by Jana Petken
Chapter Five
Frank and Hannah joined the family who were already in a heated discussion over Paul’s decision to live in England. “Why is everyone so glum?” she asked, sitting on the grass next to Frank. “The evening went off without a hitch. The SS didn’t arrest anyone, did they?”
“No one is glum, Hannah,” said Willie. “And don’t try to be funny. This is serious. We’re talking about Paul wanting to study in England and his rudeness towards one of Father’s important guests.”
Hannah’s eyes brightened. “I don’t know about the insulting behaviour part, but I think going to London is a wonderful idea. Max will be thrilled.” Then she grew serious. “Who did you offend?”
“Never mind who. Paul will go to England over my dead body,” Dieter blazed. “Your brother has just been offered a wonderful opportunity to work with Hans Rudolph who has been selected by Herr Hitler himself to run a new psychiatric programme, and he is going to accept straight after he apologises to the man...”
“Rudolph is one of Hitler’s cronies, Father, and I have no interest in being a part of his programme,” Paul interrupted. “And God forbid those fascists get it off the ground. They’re a bunch of raving lunatics.”
Willie’s shocked eyes flicked to Frank who was looking most uncomfortable. “That’s enough of that talk, Paul,” Willie said, staring at his future brother-in-law. “You should know better than to insult anyone who’s personally met the Führer. You’d have been better off kneeling at Herr Rudolph’s feet, not telling him where he could shove his job. And we shouldn’t be talking about this anyway, not while we have a foreigner in our midst.”
“What’s Frank got to do with anything?” Hannah jumped in.
Frank snapped at Wilmot, “Yes, tell us, Willie, what’s that supposed to mean? Am I not going to be a member of this family soon?”
Laura stopped the argument immediately. “Frank, I do apologise for Willie’s bad manners.”
Hannah, looking just as angry as her brothers, remarked, “Don’t worry, Mummy. Frank knows what Wilmot’s like. Ever since he started wearing that uniform with all its fancy insignias and that stupid skull badge meaning death and murder ... or whatever it’s for...”
“You’re an ignorant idiot. It means no such thing,” Wilmot shouted his sister down. “The skull emblem of the SS-Totenkopfverbände symbolises that the unit is committed to remaining faithful to Hitler until death.”
“Well, it scares the living daylights out of people because they think it means your lot’s going around killing folk you don’t like.” Eyes blazing, she added, “You see, Frank, the SS soldiers think they know better than everyone else; that they’re superior human beings. That’s what they told you in training, isn’t it, Willie? God, you’re a moron at times. And why are you talking about foreigners when you’re half English yourself, and your own mother is sitting right next to you? I’m surprised the SS even accepted a half-blood like you.”
“Stop it at once, both of you,” Laura tried again, this time with rare tears in her eyes. “This has been the first time we’ve spent an evening together for over a year and you’re spoiling it with your petty squabbles ... not you, Frank, dear.”
Dieter put his arm around Laura’s shoulder, kissed her forehead then gently dabbed her wet cheeks with his handkerchief. “There, there, we won’t fight anymore, mein Schatz.”
Laura broke away. “Thank you. Now, can we please enjoy each other’s company? We only have two days together before we leave Dresden for Berlin. I’m going to miss you all terribly, and that goes for Frank as well.”
“Sorry, Mummy – I’m sorry, Frank,” Wilmot said grudgingly.
“No more fighting, right.” Paul offered Wilmot his hand and they shook on it.
Hannah gripped Frank’s fingers and squeezed them. “I don’t want to upset you even more, Mummy, but I’ve decided to go back to England with Frank on Monday. We don’t want to be separated again.”
Dieter and Laura gaped at their daughter.
“Darling, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Laura finally said. “Do you mean you’re going to Kent for another holiday? But you’ve only just come back.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I’m going to live in England for good. With all the uncertainty going on, Frank and I have decided to bring the wedding forward, and not to get stuck in two different countries … like you and daddy did.”
After an uncomfortable pause, Dieter said, “That’s out of the question, Hannah. I can’t possibly arrange a trip for us all to England at such short notice. I have too much work on, and your brothers are both starting their new jobs. Frank, what stupid ideas are you putting in my daughter’s head?”
“With respect, sir, they’re not stupid at all. I don’t like the geopolitical situation here.” Frank shook his head. “And I didn’t like the conversations I overheard between some of your guests tonight … and … well, to put it bluntly, I’m not leaving Germany without Hannah.”
“If you didn’t like the conversations, you shouldn’t have listened in on them,” Wilmot grunted. “Anyway, you’re talking rubbish, Frank. Germany counts Britain as a friend. The Führer admires the English because they’re Aryan, and it’s no secret that some of your politicians admire Hitler. Your abdicated King, the Duke of Windsor, has praised the Führer’s policies. He was here two years ago, for God’s sake, so what’s this really about?”
Dieter, red faced, said, “You want Hannah out of Germany as soon as possible because you don’t trust us. Isn’t that the truth, Frank?”
“Yes, sir, it is. I don’t trust Hitler as far as I can throw him,” Frank retorted. “For a start, I’ve seen the violence in the streets against those opposing him. He’s not a Prime Minister, a President, or a traditional Chancellor. He’s a dictator who’s squashing freedom of speech and religious beliefs. I don’t feel comfortable leaving my Hannah here when people are getting thrown in the back of trucks and driven away every five minutes...”
“Don’t be absurd. All that violence nonsense has stopped,” Wilmot said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Only reckless upstarts are being removed, along with the Jews and gypsies. And real Germans have finally got the best jobs now that Hitler has shut down all the Jewish businesses. Things have never been better for us.”
“I beg to differ,” Paul spoke up. “I’ve seen more soldiers on the streets of Munich shoving people into the backs of lorries now than I ever did when Hitler first came to power. And what about Herr Schreiber and his family next door? We all saw them being taken from their home by the SS, and, Willie, you were with me when those thugs stole the Schreiber’s possessions. You saw them do it with your own eyes, so don’t deny it. You go, Hannah. Go to England as soon as you can. I bet you won’t find persecution on the streets of Chislehurst.”
Wilmot stood up. “I’m not listening to this shit. I’m going to bed,” he said.
“Wilmot, watch your language!” Dieter shouted.
“Please don’t go, Willie,” Hannah begged. “God knows when we’ll all be together like this again. Tell me you’re happy for me.”
Wilmot walked up the steps to the terrace shouting over his shoulder, “Whatever. Do what you want. Be a traitor to your country if it makes you feel any better!”
Dieter watched with dismay until Wilmot had disappeared into the house. He’d been unusually quiet, leaving Laura to cope with the shouting match. Hannah went to kneel in front of her father’s chair, and resting her head on his knee said, “Daddy, I want to live in England and marry Frank. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Dieter stroked Hannah’s damp curls and glanced at Laura.
“Our little girl is all grown up.” Laura’s lips twitched in a sad little smile. “She’s made up her mind about this, and to be honest, I agree with her decision. They were always going to settle in England anyway, so it might as well be now. Darling, think back to what happened with us. I don’t want Hannah to make the same mistake we di
d.”
Dieter, defeated, asked Frank, “When will you marry?”
“Straight away if we can get a licence and have a civil wedding in Bromley’s Town Hall. Hannah can stay with her Aunt Cathy until the big day.”
“And what will you live on ... air?”
“No, sir. I have an income from the proceeds of my dad’s will put aside. I already own my house, so we don’t need to worry about renting a place, and I’ve got a job in a small engineering firm in Kensington. It’s not ideal, but it will do for now.” Frank locked eyes with Dieter. “You already knew that, and you also know me well enough to know I’ll never ask you for a penny.”
Laura, overcome by an emotional evening full of surprises; some good, others not so nice, began to sniffle again. “Your father and I will do everything we can to be with you on your big day,” she said between sobs. “Won’t we, Dieter?”
Dieter regarded his future son-in-law, his eyes smarting with disappointment. “I’ll certainly try to make that happen. As soon as you have a date set, send a telegram. I’ll need a few days to organise my calendar.”
******
Paul and Frank remained behind while the others traipsed up the stairs to bed. They had poured one last brandy, and as it had grown chilly outside, now sat in the family living room. Both men were close in age and friendship. They’d met at a cricket match on Chislehurst’s village green when they’d been boys on their summer school breaks. Frank suspected that Paul wanted to talk to him in private about the offer he’d received that evening, but was loath to broach the subject or ask questions.
“We both know it will be impossible for my mother and father to attend the wedding, Frank. I hope Hannah doesn’t regret not having them with her on her big day,” Paul said.
“She knows they won’t be able to make it,” Frank replied. “What about you, Paul? Will you go to England?”
“It doesn’t look like it. I might be in a bit of a bind, Frank. I don’t trust that Herr Rudolph, and I trust Hauptsturmführer Leitner even less – Jesus, I don’t even trust my own father, to be honest.”
“Will you accept the offer?” asked Frank.
Paul harrumphed. “That’s just it, it’s not an offer. It’s an order, blackmail, coercion, whatever you want to call it. I don’t think I can refuse. Rudolph is close to people in Hitler’s chancellery. He didn’t directly threaten to destroy my father’s company if I didn’t take the job, but he made it damn clear that Vogel Industries might suffer if I turned him down. And as for him being a family friend … nope, that doesn’t ring true to me.”
“Why not?”
“I know my father when he’s around friends. He’s relaxed and jokes around, but I saw him with his business hat on tonight. And at one point, he forgot Rudolph’s Christian name and called him Heinrich.”
“Who was the SS captain with Rudolph?”
“He’s a doctor in the SS Medical Corps. He’s involved in the sterilisation programme, apparently … thinks he’s a bloody expert in eugenics, yet couldn’t give me an answer about why he believed in it.”
Paul was tipsy, and Frank pressed him more than he normally would have, hoping to find out what the job entailed. “I presume the programme you spoke about has something to do with psychiatry, am I right?”
“Sort of, but here’s the thing. If it were purely about treating patients, I would have jumped at the opportunity. But it’s not, it’s about stopping Germans from having babies, and killing mentally ill people – euthanasia, mercy-killings for those deemed unworthy of life – I say it’s murder.” Paul’s eyes widened. “Shit, Frank, I shouldn’t be talking about this with anyone. It’s just a rumour. Don’t breathe a word of this conversation to Hannah, or anyone else for that matter, please?”
Frank was shocked, but he was also filing away every word that came out of Paul’s mouth. “I won’t. Trust me, Paul, that’s not something I would want to talk about with anyone. So, your plans for London are up the spout then?”
“Yes, right up it. I wanted to spend time with Max, but I was also desperate to live in England. You’ve no idea how much I envy you and Hannah getting out of this bloody country. It’s gone to the dogs.”
“I wouldn’t envy any of us, Paul. There’s another major conflict coming to Europe, and unfortunately, you and I won’t be on the same side.”
Chapter Six
Max Vogel
Poland,
September 2nd, 1939
Army Major, Max Vogel, of MI6 British Secret Intelligence Service wore a threadbare brown jacket, pale blue shirt, and creased blue trousers too big for him around the waist and too short for his long legs. Braces held his trousers up, but he also wore a belt and holster nestled in the centre of his back, to secure his Luger pistol. On his head sat a flat cap, so faded with the elements it was hard to know what colour it had been when first purchased. Underneath it was flattened fair hair that would spring into curls the instant they were freed.
He looked as though he’d just been dragged through red mud with stony ground beneath it, for his old clothes were also ripped, dirty and bloodied from a cut to his neck. He was exhausted and nauseous from the wound sustained in the early hours of that very morning, although he suspected that the queasiness was mainly caused by shock – his whole body was trembling, as though he’d been hit by an inner quake.
The driver dropped Max off in the centre of Warsaw, three streets and a lane away from his safe house.
Romek Gabula, the man Max was going to see, lived on the third floor with his wife, Klara. He couldn’t wait to get into their welcoming kitchen and to sit at their table. Klara always seemed to have a meal on the go, even when he arrived unannounced. She was a great cook, and he hadn’t eaten for more than twenty hours.
Before approaching the coal-blackened sandstone building, Max walked around the block with long, brisk strides. It was good to stretch his legs and to reflect on the past twenty-four hours during which he’d been caught in air strikes and explosions that had destroyed parts of his route back to Warsaw.
He would never be able to forget what he’d witnessed en route. Germany had invaded. He whispered the words aloud, for they were unbelievable in his head. “Germany has invaded Poland.” And they’d done it with incomprehensible speed and precision.
Terrified, but invigorated during those first few hours of madness, he’d dodged the lethal bombs falling from a sky full of German planes. The ground had erupted like a series of volcanos where the missiles hit, and afterwards, tanks had crunched the newly excavated earth as they stormed through the countryside like giant behemoths.
He’d survived, but thousands hadn’t that day, and tens of thousands more would die as the Germans got closer to Warsaw. Thank God, he was getting Romek and Klara out, he thought. Another week and he’d have been too late to help them.
Like him, Romek was a spy. Max had met him at the beginning of the previous year after two Poles were earmarked as possible agents for the British Secret Intelligence Services. Max, an MI6 recruiter and handler, had been sent to Warsaw to conduct the interviews with the two men and had chosen Romek before even meeting the other candidate. He had no regrets about his choice. Romek was one of the best decoders and radio transmitters in the MI6 stable.
Romek had come to MI6’s attention in 1937. He was a passport officer in the German Embassy in Warsaw. He’d been spotted after falsifying identity documents and a passport for a German Jew who’d previously been expelled from Munich, and obviously, hadn’t wished to remain in Central Europe. “The Nazis were too close for comfort, and I knew what was to come,” the Jew had said upon his arrest in Southampton.
The man’s passport had been perfectly acceptable, but the custom’s officer at the ferry port had suspected that the refugee was a Jew and not a Christian as stated on the document. Later, upon questioning by a Foreign Office official, the officer had remarked, “It wasn’t his colouring and features that alerted me to his religion, it was because the stupid bugger was c
arrying the Torah in his suitcase.” The Jew had then been handed over to MI6 because of Foreign Office concerns about an influx of German spies, and during his initial interrogation, had quite easily given Romek’s name and place of employment in Poland in return for asylum.
Apart from his native Polish, Romek spoke German and French with barely an accent, was well educated, and clearly despised the people who paid his wages. He had oozed charm and had never denied his criminal nature, which he’d said was not meant to harm anyone. On the contrary, he was helping Jews escape the Nazis. Since then, he’d been a great success, steadfastly loyal to the British, regularly sending information to London about what the Germans were up to: who was coming and going at the embassy, and what important or relevant conversations he’d overheard about the German armies and their movements. He’d been a testament to Max’s good judgement, who in turn received a pat on the back for a recruitment job well done.
Max observed the empty cars parked in front of the buildings then raised his eyes to the windows. Most had their curtains drawn. Doorways were also in darkness, and street lights hadn’t been turned on. He presumed that Warsaw’s government was taking precautions against a German airstrike and had ordered a blackout.
Finally, he crossed the road to the four-storey house’s entrance and stood for a moment in the doorway observing military trucks full of infantrymen pass by. It was almost midnight on September 1st, “Germany has invaded Poland,” he repeated for the second time. War had come, the days of appeasement, lies and trickery were over, and he was lucky to be alive.
