Hitler's Heroine: Hanna Reitsch (27 page)

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As the 1940s turned into the 1950s Hanna hoped to leave behind the sinister shadow of Nazism and Hitler. The last five years had been bitter and full of disappointment. Hanna was haunted by American agents determined to catch her out for the slightest transgression. Worse, however, was the condemnation of her fellow Germans. It seemed the wider world found it easier to forgive her than did her neighbours.

In 1951 Hanna flew publically again. The Allies had remembered the gliding loophole the Germans had exploited after the First World War, and after 1945 had slammed down restrictions on so much as making a model aeroplane to try and combat the German desire to fly. It hadn’t worked, and there were rumours in 1949 that Hanna, among others, had competed in gliding at the Wasserkuppe. Anticipating the inevitable, the Allies relaxed their rules so that in the second year of the 1950s Hanna was not only able to swoop through the skies without secrecy, but could lecture on the subject of gliding. Hanna was an enthusiastic speaker, her arms told the story for her as she waved them about, demonstrating each word with a flick of her hands, a sweep of the arm. She conjured with the air. Some were not impressed. ‘Hear Hanna once and you’ve heard it all!’ was a spiteful comment circulated by some, who did not know the effort and careful preparation Hanna put into each talk. It has to be said that Hanna sometimes came across as boastful, egotistical and just a little prone to exaggeration.

Wolf Hirth was also busy. He had set up a business making gliders just before the war. During the conflict he had made parts for some of the fighters and bombers. Post-war he survived by turning his factories to making furniture, but it was wholly unsatisfying to an aviator. In 1951 the first legitimate gliding contest at the Wasserkuppe was held. Hanna shared a caravan with Wolf Hirth and his wife. Shortly after, the German Aero Club was reinstated with Hirth as its president. Germany was flying again; Hirth resumed his business making training gliders, and Hanna took to the air in the first post-war Focke-Wulf glider. Before the year was out, the Americans estimated that there were 750 gliding clubs in West Germany.

Hanna could not have been happier. She finally felt she was putting Hitler behind her when she flew in a contest in Madrid in 1952 and won a bronze medal. Her elation was short lived. The German press, rather than praising her success, printed a picture of her with Otto Skorzeny (of Mussolini rescue fame), who was known to be living in Madrid, and implied that she had gone to Spain simply to make contact with a fellow Nazi. If Hanna thought she could redeem herself in German eyes by flying successes she was mistaken. In 1954 an international gliding competition was to be held in Derbyshire, England. Hanna was part of a West German team set to attend. Then, on the Saturday before the competition, the German Aero Club was instructed by the government in Bonn to withdraw her. The British press had linked Hanna’s name with Hitler and the West German embassy in London had grown panicked. Hanna had no option but to leave the team. Her teammates offered to stand by her, but the authorities had other ideas and it was decided that it was in the best interests of international relations for them to attend without her. In Britain the press reported that Hanna had withdrawn for ‘personal reasons’, a complete lie and Hanna seethed with righteous indignation. Never one to let a wrong go by unmentioned, she wasted no time in finding a
Daily Mail
reporter who would record the true story of her discharge from the team. For once Hanna’s fury attracted support in the German newspapers, but it alienated other gliders, who felt she should have held her tongue. Heinz Kensche wrote to her angrily: ‘Could you not for once have put yourself in the background and have kept quiet for the sake of gliding and of your colleagues?’

Hanna found it impossible to forget the snub. When she competed at the next International in France in 1956 she was awkward around the British and defensive about what she said. Hanna had always believed gliding should rise above politics. She had failed to appreciate human nature yet again. In 1958 matters came to a head with the International being held in Poland. Hanna had mixed feelings concerning the competition; Silesia was now officially part of Poland, her old hometown of Hirschberg had been renamed. There was something uncomfortable about returning after more than a decade to the place she had first learned to fly. Hanna agreed to go, but as a spectator, ceding her place on the team to a glider named Dr Ernst Frowein, who had repeatedly just missed earning a place. The gesture, which Hanna perceived as one of generosity, was fraught with difficulties. First, the rules of the Aero Club stated a person could only concede their seat to the next pilot below them on the list, which was not Frowein. Second, Frowein was not a well-liked individual and his performance in a glider could be erratic at best. From the team’s perspective he was not likely to win or to represent Germany well. Hanna, as usual, was oblivious to these controversies when she made her decision. After weeks of arguments, Frowein declared he would not accept the place anyway and Hanna was officially reinstated – she would be gliding in Poland.

But now the Polish authorities refused her a visa without explanation. Aggrieved, Hanna turned to the new president of the Aero Club, Harald Quandt, son of Magda Goebbels and stepson of the notorious Dr Goebbels. Poland had refused the visa two days before the West German team were due to leave. An emergency meeting of the remaining gliders generated support for Hanna, but Quandt persuaded them all to continue to Poland and lodge a protest with the Polish Aero Club and the FAI (the World Air Sports Federation). Hanna returned to Berlin with one ray of hope; she was convinced that if the protest failed and her visa was not granted, her teammates would withdraw from the competition in support. She was sorely mistaken. No visa came and Quandt had her replaced. The team flew as planned, Quandt arguing that politics and sport should not mix. In short, Hanna was not that important to worry about; gliding was what really mattered. Hanna felt deeply betrayed. Had she not flown out the last letters of Quandt’s mother and stepfather in those final dark days of war? That one of the West German team became World Champion only made her more bitter – what was success when gained at the expense of team loyalty?

The furore grew; Hanna wanted an apology from the Aero Club, the club refused but was happy for Hanna to remain a member. The Alte Adler, an association of veteran pilots, joined the fray on Hanna’s side and found that the Aero Club had acted improperly and should make a public apology. Similarly, the head of the International Gliding Commission found that Hanna had been unfairly penalised. The Aero Club stuck to its guns and refused to make even a gesture of apology. Slowly it became plain that it would not back down. Hanna’s supporters realised they were not going to win and quietly suggested she let the matter drop. Hanna could not, her honour would not allow it and her stubbornness and pride – once such useful commodities in test flying – now locked her into a losing battle. She severed connections with the Aero Club, effectively meaning she could not fly in any competition in West Germany. Hanna had once refused the Americans because she would only fly in Germany, where she had honour. Now she did not even have that. What had she gained from refusing to flee to America with the rest? Wernher von Braun was making a name for himself in the US space programme. She could surely have done the same within US gliding. Instead, she had stayed in Germany – for what? She was an embarrassment, a reminder of how far Germany had fallen. No achievement would wipe that stain from her. Hanna realised that Germany was no longer her home, she would have to move on. The question that remained was, where to?

The offer to go to India as an ambassador for West Germany was both unexpected and ironic considering the pains to which the government had gone to avoid Hanna going to England as a representative of her country. Eight years earlier India had become a republic; its first president, Rajendra Prasad, took office on 26 January, the same day the new constitution came into force. Britain had relinquished control of its Indian colonies in the late forties, enabling Jawaharlal Nehru to become the first prime minister of India as part of an interim government in 1947. In 1958 Nehru was serving as minister of finance, his daughter Indira Gandhi (she married Feroze Gandhi, no relation to Mahatma Gandhi) was serving as Chief of Staff in the government, a role in itself remarkable for a woman at that time. Hanna desperately wanted to meet them both, but was informed that it was impossible.

Still, the chance to travel again and be of some use was welcome. India had several gliding clubs by the 1950s, including one at Delhi. Unfortunately, a jet fighter had crashed into the hangar at Delhi and destroyed all the club’s gliders. The West German diplomat Georg Steltzer suggested his country donate a replacement glider to generate goodwill. India was an up-and-coming country, with great potential and Germany could use all the links and support it could get. It was decided to send the glider, along with an ambassador – Hanna had served such purposes well prior to the war and she was a known name, as well as being a woman, which might appeal to certain elements in India. Hanna accepted the offer gladly enough and found herself in India in April 1959. India is a busy, vibrant country. Hanna was overwhelmed by the noise and colour. The heat was oppressive, but the joyous welcome she received overcame all else and she was suddenly happy. She hopped from aerobatic gliding displays to cocktail parties with ease, and talked to as many people as would listen. It was like the old days once more, and at least all Hanna had to worry about was flying. Originally invited for two weeks, Hanna stayed for two months.

One aspect of Hanna’s life that had floundered since the death of her mother was her spirituality. Always a slightly superficial Christian, the loss of her mother’s guidance had caused her to drift. A gulf had opened up within her that she hardly knew how to fill. Now she was attracted to the various forms of Eastern religion, particularly meditation. It seemed to Hanna that this might help combat her anxiety and emptiness. She went on a pilgrimage to Pondicherry, where an 80-year-old Frenchwoman held court as ‘Mother’ of an Ashram community. Her followers were a wide collection of nationalities who scorned worldly wealth and placed great value, instead, in meditation. Despite this the Ashram could boast schools, a university, a laboratory, sports field, tennis court and swimming pool! Hanna met the aged Mother and gained great comfort from her words: ‘I recognise you,’ said the Mother. ‘You don’t only fly aeroplanes, your soul flies higher than any aeroplane. We shall see each other again and shall meet in another world.’

Hanna could not have hoped for a better confirmation of her own thoughts on flying. She left uplifted, and more exciting news was soon on its way. Jawaharlal Nehru wanted her to take him gliding! Nehru was one of the most famous political figures of the period, in his late sixties and only five years off his own death from a stroke and heart attack, he was at his height in 1958–59. Some have argued that had Nehru retired in 1958 he would not just be remembered as India’s best prime minister but as one of the great statesmen of the modern world. This quiet, sage-looking man with a sad smile had been working for Indian independence from 1912. Educated in England, he had an insight into the powers which held India as a colony and was a staunch supporter of Gandhi. He spent much of his daughter’s childhood in prison for his protests, where he read books by Karl Marx, though he was wise enough to see the shortcomings of Marxism.

The various troubles of India after it became independent had told on Nehru and aged him considerably, stripping his flesh from his bones and making him look two decades older than he really was. He was constantly under guard and had survived three assassination attempts (and would survive a fourth in 1961), but his government was taking no chances and the glider Hanna intended to use was put under twenty-four-hour watch to ensure it was not tampered with. To put Nehru, or rather his bodyguards, at ease, Hanna proposed taking Georg Steltzer for a flight before she flew the prime minister.

Gliding appealed to Nehru, who believed in people soaring above their petty problems. It was also a chance to escape the constant pressures and anxieties that afflicted him on the ground. He stayed up in the air with Hanna for two hours, enjoying the feeling of complete freedom. The next day Hanna was invited to lunch with Nehru and Indira Gandhi. Hanna could hardly believe her luck. She accepted the invitation excitedly and, though she struggled to eat food with her fingers like her hosts, she found it easy to fall into conversation with them. Indira had also been educated in England, so the talk could be held in English, which Hanna spoke almost fluently. Nehru was particularly curious about the rumour that Hanna had been Hitler’s mistress. Once again the shadow of the former dictator loomed over her, but Hanna did not mind recounting her time in the bunker. At least with this audience she could speak openly and would not be automatically condemned. In fact, Nehru liked her enough that he insisted she move into the prime minister’s house for her last few days in India. This was the first time a German had been his personal guest since the war.

Hanna met Nehru’s grandsons Rajiv aged 15 and Sanjay aged 13, who were enthusiastic, as only young boys can be, over all things to do with flying. They showed Hanna their model aeroplanes and escorted her around Delhi. At her final lecture three generations of the Nehru family – Nehru, Indira, and Rajiv and Sanjay – were all in attendance. Hanna’s confidence could not have been boosted higher. She returned to Germany absolutely ecstatic, much of her old faith in herself restored. She remained in contact with the various members of the Nehru family over the next few years. She was saddened by Nehru’s death, but was pleased to hear of the progress of Rajiv and Sanjay. She had always felt it important to express her concerns about communism to the prime minister and to advise him time and again to avoid it, which makes a later decision in her life all the more odd.