Chocolate Cake With Hitler (2 page)

Auntie Eva sat at her little desk and wrote a letter. All her things are beautiful. Thick cream paper, and a smart black fountain pen. She makes you forget that you’re under the ground in the middle of a war. After a bit she went to call Mrs. Junge to take us back to bed. Auntie Eva says we can play hide-and-seek down in the Leader Bunker tomorrow.

“And don’t be afraid of the soldiers,” she said. “Everyone is so pleased you’re here!”

1937

It was pouring with rain the day we first visited the house on Swan Island. We sheltered on the wide
veranda
whilst Papa opened the front door with a giant key. Inside it was pitch dark. He went round opening all the tall wooden shutters, letting in a dull green light from the dripping overgrown garden. I pretended I was a mermaid in an underwater palace.

I loved the large echoey rooms, the cupboards you could hide in, the bedrooms with faded flowery
wallpaper
. We explored everywhere – the kitchens, the
cellars
, the bathrooms with their vast stained baths. There was so much to see that Mummy had a touch of her heart trouble and had to stop to catch her breath in one of the servants’ rooms in the attic. She sat down on an old iron bed that the people before had left behind, and I climbed on her lap and we just sat quietly listening to Papa whooping with delight downstairs and she smiled a secret Papa-is-mad-but-we-don’t-mind smile at me, and I remember the soft dip of her shoulder where my head fitted just right and feeling that everything was going to be perfect from then on. I didn’t realise that when we actually moved in the whole house would be freshly painted and done up and all the beauty and mystery would be decorated away.

Luckily the garden took longer for them to sort out. It was enormous and had been what Mummy
called “neglected”. There were thick bushes and low branches and secret places where only children could fit. In the end they got a man called Carl with fierce, blue eyes and a mower and a scythe and he pretty well ruined everything, but for a while it hid whole other worlds to play in.

That first visit, after the rain stopped, the long grass was still drenched, and we walked right down to the edge of the lake, my socks and shoes soaked through. There was a girl in the garden next door, swinging on a swing, gum-booted feet in the sky. She waved, but Mummy told us not to wave back. She said that,
unfortunately
, the one problem with the house was that the neighbours were unsuitable. She said Papa would sort it out.

I hated Carl the cutter but I loved Mr. Bruegger who looked after the ponies. Papa bought two ponies – Loki and Freya, both piebald – and a pony trap. Mr. Bruegger would take us out in the trap for rides around the island, and afterwards he would let us feed the ponies. Mr. Bruegger taught us how to ride and how to whistle and how to touch stinging nettles without getting stung and he used to tell us stories about the horses he had looked after during the war. I loved the ponies. I loved their warm breath and soft noses and the smell of hay in their stable. It was only later that we got Rosamund for me to ride.

In those early days, before the war, we used to have
to go sailing on
Baldur
, Papa’s yacht. There was always a cold breeze on the lake and we had to wear damp, heavy life jackets. I always got told off for being in the wrong place: “Mind the boom!”

Papa had a friend called Lida who was a film star. Sometimes Papa and I used to watch her films but Mummy didn’t like them and Hilde and Helmut were too young. Lida was very beautiful. Well, Mummy didn’t think so, but I did. She had lovely wavy hair and her face was somehow tight and bright and always smiling. Lida loved going out in Papa’s yacht and Mummy would always make me and Hilde go too to keep her company because she thought Lida would get bored with only Papa to talk to. I don’t think it was true because Papa and Lida would always go off for one more sail after they dropped us back home.

It was the first summer at Swan Island that I met Reggie.

We were always sent out to play in the garden after breakfast and sometimes I would go off on my own to see if I could catch a glimpse of the girl next door. The fence running round the edge of the garden had
collapsed
so it was hard to tell where our garden stopped and the neighbour’s began. This was before Carl put up the new fence with barbed wire. One day I was sitting, hidden, or so I thought, in the bushes, watching her
doing handstands, when she suddenly sprang through to our side, and flung herself down beside me.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Regine Goldschmidt. Queen of the Goldschmidts. Who, pray, are you?”

“My name’s Helga.” I didn’t know what to say next because Mummy had banned us from talking to the neighbours, so I spoke very quietly as a compromise between the “Don’t talk to the neighbours” and the “Speak when you’re spoken to” rules.

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to talk to you,” I said in a whisper.

“How ridiculous! It’s probably because we’re Jewish. But you needn’t worry – it’s not catching!”

“Are you allowed to talk to us?”

“I’m allowed to do whatever I want. I haven’t got a mother.” She twisted a long strand of dark hair around her finger.

“Have you got a papa?”

“Oh yes. And a brother and a sister, but they are grown up, pretty well, and they only come at weekends. So it’s just me and Father here and deadly boring. I can’t wait till the holidays are over and I go back to school in Berlin. You can call me Reggie by the way.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She died.”

“Why?”

“She was struck by lightning.”

“Here?”

“No, of course not. She wasn’t really. She had an
illness
.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twelve and a half. Is it true that your father is Josef Goebbels?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Do you know Adolf Hitler?”

“Do you mean the Leader?”

“Some people call him that.”

“We call him Uncle Leader.”

“Is he your uncle?”

“Not my real uncle.”

“Is he scary?”

“No, he’s not really scary, but he’s smelly.”

“My father says he’s a very dangerous man. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Two sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest – except for Harald, he’s sixteen, but he’s only my half-brother and he mostly lives with his father – Hilde is three and a half, Helmut is nearly two and Holde is just a baby.”

“Is that all? Father always says Goebbels has hundreds of children – at least 23 or something.”

“Oh bother, that’s Cook calling. I’ve got to go to lunch. Be here the same time tomorrow!”

After that I used to look for Regine, Queen of the Goldschmidts, whenever I could. She would come over to our side and we would lie in the grass and she would
tell me stories about her school, and show me how to do the splits, which I never could. I remember one lovely warm day, she took me over to her side, down to a jetty sticking out into the lake at the bottom of their garden, and we sat dangling our feet and making little ripples in the still, still water. No one saw us.

After that the days became cooler and I had to wear a cardigan. I looked for Regine in the usual place, after breakfast and after lunch, but she wasn’t there any more. She must have gone back to Berlin.

Uncle Leader used to come and stay a lot – Mummy did up a special guest house for him so that he could come whenever he wanted. He came for my fifth
birthday
and he gave me a toy sewing machine. Even though it was a toy, it really worked. It was beautiful: shiny black metal decorated with gold flowers. I immediately pictured all the gorgeous dresses I was going to be able to make.

“How does it work?”

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea – your mother will have to show you.”

Mummy sent for an old sheet.

I didn’t want a dress made out of an old sheet.

“I’ll show you how to hem.”

I didn’t want to know how to hem.

“We’ll start with a handkerchief!”

Mummy cut a small square.

She leant over me and directed my hands to push the material into place. Her big ring squashed into my fingers.

“No, no, no… Helga, hold it flat. I’ll do the pedal.”

I DON’T WANT TO MAKE A STUPID HANDKERCHIEF! I thought, but I didn’t say. I held my tongue. The stitches rushed along: one, two, three, four sides, closed neatly over.

“There,” Mummy said. “Lovely. All done. Show Uncle Leader what a clever girl you are.”

Papa had his own guest house too and he used to stay there so that he could work undisturbed. Mummy said we made too much noise for him to concentrate, but I think she did more shouting than we did. Lida must have been good at keeping quiet because she was allowed.

Day Two in the Bunker

Monday 23 April, 1945

I
was the last one to wake up this morning. I can vaguely remember Helmut turning on the light at some point, but I just pulled the blanket over my eyes and fell back to sleep. When I woke up properly Helmut was firing elastic bands at the door handle; Hilde was reading a book about the Red Indians and Holde and Hedda and Heide had “gone to Iceland”, which is what they call it when they dive down under the sheets to the bottom of the bed and pretend it’s an igloo.

Mrs. Junge came to call us for breakfast. She looked like she’d got up in a hurry. Her hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. She told us that Mummy was having a lie-in because her heart was still bad.

We had hot chocolate and bread and butter and
damson jam for breakfast. You can pretty well have as much butter as you like, which is so nice – the first time in ages that we haven’t had to scrape it really thin to try and make the ration last as long as possible – and the bread was still warm so the butter melted. One of the kitchen orderlies had just collected it from a bakery off William Street. Miss Manziarly says that the kitchen orderlies are braver than half the bunker soldiers. She thinks it is probably the only bakery left in Berlin.  

Papa came to see us after breakfast. He told us that the astrologers predict that we will win the war by the end of April. That’s only a week away. Apparently the stars are almost exactly the same as when Frederick the Great won the Seven Year War by a miracle. That time the Empress of Russia died, and this time the American President has just died. Which has got to be more than a coincidence, Papa says. Papa always used to say that only silly old fools like Mr. Goering believed in
astrology
, but now everyone seems to believe it. I hope it’s true. I couldn’t bear the thought of being cooped up down here for more than a week. When we get back to Swan Island the first thing I’m going to do is cartwheel all the way around the lawn. I can’t wait till it’s warm enough to go swimming – there’s probably only a month to go. Hubi’s going to teach me butterfly this summer.  

Mummy stayed in bed all morning. At lunchtime she came and sat with us as we ate our sandwiches but
she didn’t eat anything. She looked very white and tired. One really good thing is that all the little ones know not to bicker if Mummy’s poorly. She told us that after lunch we would have a rest and then she would come and help us get ready for tea with Uncle Leader. A rest! As if there is anything to rest from. All that exhausting drawing and reading. Mummy kissed our heads and went back to her room.

Just before lunch we had a game of hide-and-seek. I was the counter and the others hid. Heide and Hedda were quite easy to find because they had gone back to their igloo, which I guessed. All the others were hiding down in the washrooms in the Leader Bunker where Blondi and the puppies live. They were easy to find too because the puppies were barking like mad in their
little
high-pitched voices. Papa was in the Leader Bunker corridor, but he had his concentrating face on, so I didn’t say hello. There’s a tall man, Mr. Misch, who is the telephone operator. He came out of his little booth and whispered in my ear, “Best to go back upstairs, those little ones are a making a bit of a racket.” So I gathered them all up and found Miss Manziarly in the upper dining-room corridor setting out our sandwiches.

Some orderlies had put an extra bunk in our room during the morning. When we went for our supposed rest Hedda and Heide and Helmut immediately started squabbling about who should have the top bunk. They
gave me a headache. In the end I read them the story of Hansel and Gretl just to get them to be quiet.

Eventually Mummy and Auntie Eva and Auntie Eva’s maid Liesl came in to get us ready for tea. I like the look of Liesl. She’s sort of cosy and up-together and smells of ironing. She’s one of those people who gives you the feeling that they could cope with anything, without making a fuss. Mummy had put her face on so she looked a bit brighter. Auntie Eva was wearing another swishy dress – covered in red roses. Mummy seemed in a bit of a dream. Auntie Eva was nattering away about how impossible it has been to find good quality dressmakers now all the Jews have left Berlin and Mummy was just nodding as she got out our best clothes – the white dresses, and Helmut’s white shirt and shorts – and gave them to Liesl to press. I’m so glad we didn’t bring those ones she had made out of the nursery curtains – they’re horribly stiff and make us look like lampshades.

Once we were all ready we had a quick run-through of our songs: the one about the nightingale and “Little Stars”. They were OK. Auntie Eva clapped loudly – which sounded so hollow as it echoed around the
concrete
room – and said we were wonderful little darlings, and that Uncle Adi would love our performance. We are just what he needs to get him through this difficult time. Heide shouts more than she sings but it won’t matter because everyone always thinks she’s sweet.
Normally we would give Uncle Adi flowers for his birthday but obviously we can’t get any flowers down here, so we just took cards we’d made him. Mine is of edelweiss. Hedda is going to recite the poem she learnt for Christmas.

Uncle Adi’s sitting room was quite crowded with all of us in it. Papa and Mrs. Junge were already there,
sitting
on the only two chairs. They both jumped up to offer their chairs to Mummy and Auntie Eva. There was also a small flowery sofa, but they seemed to prefer to lean against the desk, rather than sit there. We
children
sat on the floor, tucking our legs under us to take up as little room as possible and we waited while Auntie Eva fetched Uncle Adi.

My first thought when I saw him was that he had shrunk. He was stooped forward and looked crumpled, like he needed Liesl to give him a good iron. As he came in we all jumped up, but not quick enough for Mummy who gave me a little poke in the back, which really annoyed me because I’m old enough, for
goodness
’ sake, to remember my manners without being reminded. I curtsied and shook his hand. Horrible, moist and limp; that hadn’t changed. Hilde came next, but when it came to Helmut’s turn, Uncle Leader grabbed him by one of his ears and gave it a shake which went on embarrassingly long until Helmut’s ear was bright red. I could see Helmut was holding his breath in order to stifle a yelp. Finally Uncle Leader let
go and dropped down on to the sofa with a fart. It could have been the sofa squeaking, but I think it was a fart. Auntie Eva sat down beside him.

“What a delight to see such beautiful children!”

“The children are very happy to be here, my Leader,” said Papa. “They are very excited to join you in your underground cave.”

“Our cave! Oh yes, it is wonderful to be in a cave… a grotto!” said Auntie Eva. “It is a great adventure.” And her eyes blazed as if she had never wanted anything in her whole life more than to be here.

“The children have cards for you, My Leader,” said Mummy. “They have made them themselves, even little Heide. Children, give Uncle Adi your cards.”

Uncle Adi examined each card in turn. “My
favourite
presents are pictures painted by children. Girls and boys. Some people say that women cannot paint, but Angelica Kauffmann was a great painter, and painting makes a good hobby for a woman.” I’ve no idea who Angelica Kauffmann is. At this point he farted really loudly and it was definitely him, even though everyone pretended they hadn’t noticed. I could see Helmut was about to get the giggles so I gave him a sharp nudge.

“The children also have a song for you, my Leader.” Mummy went on, “They have been practising
especially
for your birthday.”

“Wonderful! Let’s hear it.” We all squashed into our places and Mummy stood in front of us to conduct.

It was a bit squeaky, certainly not as soft as the
nightingale
, but not too bad. Uncle Adi clapped one hand on his thigh, which seemed to be slightly shaking all the time. He was clinging on to the bottom of his jacket with his other hand.

“Wonderful! Wonderful! Can you sing me another?”

Our second song – “Can you count the stars?” – was much longer, ending with the verse:

Uncle Adi clapped his thigh enthusiastically. I thought he was appreciating our singing but then I saw that Miss Manziarly had appeared in the
doorway
carrying a huge tray of cakes and behind her was one of the kitchen orderlies with a big jug of hot chocolate and a pot of tea.

“Is there chocolate cake for the children? They deserve a reward for their wonderful singing!”

I have never seen anyone eat cake as fast as Uncle Adi. He kept cramming it into his mouth, showering his lap with crumbs. Watching Uncle Adi, Heide just grabbed a second piece of chocolate cake from the plate and stuffed it straight into her mouth. I thought Papa would pick her up and take her out, but he just bent down and whispered something in her ear. Heide stared down at the floor and I could tell that she was trying to swallow her mouthful without moving her face, because she had to keep it completely still to stop herself crying.

Suddenly Helmut jumped up, almost knocking over his hot chocolate.

“U-U-Uncle Leader, I have written a special speech for you for your birthday.” He pulled a piece of paper from his shorts’ pocket:

“The Leader is the man of the century. He is sure of himself despite pain and suffering. He shows us the way to victory. He will not sell his faith or his ideals. He always and without doubt follows the straight path to his goal!”

I couldn’t believe Helmut was pretending that he had written these words. We had all listened on the radio to Papa giving his birthday speech for Uncle Leader just a few days ago.

“Helmut, don’t lie! You stole that from Papa!” I
couldn’t let him get away with it.

All the grown-ups laughed, which I wasn’t expecting, but they laughed even louder when Helmut replied:

“No, Papa stole it from me!”

Then Papa suggested that Hedda recite her poem:

She said it really quietly. There was a hesitation and then everyone clapped. For a second I thought Auntie Eva was going to cry but she jumped to her feet:

“I know! Let’s fetch the little sausages!” I thought she meant more food but she meant the puppies. Me and Hilde and Helmut went with her. I carried Foxl and Wolf and then gave Wolf to Uncle Adi, and kept Foxl to cuddle myself.

“Now, children, it’s my Blondi’s turn to sing!” said Uncle Adi.

He started her off by giving a long howl – like a wolf. Heide grabbed my hand. Blondi joined in with a very high-pitched howl.

Then Uncle Adi made a much softer, deep, low howl, more like a groan, and Blondi copied. Heide held my hand even tighter. Everyone else laughed.

“Good girl, Blondi, good girl.” Uncle Adi held up
three fingers and Blondi stopped howling, and immediately sat and wagged her tail along the floor, and Uncle Adi rewarded her with three little pieces of cake. Not the chocolate one – he says chocolate is bad for dogs – but a sponge cake. And then we gave the
puppies
a tiny piece each.

“You see I’m really Dr. Doolittle, I can talk to the animals. Have you ever seen Blondi do a schoolgirl?”

“No, show us, show us!” Heide burst out. I think she was so relieved that the wolf bit was over. So Uncle Leader tapped the arm of the couch and Blondi lifted up her front legs and hung them over the side of the arm and looked at him with her head on one side, and her face looked completely, completely obedient.

“She’s a good schoolgirl,” said Uncle Adi, patting her on the head. “Like you, Helga. I’m sure you’re a good schoolgirl. What have you been learning at school?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, because we haven’t been able to go to school for ages, but I didn’t say that because I didn’t want to remind him of the war and everything, so I just tried to think of something we’d been doing when I was last at school.

“We have been studying Geography, Uncle Leader.”

“Well, what have they taught you?”

“That the German Empire used to be much bigger, but the land was stolen from us by Poland and Russia after the Great War, and now we are recapturing that land so that there is sufficient living space for every
German.” As I said it I realised that it was the most tactless thing I could have said, because the Russians are taking over that land right now, but I didn’t know how to stop once I’d started. Luckily Uncle Leader didn’t seem to mind.