War Girl Ursula

by Marion Kummerow

  Margit and Hilde were particularly close to where she was standing. “So why are you here?” the newcomer asked her cellmate.

  Ursula perked up her ears. The official file said that Hilde Quedlin had been found guilty of high treason. But what exactly she’d done, the papers didn’t say.

  “I used to typewrite papers for my husband, and one day he asked me to type some technical material in a very peculiar fashion,” Hilde answered.

  “Peculiar fashion – what do you mean by that?” Margit asked.

  “Well, putting several sheets of paper on top of each other, including carbon paper to make a copy. I didn’t think anything of it at that time, except that it was peculiar.”

  “And then?”

  Ursula moved a few steps, feigning disinterest, but staying close enough to eavesdrop.

  “Those papers were technical blueprints from his work – radio transmission devices for the Wehrmacht – and he gave them to our enemies. I had already forgotten about it, but then he got arrested, and I as well.” Hilde sighed, a depressed expression sinking over her face and her whole countenance. “The Gestapo thought I was involved.”

  Ursula couldn’t help but press a hand over her mouth. There were so many rumors about what happened in Gestapo headquarters, and she didn’t dare to imagine that some of those things had happened to the petite, friendly woman standing in front of her.

  “You received a death sentence for typing something?” Margit’s brown eyes glared, she stomped her foot and shouted, “That’s so unjust!”

  Ursula closed the distance to the two women, instinctively grabbing her baton in her right hand, and called her to order, “Prisoner Staufer. No shouting and stomping.”

  Margit looked at her like a frightened rabbit and nodded with wide eyes, while Hilde put a hand on her arm and addressed Ursula in a calm voice, “Sorry, Frau Hermann. It won’t happen again.”

  Ursula nodded and removed her hand from the baton tied to her waist.

  “Take better care, or I will have to report you to the director.” Ursula felt the queasiness rising in her stomach. Margit Staufer’s anger was understandable. She had wanted to shout out too upon hearing Hilde Quedlin’s words. But rules were rules and had to be obeyed.

  If people started to question the wisdom of the Government to do the right things, anarchy would soon reign in this country. And how would that be any worse than it is now? a pesky voice in her head asked. Aren’t people supposed to do the right thing for their country, even if it was the wrong thing according to Hitler?

  Ursula cast her eyes to the ground, shocked to the core by her own blasphemous thoughts. She was grateful for the sound of the bell announcing the end of leisure time. Questioning the rules was the beginning of the end. Or was it?

  Days turned into weeks, and with every personal story Ursula came to know, her faith in the infallibility of the Führer and the Party was hacked away blow by blow. Even though she repeatedly reassured herself that the Government knew best, she had to acknowledge that most of the prisoners in Plötzensee didn’t deserve to die. They weren’t murderers or robbers; they had spoken out of line, handed out anti-Nazi leaflets, or hidden Jews from persecution.

  Hannelore, a sixteen-year-old girl the same age as Lotte, arrived at the prison for hiding her Jewish stepbrother. Ultimately, the police had found him and dragged him away at the same time as arresting her for subversive acts against the government.

  Tears prickled in Ursula’s eyes as she saw the hopeless child riddled with fear and guilt. She smiled at Hannelore and – against all rules – spoke a few sentences of encouragement to her. The smile she received in response was like a cherished gift. From then on, Ursula found small ways to help the condemned prisoners. Smuggling secret messages out of prison. Letting them smuggle money inside. Extending visiting hours for a few precious minutes. Or with just a few words of encouragement.

  With every little deed, Ursula’s step became brisker and her smile broader. It was pure joy to see how much these women appreciated her tiny gestures of kindness.

  On a particularly quiet day at the prison, Ursula entered the small concrete rooms with rickety metal bunks, the one that housed Hilde and Margit to deliver a package that Margit’s parents had sent her.

  Hilde Quedlin looked particularly sad this day, and Ursula couldn’t resist telling her highly classified information she’d received from her superior the day before. “It’s not official yet, but it seems women aren’t executed anymore.”

  The prisoner’s face lit up like a chandelier. “That’s good news, isn’t it? After all, I might get to raise my children…”

  Ursula could tell that the poor woman was holding back her tears, and she backed out of the cell without a further word to give her some privacy. But as she was about to close the door, a soft voice said, “Wait.”

  Ursula glanced back. “Yes?”

  “You know, Frau Hermann, I really appreciate your kindness. We all do,” Hilde said, and Margit nodded in agreement.

  “It’s nothing, really.” Ursula shook her head as a small sense of pride and achievement spread through her chest.

  “It is. In here, even a single word of encouragement means the world. You’re an angel sent from heaven to help us through these difficult times.”

  “Our Blonde Angel,” Margit said with the irreverence of youth, but Ursula chose not to chide her and left without a further word. Deep inside her heart, she was proud of her new nickname.

  That day she came home in the morning after a tiring night shift to find her sister Anna getting ready for work. For the past days, they’d communicated via notes left on the kitchen table because they usually missed each other by an hour or two.

  “Morning, Anna,” Ursula said and tossed her handbag on the kitchen table.

  Anna cocked her head and grinned. “What’s going on with you? Shouldn’t you be less…energetic?”

  Ursula poured herself some herb tea and sat at the table to tell her sister about her newfound mission. “You know, it’s such a good feeling to bring comfort, even in such a small way. I believe I have found a purpose in my work: to care for these women when the rest of the world has stopped caring.”

  “Oh...oh…” Anna teased. “This is my older sister. Always watching over someone.”

  Ursula scowled at her.

  “But I’m proud of you. If we all fight for a bit of humanity amidst the darkness of this crazy war, then not all is lost.” Anna embraced her sister and then said, “Sorry, sis, but I have to run, or I’ll be late for work.”

  Chapter 5

  By the end of May, Berlin was in full bloom. Chestnut trees boasted their white and pink blossoms, making passers-by smile. It was as if nature itself had decided to defy the horrors of war and replace gray rubble caused by the continual shelling with colorful flowers.

  Ursula walked to her apartment, carrying two bags filled with her and Anna’s rations for the week. She glanced up at the clear blue sky and wondered whether the war had been nothing but a bad dream. A nightmare that had disappeared with the spring sun casting a golden light along every surface it touched while warming the hearts of everyone in the capital.

  Perhaps this magnificent day was a harbinger of happier days after the war in a not so distant future. How much she wished it would be true!

  She put down the heavy bags of groceries and fumbled with the keys to the apartment door when Frau Weber, the nosy next-door neighbor, opened her door and peeked outside. “Oh, there you are, Ursula, I was waiting for you.”

  “Guten Tag, Frau Weber,” Ursula said in her friendliest voice despite groaning inwardly. Now, Frau Weber would inevitably start with an avalanche of questions about Ursula’s and her family’s lives.

  “The mailman came earlier today and left a telegram for you.” Frau Weber held the official-looking envelope in her hand.

  Ursula’s heart thundered in her throat, and her knees were about to give out. A telegram. That slip of paper could hold news eit
her terrific or awful. Never in between.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say and took the envelope with trembling fingers from her neighbor’s hands. She wouldn’t give Frau Weber the satisfaction of witnessing her opening it. She shoved the telegram into the bag with the groceries. Then she opened her door and stepped inside, where she leaned against the closed door.

  The temptation was overwhelming, but Ursula decided to first put the groceries away. Then she flopped onto her bed and ripped the envelope open.

  Frau Ursula Hermann,

  We are sorry to inform you that your husband, Andreas Hermann, has been killed in the line of duty. His commanding officer sends you his deepest sympathies…

  The rest of the words blurred with the tears streaming down her cheeks. In a matter of seconds, the telegram had wiped out the sunshine, and the room sat in cold and shadows. Andreas is dead. Dead! With him, all her hopes for a better future had disappeared. She bawled at the loss – at their beautiful past and the common future they wouldn’t have. Her dreams dissolved with every shed tear, leaving nothing but a big, glaring hole in her heart.

  When she’d used up all her tears, the thought occurred to her that not only was she now a widow, but a widow who had never enjoyed more than a passionate kiss with her husband. She and Andreas had never even been together as husband and wife. What if she would never love another man? Experience the joys of a family? Have children? Suddenly, she understood Anna’s being upset about the lack of men. It was shrouded in the fear of… what if there were none left when this awful war ended?

  Ursula spent the rest of the day like a zombie. She did not eat, nor did she cry. She wandered from room to room, sitting in different chairs trying to escape the internal discomfort. But the emptiness inside her only grew bigger with every passing minute. When Anna came home, Ursula handed her the telegram without a word.

  Her sister read it and then held Ursula in a silent embrace. There was nothing to say, no bright side to consider, no comforting words to utter.

  The next morning, Ursula covered her puffy eyes with makeup and returned to work. Despite her best efforts to hide her sobbing grief, one look into the concerned faces of the prisoners was enough to know they saw right through her strained smile. It would have been absolutely inappropriate for them to ask, but their apparently offhanded comments of compassion spoke for themselves.

  When she couldn’t keep her grief to herself anymore, she sought out the Catholic priest who worked at the prison, bringing moral support and consolation to all the inmates, independent of their faith or nationality. She waited until he returned to his small office before she approached him.

  “Pfarrer Bernau, may I speak with you?” Ursula asked him nervously. It was the first time she had engaged in a private conversation with him.

  “Of course, my dear. Come in.” Pfarrer Bernau was a gaunt man in his late forties with warm, brown eyes.

  Ursula sat opposite him, looking down at her hands, which curled and shifted awkwardly in her lap. The priest didn’t rush her, nor did he speak. But somehow, he managed to make the silence a comfortable one, and after several minutes, Ursula had gathered the strength to raise her voice.

  “Father, I…my…I had to talk to someone. My husband has died – is dead. I don’t really know what I came for, there’s nothing you can do…” she said quietly, fighting her tears and glancing at the wedding band she stubbornly continued to wear.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, my child, it’s a terrible loss. You are right, I cannot change this for you, but I am here to listen whenever you need someone to talk to.” The priest’s soft voice melted the carefully built walls around her grief. Ursula inhaled deeply, unable to speak as waves of emotion racked her body. The room was silent save for her quiet sobs. When she felt the priest’s big hand on her own, she looked up into his kind brown eyes and suddenly felt silly.

  This man had seen so much suffering. He’d accompanied hundreds of prisoners during their last hours, and now, here she was whining at the death of her husband in combat.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry. Every suffering is unique and deserves to be heard. You have loved your husband and losing him is a harsh test that God has put upon you. But you must remain strong and cherish the good times you had with him. With time, your grief will heal,” Pfarrer Bernau consoled her.

  “But how can this be God’s work? My husband died in this awful war, by the hand of another human. How can God even allow this?” Anger overtook her, and she jumped up to stomp her foot. “It’s so unjust! Why Andreas? Why me? We have done nothing to deserve this!” She slumped back onto her chair, half ashamed at her outburst, but also strangely liberated.

  “Bad things do happen to good people. It is not God’s wish to hurt us humans, but he gave us free will and not everyone uses it wisely. You and your husband got caught up in the cogwheel of much greater events, and I’m truly sorry for you. Those who did wrong will pay for it in the beyond. Don’t let yourself become embittered, but seek out ways to help and protect those still in this world.”

  Ursula pondered his words, not exactly sure what he wanted her to do, or if he had even suggested she do anything. But before she could ask a question, she heard a knock on the door.

  After another glance at her face, the priest said, “Now go, my child. And remember, I’m here to listen whenever you feel the need.”

  “Thank you.” Ursula nodded and left, giving way to one of the prisoners. On her way back to the women’s wing, she passed through one of the men’s wings. The same gray concrete floor, the same thick brick walls with gray metal doors with the barred observation holes, but somehow, the atmosphere was different.

  The barely restrained anger hung like mist in the air, and loud voices wafted from within the cells to her ears. Ursula didn’t mean to listen, but when she heard Pfarrer Bernau’s name come up in a heated discussion, she inadvertently slowed down her steps and strained her ears.

  “…the priest really has to be more careful. He should know that not every prisoner is trustworthy,” a male voice said.

  “I agree. Enough snitches are willing to sell their own mother to the Gestapo in an attempt to save their miserable lives.”

  “How many times have we told him not to openly admit his disapproval of the current regime? To be more careful and watch his back…”

  Ursula hastened her steps. What she heard was unbelievable. If it were true, Pfarrer Bernau could be the next in line for execution. Her stomach churned at the image of this kind and caring man walking up the steps to the guillotine, his hands bound behind his back. She shook her head to make the image disappear and pushed the conversation to the back of her mind.

  She’d misunderstood it. It had been a snippet taken out of context. It couldn’t be true.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, an unexpected letter arrived from Lotte.

  Dear Sisters,

  You know how much I hate to write letters, but anything is better than one single minute of the boredom I must suffer. If this village moved any slower, we would be going back in time. I have started turning to watch leaves fall when I need a little stimulation.

  Frankly, some warfare would break the monotony nicely. You can laugh all you want, but the air raid back home at least provided some excitement. If I don’t leave this place very soon, you’ll have to write on my gravestone: “She died of utter boredom whilst an exciting war was raging in the rest of the world.”

  My only diversion is Aunt Lydia’s five children. But tell me, how long can you occupy yourself crawling around with toddlers? I feel like I’m forced onto the periphery while world-changing events are happening at home. I want to be part of the future and do my share – and by this, I don’t mean some stupid and boring work the Government deems best.

  You two know what I really want to do.

  Ursula put the letter down as the icy hand of angst squeezed her heart. Lotte was the kind of girl who’d
do something downright stupid without ever considering the consequences – like committing the futile act of resistance against the forces in power. With trembling hands, she picked up the letter again.

  I don’t want to be surrounded by cows and hills and silence anymore. I don’t want to wipe snot from the noses of the children or scold them when they are too noisy. I hate every second I am here. This is not living – I have never had such a purposeless existence, including when I was an infant and did nothing but defecate.

  Ursula giggled at her sister’s outburst of temper. It was as if the red-curled wildcat was standing in front of her, stomping her foot the way she did when she couldn’t get her way.

  A noise from the hallway distracted Ursula, and she looked up to see Anna standing in the door like a drowned rat. Instinctively, she looked out the window, but the thick blackout curtains prevented her from seeing outside.

  “Raining hard?” she asked and laughed at Anna’s pouty face.

  “No, I thought I’d take a shower fully clothed. Saves me washing.”

  “Come on. Take off your wet clothes, and I’ll make us tea. Then we can read Lotte’s letter together.” Ursula got up from the couch and entered the kitchen.

  “Hey. You’re joking, right? Lotte doesn’t write letters. That would be the first in the two years she’s been gone.” Anna kicked off her shoes and coat and came after her sister.

  “I’m afraid she’s about to do something stupid,” Ursula answered and pointed to the letter lying on the coffee table. “Be prepared for some entertaining melodrama.”

  Anna flopped onto the couch and read aloud:

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the absence of air raids, despite my jokes.

  Mutter has taken up sewing work for the farmers to earn money, and she tries to teach me sewing and other household tasks, unaware that I’m destined for greater things. My biggest accomplishment won’t be an elegant appliqué on a god-forsaken pillow.