Chapter 4

NUREMBERG ‘37

Bob and Harry continued from Rainchester to Dover, crossed the channel, and caught the train to Paris where they had a planned stopover. For 24 hours they enjoyed the pleasures of Paris. During the day they took in the sights, Notre Dame and the Louvre interspersed with relaxed cups of coffee and drinks in the summer sunshine.  They saw a show that evening followed by a meal in one of the many restaurants on the left bank. 

The next morning, they caught another train for Germany. Is it my imagination or is everything getting more tense as we approach the frontier, mused Harry to himself? At the border they alighted to go through passport control and customs. An unsmiling though courteous official minutely examined their papers. He asked a few questions then returned their passports and with his first and only sign of humanity wished them an enjoyable stay in Germany. 

They boarded the train for Frankfurt, where they were due to change for Nuremburg, and took two seats facing each other in a half full carriage. When they spoke in English, they received stares from several other passengers. Not hostile, but not exactly friendly either, so rather than draw attention to themselves they relapsed into silence. They were approached by a man who asked them in excellent English.

“Good afternoon. Are you English?”

“Yes,” replied Wharton cautiously.

“Do you mind if I join with you?” and without waiting for an answer sat beside Wharton on one of the two spare seats. 

“My name is Alberich. It would be a pleasure to practice my English. I get so few opportunities these days,”

He was a man in his mid-thirties with a serious, sour, humourless expression, determined to engage them in conversation. His idea of a conversation was, however, to bombard them with a series of questions. He wanted to know where in England they came from, why they were in Germany, what their plans were, what they did in England. He was not questioning them aggressively but was persistent and Wharton dealt with his questions courteously giving him the minimum of detail – yes, they were going to Nuremburg, no they didn’t know what they’d be doing there, they had no specific plans, they didn’t know the address where they would stay, they were to be collected from the train, etc. After he had finished questioning them, he launched into a political polemic.

“Of course,” he lectured, “The Fuhrer wants only peace with England. He is a great admirer of the British Empire, a great civilising force in the world. There is no conflict of interest between our countries, don’t you agree?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“All he wants, all German people want, is to reverse the unfair Versailles Treaty. It is not right that we the Germans should take the blame for a war started by Russia; you didn’t know that did you? A return of our land and peoples is all we want. Did you know there are more Germans living in Czechoslovakia than in Berlin? To undo such unfairness is that unreasonable?”

He then paused as if expecting, on this occasion, a response. Bob stared out the window and it was left to Wharton to mumble a platitude.

“No one wants a war,”

“Exactly! But that’s not true of many of your leaders. Your Winston Churchill,” he spat out the name. “Is the leader of the warmongers with a deep hatred for us Germans. And, you know why they forced your King Edward out of the monarchy?”

This time an answer was expected, so he offered “Mrs. Simpson?”

“No. No, of course not. That’s what you are meant to believe. Mr Churchill and his friends conspired to get rid of him. And why? Because he is friend to Germany, as you saw on his recent visit here to meet the Fuhrer,”

“But Mr Churchill was the one major politician who supported him,”

Alberich continued as if Wharton hadn’t spoken.

“But your King Edward is right. England and Germany ought not to be enemies when the real enemy is Russia and communism….”

He then went into a monologue about how Hitler was the bulwark against bolshevism and the half-civilised Slavs. Bob pretended to be asleep, and Harry sat silently with a fixed expression on his face. Thankfully, Alberich ended, got to his feet and said.

“My station is near. I must collect my bag,”

Then drawing himself up to his full height he raised his right forearm and gave the Nazi salute. 

“Heil Hitler,”

“Cheerio,” responded Harry.

Bob forgetting that he was asleep gave a stiff-arm salute and said.

“Heil Baldwin,”

Alberich looked angrily, opened his mouth as if to make a rejoinder, but curtly turned on his heel and returned to his seat. Some other passengers looked at him, unamused. 

“I don’t think you made a friend there, Bob,”

Cherry leant forward and asked quietly, “Do you think he was Gestapo or German Intelligence?”

“No, He’s too stupid, too obvious. The authorities have this information anyway. There’s nothing I’ve said that’s not in our applications. He’s just a bore who likes the sound of his own voice. But a Nazi party member as he mentioned at one stage,”

“Let’s hope there aren’t too many like him. Especially in the Denner family,”

“Let’s hope so. But be careful about the Hitler salute. They take it very seriously here. We could get into trouble by making fun of it.”

They reached Nuremberg Central Station on time. As they alighted from the carriage, they looked round for their hosts, the Denner family, and spotted a man holding up a placard, just wide enough to bear the legend.

WHART

CHERR

As if they were expecting an exotic disease to arrive on the Frankfurt Express.

“Obviously us Whart,”

“Indeed Cherr,”

The man holding the placard was tall, in his early fifties, and accompanied by a woman of approximately the same age. Whilst he was thin and angular, she was short and dumpy with a friendly, homely face. With them was a boy of 19 years, blond with piercing eyes regarding them with suspicion. They approached the trio and Mr Denner greeted them in heavily accented English.

“Welcome my friends. I am Klas Denner, and I introduce my wife Anna and my son Ulrich,”

Wharton replied in English, “I am Harry Wharton, and this is Bob Cherry. We are very pleased to meet you, but we should speak in German. I am reasonably fluent, and my friend Bob is eager to learn,”

“As you wish,” was the reply in German. They shook hands and then squeezed into the family car. On the way Wharton and Mr Denner conversed in German with Bob following with difficulty. Wharton recounted their meeting on the train with Alberich and Mr Denner commented, agreeing with Wharton’s assessment.

“He was just a busybody. They’re everywhere now, probably just a lowly party member minding everyone’s business except his own,”

Then Ulrich, who had been silent, intervened.

“He was doing his duty as a good German. You hear people talking in English and of course you want to check on them. They could be spies,”

“Yes,” retorted his father “How clever these British spies must be, talking in English on a public train. You and this idiot need to use your common sense,”

“The fatherland is in danger….” Ulrich started heatedly.

“Now boys. Please have respect for our guests. This is not the time for one of your arguments,” Mrs Denner intervened and turned the conversation to the plans they had for the next five weeks. 

This involved hiking and football with Ulrich and his friends and a weeklong family holiday in a cabin in the Harz mountains. The Denner house was in Egersdorf, a small village several miles to the west of central Nuremburg.

After 45 minutes they turned into a cul-de-sac, a close comprising six substantial homes and ending in open fields. The Denner house consisted of a central structure flanked on either side by taller ones, with steeply sloping red roofs. Harry and Bob collected their bags and went through the front door leading straight into a large hall. There was a large open fireplace to the right, staircase on the left leading up to a wooden gallery with doors to right and left to the upstairs bedrooms. It reminded Harry of a mediaeval banqueting hall; the impression enhanced by the gallery and the large oak beams which held up the roof. Around the fireplace were an eclectic variety of seats, a large sofa, and a low table. From the kitchen emerged two girls introduced by Mrs Denner as Gretchen and Crista. Gretchen, the older, aged 18, had tied back auburn hair, a slightly freckled face, open and friendly. She greeted them in English to which Harry responded in German.

“Please. We prefer to speak German, we’re here to learn,”

“And my sister wants to improve her English. You speak to her in German, and she can reply in English” chimed in Crista with a short laugh. She was both like, and unlike her older sister, by one year, in that she was slenderer, blond, a “cheeky” face, eyes that sparkled and an easy readiness to break into laughter.

“Crista has been practicing her English also,” said Gretchen.

“Please can you tell me where I can get my hat ironed?” said Crista in strongly accented English.

“Pardon?”

“And will you please cut my hair against the grain?” she continued, again in English, and burst into laughter. Puzzled, the two men joined in the laughter and then Gretchen explained.

“My sister has been studying an English German phrase book and picked out these two because they amused her. Are they not common sayings in England?” Her eyes twinkled as she asked.

“They may be, but I’ve never heard them,” responded Harry.

“Stop being so silly girls,” remonstrated Mrs Denner “it’s time we showed you your room.”

Just then Mr Denner opened the rear door and in bounded an enormous dog, a cross between a Great Dane and some indeterminate breed. On seeing the two strangers he made for them and leapt firstly on Bob and then Harry, rising on his rear legs, placing his front paws on their shoulders, and licking their faces.

“Down Herman. Down boy!” commanded Mr Denner several times before the dog, eventually obedient, went over to him. 

“This is the last member of the family. I’m sorry he’s always like that with strangers, aren’t you, Herman?” as he patted the dog’s head.

“Herman? Is that a usual name for a dog?” asked Harry.

“When my two daughters brought him here as a small puppy, without asking I may say, I was going to call him Adolf so I could kick an Adolf whenever I felt like it,”

“Oh father!” said Crista.

“But then I realised he would get to be too big, so I called him Herman instead,”

“After our fat Reich minister,” interposed Mrs Denner.

“I know. I know. But Herman has forgiven me, haven’t you?” as he rolled the great head between his two hands so that the dog’s ears flopped, and his tongue hung out as he panted contentedly. 

After settling in, they joined the family for dinner in a room off the principal room and soon felt themselves fully integrated into this happy family. They learnt something of the history of the Denners. Mr Denner was a successful architect with a practice, and office in the centre of Nuremburg where he worked with a single partner. He had fought in the Great War, in a Bavarian regiment. He served on the Western front and said he had opposed British forces in the battle of “Herbstschlacht”. Harry had never heard of it, but after some confusion they identified it as the battle of Loos, as referred to by the British. Harry said.

“What a coincidence. My uncle was involved in that battle as well. I’m sure he’d like to meet you, even though I suppose you may even have shot at each other.”

“I would appreciate such a meeting. You can tell your uncle I’m sorry that I missed him in 1915,”

Harry looked up sharply but when he saw the broad smile on Mr Denner’s face he realised it was a joke and entering the spirit of the moment laughed and replied.

“I’m glad he missed you too,”

“He might not have. I was injured on the second day of the battle and invalided back to Germany. When I returned to my unit, it had moved further to the East, and we opposed the French until I was wounded again. That ended my fighting career as a soldier. So, your uncle never had another chance,”

His latter wound was serious, and he ended the war convalescing in Germany, with the rank of captain and an Iron Cross (Second Class). During his convalescence he met Anna, who was working as a nurse in his hospital, and after a short courtship they married.

“Do your injuries still hurt? asked Harry solicitously.

“Only when I read the rubbish, my son brings into the house,” Here he looked over at a copy of Der Sturmer on the sideboard.

 Der Sturmer was virulently anti-Semitic tabloid produced by Julius Streicher between 1923 and 1945. Although not a Nazi publication, it had unofficial support from the party and the approval of Hitler. Verging on the pornographic, it had a wide circulation and made Streicher very rich. It also got him hung as a war criminal in 1946. 

Ulrich responded, “If you’d take the bother to read it you learn the dangers we face and how we must respond to them,”

“I don’t need to read it. I could write the clichés, lies and nonsense myself….” 

“Stop it” Mrs Denner raised her voice and both Denner males subsided. There was no doubt who was boss within those four walls. “And now tell us about yourselves,” she said to Bob and Harry. 

Wharton explained their background – that they knew each other through their public school, Greyfriars, that he was planning a career as a lawyer and Bob as a doctor.

“Just as I plan to be a doctor,” chirped in Crista. She was still at school. Gretchen having just left was working with her father for a year before attending university to study architecture. Both were members of the BDM (League of German Girls) though Gretchen, because of her age now had to leave. When asked how they enjoyed it, Gretchen turned up her nose.

“It’s alright, I suppose. I liked the activities, but you must listen to a lot of nonsense. I’m not sorry it’s time to leave,”

Ulrich intervened “You need to hear what they say not just listen; and understand your role in the new Germany. Now you should join the Landjar Lager since I know you’ve had the honour of an invitation,”

“You join it. You become one of the chosen girls, wear pigtails, swish out pigs and spend your life washing nappies,”

Bob intervened in halting German, “And how do you like the BDM Crista?”

“Oh, it’s great. I ignore the talk and take it as the price you have to pay to have a good time with the other girls,”

Bob struggled to follow this narrative, so Crista asked him, speaking exaggeratedly slowly.

“Am - I - speaking - too – fast - for – you. It – looks - as - if I’m going to have to teach you how to speak over the next four weeks,”

“Yes, I rather think I need it” and again she laughed at Bob’s discomfiture.

Ulrich explained that he had completed school and was unsure of his future. Having been conscripted for his military service in December, he was marking time until then with a temporary job in a local factory. He had been an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth and now that he was too old had joined in the activities of the main Nazi party. He had organised a hike with a group of his friends the next day through a nearby extensive forest.

Later that night, when Bob and Harry had retired, they reviewed the day, and both agreed that they had fallen on their feet with the Denner family. Only Ulrich was a slight fly in the ointment, although when relaxed, made good company and as Bob commented.

“He’s fine so long as you keep off politics. Tomorrow when we’re out in the open exercising that will blow all that stuff away.”

Bob’s solution to most of life’s problems was physical activity.

“Yes, but when you consider it, he’s probably the reason we’re here,”

“How come?”

“He’s a safe pair of hands. When the authorities assigned us to the Denner’s they no doubt did so because they thought Ulrich would make our ideal companion,”

“Um! I think I’d prefer the company of Crista – or Gretchen,” he added hurriedly, “Or indeed Klas and Anna,”

Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled, “Gretchen seems the more sensible,”

“Perfect match for you then?”

“Don’t talk rot,”

The next ten days constituted exactly the two men’s idea of the ideal holiday. They went on several hikes with Ulrich and his friends, all of a similar age to him. They accepted Harry and Bob without reservation. It helped that both were excellent footballers and they played a few games for Ulrich’s team, for which several of his friends also played. Wharton was outstanding scoring a hat trick in one game and Bob proved a solid right half. Bob’s perception that Ulrich would become more companionable the more energetic they were proved true. After long and tiring days, it was a relief to return to the Denner home where Mrs Denner, with help from the girls, provided large and appetising meals washed down with beer. After the meal they took seats before the fireplace, still unlit, and talked about the day or played games until it was time for bed. On a couple of occasions, the girls brought them into Nuremburg so they could stroll around the beautiful old town before joining Mr Denner for lunch in a restaurant, the day often ending up in a beer garden for beer or coffee. 

One night, apart from Ulrich, they went to the Staatstheater for a performance of Wagner’s opera Gotterdamerung. A performance that lasted the best part of four hours, not including intervals. Harry enjoyed it well enough, but Bob nodded off several times, difficult with Brunhilda belting out her arias, and had to be woken by a giggling Crista poking him none too gently with her elbow. 

It helped that the weather was idyllic, 25 degrees or warmer every day, with just the occasional hint of rain. 

The time came for them to go on their trip to the Harz mountains to the cottage Mr. Denner had rented for a week. Ulrich could not travel with them, so the six of them, plus Herman piled in, with difficulty, in a large touring car, borrowed for the week, suitcases strapped to the roof, for the three-hour drive to the wooden cabin. 

They had barely started when there was an overwhelming smell of effluence.

“Herman! Was that you?” shouted Gretchen, “Open the windows for heaven’s sake,”

“For goodness’ sake Herman,” said Mr Denner “I swear that dog expels more hot gas than his namesake our fat Reichsminister,”

Bob from the middle seats turned round to Herman, who was sitting with the two girls and patted him on the head. 

“You didn’t mean it did you old boy?”

Herman panted, licked Bob with his huge tongue and gave a whine.

“He says it wasn’t him – it was Crista,”

“Idiot” responded Crista and hit him with her book.

“Herman or Crista no more or I’ll throw you out” warned Mr Denner as they sped along the straight wide autobahn. Harry and Bob were impressed. They had never seen a road like it. It would be over 20 years before a similar one was constructed in England. 

 Over the next week they explored paths through the woods, along clear fast-flowing streams and along the edges of spectacular canyons. They drove to a lake and hired dinghies, racing each other across sparkling waters surrounded by spruce forest at the water’s edge. Sometimes Mr and Mrs Denner won, sometimes Harry and Gretchen, but Bob and Crista never won as they were always either arguing or laughing. Once, when executing a tight turn, Bob fell in. Once she assured herself that Bob was a powerful swimmer, she tacked around him laughing at his discomfiture.

No one was more enthusiastic on the walks than Herman. He bounded off into the woods scratching at the earth for reasons unknown, chased with unerring failure rabbits when they appeared, ran after sticks until all were tired of throwing them. One time when he returned Mr Denner holding the enormous head and rolling it about said.

“What a useless big lump you are. I swear I’m going to have you stuffed and used as a door stop,”

Herman took this as an enormous compliment, jumped up on Mr Denner, licked his face and then dashed off again on the important business of not catching rabbits.

Leaving a whining Herman behind, they took in the local sights. One afternoon to Goster Old Town with its ancient half-timbered houses, its palace and Church before going to a local bierkeller and wolfing down an enormous meal. 

The days were full and happy but, all too soon, it was time to return to Nuremburg, where a there was a dramatic change of mood.

 As they approached the Denner home, they noticed an upsurge in traffic on the road and that the centre of the nearby Zindorf was full of visitors, a high proportion of whom were young men. 

“The Nazi Party rally,” commented Mr Denner, “It’ll be chaos for the next few of days, particularly in the centre of the city. That’s why Ulrich couldn’t join us: he’s involved in helping to organise everything,”

“We’ve been invited to the closing ceremony,” said Harry.

“Oh, have you? Why is that?”

“Well,” replied Harry laughing “We’re in the distinguished visitor’s section according to the tickets so we must be distinguished visitors,”

“We’re honoured indeed. If only we realised, you were so distinguished. Every time I see you in future I’ll curtsy,” said Gretchen.

“And I’ll prostrate myself before you, my Lord Bob,” chimed in Crista.

“Quite right too,”

“Are you attending?” Harry asked of Mr Denner.

“No, I’m not.  I don’t want to and I’m not invited. It’s a party rally and only party members and, important persons such as yourselves are invited. Tickets are like gold dust. You’ll find it a fascinating and unique experience and give you an insight into…. well give you an insight,”

Every year since 1923 the Nazis had a rally, always in the historic city of Nuremburg. Since Hitler’s accession to power in 1933, it had expanded from just a gathering of a political grouping into a display of the power and unity of the German nation, as orchestrated by the party. Hundreds of thousands descended on the city every year to join in the festival. The theme of this year’s “Party Congress” was “Rally of Labour” although as Mr Denner commented it really was “Rally of the great Hitler”. 

When they arrived back at the house about 8 pm Ulrich was home and exhausted from his labours on behalf of the party during the day. He greeted them warmly and had good news for them.

“You know the Fuhrer arrives in Nuremburg tomorrow?”

They didn’t.

Somewhat deflated he continued, “Well he does. He’ll be driven through the streets to the Hauptmarkt, or Adolf Hitler Platz if you prefer, where there will be a march by in front of him and top party members,”

“Is there a point to this son?”

“I have spoken to Cousin Berthold who has an office overlooking the square, and he says he’d be delighted if you join him. Harry, Bob, would you like to be there?”

“Yes, indeed” replied Harry with enthusiasm, to Bob’s surprise and slight annoyance.

“And you, father?”

“I don’t think so, thanks. I’ve catching up to do in the garden,”

“And you mother?”

“No, thank you. The house needs tidying up after you’ve been here on your own for a week. I notice you didn’t bother to do any yourself,”

“I was busy. And you two?” Addressing his sisters.

Crista replied with enthusiasm, “Yes – it should be exciting. Anyway, Bob needs someone to look after him. You know how useless he is.”

 Bob snorted derisively though now pleased to go as Crista was joining them.  

Gretchen hesitated “Well if everyone’s going then I suppose I better as well. But what about you, Ulrich, won’t you be busy?”

“Yes. I may or may not get there myself….”

Next morning, they set off at 6am, knowing the streets would be crammed with people well before the party top brass arrived. They had a rushed breakfast and took the train to the centre of Nuremburg and then to the Hauptmarkt. The streets already teemed with people, many in uniform. Brown shirted SA (Sturmabteilung) in shorts, Schutzstaffel (SS) sinister in black, soldiers and airmen in uniform swaggered around the narrow streets filling the cafes and bars. Streets were colourfully decked out in Nazi bunting, the most impressive being long slender flags forty feet long, in bright red with the standard white circle and reversed swastika centred in it, draped from taller buildings. Shop fronts were full of party memorabilia for show or sale. 

They arrived at the second-floor office, above a cigar shop, on the west side of the square and almost opposite the 14th century Frauenkirche, which Harry noticed with distaste was inappropriately draped with the unchristian Nazi swastika. Cousin Berthold looked like a caricature of a Bavarian with red beaming face, rotund torso and wearing shorts from which protruded white dimpled legs. He greeted them enthusiastically.

“How are you Gretchen, Crista it’s been some time hasn’t it? My have you grown into two stunning looking women,”

“Thank you, cousin,” replied Gretchen drily.

“And you remember Heinz and Manfred?” referring to two boys aged 13 and 15 dressed identically to each other and to their father. Bob thought the three of them resembled a Russian doll. The two boys could fit into each other and then their dad to make a single fat Bavarian. 

“And, of course, you will remember Ella and Emma,” Here he referred to two girls of similar ages to Gretchen and Crista who, fortunately, took their looks from their mother both being slim and elegant.

“And introduce us to your two friends,”

After introductions were completed, he said.

“You must be hungry, and we should show our English friends Bavarian hospitality - so girls will you show everyone where the refreshments are,”

Ella grabbed Harry by the arm and Emma Bob’s and led them into the next room where on a table was a large side of roast ham with fruit, cakes and breads set beside it. There were also several bottles of beer, orange juice and a coffee canteen. Ella and Emma were attentive to the Englishmen, pouring out coffee, insisting on them having croissants and ham, all the while questioning them about their background and being gushingly complimentary on their looks and expressing a fascinated interest in their university courses. The two portly sons provided for their father and the two Denner girls who were engaged in a separate conversation on family matters. Bob threw a look over at Crista, who turned up her nose and turned away. After an uncomfortable 20 minutes Berthold suggested that, although he had to stay to mind the office and welcome other guests, the rest of them should go out and experience the street life before the main event. All agreed that it was a good idea and the seven of them headed out, led by Ella, Emma and the two men. Once out in the street, Ella said.

“We know a small place just away from the main areas that won’t be too busy.” 

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Harry by the arm again and led the party off along a maze of side streets until they reached a bar/restaurant which wasn’t noticeably quieter than any other. Once they got through the front doors, she directed them to a garden at the rear which, whilst still crowded, had a few areas where they could stand without being jostled. Harry asked.

“Shall I order the drinks?”

“Wait there,” instructed Ella said “We know the staff. We’ve a better chance to get service. Come on, boys in case we have to carry our own drinks,” Having taken the order Ella, Emma and the two brothers disappeared into the throng.

Bob and Harry were left feeling uncomfortable as Crista glaring at Bob canted her head slightly to the right to stare up at him, held her hands together in front of her and in a falsetto voice imitating her cousin “Oh Bob – have coffee – have a croissant – you’re so wonderful – you’re so handsome – you’re so clever – I love you – let’s elope,”

Bob flushed, “What could I do? I was only being polite,”

“Crista,” intervened Gretchen “You know what she’s like. Bob’s not altogether to blame,”

“That’s right” agreed Harry and at once regretted it.

“Don’t you act superior, Harry Wharton. Oh, is that right Ella; Oh, Ella how kind of you; Oh, Ella how interesting. You were just as bad,”

Crista laughed at Gretchen’s imitation of Harry’s German with its strong English accent, and the spell was broken. 

“Just you two behave when they return” she warned.

They returned burdened by trays holding the miscellaneous drinks and Emma handing her tray to Bob said.

“Oh Bob, you’re so strong you should have………”

But she was interrupted by laughter from the Denner party and, although puzzled, joined in before saying.

“Look that table over there has become free – move,”

They did and took possession of a table with six seats. At the next table two burly men looked across at them and one moving closer addressed Harry in a none too friendly tone in English.

“You are Englander?”

Harry stood up to face him on equal terms in case of trouble, as did Bob.

“Yes, we are,” he answered in German.

“And what business have you being here?” The man reverting to speaking in German moved closer and aggressively, as did his friend.

“Any reason why we shouldn’t be?” Harry was getting concerned at this point as the men, despite the early hour, were obviously drunk. He noticed the Nazi party badges on their lapels.

“This is German business – why are you here?” 

He raised his voice, attracting the attention of other drinkers. Harry, not liking the situation, decided it was best to be emollient.

“We’re here attending the rally as the guests of the party and your government,”

The man hesitated and said.

“In that case English, you’re welcome. When you go home, you can tell them the truth about the new Germany, not the lies spread by the Jewish press,”

“We’ll report back exactly what we have seen,”

“Good” 

He looked disappointed that there was no excuse for a roughhouse and he and his friend turned his attentions to Emma and Ella, starting up with them a conversation that didn’t need anyone else’s participation. 

Harry and Bob turned back to the two girls and their young cousins and retook their seats. Emma and Ella, now standing up, were charming the two Nazis.

“Nicely handled Harry,” said Gretchen, “Those two were looking for trouble,”

“I think one drink will be enough for me,” said Bob, “A couple more beers and they might forget that we’re guests of the party.”

“They might not even realise you are both ‘Distinguished visitors’” interposed Crista.

“Ho ho!” responded Bob.

They finished their drinks and got up to leave to find that Emma and Ella had decided to stay with their new friends, so Gretchen took Harry by the arm.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us. How disappointing for you,” as she led him back out onto the street “We should just go back to the office,”

On arrival, the office had filled with several other people awaiting the parade. After an hour Emma and Ella returned only making the laconic comment

 “They were no gentlemen”. 

They watched the square being partially cleared. The area in front of the church was packed, as was the footpath in front of the office. The excitement mounted as the moment approached for Hitler’s appearance. They didn’t have to be warned of his arrival as they could hear the enormous rumble of cheering that greeted his car as it drove slowly through the streets towards the square. Louder and louder, it grew and the eight of them crammed into the one window assigned to them. Berthold and his family, as hosts, claimed entitlement to be closest to the window with the girls in front and males behind. Bob and Harry craned to get a view, and Gretchen and Crista had to peep around the bulk of Berthold and his brood.

The noise reached a crescendo as a large black open tourer came into the square. Adolf Hitler stood in the back, right arm up acknowledging the cheers of the crowd. They roared Sieg Heil, the sound reverberating back again off the buildings of the square. Berthold shouted out “Sieg…” and his right arm reflexively shot out. His hand hit the side of the window frame with a loud and painful crack.

“Scheissen” said Cousin Berthold.

Bob and Crista had to turn away so no one would see them stifling a laugh. Harry and Gretchen looked at each other and grinned. Outside the crowd was in an absolute ferment as Hitler’s car came to a halt facing to the left and at a slight angle from their viewpoint. Hitler still stood acknowledging the crowd approximately 50 yards away from their vantage point. Harry recognised Hess alighting from the car and standing at its rear along with what he assumed was the SA leader Lutze, and a couple of others he could not identify, including a black uniformed SS guard. From the second car, Hermann Goering joined the others beaming a fat smile at all and sundry. Then the parade started. It was military in character. Detachments of motorbikes with sidecars were followed by marching paramilitaries, SA men carrying tall Swastika flags on poles. Then regiments of Wehrmacht, without poles but goose stepping in unison, as they passed Hitler, their coal scuttle helmets rising and lowering rhythmically. The noise of crashing of boots on tarmac competed with the cheering of the crowd. Hitler, still standing, took the salute right arm held out, rigid and angled outwards mirroring hundreds of outstretched arms of the passing soldiery. 

At the end Hitler was still standing and raising his right arm, elbow bent and palm outwards as he acknowledged the cheers of the crowd and the renewed roaring of Sieg Heils. Cousin Berthold joined in, as did his two sons and daughters. Hitler looked in the direction of their window.

“HE’s looking at us!!” screamed Emma and Ella in unison and they along with their father and brothers waved back at him, manically shouting, and screaming at the top of their voices. When Hitler looked away Harry noted they were shaking with emotion, wide eyed and trance like. Harry looked at Gretchen and Crista and relieved that although Crista looked excited, neither she nor Gretchen had succumbed to the same hysteria as their cousins. Hitler sat down in the car and when it moved off, he again rose to accept the adulation of the crowd.

Berthold retreated from the window and sat down exhausted, physically, and emotionally. 

“You can see for yourselves the love the German people have for their leader,” 

The next morning Ulrich suggested they have a kick about in the public park with the others, to which Harry and Bob agreed with alacrity. After an energetic hour, they went back to the Denners for refreshments and discussed the events of the previous day. Ulrich had returned late as he had gone to the Hotel Deutcher Hof where Hitler had been staying and had waited for hours until he had appeared on the balcony. The others acted as stewards on the route and were expected to report back for further duties at one o’clock. They went over the events of yesterday and Franz, one of Ulrich’s friends, said to Harry and Bob.

“Now you see how the German people love their Fuhrer. You should tell your friends when you go back home how we really feel instead of accepting the lies spread about him and the German peoples by the Jewish newspapers,”

This was the second time in 24 hours they had been given this lecture, and Bob retorted irritably.

“What is all this about the Jewish press and Jews? What’s your problem with Jews? Why are they no longer citizens, not allowed to be lawyers, join the civil service, or practice as doctors? How can a civilised country treat its people this way? How ridiculous is this nonsense?”

Harry inwardly groaned – they had agreed to avoid sensitive political issues, one of which was the “Nuremburg Laws” promulgated by the Nazi government depriving Jews of their rights as German citizens. 

Franz wasn’t put out by this outburst.

“Realise what the Jew is like. They are insidious, blood-sucking parasites on our society. Non-productive themselves, they aim to control means of production through financial manipulation, using the press, arts and film industry amongst other things to mould public opinion and undermine our way of life. We are, unashamedly, a race-based state, and the Jews, gypsies and others are enemies of such a state and have to be removed as you would remove a cancer to protect the body,” Franz, a trainee lawyer fancied himself as something of a thinker.

Bob retorted, “One of the finest boys in my form at school is a Jew, Monty Newland, and he couldn’t have been a better friend, tough, good at sports, clever, reliable, honest and yes, patriotic. What you say just cannot be right. How do you judge people by the caricatures I’ve seen in Der Sturmer and other rubbish papers I’ve seen and not on how they are as individuals?” 

Bob’s face turned red with indignation as he stumbled through his argument, his German not allowing him to express how he felt. Even this didn’t annoy Franz, who condescendingly patted Bob on the arm.

“Bob, you’re a decent fellow and only see the best in everyone. I don’t know this Monty you speak of but we, the party, can see how things really are. Believe me Monty maybe everything you say but, if it ever came to it, his first loyalty will not be to you or England but to his own. We have had to take all necessary steps to eliminate miscegenation so as not to dilute our Aryan blood, and that must include removing Jews from our public life. We are acting in self-preservation. In time, you will find that we were right. Even if there are some good Jews, although that’s a contradiction, how should we know? If you have a hundred snakes coming to attack you, most of which are poisonous, you can’t sit and work out which ones are safe you just shoot the lot. “Not,” he added reassuringly, if not presciently “that we propose to shoot them all. There is a suggestion that they should emigrate to Madagascar where they can set up their own state and rule the apes and niggers – they can’t do much harm there!” and he gave a short laugh joined in, to their shame, by the others. 

Harry thought Bob might hit Franz and gave him a quick look, indicating that it was time to end the discussion.

“Well, I disagree” ended Bob feebly, and Ulrich intervened to change the subject. Crista and Gretchen came in, and Gretchen addressed the guests inhospitably.

“Right, you lot time to clear off, we’re going out for the day. Ulrich, I take it you have to go back today?”

 Before he left, Ulrich quietly said to Bob.

“Sorry. Franz is the most Nazi of us all,” Bob just nodded. Gretchen noticed the atmosphere and said to Harry.

“You can tell me later. Father thought a drive in the country might be a nice tonic after the excitement of yesterday,”

In the car, Bob recounted his argument with Franz. 

“So that explains the atmosphere when we went in,” commented Gretchen.

Mr Denner commented, “Ever since the present government came in, they have gradually eliminated the Jews from German life. Sadly, they tapped into an underlying hatred of Jews that already existed. Unfortunately, I have to say, it was very strong in Bavaria. We had Jews in our regiment on the Western front. I had two friends who were Jews. One was killed at Verdun and the other earned an Iron Cross. How do they condemn men like that? I know a few Jewish architects – out of business now. I subcontracted work out to one of them, a genuine talent, but it’s risky,”

“There were three Jewish girls in my class when I was young,” added Gretchen “Then one day they just stopped coming. Never found out where they went to.”

Mrs Denner said, “I’m sorry Ulrich has become involved with those boys. They’ve turned his mind and now he’s now applied to join the party,”

“It’s unfortunate that many people are joining because it’s a good career move. Youngsters like the ones you met this morning have had over four years of indoctrination and some like Franz are genuine believers,” added Mr Denner “Even I have come under pressure. There’s much work for us architects because of Speer’s grand project. You have heard of the ‘Deutsches Stadion’?”

They hadn’t.

“It is beside the Zeppelinfeld in Nuremberg. When completed, it will hold 400,000 people. I’m doing some work on the project, but had I been a party member I’m sure I’d have received a lot more,”

Crista piped up for the rear, “It’s a lovely day and we’re out to enjoy ourselves – why spoil it by talking of things we can do nothing about?”

The next few days they forgot about the celebrations continuing in the city and spent their time either around the house, hiking in the nearby forest or going further afield. One night he took them to the cinema, at Crista’s insistence, to see ‘Dick and Doof als Studenten’.

“You must know them,” said Crista, “In English they’re called ‘Laurel and Hardy’ and the movie called ‘A Chump at Oxford’, it says here, whatever that means.”

“Chump means an idiot,” explained Harry

“So, you are a chump at Oxford?” said Gretchen.

“Cambridge,”

“Sorry you’re a chump at Cambridge,”

“Dick and Doof themselves speak German in the movie, but they’re not German speakers, so they read off phonetic cards,” explained Gretchen.

“That’s the funniest bit – they get it wrong because they don’t know what they’re saying – they sound like Bob trying to speak German,” laughed Crista.

The day came for the closing ceremony. They held this at the Zeppelinfeld, an hour’s walk from the centre of Nuremburg, part of a great complex of buildings covering 11 square kilometres. Apart from the field, it included the partly constructed congress hall and the area set aside for the German Stadium Mr Denner had referred to. 

“Make sure you get there early – the stadium holds a couple of hundred thousand spectators plus the troops. Take care of yourselves and take these flasks of water and sandwiches. You may get nothing there when it starts up, and it takes several hours.” advised Mrs Denner.

“Thank you,” replied Harry, “Yes, the time we must take our seats is on the ticket.”

“Take care of yourselves,” said Gretchen, “I wish you weren’t going,”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I’m just worried,” 

They squeezed onto the train into the centre and from there, following the crowds, walked the four kilometres to the rally grounds. Passing by the Congress Hall, they saw the “Great Avenue” a wide concourse 2 kilometres long and 40 metres wide designed for troop parades, still under construction, and the location for the German Stadium. They passed a field with hundreds of white tents set out in rows for soldiers involved in the parades. Finally, they arrived at the enormous concourse that was the Zeppelinfeld. At the top end was the grandstand, a large central building with colonnades stretching out on either side to a length of 300 metres, constructed of limestone and gleaming white in the sunshine. Long thin red and white swastika flags hung between each column. In front was a large terrace and centrally positioned, a platform for speakers 25 feet off the ground. This overlooked an enormous open area, over 300 by 280 meters the size of 12 football fields, surrounded by banks of seating. Harry and Bob wandered around for a short time. Behind the grandstand a large crowd had gathered, hoping to get a glimpse of the Nazi hierarchy. It was so packed they wouldn’t have been able to see much – even if they had wanted. They made their way to their seats to wait for the show. They were down one side of the auditorium 120 meters from the podium. Harry sat beside a Frenchman, Emile, and they started a desultory conversation in a mix of French and English. For the first time, the ambassadors from France and Britain were attending. Emile was part of the French party who were in the Grandstand. As he commented dryly.

“We are only distinguished visitors second class,”

As the time approached, the stadium filled. In the grandstand party officials and military personnel resplendent in uniforms of all variety filled the seating. In the distance could be heard the roar of hundreds of motors being started, revved up and subsiding into silence again. The tension in the crowd grew and Harry felt excitement at the prospect, of what exactly? He wasn’t sure. In the Grandstand there was a movement and cheering from the spectators nearest to its massive doors. The cheering was taken up in the general concourse. Harry used binoculars to see who had emerged and identified Rudolf Hess, who strode to the front and stood just behind the podium. The expectations of the crowd having been aroused were dampened again. The tension now was even higher. Hess looked behind him as if waiting for a signal. He turned back again and appeared to be scanning the crowd. The hubbub increased. Hess looked back once more. Again, he didn’t move, and the crowd tension went up another notch. Finally, after another look back Hess slowly mounted the steps of the podium and crossed his arms over his brown shirt as the noise increased and uncoordinated shouts of Sieg Heil greeted him. He waited, looked round the concourse yet again, face set in a slight smile. A tension filled minute passed by before he stepped quickly up to the microphone and shouted.

“Die partei ist Hitler,” The crowd roared in return.

“Hitler aber ist Deutschland,”

“Wie Deutschland Hitler ist” and turned to the figure behind him – the Fuhrer, whose appearance they had hardly noticed. Hess raised his right arm in the Nazi salute and shouted.

“Sieg Heil – Sieg Heil….”

Two hundred thousand voices in unison joined him. Hitler mounted the podium as Hess stood to one side. The shouted ‘Sieg Heils’ reached a new pitch of intensity as Hitler remained motionless – a tiny figure in brown, standing impassively, arms crossed, one figure facing 200,000. Noise continued unabated until Hitler raised his right hand in the familiar gesture inviting silence. In response, the shouting decreased. Hitler looked to the left and right at the crowd. Then lowering his hand took one step to the microphone – his right arm shot out as if grasping every member of the crowd and he roared.

“DEUTCHE!” 

Pandemonium. With one voice they roared “Sieg Heil” back at him and 200,000 arms shot out. The noise reverberated round the stadium, echoing off the grandstand and harmonising with and amplifying the next “Sieg Heil”. Harry shivered and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The noise vibrated the concrete of the concourse and went through his body as if receiving an electric shock. He looked round at the faces of the crowd – eyes bulged with the sheer effort of making the greatest noise. Some, and not just the women, were in tears. Many were shaking, with the effort of shouting and in an excess of hysterical emotion. Harry now understood cousin Berthold raising his arm, in an involuntary movement, as he himself for a second was so caught up in the moment that he felt as if his right arm, of its own volition, would rise in salute. The sound, the rhythmic repetition of the sound, had a hypnotic effect. He didn’t want to it stop.

Hitler had stepped back from the microphone, crossed his arms over his chest and stared out at the crowd, unmoving. After several minutes he returned to the microphone and spoke briefly and quietly, although that was a relative term given the booming effect of the multiple speakers. They were words of introduction, and then he stepped back. 

The crowd waited, anticipating the next activity. After a brief pause, they heard boots from an entrance opposite their seats. Ranks of soldiers emerged and marching, to the sound of martial music, passed in front of Hitler. He had moved to a small plinth in front of the stand to take the salute. After the march past came a drive by of panzers, in formation twelve abreast, each with its commander jutting out of the turret. Squadrons of Luftwaffe bombers passed overhead in a series of nine plane flights, in formation, and flying no higher than 500 feet. Bob identified the various Dorniers, Heinkels and Focke Wulfs to Harry. Units of cavalry trotted by and finally troop carriers hauling large artillery pieces. Troops, tanks, horses, and carriers after passing Hitler turned left and took up position within the parade ground before heading out back the way they came.

There was another delay before the next event. This was an elaborate mock battle. Soldiers flooded across the field; horses galloped around the perimeter. They hauled heavy guns into place and fired deafening salvoes. Machine gun units were set up and fired in staccato rhythm. The field was cleared and again the rumble of heavy engines dominated as the tanks, re-entered, and sped around firing their guns. The bombers reappeared, even more menacing this time, as they purported to drop bombs. Anti-aircraft guns fired up at them and a wooden building was blown up by the mock bombs and fell apart in flames. As the field cleared, there was another flypast of a Luftwaffe display team flying, in the shape of a swastika.

After these prodigies there was a protracted delay, which they took advantage of, to stretch out, walk around the perimeter and eat Mrs Denner’s picnic. They fell into conversation with Emile and asked his opinion.

“We have tanks and airplanes as good or better. A French soldier is a match for a German. But what frightens me is the intent. What is this display for?” He didn’t answer his own question, nor did they. It was unnecessary.

By 730, the light was failing and time for the dramatic finale. The auditorium filled again with soldiers and party members paraded in ranks taking up position holding up Nazi flags. All the while bands were playing stirring martial music. When all were assembled whirring sounds announced the start-up of 150 searchlights set on the grandstand stretching round the perimeter of the stadium, pointing straight up into the sky to a height of 20,000 feet and merged to form a dome of light. As twilight changed to darkness, the white of bright light contrasted with the black of the sky forming a “Cathedral of Light”. It was a spine-chilling display.

Then Hitler returned for his address, the last act of the week. The ecstatic roar that greeted him was no less enthusiastic than it had been earlier. The crowd grew quieter, and Hitler started speaking, not with the dramatic flourish of earlier but in measured tones, though his rasping voice transmitted by multiple speakers boomed across the auditorium. For Bob it was a puzzle as he started by appearing to welcome the fact that Germany hadn’t achieved victory in the Great War. He then moved on to more predictable territory by condemning international Bolshevism and the weakness of the “civilised” nations in refusing to recognise it as a threat. His voice raised when he referred to Russian communism, which he referred to as “Jewish Bolshevism” that had overthrown their non-Slav ruling class and exterminated them. He defended German and Italian intervention in Spain. His voice rose in outrage and defiance when he returned to the theme of Russian-Jewish- Bolshevism, describing them as international criminals and condemning their goal of dominating Germany.

“Let no one be deceived on one point: National Socialism has banished the Bolshevist world menace from within Germany,” 

Ecstatic cheering followed as Hitler paused before continuing

“It has ensured that the scum of Jewish litterateurs alien to the German Volk does not dictate over the proletariat…” 

His voice became a shout and then a roar accompanied by dramatic hand arm gestures: the crowd responded in in a frenzy of noise. In his finale he praised those who had attended the “Party Congress” and his voice rose to a crescendo.

“And they will take with them the proud feeling of having again been witnesses of the internal and external uprising of their Volk. Yet they may be conscious that therein a hope of millenniums and the prayer of many generations, the confidence and faith of innumerable great men of the Volk have finally achieved their historic realisation…..”

A momentary pause, then at the top of his voice.

“The German nation has been given its Germanic Empire after all”

The crowd erupted. Hitler stepped back – the slight figure bathed in spotlights against the dramatic backdrop of the dark and bright of the columns of searchlights.

 After a few last words from Hess praising the Fuhrer, again to rapturous applause and shouts, the bands broke into the Horst Wessel song, the Nazi anthem. 200,000 thousand voices joined in. The terracing vibrated with the stamping of feet, and then it was over. Harry turned to Bob and shaking his head said quietly.

“I understand”. Bob remained silent.

They decided, as did Emile, to stay and let the crowd disperse before they made their way to the city. Most of the crowd had left but large groups remained, still exhilarated by what they had experienced. It was a feeling Bob and Harry could not share. The experience had been exciting, and yes, exhilarating, but as the excitement wound down a feeling of depression remained. As alighted at the Egersdorf train station near home Bob asked. 

“What do you mean you understand?”

“Let’s sit on this bench and I’ll try to put it into words. Remember when he reached out his arm and shouted ‘Deutsche’ or German people?”

“Yes,” 

“And the response. Suddenly I understood. He reached out to each every one of them and they responded, they became a single entity, no longer individuals with their own concerns and fears, but part of one Volk. The individual derives power from being part of the movement. Do you understand?”

Bob considered the question “No,”

“Go back to his speech. Do you remember he started by saying it was as well that they didn’t win the Great War in a quick campaign?”

“Yes, I thought that’s what he said, but then I doubted myself,”

“He did. He argued that a quick win validated a system that, according to him, was being corrupted by false, Jewish liberal values, which, in time, would destroy the racist purity of the German people.” 

“I didn’t get that either,”

“He’s a big Wagner fan. Do you remember at the end of the Opera Brunhilda sacrificed herself to restore proper world order?”

“No. I may have been asleep,” grinned Bob.

“His argument is that by losing the war, or at least by not winning it, and the disasters of the post-war period exposed the falsity of the liberal internationalist ethos. In Gotterdamerung, and in several Wagner operas, a sacrifice, a self-sacrifice, is necessary for redemption. And redemption is now coming, in the new world order that Hitler believes in,”

“And with him as the redeemer?”

“Exactly, and the necessary sacrifice was the Great War.”

“And they believe in that?”

“You saw for yourself their reaction today. “You heard his many references to the Volk. A word that can’t, be translated as the English ‘folk’ with overtones of rural music and Morris dancers. It’s far more profound than that representing mystically, the national soul. It is the preservation of this national soul, the purity of the Volk that is the founding ideology of the Nazis. And they have decided that other races in particular, the Jews, are intent on destroying that purity through expounding liberal, Christian values. By these processes they will undermine, dominate and subjugate the Aryan races.”

“Is that what Franz was trying to say?”

“Yes. You saw today how effectively Hitler delivered this message. If you read his speech, you’d be able to find plenty of flaws in his arguments. But that doesn’t matter. He relies on the emotional effects they produce – the two feed on each other, Hitler and the crowd. The force of his personality dominated everything today. He’s a creature of his passions, an irrationalist, a romantic and a fanatic. You can’t apply normal rational standards to such a person. Those people who saw and heard him today would follow him to hell and back. The terrible thing is that is probably where he’ll take them. The venue, the displays of raw power, the music, the Light Cathedral, and the rest make it in effect, a religious experience. And a profound one,”

“Yes, Harry, but you forget one thing. These are his people; party members and they already agree with him and his ideas, so of course they will cheer him to the rafters. He tells them what they want to hear. That doesn’t mean all Germans agree with him or would follow him to hell. Look at the Denners for instance,”

“Fair enough, but how representative are they? We have no way of telling. Germany is a closed country with no elections,”

“Are most Germans who aren’t party members taken in by this nonsense?”

“You forget the power of propaganda. We’ve read so much of it since we’ve been here. Not just in the gutter papers like Der Sturmer, but even in respectable newspapers. If you’re being fed one point of view, and only one, how can you recognise what is true and what isn’t? How can you not be influenced by it?” 

“How does Nazi’s propagandist Dr Goebbels get away with so many lies?” 

“He’s a clever little man. To him, there’s no difference between a lie and the truth. For propaganda there’s only what is convenient and what is inconvenient. Of course, in most instances it’s better to tell the truth, or an approximation of it. If you tell obvious lies or are caught out, you lose credibility. But if you tell an outright lie then just keep repeating it, repeat it forcefully time and time again until it’s hammered into people then, for them it becomes the truth. And discredit any alternative view as part of a great Jewish liberal lie. If you’re going to lie, then lie hard and consistently, bully, using any crudity, however foul, against anyone who puts up any alternative to it. Many will believe whatever he says because it’s what they want to hear, or they will follow the official line uncritically no matter what.” 1

“There is the honest lie,”

“What on earth is that?” asked Bob

Harry hesitated, looking for an example.

“I’ll give you an analogy. Let’s say you are in surgery all morning. I call in to see you and have an umbrella with me. Now you have no access to windows so you ask me whether it has been raining outside. I answer that I’ve come several miles from home and didn’t have to unfurl my umbrella once. You’d take I’m telling you it hasn’t been raining.”

“I suppose so,”

“But I got into my car from an internal door to my garage, drove all the way to see you, and parked in an underground car park at the hospital. I had always been under cover. It had been pouring with rain all morning. Now have I told you a lie?”

“Yes, or is it no?”

“It is a lie in that I have given you limited information knowing, or hoping, that you will believe something I know to be untrue, that it hadn’t been raining. But I can argue that I told you nothing but the truth. So, you see you can lie, not by saying something that is untrue but by distortion, using a careful choice of information to deceive”2

“You’ve thought a lot about this Harry, haven’t you?”

“Yes,”

“That’s why you said, ‘I understand’?”

“For a moment it came together. I could see things through the eyes of the people we saw today and understand why they have given themselves over to Hitler and the party,”

 “I think we should go home,” Bob said quietly.

.

The next day was their last of the trip. Mr. and Mrs. Denner decided to show them around Munich. Ulrich still involved in helping in the aftermath of the week’s festivities couldn’t join them. Leaving an indignant, whining Herman behind, they set off on the three-hour journey. For much of the drive they travelled along the newly built autobahn. Once on the main roads they noticed signs “Juden find hier nicht” (Jews not found here) and “Juden sind unerbetene goste” (Jews are unsolicited hosts) on signs as they passed through small towns and villages. In Munich they saw Jewish shops had the star of David on display. Anna Denner whispered, “We wouldn’t dare go in there,”

For no apparent reason three SA men stood on a street corner with placards reading “Deutche wehrt auch hault nicht bei Juden”. Germans don’t defend themselves against Jews.

It was unsettling.

The conditions were ideal for exploring a city – 20c and sunny. They parked up and took a tram to the Scholss Nymphenburg, a baroque palace from the 18th century with elaborate formal gardens. They wandered through the beautiful, decorated rooms, with marble and gold ornamental pillars, pilasters and walls complimented by detailed ceiling paintings of mythological scenes and idealised local scenery.

“My feet ache. They always do in museums,” complained Crista.

“And my head aches with your moaning,” responded Mr Denner “Just enjoy the lovely building and forget your feet,”

They caught a tram back to the centre of Munich. 

“Can we bring Harry and Bob to the Englischer Garten for lunch? It’ll cure them of their homesickness,” said Crista, after they left the palace.

“That’s not needed. We’ll be homesick for Egersdorf when we leave,” said Bob.

“What a nice thing to say,” said Mrs Denner, “You’ll like the gardens,”

“Let’s take a walk around the city. There are a few places to show our guests,”

“Oh no. Not more museums,” interposed Crista.

“There’s an art gallery I want to see. But one with a difference.”

Crista groaned.

“But we’ll go for our lunch first,” added Mr Denner.

They walked through to the Odeonsplatz a square in the centre and pointed out the Feldherrnhalle towards which Hitler led his supporters in the failed putsch of 1923. At one end was a monument to the 16 Nazis killed by the police.

“We’ll nip down here,” said Mr Denner, “The Druckebergasse,”

“Pardon?”

“Everyone who passes by the monument has to give the Hitler salute. By going here, the ‘Shirkers Lane’ we avoid the honour,”

Harry and Bob laughed as they followed him.

They saw a fat man on a small bike cycle past the monument. As he did so, his right arm shot out in salute. The sudden movement caused him to wobble violently across the road until, with a violent clatter, he lost his battle with gravity and landed heavily on the ground. As they went out of view, they all laughed apart from Anna Denner.

“Poor man. I hope he’s not hurt,”

“He’s alright,” said Mr Denner, “He landed on his head,” and they laughed again.

The gardens were huge, claiming to be the largest city gardens in Europe, and modelled on English parkland. They had a meal at one of the several cafés, in the sunshine. After the dramatic events of the previous day, it was strange to see Germans at leisure. The women wore brightly coloured clothing. Children kicked footballs and ran about on the grass. Cyclists travelled along the paths. Not a uniform in sight, apart from the odd police officer. Harry thought that this could be Hyde Park in London. He marvelled at the normality and indeed banality of it compared with the martial aggressiveness of the previous day. Which represented the real Germany? he asked himself. 

As if reading his thoughts, Gretchen asked Harry.

“Very different from yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed.” He paused for several seconds before asking, “Which is the real Germany – and who are the real Germans?”

“A question even I’m not sure of the answer,”

After lunch Mr Denner asked.

“Maybe we should treat our guests to a contrast in German art styles. What do you think Gretchen?”

Gretchen’s eyes glinted “I like the idea. An interesting contrast indeed,”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

“You’ll see,” Gretchen smiled.

“I don’t want to go to any old galleries,” protested Crista.” I’m sure mother and Bob would prefer to look around the shops and have a coffee, wouldn’t we?”

“Would I?” asked Bob.

“Yes, you would,” asserted Crista.

“There’s a few things I wanted to look for,” agreed Mrs Denner.

The two parties split up, agreeing to meet again in two hours.

Harry, Mr Denner and Gretchen walked a short distance to the southern boundary of the park to a large building fronted by 20 severe classical columns. 

“It just opened a few months ago. Named the Haus der Deutschen Kunst (House of German Art) it represents Hitler’s notion of ideal art,"

They entered the bright, spacious halls. The building had only been opened a few months before and everything was gleaming. As they entered the first room, a large, more than full-size portrait of Hitler in uniform, with a leather coat draped over his shoulders, stared down at them. As they walked through the rooms, they viewed innumerable paintings and sculptures representing the idealised German. Muscular men, some in military uniform, stared belligerently with stern expressions into the distance. Pastoral scenes of farmers in fields mixed with peasant families round the family table at mealtime. Miscellaneous allegorical figures mixed with landscapes and nautical scenes. As with the rest of the patrons, they strolled around in respectful silence. Broken after an hour when Mr Denner said.

“We need to leave now to see the other gallery,”

As they emerged into the street, Gretchen asked Harry.

“What did you make of that?”

Harry paused to think.

“All the women were either proud peasant hausfraus or totally nude,”

Gretchen gave a shrill laugh which Mr Denner joined in.

“Was that all you noticed? The best art of the Reich, the Fuhrer’s pride!” he said.

“I liked some of it,” added Harry “But wasn’t it all a bit…. severe?” He searched for the words.

“We won’t ask you which bits you liked,” laughed Gretchen.

“What’s this other gallery you’re taking me to?”

“We’ve never been there. But you’ll find it’s different,” answered Gretchen. Her eyes twinkled as she grabbed Harry by the arm.

She led him a short distance away to the Hofgarten and to a dingy building on one the side of the square. Above the door was the legend.

“Ertartete Kunst……. Entreit Frei,”

A small crowd stood outside the narrow entrance, waiting for admission. A puzzled Harry and the Denners joined the end and looking at Gretchen asked.

“What are you taking me to?”

“It’s an exhibition of ‘degenerate’ art. To be contrasted with the exhibition we’ve just seen. It contains examples of modern art that we disapprove of,”

“Do we?”

“Yes, we do!”

The emphasis in her voice indicated to him not to discuss the point in public. After ten minutes they gained entrance. On the way to the first room Mr Denner nearly hit his head on a Christ on the cross who’s projecting knee he just avoided. The face was a distorted gargoyle. Harry looked at Gretchen.

“It was for an altarpiece not to be put at that level,”

“Then why…?”

Gretchen just put her finger to her lips. They went into the first room. It was small, stuffy and poorly lit. The walls were jammed with paintings. All jumbled. Some were unframed and others deliberately sitting at an angle. They dotted several sculptures around the floor space. Harry looked at them with fascination. He was no expert on modern art but recognised some names, Mondrian, Chagall, Bix and wondered why they should be here. The contrast with the previous exhibition was startling. The paintings showed distorted faces, torsos, landscapes. Some showed war scenes in nightmarish representation. So, unlike the noble warrior scenes in the orthodox display. The crowds shuffled passed the exhibits. Harry couldn’t tell what their views were but he could tell the views they were supposed to hold. Legends accompanied many exhibits. ‘The ideal, ‘The cretin and the whore’; ‘German farmers, a Yiddish view’; ‘Nature as seen by sick minds’ etc. They stopped in front of a painting by Paul Klee labelled the “Twittering Machine,” comprising several wire birds, beaks open and attached to a rotating wire. An attendant sneered.

“This is art? My seven-year-old could do better. The sooner we throw this stuff in the bin, the better,”

He addressed his opinion to Harry, who could only mumble, “It’s very different from the Haus der Deutschen Kunst,”

The man looked again at Harry, “Now you see what we have to deal with, Englishman,” he said with a smile. He looked as if he wanted to engage in a conversation until Gretchen grabbed him by the arm, saying.

“Come along Harry, it’s time to meet the others,”

After a quick view of the remaining exhibits, they left and having a little time to spare stopped for a cup of coffee. 

“What did you make of that?” asked Gretchen.

“I can’t pretend to understand it all, and there was a lot I didn’t like. But I could see the exhibits were dynamic and exciting as opposed to static and formulaic as in the other place,”

“And the Twittering Machine?”

Harry thought carefully, “Are the birds caught by the mechanism and screaming to get free. If they don’t, they’ll be enveloped by the fire at the bottom. Some sort of allegory on the pitilessness of modern industrialisation. Is that right?”

Gretchen smiled “There’s no right or wrong. That’s as valid as any other view,”

Mr Denner lowered his voice. “That’s why these works aren’t liked. There IS only one view that an artwork should convey. And we know what that should be. The exhibition was set up to ridicule modern art. You saw the cramped surroundings, the clumsy way they were displayed. All designed to inspire ridicule,”  

 Gretchen added “Remember I pointed out a sculpture of a boxer in the Hitler art gallery?”

“Yes.”

“And then a modernist triangular kind of abstract sculpture, ‘Dreikland’, in the degenerate one,”

“Yes,”

Gretchen and Mr Denner laughed “They were by the same artist. Rudolf Belling. No-one noticed. You can be both degenerate and a true German national socialist artist,”

Mr Denner added, “One of the degenerates, Nolde, is a full member of the Nazi party. He’s not allowed to paint, though. Strange times we live in. But it’s time to collect the others and go home,”

That night Harry sat at the fireplace with Mr and Mrs Denner. Mr Denner was smoking his pipe, producing a thick pungent smoke which slightly sweet from an herb mixed with the tobacco. Made from old socks, Crista maintained. Drawing on it, he asked Harry.

“What did you make of yesterday’s events?”

Harry, unsure how to answer, replied “It was very impressive,”

“I know it was. I asked you what you made of it,”

“Worrying. Why the display of military strength and the aggression in the speeches? It looks as if the government is preparing an expected war. Am I wrong?”

“I share your fears and I hope you’re wrong. I’m not sure what you saw represents the feelings of the German people. Too many of us remember the horrors of only 20 years ago,”

“Why is Hitler so popular? And he is, isn’t he?”

“Answer that one if you can, Klas,” said Mrs Denner.

Mr Denner sucked on his pipe.

“It goes back to the way the Allies treated Germany after the Great War. Remember, at the end, German soldiers were everywhere fighting on enemy soil. The Allies occupied only a tiny part of German territory. When the armistice came many Germans, especially the soldiers, believed they had not been defeated on the battlefield, but betrayed by the civilian government. And remember it was an armistice – the Allies treated it as total surrender and then received such reinforcements from America that we couldn’t resume the fight even if we wanted to. Then they imposed peace terms that all Germans regarded as unfair. We had to pay Allied war costs. No nation could have done it. It resulted in hyperinflation and many, including my father, lost their life savings and he never recovered from it. Just when we were recovering came the great crash. And how could anyone understand it? We were impoverished again with high unemployment. How could this be? The fields were just as productive, the factories still worked, workers just as skilled. Why were factories closed? Why couldn’t people work? People were hungry. Hitler had the answers. We lost the war because we were betrayed. Hyperinflation and the depression were constructs of the financial elite dominated, of course, he maintained by the Jews. So, everything was someone else’s fault and he, and the Nazi party, rejecting communism – another Jewish conspiracy – and capitalism concentrate on the will of the racially pure state as……

There was a loud crash.

“For Christ’s sake, Herman!!!”

Mr Denner jumped up and rushed into the kitchen.

Mrs Denner chuckled “Herman got at the biscuit tin again. Serves Klas right. He knows how much Herman loves biscuits and it’s not safe to leave them out,”

From the kitchen loud sounds of a remonstrating Mr Denner were accompanied by a whine and a bark before he returned.

“That dog. Anymore and I’ll send for the taxidermist. Did you hear that, Herman?” He said, addressing the open door.

“As we were saying, we fear the possibility of another war,”

Herman came into the room and lay down in his usual position at Mr Denner’s feet, receiving a pat.

“Stupid dog! I’m not so much worried for myself, but for Anna and the children. When you return, I hope things will be much better,”

Harry warmed to his using the words ‘when you return’ not if. Mrs Denner added,

“I’ve never seen Gretchen as happy as she has been over the last month, nor Crista. And both of us have been pleased to have you here,”

“Not to mention Ulrich and let’s not forget Herman” as he patted Herman on the head and the dog whined quietly in agreement.

Gretchen stuck her head round the door “Father! Are you boring Harry with a political sermon? Come on Harry, we need a fourth for cards,”

“Harry when you marry don’t have daughters – see the lack of respect – have only sons. But you better go. The boss has ordered.”

He added with a smile.

The next morning, they piled into the family car. They said a noisy and wet farewell to Herman and then they drove to the central station, to platform 3 for the Frankfurt train. Harry shook the hands of Mr and Mrs Denner and gave a tearful Crista a quick hug. Then said goodbye to Ulrich, who said.

“You must bring some of your friends and we’ll have a proper international football game. Franz sends his regards by the way,”

Bob said, “Tell him I’ll look forward to giving him a good kicking.” and they laughed. Then came the moment Harry was least looking forward to. He moved over to Gretchen, who clasped his two hands. He looked into her eyes which he noticed, for the first time, were hazel and were now wet with tears. “When will I see you again?” she asked.

“I can’t tell. I’ll come back when I can. Can you come to England? You’d love it I promise,”

“I’ve no chance at the moment. If I had joined the Landjar Lager, a trip may have been possible, but since I turned it down, I’m seen as not orthodox enough. I might say the wrong things,”

“Not something you ever do?” laughed Harry.

Gretchen smiled and said quietly, “You take care of yourself Harry Wharton and we’ll meet again when this madness ends. We can write, but be careful everything is read by the censors,”

“And what would I write I should be ashamed of?”

“Sounds as if you write very boring letters,”

Harry smiled, but before he could answer their train puffed in and came to a halt to the sound of screeching wheels making further speech impossible. 

“I’ll help you with your cases” said Ulrich, and he moved to the nearest door of the train. Gretchen pulled Harry towards her, gave him a hug, and held on to him tight as if she never wanted to let go. But she did and kissed Harry, but with tears streaming down her face and lower lip trembling could not speak. Harry, upset himself, just said.

“We’ll meet up again. No-one, not even Hitler can stop that,”

She gave a watery smile and then Mr Denner said.

“You’d better get on board,”

Bob and Crista were having an equally hard time saying their farewells, and Harry had to grab Bob by the arm and pull him towards the open carriage door. Once on board they took their seats – the upper part of the widow opened, and they hung out to wave goodbye as the train with a shuddering puff and exhalation of steam and screech of wheels moved off. They waved to the five figures on the platform until they grew smaller and eventually distance and billows of smoke blotted them from view.

Harry and Bob remained silent and thoughtful staring out the window as the train sped to Frankfurt and they then caught the connection to the French border which they crossed without event and arrived at the Gare de L’est in the early evening. The train/ferry for London left the following afternoon, so they had an evening and morning in the French capital. Paris was just as vibrant, the girls as attractive and the food as excellent as it had been on the outward journey. To the two men everything they had found pleasurable on the way out had lost its lustre. They wandered around in desultory fashion until, with relief, it was time to head home. Their heads and hearts were still in Egersdorf.

They boarded the Dover to London train and got a compartment to themselves, and Harry felt it was time to unburden himself.

“Bob, I’ve a confession to make. I haven’t been honest with you,”

“That’s not like you,”

“I wanted to tell you but.. well, I didn’t,”

“Better late than never,” responded Bob cheerily.

“I was talking to friends in Cambridge about our trip to Germany and word got around. I was approached to speak to a man in military intelligence,”

“Was this someone a part of your set?”

“Certainly not!” Bob was surprised by the vehemence of the response.

“Anyhow, I agreed and spoke to a colonel and he asked me to report back on our experiences in Germany. Particularly the views of young Germans and any general observations I could make,”

“You a spy?”

“No, I wasn’t to sneak around looking for military installations or factories. I was told not to compromise myself by making enquiries of that sort or going to places where I shouldn’t be. My job was only to observe. You can’t rely on anything you read in the German press and foreign journalists and diplomats are restricted, so they were looking for information on the views of the ordinary German. And don’t worry, I didn’t write notes in lemon juice or in code – I was told not to keep a diary or make a record of any kind,”

“Let me get this right. The whole time you were there you were collecting information on the Denners and everyone we met?”

“Not on them as individuals,” replied Harry uncomfortably.

“I’m not sure I like that. No, I’ll put it stronger, I don’t like it at all. They took us in in good faith. Made us part of their family, and the entire time you were there you were spying on them? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“They instructed me not to. I would either have had to go on my own or leave you out of it. I didn’t see it as spying on any individual”

“Is it not a betrayal of trust? You didn’t have to agree to do it in the first place did you?”

“I felt it was my duty to, and I didn’t know the Denners when I agreed,”

“You know the Shaw quote – when a stupid man does something, he knows to be wrong he calls it his duty,”

Harry reddened with anger “Are you calling me stupid?”

Bob realised maybe he had gone too far. “No of course not. I suppose I would have done the same. But do you consider you may have put the Denners in danger?”

“No. How could that be?”

“If the information ever reaches the Gestapo, then it’s bound to put them under suspicion”

“I’m reporting to British military not to the Gestapo,”

“Do you know where your report will end up? Or who will see it? Do the Germans have their spies who might see it?”

“Not likely. And even if they did, it’s low-level stuff.” Harry felt uncomfortable.

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t at risk. Your report mustn’t mention any names and demand that the files don’t contain any either. Including yours and mine. Do you agree?”

“Yes, alright, I’ll make that a condition of my making my report. Will you help me in compiling it? I can’t remember everything.”

“No Harry, I’m sorry I won’t. I’m still not comfortable with it,”

When they reached London, they went their separate ways, the slight spat forgotten. Harry remained in town, staying in St Ermins Hotel, and the next day went round to nearby MI6 HQ, where he was put in a room to write up his report. His contact, Colonel Masterson, agreed to the terms set by Bob.

“We’re not interested in who you met, just your impressions. By the way, are you out of pocket? I could arrange that you should receive expenses,”

“No” replied Harry.

Several days later he was back home when the phone rang and on answering it heard the voice of Colonel Masterson.

“Harry,” he began cheerily, “You know who this is?”

“Yes,”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“On Saturday I’m playing cricket, the last match of the season, and I’ve arranged a game of squash on Sunday,”

“Can you cancel the squash game?”

“I suppose so, but why?”

“I’m taking a run to Kent. Maybe you’d care to join me?”

Harry didn’t but assuming there was purpose to the proposal agreed without further explanation.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at your house at 11,”

“Do you need directions?”

“No. I’ve been there before. I know your uncle,”

On Sunday he arrived in a smart Morris two-seater. Colonel Wharton and Harry greeted him at the door.

“Beezer!” was the cheery and unexpected greeting from Colonel Wharton.

“Bingo, you old scoundrel” was, for Harry, the equally unexpected reply, as he raised his eyes to the heavens.

When eventually Harry and Colonel Masterson headed off, Harry asked

“Beezer?”

Masterson shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s a nickname from prep school. I had a talent for making artificial farting noises, which we called beezers, so that’s the nickname I acquired, and it’s followed me ever since. Happily, few call me that now,”

“And where are we off to?”

“I know a nice little pub where we can have a pleasant lunch after we make a brief call. Your report is exactly what we were looking for. But it was very factual, and you didn’t record the views you told me,”

“I didn’t think it my place to give my opinion or analysis,”

After an hour and a half drive, they pulled up at a large red brick building. As the car crunched up on the gravel of the front driveway Harry could see a short, dumpy figure looking out a window. By the time they got to the front door the figure, familiar to Harry from newsreels, greeted them.

“Colonel, Mr Wharton, thank you for coming” said Winston Churchill and invited them in. They entered a large hall, and then through to a smaller and more intimate room.

“I asked you to come, Harry, so you could brief Mr Churchill on your experiences in Germany over the last weeks. Tell him what you have told me,”

“Before we start would you each take a drink? I may need one,” interrupted Churchill as he rang a bell which summoned his Butler. “My usual” he said, “And you?”

Colonel Masterson had the same, but Harry refused.

“Very wise. It’s early for you, I should suppose. I once had your wisdom but thank God I lost it somewhere in early life,” he chuckled.

Once the two men had their generous glasses of whisky. Churchill invited Harry to recount his experiences in Nuremburg. Intervening occasionally, he was interested in the view they had of Hitler in the Hauptmarkt – commenting.

“He was taking a risk. Anyone with a rifle at that window couldn’t fail to hit him at that distance. Not that I should recommend such a course,” His eyes twinkled. “I hope that we don’t regret that someone didn’t take such an opportunity,” 

When Harry completed his narrative, including the views he had expressed to Bob the night of the Zeppelinfeld, he asked

“And your conclusions?

Harry hesitated “It looks as if they are preparing for and expect a war. Maybe the issue is whether it will be in the East or West.”

“And are the German people prepared to support such foolishness?”

“That I can’t say. It’s difficult for individuals to do anything – the government has such a tight grip. His supporters at the rally would have no reservations in following Hitler to the ends of the earth.”

Churchill and Masterson conversed about current politics, reminiscences of shared experiences and friends, none of which Harry felt qualified or inclined to join in, but which he found fascinating. Churchill being a great raconteur and Masterson having his own views and anecdotes. Harry was surprised at the candour of Colonel Masterson in speaking of current military matters and thinking. He found the entire conversation fascinating and felt it was a compliment that they spoke with such freedom despite his presence. 

As they left, after an interesting hour Churchill put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and said

“Thank you, Harry, for coming to see me. It is important that someone has a clear idea of the danger we face. It is unfortunate that your generation will bear the brunt of the mistakes of your predecessors. But that is the nature of things,”

“You accept you made mistakes, Winston?” asked Masterson with a smile.

“There isn’t a man alive who hasn’t made a mistake. But I keep very quiet about mine,” 

When they drove away, Colonel Masterson asked.

“Did you find that interesting?” 

“Yes indeed,”

“I could see your report impressed Winston. What do you intend after you leave Cambridge?”

“I intend reading for the bar,”

“Would you consider joining us?”

“No,”

Masterson chuckled “Well at least I can’t complain that I didn’t get a straight answer. Have you any objection to us keeping in contact? Maybe even doing some work for us?”

Harry considered the proposition. It was vague in the extreme and open-ended. It might be interesting, and perhaps, a patriotic duty.

“I’ll help in any way I can.”