On August 25, the postwoman, Frau Niedermeyer, brought the earth-shattering news that the Allies had taken Paris. The radio announcer made no mention of it, instead barking the Reich’s determination to achieve victory. A gloom descended on the residents of Kaiser Wilhelm apartment block 2. Gretchen took a look at Oskar’s old school atlas to see how far it was from Paris to the German border. She tried to imagine the Westwall, the defensive structure west of the Rhine which Joseph Goebbels’ propaganda ministry had repeatedly said would stem the Allies’ advance – if all else failed.
The following day, Frau Niedermeyer delivered a letter to Hans at his allotment. He thanked her and tucked it into his shirt.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, in impatient excitement.
He shook his head. “I’ll open it later.”
Frau Niedermeyer came across Gretchen on her way to the allotments. She told her about Hans’s letter. “It looks official.”
“He didn’t open it?”
“No. maybe he’ll tell you what’s in it.”
Hans showed the letter to Gretchen in his cabin. It was from the office of the Gauleiter of Berlin.
Subject: ‘Optimal Efficiency of Food Production for the Maintenance of our Fighting Forces’.
Kleingarten Tenant,
I am writing to you as you are the registered tenant of allotment F17__
at Ruhwald, Wilmersdorf______
In the ongoing battle of the Third Reich against the massed aggression of her enemies,
it is essential that every resource is used to its maximum capacity. The Schrebergärten of Berlin have a significant contribution to make by cultivating and growing food for our troops in order to support and maintain our fighting forces in the battlefield.
In order to step up production new standards have been devised and will be strictly enforced. The table overleaf shows the weight of vegetable matter that must be produced by each allotment depending on its size.
Please note that you will be obliged to meet these production targets. Failure to do so will result in the immediate termination of your rental agreement.
Heil Hitler
P. Joseph Goebbels, Dr.
Gauleiter, Berlin
She flipped the sheet over and checked the figures. The table showed various allotment sizes and figures for vegetable production.
“What size is this plot?” she said.
“It’s two hundred square meters, twenty-five meters by eight,” said Hans. “I will be required to produce five hundred kilograms of vegetables in two crops every year.”
“How difficult will that be?” she said.
Hans spread his hands, a look of despair on his face. “Take a look outside. How can they expect that level of production from a half-man like me? Even preparing the ground for September planting is more than I will be able to manage on my own.”
Gretchen thought hard about his implied question. Could she help him? If she did, would she have to leave the bakery, or could she do both? Her decision came quickly. She could attend the bakery in the morning, the allotment in the afternoon, and still leave time to look after Oskar.
“I’m willing to lend a hand,” she said.
His face broke into a broad smile. “I was hoping you might say that!”
“I can give you some of my time in the afternoons. I’m sure we can beat it into shape between us. But I’m not doing it for free.”
“Of course not. You shall share in any spare vegetables.”
“That’s all I ask.”
17
For weeks, Gretchen spent all her spare time on Hans’s allotment, harvesting what vegetables remained, digging over the plot, preparing the ground for planting. The work was backbreaking to start with, but after a couple of weeks, it became easier. Hans did what he could to help.
Oskar seemed aware of the changes, throwing miniature tantrums when she tried to get him to eat or sleep. He soon settled into the new routine, but there were some messy toileting issues that kept her busy well into the night.
Postwoman Niedermeyer continued to provide vital news from the war. In the first week of September she reported that Antwerp had fallen to the Allies after a fierce battle, giving them a working port, that would enable them to resupply their armies and continue their advance toward Germany from the west.
Gretchen had mixed feelings about the news. Hans saw the confusion in her eyes. “It’s good news, Gretchen,” he said. “We want the Allies to take France and move into Germany as quickly as possible.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She shuddered. “I dread to think what the Ivans will do to us if they are the ones who take Berlin.” Frau Niedermeyer had told them some hair-raising stories about how the Red Army troops treated the Polish population.
By the end of September, Gretchen’s gardening work was showing results. She looked over the allotment with pride. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d achieved her objective. The plot looked as good as any of its neighbors, everything shipshape and tidy, ready for planting.
Hans found a couple of fresh bottles of beer and they celebrated together. He turned on the radio. The announcer had exciting news about an Allied defeat in the Netherlands. A British paratrooper unit had been driven out of Arnhem where they had attempted to capture a vital bridge over the Rhine. If the enemy had succeeded in capturing and holding the bridge, they would have been able to bypass the Westwall, but they were defeated by SS Panzers. Over 6,000 enemy soldiers were taken captive. Martial music followed the broadcast. Hans swore colorfully and switched it off.
On September 25, the formation of the Volkssturm – the People’s Militia – under the command of Heinrich Himmler was announced on the radio. Every available male aged 16 to 60, not already engaged in Wehrmacht action, was invited to enlist as a volunteer in this new army. Upon hearing the broadcast, Anton told his mother that he intended to enlist. She tried to dissuade him. She pointed out that he was too young, but Anton wasn’t listening. He made his way to the nearest recruiting depot and offered his services to the Wehrmacht. They sent him home.
While he was out, Frau Tannhäuser discovered a letter in Anton’s shirt pocket.
It was from Artur Axmann, the national leader of the Hitler Youth. In the letter Axmann proclaimed: “As the sixth year of war begins, we, Adolf Hitler's youth, stand prepared to fight with determination and dedication for our lives and our future. I say to each and every member of our movement: It is time to decide whether you want to be the last of an unworthy race, despised by future generations, or whether you want to be part of a new wonderful time, glorious beyond all imagination.”
She showed the letter to her husband. “Is there no limit to the sacrifices Adolf Hitler asks of us? Must we lose our children to this senseless war?”
Herr Tannhäuser shook his head sadly. He had no answer.
18
October 2 dawned with a chill wind from the East and news that the Westwall was under intense artillery bombardment by the Allies. The Wehrmacht was preparing for the coming assault when they would be called upon to defend the Reich’s western border.
In the allotment, the planting was all done. Potatoes, onions, carrots, parsnips and a row of peas would all be harvested in the spring. On October 10, Hans received a short letter from the Gauleiter’s office informing him that his plot would be inspected on Monday October 16 to ensure that it conformed to the Gauleiter’s requirements for optimal production.
Gretchen was sure they were ready for the inspector. She continued to visit every second day to keep the plot clear of weeds. Hans was less than confident that he would be able to satisfy the Gauleiter’s production requirements in the spring.
“You’ll pass with flying colors,” she reassured him.
On October 15, accompanied by funereal music, the radio announced the sudden and tragic death of General Erwin Rommel. Germany’s hero had died of a heart attack brought on by head injuries suffered i
n an Allied aerial attack in July. The report said that the Führer was distraught by the news and had announced a day of mourning in the General’s honor and a state funeral with full military honors to be held in Ulm, near Rommel’s birthplace.
Hans shook his head when he heard the news. Since the failed assassination attempt, Germany’s military leaders were dropping like flies! Beck, Witzleben, Tresckow, Hoepner, Falkenhausen, Kluge, Fromm, Gersdorff, Olbricht… The list went on and on.
Early the following morning, he unlocked the cabin and waited patiently for the Gauleiter’s inspection. A grey mist had descended over the Schrebergärten. By 8 o’clock Hans’s confidence was flagging. Would Gretchen’s hard work pass muster? How could the inspector judge the weight of produce that would be delivered six months in the future? As he waited, he fussed about, tidying the inside of the cabin like a schoolboy about to sit an exam.
Max Jungblutt arrived at 9:30 a.m. accompanied by a Wehrmacht soldier, an older man armed with a Schmeisser Machine pistol.
Hans offered Jungblutt a hand which the Gauleiter’s agent ignored.
He followed his two visitors outside, swinging his leg and showed them where the various vegetables had been sown. “I am confident of a satisfactory harvest next spring.”
Jungblutt rubbed his chin with his hand. “You have done well, Herr Klein. I have seen few allotments so well prepared and planted.”
“Thank you, Herr Jungblutt.” The compliment was welcome, but Hans had an uneasy feeling that Jungblutt had not finished with him yet.
“How have you managed it? I would have thought this work beyond your powers, given your obvious physical handicap.”
Hans’s scalp tingled. Warm blood flushed his face. “I had help from a woman of my acquaintance.”
A salacious leer on the soldier’s face alerted Hans to the impropriety implied by what he’d said. “She helped me with the work, nothing more.”
“Well you are both to be congratulated,” said Jungblutt. “And I thank you both for all your excellent work.”
He handed Hans a piece of paper. Hans unfolded it and read the contents. They made no sense. He scratched his head. “What is this? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite straightforward,” said Jungblutt. “You will vacate the plot by Friday of this week. Your tenancy has been terminated. Someone more able will be appointed to this allotment. Good day.”
Gretchen was furious when she heard the news. “We did all that work. How can they take it away from us? It’s grossly unfair.”
Hans shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. Gauleiter Goebbels is king in Berlin.”
“You should object. I bet this is a decision Max Jungblutt took on his own initiative. The Gauleiter probably knows nothing about it.”
“You may be right, Gretchen, but how can I raise an objection with the Gauleiter in person? There’s a war on. I would never get near him. Herr Jungblutt would never allow it.”
The loss of the allotment was a terrible blow to them both. Hans still had some potatoes, carrots and cabbages in sacks in the cabin that would help to tide them over for the winter, but Gretchen knew with certainty that she and Oskar would face starvation sooner or later in the coming months.
19
On October 18, Herr Tannhäuser received an official letter embossed with the Wehrmacht insignia, the eagle and swastika. It was a call to arms for all able-bodied men over the age of fifteen.
He reported to the recruiting office that afternoon. After a prolonged delay, standing in line with other unfortunate draftees, he reached the recruiting officer’s desk. “By all that’s holy, how can I be called to active service?” he said.
The soldier looked him up and down. “You look able-bodied.”
“But I’m an undertaker. Contact the Gauleiter’s office. They will confirm it.”
“That’s not my concern,” said the soldier.
“I have a reserved occupation,” said Tannhäuser. “If I’m conscripted who will bury all the bodies?"
“There are no longer any reserved occupations,” said the sergeant sitting at a desk behind the recruiting soldier. The soldier completed the paperwork and told the undertaker where to assemble for transport to the Olympic park for Volkssturm training.
When Herr Tannhäuser got home and told Anton what had happened, the youngster was disgusted. First his troop leader had been conscripted, and now his father.
He pouted. “When will I be called?”
“You’re too young,” said his father.
“I can fight,” said Anton. “I can fire a gun. How difficult can it be?”
His mother clicked her tongue. “Be careful what you wish for, Anton. The enemy has guns too, and they fire back.”
Anton stamped his foot. “It’s so unfair. Ludwig’s a wimp. He’s great at marching up and down, but he’ll be hopeless with a gun in his hand. And I’ve never seen Father fire a gun in his life.”
“Your brave father served in the last war,” said his mother, her voice trembling.
Tannhäuser was transported, together with a truckload of elderly citizens, and teenagers to the Olympic park for training. Getting in and out of the truck was a challenge for the undertaker.
After four days of training in the use of the Panzerfaust anti-tank weapon, the whole troop was given two days’ leave.
When his father arrived in the house, Anton quickly made a nuisance of himself quizzing his father about his training. An irritated Tannhäuser said he was too tired to answer his boy’s questions.
Anton stormed out and called to Ludwig’s house. Ludwig opened the door, wearing his Hitler Youth uniform.
“Where’s your Volkssturm uniform?” said Anton.
“It’s just a Wehrmacht uniform,” said Ludwig, “but we have this.” He showed Anton the red/black/red Volkssturm armband.
Anton tried it on. It fitted his arm perfectly.
He fired his questions at Ludwig. The troop leader answered as well as he could, but for every answer, Anton came up with more questions, pressing for every detail about the anti-tank weapon.
Finally, Ludwig’s mother called him to his supper. Anton had to leave. “What do I have to do to join this Volkssturm?” he said, on his way out the door.
“Do nothing,” Ludwig replied. “Your chance will come, I promise you.”
Anton ran all the way home in a state of great excitement. His chance would come!
After their two days’ leave, the new recruits were transported to the eastern defenses overlooking the Oder River.
As one of the few with military training, Tannhäuser was directed to a heavy machinegun station surrounded by sandbags. A teenager dressed in an oversized uniform was assigned to help with loading the ammunition.
“What’s your name, boy, and how old are you?” asked the undertaker.
“Ludwig. I’m sixteen.”
“That’s Ludwig and I’m sixteen, Herr Gruppenführer.”
“Yes, Herr Gruppenführer. Sorry, Herr Gruppenführer.”
Tannhäuser knew who he was, he’d seen him leading Anton’s Hitler Youth troop. It was unlikely that Ludwig was unaware who Tannhäuser was, but the youngster said nothing.
Tannhäuser surveyed the scene. All looked quiet, a serene rural landscape. They were on a rise overlooking lush fields and below them, the river, glistening in the sunshine.
On the opposite side of the river a dense forest with flocks of crows circling in the mist at the tops of the tallest trees.
“Where’s the enemy?” said Ludwig. “I don’t see them.”
“They’ll be along soon enough,” said the old man. “I expect they’re hiding in the forest. Keep your eyes on the tree line. We don’t want them to come upon us by surprise.”
“Yes, Herr Gruppenführer,” said Ludwig.
20
The first Gretchen knew about the Volkssturm conscription was when she turned up for work only to find the bakery locked and no sign of Herr Korn. There was no l
ine of women waiting at the door, either. She made enquiries at a haberdashery shop nearby, and they told her that Herr Korn had been conscripted.
“That’s madness,” said Gretchen. “The people need bread.”
She returned to the apartment and spent the morning with Oskar. In the early afternoon she went looking for Hans in his apartment on the ground floor, but there was no answer to her knock on his door. It seemed unlikely, but could they be drafting one-legged old soldiers into the army? Without Hans’s vegetables, they would starve.
Martha Engels called in a state of high excitement. “I had a visit from the postwoman.”
“You got a letter from the Wehrmacht?”
“I got a letter from Paul. He’s alive and well in a prisoner of war camp in France.”
“That’s really good news,” said Gretchen. “Does he say when he might be released?”
“No, but I’m sure it won’t be long, now. The war’s nearly over.”
When Martha asked if Gretchen had any bread, Gretchen told her that the bakery was closed. “Herr Korn has been conscripted.”
“What are we supposed to eat?” said Martha.
Dora called looking for food for Inge, but Gretchen had nothing to give her. She explained that the master baker had been conscripted.
“That’s madness, people have to eat,” said Dora.
“That’s what I said,” Gretchen replied.
The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII Page 54
