From Annie’s first pain to the moment her beautiful baby boy Walther greeted the world was a matter of two and a half hours. And he gave her no trouble, waking only when he needed to be fed and changed and waiting with utmost patience if it took her a few moments to get to him. Frau Wilhelm had not stopped telling her how lucky she was.
As a consequence of the short labour, she had been in shock for a day or two but other than that, no ill effects for either mother or baby. In fact, she had so much energy that lying-in proved to be a frustrating experience. On a number of occasions she tried to get out of bed, tiptoe across the bedroom and set about doing something – folding napkins, changing linen in the crib, opening a window, rearranging flowers in a vase – anything to occupy her restless limbs. But Frau Wilhelm would burst into the room, order her back to bed, take over whatever chore she was attempting and make her feel like an insubordinate schoolgirl. ‘Please, Annie,’ she would say, one hand on her hip, the other pointing to the bed. ‘Do as you’re told.’
And Annie would turn, shuffle towards the bed and allow herself to be hoisted back in between the sheets. Then, more often than not, Frau Wilhelm would lift Walther from his crib, place him in her arms and tell her that all she should be doing for six weeks was feeding and cuddling her baby. They’d spent so much time staring at each other that it would be reasonable to think she’d had her fill of him. But she held the baby at every opportunity and studied him with a fascination that seemed to intensify with each day she had been his Mutti.
As soon as Walther had been born, Frau Wilhelm sent a telegram to the forwarding address they had for Fred, telling him that he had become an uncle and Annie was well. There had been no reply, so Herr Doctor thought he had probably been posted to Italy where the Germans had occupied Rome, rescued Mussolini and allowed the dictator to re-establish a Fascist government. They boasted about this in the papers and on the radio like small, swaggering boys bombast about cuffing each other on the way home from school.
A few days later, sitting up in bed, Annie had written him a long letter describing his nephew in detail.
We call the dear little boy Walti, which stops us from having to ask each other whether we are talking about Big Walther or Little Walther. He looks so like his Vati that it takes my breath away. His tiny ears are flat against his head, which is covered in the most abundant amount of dark hair that spikes in every direction. And do you remember the little line that ran between Walther’s nostrils? His son has inherited that feature but his eyes are a hazy blue, which is the colour Frau Wilhelm tells me all babies are born with, so they will probably change to the same pale hazel as Big Walther’s in time.
She had felt happy, but at that point in her letter a tear had plopped onto the paper and sent diluted ink running through the words. She could have started again, but they must not waste paper and why shouldn’t Fred know she had cried? She didn’t doubt that he shed tears, too, even if he had to swallow them down and not allow them to manifest themselves where others could see the evidence of all his sadnesses.
So, she’d explained that her tears were for him, whose introduction to his nephew was delayed until a future unknown date. And for Walther who would never get to meet his son. But more than that, she cried for the baby, who had been deprived of both of those strong, handsome, wonderful men who should, by this time, be a significant part of his life.
She had written about how kind and attentive both Herr Doctor and Frau Wilhelm had been to her since he left and how much she appreciated and loved them. Yes, it was true. She did love them, not as her own parents, but as outstanding replacements. They could not do enough for her or the baby and she knew she would do whatever she could for them.
Luckily, the midwife was in Ulm when the baby started because if Herr Doctor had to drive to another town and collect her, she would probably have been too late. He stayed downstairs and the way he walked up and down, backwards and forwards, reminded me of your pacing, Fred, when you had a problem to think about. Which was often. Frau Wilhelm stayed with me and I was worried that her presence would be overpowering, but she did whatever the midwife asked of her – nothing more and nothing less. Most of the time, she stood next to me and pressed my hand, telling me how strong and brave I was. And she did not attempt to have the first cuddle, but she did look at her grandson with longing in her eyes when he was wrapped and given straight to me. She busied herself then, helping the midwife to clear up, but I held the baby out to her after a few minutes and watched as she wrapped her arms around him as if she was holding a precious, fragile treasure. Herr Doctor was called upstairs to join us and he, too, admired the baby, with a visible lump in his throat.
But there was always a but in life, she told Fred. And as her six weeks of confinement went on, Frau Wilhelm remained helpful and attentive but she had become more of a clucking hen. Apart from not letting Annie leave her bed, she organised everything – cooking, cleaning, sewing, burping Walti, changing him and shopping which she’d designated to a friend’s little girl so she would not have to leave the house. Watching and listening to her from the bedroom made Annie feel tense.
But Annie had at last, after much discussion, persuaded Frau Wilhelm to go into Munich to see her sister who was recovering from a stomach complaint. It would have been more beneficial if she had gone earlier, but she insisted on waiting until her sister was somewhat better as she didn’t want to bring illness back to them. She was the epitome of thoughtfulness. So, how could it be that Annie was weak with relief and excitement to see someone so kind and caring turn her back on the house, walk down the path and leave her alone with the baby for eight or perhaps ten joyful, carefree hours? She was ashamed to say that when she waved for the last time and disappeared around the corner, Annie put her palms together, said a thank you to the heavens, then jumped and clicked her heels together. Right away she felt guilty, peered into Walti’s crib, put a finger to her closed mouth and told him that her reaction would be their secret.
She waited to make sure Frau Wilhelm wasn’t going to pretend to miss her train, then made herself a cup of coffee, fished out her journal, pulled the crib close so she could keep an eye on the baby, ignored the full nappy bucket, the dry garments on the clothes horse, the potatoes, carrot, half a cabbage and slab of pork on the sideboard waiting to be prepared for dinner and sat down to write.
She set out how she was longing to go into Munich and show Walti to her ex-colleagues at the university, but when she mentioned the possibility of such an outing, Frau Wilhelm had been horrified. Her face drained of colour and left behind two amethyst stains under her eyes.
‘Annie,’ she had said, shaking her head.
‘What?’ Annie was bemused by her reaction.
Frau Wilhelm’s head continued to shake for some minutes. ‘Walther told us you had grown to be a determined, strong-willed young woman and I have come to understand that about you. But that suggestion is beyond…’
‘Did he?’ Annie asked, a tiny piece of forgotten biscuit between her fingers. ‘Beyond what? I don’t understand…’
Frau Wilhelm sat next to her on the couch, bundling the blue and white blankets she had been folding onto her lap.
‘You must not go anywhere,’ she said. ‘You must stay here.’
‘Oh, but my confinement is almost over.’
Again, the older woman’s head moved from side to side in an almost mournful manner. ‘It is more treacherous in Munich than it is here – you know that,’ she said. ‘People are trying to run from the worst of the war, not towards it. And definitely not with a tiny baby.’
That comment made Annie prickle with shame. ‘But I am so proud that I want to show him off. And I cannot stay cooped up here for, well, I don’t know how long.’
Frau Wilhelm took a deep breath and exhaled for a long moment. When she spoke, there was the slightest edge of irritation in her voice, something Annie had never heard before and that, more than her previous remark, filled her with humiliation. She could feel her neck and face redden. ‘We are all in the same position, Annie,’ she said. ‘Do you think any of us like the way we are being forced to live?’
When no reply was forthcoming, Frau Wilhelm dipped to look Annie in the eyes and prodded again, ‘Well, do you?’
‘No,’ Annie said.
‘No,’ Frau Wilhelm echoed. ‘That’s right. But we all have responsibilities towards our loved ones, especially when they are too helpless to look after themselves.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I know you’re right.’ Annie grabbed at her hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘No need to apologise. I am sorry, too, that you are young and have to go through all of this.’
‘It’s not just the young,’ Annie said. ‘As someone wise told me – we’re all in this together.’
They laughed then and Frau Wilhelm continued folding and smoothing the blankets. ‘Perhaps when you are well and truly on your feet,’ she said, ‘you can go into Munich on your own and leave Walti with me for a morning or afternoon. Or maybe we can go together.’
‘Thank you,’ Annie said. ‘Either one of those will be something to look forward to.’
Walti started to murmur and thrash his little fists about for his feed, so Frau Wilhelm brought him to her and went into the kitchen to continue her daily tasks there. The living room was quiet, apart from the gratified sounds of Walti’s greedy sucking, and Annie was left to think about what had been said. She closed he eyes against the guilt she felt but when she opened them, the feelings of remorse continued to nag at her. That’s not a bad thing, she thought, to be brought down to earth by the truth. She did have responsibilities now, not only to Walti but to Frau Wilhelm and Herr Doctor and to Fred and as such, she had to mature and live up to them without sulking or complaining or figuratively stamping her feet.
30 October 1943
What surprised me most, though, was understanding that Frau Wilhelm was fed up and disgruntled, too. Other than the tragedy of losing her only son, I thought she was content with her lot. How dare I harbour the assumption that she wanted nothing more for her life than to be a wife, mother-in-law and grandmother here in Ulm. Of course, I know her political leanings and understand she would like to go about her business without being under the control of the Nazis, but I presumed that was the extent of it. Then I remembered her telling me about dancing and visiting nightclubs in Berlin and realised that what we see of Frau Wilhelm now is the tip of what constitutes her. Who knows what ambitions she had for this time in her life that have now been quashed? Maybe she had envisaged herself creating an award-winning garden. Or writing a Kuchen recipe book. Travelling to Paris or London or further afield with Herr Doctor when he handed over the practice to Walther. In my mind, Frau Wilhelm had taken on other dimensions – not merely those I had fashioned her into for my convenience. She has a right to her own aspirations, too, or at least to the longing for them. And I have a duty to honour and respect her for them.
Walti stirred, so Annie picked up the notebook and, taking the stairs two at a time, made her way up to the hiding place in her bedroom. A knock on the door cemented her to a step, enough evidence to execute all of them on plain view in her hand. The last time there was someone at the door whilst she was on her own it had been horrible Horst. But even he wouldn’t let himself into a feeding mother’s home, would he? ‘Who is there?’ she called, wondering if she could make it up to her bedroom and back without him noticing.
‘Gisela,’ a small voice answered. ‘I’ve come with the rations, young Frau Wilhelm.’
Annie’s heart thumped so hard that she hoped the stress wouldn’t turn her milk sour. That was what Frau Wilhelm said could happen.
‘One moment, Gisela,’ she called back. She wanted to let the little girl think she was buttoning her blouse or making sure the baby was safe in his crib, not scrabbling to hide a lethal document.
By the time she opened the door, her breathing had returned to its usual rhythm and she was composed enough to offer Gisela a benign smile. The child skipped away, none the wiser, her long, thick ponytail streaming down her back.
*
As the weeks went by, Frau Wilhelm and Annie began to take Walti for walks in his baby carriage until at last, Annie was allowed out with the baby on her own. It took so long to bundle him up that she thought he would need his next feed before they stepped out the door. But then they were walking in the crisp, autumn air and the sting of it on her face made her laugh out loud. If she hadn’t been in charge of the pram she would have taken off her hat and gloves, perhaps her coat, and run into the biting wind. As it was, she turned down the finger sleeves on her mittens and ran her fingers along the hoar frost on the top of a low wall, enjoying the tingle of cold needling into her flesh.
So many people stopped to admire Walti and Annie dutifully pulled back his covers a tiny bit and let them peep at him. How they oohed and aahed. Everyone knew Herr Doctor and his family, so they all had an opinion about who the shape of the baby’s face resembled, or how Walther’s hair had stuck out in the same pattern of disarray as his son’s, or how his nose had the same curve as Frau Wilhelm’s. There was no mention of how the baby might take after her or Fred or Oma in some small way – the tilt of his head on the pillow, the arch of his eyebrows, the translucence of his skin. She didn’t feel resentful about that and preferred that he favoured Walther as that would be a lifetime’s reminder of the man she had loved.
But then to a person they offered condolences about Walther and said what an illustrious young hero of a man he had been for dying in service to his country and how proud she should be of him as he would be of her and the baby and on and on in that vein. Her stomach wrapped itself around in a tight twist when she realised that most of them knew Walther better than she did, or at least had known him for longer, and she had been robbed of that chance. But did they know him? She had to stop herself from scoffing aloud when he was called a war hero time and again. He hated the war, the Nazis, the regime and was posted only as a medic and that was against his wishes. Her initial feelings of invigoration seeped from her and she wondered if Walther, with his good humour and optimistic outlook on life, would find anything here and now to laugh at. If so, she wished he could somehow point it out to her.
Something had shifted in Ulm from before she gave birth and had been confined to the house. At first, she thought her overstrung imagination was at work again as she could not grasp what the difference was. Then she began to piece together what she observed and came to some conclusions. Many people were beginning to look very shabby, as if they could not keep mending over the mending they had already used to mend their clothes. A number of women were stockingless, a sight that would never have previously been seen, whatever the weather; the shine on men’s trousers was so glassy, she could have used it to make sure her hair was in place. And all the colour had been washed out of the clothes – no black, brown, beige, lavender, blue – everything was a variant of grey.
That was the colour favoured for faces, too. Gaunt, ghostly and sunken with bones more prominent than flesh. Shopping bags hanging off spindly wrists were less than half full, no loaves peeking out of the top or cabbages balancing on bulging bags of flour. Her tummy rumbled as she walked closer to the market, reminding her that despite having a few more rations as a feeding mother, there seemed to be less on her plate for each meal. Herr Doctor and Frau Wilhelm’s bowls and spoons seemed to hold even less than hers. She thought she had been so on the ball after having the baby, but she must have been somewhat foggy or ensconced in her own world staring at Walti, that she missed or misjudged what was going on around her. Vaguely, she recalled hearing the end of a hushed conversation between Frau Wilhelm and Herr Doctor about ‘nutrition’ and ‘making sure she gets enough’ and having another look for vegetables tomorrow.
She reasoned that she had a voracious appetite because she was producing milk, but today, wandering through Ulm, she realised that rations were dwindling. Icy, agitated fingers moved through her chest and settled in her stomach. If she couldn’t feed Walti what would she do? Reaching under his canopy, she tucked the blanket closer around his chin.
But she listened to the radio and read the papers. They were being told there was more than enough for the entire population. They had the fat of the conquered lands. Their gardens and vegetable plots were overflowing. The cows were bellowing to be milked and begging to be slaughtered – if only the farmers could get around to them. Of course, the people were ordered to believe the military got most of the food and that was right and proper as they were defending the Fatherland. How she wished she had the right to express herself freely. If she did, she would let it be known that she, for one, wished all the fighting men had only just enough to keep them alive so the Axis would surrender to the Allies and put an end to this insanity.
The marketplace was a sorry sight – there were a few chickens running around to choose from, but they looked as if they were being offered for sale only because their laying days were over. One had a bald patch on the side of her scrawny body, another a sore, swollen eye. Annie stood and watched as the poor thing tried to relieve the itching by rubbing its face in the dirt. No, she thought, even if there was enough meat on either of them to eat, she would not be able to force it down her throat.
She moved on through the jostling crowd, all probably looking for the same things she had on the list Frau Wilhelm had given her to try to procure. The baby carriage certainly helped in forging a way through, but twice her toes were trodden on, once she bumped her knee on the edge of a wooden table, then she took an elbow to her ribs and a fist landed on her hip. Or was it the flat of a hand as it felt more like an intrusion than an accidental dig? She stopped and stood on her toes, trying to see over the crowds to who might have touched her in such an intimate way, but there were only the usual housewives, Wehrmacht soldiers, diesel factory workers and it could have been any one of those. Or, she shrugged, none of them. But as she worked her way through the stalls, the place above her bottom burned with the heat of unwanted attention.
Irrational pride swelled in her when she handed over rations for three eggs, powdered milk and a small tin of soap flakes – Frau Wilhelm would be so pleased. Beetroot was on the list, too and she presumed her mother-in-law wanted to make Herr Doctor’s beloved Borscht but had used all that had been grown in their gardens. Then tucked away in the far corner, she noticed an elderly woman wearing a headscarf and frayed gloves who had a handful of wilting beets left on a trestle table. My life has come to this, she thought, as excitement surged through her when she laid her hands on the purple roots and claimed them for her own.
‘A baby!’ the woman cried. ‘May I see?’
Annie nodded and the woman left her station to peer into the pram. ‘Boy or girl?’ the woman asked.
‘A boy,’ she said. ‘Walti.’
The woman explained that her daughter-in-law in Berlin had recently had a baby girl and she hoped to be able to see her soon. They both gazed at the baby for some minutes before Annie made a move to readjust the pram cover so she could move on. Then she was distracted by a leaflet or brochure caught under the wheel, a torn corner flapping against the spokes. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t think how at first.
‘Oh,’ the woman said. ‘Those have been all over the market since last Monday.’ She pointed to a neighbouring stall. ‘Herr Muller says it’s filthy British propaganda. Here, let me…’ She reached down to grab the piece of paper from the wheel.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Annie said, beating her to it. ‘I’ll get it.’ Without glancing at the writing, she crumbled the leaflet and put it in her pocket as if it meant nothing to her. ‘British propaganda?’ she said. ‘But how did it get here?’
‘They drop them, those nasty RAF pilots, on the way back from bombing raids. I hope they rot in hell.’
Handing over her rations, Annie shook her head in what could have been interpreted as a show of unity and returned the woman’s Heil Hitler.
Hunching her shoulders and ploughing ahead with the pram, Annie could feel her heart beating against her ribs and the pulse in her neck ticking like a time bomb. She hoped not to meet anyone else on the way home, friend or foe. Her fingers kept straying to her pocket to check if the crushed leaflet was where she had put it. It was, and she longed to stop, take it out, smooth the page and see if her suspicions were correct. But she knew she must not be foolhardy and sneak behind a tree or around the back of a shop and get the paper out in public; if she was not a mother now she would not have been able to stop herself, but she kept calm by thinking of Walti’s safety.
Frau Wilhelm met her at the door with endless questions about her walk, who she had met and what they had said to each other, if Walti had cried, the produce or lack of it on the market, which routes she had taken there and back. Annie replied with all the right answers in all the right places, but omitted to mention the unsettling occurrences – the sense of that unwelcome touch and the leaflet. Frau Wilhelm tried to help her off with her coat but, with a smile on her face, Annie said she was perfectly able and hung it on the coat stand. Her mother-in-law’s gratitude for the purchases she’d made would have been touching if Annie wasn’t so anxious to get upstairs and look more closely at what she considered to be the most important find she’d appropriated that day.
They went into the living room, Frau Wilhelm cuddling Walti and babbling in a sing-song voice about how much she’d missed him. ‘I will get us coffee. Then the baby will need his feed, won’t he? You must be tired. Sit.’ She pointed to the couch.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Annie said, sitting in her place. Then she jumped up as if something was bothering her. Covering her chest with her arms, she said she thought her milk had leaked and she needed to change her vest.
Frau Wilhelm’s mouth turned down and she looked sorry for Annie. ‘So uncomfortable,’ she said. ‘I remember. Go. We’ll be fine here.’ She dandled Walti on her knee and began to take off some of his many layers.
In the hall, Annie reached into her coat pocket then bounded up the stairs, closed her bedroom door and made a lot of noise opening drawers on the pretence of taking out fresh undergarments. When at last she unfolded the scrunched leaflet, her hands were shaking. Then her legs gave way and she had to sit on the edge of the bed. She had been right – it was their fifth leaflet. Exactly as they had written it with the addition of an introduction by the Allies saying that it had initially been written and distributed by German citizens in Germany. Join forces with your own resistance! it said. You are not alone!
She clutched it close. To think – their humble leaflet had been to Britain and back again. If only she had some way of letting Fred know that this most unlikely chain of events had happened. She looked out of the window, beyond the garden, across the fields, towards the horizon. The wide world was out there, working to bring the atrocities of this war to an end. Her spirits bubbled.
*
Annie could have legitimately stayed at home and cared for Walti, but she felt she owed it to Fred, Walther, the RAF pilots who dropped the leaflets and of course their fellow resistance fighters who had lost their lives to the cause, not to allow herself to become too comfortable or complacent. So she brought up again the idea of going into Munich and oh, the decisions and arrangements and excuses that had to be made.
Frau Wilhelm wanted her to wait until the baby was much older and then go by herself, but Annie countered with the argument that Walti was the reason she wanted to see her ex-colleagues in the first place.
‘Well,’ Frau Wilhelm said when every option had been pulled apart, ‘there is only one thing for it if you insist on this trip, Annie.’
‘Please,’ Annie entreated. ‘I do not insist. I just want to feel like any other new mum in normal times.’
Frau Wilhelm sighed in much the same way Fred had done at her petitions.
‘But we don’t live in normal times. These years are extraordinary.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But… just this once?’
‘Alright,’ she acquiesced. ‘I will come with you. I will leave you at the university for an hour or so and visit my sister. That should be a good solution for both of us.’
‘Thank you,’ Annie said, barely able to stop herself from skipping and jumping around the living room.
‘It is, how do you say in England, killing both birds with just the one rock?’
‘Yes.’ Annie laughed. ‘That’s it exactly.’
Preparations lasted for the best part of a week. Times had to be agreed upon, tickets bought, a bag packed for Walti, warnings given. ‘This is really quite precarious, Annie,’ Frau Wilhelm insisted. ‘The streets in Munich are barely passable and we will be stopped by soldiers at every turn. God knows what they could want with two women and a pram, but they will find some excuse.’
Annie nodded and agreed and said they would be vigilant and careful. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Frau Wilhelm, during one or other of her discourses, that Ulm had become dangerous and threatening for her. But every time she almost blurted it out, something stopped her; she didn’t want to worry her mother-in-law or put her under the added pressure of thinking she had to do something to help Annie. At least until she was more sure of what was going on.
The pat on her hip had not been her imagination. It had happened again whilst she was leaning over Walti’s pram outside the bakery, but that time a hand had brushed her breast. She’d started, unable to believe what she felt. But scanning the crowds and the queues, she could not pinpoint who it might have been. Everyone had looked both innocent and guilty. A few days later, someone had rubbed the small of her back whilst she was carrying Walti into the dry goods store. Whirling around, she was sure she would be able to spot the degenerate and when she did, she was going to give him the full weight of her tongue in a very loud voice. Again, she had been too late or too unobservant or too reluctant to accuse.
Now she saw shadows moving out of shadows when she left the house; heard rustling and footsteps following her; could sense breathing close to her ear. She took to buying enough food to last two or three days so she wouldn’t have to leave the house, telling Frau Wilhelm she was tired and asking her to take Walti out instead. And she was pleased she wasn’t going to Munich on her own, as she would be terrified if her unwanted pursuer followed her there.
*
If Annie thought people in Ulm were beginning to look downtrodden, Münchners had taken on a most unhealthy pallor. There, too, no colour seemed to exist – the bleached grey dominated buildings, clothes, hair, skin, the barks of trees, pavements, birds, dogs. And no one was smiling – not one person in the train or on the streets or in the café where she and Frau Wilhelm bought a dingy cup of coffee and a slice of mouldy cake. Everyone hurried with heads bent, intent on getting wherever they needed to go, except the dreaded Wehrmacht soldiers, SS and anyone in uniform who strolled along, presenting themselves as smart and well-fed, arrogant and entitled.
It was horrible and Annie found herself walking at the same clipped pace as everyone else, keeping her gaze on her feet or the pram wheels, not smiling or nodding or engaging in any conversation with Frau Wilhelm other than the necessary statements such as: ‘We turn right here’ or ‘Mind your footing there’. Again, in startling contrast, the soldiers laughed too long and talked too loudly amongst themselves as if trying to convince everyone of their courage with shows of bravado. For a second, she lifted her eyes and they faltered on one young Wehrmacht officer standing next to, but apart from, two of his comrades. His gaze cut towards her and there was nothing coming from him – no sense of self-righteousness or pride, no bluster or bluff. He was in the same position as Fred, she thought, before they both blinked their eyes elsewhere. She wondered how many of those young men despised their lot in the same way both he and Fred did. If only they could band together and rise up against the regime. But they, like all of them, must keep their eyes averted and the truth in their hearts hidden.
At the university gates, Frau Wilhelm asked Annie if she would be alright. She wasn’t sure she would be, but of course she couldn’t say that having dragged both of them all that way.
‘Two hours?’ Frau Wilhelm asked, holding up her fingers.
‘Is one enough for you?’
Frau Wilhelm seemed surprised but said, ‘Of course.’
Annie watched her walk away, then made her way to the department she used to work in. She didn’t recognise anyone and was asked by several people how they could help her. She mentioned a few names but they shook their heads at each one with explanations such as the person had married and moved away or joined the military or was working elsewhere. One girl who she had particularly liked had died when her house exploded because of a gas leak. She had been young enough to still wear her hair in plaits across her head and her arms had been covered in freckles. It was so sad to think that whilst she had been giving birth, that young woman had her life blown out of her. Sadder, though, was the matter-of-fact way the news was divulged.
Next, she walked through familiar corridors to the dining halls. It was always cold through those dark, chilly passageways but it was more than the draughts that made her shiver. She remembered the times she had walked side by side with Fred or Ilse or Gustav, making their way to share lunch together, deep in thought about the next moves within their resistance group. After so many of their comrades had been imprisoned and executed, she had wondered if their efforts had been worth the outcome. How dare she think that such a paltry gathering of inexperienced young people, with nothing going for them but their idealistic attitudes, could make any difference? But tucked in next to the journal in her underwear drawer was their leaflet, evidence that their attempts at rallying others had reached the hands and minds of those far beyond the immediate vicinity and their most outlandish hopes.
A few people turned and stared at her, a woman with a baby carriage coming into the dining hall – not a usual sight in a university. Scanning the tables and benches, she quickly ascertained there was no one there she recognised so turned the pram and headed back the way she’d come before any questions could be asked. She felt lost and out of her depth and decided she should admit a foolish defeat. She would wait by the gates for Frau Wilhelm.
A group of men, gesticulating and talking about something that seemed deep and serious, stepped to one side to let her pass. ‘Thank you,’ she said without looking at them. Then a hand, spotted with irregular brown marks and sprouting wiry hairs, reached out and touched her arm. Reminded of the recent undesirable advances in Ulm, she drew back as if she’d been stung. ‘Fraulein Scholz,’ the man said. ‘Annie?’
When she gave herself a chance to look, she saw it was one of their old comrades.
‘Professor Frans.’ She breathed out, her hand reaching out to meet his.
He glanced at the pram. ‘I heard you were expecting a baby.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘This is my Walti.’
He continued to scrutinise her instead of looking at the baby. That was something she wasn’t used to. ‘And I heard that the father, your husband, died in Russia.’
Again she said, ‘Yes. He was a medic.’
Professor Frans nodded knowingly and in his narrowed eyes there was such a familiar depth of understanding that Annie thought she would cry without being able to stop.
‘Come into my office, Frau…?’
‘You can still call me Annie,’ she sniffled.
‘Wait one moment.’ She watched him catch up with his colleagues who were waiting for him at the end of the hallway. They exchanged a few words and then he turned back towards her with a rather jaded stride.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘This door.’
He ushered her into a leather chair and manoeuvred the pram to where she could see Walti, breathing in and breathing out; Annie mirrored the rhythm of the baby’s shallow puffing and felt, if not as peaceful as him, at least a bit calmer.
‘Would you like a snifter of brandy?’ Professor Frans asked.
That broke the tension she had been feeling and she snorted in a most unladylike manner. ‘Thank you, but I am meeting my mother-in-law and she will not let me out again on my own if she smells alcohol on my breath.’
He laughed with her. ‘Well, coffee?’
She considered, then said. ‘No, I will have that brandy, thank you.’
‘Good,’ he said.
Whilst he rooted around in his filing cabinet and took out two glasses and a bottle, Annie looked at the books piled on his desk and leaning lopsidedly on the shelves. Their dark green, blue and burgundy covers were comforting, reminding her that there had been better times than this and that there would be time, in the future, to concentrate on thoughts and ideas other than how and when this war would finish. Professor Frans put a glass in front of her and lifted his in a toast. ‘Ahh,’ he said after his first sip and she nodded in agreement.
Never one to miss a trick, Professor Frans realised she had been surveying his array of books because he swept his hand towards a pile and said, ‘These are not mine.’
‘Then whose?’ she asked him. ‘Are you storing them for a colleague?’
He shook his head and leaned in closer towards her. ‘My books were stolen from me by the…’ His index and middle finger went under his nose and his arm shot out in front of him. When he finished with the salute they all hated, his nostrils flared as if a putrid smell had filled the room. ‘Years ago they marched in, raided my library and burned my books along with many others. Thomas Mann, gone. Erich Maria Remarque, gone. Émile Zola, Jack London, gone, gone, all gone. These,’ he said, spittle gathering in tiny dots on his bottom lip, ‘are what they left in their stead.’
He thrust a black bound edition of something or other by Werner Beumelburg – who she knew wrote about camaraderie and good times to be had on the front line – towards her. He ran a finger along another pile and held up the dust for her to see. Again he inclined his head. ‘I refuse to read them and when this war is finished I will take them outside and burn each and every one of them.’
‘I will join you. If I may.’
‘Yes, Annie. You may.’ They each sipped their brandy, then Professor Frans asked her bluntly why she was at the university with Walti.
She hesitated. Although very unlikely, it was still wise to consider everyone as if they might be in the pay of the SS. But she decided that she didn’t want to be that sort of suspicious person. She drew herself up tall and told him about finding the crumpled leaflet Fred had authored.
He seemed to turn over the information in his mind and smiled as if he was thinking about an old friend who conjured up happy memories.
‘It was on the ground in the marketplace. In Ulm. Someone told me it was dropped by the RAF and I wanted to verify that was a fact.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That has been happening. It’s good.’
‘It is. And I wanted to see if I could help. In any way.’
But before he replied, Annie knew what the answer would be. She could tell by the atmosphere in the university, the weary, rather cynical tone in Professor Frans’ voice, the lack of old contacts. ‘Do you remember Helmuth?’ he said.
‘Yes, he has been in prison for eight months, so I believe.’
‘Well he was, but I thought you might have missed the news during your confinement,’ he said. ‘He has been executed.’
‘I cannot believe it.’ Anger and sadness churned together inside her creating a foul-tasting bile that rose from her stomach.
‘Oh, Annie,’ he said in that same fatigued tone. ‘I do not think that is the case. Even you must, by now, accept this as normal. Is that not so?’
She nodded. It was true. She knew that the regime would undertake any barbaric, uncivilised or brutish deed in order to remain in power.
‘There is no one left here that I can put you in touch with, Annie,’ he said. ‘They are all gone, other than old men like me. Go home, take care of your baby and pray that your brother returns.’
She finished her brandy in one gulp, turned the pram and then stretched across the desk to formalise their goodbye. He took her hand in both of his and said, ‘You have done so much already.’
She shook her head.
‘You have no idea, but you have been wonderfully brave.’
Outside, Frau Wilhelm strode towards her with a smile of relief on her face. ‘Did you see who you wanted to see?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Annie answered. ‘They’ve all gone. How is your sister?’
‘Weak. And fragile.’
Like this city, she thought and the people in it.
23 November 1943
This morning my unwarranted suitor revealed himself in the most improper manner. I thought I was being cautious and wary, but as I drew level with the passageway that leads to the butcher’s shop, a man in a diesel factory uniform stepped out in front of me. My heart somersaulted and landed hammering in my throat. Then I recognised him as a boy who Fred sometimes kicked a football with during the summer. He stood, hands in pockets, smiling at me in a rather fatuous way. He called me by my name, but I struggled to remember his, then it came to me – Dietmar.
Not wanting to unfairly denounce him when I didn’t know if he was, in fact, my tormenter, I nodded and made to walk around him and carry on with my business. But he blocked my way and shoved me into the alley. I kept one hand on the handle of the pram, dragging it behind me and cried out, but there was no one to hear. I’d heard about girls who were violated by soldiers or interfered with by drunken men, but never thought I would be in their position. Everything in me was electrified and I wanted to kick, punch, bite, spit but Dietmar pushed me against the wall and whispered that he’d liked me since we were small and now that Walther was gone, he wanted to have me. Two of his teeth were black and his breath smelled of rotting pork. I flailed around, bashing the back of my head against the wall and tried in desperation to knock the chassis of the pram into the back of his legs. Rather than frighten him off, that only served to make him laugh and explore the skin under my scarf with his scratching, dirt-encrusted fingers.
Then, just when I thought I would have to suffer his molestations there was the sound of boots, clumping on the flagstones and a flash of brown from the other end of the passageway. I don’t know where my presence of mind came from, but the intrusion gave me enough time to kick Dietmar hard in the shin and duck out from under his grasp. I took one, cursory look over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me and I caught a glimpse of two Wehrmacht officers, the first pinning Dietmar’s arms to his sides and the second pressing his forearm hard into the assailant’s windpipe. All I could think about was getting away with Walti, so I wasn’t convinced, but I thought the tallest and heaviest-handed officer was Horst. And the more I think about it and turn the episode over in my mind, the more certain I am that it was him. Horst, of all people, was my hero and the upholder of my dignity.
The letterbox rattled and Frau Wilhelm and Annie looked at each other, thinking the same thing – it was Horst again. Frau Wilhelm must have presumed Annie wouldn’t want to see him, so she drew back her shoulders, fastened her cardigan, set her mouth in a straight line and gave Annie a look that meant she would get rid of him.
But Annie had thought long and hard about what had happened with Dietmar and made up her mind that when next Horst called, she would thank him and try to rekindle the feelings she had for him as her younger cousin and make sure she found him a piece of cake.
Both women made it to the door at the same time to find no one on the other side but there was an envelope, facing down, on the mat. Annie gasped when she turned it over, the half-crossed Ts and looped Gs enough for her to know it was from Fred.
Annie held it close, desperate to open it but wanting to savour the moment. She and Frau Wilhelm sat close together in the living room and Annie slit the envelope with care. Inside were two pages of regulation army writing paper. She unfolded them and read with reverence.
Congratulations and well done to you, my Liebling Annie. Although I have not seen him yet, I have formed a perfect picture in my mind of my little nephew Walti from your description. I know that your husband died a hero for the Third Reich, but I want to reassure you that you and your child will always have my love and protection.
Annie had to read through that paragraph again to believe her eyes. Icy cold fear churned in her bowels. ‘Has he been brainwashed or indoctrinated into the ways of the regime?’ she asked Frau Wilhelm.
‘No, no, of course not,’ Frau Wilhelm said. ‘He is protecting himself and us. Now, read on.’
I long to hold you both close and tell you this in person, but that is not possible at the moment. Just know it in your wonderful heart, Annie. For me, you and Walti and my fiancée mean more than anything in this world and I will fight for all of you.
Give my special thanks to Herr Doctor and Frau Wilhelm for all they do for you and I hope that in victory, we can share a glass of schnapps together.
Here he did not state whose victory, but she knew what he meant.
The second page was more about logistics and had been heavily censored.
I am in -----, having been posted here from -----. We have -----, -----, ----- and ---- for our rations and ----- blankets to keep us warm at night. I am well and very happy to be doing my duty for the Fatherland.
Please write to me, Annie, as your letters are such a comfort; I keep them together in my Bible and have read them so many times over that the paper has worn thin. I will write as often as I can, but as I’m sure you know, the post from here is slow or perhaps non-existent in some cases.
As a Wehrmacht soldier on the -----, I can assure you we will all be together again soon and I will take my proper place amongst you as brother, uncle, friend, benefactor and patron. Especially to our Walti who I am already devoted to completely.
Heil Hitler!
Your loving Brother
Frederick
They read and devoured the letter three times and ended up with tears in their eyes. ‘He is alive,’ Annie said.
‘Yes, and let’s hope that his predictions about the end being in sight come to fruition.’
‘I wish I had your faith,’ Annie said, realising that in the last two minutes they had mentioned faith and hope.
But what about charity, the most important of the three virtues? That was apparent in the love and devotion expressed in Fred’s letter to them. And in Horst’s unforeseen, unexpected but most laudable act of chivalry.