequences if his boss Göring were to discover he had been hoarding looted treasure for himself. Any rewards for subordinates were to be granted by Göring alone.
And so as Peter and Franz journeyed to the island hideaway, Lotte’s husband was pacing up and down inside the apartment. Ever since his arrival he had appeared nervous. He had barely greeted his wife and had sneaked out of bed in the night to whisper a phone conversation, to whom, Lotte knew not.
Eventually he stopped his pacing and putting on his overcoat and hat, then left the building with a large brown parcel under his arm. He said nothing to Lotte about where he was going, but she noticed that, unusually, he did not take the official car, preferring to walk. This was unheard of and aroused even greater suspicion in her mind. On the wall above the sideboard in the dining room, a white rectangular space, framed by dust, stared back at her where an oil painting had once hung.
As he left the building, the distracted Eric did not notice the elderly well-dressed man behind him. Both walked for about twenty minutes then descended to the platforms at Potsdamer Station. The Professor watched from a distance as Lotte’s husband purchased a ticket to Friedenau, a wealthy upper-middle class district. The Professor calmly bought his ticket for the train and soon, the two men were standing on the platform, apart by some fifteen metres. They entered separate compartments when the train pulled up, five minutes later.
At their destination the Professor allowed his quarry to leave the train first. On reaching street level, Lotte’s husband turned left and walked about two kilometres, stopping at a large apartment block set back from the street. Without turning around he climbed the steps and pressed a bell at the top of a row of four. The Professor watched as a very pretty young woman opened the door. She had long blonde hair and in appearance looked similar to Lotte. She was about twenty-five and very well-dressed. The impression that she might be the man’s niece was quickly dispelled by the apparently passionate kiss that she gave him.
When the pair had disappeared inside, the Professor mounted the steps and tried the door. It was locked. As he contemplated his next move he read the name from the doorbell: ‘Miss Elise Ritter’. He was about to take a chance and ring another of the doorbells, when a postwoman arrived at the top of the steps. She was tired and undernourished and fed up with feet that had blistered again. The soles of her shoes had long since worn through.
‘Anything for my granddaughter, Elise, Elise Ritter?’ the Professor said, before adding helpfully, ‘I can take it up to her if you wish.’
The weary postwoman was surprised, if pleased by the offer and readily handed over the small brown envelope. There were no other deliveries to the building that day.
By this means the Professor established not only the name of the young lady, but her precise address too. When the postwoman was out of view he slid the envelope under the front door, having first memorised the address.
Back on the pavement he remained at a safe distance from the front door and watched. Twenty minutes later he observed as Lotte’s husband stood on the doorstep and kissed the young Elise then made his way down the steps and back to the station. He no longer had the parcel under his arm.
The Professor did not follow him, instead stayed in position a little longer. Not knowing what to expect or hoped to discover, he decided that a further half an hour’s surveillance might be useful. In the event he did not have to wait half an hour until Elise came out the front door, a large canvas bag under her arm. He could just see the top of a brown paper parcel protruding from the bag.
He followed Elise to the station where she caught a train to Zoo Station. From the Zoo Station he watched from afar as she walked towards Kurfürstendamm, one of Berlin’s most prestigious shopping streets.
Passing the memorial church on the right, she hurried westwards along the Ku’damm until she stopped in front of a shop window. The Professor was stationed on the other side of the street. Even in wartime the Ku’damm was crowded and therefore no-one paid him any attention. Once the young woman had disappeared into the shop, he crossed the street. As he was stepping onto the opposite pavement he saw the sign in the door to the shop turn around to read ‘closed’ and heard a bolt pulled to one side. He leaned towards the shop window and peered inside. The shop was full
of mostly junk, and some genuinely valuable antiques. At the back there were a few oil paintings of reasonable quality.
Positioned to one side of the window the Professor appeared to be admiring a particularly fine, antique cuckoo clock. From his vantage point, however, he could just see the torsos of two people, Elise and a much older man. On the floor was the oil painting from Lotte’s dining room with the brown paper covering partly torn away. The hand of the man reached out towards the girl and the Professor was able to distinguish a large bundle of Reichsnotes, which were passed from one to the other. The Professor was slightly embarrassed as the girl pulled aside her overcoat and hitching up her skirt, deposited the notes in a pocket.
The Professor was on the verge of turning around when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
‘Interested in young ladies are we Grandpa?’ a stern voice said. The Professor spun around on the spot to see a policeman, thankfully from the criminal police not the secret police. The policeman was smiling to himself.
‘No. No!’ the Professor blustered. ‘I was admiring that clock. A cuckoo clock from Switzerland. There are only two things that Switzerland has to be proud of. The cuckoo clock and chocolate. They are cowards for not supporting us in the war.’
‘Okay! Okay Grandpa!’ the policeman replied, almost laughing. The vehemence of this funny old man’s denial had surprised him. But he was right about Switzerland.
‘On your way then. And don’t let me catch you admiring too many more cuckoo clocks.’ As he said this the policeman winked. The Professor did not wait and tipping his hat hurried away. He was a little red in the face.
* * *
At her apartment Lotte had removed the white vase in the window to show the Professor that it was safe to enter.
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