The Handkerchief Map
Page 1
Praise for The Handkerchief Map
Sometimes historical events are related to us in ways that seem so removed from our everyday. Kiri’s inspired use of letters from three young people during WWII and the Holocaust allows for an immersion into raw feelings, devastating experiences and difficult decisions, and hopefully reminds us of what young people are experiencing in and through other conflicts around the world right now.
Dr Maria Pallotta-Chiarolli – School of Health and Social Development, Deakin University
This book, small as a handkerchief, unfolds its account of betrayal, survival and renewal, through three young voices out of the turmoil of Hitler’s war in Europe, in letters to loved ones left behind. Here, lives are torn apart and must, of necessity, be stitched back together in another pattern. Kiri English-Hawke handles her characters with a clarity and poise beyond her years.
Beverley Farmer – author of Alone and A Body of Water
The depth and maturity of this young writer is stunning. The character development within this skilfully written book takes the reader into the lives and thoughts of the three main personalities struggling to make some sense of the horrific times they are living in. Both myself and my daughter (16 years old), could not put the book down and read it cover to cover in one sitting.
Leonie Jackson – Visual Artist
All wars disable and dislocate. That a 16 year-old Australian schoolgirl can write so sensitively about those effects is indeed inspiring. This book is as much about an ongoing global identity crisis as it is about the traumas of the Holocaust.
Wayne Hawkins – Disability Policy Advisor, Australian Communications Consumer Action Network
A remarkable book which uses the immediacy of the epistolary style to get into the minds of its characters and show us that we can learn more about wars from individuals than solely from history books. The fact that the writer is not one who has lived through such events as depicted in the book, makes it all the more amazing for its perspicacity and sensitivity.
Eleni Frangouli-Nickas – author of Athina and Her Daughters: A Memoir of Two Worlds
The Handkerchief Map
Kiri English-Hawke
Glass House Books
an imprint of Interactive Publications
Treetop Studio • 9 Kuhler Court
Carindale, Queensland, Australia 4152
sales@ipoz.biz
ipoz.biz/GHB/GHB.htm
First published by Ace Press, 2010
2nd edition published by IP, 2014
© Kiri English-Hawke, 2014
This is a work of fiction. All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental. In order to provide the story with context some real names of places are used, but all dates, places and events should be understood as approximations.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and the publisher of this book.
Printed in 12 pt Times New Roman on Lucida Calligraphy 11pt.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Author: English-Hawke, Kiri, author.
Title: The handkerchief map / Kiri English-Hawke.
Edition: 2nd edition.
ISBN: 9781922120878 (ebk)
Subjects: World War, 1939-1945--Fiction
Epistolary fiction.
Dewey Number: A823.4
Cover design by Max 7 New York and David P Reiter
Author photo by Cathy Reid
Book design by Anna Bartlett
The Motherland, bent over her daughter’s ashes,
Sings this tender maternal song
About Zoya, the girl, who has become a legend,
Who died and was born for eternal life.
The native land inspired her with courage,
The great nation educated her with pride,
And the girl has become fine as a white birch,
Like the Russian heart, she was frank and noble.
Dimitri Shostakovich
Song for Zoya (1944)
Foreword
As gently as a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis and with the force of a slowly-exploding hand grenade, The Handkerchief Map is an outstanding book. It is all the more outstanding because at the time of writing, the author was a student in the Gifted and Talented English stream at Stella Maris College, Sydney. As such, it is unique in the genre of young adult fiction as it is written by a young adult author.
Using the Holocaust as her starting point, Kiri English-Hawke creates a small but powerful tour de force that crosses frontiers of time and space and interweaves the stories of Franz, Helga and Susanna through a series of letters towards the end of World War II.
Based on personal field research in Europe, and a study of the camps of Germany, the book is no flight of fantasy but an engrossing story to which the narrative adds emotional strength in a tone that is meditative and lyrical, incised by memories of loss and pain. An authentic voice, a noble story of the human spirit, of survival, love and hope. Unforgettable.
Peter Skrzynecki – author of Immigrant Chronicles
Contents
FRANZ
Part One: Mother
HELGA
Part Two: Darling
SUSANNA
Part Three: Dearest
FRANZ
“I promise to do my duty in love and loyalty to the
Fuhrer and our flag.”
German Pledge of Allegiance
(Reichswehreid / Hitler Oath, 1934-1945)
Part One: Mother
Obergebiete Training Camp (Germany)
November 6, 1943
Dear Mother,
When I waved to you, you seemed scared; you don’t think I’ll be okay? I can tell you think I’m lost forever, your only son. Mother, I’ll be fine I think, two days in and I think I’ll be fine. Have faith, Mother. If you lose faith, then my fate is sealed.
The training is not too difficult, but every night we are asleep almost immediately. It’s mentally challenging, Mother. I have a few more muscles on my tall and skinny body! This is not like the world I have known. The food is not so good. Keep well.
Your loving son
Franz.
Obergebiete Training Camp (Germany)
November 27, 1943
Dear Mother,
There are lots of men here, young men mostly. There is a group of us in a room, about eight or so. Four of us get along well. We are at one end of the room. I bunk with Heinrich, and Johann and Stein are together. Each of the boys is very different. They are not all blonde and blue-eyed as it was in the Hitler Youth.
Heinrich is the oldest and he seems very backwards about the war, no pride at all. He has a wife and children back home in Berlin, whom he’s constantly writing to and worrying about.
Johann is 24 and I’m fairly sure he’s just in it for the glamour and the uniform, not that any of us really had a choice, or needed one. He’s always talking about the girls we’ll meet on leave. Personally I don’t have a lot of time for him. I can only take so much, and then he begins to drive me mad.
Stein is a quiet sort. He walks with us but isn’t as conversational as the others. I’m not entirely sure what his views on the war are, and I’m not likely to find out. I can’t help my curiosity, but in the middle of a war people are careful about what they hear and what they say for fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Or mak
ing the wrong face … unless the truth is written all over the face like Johann!
Your loving son
Franz.
Obergebiete (Germany)
December 14, 1943
Dear Mother,
How are you Mother? I wonder are the shops still open, can you still buy Strasbourg and sausage? There is none of that here, although there is enough food. We have another week or two until training is finished, then it’s the real thing. No more tests, no more excusable mistakes; a single shot and that could be it. It all sounds very serious, doesn’t it?
Mail deliveries are erratic, but do please write when you can get stamps. We all wish for letters.
Your loving son
Franz.
(Unknown)
December 25, 1943
Dear Mother,
Well, Mother, it will be a lonely Christmas this year, for all of us.
Do you remember the Christmas of 1941? We were sure it would all be over by now. We gave it a year at the most, but it’s still going on.
Training finished some days ago and we have been thrust unceremoniously into the wide open war. Days pass, nights pass and still this dreadful thing continues. Everywhere shots are fired, still people are crying, still cities are being destroyed, still we’re waiting for the end, but even when the end arrives, there will still be tears, still people will suffer, still there will be sadness. The struggle will not end when the last shot is fired. Sorry to be bleak, Mother, but I am seeing things that shock me now.
So, Merry Christmas, Mother, and a peaceful New Year – I hope. Make it as happy as possible. Sorry I’m not there and father too. I hope you get some good meat for Christmas dinner.
Your loving son
Franz.
(Unknown)
December 31, 1943
Dear Mother,
The last day of the year has arrived and my life as a soldier is a constant and grim reality. We have been moved out and we are travelling. The training was hard and monotonous but it has made me strong.
I couldn’t tell you where we are even if I wanted to; I have no idea. All I know is this war is cold in more ways than one, and my journey within it has only just begun.
Your loving son
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
January 27, 1944
Dear Mother,
It must be freezing in Berlin. I hope you can find some warmth. Today it has all begun for us. We have been moved out. If I wrote and said where we are they’d only cross it out so I’ll just tell you that this place is rather a lot colder than home. Not much has happened yet. We took the train to the cold place and here it is we’ll stay I suppose.
Heil Hitler
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
February 9, 1944
Dear Mother,
It’s your birthday today, and I’m sorry I’m not there, but I’m with you in spirit and I’m sending you a hug. Papa won’t be home either, I am sure of that. He’s in the north somewhere or so they tell me, we are close he and I, and if I see him we will send a thought to you.
Soon it will be Spring and there will be flowers and some warmth. Happy Birthday, Mother.
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
March 9, 1944
Mother,
My goodness Mother, Johann just came in and told me about the offensive made on the Belorussian front. I can’t believe you haven’t left. Berlin is in danger from this recent campaign.
This morning I was surprised when one of my comrades came to say I had a letter. It was from Papa! I was overjoyed to read that he is well. Being an Oberst he is well informed about the progress of the war in our part of the country. Although he couldn’t say much, he wrote that there would be more raids and now there’s been a daylight raid.
Mother, I’m telling you, you have to get out of Berlin. Please, Mother, go to the countryside, go and stay with Aunt Hilde. You must take care. Hitler is doing his best to protect Germany, or so they say, and we must all do our bit and keep ourselves as safe as possible, for at the end of the war the rewards will be ours, alongside the losses.
Heil Hitler
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
April 6, 1944
Mother,
How is the weather at home? Are the flowers blooming yet? Soon the summer will come. They dropped a bomb near our camp, the ground shook and the sky was quickly filled with smoke. Lots of soldiers jumped and yelled, but I was brave. I stood tall at my post and I did not react, until the Captain said that my shift was up.
This war has killed a friend of mine, Helmut. My sector was on patrol, then four of us went on a drive to the edge of the forest to check our boundaries. Apparently a train going down the track near us had some escapees. Unfortunately we met some Partisans, as well as the escapees from the nearby camp. The Partisans were ready for us. We had to run. They had us severely outnumbered. It was run or be caught. We ran. Helmut did not – he was slow to react and they shot him.
Why? I asked one of the soldiers when we got back to camp. Why did they not let him run away with us? When he answered I was astonished. “Look at what we’re doing to their people, think how many we’ve killed, by the million! Imagine it was the other way around. Imagine if ‘they’ were killing us. How would you feel if they turned and ran from you? You’d shoot them.”
Mother, I had no idea. There is so much they don’t tell us. Mother, I am confused and filled with doubt. I have learned things that trouble me.
Your son
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
May 30, 1944
Mother,
I wonder how much things have changed in Berlin? It seems so far away. When I was a boy you called me brave. Am I still your brave boy, Mother? I am fighting for Father’s beliefs. Am I making you proud? Are you boasting, Mother?
I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I know what to do.
We are on the move, where to I’m unsure but the weather is no warmer. I am used to my rifle now; I aim well. My Captain says that I am a credit to my country. He says we’re heroes. I’m not sure why especially except that we are part of Hitler’s army fighting for Germany. Perhaps that is heroic enough. I don’t know if I will get leave.
We are all needed here, every day.
Your brave son
Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
June 19, 1944
Mother,
By now I know you haven’t eaten Strasbourg for a while. Food is scarce everywhere, even for soldiers. Summer doesn’t seem to be changing things much in the food department. I am questioning this war, Mother. Is what I am doing right? Are Father’s beliefs decent? Tell me what I am doing is good. Tell me I am fighting for a cause, for the right cause. I have seen some unkind things.
I’m not sending my letters anymore; it’s impossible – my views are changing so quickly and I would be up for treason with half the things I write. They select letters at random and check. Even now I don’t know how many things they crossed out of my previous letters, or if they have opened them at all.
I am not a coward, Mother, and I am proudly German, I am just trying to figure it all out. I will keep writing and save the letters, carefully hidden, for when I see you. As it is paper is scarce.
Mother, send me faith.
Love Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
June 22, 1944
Mother,
Heinrich and I are getting frustrated with this war. He offered to shoot me in the foot yesterday – in return I should shoot him. I believe he was joking; neither of us are such cowards. He’s still a good Nazi.
I wonder what he would say if he knew I had so many doubts about what we’re doing. Heinrich had a family in Berlin. They’ve been moved, although he didn’t say where. Apparently Berlin is like a black hole of smoke and debris – that’s according to his wife, Lena.
Mother, if it is so bad why have you not left? Your last letter was p
ostmarked Berlin. The city was black when I was there; I doubt that it has got any better. Did I tell you Heinrich has daughters, Mother? Rachel and Sabine. They are 12 and 13. That’s why he wants the war over, so he can be with his family. He wants to be sure they are safe; he wants very much to protect them.
I want the chance to feel like that about a woman, I want to be in love and protect her. If that’s the only reason to live through this hell then so be it.
Your son
Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
July 3, 1944
Mother,
Well, tomorrow we’re moving out. A section of the 9th Army has been destabilised and the Captain says that he is sending his best men out there to support what’s left of the army. It must be quite a large operation though. I don’t suppose I should be permitted to say what it is called, so we’ll leave it at that, Mother.
By not sending these letters I am protecting us both, Mother, but I feel compelled to keep a record.
I think the Captain said something about the 2nd being there, working alongside the 9th. Oh, how good it would be to see Father and to know that I was with him, though I would not be able to share my doubts with him. Perhaps I am foolish for having doubts. Maybe all soldiers go through this at some time, when they have seen sickening things.
Your loving son
Franz.
Belorussian Front
August 9, 1944
Mother,
I think that I preferred my previous location much more than this one. Even though it is summer, frostbite can happen. There have been whispers from the soldiers here that there was an attempted assassination on Hitler. Mother, is it true? It is just a rumour, isn’t it?
Hope you’re doing well, Mother. Keep your head held as high as you can. Somehow it will be all right.
Franz.
Belorussian Front
September 4, 1944
Mother,
It is with sadness I write today. Johann died this morning, shot on the front line. I carried him to the First Aid post that is a makeshift hospital. As he lay there, clutching my hand, he said to me, “I fought for the glory, because it’s better than fighting for lies.” Then he asked me to write to his mother in Frankfurt and tell her exactly that. His eyes closed and he was gone. I hope you never have to watch another soul die, Mother.