War Girl Ursula

by Marion Kummerow

  But before either one of them could utter another word, the night filled with the screeching sound of the air-raid sirens.

  With the black humor of the truly desperate, Ursula told him, “Looks like your friends are visiting.”

  Tom stared at her as if she’d lost her mind until she pointed up into the sky. “Bomber squadrons.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry…” He shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he could say either way. This was war, and they stood on different sides. He knew as well as she did that they had only a few minutes until the first aircraft dropped their deadly freight somewhere over Ursula’s city. “Please come with me inside.”

  Ursula felt a sudden sense of desperation. It was not safe for her to make her way home. Even if she reached any of the shelters, they wouldn’t let her inside after the attack began.

  “It’s not that I have many choices,” she sighed and followed him to the small shed.

  “Stay here. I promise I won’t kiss you again,” Tom assured her.

  She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  They sat together on the sun loungers, talking, and even laughing as they got to know one another.

  “Ursula, may I ask why you helped me, when you have never helped anyone else in this way before?” Tom’s green eyes stared into hers. When she didn’t respond, he ran a hand through his short hair and added, “I mean to say, what separated me from everyone else in my situation?”

  Ursula tilted her head and thought for a moment. It was a question she had never really considered, but as she looked back, it was true that her attitudes toward the Nazis had changed significantly within the recent months.

  “I think...” she said slowly, carefully considering each word. “That my perspective was changing. Like most everyone, I was supportive of Hitler at first. I thought he was doing good for our country. You know, bringing people back into employment, getting the economy back on track after the awful depression. But then I started seeing awful things. The prison, with all those women. And then, when Andreas died...” She fell silent.

  “Who was Andreas?” Tom asked gently, taking her hand between his.

  “My husband. He fell at the front a few months ago. It is his clothes you are wearing now,” she admitted.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Tom answered. The silence between them stretched to an awkward length before he asked, “Were you together for a long time?”

  “Not really at all.” Ursula gave a dry laugh. “We met nearly five years ago. We met at a flower shop, both of us buying flowers for Mother’s Day. He had terrible taste, so I helped him choose them.” A smile appeared on her face at the recollection of happier times – times without war. “He was handsome, dashing even.” Like you. “And he was funny, always made me laugh. He charmed me straightaway and ended up walking me home. Before long, he asked me to go with him, and little by little we fell in love.”

  Ursula closed her eyes for a moment and then looked into Tom’s face as if she’d just had an epiphany. “It was simple, you know? We were so happy and carefree. We never asked questions or doubted the fact that we’d grow old together…” her forehead wrinkled, “then he was drafted. He fought in France, Belgium, the Netherlands, and whenever he was on furlough, we made plans for after the war. Then he was sent to Russia, and things became dire. He convinced me to get married whilst he was away, just in case.” Ursula’s chest heaved with suppressed emotions threatening to burst out.

  “He didn’t come home for your wedding?” Tom asked, incredulous.

  “No. It’s quite common nowadays, and we call it Stahlhelmtrauung because I was literally saying yes to a steel helmet at my side.” She gave a snorting cough. “You should have been there, it was eerie. Six women in the room and one steel helmet. The only man present was the registrar.”

  Tom squeezed her hand without saying a word.

  “That was in January. Andreas never came home before he was killed in action,” her voice had lowered to a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry, Ursula. Life is not fair.” He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

  She shouldn’t allow him to do this, but the small gesture of kindness created so much comfort.

  “You reminded me of him. In fact, when I saw you cowering in that crack in the wall, I thought about the women in your life and how they didn’t deserve to suffer the same heartbreak I did. I’m sure a pretty girl is waiting for you back home?”

  His face closed up as he shook his head. “No. She died during the Blitz.”

  “I’m sorry.” For some odd reason, her heart sang in jubilation at the fact that he was a bachelor.

  “Me too.”

  Ursula’s eyes filled with tears of empathy and she snuggled closer to him. Two grieving souls finding comfort in each other. Silence filled the shed, and they could hear detonations in the distance. They must be bombing the other side of Berlin tonight.

  “Tell me about your life before the war. What’s it like in England?” Ursula asked to distract herself from the bombers in the air and the attractive man at her side.

  “I was a privileged idiot,” Tom admitted with his signature grin. “It wasn’t until the war that I even realized it. I went to boarding school and had grand holidays with my parents. Life for me consisted of fooling around and having fun. And flying…” His eyes took on a dreamy look. “My father is a pilot, and he started taking me with him as soon as I was able to walk. Those moments in the air are the most precious ones in my life. Up in the skies, the freedom is boundless. One day I’ll show you–” His voice broke off when he realized what he’d said.

  “Go on,” Ursula said as if she hadn’t heard the last sentence.

  He told her about daily life in England. How much he missed his parents and his sister. The fellows on the base. Everything.

  “The only real hardship I encountered was my awkward physical appearance as an adolescent,” he smirked.

  Ursula smirked back. “Please do tell.” It was difficult to imagine the strong and handsome man as a lanky boy.

  “Oh gosh, you really want to know the worst stabs to my ego?” he teased. When she nodded her head against his shoulder, he laughed and continued, “I was the last to grow among my friends, so I was at least a head and a half shorter than the rest. My voice was breaking, and I would squeak every other word.” He imitated the sound and Ursula giggled uncontrollably.

  “You’re exaggerating,” she insisted.

  “Not at all. A pretty girl like you would have run as fast as your feet would take you. In fact, I remember the first girl I had a crush on. When I tried to kiss her once, she stumbled in shock and fell backwards into the lake trying to dodge my advances.” His laughter was contagious.

  “Oh, goodness!” She giggled and held her stomach. “Well, you certainly don’t have that problem anymore.”

  “I don’t?” Tom asked raising one eyebrow. Ursula felt her face turn a deep crimson under his piercing glance.

  “No…well, I mean to say that you aren’t odd anymore.” The more she talked, the worse she spluttered until she decided it was better to keep silent.

  “We should get some sleep,” Tom said and stood to arrange the two sun lounger pads side by side.

  Ursula started feeling the cold mist settling in the shed the moment she wasn’t snuggled up against Tom’s warm body. She lay with chattering teeth on her pad, sparsely covered with one of the tablecloths and her woolen shawl.

  “Are you cold?” he whispered into the darkness.

  “N…n…no.”

  “You’re a bad liar, lady.” He grinned and pulled her against his chest. “Come here, I’ll keep you warm.”

  Ursula wasn’t sure what was worse – the awful cold without him or the heat burning up her body as he held her in his arms. She didn’t dare move, and lay stiff until she heard his breathing even out. Then she finally relaxed enough to close her eyes.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning, Ursula
woke with the coming of dawn and snuck out of her makeshift bed. When she opened the door, sunlight fell inside. She took a few moments to observe Tom’s peaceful sleep. She’d never seen him so relaxed. A half smile quirked up one corner of his mouth as he rolled to his side.

  She quietly closed the door again, preferring not to say goodbye. The anxiety of the day before had been lifted from her shoulders, and she hurried home with lilting steps. Today was her day off from work, and while she would have liked to spend it in the allotment with Tom, prudence demanded she return home. She had plenty of chores to catch up with.

  As she unlocked the door to her apartment, she hoped to find Anna still there. Anna probably was out of her mind with worry because Ursula hadn’t returned home last night. But it wasn’t Anna who was washing the dishes in the kitchen.

  “Mutter. When did you get here?” Ursula asked, surprised. She had all but forgotten about her mother’s plans to return.

  “Late last night.” Mutter dried her hands on her apron before she gave Ursula a curt nod. She held her daughter at arm’s length, and a vertical wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she asked, “Where have you been? Anna said you were to come home before nightfall.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mutter, I was on my way home when the air-raid sirens shrilled. There wasn’t enough time to get here, so I spent the night in a public shelter.” Ursula lied without blinking an eye.

  “Which one?” her mother asked and turned to continue with the dishes.

  “About halfway from the prison,” Ursula evaded. Rather than disappear into her room and cause more suspicions, she grabbed a towel and started to dry the clean dishes. “I’m glad you’re back, Mutter. We missed you a lot.”

  A smile appeared on her mother’s face. “I missed you too.”

  For a while, they worked quietly side by side, and Ursula allowed herself to relax.

  “What happened to our food supply?” Mutter suddenly asked and turned to lock her eyes on her daughter.

  Ursula felt herself shrink under the scrutiny. “What do you mean?”

  “The pantry was stocked with cans, and at least half of them are gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Mutter. We ate some of them. We didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” Ursula resisted the urge to shuffle her feet or run away. Was this how her siblings had felt under Mutter’s scolding stare throughout their childhood?

  “Ursula Klausen, how can you be so imprudent? I always took you for the responsible one,” Mutter chided her, using her maiden name. Ursula let the error slip, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. “Those supplies were reserved for emergencies. What shall we do if the food supply runs out? Or if your father and brother come home? What will we feed them on?”

  Her mother yearned – like every German wife – for her husband to return from the front, even if only for a few days. And the sorrow that clouded her eyes showed how much she feared for her only son, Richard, who’d been sent into hell at the tender age of seventeen.

  Mutter had a good heart beneath her austerity, and she might have approved of feeding a sick and starving man. But not if that man was the enemy. Ursula couldn’t tell her mother the truth. Not because she feared that Mutter would turn on her. But the words of the priest echoed in her head, that the fewer the people who knew, the safer it was – for her and for them.

  “I’m so sorry, Mutter, it won’t happen again. How is Lotte?” she asked, desperate for a change of subject.

  “Your sister is fine, though she still dislikes the countryside. Goodness, she doesn’t half complain about it either. My hopes are that she’ll come to understand when she’s older.” Mutter suddenly looked drained, and she remembered why her parents had sent Lotte away.

  Her youngest sister was curious, outspoken, imprudent, impulsive, and always spoke before thinking. If she’d been here when the Gestapo searched the place, she would have given Frau Weber an earful. Ursula grimaced at the idea of how that would have worked out.

  And she would certainly want to be involved. She’d jump up and down with excitement, ready to do something useful with her life. For Lotte’s own good she was better off with Aunt Lydia in that godforsaken farming village, as far away from Berlin and the Nazi’s full power as possible.

  “Is she driving Aunt Lydia crazy too?” Ursula asked.

  “No. I rather think Lydia has taken a liking to Lotte’s antics. She finds her fiery personality a welcome entertainment, and your sister has been excellent help with my nieces and nephews.”

  “I haven’t seen them in forever,” Ursula mused.

  “Oh, when you are allowed vacation, you must go and visit. Kleindorf is such a pleasant and peaceful place. Lydia’s children are absolutely charming, particularly the youngest. She looks a lot like you when you were that age.” Mutter smiled at the prospect of better times after the end of the war.

  “I will, Mutter,” Ursula answered and hung the wet dishcloth on a hook.

  It had been such a long time since she had considered anything beyond the present. When Andreas was still alive, she had fantasized about a family with three children, a house in the outskirts of Berlin and a life of tranquility. When he died, her future died with him.

  Now, she wondered whether she might find happiness far away from home.

  Chapter 19

  Ursula and her mother spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon catching up on family news and on household chores. They gave the apartment a thorough cleaning and took stock of the inventory in the pantry. Somehow, Ursula managed to smuggle food from the kitchen into her handbag right under her mother’s nose. Emboldened by her success, she tried again.

  “What are you doing with the canned meat?” Mutter asked in a sharp voice.

  Caught red-handed, Ursula’s body tensed, and her brain frantically searched for a viable excuse. Lying to her mother wasn’t something she enjoyed. But telling her the truth…even less.

  “I thought we could celebrate your return and indulge with dinner tonight,” she said with a firm voice.

  “No.” Mutter took the can from her hands and returned it to the pantry. “Haven’t I told you that we need to be frugal? This is our emergency stock for bad times.”

  How much worse do times have to become to merit using our emergency stock? Ursula didn’t dare ask aloud for she knew the answer. A lot worse. Her mother had lived through the hunger years after the Great War and the situation today was nothing compared to back then.

  She’d have to find different ways to provide food for Tom, and hopefully not for long. I should visit Pfarrer Bernau to find how his plans are progressing.

  “Mutter, I’m going out,” she called and put on coat and hat.

  “Where to, darling?”

  “Confession,” Ursula answered as she slipped on long gloves and grabbed her heavy handbag.

  “Since when did you become particularly interested in religion?” Mutter asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. As a child, Ursula had been reluctant to go to confession.

  “Only recently. I’ve found that it’s helping me cope with everything going on at the moment,” Ursula answered truthfully. Then she hurried to leave the apartment before her mother had a chance to deepen her inquisition. “I’ll be back for dinner. Love you.”

  On the way to Pfarrer Bernau’s parish, she was hung up in her thoughts. Despite the added complications Mutter’s presence brought to her subversive actions it also took a heavy burden from her shoulders. It would be nice to return home after a grueling night shift and have breakfast ready. She could eat and fall into bed, instead of having to organize groceries first. But she and Anna had to maintain their secret under all circumstances. Mutter would never approve of the truth.

  When Ursula found the chapel empty, she walked straight to the small house adjacent to the church that housed the priest’s personal quarters. She raised her fist and knocked on the dark wooden door.

  A visibly tired Pfarrer Bernau opened the door. His usually warm brown eyes were clouded with
sorrow, and she could only imagine what awful things he’d had to witness today. At the sight of her, his face lit up.

  “Frau Hermann, excellent timing. Please come inside.”

  “Thank you, Father, I’m here for confession,” she said aloud just in case. Then she followed him inside and waited until he closed the door and offered her a seat in the office that also served as a visiting room.

  “A few hours ago, this arrived.” He waved an unfamiliar-looking identity card and handed it over to her.

  “Teemu Miettunen, member of the Waffen-SS?” she asked as she studied the papers with Tom’s picture on them.

  “Yes. Because of Captain Westlake’s accent, we had to be a bit inventive. Teemu Miettunen is a Finnish soldier who joined the Finnische Freiwilligen-Bataillon two years ago, and upon disbandment of his unit three months ago, he chose to voluntarily continue to serve in the Waffen-SS. Unfortunately, he was severely wounded in combat and now has a medical permission slip to return ‘home’ to Finland together with a nurse.”

  Ursula couldn’t quite follow all the details the priest and his helpers had made up for Tom’s new identity.

  “Don’t worry. Here’s a sheet of paper with all the details. Tell Captain Westlake to learn everything by heart and burn the paper. Your task is to bring him to the Bahnhof Zoo tomorrow at nine in the morning and hand him over to our nurse. She’ll take him to Rostock to board him onto a ship to Sweden.

  “I can accompany him to Bahnhof Zoo tomorrow morning, but…he doesn’t speak Finnish, and he’s not blond either,” Ursula insisted.

  “You have been indoctrinated for much too long by the Nazi racial ethnology. While many Finns are blonde and blue eyed, there are also quite a few with dark hair. Just like there are Germans with dark hair. As for the language, that could be an issue,” Pfarrer Bernau admitted before his mouth transformed into a big smile, “but I’m banking on the fact that nobody else in Germany speaks Finnish either. Police won’t be able to distinguish an English accent from a Finnish one, and most likely won’t even know this nation exists. It is the best solution we could come up with.”