by Peter Haden
‘So your cousin’s going with you,’ Günther observed.
His father-in-law nodded. ‘Josef is doubly at risk from the NAZIs,’ he said. ‘First, he is a Jew. And second, although he is a charming and educated man, he’s not married – because he told me he is homosexual,’ he finished bluntly. ‘Added to that, banks are not taking on Jewish employees these days,’ he went on, ‘and Josef said that although his boss is sympathetic and wants him to stay where he is because he makes them a lot of money, Josef reckons that it is only a matter of time before the bank will be forced to show him the door.’
‘Will you be all right for money?’ asked Günther.
‘Ja, bestimmt,’ came the reply. ‘Definitely, Josef is quite well off, and he has been putting his money into a Swiss account for years. It’s been easy enough, with his job, even if the bank doesn’t know about it. I’ve been giving him my spare money for a long time now, so my savings are over there as well. He’ll move the proceeds from the house and businesses for me, then we’ll go.’
Back indoors for tea, Herr Rosenthal had pretty much the same conversation with his daughter. ‘I’ll miss you and Günther and Renate terribly,’ he said at the end. ‘But it won’t be forever. With any luck Hitler will be gone and I can come home.’
‘We have some funds over there, as you know,’ said Günther. ‘If you need them, use them. Hannah can give you the account details.’ He looked at his wife, who nodded her agreement.
Herr Rosenthal paused then took a deep breath before replying. ‘I hope it won’t be necessary,’ he said at last. ‘But thank you, Günther. My daughter didn’t marry into the faith, but she married a good man.’
‘What are your plans for this week?’ Herr Rosenthal went on, to change the subject and lighten the mood.
‘Not really sure,’ said Günther. ‘But Johann needs an extra pair of hands since the other two left and the last lad joined the Army. I need some fruit and vegetables for the wholesale business, so I’m going over the border on Wednesday to see a Polish farmer called Stefan Janicki. We are talking about his son coming to live on the estate as an apprentice.’
‘It’s ironic, really,’ said Herr Rosenthal. ‘I’m a German citizen. Or at least I was until a year ago. But I don’t really feel I can live here anymore. And you need an apprentice, but he’s going to be a Pole. God knows where all this is going to end up,’ he finished sadly.
Chapter 9
Helga did not enjoy working for the younger mistress of the house. The older Frau Raschdorf had been lenient to the point of laissez-faire. But whereas Inge Raschdorf had not easily adapted to taking charge of a household rather larger than that of her own modest origins, Hannah had already managed her father’s establishment. When they transferred to the estate house, she ran it in exactly the same way. Which was how she also ran the business: efficiently, and not least with careful attention to expenditure.
Moreover, at first there had been two other housemaids within the establishment. Now, six years later, Helga was on her own and much more closely supervised. To her, it was as if Hannah Raschdorf was determined to extract a full day’s work from her maid.
‘When she gives me a job, she even tells me how long she thinks it should take,’ she complained bitterly to Frau Brantis. The cook nodded sympathetically, but privately thought that the younger woman had been getting away with it for far too long. Helga was even careless about her appearance, until the mistress had told her in no uncertain terms that she needed to tidy herself up. And Frau Brantis noticed that she was taking ever increasing helpings at the communal midday meal. Losing a few pounds wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Even so, the Raschdorfs had been kind to Helga. When her husband Berndt handed in his notice, announcing that he had got a job “away”, she had been allowed to keep the tied cottage to which her husband returned from time to time, even though strictly speaking it went with his job and not hers.
Frau Brantis was not sorry to see Berndt Gross gone. One of the most uncommunicative men she had ever met, he would sit at the far end of the table day after day chewing his meal, more often than not with his mouth half-open. She wondered what on earth Helga saw in him. Still, the economy was picking up these days, and with it, the fortunes of the estate. Only the other day the mistress had confided that she was thinking of taking on another maid in the house, whilst the Master was looking for an extra hand who would also work part-time in the stables. But the only horses kept these days were for leisure. The estate was entirely mechanised, and whilst Hannah Raschdorf had kept her faithful Opel, Günther proudly drove his magnificent new Mercedes.
What neither Berndt not Helga had mentioned, however, was that Berndt Gross had joined the SA. With Adolf Hitler as Oberster SA Führer its membership now numbered more than four million. With Hitler’s rise to national power, it became an official part of the government organisation, with SA members joining the police to arrest and torture their ideological opponents and even – from time to time – their personal enemies. Many victims, of course, were Jews.
The Chief of Staff, however, had once had ambitions to take control of the regular Army. For his pains Rohm was executed in 1934 after what became known as “The Night of the Long Knives”, but the SA continued with its role of guarding concentration camps and generally terrorising the enemies of the Nazi regime. Berndt Gross grew with it, and in a few short years was promoted from the lowest rank of SA-Mann to that of SA-Rottenführer, or section leader. Gross was cunning rather than intelligent, and well named. He took pride in his uniform and his size meant that men feared him. Moreover, he carried out his duties to the letter and did not find them in any way distasteful. In truth, his new career gave him a sense of pride and status that had not existed previously in his life. And the money was much better – enough to fund his leisure hours in beer halls and brothels. For him, the later nineteen thirties were good years.
But it was the Schutzstaffel, under Heinrich Himmler, that gradually assumed prominence over the SA, so in 1938 Gross applied for, and was granted, enlistment as a regular, salaried member of the Allgemeine SS. The general duties branch was responsible for police and racial matters within the Reich. At the same time, because of his considerable SA policing experience, he was able to secure promotion to the rank of SS Unterscharführer, or junior group leader. But best of all was a plum posting to the regional headquarters in Berlin.
Although not affected directly, Günther and Hannah were only too aware of the progressive persecution of Jews during 1938. From March, when Hitler’s forces invaded Austria, to October, when they occupied the Sudentenland, German Jews were increasingly debarred from commerce and the professions. Hannah clung to the hope that her marriage to a gentile, plus the fact that she had never announced or practised her religion, would give her a cloak of anonymity. It might have worked – but for Helga Gross.
A new maid joined the household. Gudrun was a pleasant and intelligent enough young woman and a hard worker. Her father was employed in a small factory near the village, where she lived with her parents. Hoping that the new girl would join as an under-housemaid, Helga planned to re-arrange their duties to her own advantage. But to her disgust, Gudrun had been taken on as an equal. Helga was careful, therefore, in her approach. At first, she offered “advice” to the new girl. But the suggestions gradually turned into orders that she should “do this” or “do that”.
Gudrun realised that she had to establish her position or her employment would be a misery. After one particularly curt instruction she put down the bucket of ash that she was about to take outside and turned to face Helga. The two women were about the same height, although Gudrun was younger and almost certainly fitter and stronger. And with three brothers in the family she had seen more than her fair share of rough and tumble. Unconsciously her fists bunched at her side.
‘Helga,’ she began quietly, ‘we have to settle something. I have been given my duties by the mistres
s, and I am to look after the downstairs rooms. You are responsible for upstairs. And some duties, such as the laundry, we do together. But I am not your junior.’ She paused to let the words sink in. ‘So, neither am I yours to order around,’ she went on, still pleasantly but nevertheless quite firm in her demeanour. ‘If we are to work together, I think you must understand my position.’
‘Of course, you’re my junior,’ retorted Helga indignantly. ‘Look at you, hardly out of school. I have been working here for nearly fifteen years.’
‘Your age, and the fact that you are a married lady, means that I must show respect,’ Gudrun replied, still in the same firm but pleasant voice, ‘and I would hope that I do. But nevertheless, we are both housemaids and my orders come from the mistress, not through you.’ She paused, sensing the older woman’s rising resentment. ‘If there is any doubt in your mind,’ Gudrun went on, ‘I shall raise the matter with Frau Brantis, who has been here a long time and in status is undoubtedly our senior. But she will probably take the matter to the mistress. And if she doesn’t, then I most certainly will,’ she concluded.
Helga had always known that she did not have a great friend in Frau Brantis, although there had never been any animosity between them. But she also sensed that the mistress quite liked and approved of the younger girl. Knowing that this was an argument she could not win, Helga exhaled sharply in disgust and walked away. But inwardly she was seething. She resented the younger woman’s position, but most of all she was furious that not only had she been bested in argument but thoroughly outmanoeuvred to boot.
Gudrun felt like shaking with nervousness but she would never show it. With forced calm, she covered the ash with a cloth, picked up her bucket and walked outside through the kitchen.
Helga was still fuming when she went home that evening to her cottage. She did not miss her husband, who had not been home for months since his transfer to Berlin. Neither did he write, and it was not often that he remembered to send any money. She knew he was taking advantage of the fact that her own wages were enough to live on and she did not have to pay rent. But she had married him only to escape from a violent and abusive father. Berndt turned out to be a disappointment. His lovemaking was quick and painful, with no thought for her whatsoever. And he did little or nothing to help around the house. So, the longer he stayed away the better, as far as she was concerned.
However, Helga would have welcomed some male attention. That Polish lad, Jan, was strong and good looking, and she often made a point of sitting next to him at lunch. Several times her thigh had “accidentally” touched his leg, but he appeared not to notice. And her suggestion that she could pay him to do a bit of heavy gardening work at the cottage had seemingly fallen on deaf ears. She would have to look elsewhere. All of which fuelled further her general feeling of dissatisfaction and resentment.
In November of nineteen thirty-eight, the son of a deported Polish Jew shot the German Third Secretary to the embassy in Paris. He died two days later. The news was widely reported on the wireless, the state-subsidised production of which had been encouraged by Hitler so that it could also be used to broadcast propaganda. That same night, Kristallnacht, saw the smashing of Jewish shop windows and widespread looting across the country. Hundreds of homes and synagogues were burnt down. Some ninety Jews were murdered and, in the days that followed, 30,000 more were arrested and deported to concentration camps.
The Nazis fined the Jews one billion marks in “retaliation” for the shooting in Paris. The following month a law was passed to enable the “Aryanisation” of all Jewish businesses, and later that same month Herman Göring took charge of resolving the “Jewish Question”. Unexpectedly, Helga received news from Berndt that he was to be given leave and would be coming home for Christmas.
And Günther received another communication from Hannah’s father, who had always written to him rather than his daughter, clearly thinking it to be safer. It had taken a year to sell the house and businesses, so the first message came at the end of nineteen thirty-seven – a postcard showing the Alps and with just the words ‘Great Skiing!’ in the message area. This letter was to tell them that they had managed to acquire citizenship, in part due to their wealth and also with the help of Josef’s banker friends with whom he had been placing valuable business for years, and who hoped that they would receive further clients from Josef’s contacts within the Jewish community still in Germany.
Hannah’s father and Josef were in Zermatt, in the Valais canton not far from the Italian border, and since the new Gli Olivi served both German and Italian cuisine, it was doing well, with good tourist trade all year round. ‘I have to work as a chef again,’ he wrote, ‘but it is surprising how much I still enjoy it. Josef does Front of House, keeps the books, and worries about everything else! He says it doesn’t pay as well as banking but it’s more fun. Most important of all, we are safe.’ Hannah hoped that her father had not said too much in the letter, but on careful examination it did not look as though it had been opened.
Mercifully, the Raschdorf estate was untouched by the anti-Semitic events of nineteen thirty-eight. Despite some initial coolness, Helga and Gudrun continued to work together, but that did nothing to lessen the older woman’s feeling of resentment. Helga was jealous of her employers’ wealth and dissatisfied with her own position, Gudrun’s status as her equal, and the fact that she was supervised in a way that had not been the case under the older Frau Raschdorf. She, to Helga’s mind, had been a lady, whereas Mistress Hannah – who in fact had never treated her with anything other than courtesy and fairness – she saw as no more than a bossy young upstart.
It was just before Christmas when she took the laundry into the master bedroom. Her orders were to place the ironed and folded garments on the eiderdown. Mistress Hannah did not wish anyone to open either her own chest of drawers or that of her husband. These, and the two huge mahogany wardrobes, were out of bounds. And that was another bone of contention – the old Mistress had been happy to let her put everything away. Helga no longer felt herself to be the loyal, totally trusted servant.
She knew that Hannah Raschdorf was out – she had seen her leaving the stables for a hack round the estate. Typically, she would ride for about an hour and a half. Gudrun was downstairs, as was Frau Brantis in the kitchen. There would be no harm in taking a look inside the drawers – see what the snotty female had to wrap round her body. The top drawer contained underwear – some of it French and lacy and obviously expensive. She ran her fingers over the silk and “humphed” at the thought of the cheap flannel and cotton that she had to wear. The blouses in the next drawer down were of equally good quality, many diaphanous although some were of a stouter material suitable for outdoor wear. The bottom drawer contained woollens, including expensive cashmeres.
She pressed down with the back of her fingers, enjoying the springy softness of several layers of garments, clothes that she could never afford. But there was something hard lying on its side underneath the woollens and it was quite large – about thirty centimetres long with a round base at one end and several curved arms at the other. Quickly looking over her shoulder, although the door was almost closed and she knew she was alone upstairs, Helga lifted the woollens and set them to one side. At the bottom of the pile lay a candelabra. It had a central stem and three curved arms that stemmed from either side to form seven lamp or candle holders in a level row at the top. Helga gasped. She knew what it was from pictures she had seen – it was a Menorah, perhaps the ultimate symbol of Judaism.
Well, well, well… so the bitch had a secret. She smiled, and replaced the clothes on top. Helga had no idea what she would do with this information – she would have to think about it and for quite some time. But she suspected that it had a value far beyond her present imagination. Perhaps she would discuss it with Berndt… he would know what to do. He’d been home for a few days, now. Clearly, he had lost all interest in her sexually, for which she was quite gratef
ul – he was doubtless getting what he wanted in Berlin. But to her surprise he had been reasonably pleasant, explaining that the barracks was pretty deserted for Weihnachsfest so a break in the cottage and some home cooking over Christmas would not go amiss. Lunchtimes he wandered down to the Bierstubbe to boast of his new status to his old drinking friends. Mostly he drank before and after his evening meal and fell asleep in front of the fire. At some stage in the night he would come to their matrimonial bed and snore like a pig. But she knew only too well, things could have been a lot worse. She told him about the Menorah.
‘Can we talk for a few minutes,’ Hannah asked her husband as they sat at the dinner table after their meal.
‘Of course,’ he answered automatically, although he was paying more attention to lighting his cigar.
‘I don’t want to worry you,’ she said nervously, ‘but I think Helga has been looking through my chest of drawers.’
‘Why would she do that?’ asked Günther.
‘I don’t know,’ came the reply. ‘Her orders are to leave things on the bed for me to put away. It might be something that a man wouldn’t notice, but I am quite particular about how I place my clothes, one on top of the other. It’s almost obsessive, but something I have done since I was a little girl.’
‘And…?’ he responded.
‘Well, I just have this feeling – my things are not quite exactly as they were before. Nothing I can put my finger on, but I have an overwhelming intuition, if you wish.’
