The Lost Boys

by Catherine Bailey

  Interrogations, lasting up to four hours, were conducted daily. Prisoners were brought to the headquarters in Herrengasse from Adamgasse 1, the prison where Fey was held. The interrogation rooms were sparsely furnished, containing just two tables and the implements of torture the Gestapo used to force the prisoners to talk.

  One of the chief interrogators was Kriminalsekretär Walter Guettner.10 Five foot four inches tall, thin, nervous and shifty-eyed, he was known as ‘The Little Rat’. His technique was to start with gentle persuasion: ‘Don’t be stupid.11 We know everything,’ he would tell his victims. ‘Think of your family, of your parents, make it easier on yourself.’ If this did not produce results, other officers were called in and the prisoners were beaten. Wooden staves were used to club them about the body and the face. Then, stripping them naked, the officers used bullwhips, made from cowhide, to strike them across the genitals. They also used pistols, which they rammed sideways into the prisoners’ mouths, breaking their teeth. If this ‘ordinary’ beating failed, ‘extreme measures’ were applied. Trussing the prisoner up by tying his hands around his ankles, they shoved a double-barrelled rifle through the space between his arms and knees.12 With two SS men lifting on either side, they placed the rifle ends between the two tables so that the prisoner hung between them, his head facing down. Water was then poured into his mouth and nostrils.

  Fey could hear the guards bringing the prisoners back to their cells after the interrogations. If she looked through the spyhole in the metal door, she could see them passing along the corridor before they disappeared out of the narrow view. Six days had passed since she had first entered the cell and still the Gestapo had not called her for questioning. The sight of the broken bodies, and the moans and screams of those still conscious, haunted her. It was the same feeling she had after witnessing some terrible road accident; except she could not drive by and forget it. In all probability, it would be her turn next.

  Day and night, the machinery of terror never stopped. Periodically, the Gestapo would transfer groups of prisoners to concentration camps in Germany and further east. They were chosen at random to free up space or to meet quotas set by Berlin. Fey had known about the camps for many years; in the mid 1930s, when Himmler first introduced them, her father told her they were being used to imprison Jews and anti-Nazis. But it was only now, listening to the stories circulating on the prison grapevine, that she realized the scale of the atrocities taking place.

  At Adamgasse, transfers were heralded by the shouts of a guard in the corridor outside and Fey would listen anxiously as the list of names was called. Then came the hurried footsteps, the opening and slamming of cell doors, the sound of running engines in the courtyard, and the frightened voices of prisoners as they were dragged out to the waiting trucks.

  To begin with, she shared the cell with one other woman: a pretty, young Austrian, with a kind smile, her name was Emma. Her story was mundane, but no less terrible for that. The Gestapo had imprisoned her for selling pork on the black market and for refusing to work at a hotel where she had been badly treated. When they first brought her into the prison, they had given her a severe beating and she lost the child she had been carrying for seven months.

  With the constant flow of new arrivals, three Yugoslav women joined Fey and Emma. Ordinary petty criminals, one of them had been imprisoned fourteen times. Their obscene language, and their poor physical condition, shocked Fey: ‘They were incredibly dirty; their skin was covered in blisters and pustules, and their hair crawling with lice. They were vulgar, and their talk was very obscene. Every morning, one of the women begged me to spread some lotion on her pockmarked shoulders, which I did as best I could. Another was suffering from crippling stomach pains, which I thought was appendicitis. I repeatedly tried to convince the guard that she needed an operation urgently or at least that a doctor should be called. My pleading would generally end in a tremendous quarrel, with the guard screaming and telling me to mind my own business and not to be impertinent. Slamming the door, he would shout, “Stupid bitch, be careful, or I’ll have you sent to Ravensbrück!”’

  Conditions in the overcrowded cell were primitive. There was no washbasin; but a reeking bucket – emptied just once every twenty-four hours – served as a toilet for the five women. There was nothing to do, nothing to read and very little to eat. Meals consisted of pumpernickel bread and a watery soup, which tasted of mould. Every day, Fey dreamed of the hams and salamis rotting away in her suitcases, or more likely being devoured by the Gestapo. She and the other women were only allowed out of the cell twice a day – for a thirty-minute exercise break in the courtyard behind the prison, and for a wash in the bathhouse, which was a short distance along the corridor. The washing arrangements were basic; the women bathed in a long, communal trough – similar to a pig trough – with five or six cold-water taps. Gawking at their naked bodies, the guards watched, making lewd and abusive comments.

  As Fey quickly learned, the guards, all of whom were Austrian, had a reputation for being the most brutal in the Nazi prison system – more brutal even than the German gaolers in the north of the Reich. ‘They relished tormenting and abusing us. One of their favourite taunts was to stand outside the cell doors jangling their keys. This maddening behaviour drove home the fact that one was a prisoner, locked in and totally hopeless.’ At all times, she was conscious of an eye leering at her through the spyhole. Often, in the dead of night, the lights in the cell would suddenly come on. The switch was out in the corridor, and it amused the guards to see the women’s startled faces as they woke, fearing they were about to be called for questioning. Sometimes the guards remained outside, flicking the switch on and off, making sleep impossible under the strobing light; at other times, they would enter the cell and roughly strip the blankets off the women. They claimed to be on suicide watch since a number of prisoners had tried to kill themselves with concealed knives, but it was just another instance of their prurience.

  Throughout that first week, however ghastly the conditions in the prison, however much she longed for and worried about the children, Fey remained convinced that she would be released soon. She only had to hold out for one or two weeks, she kept telling herself. Then – as the Gestapo agent had promised – she would be reunited with the boys.

  Regardless of her hunger, and the horrors of the overcrowded cell, with its smell of sweat mingled with excrement, the greatest difficulty she faced was in finding ways to pass the time: ‘Sometimes I would think about the clever answers I would give when I was interrogated, but my main activity was pacing up and down the cell, reciting all the Goethe poems I knew by heart; it was the best way not to think of the children. I also took to giving fortune-telling sessions in the evenings. I designed tarot cards with which to tell everybody’s future. I often “read” on the cards that one of my fellow prisoners would be released in the next couple of days. Of course, it never happened, but everyone loved to hear me say it, and some even half-believed it. I also set about learning Serbo-Croat, but it was too difficult, and my teachers were not the best. Still, it passed the time.’

  20.

  It was the morning of 10 October – midway through Fey’s second week in the prison – and the Gestapo still had not called her for questioning.

  Panic gripped her as she paced up and down in the cell: from the door to the wall opposite, between the bunks and the reeking bucket. At the door, she turned to the right; at the wall, to the left. It was an old prison trick which one of the Yugoslav women had taught her: if you did not change the direction of the turn, you soon became giddy.

  Her thoughts were focused on her situation, not on lines from Goethe. The fact that the Gestapo had forgotten her and did not care about a mother separated from her children filled her with a helpless anger, so overwhelming she thought she would lose her mind. Where were the boys? How were the SS nurses treating them? And Detalmo and her family in Germany? Did they know she was here? Did anyone know she was here?

  Two more da
ys went by. Then, on the afternoon of 12 October – almost two weeks after her incarceration – a Gestapo official appeared. Fey recognized him straight away: he was one of the agents who had brought her to the prison. Motioning her to accompany him, he took her to an office at the front of the building. Desperate for news of the children, Fey was taken aback when, as soon as they were seated, he began with a prosaic detail: ‘First, he asked me to pay the hotel bill for the night I’d spent with the children at the Albergerhof. I thought that was a bit much! He also informed me that he had taken the ham and salamis from my suitcases to prevent them from rotting. “Unfortunately”, some had already become inedible and he had had to throw them away. Probably he had eaten them himself! When I pleaded for news of my children, he assured me that they were well and being cared for in a nearby “institute”. Instructions to free me were expected any day from Berlin, in which case we could all go home. I did not know whether to believe him.’

  Then the agent handed her two letters. The first was from her brother in Berlin:

  Dear Fey

  Yesterday I learned of your arrest. You can imagine how horrified I was. I rushed to Gestapo headquarters at once to find out where you were. They said, ‘Staatspolizeistelle, Innsbruck.’ I’ve given your address to Mutti [Mummy] and Almuth, and I’m sure they’ll write immediately. If you can write to us, send your letters to my address in Berlin.

  They assured me that the children are in a good children’s home and will be given back to you as soon as you are freed. I feel sure that you’ll soon be back in Brazzà. Mutti already knew about your arrest, because on the very day I got the news, she received a note from the Italian consul enclosing a letter from Dannenberg, the German commander at Brazzà. I send you his letter, which is doubtless a sign of the times. I think of you.

  With love,

  Wolf Ulli

  Seeing her brother’s letter, a wave of relief swept over Fey; if the Gestapo in Berlin were saying she would have the children back as soon as she was released, it must be true. The letter was dated 9 October. Only a few days had gone by since Wolf Ulli had spoken to them, and he was confident that she would be back at Brazzà soon.

  Barely able to contain her excitement, she reread the letter carefully. It was the first she had heard from her brother since their father had been executed; the fact that he had not referred to his death was puzzling. Evidently, when writing, Wolf Ulli had known the Gestapo would read the letter, yet it struck her as odd that he had not expressed his grief, or offered words of commiseration, however veiled. It was so unlike him. She was also amazed that he had ‘rushed to Gestapo headquarters’ on hearing of her arrest. Surely the entire family had been arrested once her father’s part in the plot to assassinate Hitler had become known? So why hadn’t Wolf Ulli been arrested? There seemed to be just one possible explanation: it was proof that her father had not been executed after all.

  Turning to Colonel Dannenberg’s letter, she remembered all the times he had played with the children at Brazzà, spoiling them with little treats, and letting them sit in the soldiers’ trucks; yet the moment her father’s execution had been announced, he had driven into Udine and informed the Gestapo that Ulrich von Hassell’s daughter was living nearby. Dannenberg had written the letter on 29 September – two days after he had personally handed her and the children over to the Gestapo. Reading it, his unctuous duplicity astounded her:

  Dear Frau von Hassell

  I am sorry to have to return your letter as well as one from Hamburg that arrived here! I beg you to return the letter from Hamburg to its proper address, which I do not know. I must apologise that both letters have been opened but I was given the embarrassing order to read your daughter’s mail.

  I feel it is my duty to inform you of what happened here at Brazzà. Your daughter was taken to prison in Udine when the sentence in connection with the known and unhappy affair was pronounced. I did what I could to make her stay in prison as bearable as possible.

  For your information, I am Major Eisermann’s successor. I was allowed to pay your daughter a visit every day, so either I, my aide-de-camp or another officer went to see her. I managed to have her brought back to the castle on my own personal guarantee. She had to be guarded night and day, but at least she was with the children and able to look after the estate. Then an order came from Berlin. She and the children had to take a train to Innsbruck in the care of a Gestapo official. I personally drove her to the station. I do not know her exact address or what will happen to her next.

  As far as I could find out, they intend to interrogate her on what she knows about what happened. It is certainly a disadvantage that she is married to an Italian officer who seems to be working with the enemy.fn1 As soon as I get more detailed information, I will pass it on to you. I very much doubt that she will be allowed to write, but I advised her, if she could, to address any letters to me and then I could send the news to you.

  I will spare you a description of the farewells at Brazzà. I only note that the servants and the people living on the estate cared exceptionally for her.

  With my respectful regards

  Dannenberg, Colonel and Commander

  After the interview, Fey was escorted to her cell by a prison guard. Believing that she would soon be back at Brazzà, she found the days that followed hardest of all. Whereas before, for the sake of her sanity, she had tried to ration her thoughts about the children, now she allowed herself to think about them all of the time. She spent hours daydreaming of holding the boys in her arms and waking up beside them; she worried endlessly about how they were sleeping at night, and whether, without her, they were able to cuddle up together.

  Fey had expected to be released within days of her interview with the Gestapo agent. But it did not happen. In the absence of news, she became increasingly agitated. ‘The weight of suffering and misery existing in that prison had its inevitable effect on me, and I began to get more and more depressed and anxious as the days wore on without news of the children. They had become such a part of my existence, my very being, that I felt only half a person without them.’

  The end of her second week in the prison came and went, and a third; still there was no news from the Gestapo. Then, twenty-three days after she first entered the cell, she sensed that – at last – something was about to happen:

  The Gestapo unexpectedly sent my suitcases over to the prison. A guard took me to a sort of garret, where I was allowed to open them in his presence. First, I put on some clean underclothes, since my old ones were absolutely stinking. I was furious to see that of the 600 cigarettes I had brought, 300 were missing, as well as the tea. However, the money had not been found. I bribed the guard with one pack of cigarettes to allow me to take two packs to my cell.

  The following day, 22 October, was my twenty-sixth birthday. Again, the cell door opened, and I was called out. A prison guard announced, ‘You’re free.’ I could have imagined no better birthday present! Instead, it was to turn into one of the bitterest days of my life.

  I gathered my few belongings and took leave of my companions, who were overcome with envy. I felt especially sad in saying goodbye to poor Emma. I followed the guard down to the prison entrance, where my suitcases were waiting for me. A serious-looking SS official, in plain clothes, then walked up to me and said, ‘We’re going on a little trip.’

  Immediately suspicious, I asked nervously, ‘Where to?’ To which he answered, ‘I only know that I’m to take you to Germany.’

  My heart hammering, I asked, ‘And my children?’

  ‘You’ve got children?’

  ‘Of course I have! I’ve got two little boys who were taken away when I was imprisoned here.’

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of any children, and I don’t know where they are. Anyway, I only ask you to be sensible on this trip. Don’t make scenes or call attention to yourself. Please act as if we are old friends.’

  My only desire at that moment was to fly at the man screaming, ‘Where ar
e my children? Give me my children!’ Act as if we were old friends, my God! Where were they? Where on earth were they? The official just shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn’t at all interested. I stood there in stunned silence, unable and unwilling to believe what I had just been told.

  After escorting Fey out of the prison, the SS officer, accompanied by a female colleague, drove her to the railway station. ‘We had to wait hours for the train. My desperation at that point was unbearable. There I was utterly powerless, in the hands of these criminals, without news from home and now forced to leave my children alone in a strange country without friends or family. I do not think I have ever been so utterly wretched in my life as I was on that platform at Innsbruck.’

  The train, when it finally left, was crammed with people. It was of the type used to transport animals; there were no seats in the metal wagons and the floors were covered in straw. Two days previously, the Allies had bombed Innsbruck, hitting the poor working-class districts on the outskirts of the city. The men and women packed into the wagons, like so many heads of cattle, were mostly refugees. Hungry and exhausted after picking through the rubble of their homes, they were weighed down with the few possessions they had managed to salvage.

  Fey, still in a state of shock and flanked by the SS guards, took her place among them. As the train pulled out of Innsbruck, she had no idea where in Germany she was being taken; her escorts had refused to divulge their destination. Peering out through the gaps in the metal slats, she could see the mountains rising on either side of the track. But she was unable to read the names of the stations they were passing: the Nazis had blacked them out – a precaution against an Allied invasion. Her one hope was that she was being taken to her mother’s house at Ebenhausen, which was 90 miles or so away on the other side of the Alps.