by Clare Mulley
CLARE MULLEY
THE WOMEN
WHO FLEW FOR
HITLER
The True Story of Hitler’s Valkyries
MACMILLAN
For my inspirational sister, Kate Mulley,
whose dry humour masks a warm heart.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Note on Spellings and Place Names
Maps
Epigraph
PREFACE: TRUTH AND LIVES
1: LONGING FOR FREEDOM, 1903–1932
2: SEARCHING FOR THE FABULOUS, 1912–1933
3: PUBLIC RELATIONS, 1933–1936
4: PUBLIC APPOINTMENTS, 1936–1937
5: HOVERING, 1938
6: DESCENT, 1938–1939
7: WOMEN AT WAR, 1939–1941
8: DEFYING GRAVITY, 1942–1943
9: UNDER ATTACK, 1943
10: OPERATION SELF-SACRIFICE, 1943–1944
11: OPERATION VALKYRIE, 1944
12: IN THE CAMPS, 1944
13: IN THE BUNKER, 1945
14: FINAL FLIGHT, 1945
15: LIBERATION AND DETENTION, 1945–1946
16: REPUTATIONS
EPILOGUE: A TIME OF CONTRADICTIONS
Notes
Select Bibliography
Picture Credits
Index
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgements
One of the wonderful things about researching a biography is the sense you sometimes have of shaking hands – or joining a conversation – across history. Reading diaries and letters, or even less intimate material, can bring moments of profound empathy and a frequent sense of a meeting of minds, but also the sudden shock of finding inexplicable prejudice, or worse. It is important not to assume too much understanding, or forget what might be lost in translation across language, time or context. Occasionally there is a more literal shaking of hands when meeting veterans, survivors or other witnesses for interviews. Several times while researching this book I found myself just a couple of handshakes away from Hitler, bearing in mind that not everyone who took his hand did so enthusiastically. Meeting people in rooms displaying photographs of their parents decorated with the Iron Cross or conducting the Nazi salute has proved particularly interesting. Decisions and actions were rarely as clear-cut at the time as seventy years’ distance might sometimes suggest, and reaching the many truths of any life, whether factual, moral or emotional, requires empathy as well as inquiry, criticism as well as care, and a respect for the absences from the record as well as for the traces left behind.
This book could not have been written without the very generous support of so many people who knew Melitta Schiller von Stauffenberg, Hanna Reitsch and their circles. In Germany, I was delighted to meet several members of Melitta and her in-laws’ families. Her nephew Dr Reinhart Rudershausen, and his wife Elke, generously gave me full access to their collection of family papers at their beautiful lakeside cottage, and later sent me original family photographs. Heidimarie Schade recalled childhood memories, including the time she scoffed Melitta’s Luftwaffe-issue chocolate, and her brother, Friedrich Berkner, also kindly shared all he knew. Major General Count Berthold von Stauffenberg, Claus von Stauffenberg’s eldest son, spent a morning reminiscing about his family over and after a very fine breakfast. Thanks are also due to his sister, Konstanze von Schulthess-Rechberg, who recalled memories of her mother. Hendrik de Waal and his sister Katinka de Waal kindly shared a photograph of their uncle, Melitta’s dear friend, Friedrich Franz Amsinck. Melitta’s first biographer, Gerhard Bracke, who has his own fascinating childhood memories of the war, came to know Melitta’s sister Klara well many years later. With extraordinary generosity, Gerhard gave me full access to his personal collection of recorded interviews, photographs and papers, including Melitta’s handwritten 1943 and 1944 diaries, and some fascinating unpublished letters from Hanna.
Although unable to meet Hanna’s family, I was lucky to interview several people who knew her. First among these was the remarkable officer and test pilot Captain Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown, the most decorated pilot in the history of the Royal Navy. Over a series of conversations, Eric described to me how he partied with Hanna before the war, formally identified her with the authorities during its closing days, and stayed in touch with her intermittently thereafter. Through the wonderful help of Margaret Nelson and Virginia Rouslin in Canada, I was also able to interview Luftwaffe Flight Captain Dietrich Pütter, who knew Hanna during the war. Lance Corporal Walter Rehling sent me his memories of her while I was visiting Peenemünde. The last person to meet Hanna among those I interviewed was BBC producer John Groom, who kindly recalled interviewing her for The Secret War series in the late 1970s, including watching her fall from her chair when carried away describing the flight arc of the rocket-powered Messerschmitt Komet. John Martin Bradley, who has spent years photographing veterans for his Combat Pilots of WWII collection, generously shared his interview with Hein K. Gering who once saved Hanna from a mouse, and James Holland kindly shared the many interviews with veterans he has conducted and posted on his www.griffonmerlin.com Second World War forum website. Very excitingly, Ian Sayer generously sent me scans of his important private collection of Hanna’s unpublished post-war correspondence, which gave a fascinating new insight into her dogmatic character. Bernd Rosemeyer, son of the pilot Elly Beinhorn, and Barbara Pasewaldt, daughter of Luftwaffe Wing Commander Georg Pasewaldt, also kindly shared their parents’ perspectives on both pilots.
I am also indebted to several veterans who talked to me about the context of the times, such as RAF Flying Officer John Alan Ottewell, my friend and neighbour Wing Commander Len Ratcliffe and, through Graham Cowie at the RAF Cosford Museum, Flight Lieutenant ‘Rusty’ Waughman and Flight Sergeant Jack Pragnell, who dropped bombs on Peenemünde during Operation Hydra while Hanna reportedly slept through the raid below. WAAF Intelligence Officer, Doreen Galvin, and both my parents, Gill and Derek Mulley, were also kind enough to share their wartime memories with me. I sincerely thank them all.
Among others who helped to shape this book are the historian Heiko Peter Melle, who took me round the Stauffenberg schloss, and author and curator Anne Voorhoeve, who showed me much of Melitta’s Berlin. UCL’s Professor Bernhard Rieger kindly shared his research on Hanna after the war; Caroline Esdaile the Kristallnacht memories of her father, Simon Reiss; and Chris Butler his family papers about Hitler’s bunker in the first days of the peace. I must also particularly thank the historians and authors Nigel Jones and Paul Strong, conversations with whom led me to these women’s stories, and Roger Moorhouse and Nick Jackson, who later generously helped to keep me on track in various archives and bars in London, Berlin and Munich.
My sincere thanks are also due to the archivists and staff at the British National Archives; the Imperial War Museum archives; the RAF Museum, Hendon; the British Library; the Deutsches Museum archive, Munich; the Technical University of Munich archives; the German Resistance Museum at the Bendlerblock, Berlin; the Plötzensee Prison Memorial Centre, Berlin; the Historical Technical Museum, Peenemünde; the US National Archives and Records Administration; Cornell University Law Library, Donovan Nuremberg Trials Collection; Alexander Historical Auctions; Hermann Historica International Auctions; Clint Daniel at the C. E. Daniel Collection; and the team at the Aerodrome de Gandalou, France, who bravely took me up in a glider and pretty quickly brought me back down again.
Ian Wolter and Kate Mulley – thank you for everything, you are both marvellous. Heartfelt thanks also to my brilliant editor, George Morle
y, Tania Wilde, Philippa McEwan and the rest of the team at Macmillan publishers, and my agent, Andrew Lownie. Also to all those who very kindly helped to locate and translate books, archive material and even at times rather torturous poetry: Marie Förg, Barbara Schlussler, Wolfgang Gehlen, Karin Fischer-Buder, Stephanie Holl-Trieu, Paul Skinner and Hans Fliri, as well as to my valiant readers, Alison Mable and Michelle Wheeler. Finally, it is with great pleasure that I thank my three daughters, Millie and Flo for pointing out appropriate references from their own reading of Anne Frank and Robert Harris, and Hester for much needed encouragement and distractions. Any errors are, of course, my own. Thank you all.
CLARE MULLEY, February 2017
Note on Spellings and Place Names
To assist the reader, whenever an unfamiliar German word is first mentioned, it will be in italics followed by an English translation. Thereafter, it will be in Roman. More anglicized German words, such as hausfrau and fräulein, appear in Roman throughout. German spellings use ‘ss’ rather than eszett for readability, so strasse rather than straße. Place names are as they were at the time, and within their contemporary borders, but with a footnote giving their modern equivalent and location when first mentioned.
The first thing Hitler did when he left his bedroom at the Berghof in the morning was to go straight to the magnificent terrace on the ground floor. There, at a particular time, he usually saw a wonderful and inspiring sight – two gigantic eagles sweeping in high circles through the sky; through field glasses he would eagerly watch the majestic flight of these rare but handsome birds. Then, one day, to his consternation, he saw but one eagle; what, he wondered anxiously, had happened to the other?
For days the subject was anxiously discussed among us, for we all saw how worried Hitler was at the disappearance of the second eagle.
A little later we decided to go again to Obersalzberg for his birthday, and a few days before the event our column set out from Munich. About thirty miles outside Munich we saw a fast-moving car approaching from the opposite direction, and in spite of the speed at which it passed us, Hitler noticed that some great bird with outspread wings was lying on the back seat. Immediately he halted the column. ‘I do believe,’ he said, ‘that was my eagle!’ and he forthwith ordered the Commando escort . . . to drive back and overtake the car.
‘If I am fit, I promise you, gentlemen, that I shall mete out an exemplary punishment to those scoundrels! And not to them alone, but also to the recipient!’ he said, and the black look on his face boded no good for the unfortunates who had roused his wrath.
About an hour later we saw the Commando car returning at full speed. We halted and Rattenhuber came running up.
‘You were quite right, mein Führer,’ he reported. ‘It is the eagle from the mountains.’
‘And the recipient?’ asked Hitler in menacing tones.
Hesitatingly Rattenhuber continued. ‘The eagle was delivered to your Munich residence . . . It is mounted on a marble plinth, which bears the inscription:
TO OUR BELOVED FÜHRER
FROM HIS MOUNTAINS
April 20th
From the Local Party Group
NSDAP Berchtesgaden.
HEINRICH HOFFMANN, 19551
PREFACE: TRUTHS AND LIVES
Hey, history this, history that . . . why should millions of viewers and readers of . . . films and magazines not be conned for the sake of drama? . . . If anyone had really wanted to tell the truth, they only needed to ask me.
HANNA REITSCH, 19731
History doesn’t develop following a concept; it follows its own, often random, path. You can’t put either people or historical events into boxes that have been pre-prepared or constructed afterwards. People, events, and progress have their own dynamic.
NINA VON STAUNFFENBERG, 19972
Hanna Reitsch believed that she was an honest woman. Her American interrogator concluded his October 1945 report with the statement that her information had been ‘given with a sincere and conscientious effort to be truthful and exact’. ‘She claims that the only reason she remained alive is for the sake of the truth,’ he added.3 Having died six months earlier, Melitta von Stauffenberg never had the equivalent opportunity to add her voice to the historical record. Her surviving sister Klara, however, testified that Melitta would not have been ‘capable of promoting anything against her better knowledge’.4 Yet it is unlikely that, had Melitta been able to reflect on wartime events, the accounts of these two extraordinary women would have agreed.
The only female test pilots actively to serve the Nazi regime, Hanna Reitsch and Melitta von Stauffenberg were in many ways the mirror image of one another. One fair, fun, loud and irrepressible, the other dark, serious and considered; on the face of it there were few obvious similarities between them. Yet both were great patriots, with deeply held views on the importance of honour, duty and sacrifice, and both were to some extent misfits, whose love of sensation, adrenaline and personal freedom drew them to defy all social expectations.
Hanna and Melitta were born during the pioneering air age, when it was hoped that flight would bring nations together. The First World War changed that, giving pilots new roles in military reconnaissance and in combat, but the romance associated with flight persisted. Pilots prided themselves on their honour as well as their valour in the air, and aces including the ‘Red Baron’, Manfred von Richthofen, became legendary figures. Under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles, a defeated Germany was forced to demobilize its air force and destroy its military aircraft. The manufacture of engine-powered planes was also temporarily forbidden, but gliders were exempt. As a result, in the years immediately after the war, gliding became the aspirational sport for the country’s youth, symbolic not only of peace and freedom but also of renewed national pride. Soon crowds of thousands were gathering to watch displays and competitions.
The Hirschberg valley, where Melitta went to boarding school and Hanna grew up, provided perfect conditions for gliding. As a result, both women learned to glide above the same green slopes, shocking their friends by risking their necks in fragile open-cockpit gliders made from wood and canvas. This was not the behaviour expected of young German fräuleins in the 1920s and early 1930s. What drove them was not just the adrenaline thrill of perilous flight, though that was a great lure for both women, but also the sense of freedom that gliding offered, taking them far away from the strictures and deprivations of Weimar Germany, and providing an opportunity to align themselves with the heroic restoration of their country’s honour.
In 1922 Melitta, nine years older than Hanna and much more academic, threw herself into an aeronautical engineering degree at the Technical University of Munich, then the heartland of the Nazi movement. As soon as she was earning a living, she invested every spare pfennig in learning to fly engine-powered aircraft, and soon had every type of licence. Hanna skipped her college classes to learn to glide, astounding people with her natural ability. It was 1928 when Amelia Earhart impressed the world by becoming the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. Two years later Amy Johnson flew solo from England to Australia, setting another female first. This was the glamorous age of flight, when Earhart had her own fashion line and ‘En Avion’ was the perfume of choice. Soon Hanna and Melitta were making the pages of German society magazines, applauded for their beauty, as well as their skill and ‘sensitivity’ in the air.
During the mid-1930s, Hanna and Melitta’s exceptional ability, courage and determination marked them as being of unique value to the new Nazi regime and both were awarded the honorary title of Flugkapitän, or flight captain, the first women to receive this distinction. Certain patriotic duties were now required of them. Both demonstrated their flying skills during the infamous 1936 Olympics, with Melitta performing aerobatics at the prestigious Grossflugtag (‘Great Flight Day’). Two years later, Hanna, the first woman to fly a helicopter, would stun an international audience by flying one inside a building for the Berlin Motor Show.
When war ret
urned in 1939, both women would also serve Germany. Their twin passions for their country and for flying had come together in the cockpit, and now both were being tested. Hanna flew a range of prototype gliders and approved pioneering flight equipment such as wing shields designed to slice through the steel cables of barrage balloons. In 1941 she became the first woman to receive the Iron Cross during the conflict. Less than two years later Melitta received the same honour for her pioneering work developing and test-flying dive-bombers like the Junkers Ju 87 Stuka. Although, as women, they were never technically employed by the Luftwaffe, from now on their stellar twin careers would be at the forefront of Nazi military aviation.
Having repeatedly risked their lives as pilots in the service of their country, Hanna and Melitta wore their decorations proudly. Both had made a significant contribution to the Nazi war effort, yet their views of their country and of the Nazi regime could hardly have been more different. Hanna felt that Germany was now truly alive, fighting proudly for its honour and rightful glory. Melitta was more circumspect. The traditional, conservative Germany that was her home was fighting for survival not only against Allied attack, but also against the brutal totalitarian Nazi regime. Although they sometimes flew from the same airfields and were both frequent visitors to the Berlin Aero Club, the two women avoided, ignored and belittled each other throughout the war. Their divergent political perspectives not only set them apart, but would lead them to make dramatically different choices as they developed their connections within the highest echelons of the Nazi regime.
After the war Hanna not only found herself famous in Germany, but also featured in numerous international books and films, with varying degrees of accuracy. Having been forced to reassess her values under US interrogation, she determined that honesty was one of her defining virtues and launched a campaign to set the record straight. ‘Pitiless truth is necessary even though it may be hard to hear,’ she told one interviewer fervently. ‘It is of vital importance for the entire humanity.’5 Eventually she published several versions of her memoirs in which she portrayed herself simply as a pilot and an apolitical patriot. These books were easy to write, she noted, ‘since I only had to tell the truth and set it down frankly’.6 Yet a former friend, British pilot Eric Brown, felt that at best Hanna was ‘sparse with the truth’.7 She never chose to address the criminal policies or practices of the Nazi regime, nor her own relationship with it.
