Letters and Papers From Prison (11 page)

The results of my consideration are, in brief, as follows: My exemption for service in the
Abwehr
in essence amounts to conscription into the
Abwehr.
I could not have made the journeys intended by the
Abwehr
had I served in the
Abwehr
as an enlisted man; in that case I would have lost the disguise which was absolutely necessary for my journeys. That I came to do my war service with the
Abwehr
and not the armed forces is, in my opinion, exclusively the responsibility of those who regarded my contacts abroad as being so numerous and important that they claimed me for this service; i.e. Admiral Canaris must really decide about that, as he himself ordered that I was to be used for the
Abwehr.
However, it is also my own personal conviction that I could do greater service to the nation by making use of my contacts abroad than elsewhere. You know, your honour, that I am not well up in matters of law, but I cannot suppress the question whether there is not a regulation to the effect that in war each man is to be put where he makes the greatest contribution for the nation. A chemist is left in his laboratory if he has special knowledge not possessed by anyone else. Be that as it may, at any rate, these are the reasons why I worked for the
Abwehr
- without any doubt about the rightness of my activity. And I must pass on the responsibility for this to those who engaged me.

Now about my letter to my brother-in-law in the matters of Niesel, Wolf
⁵⁴
and Jannasch.
⁵⁵
I can at least understand that it may seem strange if one reads it without taking into account the personal relationship between myself and my brother-in-law. For me it was part of one of the numerous purely personal conversations in which for many years I had been telling my brother-in-law of church matters and difficulties and had occasionally been asking his advice. In this case it was a question of asking personal
advice as to whether any help could be offered in this or that difficulty. In the Jannasch case I even told the father, who had lost his other son shortly before and was with me in great distress, explicitly that things could not be changed in any way. Was it really impermissible to ask my brother-in-law about the matter once again, personally? This is the context - i.e. that of a quickly written personal letter - in which the words ‘there is a
threat
of call-up’ are to be understood; a stranger could certainly misunderstand them or take objection to them, but my brother-in-law certainly did not misunderstand them. One need only ask him how he took the expression; [illegible] was the difficulty ‘threatening’ the church. A plea to my brother-in-law on church matters would never have seemed impermissible to me, especially as he alone was responsible for working out all the military possibilities; it would never have occurred to me to press anything on him or to suggest anything to him that he thought irresponsible. My brother-in-law will confirm to you at any time that in these affairs it was exclusively a matter of questions and reports; I never pressed him to do anything. Finally, I always kept in mind the significance of the church for the war effort at home and felt myself inwardly justified in presenting such things to my brother-in-law. He knew this and understood it well. I will not disclaim responsibility for having spoken up for the church even during the war, where this seemed to me to be in the interest of church and nation; and I confidently believe that what I have done can be answered for and defended before the law also. Perhaps you will believe me when I say that I have too high an opinion of the law to want to see casuistry or stretching of points for my personal sake. I believe that in my own case, prosecution and defence are at least agreed on this basic attitude.

Finally, may I add something that hardly needs saying? If my work for the
Abwehr
should no longer be regarded as important, I would immediately hold myself ready for any other service. But that is not a matter that I have to decide.

To his parents

[Tegel] 24 June 1943

Dear parents,

I’m beginning this letter today, though I hope that I shall be seeing you in person tomorrow. In the week after Whit Sunday I had a great many letters, which pleased me very much. First of all yours, which is always such a great comfort, though I cannot get over the fact that you have now had to suffer so long under my misfortune; then Maria’s letter, which made me well content with its fabulous dreams of the future; even Hans-Walter has found time for a letter to me in his short, duty-free moments - I’m particularly grateful to him for it. Splendid that he is now so near to Berlin.

Christoph wrote so nicely in his letter from Sakrow - I do hope that the children will soon be relieved of this burden - and in the last parcel little Michael even sent his sweets to his godfather in prison. He is not to do it again, but I’m sure that this sacrifice - and it really is a sacrifice for such a small boy - will be remembered, and that he is as glad about it as I am. When I am free again, I will do something that he particularly wants; ask him to think what that might be. And Karl-Friedrich has written again so nicely; I think I’ve already said thank-you for Ursel’s letter. I see from the parcels that the whole family keeps sharing in them - and the children and Maria’s family. I want them all to know how grateful I am. It is a real help. What a blessing it is, in such distressing times, to belong to a large, closely-knit family, where each trusts the other and stands by him. When pastors were arrested, I sometimes used to think that it must be easiest for those of them who were unmarried. But I did not know then what the warmth that radiates from the love of a wife and family can mean in the cold air of imprisonment, and how in just such times of separation the feeling of belonging together through thick and thin actually grows stronger. I was very pleased about Walter’s
⁵⁶
induction; I forgot a while ago to send him good wishes for that and for his birthday; I’m also very pleased for Susi, who was so attached to the community and has done so much for it.

Letters from mother and grandmother have just come. Thank you very much. From what you say about strawberries and rasp
berries, school holidays and plans for travel, I begin to feel that summer has really come. Time is not of much account here, I’m glad the weather is mild. A little while ago a tomtit had its nest with its ten little ones in a recess in the yard here. I enjoyed going to look at it every day till some cruel fellow went and destroyed the lot and left some of the tomtits lying on the ground, dead; I can’t understand it. When I walk in the yard I get a great deal of pleasure from a small ant-hill and from the bees in the lime-trees. I sometimes think of the story of Peter Bamm, who was on a lovely island where he met all kinds of people, good and bad. He dreamt in a nightmare that a bomb might come and destroy everything, and the first thing that occurred to him was what a pity it would be for the butterflies! Prison life brings home to one how nature carries on uninterruptedly its quiet, open life, and it gives one quite a special - perhaps a sentimental - attitude towards animal and plant life, except that my attitude towards the flies in my cell remains very unsentimental. In general, a prisoner is no doubt inclined to make up, through an exaggerated sentimentality, for the soullessness and lack of warmth in his surroundings; and perhaps he may react too strongly to anything sentimental that affects him personally. The right thing for him to do then is to call himself to order with a cold shower of common sense and humour, to avoid losing his sense of proportion. I believe it is just here that Christianity, rightly understood, can help particularly.

You, father, know all this quite well from your long experience of prisoners. I am not yet sure what the so-called prison psychosis is, though I am getting a pretty good idea.

I’ll send you my smoker’s card back as soon as possible; I’m hardly getting any cigarettes here now, only very bad pipe tobacco. Maria’s and mother’s cigarettes were glorious.

I’ve much enjoyed reading grandfather’s
Ideals and Errors;
⁵⁷
I also enjoyed
Indian Summer.
You must read Stifter’s
Waldsteig
and Gotthelf’s
Uli
sometime; very rewarding!

I’ve just come back and have seen Maria - an indescribable surprise and joy. I knew about it only a minute beforehand. It’s still like a dream - really an almost unimaginable situation - what will we think of it one day? What one can say at such a time is so
trivial, but that’s not the main thing. It was so brave of her to comes I wouldn’t have dared to suggest it to her. It’s so much more difficult for her than for me. I know where I am, but for her it is all unimaginable, mysterious, terrifying. Think how things will be when this nightmare is over! And now Maria’s and mother’s letters have just come, to make my joy complete and as an echo of this morning. How good things still are! Tell them that I say this to myself every day.

We shall probably be able to see each other next week. I’m. looking forward to that very much. Maria so enjoys being with, you, and speaks of the Schleichers so happily. I’m very grateful for that. Much love to all the family and friends. I’m always; thinking of you.

Ever your grateful Dietrich

From his mother

[Charlottenburg] 27 June 1943

Dear Dietrich,

We were very glad that you were able to see Maria again and to talk with her, though at the same time I was rather worried that there would not be enough time for us. But perhaps it will be a good thing if we get used to that a bit; and we were told by Captain Maetz
⁵⁸
that we would have a chance to see you at the beginning of next week. Maria was quite thrilled by the reunion and of course she had to tell us all about it…I expect Maria has also told you about us, as she said.

At the moment we’re wondering whether we should not have the best of our pictures rolled up and put in a less dangerous place. A man from the museum would help us. Our air-raid shelter is already so full anyway. And now its only window is to be walled in. As father is over seventy, I expect that I shall remain upstairs with him, come what may. If the window is closed in, one cannot get out with the things. I’m also wondering about all your books in the attic; I would very much like to send away the most important of them, too, but I cannot decide about them by myself. Can you perhaps write a list with rough details of what is where?
Perhaps your absence will now really not last much longer. One finishes each week in disappointment with the thought ‘and again not’, and who knows at our time of life how many weeks one still has left? They say that war years count double. I have the feeling that they count ‘fourfold’…

With much love.

Your Mother

To his parents

[Tegel] Sunday, 3 July 1943

Dear parents,

When the bells of the prison chapel start ringing at about six o’clock on a Saturday evening, that is the best time to write home. It’s remarkable what power church bells have over human beings, and how deeply they can affect us. So many of our life’s experiences gather round them. All discontent, ingratitude, and selfishness melt away, and in a moment we are left with only our pleasant memories hovering round us like gracious spirits. I always think first of those quiet summer evenings in Friedrichsbrunn, then of all the different parishes that I have worked in, then of all our family occasions, weddings, christenings, and confirmations - tomorrow my godchild
⁵⁹
is being confirmed! - I really cannot count all the memories that come alive to me, and they all inspire peace, thankfulness, and confidence. If only one could help other people more!

During the past week I’ve done a good deal of quiet work, and have read some good books, as well as some letters from you and Maria; and now today there is your magnificent parcel. It makes me a bit uneasy that the windows of your air-raid shelter are to be walled in. I don’t think you ought to have that done in any circumstances. It’s the only way out, and this was surely not the intention. I’ve had a word with the captain here; he has successfully offered resistance. This is only the systematic carrying out of a regulation which does not fit your house at all. Rüdiger ought to be able to help you there. I can understand that you want to stay
up during the alerts, but it makes me uneasy and must be straightened out. A thick layer of sandbags could be built up in front of the window.

It’s certainly sad to part with the good paintings, but perhaps it’s the right thing to do, now that the attacks seem to be getting so brutal. I hope that I really will be able to see to my books myself, to spare you the trouble. Perhaps the large Rembrandt portfolios should be stored away now.

Maria has been writing to me about setting up house; it’s made me tremendously happy. I find the sketches of the furniture in her room most attractive. I’m glad that she can be at home for a while, for everybody’s sake…

Just to keep you up to date with things, and not because I think that it’s really worth mentioning, I ought to report my lumbago. It’s not bad, but it’s already lasted more than three weeks; it’s a bit of a nuisance. The stone floor is probably the cause. There is everything imaginable here, ray treatment and footbaths, but nothing is any use.

I’ve now been in prison three months. I remember hearing Schlatter say, in his lectures on ethics, that it was one of the duties of a Christian citizen to take it patiently if he were held for investigation. That meant nothing to me at the time, but in the past few weeks I have thought of it several times, and now we must wait calmly and patiently as long as we have to, just as we have done up to now. I am dreaming more than ever that I have been released and am back home with you.

The day lilies have been simply lovely; their cups open slowly in the morning and bloom only for a day; and the next morning there are fresh ones to take their place. The day after tomorrow they will all be over.