Authors: Alex Gerlis
Rosa stood up and walked over to the window, drawing
the curtain.
‘I’d better go and check on your mother, Franz. Then
let me have some time alone with Alfred. I’d like to tell him myself. How long
can you stay, Herr Hesse?’
‘I suppose I have a few hours?’
‘No, no,’ said Hermann. ‘It’ll look suspicious if
you arrive back too late at the Kaiserhof. There’s no question they’ll be
keeping a note on your movements, which happens with all foreign visitors. You
can have one hour with Alfred then come back tomorrow, when you’ll have all
day.’
***
It
was the Friday, the last day of February, and as the train pulled out of
Potsdam station Henry noticed that Alfred, who he could now only think of as
Andreas Hedinger, was crying.
It was a very private cry, the silent type where a
few tears trickle down the cheek and any sobs are suppressed by a cough and
biting the lip. Andreas had shifted in his seat so he was looking directly out
of the window and neither of the other passengers in the carriage could
possibly see his face. Henry caught glimpses of him in profile, along with the
reflection of his face on the window.
Alfred had held himself together so far that morning
and over the previous two days. Ten minutes previously, he’d passed his first
major test. Security at the station had been lighter than they’d expected, with
the main check being to ensure the tickets were in order. But Henry knew that sooner
or later they would be questioned, and that had happened during the wait at
Potsdam station when a Gestapo officer had entered their compartment, with two
Wehrmacht soldiers waiting in corridor outside.
Tickets. Identity documents. Quick.
The Gestapo officer’s eyes darted from Henry to
Andreas and back again, then to the other two men. Both appeared to be
travelling on business: one to Jena and the other to
Würzburg
. The
Gestapo officer seemed satisfied with their papers. Then it was Henry’s turn.
‘Your ticket is to Stuttgart.’
‘Yes: then we’re travelling to Zürich.’
‘Let me see those tickets.’
He studied them then said to Alfred, ‘You are
travelling together?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are related?’
‘No, Andreas is the son of a friend and colleague. He’s
been in Berlin visiting while I was on business in the city. His parents asked
me to look after him.’
‘What is your business?’
‘I work for a bank: Bank Leu. Here’s my letter of
accreditation.’
The Gestapo man read every word then turned to
Alfred. ‘You: your papers.’
Alfred handed over the passport.
Say as little as possible and, when you do, don’t
speak too clearly: the Germans will obviously expect a Swiss person to have an
accent.
‘What’s your date of birth?’
That was no problem. They’d been working very hard
over the past couple of days.
Two more questions and I’ll begin to worry.
‘And where did you visit in Berlin?’
Henry did begin to worry. Surely the Gestapo man
would spot Alfred was speaking with a Berlin accent, certainly not a Swiss one.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, where did you visit in Berlin?’
The carriage door opened and one of the Wehrmacht
soldiers came in.
‘Otto wants your help in the front: there’s a
problem.’
Too easy.
Every minute of your visit will be
laced with danger.
But that was that. Henry wanted to tell Alfred how
well he had done, but all he was able to do was smile.
***
Alfred
had been a model student, carefully writing down the details he needed to
remember to pass as Andreas Hedinger from Zürich and memorising the story about
how he had come to be in Berlin with Herr Hesse, who was such a good friend of
his parents. He was so good to have agreed to take him to Berlin with him.
My father is so busy, I hardly see him these days! He
kept promising to take me to Berlin and was always cancelling. Herr Hesse has
been so very kind!
That was the agreed line they would take if anyone
questioned why he was in Berlin with Henry. In an effort to persuade Alfred to
believe in the story, they all kept up the pretence of how plausible it was. The
adults knew the first line of their defence lay in the paperwork: if that in
any way failed to convince, then the story would be probed and Henry knew it
would not stand up to a lot of scrutiny. Their displays of confidence in the
story must have worked: by the time they got on the train in Berlin, Henry had
even come to believe it himself.
Henry had gone to the Reichsbank first thing on the
Wednesday morning – the briefest of trips, just enough to be able to show the
hotel where he was going. From there, he travelled down to Dahlem and spent the
whole day with Alfred. Gunter Reinhart had joined them for an hour in the
afternoon: when he left, it was to say farewell to Alfred. He followed the same
pattern on the Thursday. Franz brought Alfred to the station on the Friday
morning. His hair had been cut and dyed, and along with the wire-framed
spectacles, the passage of time and the relatively poor quality of the
photograph, he presented more than a passing resemblance to Andreas Hedinger. Alfred
stood on the platform clutching his small knapsack with a few clothes and one
or two other innocuous items in it. In the pocket of his jacket was the Swiss
passport, his lifeline. Franz shook hands briefly with both of them and
disappeared into the crowd.
***
After
Potsdam, there had been a long wait in Leipzig and when the train finally left
the city it moved very slowly through Saxony, meaning they were more than two
hours behind schedule when they arrived in Jena. Henry spent the long hours
alternating between staring out of the window and closing his eyes but, when he
did so, Roza was staring at him as always.
Henry knew their chances of getting into Switzerland
that night were remote. By the time the train crossed over from Thuringia into
Bavaria, the rain that had accompanied them since Jena had become incessant. Alfred
sat quietly in one position: he had eaten very little apart from a sausage and
milk Henry had bought on the platform at Leipzig. Since Potsdam he had appeared
composed.
There was another long wait in
Würzburg
and they were joined in their carriage by three new passengers: a woman with a
pinched face accompanied by a pretty teenage daughter and a Waffen SS Obersturmführer
who was one small glass of something short of being drunk. Henry saw the boy
tense as the SS officer stumbled into the carriage. At the sight of the girl,
who could have been no more than 17, the Obersturmführer’s eyes lit up. For the
next half hour he did his best to impress her, while the girl tried to ignore
him, helped by the clear disapproval of her mother.
Then he turned his attention to the boy.
Where
are you from? Switzerland? I LOVE Switzerland! The Swiss are our friends! YOU
are my friend. Where have you been in Germany? Tell me what you saw in Berlin.
Henry struggled hard to conceal his amazement as
Alfred confidently enthused about everything he’d seen in Berlin, not least the
soldiers – he loved seeing the soldiers and the marching, and it was so
exciting, far more exciting than anything we have in Zürich or indeed anywhere
in Switzerland. He’d love to return to Germany, maybe when he was older he
could even…
Fortunately the SS man seemed to be oblivious to
Alfred’s apparent lack of a Swiss accent, helped no doubt by the contents of the
flask he’d finished since joining the train. Within minutes he had insisted on
being called Karl and was showing Alfred his Mauser automatic and describing
how he had captured Paris single-handed.
When you’re old enough to meet
girls, Andreas, the first place you go is Paris! Which football team do you
support Andreas? FC Zürich? Ah, Grasshoppers! A good team.
Just outside the city, still in the blanket darkness
of the countryside, the train pulled to a noisy halt. It was seven o’clock. Silence
for a few minutes, then shouting and the sound of dogs barking. It took an
eternity for the commotion to work its way down the train. When it reached them,
a Gestapo officer who seemed to be wider than he was tall squeezed into their
compartment, breathless and with sweat dripping from his brow. He was wearing a
leather raincoat that was so tight it remained unbuttoned. He looked around
then shouted at Alfred.
‘You: get up… now!’
Henry clutched the seat to stop himself swaying. The
boy was so terrified he did not move a muscle, but all the blood drained from
his face.
‘Did you not hear me? Come with me now.’
The SS Obersturmführer rose slowly and slightly
unsteadily, standing directly in front of the Gestapo officer and very close to
him. He was at least a foot taller than the other man and used every inch of
that to ensure he looked down on him with the maximum effect.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘We’ve had reports that some Jewish boys got on the
train at Würzburg. The police discovered some of the vermin hiding in a cellar
and had been chasing the gang: they last saw them in the vicinity of the
station. We’re checking all youths on the train.’
‘Well, Andreas is my friend and it’s impossible he’s
Jewish.’
He was shouting at the Gestapo officer, flecks of
spit spraying onto the other man’s reddening face. When the Gestapo officer
replied, it was in a much more uncertain voice.
‘And how do you know that?’
‘Because he’s Swiss!’
The big man wiped his face with his sleeve, clearly
puzzled by the Obersturmführer’s logic.
‘I still need to check his papers and question him
though…’ He held his arm out towards Alfred, beckoning him to join him. The
Obersturmführer grabbed hold of the Gestapo man’s arm and pushed it down.
‘You won’t need to be doing that.’
‘How come?’
‘Because I got on the train at Würzburg and Andreas
was already on it, so stop wasting your time.’
The Gestapo officer appeared reluctant to argue. By
now a pair of Alsatians were barking outside the open door of the compartment.
‘Let me have a look at your passport,’ he said to the boy.
Andreas passed it to him. Henry noticed the Gestapo
man’s hands were trembling as he quickly flicked through the passport, before
handing it back.
‘That’s all in order.’
‘Next time, try and serve the Reich in more useful
ways,’ the Obersturmführer spat at him as he left the compartment, defeated.
It was nine o’clock by the time the train arrived in
Stuttgart. Henry knew he could have gone to the nearby Hotel Victoria, where he
imagined that
Katharina Hoch was still the night manager, but it would be too
risky. He decided instead they would stay overnight in the station, where there
was a large air-raid shelter. The first train to Zürich was at 8.20 in the
morning, which meant he would also have an opportunity to send a telegram to
Hedinger.
The air-raid shelter where they slept was crowded. The
boy was still in a state of anxiety and stress from the events of the day, and
Henry had to whisper to him how well he had done; how proud his parents would
be of him.
We’re nearly there now, you’ll be safe.
They found a corner
of a wide bench at the back of the shelter into which they wedged themselves. Henry
put his arm round the boy and gradually felt him relax, and within a few
minutes he was fast asleep, on what he both hoped and feared would be his last
night in his homeland.
***
For
the first few hours in the air-raid shelter in Stuttgart, Henry hardly slept. The
spot they had found turned out to have a noisy pipe running directly above it
and every time he dropped off he was soon woken by the sound of clanging
hissing air. Then, when he did sleep, Roza would appear: her admonishing eyes
fixed on him, telling him what he knew all too well. For a full hour she
haunted him: she was there if he shut his eyes tight and still there when he
opened them wide and there when he held his head tight in his hands.
But then the strangest thing happened: Roza stared
at him in her familiar fashion, her eyes full of sadness and hatred. But then
her face began to dissolve and when it came back into focus the dark brown eyes
were there as was the dark hair flowing over slim shoulders, but now the
features belonged to Rosa and, with that, an unexpected calm came over Henry. Rosa
was no less sad, but there was the faintest of smiles on her face and a look of
pleading in her eyes. And as the very beginnings of an idea began to emerge in
Henry’s mind, a calm he was quite unused to came over him and the few hours of
sleep between then and when he woke up were the deepest he’d experienced for
years.
People began to leave the shelter from six in the
morning and by half six it was almost deserted. Henry had hoped to stay until
nearer to eight o’clock, but when they ventured up onto the main station
concourse they spotted a café was open and they were able to remain there for
the next hour and a half. At eight, the telegram booth in the station opened
and Henry sent a message to Michael Hedinger, who he knew would have gone into
the bank that morning as arranged.
Departing Stuttgart 8.20 stop Arriving Zürich 2.40
stop Papers all in order stop
Papers all in order: Alfred is with me, a successful
mission… so far.
The train left Stuttgart at 8.30 but then was held
at a red light on the outskirts of the city to allow a military train to pass,
its open trucks carrying dozens of tanks. By lunchtime it had made its steady
progress through Swabia towards the border town of Singen, the last stop in
Germany before Switzerland. They were held at an isolated platform, where they
were told by a loudspeaker announcement that any passengers wishing to travel
on into Switzerland should remain in their compartments: all other passengers
should leave the train forthwith.
For half an hour there was no sign of anything. There
was just one other passenger in their compartment, an immaculately dressed
German man with the long elegant hands of a pianist and the complexion of
someone who rarely ventured outdoors. He had spent most of the journey reading
sheet music and attending to his nails, occasionally removing a watch from his
jacket with a flourish, studying it with some fascination, tutting then
returning it to his pocket. Eventually, the delay in Singen was too much for
him. He was going to see what was going on, he told Henry, and left the compartment.
Henry leaned over to Alfred, who he had noticed looked considerably more
relaxed than yesterday. ‘Don’t forget, this is the most dangerous part of the
journey. The Swiss border police will be watching for anyone trying to get into
Switzerland who shouldn’t. Don’t make any mistakes. Soon you’ll be able to
relax. You have done very well, my boy. But be careful now…’
Alfred looked worried and Henry wasn’t sure he’d
said the right thing.
Maybe I should have just kept quiet.
Their fellow passenger returned to the carriage. ‘They’ve
got to wait for the Swiss police to arrive,’ he told them. ‘I thought the Swiss
were meant to be efficient. Ridiculous.’
Ten minutes later the Swiss border police arrived on
the platform, where they and the German officers greeted each other like old
friends. Working in pairs – one Swiss, one German – they went through the train
compartment by compartment.
The Swiss officer who eventually arrived looked no
more than 20. He checked the passport of the pianist, asked to see his return
ticket then handed them to the German policeman. Both appeared to be satisfied.
The officer then turned to Henry.
Passport
. It
was only when he saw the Swiss passport and said ‘
grüezi’
that a fatal
flaw in their plan they had overlooked until now hit Henry hard in the face.
The Swiss border policeman had used the traditional Swiss-German
greeting. If he was going to speak in Swiss-German, the boy would not
understand. He and his story would unravel very quickly.
‘Where have you travelled from in Germany?’ he
asked, still speaking in Swiss-German.
‘I’ve been in Berlin, on business for Bank Leu. Here’s
my letter of accreditation.’ Henry made a point of replying in standard German.
The young policeman took it and read it carefully. ‘So
how long have you been in Germany for?’ Still in Swiss-German.
‘Since Monday.’ Standard German. It had become like
a surreal game.
‘The boy: is he with you?’
‘Andreas is the son of friends. He’s been visiting
Berlin.’ Henry had tried to avoid looking at the boy, but caught a glimpse of
his worried face as he mentioned him.
‘And you stayed where in Berlin?’
‘Jan, I keep telling you! Speak proper German; don’t
confuse me!’ It was the German policeman, standing in the doorway of the
carriage and clearly impatient.
His Swiss counterpart shrugged and took the passport
of Andreas Hedinger. He checked the visa, looked up at Alfred and back again at
the photo, repeating this three or four times, his bright-blue eyes darting up
and down.
‘How old are you?’ He spoke in standard German. Alfred
gave Andreas’ age and date of birth.
‘Did you enjoy Berlin?’
‘Yes sir, thank you. But I’m looking forward to
going home.’
***
He
was in Zürich for less than 40 hours.
They arrived in the city at three o’clock on the
Saturday afternoon and were met at the station by Herr and Frau Hedinger. Alfred
had shown no signs of relief as they crossed the border into Switzerland and by
the time they arrived at the station he was in a state of shock, totally overwhelmed
by what was happening to him. The fact he was free and safe did not seem to
occur to him as he was warmly greeted by the Hedingers. Frau Hedinger led
Alfred over to the station café for a hot chocolate while Michael Hedinger and
Henry found a quiet bench. Henry handed over the papers.
‘Everything was in order?’
‘Yes, thank you. Your arrangements were very good;
faultless in fact.’
A tall man in a trilby was strolling purposefully
towards them: it seemed he had appeared from nowhere. He removed his leather
gloves and shook Henry’s hand.
‘So that’s Alfred, eh?’
‘I wondered when you might show up, Edgar.’
‘You didn’t imagine I’d miss this, did you? I trust
there were no problems?’
‘No. It was nerve-wracking, but we’ve arrived in one
piece.’
‘As I can see. Hedinger, have you sorted your
wretched documents out?’
Hedinger took the sealed envelopes from Henry and
handed him a few more in return. ‘You’re returning to Berlin on Monday,’ he
said as he stood up. ‘Edgar will tell you all about it. He has your tickets.’
‘You’re going to be alright with the boy?’
Hedinger nodded.
‘And you’ll send the telegram to Reinhart?’
‘First thing Monday morning, as we arranged.’
‘Won’t Reinhart want to know sooner that Alfred’s
arrived safely?’
‘I’m sure he would, but this all has to look proper,’
said Edgar. ‘It’d be odd for an official of the Reichsbank to receive a
telegram from Bank Leu on a Saturday acknowledging safe receipts of papers. It’ll
have to wait until Monday. By the time you see Reinhart on Tuesday morning, he’ll
know Alfred arrived safely and he can hand the other document over to you. Go
on Hedinger, you’d better take Alfred off. Henry, perhaps you want to go and
say goodbye?’
Alfred had relaxed by the time Henry approached him
and Frau Hedinger in the station café. He had been drinking a hot chocolate and
was devouring an enormous cream pastry. He had a big grin on his face.
‘Alfred was telling me he loves dogs but has never
had one. He’s so looking forward to meeting Mitzi! And guess what, Herr Hesse? She’s
expecting puppies! I’ve told Alfred he can choose one of them to be his very
own pet.’
Henry embraced Alfred and promised he’d come and
visit him. He mustn’t worry; everything would be fine. When he released the boy
from his embrace he noticed Alfred’s eyes were moist. He kept saying ‘thank
you’ and as he disappeared out of the station he turned round and gave Henry a
nervous little wave.
***
Henry
and Edgar spent what remained of the weekend in the
apartment
above the hardware shop on Basteiplatz. When they arrived there, Basil
Remington-Barber was making up a camp bed in the lounge. The three of them sat
around the table.
‘You’re booked on the six o’clock train on Monday
morning. That got you into Berlin that evening, didn’t it?’
‘Yes: I was fortunate with the connection in
Stuttgart. Coming back yesterday was a different matter. True, we left Berlin a
bit later, but whether it was bomb damage or something else, it was a much
slower journey: hence the reason we had to stay over in Stuttgart.’
‘I trust that you didn’t go anywhere near the
Victoria?’ asked Remington-Barber.
‘No, we stayed overnight in the station – in an
air-raid shelter.’
‘Let’s get down to business. Here’s your ticket for
Monday. We want to get you and the document back here as quickly as possible,
so the plan is that you go to the Reichsbank first thing on the Tuesday
morning, hand Bank Leu’s envelopes to Reinhart and he’ll give you the ones to
be brought back here. One of the sealed envelopes will contain the document – he’ll
let you know which one. According to Hedinger, neither the German nor the Swiss
police have ever tried to open a sealed envelope from any of the banks. I
imagine that’d be bad for business. I can see no reason why you shouldn’t be
able to leave Berlin by lunchtime. I know the couriers often hang around for a
few days, but we need to get you back here so we’ll risk it. You won’t make it
into Switzerland that night, but go to Stuttgart then take the first train out
on Wednesday morning. Does that all make sense?’
‘Yes… but shouldn’t the document be concealed?’
‘We thought of that,’ said Remington-Barber, ‘but if
they decide to search you then they’ll probably find it anyway. As Edgar says,
they don’t touch bank envelopes. Y
ou’re booked in
the
Kaiserhof
there – here’s the telegram confirming it. You still have the letter of
accreditation from the bank? Good. And of course your passport has the correct
visas. Tell me Henry, what’s Gunter Reinhart like?’
Henry shrugged. ‘He’s a German banker, which seems
to be rather like a Swiss banker and I daresay British bankers: efficient
enough, but what do you want me to say? I’ll doubt we’ll become close friends,
if that’s what you mean. He’s very tall, too, for what it’s worth.’
‘What I think we mean,’ said Remington-Barber, ‘is
what kind of a chap do you think he is? Is he trustworthy? After all, we’ve
used one of our few agents able to travel in and out of Germany to help his son
escape. How do we know this document he’s promising us is genuine, or is it a
trick. Has he just been leading us along as a ruse to get Alfred out?’
‘I’ve really no idea,’ said Henry. ‘He seems genuine
enough. I suppose if the document turns out to be either a fake or not exist at
all then he runs the risk of upsetting us and that could have implications for
his own safety – and that of Rosa and Sophia.’
Edgar and Remington-Barber looked at each other,
partially reassured.
‘You see, he still wants to help Rosa escape and
obviously that means little Sophia too.’
‘I can see why Reinhart wanted to get his son out,
but why his ex-wife?’
‘He obviously cares very much for her and, to be
frank with you, I can see why. She really is the most marvellous woman, you
know. She’s been holed up in that house for well over a year now. Poor little
Sophia can barely speak; she’s so terrified of making a noise. It would be
marvellous if we could do something to help them.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Edgar was staring at Henry as
if he had completely misheard him.
‘I was just saying I thought it’d be marvellous if
we could help Alfred’s mother and sister.’
Edgar sat there open-mouthed. It was
Remington-Barber who spoke next.
‘Help in what way, Henry?’
‘Possibly help them to leave Germany?’
‘Has Reinhart asked you raise this?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s not a condition of his handing over the
document?’