Children to a Degree - Growing Up Under the Third Reich (22 page)

He was glad when Harold entered to chase the ‘grown up’ thoughts from his mind.

The constantly grinning boy had still the certificates in his hand. “This will be an interesting trial run. If we play our cards right you will not only get your stuff but you might not even have to pay for it.” He placed another printed form in front of the boys. “Just fill in the shoe sizes and leave all the other lines open. I will take care of it when I get a typewriter tomorrow morning.”

“When did you learn how to type?” wondered Karl.

“Oh, there was a side course in the Napola, about three months ago. I took it to make the most out of the school program. I asked my father about it and he encouraged me. I think he somehow envisioned this position for me.”

The boys filled in the required measurements and handed the papers back to Harold.

“Come back tomorrow afternoon and I might have something for you.” Harold stuffed all the forms in a large brown envelope. It looked like he intended to take it home in the evening.

Karl would have liked a faster answer but he trusted his friend’s ability. He knew that Harold would take this up with his father and so far this had always produced some amazing results.

“What else did you study or learn while you were at the Napola?” Peter was keen to hear additional details from Harold. He had also, a year ago, applied to the cadet school and like Karl he had been rejected.

“Well, we had a few choices besides languages. So I picked basic introduction to economics. However, after the first few sessions I dropped out of it. As an excuse I claimed that I was overwhelmed with the English vocabulary.”

“What was your real reason?” Karl was curious.

“The beginning of the course was harmless enough and even interesting, but then they changed instructors on us.”

“And?” Karl pressed.

“To make it short, it was more like an introduction to the Nazi belief system than an economics class. We were told that the dismal economic condition of the twenties was a result of Jewish merchants, traders and bankers.”

“I heard the same gospel from some of our teachers in Stralau.” Peter interjected. “We had a very strict female instructor who did not tolerate any questions,” he added.

Karl was thinking in a different direction. “Alright, let’s for a moment take the propaganda away from it. What was it that you found interesting in the beginning of the course?”

Harold had to think to remember. “I found the rules governing the interest rates interesting. We were told that since biblical times the cost of money was always three percent per annum, plus the local inflation rate.”

Karl did some fast calculations in his head. “Then we should have an interest rate of 8 percent. Figuring present inflation rate at 5 percent.”

He shook his head. “How come our interest rate is higher?”

“You are correct,” answered Peter. “Taking your figures as valid, we call everything above 8 percent excessive.”

Karl was back to the fault heaped on the Jewish bankers.

“I understand that the present interest rate has something to do with the costs of the present war. But I might be wrong. What I don’t understand is why the hyperinflation of 1922 and 1923 is being blamed on the Jews.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” exclaimed Harold. “I felt we were being misled for some kind of a propaganda purpose. They did not teach us any facts except that the money was actually called ‘Jew confetti’. This is exactly why I discontinued the class.”

Peter was fascinated by what he heard. “We did not learn too much about hyperinflation in our school. Or maybe I was sick or something. I don’t remember. Did your teachers mention any figures?” He hoped to get some answers from Harold.

“No, we did not cover this in our school either. What little I know I was told by my grandfather who lived through these times. He told me that in the height of the inflation, I think it was in the month of June in 1923, the price of one liter of milk increased from 1800 Marks to 3700 Marks and the price of one egg went from 800 Marks to 2200 Marks. The price shot up every day.”

“These prices are mind boggling. How could the wages keep up with it,” contemplated Peter. “It sounds as if the purchase power was gone within a few days.”

“Exactly, this is why not only the workers, but every salaried person demanded to be paid on a daily basis,” Karl elaborated.

“Did your granddad tell you anymore about it?” Peter seemed more than just mildly interested.

“Not that I remember, but he gave me some history books that I kept. I will bring you one or two along and you are welcome to read them in camp.”

“If you have any more books on this subject I’d like to read them too.” Harold was just as eager as Peter.

“I might,” Karl was not sure. “But there must be some around in the old book stores. Maybe they will allow you to borrow them.”

“No, Karl, I think the Nazi’s have pulled them off the shelves. I wanted to read up on it and could not find a single one.”

“Makes perfect sense,” retorted Karl. “Why confuse someone with facts when you have a readymade scapegoat.”

For a moment it seemed that his remark went over Peter’s head but then he caught himself. “Got it.”

While the boys were involved in their discussion they didn’t notice that an older HJ member had been listening to them.

“Then I take that you think that the Jews were not responsible,” he challenged and looked directly at Karl. He was a bit oversized for his age and seemed to be self-impressed.

“Not so,” answered Karl evenly. “I just stated that our schools did not teach us about these times and Harold here mentioned that there are no books on this subject available. So how can I think about something I know nothing about?”

He did not succeed in putting the tough guy on the defensive.

“Never mind your glib answer. You better be careful with your fancy words. I will be watching you.” He stretched his body to his full height.

Karl just smiled at him. Putting bullies in their place was what he liked, so he changed his approach.

“I will be very mindful of what I say. Thank you for the warning.” He smiled some more at the big boy. “You must be close to eighteen years old, so I am sure that you know what you are talking about. I’ll be happy to learn from you.” The large fellow was obviously pleased to have Karl cave in.

“No, I am not eighteen years old, I am barely seventeen, but I would be happy to teach you what I know. It is just too bad that I will be drafted in a few days.”

“This is great, congratulations,” beamed Karl. “This will give you an excellent chance to defend your opinion. I am happy for you.” He turned on his heel and let the big boy wondering about the answer.

The air raid sirens wailed just as the boys wanted to leave for home. In accordance with the standing orders, they had to seek immediate shelter. They started to head for the public air raid shelter located in the neighboring school building when the first bombs detonated. They sounded awfully close to them and the whole building seemed to shake. The bombs were hitting before the last sound of the sirens subsided. There must have been some glitch with the early warning system. Even the flak was late in opening up. But even so, within less than thirty seconds the sidewalk connecting the office building with the school was being peppered with shrapnel from the exploding anti-aircraft shells.

“Stop,” said the seventeen year old. He was standing between Karl and Peter, who wanted to dash out of the door. “It would be suicidal trying to reach the school.” He turned to face Harold who was standing behind him. “Where is the entrance to the basement of this building?”

Harold looked around, searching to find the white arrow with the big letters ‘Schutzraum’ (shelter) stenciled above it. According to wartime law, every street entrance to a building had to display clearly marked directions to the basement.

“Over here!” Peter had found the entrance and was on his way down. The cellar consisted of a long hallway with small, maybe eight-foot by eight-foot cubicles on each side.

Originally every one of the tenants was entitled to his own cubicle to store coals and winter potatoes and maybe some personal belongings like a bicycle. The units used to have wooden doors with padlocks to prevent pilfering from neighbors but now there was nothing to hoard. The wooden doors had all been burned in the coal ovens of the apartments.

Almost every one of the stalls now featured wooden benches and sometimes a folding bed. Whenever the alarm sounded, the tenants carried bedding and blankets along with their emergency suitcases down to the cellar. It was much harder on the way up, after the all-clear signal sounded. You could not leave anything unattended. Nobody trusted anyone. Too many people had been arrested and disappeared without a trace. Even some of the old-time tenants, who had lived for half a lifetime next door to each other, did not talk to each other anymore.

The fear that someone would steal a blanket or a pillow was made worse by the fact that all the basements served as public shelter and had to be kept unlocked by law.

Nineteen

Peter found several stalls which were clearly marked ‘HJ shelter.’ There was not a single folding bed in any of them but plenty of old wooden boxes to sit on. The units must have belonged to some former office tenant because there was no old coal dust on the somewhat clean floor. The noise of the nearby detonating bombs resonated throughout the basement, drowning out the mumble of the shelter seeking tenants. Karl hoped to find a box next to a wall so he could rest his back against it when he saw Peter staring at the floor. Karl followed Peter’s gaze and noticed water all over the floor. It was hard to determine where it came from but it was definitely rising. Not very fast but steadily creeping up.

Other people had seen it too and started to move towards the single exit door. It caused some confusion until the tenants still coming down the cellar stairs understood what was going on.

Karl was amazed at the discipline displayed under these trying circumstances. There were some senior HJ members who took control of the situation by racing up to the street level entrance to stop anyone from entering the staircase. While the evacuation of the basement was relatively swift and orderly, it gave way to a mixed state of affairs in the main hallway. Nobody knew where to seek safety and it was the HJ again who established some resemblance of order.

The original rain of shrapnel had dissipated as the flak was seeking to engage the bombers over a different district of Berlin. Karl and Harold were ordered to ascertain the condition of the shelter underneath the school building. There was no water in the basement and because it was evening, there were no students around so the shelter was almost empty. Before the second wave of bombers unloaded their freight all the people from the apartment building were safely channeled to the cellar underneath the school.

The air raid lasted over six hours. It was one of the longest Karl had witnessed. Of course his practical experience had been limited by the fact that during the last year he had been mostly away from the city.

By the time he finally reached his home it was past 4:00 AM. Karl was relieved to find his parents safe and sound and they were just as happy to see him.

“Where have you been?” asked his father. “The all clear sounded before 2:00 AM. and we were deeply worried.”

“I was ordered to help some families with their small children.” Karl had hurried home right after he was dismissed by his unit.

“This should not have taken over two hours.” Herr Veth was relieved to see his son but he was still upset by his apparent tardiness.

“There was more to it than just simple helping. I had to search with Harold and a few other members through several flooded basements to help find some babies who supposedly were missing.” Karl was dripping wet and cold. He wanted nothing more than to get out of his uniform and crawl under his warm feather bedding. But he understood that his parents had been worried.

“Did you find the babies?” His mother handed him two towels and shoved him towards the bathroom.

“No, I think that the mothers or the relatives had been separated in all the confusion. It was a lot of crying and a mess until everything was sorted out. I am really sorry that I worried you.”

Karl’s mother checked Karl’s wet clothing. “They should give you a medal for your effort.”

“No, neither Harold nor I got even a thank you when we got out of the last basement. But it was not as bad as it could have been,” he added, “just one block over they suffered a busted gas line. They told us that there were over sixty casualties.”

“Sixty casualties!” exclaimed his mother. “Was it a direct hit at the shelter?”

“I don’t think so. The fireman who walked with us through the basements said something about a ‘silent’ gas leak which killed without warning. I told you it was a mess. Goodnight.”

He did not hear an answer. He was asleep as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning was a little unusual. Karl’s father had been permitted to take a day off from work and decided to visit his parents. Karl was allowed to go with his dad to see his granddad once more before his trip to the Harz Mountains.

“Did you hear that Dr. Foster got arrested?” Grandpa Veth asked his son. Karl’s father looked up in surprise.

“Dr. Foster? He was the only reliable physician in the neighborhood. Do you know any details?” Dr. Foster had his office in the front building of the apartment complex while the grandparent’s apartment was in the rear building. He was a well-known family doctor.

Like all physicians in Berlin, he had his office in his apartment. Medical centers were unknown at that time and if they did exist they would not have been visited. Nobody would have dreamed of visiting a doctor without knowing about his wife, his children and his family life. Besides, people wanted to know where and in which neighborhood their doctor lived. The physicians who served in the hospitals were an exception to this rule. 

“The paper only stated that he was arrested. But I heard from our neighbors that he was detained because of unprofessional conduct. Supposedly he was seeing a patient wearing a regular suit.” The grandfather summed up what he knew about this incident.