‘So you’re a deserter?’ Holger was shocked. ‘You know that carries the death penalty.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, Papa,’ Karl said with a grin. ‘After all, I worked in administration and, as a good German, I know that you’re nothing without your papers. So before we left I made sure I got hold of a blank military discharge form.’ He fished out the document and held it out for his father to see. ‘I managed to get a marriage certificate the same way, as we’d never have been given permission to tie the knot. This document shows that Julie is my wife. It’s so authentic that even Hitler himself wouldn’t query it.’
‘And what does her family say about her going off with you like this?’
‘They as good as drove me to it, to be honest,’ she replied in virtually accentless German. ‘They can’t forgive me for falling in love with Karl and just called me a whore.’
‘Julie was working with us as an interpreter,’ Karl explained. ‘One thing led to another. If there’s one good thing to come out of this damned war, it’s that Julie and I found each other.’
Still aghast, Holger stared at his son, but Richard started laughing. ‘Karl, you’re one of us, that’s for sure! That idea with the discharge form and the marriage certificate – well done!’ He gave Karl an appreciative clap on the shoulder and turned to Julie. ‘Welcome to Hamburg, Julie, and to the family. My only worry is how to put you both up here.’
‘If that’s the only problem, there’s space for Karl and Julie at the allotment,’ said Holger. ‘We’re in the process of extending the cabin, in any case. There are plenty of bricks lying around in the rubble and we’ve got enough to build one more room. Julie, please don’t be offended if I sounded a bit sceptical. You are, of course, most warmly welcome. I was just worried about how we’d get you any food coupons if you’re living in hiding.’
‘Papa, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem with these papers.’
Christmas was a bright spot in otherwise dark times, thanks to the family being reunited. Only the continuing absence of Fritz cast a shadow. During the next few weeks Richard made regular visits to the Red Cross offices to try to find out where his closest friend might be. But among the thousands of German soldiers who had died or landed in prisoner-of-war camps, he found no mention of Fritz.
Then, on 30 April 1945 news of Hitler’s death in the battle for Berlin was broadcast on the radio. While of the highest significance in global terms, for the family, the most important news that day was that Karl and Julie now had a healthy daughter, christened Marie.
British occupying forces reached Hamburg on 3 May. At first everything was chaotic and nobody was sure what was going to happen. On the first day there was a total curfew, leaving Richard’s mother and Frau Koch wondering how long they could last with their limited food supplies. Fortunately, the curfew was eased the next day and thereafter had to be observed only between nine at night and six in the morning.
The British seized flats in the best areas and it was forbidden for German nationals and British soldiers to speak to one another. Anyone with a request to make of an official body had to do so in English. Anything put forward in German was simply ignored.
‘They’re treating us like they treat the natives in their colonies,’ grumbled Paula’s father. ‘They see us as second-class citizens.’
‘Did you expect anything different?’ asked Richard. ‘Just remember how they targeted residential areas in the bombing so they could kill as many of us as possible.’
‘There was I, thinking things would slowly get better once the war ended,’ his father-in-law said with a sigh. ‘I’d hoped you’d have been able to use what you know about Krüger against him by now.’
‘What makes you think that? Do you really believe the British are going to be interested in the murder of twenty-two German children when they’ve killed thousands with their own bombs?’
When new food coupons were handed out Richard was shocked and lost all hope that an occupying power would have any interest in crimes committed by German doctors, given its obvious lack of interest in the starving population. Rations were so small they did nothing more than delay death. His parents, Frau Koch and his father-in-law, who, as pensioners, no longer did productive work, were expected to manage on a mere nine hundred calories a day, as were children. As practising doctors, he and Paula were allocated fifteen hundred calories a day.
‘How are we supposed to manage on this?’ asked his mother. ‘I know we can ask Margit and Holger to put something by from the allotment, but that’ll never be enough. And what on earth will we do in the winter?’
‘We’re getting a monthly cigarette quota – sixty for all of us,’ said Richard. ‘I’ve heard from patients that you can get a loaf of bread for three cigarettes on the black market in Talstrasse.’
‘Trading on the black market can put you in prison,’ commented Paula. ‘If you were arrested, we’d be in an even worse position than we are now.’
‘I’m willing to try it,’ announced Frau Koch. ‘If I get caught, our little community won’t lose very much because my food ration’s already small. I’ll do the usual fourteen days in prison, and that won’t do me any harm.’
Nobody came up with any objections and so Frau Koch became an expert in black market trading. The amount she brought home each day was still not enough to live on, but it did at least help to keep starvation at bay. Holger established a link with farmers in the Vierlande district of Hamburg who worked the land not so far from the family’s allotment, offering them his sons’ carpentry services in exchange for food. The lads did have to watch out on their way home from these trips, as the British carried out regular checks – any excursion undertaken with the express purpose of stockpiling was forbidden. Anyone caught hoarding food not only had their supplies confiscated but was also sent to prison.
The ban on fraternisation between the British and the Germans relaxed just a few weeks later, however, largely because most of the British weren’t sticking to it. There was a big difference between the ordinary soldiers and the rather pompous officers who thought they were a cut above. Survival was at the forefront of everybody’s mind, but Richard still nurtured the hope that the time would soon come for him to present the evidence of child murder, particularly as Krüger still held a very senior role and Richard could imagine him holding back his patients’ rations so as not to want for anything himself in such hard times.
So at the beginning of July he packed the incriminating material in his briefcase and went off to approach the British military administration.
Even though he spoke good English, the British officials who Richard first came up against could do nothing for him and sent him off to a variety of different people. Eventually, he found himself opposite a tall, lean British officer called McNeil. Richard sensed immediately that this too was going nowhere and wondered if being dispatched from one unhelpful place to the next was an example of the famous British sense of humour. He presented his case regardless.
‘Are these children German nationals or children of those who have taken part in the war?’ asked McNeil, who looked to Richard exactly the type of British officer to have thrashed Indian coolies with his stick.
‘They are German children.’ The expression on the man’s face told him this was the wrong answer.
‘They are not our responsibility.’
‘Then please tell me who is responsible for pursuing doctors who have committed crimes against innocent children. The German police now have no authority, and the doctor guilty of these crimes is still sitting in the Langenhorn General Hospital as its medical director.’
‘I’m sorry, but we’re not responsible for them.’
‘Do you mean that your department is not responsible for them, or do you mean that the British occupying forces have no interest in solving crimes committed by Nazi doctors if the victims aren’t of the right nationality?’
McNeil gave a snort of disdain. ‘How many of your countr
ymen do you suppose have come here in the last few weeks to ingratiate themselves with me as informants?’
‘I have no intention of ingratiating myself. I want to report a crime and have the proof.’ He held up his briefcase with one hand and pointed at it with the other. ‘In here are the files of two of the murdered children. These files leave no doubt that these are cases of outright murder. Do you have any idea what has been happening in this place for the last twelve years? The mentally ill and disabled have been separated out and murdered. Even children. You can’t sweep that under the carpet.’
A cynical smile flickered across the Englishman’s face. ‘Well, well, and you’re the one who wants to right the wrong, Herr Doktor Hellmer?’
It was clear from the way McNeil articulated the German words Herr Doktor in his otherwise purely English question that he viewed the German in front of him with great disdain. ‘And I’m sure you’re going to tell me that you were never a member of the Nazi Party and never voted for Hitler, isn’t that so? Perhaps you’ll also tell me that fairy tale about how you risked your own life to save others from tyranny? Oh yes, I’ve met countless other informants like you in the last few weeks, all of whom want to reveal some crime or other. It’s all turned out to be an excuse to curry favour with us. But that doesn’t wash with me. I know exactly how to deal with your sort. First, you carry on as if you rule the world, then when you’re knocked down you say it wasn’t anything to do with you and come creeping in for favours. I have no interest in the information you bring and see cowardly informants like you as contemptible. Get out of my office.’
Without a word, Richard did what he was told. It was pointless. No one would ever bring these people to justice. People like Krüger would always fall on their feet. His crimes were of no interest to these new rulers. He’d suspected this for some time. It was true what his father-in-law had said soon after the occupation had started. Anyone killing innocent civilians through carpet-bombing, anyone keeping food rations so low that even small children were starving to death would not be interested in the murders of twenty-two German children. And if by some miracle they did take an interest, it would have nothing to do with compassion for the children and everything to do with keeping the moral high ground. If the German barbarians were ready to get rid of their own kind, it saved them the work. Blinded by rage, Richard charged out into the corridor and collided with another British officer.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he muttered without looking at the man, and hurried on. The man shouted something after him, but Richard ignored him and quickened his pace. He couldn’t take any more humiliation.
Chapter 56
By the time he had spent the whole morning trying in vain to get a hearing, only to end up on the receiving end of the occupiers’ disdain in the form of McNeil, Richard was in no mood to go home, where he’d have to admit his failure. Instead, he wandered aimlessly through the ruins of his city and, after about three hours of this, found himself standing on the site of the family workshop. Nothing was left, nothing. Only a huge pile of rubble. He attempted to make out familiar bits of the building in the pile, and memories of the old days crept back to him. Of his brother, Georg, teaching him how to ride a bike in the yard. Of himself and Georg feeding the horses before the family owned a modern delivery vehicle, their old Opel ‘tree frog’. The horses’ stalls had later been converted to make extra workshop space and a garage. Richard knew that his own car, or what was left of it, must still be in there somewhere.
As he was reminiscing he saw something protruding from the rubble, a small piece of white tin. Crouching down, he pulled at it and found himself holding a battered number plate. HH-18208. The front plate from their own car. Yet more memories came flooding back. The day he married Paula. The most magnificent present the family could have given them. Leonie had still been there then. Fritz and Dorothea, full of dreams of a happy future life together. This number plate had crossed Alpine passes, proudly carried dust thrown up by Italian roads, and now it was a part of the life he’d lost long ago, the life now visible only in the photo albums they’d saved.
Drained of all strength, he found a remnant of wall big enough to sit on. His customary optimism was at the lowest possible ebb. Whatever confidence and faith he’d had in finding justice had just been wiped out by McNeil. How was he to protect his children from starvation on these meagre rations? What would happen in the winter? Each time he’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, fate had dealt him yet another blow. Each time he’d believed that life would take a turn for the better, it had immediately got worse. Fritz had already experienced that to the full, with his whole family dead and his own status now uncertain. But at least he wouldn’t have to watch his children die of starvation. To die in the firestorm was horrific, but at least it was quick.
From his wallet he took the treasured old photo of him and Fritz, both in uniform, with their families, which he had carried with him like a talisman. But the curse had been fulfilled. Family photos with men in uniform bring bad luck. This time, Death had struck those left behind. Henriette and Harri looked so happy. Harri was holding Rudi, their little dachshund, and resting his cheek against the dog’s fur. Next to him stood Emilia and Georg, not knowing then how it felt to be hungry . . . He felt the tears welling up and couldn’t fight them back. Maybe it wasn’t manly to cry, but what did that matter now? Any old sense of honour was dead. Everything he had ever believed in was dead. And if life continued in this vein, his children would soon be dead too.
Something touched his shoulder and startled him. He whipped round.
‘Margit! What’re you doing here?’
She sat down next to him on his bit of wall. ‘I come here pretty much every day, just to look for stuff we might be able to use – that’s how we got back a few of our tools. And you? What’s happened?’
‘Look at this. That’s what’s happened.’ He gestured at the decimation all around them, then wiped his eyes.
‘It can’t be just that to upset you so much. What’s really the matter?’ Then she noticed the photo in his hand. ‘Is it bad news about Fritz?’
‘No, there’s no news about him.’
‘Then you must go on looking for him, Richard! Have you been to the Red Cross today to search the latest lists?’
‘No. I went to see the British.’
‘Why did you bother going to see those arrogant Tommies?’
He told her about his futile attempts to seek justice.
‘So that’s why you’re so down.’ Margit put her arm around him. ‘But you’ll bounce back. He’s nothing more than a stupid, arrogant Brit with no idea what’s been happening here and without even a quarter of the courage you’ve shown over the last twelve years. What was it you always said to Papa? The Hellmers are carved from mahogany: stable, noble and strong. We rebuilt our lives after the first war, Richard. We can do it again this time round.’
‘You do realise everything’s destroyed?’
‘Oh well, it’ll just take longer to get cleared up. But it doesn’t alter the fact that we can do it.’
‘Margit, where do get your strength from? You’ve lost so much more than I have. You’ve lost a son.’
‘And I have four other children I need to be there for. And a granddaughter now. Life goes on, Richard. The good days will come back some time, but not on their own. We’ve got to work for it. Moaning and groaning never got anyone anywhere.’ She let go of him and got to her feet. ‘And work for it is what I’m going to do. Let’s see what I can find today. So stop snivelling and go and search for Fritz. If you don’t look for him, you’ll never find him.’
‘Thanks, Margit. I needed a pep talk.’
‘That’s what big sisters are there for, even when they’re grandmas!’ She smiled at him affectionately.
Richard put the photograph back in his wallet, then picked up the number plate and stowed it away next to the files in his briefcase. Although he was still exhausted and hadn’t eaten all day, Margit’s a
dvice gave him fresh impetus and he went off to the nearest Red Cross post. Masses of new names were on the lists pinned up on the walls there. He looked immediately for an Ellerweg but found only an Ellerwig. First name Harri. Harri? He looked at the date of birth and his heart missed a beat: 8 February 1937 – the same date of birth as Fritz’s son. But Harri was dead! And why was a child on the prisoner-of-war list? Then he realised he was looking at the wrong one: this was a list of orphans looking for surviving relatives. Harri Ellerweg, who had the same date of birth as Fritz’s son, was in an orphanage on Averhoffstrasse.
Chapter 57
Soon after seven that evening, Richard arrived home with Harri. Paula rushed to open the door.
‘Where on earth have you been? We’ve been beside ourselves with worry . . .’ Her voice petered out when she saw Harri holding Richard’s hand.
‘This little boy . . . he looks like . . . Harri?’ Her hand flew to her open mouth. ‘It can’t be!’
‘It is him, Paula – it’s Harri, Fritz’s son. It’s a miracle, but he survived.’
Paula was lost for words and just stood there in the doorway, staring at Harri.
‘Can we come in now?’ asked Richard.
Paula seemed to give herself a little shake before standing back to let them through. ‘Harri, is that really you? I’m so happy you’re alive – you’re really here!’ She made as if to hug him but noticed how he shrank away from her so held back, just as she had learned during her paediatric training. ‘Harri, let’s bring you in properly.’
Then she turned to Richard and whispered, ‘You’ve got a visitor. A British officer has been here for two hours and insists on seeing you. He’s in the waiting room.’
‘A British officer? They wouldn’t usually come to a German home like this – unless of course they want to seize it!’ His voice was bitter. ‘But I’m sure ours isn’t smart enough for them. What does he want from me?’
A Fight in Silence Page 36
