by Debbie Rix
Magda was drawn inexorably to the attic each day. Sometimes she would crouch furtively outside the hatch, hoping to overhear some secret message being relayed on the transmitter. She became familiar with the classical music that seemed to provoke her brother into activity. He would turn up the volume a little and start scribbling in his old notebook.
‘What’s that music?’ she asked, clambering into the attic one afternoon, with a cup of coffee for Karl. ‘They seem to play it a lot on the radio…’
He held his fingers to his lips as he continued his note-taking. When he’d finished he found her lying down, uninvited, on his bed.
‘You ought to leave,’ he said irritably. ‘I don’t want you involved in this.’
‘But it’s always the same music,’ she persisted.
‘If you’re so clever, I’m sure you can work it out.’
‘Is it a signal?’
He smiled enigmatically at her and sipped his coffee.
‘A signal to tell you to listen to the radio?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘That’s it, isn’t it? That’s really clever. And the programmes – they are code, yes… giving you information?’
‘Get out of the attic now,’ he said, in mock indignation.
‘I don’t want to,’ she said petulantly. ‘It’s boring downstairs. Can’t I stay here for a while?’
‘If you insist,’ he said, turning back to his notes. ‘But don’t interrupt – agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ she said, lying quietly on the bed. ‘Shall I tell you about the White Rose?’
‘Magda!’ He threw his pencil down and swung round to face her. ‘I know you too well – you’ll never give up, will you? All right… you want to talk, then let’s talk. The White Rose – I do know a little about them already. What I don’t know is how you got involved with them.’
‘Well,’ said Magda, propping herself up on his bed, ‘I’ll tell you, shall I? It started one day when I went to Munich with the Hitler Youth. I got separated from the others. No, that’s not true. I ran away, actually. I wanted to look at the university – I was hoping to go there after the war. I met a girl there called Saskia. She introduced me to the leader of the White Rose. After that we met several times… I went to some meetings, and distributed leaflets for them in Munich and Augsburg. I liked them. I admired them hugely – but sometime in ’43, they were discovered, or betrayed. They’d started to take a few risks. Anyway the authorities caught them and executed them the same day.’
‘Thank God they didn’t find out about you,’ Karl said, sitting down next to her and wrapping her in his arms. ‘You took a huge risk, getting involved.’
‘The Gestapo came here, looking for me, you know. But Otto defended me. Can you believe that? He was a senior member of the Youth then and they trusted him.’
‘They let you go?’ Karl said, with surprise.
‘Yes, I know, it was a miracle. I convinced them I was innocent…’ She smiled.
‘You’re very brave,’ Karl said, kissing the top of her head, ‘or very foolish. But either way, I’m not surprised. I knew you would be as keen to fight against the authorities as I am.’
‘I miss it, if I’m honest. Mostly I miss them – Saskia and the others. They were my friends and such good people and they gave me hope – you know?’
He nodded.
‘I promised myself – the day I found out they’d been killed – that if I survived, I’d do something to help the cause. But truthfully, since then, I’ve not really done anything.’
‘Except help an enemy airman,’ her brother said gently. ‘You took a huge risk doing that.’
‘Yes,’ she said wistfully, her hands stroking her swollen belly. ‘The point is,’ she said, sitting up eagerly, ‘I could help you now; I could take messages – spy for you. No one would suspect me. I come and go as I please on my bike.’
‘Magda,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it, I really do. But look at yourself. You’re about to give birth. It’s just not safe.’
‘I think it makes me safer. Who would suspect a pregnant woman?’
The logic of her argument did not escape him. He smiled.
‘You always could wrap me round your little finger,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it… all right? Now get out of the attic.’
The following Saturday, as Magda finished the milking she came into the kitchen to find her brother sitting, unusually, at the kitchen table.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Is there any coffee left?’
‘Yes.’ He tipped the last of the coffee into a cup, and slid it across the table to her. ‘Magda…’
‘Yes,’ she sipped her coffee.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Yes.’ She sat down opposite him at the table.
‘Do you think we could go somewhere together today? You would be good cover for me.’
‘Yes,’ she said immediately. ‘Of course. Where are we going?’
The door to the yard opened, as Käthe came into the kitchen, bringing with her an icy blast of cold air.
‘My goodness,’ she said, stamping her feet, and rubbing her hands together. ‘It’s cold out there. Magda, you’d better stay indoors for the rest of the day. Your father and I will do the milking this afternoon.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Magda. ‘I’m going out with Karl, anyway.’
Karl threw a warning glance at his sister. It was a look that said, ‘don’t say anything!’
‘What do you mean?’ Käthe asked. ‘Karl, what are you thinking – getting your pregnant sister involved in your mad schemes?’
‘It’s not dangerous, Mutti,’ said Karl. ‘We’re just going to Munich. I need to check out a rail depot. We think it’s being used for troop movements and I have to send some information back to London.’
‘And why does Magda have to go?’
‘A man and a pregnant woman – we’re less likely to be stopped.’
‘So, you are using your sister now?’ Käthe asked furiously.
‘Mutti!’ Magda interjected. ‘I offered to go with him. I want to help.’
‘Haven’t you done enough? You could have got yourself executed last year along with those student friends of yours. Think of your child Magda, even if you won’t think of yourself!’
‘I am,’ said Magda calmly. ‘I want my child to be born in a country where she can be free and not live under tyranny.’
She left the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later, wearing her warmest winter coat and fur-lined boots.
‘Come on,’ she said to Karl. ‘Let’s go.’
In spite of her apparent bravado, Magda had a growing sense of anxiety as the train pulled into Munich station. A guard had checked their tickets on the train, barely noticing ‘the couple’ in front of him – a man of indiscernible age, with a shaggy beard, travelling with his pregnant wife.
Karl had whispered when the guard had left the carriage, ‘I told you – we’re invisible.’ But Magda wasn’t so confident.
The station itself was filled with soldiers. They had their kit bags with them and were clearly being moved to another location. Most looked tired and bedraggled, Magda thought. As the brother and sister approached the entrance, intending to walk across to the Botanical Gardens, two SS officers stopped them.
‘Papers,’ one of them said, holding out his hand.
Karl’s forged papers represented him as a munitions worker – a reserved occupation which exempted him from military service, and explained his lack of uniform.
‘What are you doing here in Munich?’
They had their cover story ready.
‘We are visiting a cousin,’ Karl said. ‘She lives on the other side of the Botanical Gardens. We have not heard from her for some weeks and are worried about her.’
Magda sensed the soldiers’ mistrust.
‘Oh dear,’ she blurted out, suddenly bending forward and clutching at her pregnant belly. ‘Oh… I think it’s starti
ng!’ She sank dramatically to her knees, moaning and wailing.
Karl knelt beside her. ‘Quick,’ he said, looking up at the soldiers. ‘I must get her to the hospital – can you help us?’
‘Get her to hospital yourself; we’re not bloody ambulance drivers,’ the soldier retorted impatiently, handing back their papers. Karl helped Magda to her feet, supporting her as she staggered out of the station, panting and moaning theatrically. When they were well away from the station, Magda grinned broadly at her brother, murmuring. ‘I’m useful, aren’t I?’
‘You are, little monkey. You are very useful indeed. Now come on, let’s get to work.’
Back home at the farmhouse that evening, Karl radioed the position of the rail depot. It had been clear from their observations that afternoon that the depot was being used to move large numbers of German troops around the country.
Back downstairs in the kitchen, he and Magda told their parents their story.
‘She was wonderful, Mutti,’ laughed Karl. ‘I believed the baby was coming myself. She should be an actress.’
As she listened, Käthe silently ladled chicken onto their plates. ‘You’re both fools – taking such risks. I don’t want to hear any more about it.’
The following day Karl had a message.
‘It worked, little monkey,’ he said to Magda, when she brought him his hot chocolate. ‘By tonight that depot will be a pile of rubble.’
On Christmas Eve Käthe asked her daughter to accompany her to church.
‘It’s Midnight Mass. Pieter won’t come with me – he says he’s too tired. And Karl can’t come, obviously. But you could come with me. Please Magda?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Magda. ‘I hardly ever go to church any more, you know that. Hitler and his henchmen have destroyed my Christian faith, I sometimes think.’
‘But Father Krämer is still a good man,’ urged Käthe. ‘You know he has hung on to his beliefs. He has never given up.’
The pastor belonged to a branch of the Lutheran faith known as the ‘Confessing Church’. Believers rejected the idea of worshipping the Führer in deference to their allegiance to scripture and to God. One or two of their leaders had become quite infamous – helping Jews out of Germany, professing their desire to overthrow the regime. But most pastors, including Father Krämer, preferred to remain unobtrusive – offering support where they could, without risking their lives and those of their flock by being too outspoken.
‘We should support him,’ Käthe persisted. ‘Please come with me… and get your unborn baby blessed.’
‘Oh all right,’ said Magda, reluctantly.
In her room she put on her warm coat and fur boots and as she turned to go, automatically picked her bible off the shelf and slipped it into her coat pocket.
The white walls of the church glowed in the flickering candlelight. As Magda and her mother walked along the aisle searching for a vacant pew, it seemed a haven of refuge from a dangerous uncertain world. Walking the length of the aisle to find a seat, Magda overheard snatches of muttered conversations.
‘There goes Magda Maier… she’s pregnant, you know.’
‘Who’s the father?’
‘No one knows.’
‘Some say it’s that Hitler Youth boy – Otto Schneider.’
There were two free places in the second row, next to the centre aisle. Magda sat down and looked around her. On the opposite side of the aisle, she was startled to see Otto’s mother, Emilia Schneider, who nodded her head politely at Magda, her face stern and unsmiling.
The service began. There were traditional carols, followed by a sermon and communion, after which the pastor began his final reading. ‘Matthew chapter one, verses eighteen to twenty-five,’ he intoned. Käthe nudged her daughter to follow the text.
‘Look at your bible, Magda – get it out,’ she whispered. Dutifully, Magda removed the bible from her coat pocket, and found the relevant lines. 'She will bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins…’
She felt her child kicking. It would not be long now, she thought, before she had her own baby. She put her fingers over her belly and felt the baby’s little foot, or perhaps a hand, pushing against the skin. There was another kick and a sharp cramping pain, unlike anything she had felt before. She winced and clutched at her stomach, dropping her bible to the floor. It spun away from her, out onto the polished marble aisle, just as the priest finished his reading… ‘And he called his name Jesus’. Magda breathed deeply, recovering from the pain. She looked around for her bible, and saw it lying on the floor next to Frau Schneider, who leant down, picking up the bible by its cover. The book hung for a second in mid-air, and Magda watched in horror as the letter – until then safely secreted in the pocket – slipped out as if in slow motion, floating down onto the grey and white marble floor. In her panic, Magda could only dimly hear the priest recite the Lord’s Prayer, echoed by the mumbling congregation, their eyes closed in reverential prayer. She edged along the pew towards the aisle, desperate to retrieve the secret letter, but her mother gripped her arm.
‘Magda, what are you doing?’ she whispered. ‘Stay where you are.’
‘No, Mutti.’ she whispered back.
‘Amen,’ intoned the Pastor, concluding the service. Frau Schneider, sitting with Magda’s bible on her lap, opened her eyes and spotted the letter lying on the floor by her feet. As she picked it up, it fell open – either by accident or design. She glanced at it briefly, before slipping it back inside the bible and handing it across the aisle to Magda, with a polite nod.
Outside the church, it was snowing. The villagers said their hurried goodbyes, shaking the pastor’s hand, wishing one another a happy Christmas, before heading back to their homes. Magda tugged at her mother’s arm.
‘Mutti, we must go… now.’
Her mother looked irritated. ‘In a moment… I just want to chat to a couple of people.’
Otto’s mother emerged from the church to see Magda waiting alone outside.
‘Good evening Magda,’ she said. ‘Have you seen Otto at all?’
‘Otto? No… ’ said Magda nervously.
‘He got home this morning. He’s been given a few days leave – he’s been working very hard. He’s been promoted again, you know.’
‘Has he?’ said Magda, trying to sound calm. ‘He was very pleased with his last promotion, I remember. He told me all about it when we last saw each other in the spring.’
Otto’s mother glanced down, pointedly, at Magda’s swelling stomach.
‘The baby – when is it due?’
‘Soon,’ said Magda, blushing. She felt ashamed, anxious, desperate to escape from Emilia’s disapproving glance. To her relief, Käthe joined the group.
‘Hello Emilia,’ said Käthe. ‘Happy Christmas to you.’
‘And to you Käthe… and all your… growing family,’ said Emilia, acidly.
‘Mutti,’ Magda whispered, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. ‘We really must go.’
Her mother finally relented, and they set off back to the farm, across the snowy fields. Once they were both safely out of earshot, Magda exploded in anguish.
‘Oh Mutti!’ she cried. ‘Otto’s mother saw Karl’s letter… the one he sent from England which I hid in my bible. I know she read it, not all of it, but enough to know he’s a traitor.’
‘But how did she see it?’ Käthe asked, looking bewildered.
‘It fell out of my bible!’ Magda shouted. ‘I’d forgotten it was there. How could I be so stupid? I dropped the bible and the letter fell out.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Käthe, quickening her stride. ‘Let’s think… let’s think. He said he was in England in the letter. But there’s nothing to suggest he’s here, is there?’
‘No. But she’s Otto’s mother. If she tells him about it – you know how suspicious he is. Oh Mutti, what have I done, keeping the letter? Why didn’t we destroy it? Why did I bring the bible with me ton
ight? Why did you ask me to come to church?’
The two women hurried home, opening the front door in a frenzy to find Karl and Pieter, calmly sharing a bottle of schnapps at the kitchen table.
‘Karl, Papa,’ Magda blurted out, ‘something’s happened.’
‘What is it, little monkey?’ said Karl gently. ‘Sit down… Have a drink.’
‘Oh Karl,’ sobbed Magda. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘What?’ asked Karl. ‘What is it?’
Magda hesitated. Her mother poured them both a glass of schnapps, and drained hers in one draught.
‘That letter you sent me at the start of the war… do you remember? Telling us you were staying in England; that you couldn’t fight for the Germans.’
‘Yes, vaguely,’ he replied, ‘it was a long time ago.’
‘I kept it…’ she said.
Karl stiffened, and put his drink down on the table.
‘I told you to destroy it.’
‘I know. The thing is – I couldn’t… Please forgive me.’ She began to cry again.
‘Darling – little monkey,’ he said, kneeling at her feet and cupping her hands. ‘Tell me… what’s happened?’
‘I kept the letter in my bible. It’s been there ever since you sent it – years now. I took the bible with me tonight to church – I’d completely forgotten it was there, you see? The baby… it moved, kicking me… and I dropped the bible, and the letter fell out. Otto’s mother, Emilia, picked it up. She read some of it… enough, anyway.’
‘I must leave – now!’ said Karl, suddenly standing up. ‘I’m putting you all in danger.’
‘But why?’ asked Käthe. ‘The letter said you were in England. Why would they look for you here?’
‘They won’t, necessarily. But they will search this house for evidence that you have been involved in my treachery in some way.’ He paused, looking around. ‘Is there anything else that might incriminate you, Magda? You must think.’