The German Girl

by Lily Graham

  Lisbet frowned. ‘If someone identified them and said they were staying with you – then it’s possible someone knows you are with us. It might not be safe here anymore.’

  They all looked at her in horror.

  Kalle was the one who said what they were all thinking. ‘It’s too dangerous – as soon as he’s gone, we need to find somewhere else to stay.’

  Trine’s editor, Henk Garsman, had a solution. It was a friend of a friend. ‘He’s a fellow editor, named Børge Rønne. Well, they’ve formed a group – they’re going to get people out via the Øresund, across the strait to Helsingborg, Sweden. Its code name is the Elsinore Sewing Club.’ The network initially comprised four friends that included a police officer, a bookbinder, a news editor and a police clerk. The club grew over time, but the four remained the core drivers of the group.

  In the coming years, official reports would vary concerning how many the club would transport across the strait with some putting the number at 700 and others closer to 1,500. But 143 trips were made from 1943 to 1945. The club was part of a network of resistance operations that helped save hundreds of lives, and ensured the survival of almost all Denmark’s Jews. Unfortunately, as the war progressed several members of the group were captured and sent to concentration camps themselves – the very places they tried to ensure those they helped escape – though many would survive and were able to tell their stories long afterwards.

  But for the time being, arrangements were made to get Trine, Asta, Jürgen and Kalle – who still faced criminal charges – to safety.

  By the time Smidt had greased enough palms and figured out who Trine’s friends were, they had all moved into a small house in Elsinore that belonged to a friend of one of the members of the Elsinore Sewing Club.

  They dared not leave until it was safe for them to get across the Øresund. ‘At the moment,’ said Henk, Trine’s boss, on a visit to see them, ‘this Smidt is making things difficult. One of the members of the Sewing Club is a police officer who has been trying to lead Smidt away, as his presence is a bit too close for comfort. Hopefully they can get him stationed in one of the bigger cities – which will give us the time we need. Right now, if we take you across it could compromise the whole network.’

  Asta and Trine stared up at him. ‘Thank you, Henk,’ said Trine.

  He shrugged. ‘I always knew the paper would have to do without you someday, Anderson, I just never thought it would be like this.’

  ‘Me neither,’ she admitted.

  ‘Well, you’re safe for now – we’ll get you food and whatever you need, so just lie low till we send word, all right?’

  They nodded, and thanked him again.

  In September, a few weeks after the uprising, several Danish Jews broke into the Jewish community’s office to steal a list of the names and addresses – which meant that they now had a list of most of the Jews in Denmark.

  News broke and spread among politicians that the Jews were going to be captured on the night of Rosh Hashanah – the Jewish new year in October. It turned out to be a good thing as the rabbis were able to warn the citizens in time.

  Shortly afterwards, Henk came by the house. Asta was rocking the baby, who wouldn’t stop crying, to her chest, and Jürgen was pacing the floor. Kalle and Trine were sitting on the kitchen bench.

  ‘It’s time, Smidt has been deployed to Copenhagen – with the news that they’ve finally got the go-ahead to get rid of the Jews, they need more officers there. It’s the chance we need – you’ll be taken tomorrow morning.’

  They stared at him in shock and surprise. Then Trine rushed to embrace him. He patted her back awkwardly, and left.

  Early on the morning of their departure, Asta received a note from Oliver, which had been slipped beneath the door of their safe house in Elsinore, just after dawn. It was simple, but imploring, asking her to meet him one last time at the bookshop where she used to work. The note was full of pain, and longing, and it stabbed her heart. It mentioned how hurt she’d made him, how much he still wanted to be friends, how worried he was for her.

  ‘I have to go – I have to at least say goodbye,’ she told Kalle and Jürgen, when they found her with it, not long afterwards.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, Kalle – I mean, after everything…’

  ‘I’ll wait outside or keep to the shadows, but there’s no way I’m letting you go through that door without me.’

  She stared at him, and felt a rush of love, then held out her hand for his, and he squeezed it. But she told Trine and Jürgen there was no point in them coming too.

  ‘Worst-case scenario – we will get on the next boat.’

  ‘That’s not the worst-case scenario,’ cried Jürgen. ‘It’s dangerous, Asta, we need to stick to the plan! If he really wants to say goodbye he can come here or visit you in Sweden.’

  ‘No, he can’t, if he gets caught he’ll get sent to prison – you know the cost of helping us. This is my only chance. You don’t understand – before everything that happened, when I thought I’d lost you, he was my only friend, he made me carry on living.’

  She could never just leave, never just forget him.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Kalle, ‘I’ll keep them safe.’

  Asta nodded.

  Trine held on to baby Jonna. ‘It’s okay, Oliver won’t keep her long, and he wouldn’t ask her to meet him if it wasn’t important. Besides, the worst of the danger has passed now that Smidt has moved on.’

  They nodded. That was true.

  When Asta and Kalle got to the bookstore, she frowned. It was dark and empty. Usually by this time in the morning, the lights were on, and there were already a few customers inside.

  Oliver’s note had said to meet in the busy street to avoid being noticed, but as she walked inside she shared a puzzled look with Kalle.

  ‘Oliver?’ she called.

  Perhaps he had convinced one of the booksellers to switch off the lights to make it look like no one was there. They were all old friends.

  ‘Oliver?’ she whispered.

  There was the sound of footsteps, coming from the back, and she breathed a little easier. Kalle closed the door behind him.

  It was their first mistake.

  31

  There was a sound like a muffled scream, and by the time Asta had turned the corner, the blood drained from her face, and she stopped in her tracks.

  Oliver was bound, and strapped to a chair. In front of him was a small table, along with a pen and a piece of paper. His face was bloody, and one eye was swollen shut.

  ‘Oliver!’ she cried, as Kalle was slammed into her back.

  There was the sound of a pistol being cocked, and she turned and swallowed to find Officer Smidt standing there with a pistol pointed at them.

  ‘I told you they would come,’ he said to Oliver, who shook his head, tears leaking down his face.

  Smidt had put tape across Oliver’s face, but now he pulled it back violently. Oliver stared at Asta with tear-filled eyes.

  ‘Why did you come?’ he asked.

  ‘Because you told me to.’

  He hung his head. ‘I thought you’d see through it – that you’d know I’d never ask you to do – something so stupid. I thought you’d read what I said about being friends and understand.’

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She understood now but it was too late.

  ‘All these tears,’ said Smidt, looking at Asta and then at Kalle.

  Then he looked at Oliver, and patted his shoulder. ‘They just cause you suffering, these animals.’ Then he sighed. ‘It’s like a bad dog, you know, best to put them down.’

  And he fired, first one, then the second shot.

  Oliver watched in horror as Asta fell to the ground. It felt like he was falling too. He stared in shock as he forgot to breathe. There was the sound of screaming. It was some time before he realised it was him.

  He watched through tear-filled eyes as Kalle dove after Smidt, but by then he
’d already been shot. He kept coming, as shot after shot was fired, till Smidt managed at last to topple him to the ground. He was a big man, and even in his dying breath, he fought hard wrestling the gun out of Smidt’s grip. Oliver fell over in his chair, struggling against his bonds, managing to wiggle his arm just enough to reach for the pistol that had slid out of Smidt’s reach, which Kalle had then kicked towards him. Oliver grabbed hold of the pistol, and fired. It hit Smidt in the side of his head, he was dead before he even hit the ground.

  32

  By the time Oliver managed to get himself free, Trine and Jürgen were inside the shop. The sound of Jürgen’s crying would haunt Oliver to his dying day.

  Somehow, Trine managed to get him away from Oliver, to protect him. One of the members of the Elsinore Sewing Club, Thormod, the police officer, was soon on the scene too.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do for them now – but go – get to Sweden. Kiær, the skipper, is waiting, he’ll take you. If this gets out – well, it’ll be the death penalty for sure, and you don’t want to be anywhere near this, trust me.’

  ‘But—’ cried Trine, as Jürgen sank to his knees, cradling his twin in his arms. Trine comforted the baby as she cried, as if she knew what had happened – how her whole world had crumbled in the space of minutes.

  Jürgen and Trine made the trip across the Øresund, Asta’s child in his arms. Everything had changed in the space of a few hours. He turned from a boy into a man in that moment, on the short boat ride over, as the waves crashed around them and the salt spray stung his face. His blue eyes turned hard, and he pulled the child closer to his chest. By the time he had set foot on Swedish soil, he vowed to be the child’s father, to be everything she needed. Someone was speaking German, and he turned away. He stared down at Jonna; her eyes were open, her face was calm. She had no knowledge of anything that had happened, all the pain that they had faced to get her here. He set his jaw; he would make sure, somehow, that it stayed that way. It was the least he could do.

  33

  Northern Sweden, 1995

  The snow was settling outside the forest, and the air was quiet and still. Inside the cabin, Ingrid held her beloved morfar in her arms, as the last of his story came pouring out.

  ‘Oh, Morfar, why didn’t you tell us – why didn’t you tell Mum? She had a right to know.’

  ‘I know… I don’t know why I never said anything,’ he sighed, standing up, putting another log on the fire, his old hands shaking.

  ‘It was just so much – so much pain, so much suffering. After Trine died when Jonna was five, I figured it was simpler to just keep it to myself. To be Swedish and to live a different kind of life. I put it in a box, and I just…’

  ‘Refused to open it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I wasn’t alone. It’s what we did then, you know. No one liked to speak about such things.’

  Ingrid nodded. She could believe that. Nowadays, there was talk therapy and medication, and recognised names for things like post-traumatic stress disorder.

  She couldn’t imagine keeping all of that to herself.

  In the days that followed, Jonna came to visit, and at last, Morfar shared his story with her as well. Ingrid left them to speak privately, walking in the forest with Narfi, but every time she came back, they were still talking. He showed them his old sketchbooks, and with tears running down his cheeks, he told them about Asta, and Kalle. There was a drawing of him, done not long after they had escaped. Jonna touched it with shaking fingers. ‘He was handsome,’ she said.

  Jürgen nodded. ‘Yes, and kind – he was such a good man, your father,’ he said, tears coursing down his worn cheeks. ‘I should have told you all of this so long ago.’

  Jonna held the old man in her arms, and rocked him. ‘He was my father, yes, but so were you – the best one in the world. The best father and grandfather in the world.’

  Ingrid nodded and came to embrace him as well. They sat like that for a long time, as the fire in the wood burner burned low.

  A few days later, Jürgen showed them the last piece he’d been keeping to himself for all these years.

  ‘There’s something else,’ he said.

  Ingrid’s eyes widened, and he shuffled over to the window, where there had always been two small metal tins with locks.

  She frowned.

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s them,’ he said.

  ‘Them?’ she asked.

  ‘Asta and Kalle.’

  ‘Morfar?’ she cried. She’d seen those tins on his windowsill her whole life… but never, not once imagined this.

  ‘I couldn’t scatter their ashes.’ Tears splashed down the old man’s face. ‘Oliver brought them over, a few months afterwards when we sent word that we were safe. I kept them with me, I couldn’t bear to part with them, not after everything that happened. Aside from you two, this was all I had left; I couldn’t just let them go. See – it was years later, of course, after Trine died, when I finally learnt what happened to my parents.’ He paused then said, ‘Auschwitz.’

  A simple word, for so much pain and terror.

  One year later

  Hamburg

  Ingrid and Jonna walked arm in arm along the canal. The sun was beginning to set, and a pair of children ran away along the path, their laughter a chorus in the chilled spring air. There was a sound of a horn being blasted from a ferry transporting its passengers across the way.

  Ingrid stared as it went past, looking at the window where no mascot was displayed, no stuffed gorilla named Frederick that a pair of twins with their irrepressible grins and their lust for life used to dress up every day to give the commuters a laugh.

  Ingrid paused, and stared at the sketchbook in her hands, and her hands shook as she touched the picture of Asta. They both felt like they knew her now, after spending so many nights by his side, hearing all the stories he’d kept from them for so long. It was like a dam wall had burst.

  Jonna came to stay with Ingrid; her father insisted. It was precious time, this, and she was grateful for it. In the year that followed, the three of them spent hours every day just speaking. He was still confused a lot but he wasn’t as angry or as sour – it was like a weight had come off him. This seemed even more cruel when they discovered that he’d been keeping another secret from them – a slow-growing cancer that finally caught up with him one morning when the last of the snow had melted.

  Outside her window, Ingrid saw a bear make his way through the forest; she was surprised to see one so close to the village. It was later that they found Morfar, in his bed, having achieved peace at last. She would always think that perhaps he’d sent that bear for her.

  ‘You ready?’ asked Ingrid, wiping a tear from her own eyes.

  ‘Ready,’ Jonna replied, a wobble in her lips, as they scattered three sets of ashes, which mingled into the water of the canal, their lives bound together in death, as they had become so in life.

  Above their heads was the flapping of wings, and a flight of swallows returned to their nest. Ingrid caught her breath as she remembered what he’d told her once about how a swallow will always find its way home if it can find its nest.

  If you were gripped by this beautiful book then you will love The Paris Secret, an epic and heartbreaking World War Two love story, available to download here.

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  The Paris Secret

  An epic and heartbreaking love story set in World War Two

  The last time Valerie was in Paris, she was three years old, running from the Nazis, away from the only home she had ever known.

  Now as a young woman all alone in the world, Valerie must return to Paris, to the bookshop and her sole surviving relative, her grandfather Vincent, the only person who knows the truth about what happened to her parents. As she gets to know grumpy, taciturn Vincent again, she hears a tragic story of Nazi-occupied Paris, a doomed love affair and a mother willing to sacrifice everything for her beloved daughter.

  Can Valerie and Vin
cent help each other to mend the wounds of the past? Valerie isn’t after a fairytale ending, she only wants the truth. But what is the one devastating secret that Vincent is determined to keep from his granddaughter?

  An unputdownable and unforgettable story of love, fear and courage in a time of war. Immerse yourself in a Paris where soldiers’ boots echo on cobbled streets and the air is full of whispers. Fans of Before We Were Yours, Kathryn Hughes and The Paris Wife will be absolutely hooked by this beautiful, tragic tale.

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  Books by Lily Graham

  The German Girl

  The Child of Auschwitz

  The Paris Secret

  The Island Villa

  Summer at Seafall Cottage

  The Summer Escape

  Christmas at Hope Cottage

  A Cornish Christmas

  A Letter from Lily

  Thank you so much for reading The German Girl – I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.