Chapter 11

RETURN TO NUREMBERG

JULY 1945

Wing Commander Robert Cherry stared out the small window of the DC3, Dakota, as it flew over the verdant French countryside. The war in Europe was over, and he and he and his friend Colonel Harry Wharton had left London hours earlier, heading to Luxembourg. 

Bob Cherry, after sustaining his injury, was grounded for the rest of the war, and involved in intelligence/analytical work on the Luftwaffe. Specifically, on their tactics and use of technology in defending the Reich against allied bombers. 

When the Germans surrendered in May 1945, the Allies had to decide what to do with the surviving Nazi leaders. They reached a consensus that they should be put on trial for the waging of aggressive war and the multiple atrocities that followed. Churchill proposed shooting them out of hand. Others, particularly the Americans, preferred a trial to show to the world, and the German people, the depravity and the criminality of the Nazi regime. Many of the major suspected war criminals had been rounded up and imprisoned. The Americans held those they captured the Palace Hotel in Mondorf les Bains, designated “Central Continental Prisoner of War Enclosure 32”, more handily referred to as “Ashcan”. The British held others in “Dustbin” and the unluckiest held by the Russians in the Lubyanka, Moscow.

The major figures of the third Reich, Hitler, Himmler and Goebbles had committed suicide (Goebbles taking his wife and six young children with him) which left Hermann Goering as the top Nazi still alive. He had surrendered to the Americans, treated initially as a celebrity, even to the extent of being allowed to hold a press conference. Then to his surprised indignation was detained and held as a prisoner and war criminal. Goering had founded the Gestapo; started concentration camps and promulgated the anti-Jewish Nuremberg laws amongst other notorious acts. The reason for Bob’s trip was to interrogate Goering. Goering had headed of the Luftwaffe from 1933, when the Nazis came to power, until a week before the end of the war when Hitler dismissed him for treason. Bob was to obtain information on the tactics employed by the Luftwaffe in their campaigns, in the West and its defence of the Reich. Colonel Harry Wharton accompanied him as in his capacity as an intelligence officer since Goering may reveal information of general military interest. Also, since he was to act as a liaison officer between MI and the British prosecution team, he may gain a useful insight into Goering’s attitude toward the trial. He was chosen for this latter role, in part, because he had been a practicing barrister before the war and in part because of his fluency in German.

The plane landed at the nearby airfield where they were met by a smartly uniformed US Army Sergeant who drove them to the camp.

“Gee, you’re lucky to get permission to get in at all. It’s said that even a pass issued by God wouldn’t be good enough for Colonel Andrus unless countersigned,”

“Bit of a martinet, is he?”

“Not sure what you’re saying but he is fussy if that’s what you mean,”

A surrounding fence and guard towers with sentries and machine guns protected the Hotel/Prison.

“Is that necessary for a bunch of old prisoners?”

“It’s not so much fear of them breaking out as die-hard Nazis breaking in to rescue them,” explained the Sergeant. “I understand you’re here to see Fat Stuff?”

“That’s the one,” laughed Bob.

After a lengthy delay and check and counter check they gained access to the Hotel, although as they noted, it had been stripped of such trappings of luxury that it may ever had held. They were brought to the office of Colonel Andrus, the US officer in charge. He greeted them, invited them to be seated and got straight to business.

“I’ve made the arrangements for you to see Hermann Goering. You’ve come at a good time. When he arrived, he was a mess. Grossly overweight and eating Dihydrocodeine tablets like candy - 60 a day the equivalent of 300 grammes of morphine. He was a drug addict, pure and simple, but we’ve reduced his dependency and his weight by 60 pounds,”

“So, you’re doing the opposite of fattening the turkey for slaughter at Christmas you’re slimming him down,” chirped in Bob.

Andrus pursed his lips, unamused.

“Don’t make the mistake of assuming he’s an overweight slob, a joker,” he continued with emphasis “Now he’s slimmer, not befuddled by drugs he’s regained his old vigour. He’s clever, and he’s dangerous.”

An adjutant informed them that all was ready for the interview and, having thanked Andrus, they were escorted to the interview room. Already present were the interpreter and a stenographer. Behind a table in the middle of the room sat Goering. There were two seats set opposite him for the two Britishers. As they came in, Goering stood up smartly and gave a shallow bow. He was dressed in a light blue Luftwaffe uniform bereft of insignia, of medium height and looking much slimmer, and indeed smaller, in real life than he did in the newsreels. Harry introduced themselves and in response Goering gave a smile and said in English.

“Colonel, Group Captain, I am pleased to meet you. Please!”

And he made a gesture with his right arm toward the seats opposite him, acting the part of a gracious host greeting esteemed guests in his home at Carinhall. Bob smiled in return and took his seat. Harry did not smile and hesitated before sitting down himself. He saw how Goering sought to manipulate and dominate the meeting by a deceptive easy going charm and disarming courtesy. Goering was quick to notice his reserve and said, again in English.

“Please, Colonel. I am here to co-operate. I have no tricks or secret agenda,” before taking his own seat.

Harry ignored the comment and said stiffly in German.

“I should inform you Herr Goering that I shall not be involved in the questioning on Luftwaffe matters, although I may ask questions of my own. As a lawyer, I may be associated with the British prosecution team at your trial. I thought you should know that before we start,”

Goering replied, again in English.

“That’s very proper of you. I thank you for that. Anything I say here, I am prepared to repeat at any trial. I take full responsibility for my actions,”

“No matter what the consequences may be for you?”

“Oh, come on. You know I shall hang. I know I shall hang. But I will speak for my actions and address the German people,”

Bob looked discomforted at this and Goering noticing added.

“Do not be concerned, Group Captain. As a soldier, I have faced death many times. I have sent many men to their deaths. I am not afraid to go where so many of my comrades have gone before me,”

Even Wharton found it hard to think of a riposte, and there was silence. But then Goering sat up straight, extended his arms onto the top of the table and said.

“Well Group Captain shall we get down to business and start your questions? But, if you don’t mind, we will now need to conduct proceedings in German as my English is not good enough for technical discussions,”

“And my German isn’t up to it either,” responded Bob “The interpreter would have to translate my German into German,”

Goering guffawed appreciatively, and the interrogation began.

There followed a discussion on tactical aspects of the Battle of Britain. He explained why Germany didn’t possess long-range heavy bombers at that stage of the war. When they developed one, the strange Heinkel 177, it operated on the Eastern front. In the Battle of Britain, the Luftwaffe fighters kept a rigid, close formation because of the low fire power of the bombers and need to cover each other. He blamed Hitler for interfering, taking air fleets away from him for other operations. Harry’s attention wandered, but he perked up when Goering said, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a smile.

“Of course, we did not lose the Battle of Britain,”

“How do you come to that conclusion?”

Goering leaned forward slightly, “The important thing is that we did not win it.”

His voice became more serious “Only the diversion of the Luftwaffe to the east, to the Russian front, saved England. Also, we had to divert from military targets, factories, and RAF facilities because the RAF bombed Hamburg. The people were angry, and I was ordered to bomb England indiscriminately. That was a mistake,”

The interview continued, more as a chat between two companions in arms, albeit on opposite sides, than an interrogation. There were discussions about German jet fighter development, air-to-air wire guided missiles and technical advances just before the war ended. He returned to Hitler’s unwanted interference commenting.

“Hitler knew nothing about the air. He may have known something about the Army or Navy, but nothing about the air. For example, he considered that the Me 262, our jet fighter, should be a bomber and should be called a bomber,” and he raised his arms in the air. “He thought bombers are weapons of attack and fighters merely defensive. There was no persuading him,”

The campaigns in the Mediterranean were discussed, and Goering added.

“You’ve no idea what a bad time we had in Italy. If only they had been our enemies instead of our Allies, we might have won the war,”

Harry raised his eyebrows at this. Goering noticing his reaction added.

“There was the story going round where Keitel said to Hitler ‘Mein Fuhrer. The Italians have joined the war’ and Hitler replies ‘That’s alright. Send two divisions that should be enough to see them off’. ‘No, no mein Fuhrer they’ve joined on our side’ ‘Oh no’ said Hitler ‘In that case send 10 divisions’”

And Goering laughed, as did Bob, and even Harry joined.

They had been allocated two hours for the interview. Both men found the experience to be fascinating, but for Harry somewhat unnerving. Goering had appeared to be the very epitome of openness, honesty, and affability. He enjoyed the opportunity to discuss his years as head of the Luftwaffe.

Bob, as they were ending, said,

“This is not the first time we have seen you,”

Goering raised his eyebrows and Bob told him of seeing him in the Hauptmarkt in 1937 during the Nazi rally.

“Those were good days,” responded Goering, his eyes sparkling.

 They had not strayed into the more sinister aspects of Goering’s political character. Harry asked a last, loaded, question.

“Do you have any regrets?”

Goering looked at him and hesitated before answering.

“I regret we did not serve the German people better,”

The interview having ended, he added, “I hope this has been of help,”

Bob replied, “It has indeed. Thank you,”

Goering stood up and gave a brief bow in acknowledgement and offered his hand to Bob, which he took. Harry hesitated and shook his hand as well. Goering held onto it slightly longer than necessary and said quietly in English.

“I’ll shall see you at Nuremberg,”

While waiting for transport to the airfield, Harry said.

“Don’t be taken in. We’ve seen the side of Goering he wants to project. The honourable soldier who happens to be on the losing side. Always remember that almost up to the end, he was Hitler’s number two. There’s no man living more responsible for the mass murders and brutalities of the regime,”

“I won’t be seeing him again, although you’ll see him at his trial. So, you’ll be heading off to Nuremberg shortly. Will you see the Denners?”

“I’m not sure, but I might. But who knows if they’re even still there?”

Harry Wharton settled back in his jeep as the driver wended his way carefully through the rubble strewn road. He looked thoughtfully at the grey and depressing scene around him. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but devastation. Heaps of stone, brick and twisted metal formed the boundary of the road. Some buildings existed only as fronts with nothing behind the blank windows; others left gaunt partial walls standing openly and uselessly in their own remains. The smell of cordite and death permeated the air from the bombs and shells and uncounted corpses below the debris. From some of the former buildings, thin columns of smoke emanated from many small fires lit by the remaining inhabitants of the city. They scratched out an existence living in cellars and bunkers using such materials as they could find to keep warm and to cook such food as they could lay their hands on.

 For this was Nuremburg in the summer of 1945. Nuremburg. A city of contrasts. With its mediaeval buildings and thousand-year history; at one stage, because of its central position, the seat of the Holy Roman Empire, a centre of intrigue and power as Hohenzollerns, Hohenstaufens and Hapsburgs sought to dominate the German states and principalities. It had been central to the great movements of the mid-centuries of the second millennium – the renaissance and the reformation. The homeplace of Albrecht Durer and Hans Sachs the central figure of Wagner’s “Der Meistersinger von Nuremberg” and of beautiful mediaeval, renaissance, and baroque buildings – many now lying in their own dust. There was the dark side too. Regular and vicious pogroms of Jews, an ominous forerunner of even worse to come, blighted the 14th and 15th centuries. When the Nazis came to power because of its history and location, it became the centre for their annual rally memorably staged by Speer, Hitler’s architect, and future armaments minister, and immortalised in Leni Riefenstahl’s film “Triumph des Willens”. It had been at one such rally 8 years previously that Wharton gained an insight into the power and danger of this new aggressive national movement. It was in Nuremburg in 1935 that the Reichstag promulgated the notorious anti-Semitic laws denying citizenship and hence any political rights to Jews and outlawing their intermarriage with German citizens.

As the war progressed Wharton became more enmeshed in Military Intelligence to the degree that he received his promotion to full Colonel so he may deal with the military personnel he encountered at an appropriate level. He was acutely conscious that he had not achieved rank through field command, but nonetheless was proud that he had achieved the same rank as his revered uncle. 

The trial was not due to start for several weeks yet, but there was much preliminary work to be done. Harry was staying in the Grand Hotel in Nuremberg, pending a more permanent billet for the British prosecution team. He had induced a very reluctant corporal to drive him to the home of the Denners in Egersdorf. This was against regulations; there were still fears of “Werwolf” guerrilla activity by diehard Nazis, although this was a decreasing threat, and there were strict rules against fraternisation with the German population. Harry, normally such a stickler for rules justified the visit, to himself, on the basis that he was not “fraternising” but visiting old friends. Not an altogether satisfactory explanation, and not one he wanted to rely upon if his superiors found out. He sat in the front seat with a sten gun on his lap; the jeep was equipped with a metal stanchion welded to the front bonnet.

“In case of wire strung across the road. There’re rumours of GIs being decapitated as they drive along. I’m not so sure myself,” he shrugged his shoulders, “but as well to avoid the risk.”

Navigating the city was, to put it mildly, difficult. Streets were unrecognisable, just clearances between piles of rubble. Signposts had been erected for US military purposes but were of little use as a guide to Egersdorf. When the noise of the jeep signalled their approach, small children emerged from the rubble. It amused Harry that when they saw their uniforms, they retreated disappointed; Americans may have thrown out a candy bar or two, but they had no such expectations from the British. They made their way west, as much by compass, as by following any defined road pattern. When they reached the Donau-Main Kanal, Harry was reassured they were travelling in the right direction. After they crossed a US pontoon bridge the damage from the great raid in January 1945 and the fighting for the city in March became less. They could refer to a map, albeit a school atlas, which gave them a rough steer where to go. Harry directed them along a road which took them through the Zindorfer forest, familiar to him from walking and the train journey5 into Nuremberg but causing the driver much nervousness. They sped along in silence.

Harry wondered if he was doing the right thing in returning. The summer in 1937 had loomed large in his memory ever since his time with the Denner family which as he recollected was a perfect oasis of contentment not repeated since. In his memory, the sun always shone. The days were full of energetic hikes, exploring the scenic countryside and towns and villages in that part of Bavaria. Above all, the ever-present good humour and friendliness of the Denner family. He had lived since his early teens with his uncle in Wharton Lodge, with no brothers or sisters. His friends at Greyfriars, particularly, his immediate circle the “Famous Five”, Bob Cherry, Frank Nugent, Huree Singh and Johnny Bull had had been his family. In some ways the Denners formed the family that he never had, despite shortness of the time with them. Above all he remembered Gretchen, her humour, empathy and, he felt, the close bond they had formed. Even the Nazi rally, terrible at the time, and worse in hindsight given what it led too, was simultaneously horrifying, fearsome and exhilarating. In the dreary years of the war Harry had fought, with distinction in the evacuation of France in 1940. The subsequent years he spent out of the front line and in intelligence work. It had been interesting, and it caused him to travel extensively, but much had been routine. He spent many hours, indeed days, in tedious travel, ending up in strange, uncomfortable often dangerous surroundings. At such times, he thought back to the summer of 1937 and mentally transported himself back to that happy, contented time. When he felt weary or dispirited, he said to himself “37”; it became a code word which never failed to give him a warm feeling and lift his spirits. That was why he was so nervous. Was it wise to go back? Nothing could be the same; the Denners may have moved; the house may have been destroyed in the bombing or in the fighting; they may be dead. But he had to find out irrespective of the result.   

Eventually they arrived in the small town of Wachendorf. Harry told the driver to turn right. They crossed the Brunnlohbach and continued northwards. 

“We’ve gone too far” as they crossed the railway line, so they doubled back and took a right turn. They were now in Egersdorf, the Denner home being a distance from the few buildings that made up its centre. 

“Slow down,” then spotting the close Harry said, “Turn left in here,”

As they drove in Harry got a shock as the end house came into view, the one beside the Denners’, for it was totally destroyed. As they drove further into the close, to his relief, he saw the Denner house was still mostly intact. The left wing where Harry and Bob had their room, nearest the destroyed house, had been substantially damaged. A tall tarpaulin had been put in place to secure it from the elements. As far as he could tell, the rest of the house was in good shape. As they pulled up, the corporal jumped out with his sten gun at the ready. Harry dismounted and walked to the front door.

“Excuse me, sir. I think you should take the gun with you,”

“It’s hardly necessary” replied Harry; there was no-one in sight.

“I rather think you should,” was the emphatic reply.

Harry shrugged. He couldn’t blame the man for being jumpy as they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He picked up the gun and walked through the front garden towards the front door. He noted that the garden had been dug up and planted with vegetables, apart from one flowerbed in the corner. It looked different in another respect, and then it occurred to him that several trees had been cut down. For fuel, he supposed.  

As he reached the front door, he paused, drew in his breath, and knocked. There was no response, which disconcerted him. He knocked more loudly and shortly afterwards the door opened slightly, as far as a chain would allow. Harry’s heart leapt as he saw the woman at the door. Older looking, greyer and somewhat stooped, but undoubtedly Mrs Denner. She looked at Harry with uncomprehending eyes. He was a man in a uniform – these days it was all uniforms.

“Yes, mein Herr?”

 Harry taken aback by her response said.

“It’s Harry, Harry Wharton Mrs Denner,”

She looked at him, not seeming to understand, and he continued.

“Harry Wharton. I stayed here with my friend Bob years ago.” He explained, “May I come in?”

She started as if coming out of a dream, undid the chain and opened the door.

“I’m so sorry I forgot my manners. It’s been a long time. Please!” and she gestured for him to enter. Harry turned and gave a thumbs up sign to his driver.

The main room was as Harry remembered and recreated in his mind over the years. A little faded, perhaps. The window on the left-hand side had been covered over with plywood, and the banister of the gallery, also on the left, sagged a little. The great fireplace, unlit, with its cluster of chairs and a low table, was just as it had been. She invited him to sit down and, having done so, he opened a small bag, and the aroma of coffee filled the room.

Mrs Denner smiled for the first time “Coffee. I can’t remember since I’ve had real coffee,”

“I’m friendly with an American who can get some little luxuries. Only the Americans now can get them,”

Mrs Denner called.

“Gretchen, come in. You’ll never guess who’s here,”

Harry’s heart missed a beat as he stood up. Gretchen emerged from the kitchen. She was thinner, lines had formed on her face, evidence of a hard few years. Harry saw none of that. To his eyes she was still the 18-year-old he had first seen in ’37, as beautiful and as fresh as ever. The way she came out of the kitchen, the same as in ’37 and the smile of welcome, was exactly as he had seen in his mind’s eye innumerable times in the past eight years. The difference was that on seeing him she gave a cry of surprised pleasure, ran over to him and gave him a hug.

“Harry Wharton. After all this time,”

She held onto his forearms and pulled them apart so she could get a full view of him.

“And so smart,”

Then looking him up and down critically asked.

“And what’s that thing on your upper lip?”

Harry, pretending to be offended, replied, “My moustache. I think it makes me look rather debonair,”

“You think wrong then. It looks as if you have cut off a piece of moth-eaten rug and glued it to your face.” 

And she laughed lightly, and Harry joined in. It was as if he had only left yesterday the way she resumed their easy-going relationship. Maybe, Harry thought, you can go back. He had returned to the summer of 1937.

“Do I smell real coffee? After years of ersatz, that’s wonderful. Thankyou. But still shave off that moustache it’s a crime against your face,”

He could hear a noise from the kitchen. Must be Crista, thought Harry as the door opened. Instead of Gretchen’s sister, a small boy, age three he guessed, ran in and on seeing Harry ran over to Gretchen with a cry of “Mama” put his face in her lap.

“Say hello to your Uncle Harry, Klas” she said, though he didn’t respond. 

Harry forced a smile and said in, as cheery a voice as he could manage, “Hello Klas,”

He noticed Gretchen looking at him closely. He knew she could read exactly what he was thinking. It was his stupid delusion that he could return and recreate the atmosphere and the feelings of 1937. The deflation of feelings had been as extreme as the euphoria when he first saw Gretchen.

Gretchen explained, “It’s been a long time. I married in 1941. Not a good time, as it turned out, to Klas’s father. Then he had to return to his unit. He was killed in 1942 in Russia.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said with mixed feelings.

“Are you really?” she responded sharply.

“Of course, I am. As if I’d wish anything bad for you,”

“I’m sorry. I know you too well to believe you’d think that way. It’s the last four years; they have coarsened feelings,”  

Harry warmed to her observation that despite the gap of eight years she still felt she knew him. 

“Apart from the coffee, I’ve brought a few tins of food – bully beef and the like. In case you need it,”

“We certainly do. Not so much for myself or mother, we can get by…”

“Thanks for that” interposed Mrs Denner.

“But for little Klas. He may not be getting enough proper food. We’re lucky living right beside farms and with the foreign labour leaving to go home we work and get paid in food. So, we’re much better off than many. Shall I make us the coffee?”

When she left to make the coffee Harry and Mrs Denner had a brief conversation. He learnt that the destruction of the house next door had been caused in the great raid in January on Nuremberg. 

“I don’t know why they dropped their bombs here. It was terrifying. We had taken cover under the stairwell. The Schultze’s next door weren’t so lucky. It was a bad time. Fortunately for us the house though damaged is structurally sound and Klas had enough connections to get the tarpaulin and materials for basic repairs,”

She added quietly, “Gretchen never forgot you. It was such a disappointment that you could never….”

Gretchen came back with the coffee and milk; unpasteurised, as she explained, from the farm and sat down. Klas was playing happily on the floor. 

When they had settled, Harry asked after Crista. Gretchen lowered her eyes.

“Crista’s dead,” There were tears in her eyes. Harry felt a blow, almost physical, when she said the words.

He asked quietly, “What happened?” though he dreaded the answer.

“Crista, as you may remember, wanted to become a doctor. She went to Essen to study. When the RAF bombing raids started, she was working as an auxiliary in a local hospital. And…” She raised her hands in a gesture of despair “She’s buried in Essen,” she added.

“I’m so sorry” he said inadequately, and he stretched out and held her hand. She nodded but said nothing. He felt on safer ground since her father had fixed up the house by asking.

“And Mr Denner?”

The reaction was more extreme. Gretchen burst into sobs and put her head in her hands. He noticed Mrs Denner was weeping as well, as was little Klas, not knowing why but glaring at Harry for causing distress to his mother and granny. Harry waited until Gretchen, wiping her face on the sleeve of her dress, said.

“Father was too old to serve in the military, his old wound excluded him anyhow. But towards the end they drafted him into an anti-aircraft unit based in Zirndorf. Most evening he walked over and take charge of the gun. He had under him three Russian POWs,”

“Russians?”

“They drafted quite a few into the Luftwaffe. It was better than the alternative,”

Mrs Denner chipped in, “The poor boys. You should have seen them at the start, just skin and bones. Klas would sometimes sneak them back here and we’d feed them. Not much because we had little, but it helped. We couldn’t even allow them into the house, they were so verminous. But they were so grateful for even the smallest kindness,”

Gretchen continued, “This area came under the SS at the end of the war. The Americans were approaching from the west. We were rooting for the Americans to get here before the Russians. Before they got here, ammunition for the flak guns ran out and they gave father and the Russians rifles. Old bolt action rifles and a handful of ammunition and told to join a line resisting the Americans. Father knew it was all over and didn’t want to fight the Americans. He told the Russians that they were free to go wherever they wanted, as far as he was concerned, and he went to walk home,”

She broke down again, and Harry tried to hold her hand, but she shrugged him off and continued.

“On the way back, he came across the SS major, Harald Schumacher, who had given him the order to fight and….”

Here she paused and gulped again before continuing in a low voice.

“He accused father of being a deserter. Held a field court martial and hung him there and then from a lamppost leaving him as a warning,”

There was complete silence as the full horror of the words sank in. Harry had the vision, Klas Denner dangling, in full view, in a street he knew so well. He looked across at the Mr Denner’s empty chair. He could see him in his mind’s eye saying, “When you return, I can only hope things will be much better”. Now he had returned. Things weren’t better. The clock ticked in the background. None of them, even little Klas, felt like breaking the silence. Eventually Gretchen continued.

“You may wonder how we know this. The Russians kept their distance and saw what happened, but what could they do against 15 heavily armed SS men. When it grew dark, they cut him down and, bless them, carried him home. They dug the grave in the front garden. He loved his garden and now he’s covered in flowers as you might have seen on the way in,”

Harry nodded.

“I hope the Russian boys got back to their people,” said Mrs Denner.

Harry knew that if they got to the Russian lines or surrendered to the US forces and handed over to the Russians, their future was bleak indeed but said, “Their chances are good. There was such chaos at the end,”

“And Herman?”

“Ah, Herman,” Gretchen gave a bleak smile “He was old for a dog of his breed and although we did our best, we couldn’t feed him as much as he needed. But he was holding out. Then came the air raids on Nuremberg. We are well away, but he sensed the atmosphere. We could hear the bombing and the vibrations as we sheltered under the stairs. From then any time an aeroplane came by he shivered in fear. He ran into the bathroom until the planes went by and he calmed down. Father used to sit with him if he was here. ‘Stupid dog, he’d say. He’ll be the death of me’. When father was brought home by the Russians, Herman saw everything, and he just gave up. At night he slumped in his bed, ate little. In the morning he went out to the garden and just lay at the bottom of father’s grave, the whole day not moving. Then one night he didn’t come in and we found him there, head on his paws at father’s feet, dead. The neighbours helped to dig another grave where he died. And there he remains forever, with father.”

“In death as in life. As it should have been,” said Mrs Denner with a weak, watery smile.

Gretchen gave a small laugh and put her hand on Harry’s arm.

“You’re afraid to ask the next question, aren’t you?” Harry nodded.

“Ulrich is, as far as we know, fine. He, of course, was in the Army and was wounded in 1942 and rehabilitated back home. Thank God. If he hadn’t been, he’d have been with the 8th Army in Stalingrad. He was allowed to recuperate at home for six months. But was recalled and served on the Western front, survived and the British captured him,”

She looked up hopefully at Harry.

“Perhaps you could enquire about him. He’s in a camp near Hamburg as far as we know. But it’s impossible to get information. When you come back maybe…” She paused.

“Here I am making assumptions. I don’t know that you’ll want to come back,”

Harry looked her straight in the eye and said quietly.

“Can you doubt it?” He was surprised as her eyes watered again.

“Things have changed,” she said, looking at Klas.

“I’ll be back,” responded Harry in a firm voice.

Gretchen smiled “Good,” and took Harry’s hand “But for God’s sake leave that moustache behind when you come. Now shall I get more coffee and you can tell us about yourself?” 

When she returned, Harry gave a brief account of his time since he was last there. His time at Cambridge, call to the Bar and the nature of his legal work. How he was commissioned as a Lieutenant, participating in the disastrous campaign in France in 1940 and his move into intelligence work. And his travels round the world landing him back in Nuremberg.

“Why exactly are you here? That sounds rude, but I don’t suppose you’re allowed here just to visit us?” asked Gretchen.

“Unfortunately, not. I’m here for the Nazi war criminal trial as a liaison officer between British Intelligence and the prosecution team,”

Mrs Denner snorted “Why don’t you just hang the lot of them?”

Gretchen added, “Then hand them over to the German people and we’ll hang them again. Why bother having a trial? – or give them the same trial as they gave father,”

Harry had heard this argument several times and gave his stock answer “We hope our standards are better than the Nazi regime’s. It’s important that their crimes are brought out for the world, and the German people, to see. The trial aims to establish international laws to, hopefully, deter future aggressive wars,”

“And then you’ll hang them?”

Harry laughed “It’s not quite as cut and dried as that but I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes,”

“And how is Bob?” asked Gretchen.

“He’s fine, I’m glad to say. We were involved in interrogating Goering about air war matters, he having been an RAF pilot. Bob received a serious leg injury returning from a bombing mission in which he distinguished himself by…….”

Harry fell silent, realising the impact of what he had just said.

“So, Bob may have killed Crista?” said Gretchen very quietly.

Harry started to make a reply before realising there was nothing to be said. It was Gretchen who broke the silence after a delay.

“You were going to say that it was very unlikely that Bob was responsible for Crista?”

Harry nodded miserably.

“But if it wasn’t Crista, it was someone else’s sister, mother, daughter. You could also say that he was just doing his duty. We both know how kindly Bob is – but for the war.”

 There was a loud rap on the door.

“That’s likely to be my driver.” Glad of the interruption, he went to the door.

“Excuse me, sir, but it’s getting late I rather think we should be returning. My apologies, ladies,”

“I’ll be out in a couple of minutes,”

He returned to his seat.

“I shouldn’t be here fraternising with dangerous people like you. I’ll have to go,”

“Is that why you brought your machine gun in with you?” 

Harry laughed “Next time I’ll take a risk and leave it behind. But to be serious, I’ve got to go now. I’ll see what I can find out about Ulrich, although I can only promise to do my best. I can’t say when I can return but we will soon be based in Zindorf just a couple of kilometres away so it will be relatively easy – though still forbidden,”

After a quick farewell, Harry returned to the jeep. As they pulled out, the corporal asked.

“Did you find what you hoped to find, sir,”

“No. Not exactly. But then again - Yes.”

Harry sped along the autobahn towards Hamburg on the north coast of Germany in fulfilment of his promise to find Ulrich. He discovered he was held in a British detention camp near to the city. By good fortune the camp commandant was a Major George Bulkely who, when Wharton was captain of the Remove, was the captain of Rookwood, a school near to Greyfriars and their constant rivals at football and cricket. Their paths had crossed a few times during the war. No questions had been asked when he requested permission to visit the camp; it being assumed, incorrectly, that it was connected to his military intelligence work. Harry felt uncomfortable in the subterfuge but consoled himself with the thought that he had never made the connection himself. He drove along roads empty, apart from the odd military vehicle, as the few Germans who had a car didn’t have the fuel to use them. Rattling along at 40 miles per hour in an uncomfortable jeep, he passed from the US zone into the British with minimal fuss. After a wearisome four hours he found the camp, was waved through, once he presented his credentials, and taken to the commandant’s office. The office was a hut, surrounded by several others and enclosed by barbed wire. Outside this area were the prisoners, thousands of them, wandering aimlessly around or hunkered in holes in the ground. Some had pieces of tarpaulin or other material providing a cursory shelter, but most had to do without. Defined as “Disarmed Enemy Forces” rather than “Prisoners of War” the allies avoided the Geneva Convention in handling surrendered German soldiers. Because of their sheer numbers, several million, they couldn’t deal with them as POWs under the requirements of the Geneva Convention. Barbed wire fences with guard towers at strategic points provided the security. Harry noted with puzzlement that several armed guards wore Wehrmacht uniforms.

When he went in, Bulkely stood up and saluted. 

“Colonel Wharton,”

Harry returned a cursory salute, “Good to see you, George” and the two shook hands and sat down. 

“Care for a whiskey?” asked Bulkely.

“No, thanks, but I could murder a cup of tea. It’s been a long drive,”

Once they both had their beverages, they had a long chat about Greyfriars, Rookwood and their wartime experiences. Bulkely concluded by saying.

“And now I’m here as a prison guard. Not what I had signed up for,” He added. “Now Harry, you didn’t come all this way just to chat over old times, as pleasant as it has been,”

“I’m looking for a German soldier,”

“You’ve come to the right place. We have them in all shapes and sizes,” Bulkely responded brightly.

“Specifically, this one,” and he placed a paper with Ulrich’s full name, rank, regiment, and a recent photograph on the table.

“OK, let’s have a look,”

He went over to a bank of filing cabinets, filling one wall at the side of the office, returning with several files.

“Let’s see. Ah yes, Denner Ulrich. A Bavarian regiment, I see. Regular Wehrmacht, a lieutenant. Seems we have the chap you’re looking for alright. Is he of interest to M.I.?”

Harry drew a deep breath. Whilst he allowed everyone in Nuremberg to misunderstand his motivation for the visit he couldn’t, and there was no point, telling an outright lie, so he told him of his interest in Ulrich.

“You old dog!” smirked Bulkely “So you’ve picked up a fraulein, have you?”

“It’s not like that at all” responded Harry crossly.

“Of course not. Sorry old man, of course not,” Bulkely replied smoothly.

“Can you tell me how he is?”

“Afraid not. I’ve no idea who he is. We’ve thousands of them here, I only know their senior officers and only see them when I have to,”

“Can I see Ulrich?”

“Definitely not,” was the reply to Harry’s surprise “Let me tell you a few things about a camp like this. We have large numbers of discontented men. They were pleased to surrender to us and escape the Russians. But they’re bored and want out. We leave them very much to their own devices, provided they obey our rules. From time to time we’ve had mysterious suicides, which we suspect were after a kangaroo court condemned the victim to death. But we’ve no proof one way or the other. The ordinary soldiers hate the SS, the SS are contemptuous of us and collaborators so it’s a tinderbox in there,”

“What’s that to do with me seeing Ulrich?”

“Think about it, old man. They all agree that they don’t like a snitch. As soon as you came through the gate, the Germans knew a Colonel of the British Military Intelligence had arrived. All the orderlies are German and even the guards are German as you may have noticed. You get Denner to see you and as soon as he goes back, he’ll be interrogated as to the reason. I’m not sure his explanation that you’re an old friend of the family who just popped in to see how he was will go down all that well. See the point?”

“I suppose so,”

There was a silence as Harry paused before making a request, he wasn’t sure was proper. Bulkely looked at him with amusement as he struggled to find the words.

“Spit it out, Harry,”

“Is there any chance you might release him early?”

Bulkely considered. “A number of POWs are working locally on clearing up work. We have pressed others into mine clearance, etc. Not something you’d volunteer for. The French want to press-gang some to clear up the mess in France. As you know, we put German POWs in England to work as well. But you may be in luck. Have you heard of operation ‘Barleycorn’, or for that matter operation ‘Coalscuttle’?”

“No,”

“Barleycorn is the release of prisoners who are farmers or farmworkers to bring in the harvest, so Germans don’t starve this winter. Is your Ulrich a farmer or farmworker?”

“No,”

“Wrong answer, old man. Now think. I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Is Denner a farmer or farmworker?”

Harry thought before replying, “He lives right beside a farm and he and his sisters sometimes did a bit of summer work on it as I remember,”

“That should be good enough. Now the scheme hasn’t been fully implemented yet from Monty’s HQ, but I suppose I can take a chance and release him to you. If the scheme doesn’t go through, then your Herr Denner will just have to get the whole German harvest in on his own,”

“Can I bring him back this afternoon?”

“Hold your horses. He has to be processed. Civilian papers issued, given half a loaf of bread, deloused etc and since he’s going to the US sector, transit papers. We need to be sure he’s not wanted for war crimes, and so on. If all goes well then maybe in about a week’s time?”

“George, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. If I can do you a favour?”

“If you return to get him, then a bottle of whisky would be appreciated.”

“Or bourbon?”

“If all else fails,”

A week later Harry made the same journey. Ulrich had been processed, and in Bulkely’s office when Harry met him again. Ulrich was much thinner than Harry remembered; his face was haggard, and he looked around with suspicion. He drew himself up and saluted.

“That’s unnecessary,” said Harry “You’re not a soldier now,”

“Am I free to go?” Ulrich asked in German. Bulkely replied in English.

“You’re being released into the custody of Colonel Wharton on your parole,”

Ulrich nodded.

“I’ve a jeep and we can drive now to Egersdorf,” said Harry

“Maybe you should let Denner drive. It looks odd a full colonel chauffeuring a German around,”

“I suppose so. And here’s that bottle of bourbon I promised,”

“Is that my ransom fee?” commented Ulrich, “I come cheap,”

The journey back was tense. Not least because Ulrich’s driving was erratic from a combination of inexperience with the jeep and a tendency to drive too fast. He was little inclined to talk but when they took a break after two hours, he started to ask questions.

“How is Herman?”

“Sorry to say he’s dead,”

Ulrich nodded “To be expected. He was an old dog. Father will really miss him,”

Harry had not expected this. After a sharp intake of breath told him what had happened to Mr Denner. 

Ulrich was quiet. His lack of reaction surprised Harry. 

“Schumacher,” was all he said, “Harald Schumacher. I’ll remember,”