Unwavering: Love and Resistance in WW2 Germany

by Marion Kummerow

  A relieved expression crossed his face as he retrieved an envelope from his briefcase and handed it to her.

  “This is from your mother. You might find it useful.” He nodded and bid his goodbyes, the door clicking softly behind him.

  Hilde all but danced back to her cell, and in her hurry to tell Margit the good news, she forgot to hide the envelope full of Reichsmark. But today was a truly good day, because the guard to return her to the cell was the Blonde Angel.

  Frau Hermann discreetly pointed at the envelope and whispered, “I have to surrender all money to the prison director should I find any.”

  Hilde quickly rolled up the banknotes and stashed them in her brassiere before handing the envelope over for inspection. She couldn’t help but share her elation with the friendly guard.

  “Imagine, I might be allowed a visit from my son. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “That truly is good news,” Frau Hermann said with a smile.

  Hilde never understood why this warmhearted, empathic young woman had chosen such a gruesome profession, but this was not a question she dared ask. Despite her friendliness, Frau Hermann still was a guard. No fraternizing with guards was allowed.

  Back in her cell, Hilde hummed a melody. Life was good. She would see her son. And thanks to her mother, she had Reichsmark to buy things. Money made life in prison much more tolerable. It didn’t matter that she knew the money was from the estate she and Q had worked so hard to build, nor did it matter that her mother was more than likely taking a large portion for her own needs as well.

  All that mattered was that she would soon see her son.

  After pestering Margit with endless details and anecdotes about her sons, Hilde sat down to write a letter to Emma. Officially, she was allowed only one letter per month and that one was reserved for Q. But with the stash of money the lawyer had given her, she could afford to pay the guards to smuggle a secret letter outside.

  Dear Mother Emma,

  Please do not mention this letter in your reply; it wasn’t sent through the official channels.

  I want to tell you how elated I am that Mother Annie has asked for permission to bring Volker with her during her next visit. I know that you and she never got along very well, and I understand your reasons. Annie can sometimes be difficult to deal with.

  A smile twisted Hilde’s lips upwards. That would be the understatement of the century. But her intent wasn’t to cause more bad blood between her relatives. If the worst-case scenario should happen, they all had to work together for the best of the children.

  I beg you to please try to get along with her, for my sake, and for the sake of your grandchildren.

  You will never know the amount of gratitude I feel towards you for taking both of my children under your care. Now that both of your girls are grown enough to not cause you so much trouble, you must now start over again with two little boys who aren’t even your flesh and blood. I know they are in the very best hands with you.

  But I wish that you will also see to your own health and your own well-being and ask Annie for help if everything becomes too much for you. She has full power over Q’s and my estate and should be able to send money for much-needed things like new shoes or clothes.

  Peter can wear the handed down things from his brother, but my Volker must have grown since I last saw him, and when spring arrives, he won’t fit into last year’s clothing.

  Please take my sincerest thanks for everything you do. Give my beloved children a big kiss from their mother, and my greetings to Father, Sophie, and Julia.

  Your daughter, Hilde

  Hilde folded the letter and sealed the envelope, then waited until one of the guards known to deliver secret messages came by and paid the woman for the delivery.

  That night, she fell into a deep sleep filled with happy dreams until the bloodcurdling sound of the air raid sirens made her sit straight up in her bed. Margit already stood, face pale as a ghost, pounding against the cell door.

  “Sweetie, there’s no use in doing that. You know we have to stay in our cells.” Hilde hugged the sobbing Margit. Despite her fierce spirit, she was just a nineteen-year-old girl.

  The guards rushed to seek shelter in the basement of the building, while Hilde and Margit crawled under the table and cuddled against each other. This air raid must be the most terrifying in a long time.

  Normally, the thick old prison walls kept most of the noise outside, but today, they creaked and shook as each bomber delivered its deadly cargo onto the city of Berlin.

  The minutes crawled, and every time Hilde thought it was over, the night sky filled again with the buzzing of approaching enemy aircraft. She’d learned to distinguish the sounds of German flak, a downed British aircraft, and the dreadful bombs.

  The impacts approached. After an ear-piercing detonation, fragments rippled from the ceiling, and glaring light entered through the small window. Several of the buildings nearby must have caught fire.

  Despite the closed window, Hilde could hear the sizzling and cracking as the fire ate away at whatever was in its path. She just hoped it wouldn’t reach the prison. The fire brigade would have other priorities.

  The air raid lasted the entire night, and at some time, Margit and she must have fallen asleep curled together under the table because when Hilde woke from the sudden silence, it was light outside.

  While there had been several bombings last year, none of them had done serious damage to Berlin. That had changed at the beginning of 1943. Since the start of the year, the constant attacks had become an integral part of life in the capital.

  During the next days, the overwhelming power of the attack was the number one topic of conversation amongst prisoners and guards alike. They received word that more than seven hundred people were killed during the bombing and thirty-five thousand rendered homeless due to the destruction of close to a thousand buildings.

  The guards told of the utter devastation the bombing had left behind. Rubble wherever one looked. Skeletons of structures stretching out toward the heavens. Entire quarters razed to the ground.

  Chapter 24

  Q and Werner had grown accustomed to life in prison. Each of them dedicated many hours of the day to their projects. The guards joked about the feverish activities in the cell of those two intellectuals, who actually seemed to enjoy having that much idle time on their hands. But they didn’t disturb them, except for the one hour of “leisure” the prisoners had to spend in the backyard.

  In the afternoon, they usually argued about every topic under the sun, and once a week, the Catholic priest Pfarrer Bernau visited their cell to give them moral support.

  The priest’s main task was to accompany the condemned prisoners during their last hours and give them the last sacrament if they so wished. But apart from that, he made it a habit to visit each prisoner at least once a week and lend an open ear to everyone’s sorrows.

  Everyone in the prison appreciated him because he never insisted on dwelling on the Catholic doctrine, but took a more humane approach. Regardless of the prisoner’s religion, he comforted with words of empathy and friendliness.

  Q soon discovered that Pfarrer Bernau did a lot more than console. He was an educated man, well versed in theology, sociology, and politics – and a dedicated enemy of the Nazis.

  It was an open secret that Pfarrer Bernau would help those inmates who couldn’t afford to bribe the guards to smuggle secret messages in and out of prison. And, according to rumors, he’d hidden more than one Undesirable from the authorities. God only knew where he got the money, help, and fake papers to carry out his work.

  The days passed, and with the infamous Judge Roland Freisler presiding over the Volksgerichtshof, more and more petty crimes were punished with the death sentence and Plötzensee was bursting at the seams.

  One day, a young Frenchman called Pascal was put into Q’s cell. The lad spoke barely a word of German, but Q did his best to practice his rusty French. Thankfully Werner’s French was a lot
better, and Q let him do the talking.

  Curious about the background of their new cellmate, Werner questioned the young man about the circumstances surrounding his arrest.

  “I was hungry. It was cold and dark. That’s when I saw a woman with a handbag and stole it from her.” Pascal broke out in sobs.

  “Why on earth did you do such a stupid thing?” Werner wanted to know.

  Pascal explained between sobs, “I don’t know. But as soon as I had it, I felt so guilty and threw it away in remorse.”

  Q couldn’t condone his deed. However, stealing a handbag certainly wasn’t worthy of capital punishment. There were no words to comfort the young man who was now nearing the end of his life for doing one little stupid thing.

  In the next days, more details about Pascal’s arrest and trial came to light. Apparently, the court had produced witnesses, in his defense, stating the young Frenchman had rescued two children from a burning building during a recent air raid.

  But the judge, one of Roland Freisler’s closest followers, hadn’t cared, and given Pascal the same punishment a cold-blooded murderer would have received. It was inhumane and unjust.

  Even the prison director and most of the employees silently agreed with that appraisal and worked diligently to find reason after reason, no matter how ridiculous, to delay the planned execution.

  Pascal was understandably distraught; the language barrier only served to increase his anxiety and desperation. After his first initial breakdown, he calmed down enough to write his memoirs.

  “Now my mother and my girl will at least have a memory of me,” he told Q.

  Q nodded. What else could he do? He wouldn’t start a philosophical discussion in French about how only a sentence of death could bring out the essence of one’s life. How being confronted with your imminent death sorted the wheat from the chaff and left you with only the truest, sincerest thoughts about life.

  When Pascal was finished writing his memoirs, he begged Q and Werner to promise him they would see that his letters were delivered to his family in Paris after the war.

  Werner readily agreed, always optimistic that his death sentence would be revoked, thanks to the generous help from some of his influential friends.

  A week later, the executioner came for Pascal.

  ***

  Q wasn’t particularly religious, but today he was yearning for Pfarrer Bernau’s weekly visit. The execution of Pascal had shaken his unstable peace of mind. Once again, the unjust law hadn’t known mercy. Not even in this case.

  But today, the priest wasn’t in the mood for a political argument. Or any kind of discussion.

  “What’s wrong?” Q asked, running a hand through his curly hair.

  “Today was an especially ugly day. One of the men who died today wasn’t at all prepared for it. I did my best to spiritually assist him, but he was so young and didn’t want to accept what was about to happen.”

  “Pascal?” Werner asked, his voice oozing grief.

  “It was awful. Yes. He was screaming and kicking and fighting when they placed him on the guillotine. The executioner couldn’t do his work, and the Frenchman had to be tied in place. After the deed was done, the hangmen were visibly shaken and told me this was one of the most horrible and unjust executions they’d been commanded to undertake.” The priest paused, his emotions clearly visible on his face.

  Werner’s hands were clenched into fists. “It will be up to the coming generations to judge, but this young Frenchman has led a correct life and one simple mistake during times of turmoil shouldn’t have ended it.”

  The priest made the sign of the cross. “May God bless his soul. And may He help the hangmen riddled with guilt.”

  “They do have a hard job,” Q admitted, shivers of ice running down his spine.

  They remained quiet for several minutes before Pfarrer Bernau cleared his throat. “I do have more disturbing news from the outside.”

  “Tell us this news,” Werner encouraged him.

  “Hitler has commanded the deportation of all Jews from his Reich. There have been reports of mass murders during the evacuation of the Jewish ghettos in Poland. Tens of thousands are sent to so-called extermination camps.”

  “How do you know these things to be true?” Q asked. He didn’t doubt for one instant the Nazi were capable of these atrocities, but even to him, it seemed a bit farfetched to deport and kill an entire race. The logistics of transporting and then killing that many people were unheard of.

  “I may not disclose my sources, but they have seen it with their own eyes. This is genocide on a large scale. Hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million. Mainly Jews, but also gypsies, homosexuals, God forgive them, mentally ill persons...” the priest made the sign of the cross “…they use gas to kill many people in a short time. Even in my worst nightmares, I’d never feared our government would stoop so low. May God help us, for we are sinners.”

  “You need to be careful with whom you talk about these things,” Q cautioned him. “Not all the prisoners are trustworthy.”

  “Yes, we have every reason to suspect there are prisoners, even TU, that would turn on you in the hope of saving themselves,” Werner agreed.

  Pfarrer Bernau gave a small smile and knocked on the door to be let outside.

  Neither Q nor Werner mentioned the disturbing information anymore, but deep inside, Q’s worry about the state of Germany grew.

  How much worse do things have to get before they become any better?

  Chapter 25

  Hilde had been on pins and needles since she received the official confirmation that her eldest son would be allowed to visit for an entire hour.

  When the day finally arrived, Margit helped her comb her hair. They both stared in horror at the bundle of long strands in the brush.

  “I’m losing my hair!” Hilde exclaimed. They both knew it was due to a lack of proper nutrition and sunshine.

  “No. It’s absolutely normal to lose a few hairs every day,” Margit lied and added, “You look nice. And your son won’t notice.”

  A few minutes later, one of the guards arrived to take Hilde to the visiting room. Her heart thundered in her throat, and with every step, she became more anxious. What if he doesn’t recognize me? Or doesn’t want to see me? Several times on her path through the long prison hallways, she was tempted to turn on her heels and run away.

  Volker had turned three in January and was a bright little boy. Emma told him that his mother was in the hospital and that’s why she wasn’t allowed to be with him.

  Hilde wasn’t sure whether she liked that lie or not, but in the end, it wasn’t her decision, and Emma insisted it would be better for the boy if he didn’t know his parents were in prison. For treason.

  The guard opened the door to the visiting room, and Hilde leaned against the doorframe for a moment, gathering her strength. Volker was sitting on Emma’s lap, an expectant grin on his face. He looked so grown up Hilde barely contained the tears pooling in her eyes.

  She forced a happy smile on her face and called his name, “Volker?”

  He turned, and once he saw her, gave a shout of glee, and rushed to throw himself in her arms. Hilde went to her knees and wrapped her arms around his little body, holding him tight until he started wiggling to gain his freedom.

  “Mama, are you very sick?” Volker asked.

  “I’m much better now. I’ve missed you so much. See how much you’ve grown.” Hilde stood up and followed him to the table where Emma sat.

  “I’m a big boy, Grandmama says so every day.” He beamed with pride and started telling so many things, she barely understood a word.

  Just hearing his voice made her happy. Hilde reached Emma and embraced her. “Thank you so much for making the trip to bring him here.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Emma answered and smiled, gesturing for Hilde to concentrate on Volker.

  “Sweetie, can you tell me what you’ve been doing? How is your baby brother?” Hilde asked and lower
ed herself to sit on the floor.

  “Peter follows me around. Like that.” Volker laughed and crawled on all fours across the floor.

  “You two are such a good team. Do you play together?” she asked, thinking about how Peter had always imitated his bigger brother and tried to do everything Volker did.

  “Sometimes. But he always throws over my building blocks. Can you tell him to stop doing this?” Volker’s big blue eyes pleaded with her.

  Hilde nodded, her throat closing with unshed tears at the mention of Volker’s blocks. Q had made them for him, and they’d been his favorite. It warmed her heart to know that he still played with them.

  “I will, sweetie, as soon as I’m with you again. In the meanwhile, you do what Grandmama says, yes? And you take care of your little brother for me.”

  Volker nodded with a serious face and came to sit on her lap. “When are you coming back to us?”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t know, sweetie. I hope soon.”

  “Will you die?” His little voice trembled.

  “Oh, my little darling, don’t you worry. Remember that your mother loves you more than anything in the world, and she will always think of you.”

  “I forgot…” Volker rushed away and came back with a sheet of paper. “I did this for you, so you will get better soon.”

  She took the drawing and inspected it. Four people standing on green grass. A yellow sun in the sky. And a boat. “That is beautiful, sweetie.”

  “This is me…and you…Papa and Peter…” Volker beamed with pride as he explained everything he’d drawn for his mother.

  Hilde forgot everything around her, and much too soon the guard returned to announce it was time for the boy to leave. She hugged him tightly, whispering words of love in his ear while barely managing to hold back her tears.

  “You have fifteen more minutes, I’ll watch him meanwhile,” the guard said and took Volker with her as Annie entered the visiting room.

  It was the first time Hilde had been in the same room with both of her mothers at the same time. An awkward silence captured the place until Hilde finally gained control of her tears. “I’m sorry.”