For the u-boats that were lucky enough to have shelter with other citizens the greatest difficulty was ensuring that young children, confined indoors for all the daylight hours, did not make a noise and give them away.
Lotte moved away from the radio set, wiping away a tear with her handkerchief. It was time to get back to the business in hand. She had that look in her eye that they had seen so frequently.‘The Professor and I have an idea,’ she said. ‘And if we are going back to Switzerland we should take these with us.’ She reached into a tall art deco porcelain vase and removed several rolled up canvasses.
‘So that’s where you hid them!’ said the Professor. They had decided that it was safer for all concerned if only Lotte knew their hiding place.
‘If my plan is to work we will need a lot of money.’ Lotte was pacing up and down, the priceless canvasses still in her hand.
* * *
‘All tickets, passes and travel permits please,’ the conductor shouted as he walked the length of the train. It was two weeks later. As he approached the two nurses and eight children he wondered why they were virtually alone in this compartment. The rest of the train was overflowing with many passengers forced to stand. The train was bound for Geneva. All the children wore warm hats and coats and their necks were wrapped tightly with scarves.
‘Tickets, passes and travel permits please,’ the conductor repeated his request, this time less forcefully.
A very pretty nurse, with bright blonde hair just protruding from her nurse’s cap, handed him ten passports, ten tickets and a letter. As she did so she appeared to wink towards the children. The conductor did not notice. On cue, two of the children coughed and spluttered. The other nurse stared steadfastly at the floor, avoiding his gaze.
The conductor’s face rapidly changed from officious to horrified. The letter bore the official stamp and heading of the Reich’s Security Office. It was countersigned by the Reich’s Minister for Transportation.
‘In the interest of the security of the Reich, the Minister has granted travel permits to the children named below. All are Swiss nationals and are presently resident at the Berlin Hospital for Infectious Diseases under the care of the world’s foremost expert, Professor Dr. Eitlinger. Their presence in the Reich is deemed too great a risk to the war effort and the well-being of the People. As such they are undesirables and are required to return to their homeland’, the letter declared.
The conductor read no more. He did not even check the passports and tickets, simply handing them back to the nurse.
‘I can’t dawdle here I have work to do,’ he blurted and, having made his excuses, he hurried out of the compartment.
Several uneventful hours passed until later that evening the train stopped near the border. It was not a scheduled stop, however, and the passengers grew anxious. The pretty nurse stood up and pulling down the window poked her head through the gap. She watched nervously as the conductor spoke with a Major in the SS, a Major Krieg. She could not hear precisely what was being said, although she did manage to decipher a few key words, including ‘infectious’ and ‘children’. The officer raised his hand dismissively to the conductor and walked towards the train. In spite of the warning from the conductor, Major Krieg boarded. Worse still he boarded closest to the two nurses and their wards. He made his way straight to the nurses’ compartment. The pretty nurse sat down in her seat and waited for the inevitable. The second nurse was less calm.
‘We have been betrayed,’ she said, standing up.
‘Sit down!’ the pretty nurse scolded, ‘And stay calm!’
‘Papers!’ Major Krieg made no pretence at courtesy. In the long years of the war he had witnessed a lot of suffering. A few sick children would not deter him from his work.
The pretty nurse passed all the necessary paperwork to Major Krieg. He carefully read the letter from the Ministry, tutting now and then. Next he examined the passports carefully one at a time. Meanwhile the other nurse subdued her panic, but was barely able to breathe. Although worried the pretty nurse forced herself to look the soldier in the eye, feigning a friendly smile all the while. Avoiding eye contact would only increase suspicion.
‘You are German?’ Major Krieg seemed surprised.
‘Yes,’ came the pretty nurse’s single word reply. Her voice was faint as her nerves began to get the better of her.
‘My men are bravely fighting the enemy. They are dying daily or worse they are badly wounded. We are short of everything, even ammunition. And you waste valuable resources taking children who are going to die anyway out of the country. Swiss children! Not even good Germans!’
She could not think of a suitable response and so the pretty nurse said nothing. Until now the Professor’s brilliant idea had worked wonderfully. He had noticed on the underground train how everyone moved compartment when an extremely ill-looking man had begun coughing. Major Krieg was battle hardened and entirely unsympathetic and the ploy had not worked on him. The pretty nurse, wondered whether he was going to throw them off the train there and then. Or worse.
Major Krieg moved towards her. She flinched, fearing he was about to slap her. His hand was raised. He did not strike. Instead, stepping towards her, he tossed the papers at her angrily.
‘Clump!’ Major Krieg’s worn leather boot caught the large suitcase resting at her feet. To her horror he paused a moment, stooped and bent down to examine it. She gulped as he asked, ‘What’s in here? Open it up. The penalty for smuggling is very severe.’
Lotte, the pretty nurse, leaned forward as slowly as she dared. For once her looks and charm had not succeeded in distracting the enemy. If he felt in the lining of the case he would surely find the precious paintings. Much more frightening, he might arrest her and her travelling companions. It would not take long for the truth to come out.
‘Why oh why did I bring the paintings with me?’ she reproached herself. In reality she was being very harsh in her self-condemnation. There had been little choice. The antiques shop owner, purchaser of the other paintings, had left the city, fleeing the oncoming allies. To sell to anyone else in Berlin was too dangerous. The only safe market was in Switzerland.
Lotte was struggling with the straps on the case. Her tense fingers had lost their usual dexterity and she was fumbling.
‘Give it here you imbecile! I will do it!’ Major Krieg screamed. He grabbed at the handle of the case and tried to wrench it from her. She was unusually panic-stricken. She did not care less about the paintings. They were simply a means to an end. She cared greatly, however, for the young children she was smuggling.
‘Herr Major! Herr Major!’ a voice shouted from the other end of the compartment. Major Krieg swivelled on the spot, still holding the case.
‘Thank goodness,’ Lotte sighed. It was a moment’s distraction, a welcome distraction nonetheless. Or so she thought until she spotted the cause.
The SS officer, a very young lieutenant, only a boy, came rushing along the train, still shouting, ‘Herr Major! Herr Major!’ On reaching Major Krieg the young boy clicked his heels together and, offering the Nazi salute, stole a glance at the pretty nurse, all the while facing his commanding officer. Lotte looked away, distractedly studying the floor.
‘Don’t look this way! Please don’t look!’ she prayed.
Major Krieg did not salute in response to the boy lieutenant, instead asking in a clearly irritated voice: ‘What now? Can I not have a moment’s peace?’
Out of breath and somewhat concerned the boy soldier leaned forward and whispered something in Major Krieg’s ear. Suddenly and without warning, Major Krieg dropped the case on the floor, pirouetted abruptly on the spot, then dashed back along the corridor. The boy lieutenant still breathless, turned to follow. He took a last look at Lotte, his gaze remaining on her for longer than was comfortable. She did not lift her eyes from the floor.
With one final glance, the boy lieutenant clicked his heels in salute and hurried along the corridor before jumping onto the platform. At
last Lotte could relax a little as Major Krieg and his trusted and eager young Lieutenant Kurt drove away at speed in a staff car.
Lotte did not hear what had been said between the two men. She did not care. Once more Kurt had played a role in events, except this time he had unknowingly helped to save several Jewish children. The thought made her want to laugh out loud. She resisted. Thankfully the little contact she had with Kurt was not enough for him to recognise her, helped by her basic disguise. She had recognised him at once. He had gained his wish and was part of the ‘struggle’. In spite of everything Lotte hoped he might survive the war, if only for Berta’s sake.
‘Come on! Come on!’ Lotte implored. In spite of Kurt’s disappearance the tension was unbearable. The Major had gone, but he might delegate someone else to check the contents of her trunk. Finally, after a few agonisingly slow minutes, the train wheels creaked into motion, and with the engine belching out smoke, the locomotive pulled slowly away. Lotte was so grateful. The children were almost safe, as was the mother of one of them, the other nurse. The paintings had not been discovered and she would soon see Hannah again. Surely nothing else could hinder their journey.
* * *
Meanwhile Peter was in Berlin in the park near Lotte’s apartment. He studied the man carefully. His face seemed familiar. He could not quite place him. He was certain however that he was a friend of his father’s. More importantly he was a Jew and therefore must be in hiding.
Peter was in the Tiergarten with Wolfi. He was in his naval uniform. Since he had first acquired it he had grown again and it was a little tight. That was not uncommon in Berlin as many boy soldiers were forced into the service of the Reich and even material for uniforms was scarce. Unwanted questioning was a gamble he had to take. Wolfi needed his daily exercise.
Peter was toying with the idea of approaching the Jewish man when he halted in his tracks. Gestapo agents! How could he have missed them? Two were reading or pretending to read their newspapers and one was sitting on a bench eating a bread roll. It was plain they were Gestapo men from the usual uniform of black leather. They were just ten or so metres away from the Jewish man who was walking through the park away from Peter.
‘He’s going to be caught,’ Peter said to Wolfi under his breath. Wolfi looked back at his master, stick in his mouth. Peter began to follow in the direction of the Jewish man. He was desperately trying to think what to do when he came to a dead stop.
‘Did I just imagine that?’ he whispered to Wolfi. The Jewish man had looked right at the two Gestapo officers, pretending to read their newspapers. Rather than turn away from them he appeared to nod his head in their direction. As if to confirm it, the Jewish man nodded very quickly once more. The Gestapo men lowered their newspapers and one quite clearly tipped his head forward in response.
All of this occurred in seconds and Peter was still undecided how to react. He could not be their target. His own father would scarcely recognise him now. In particular he was healthier looking and better nourished than most fugitives. He was on the point of running away when he saw the real quarry.
He was sitting on a bench marked ‘Aryans only’. His appearance looked quite smart, apart from his shoes. ‘Always the shoes,’ Peter winced. Understandably the little money they had was spent on food to survive rather than expensive shoe repairs.
Peter was closer to the target than either the Gestapo or the Jew catcher, for that was his occupation. To save himself the Jew catcher helped the Gestapo locate and arrest Jews by befriending them. He would pretend to be living underground as well and the fellow Jew would thus happily confide in him, before being betrayed.
‘Not this time,’ Peter said to himself. He called Wolfi to him and took the stick from the dog’s mouth. He leaned over and stroked the dog, all the time saying very loudly, ‘Good dog. Good dog.’ As quietly as possible he ordered Wolfi to take the stick to the Gestapo’s target. Wolfi obeyed perfectly and ran towards the man on the bench.
‘Wolfi come back. Leave the man alone,’ Peter shouted after him. Without the customary whistle from his master, the words ‘come back’ meant nothing to Wolfi who continued on his way.
Wolfi was a large dog, black and sometimes ferocious looking. Even other dog lovers sometimes found him intimidating. The appearance of a dog rushing towards him was enough to grab the man’s attention and he looked up, not just scared, terrified.
By now Peter was near the bench. With his back to the Jew catcher and the Gestapo, Peter mouthed the words, ‘Jew catcher and Gestapo behind me! Get out of here!’
The man’s look of surprise was mixed with his genuine fear of Wolfi. He hesitated on the bench. ‘If you don’t leave now you will be arrested,’ Peter mouthed again, this time a little louder. He was becoming very anxious. Perhaps he had made a mistake?
The man leapt from the bench and started to run from the park. Two of the Gestapo men gave chase. The Gestapo agents were obviously fitter and healthier for they had regular nourishment and regular sleep. Unfortunately for the Gestapo they could not outrun Wolfi who particularly liked this game, especially when he could run in front of the pursuers. The man may have been weakened by hunger, but he ran for his life. Every time an agent seemed within grabbing distance, Wolfi somehow weaved between their legs.
‘No! No! Don’t shoot!’ Peter shouted, ‘You will hit my dog.’ One of the agents, the fattest of the three, had given up the chase. In his hand he held a revolver, his arm outstretched and one eye closed to aim at the fugitive u-boat.
‘Phew!’ Peter said, rather too loudly. With two agents blocking his view the fat Gestapo man could not fire. Hitting a civilian was one thing, hitting another agent was a disaster.
‘Besides the paperwork would be too tiresome,’ he consoled himself. As the revolver was slowly lowered, Peter was just able to see the target jump onto a passing tram as the other two Gestapo agents struggled to reach him. The agents waved their arms frantically at the driver as the tram moved on defiantly. Not even the Nazis could delay German public transport.
‘That was close boy.’ Peter patted Wolfi on the head, all the time aware of a person behind him.
‘What did you say to that Jew? You warned him didn’t you?’ the person demanded. Peter ignored the question. He was aware of the shadow of someone standing over him. ‘And why were you so happy he got away?’ the voice continued. ‘Answer me when I speak to you! Papers! Papers now!’
Once more Peter ignored the demand. Instead he stood up and feigned surprise when he turned to face the person. It was the third Gestapo agent.
‘Papers now!’ the agent screamed. He was now so close to his face, Peter could smell his tobacco breath. ‘And why aren’t you on board ship at the people’s hour of need?’
Peter calmly handed over his papers. Included was an official document from the war ministry. ‘Sorry. I can’t hear very well,’ Peter indicated apologetically, tapping his ear at the same time. ‘Thank you for not shooting my dog.’
The Gestapo agent calmed slightly as he read the official confirmation. Peter had been injured by an explosion. As a result he was virtually deaf and unfit for war service. This was now so common even amongst the civilian population that the agent did not doubt the truth of it. The agent folded the letter from the Ministry and handed it back to Peter along with his identity card.
‘Okay you can go. Be careful who you speak to in future.’
Peter did not wait around. Both he and the target were lucky that day. In the subsequent days, instead of avoiding the park Peter deliberately went back to the same place, hoping to see the escapee. He did not see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Making his way along a badly damaged and potholed street, an elderly, but well-groomed man was wending a path through the ruins. So many craters had opened up that the Professor found it faster to walk than cycle. Under his arm he held a small, tightly wrapped, brown parcel. It was not much, though the few provisions he had managed to purchase were substantially
more than most Berliners could ever hope to buy.
* * *
As the Professor negotiated the rubble and the potholes, elsewhere in the city a haggard and battle-worn grey man was handing out medals to boy soldiers, their uniforms coated in dust. The boys were frightened and the man disconsolate. On his fifty-third birthday the great warmonger and murderer, Adolf Hitler was decorating the last line of defence outside his bunker. It was his penultimate official act before marrying his long term mistress, Eva Braun and then committing suicide.
Berlin was on its knees. The population were at their wits’ end. Suicides amongst the population were commonplace as many feared the reprisals of the Soviet forces as they marched on the capital. Marshall Zhukov’s forces outnumbered the Germans by fifteen to one. The bombardment of the city was incessant, with scarcely a single building untouched. Most streets were impassable. Boys as young as fourteen and fifteen were conscripted to serve alongside the pensioners forced to defend the city. Some were simply too small or too weak to lift the heavy anti-tank guns. Most wore uniforms twice their size that would not save them from the advancing hordes. On the Kurfürstendamm the SS hanged anyone brave enough to fly the white flag on the outside of their home. Throughout the city, special SS units executed deserters and anyone else with the courage to defy the Führer’s last wish: Berlin would fight until the end. Food was scarce, morale was low and fear pervaded every part of the city.
Just a few days later, in Luisenstrasse, Lotte and her friends were celebrating. It seemed an odd celebration as they were officially going to be on the losing side, but for them the war was virtually over. The Soviet Forces were bombarding the city constantly and it was only a matter of days until the end must surely come. Apart from the news of Hitler’s death rumours had spread that the Nazi leadership were negotiating an armistice. For all that, the streets of Berlin were as dangerous as ever. For Franz and Peter in particular, as many Russians sought revenge for the atrocities committed by the Nazis in their homeland and these two young men were of military age. Lotte, like many German women, was all too aware of the particular danger that she faced from the invading troops.
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