The House by the Lake Page 13

  These aerial assaults, and the explosions that followed them, were visible to the villagers, given that Groß Glienicke was only twenty-five kilometres from Berlin’s city centre. Even more apparent were the activities taking place at the Luftwaffe flight school. By early 1942, tens of thousands of technicians and pilots had been trained at the airfield, the numbers becoming so large that the instructors complained that the quality of tuition was deteriorating. Then, as a reminder of the conflict’s proximity, the Groß Glienicke windmill was set on fire, preventing it from becoming an identifiable landmark for the Allies.

  One night, a Bristol Blenheim bomber was picked up on the radar, as it flew in from the west on its way towards Berlin. The air-raid siren at the Drei Linden pierced the air and those who were on their way to the bunkers could see bright searchlights crossing the night sky, searching for the bomber. Suddenly, the plane was illuminated, paving the way for one of the anti-aircraft guns stationed in Groß Glienicke to track its target. The bomber was hit and the villagers heard the fierce screeching as it fell to the ground, ending with a loud boom and a ball of flame.

  The next day, a policeman appeared at the village school, collected the older boys, and organised them into a search party. Walking in a long line, they made their way around the lake’s northern tip. A short time later, the bodies of two soldiers were found close to the schloss, still attached to their parachutes. They both wore the uniforms of the Royal Canadian Air Force. Another parachute was found, but there was no trace of the third man. The deaths had a profound impact on the villagers. The war was not as far away as they had thought4.

  Seeking respite from their hectic lives in Berlin, the Meisels went out to Groß Glienicke most weekends. Thomas learned to walk in the gardens at the house. Peter mastered the front crawl in the lake. They continued to hold lavish birthday parties at the house for their city friends. Movie and business acquaintances eagerly drove from Berlin, staying for dinner and a swim in the lake. Indeed, Will was so taken with the house that he wrote a song with a couple of the village’s other musical residents5, Hermann Krone and Hans Pflanzer: ‘Groß Glienicke du Meine alte Liebe’.

  Will was popular with the locals. He was an approachable man, happy to stop for a few minutes and chat about the latest news, the weather or whatever interested the villagers. Eliza Meisel was less liked, for she preferred to stay at the lake house and rarely ventured beyond the Potsdamer Tor.

  Will could also sometimes be found in the Badewiese, the pub which was located next to the public beach. This is where Will preferred to socialise, for the Drei Linden was a little rough for his sensibilities. Built by the Niemann family in 1937, the Badewiese included a restaurant and a hall with a dance floor and four three-metre-high arched windows that overlooked the lake. Will liked to sit at the grand piano, performing songs requested by his friends. Sometimes these would be his own compositions, or those then popular on the radio. A favourite was ‘Groß Glienicke du Meine alte Liebe’.

  You so close, so far from world affairs

  So pretty in summer and in snow

  The waves are playing

  And the willow trees are swishing

  One can hear the heartbeat of nature

  Groß Glienicke you are my old love

  You are my home by the quiet lake

  The Meisels’ commitment to the house motivated them, in 1942, to protect their asset by transferring ownership to Edition Meisel. They had spent no significant sums improving the property, yet the official transfer price was now listed as 21,000 reichsmarks, only two years after they had purchased the ‘seized’ property from the Gestapo for 3,300 reichsmarks. When asked by neighbours, Will Meisel said that he had bought the house from the Alexanders back in the 1930s.

  Meanwhile, as the war progressed, Will continued to improve his ties to the Nazi Party, in particular the Ministry of Propaganda. On 13 May 1942, he wrote to Dr Goebbels, hoping to gain the minister’s support for his latest operetta, Mein Herz für Sylvia. ‘I allow myself, with much respect, the request that you, the Much Honoured Reichsminister, would possibly allow me a little bit of your precious time for a short meeting so that I can ask something.’ He ended the letter: ‘I greet you with much submission, from the bottom of my heart.’

  A few months later, Will issued another letter to the propaganda minister. Upon receipt, a functionary stamped the top right-hand corner of the document, confirming that the letter had been read by the minister. At the bottom of the page was a handwritten note from Goebbels himself, ‘Schlösser Empfang!’, an instruction that Will would be met by Dr Rainer Schlösser, a senior official at the ministry. There is no record of what took place in this meeting, but after Will sent another letter the following year, this time requesting that Goebbels again sponsor Mein Herz für Sylvia, support was forthcoming and the operetta was produced in Berlin to great acclaim.

  In late spring 1943, Will Meisel invited two colleagues, Ernst Nebhut and Just Scheu, to spend a few weeks at the lake house. In recent weeks, Berlin had seen a marked increase in the number of air-raids, making it hard for the publisher to focus on his creative work. Not only would there be fewer disruptions in the countryside, but he believed the lake’s fresh air and cool waters might prove helpful for their productivity.

  Ernst Nebhut was a lyricist with whom Will had worked before, and Just Scheu was a famous actor and a Goebbels favourite. The plan was that they would stay at the house while they wrote a new operetta, Königin einer Nacht, Queen for a Night. The story involved a duke who, wishing to avoid an arranged marriage, pretends to be a boxer, runs away to a hotel and, through a series of comedic events, ends up marrying his intended at the play’s end. The music would be light and uplifting.

  Working long hours, and often into the night, the three men sat around the piano in the Blue Room, developing new melodies and testing out the accompanying words. Sometimes, Will was dragged away to discuss a pressing business matter with Hanns Hartmann. At other times, they interrupted their labour to go for a swim or to eat one of Eliza’s home-cooked meals, enjoyed al fresco on the veranda at the back of the house.

  But the war was moving closer. There was no respite, even in Groß Glienicke. While working on the score, Will received a letter telling him to report for duty. Unwilling to serve, Will now marshalled his friends to write letters of protest. On 15 May 1943, the National Theatre Department wrote to the Military Personnel Department regarding the case of Will Meisel6, arguing that it is ‘of great importance that the above-mentioned be deferred from military service’. They added that Meisel must remain in Berlin in order to make changes to his latest operetta, which had been recently accepted by the Metropol Theater for the coming season. A few days later, Will heard that his service had been deferred. Reinvigorated, he and his colleagues refocused their energies. Finally, the operetta was complete, and they sent the finished work to the ministry for approval.

  By this time, the Allies had proved that they had the capacity to send bombers as far as the German capital. Such raids had been restricted to a few minor sorties so far though, and, devastating as they were to the targeted building and its occupants, the vast majority of the city’s residents remained unaffected. Now, over the course of the summer, the newspapers were full of stories of a full-scale aerial attack on Berlin. The anxiety grew to such a state that, on 6 August 1943, it was announced on the radio that Goebbels had ordered the evacuation of Berlin’s non-essential population. The decision was covered by newspapers around the world, including the Chicago Tribune, who ran a headline ‘NAZIS ADMIT EVACUATION OF BERLIN: FEAR OF BIG RAIDS TOLD BY GOEBBELS’.

  Hearing of the evacuation order7, the Meisels decided to stay at the lake house. In a letter to the village mayor, written on 6 August, Will announced that his family had now permanently relocated to Groß Glienicke. As part of the move, and given the shrinkage in the company’s staff, the house would also serve as the official headquarters for Edition Meisel. The company’s letterhead, brochures a
nd catalogues were reprinted with the new address: Am Park 2, Groß Glienicke. Hanns Hartmann, the creative director, was still mostly on the road, selling the company’s music. Paul Fago, the manager, could work from home in Berlin. When they needed to work together, they could do so at the lake house.

  As ever, the Meisels quickly adapted to their new circumstances. Eliza pottered around the house, cooking meals, tending her vegetables and garden, and taking care of her younger son, Thomas. Will spent most of his time in the Blue Room, writing songs and fulfilling the few catalogue orders that were still arriving. Peter, meanwhile, who was now eight years old, attended the local school8.

  Located on the Dorfstraße, opposite the church, the elementary school was the village’s only educational institution, known to many as the ‘Bach School’, after a well-liked former teacher. Classes started at eight in the morning and ran until three in the afternoon. The younger students, such as Peter, who were learning to read and write, worked with small blackboards and chalk, the older students wrote in ink. Sometimes on his way home, Peter came across his father wandering down the street, pencil and notebook in hand, jotting down a melody for his latest song. Father and son would then walk happily home together.

  Peter was a good enough footballer to be picked to play against neighbouring schools. Yet his afternoons were filled not only with football. Once a week he participated in Hitler Youth activities with the other boys9, at the sports field on the edge of the village. Dressed in uniform – brown shirt, dark trousers, with a leather strap stretched diagonally from waist to shoulder – Peter sang nationalist songs, marched and, when the weather was good, camped next to the lake. When the older boys took part in rifle practice using airguns at the Drei Linden, Peter played football outside with the younger conscripts.

  Now that his family was living full-time in the village, Peter made friends with the local kids. In particular, he spent much of his time with the three brothers who lived in a two-storey stucco house behind the lake house: the Radtke boys, Gerhard, Erich and Burkhard. Their father, who had owned an independent gardening business, was now away, fighting in Norway for the German Army. Their mother, Gerda, was a young pretty blonde woman. Their uncle leased the caretaker’s cottage from the Meisels.

  The Radtke boys liked to play at the lake house, with its tennis court, climbing frame, and large wooden duck that was set in the ground and could be ridden like a rocking horse. Best of all, the Meisels had direct access to the lake. They could jump straight into the water, their knees tucked up, trying to make as large a splash as possible. Leaving the youngest, Burkhard, in the garden to play with Thomas, the two eldest Radtke boys and Peter would swim out to one of the two islands, where they played on a rope swing attached to a branch overhanging the water or paddled out in the Meisels’ long red canoe. When it came to mealtimes, however, Gerda Radtke ordered her sons home. It would not be correct for them to eat at the Meisels’ table, she said. If her sons had eaten with the Meisels, Frau Radtke felt that she would have had to reciprocate. Even though her own home was more substantial than her neighbours’, she thought she might be embarrassed by their more humble furnishings.

  At times when playing on the beach, the boys saw Eliza Meisel standing on the terrace singing songs from the films in which she had starred. The children found her shrill soprano hilarious, full of romantic yearning and urban intensity, so out of place in Groß Glienicke. Eliza never took kindly to their laughter, and would force the children to listen to the entire song – which, being well-behaved children, they did.

  At other times, the children ran to the now abandoned schloss, which stood three hundred metres east of the lake house. Climbing over a low stone wall, they stole apples from the orchard or played on the swing at the rear of the estate. One day, venturing further, they discovered a tall barbed-wire enclosure that had been set up next to the schloss. Inside stood around twenty men who spoke a foreign language. Guarding them were a few German soldiers. The boys had heard rumours in the village that these men were French prisoners of war. Not wanting to linger, the boys ran off, with the sound of soldiers shouting behind them.

  On 3 November 1943, the opening night of Königin einer Nacht was held at Berlin’s Metropol Theater10. Located at the heart of the city on the busy Behrenstrasse in the Mitte district, the theatre was a short walk from the main government offices and popular with workers at the SS/Gestapo headquarters, the Aviation Ministry as well as the Ministry of Propaganda.

  As they entered the theatre, the guests walked past giant posters on either side of the main entrance announcing the show’s stars: Friedel Schuster and Erich Arnold, along with the up-and-coming Maria Belling and the army’s choir. Those on the VIP list – which included Hermann Göring11, Joseph Goebbels, Heinrich Himmler and Hans Hinkel, the head of the Reich Chamber of Culture – were ushered towards the private boxes. As a gala event, the house was full, with an audience of over a thousand people. In the orchestra pit, the musicians awaited nervously for the conductor, Horst Schuppien, all wearing black evening tailcoats and trousers. Above the balcony, a chain of nymphs and cherubs held up a gilded ceiling, while heavy red velvet curtains protected the stage.

  Also present, of course, and anxiously hoping that all would go well, were Will Meisel and his wife Eliza, along with the show’s other creators. Will needn’t have worried: Königin einer Nacht was a hit. The next day the reviews were unanimously positive12, with one theatre critic writing a particularly ebullient notice under the headline: ‘WILL MEISEL’S NEW OPERETTA GREAT SUCCESS AT METROPOL THEATER’.

  Eight days later, on 11 November 194313, a bomb dropped by an Allied plane struck the Edition Meisel storage facilities at Passauer Straße in Berlin. In the ensuing conflagration, the company’s entire back catalogue was destroyed. The only sheet music and recordings saved were those that had been temporarily stored at the lake house. For Will and his colleagues, it was hard to imagine how Edition Meisel could continue operating.

  Early in the morning of 19 November 1943, the Groß Glienicke villagers were woken by the deafening rumble of over four hundred Avro Lancasters flying in from the west. They could not see the planes because the sky was thick with clouds, but with the roar of 1,600 engines ringing in their ears, they tracked the planes as they flew across the lake towards Berlin. A few minutes later, when the Lancasters dropped their loads, the sky to the east turned orange, purple and red with the colours of destruction. This was a significant escalation in the shape and scope of the aerial bombardments and marked the start of what would become known as the Battle of Berlin.

  Over the next few days and weeks, the air raids continued, and the devastation wrought by exploding ordnance was amplified by the persistent dry weather, resulting in rampant fires spreading across Berlin. By 17 December, a quarter of the capital’s housing had been rendered uninhabitable.

  Although the Allied bombardment was unrelenting, wreaking ever-worsening havoc on Berlin into the next year, Königin einer Nacht continued to be performed at the Metropol. Until one night, in the summer of 1944, after 155 performances, the theatre took a direct hit. The damage was so extensive that it was impossible for the playhouse to reopen. The operetta was closed indefinitely and the cast dismissed.

  Shortly afterwards, on 1 September 1944, Propaganda Minister Goebbels declared that, given the need for every available man to fight in the war, all theatres would be closed. A few weeks later, on 18 October, the government announced the formation of the Volkssturm, calling up all able-bodied men, including those who had been previously excused like Will Meisel, in order to defend the fatherland. Realising that the ministry would still need a few artists to help him pursue his war aims, Goebbels compiled a thirty-six-page list of 1,041 men and women who were exempted. This ‘God-gifted list’ included Just Scheu, who had helped to write Königin einer Nacht. Conspicuously absent from the list, however, was the name of Will Meisel.

  Facing the reality that he would be soon conscripted, Eliza and Will Mei
sel discussed leaving the country. There was nothing keeping them in Berlin. Most of his talent had been driven out of the country, his sheet-music catalogue had been destroyed and the theatres were now closed. They could no longer run the business. Even the lake house didn’t feel safe. It didn’t take long to decide. The only question was where to go. It was impossible to travel to one of the countries fighting Germany – the Meisels would be seen as the enemy. Meanwhile, the neutral countries – Turkey, Spain and Switzerland – were not providing entry visas. Will had heard of a colony of refugee artists that had been established in Bad Gastein, a spa town located in the Austrian Alps. Since its annexation in 193814, Austria was a part of Germany, so they would not need papers to travel there. Even better, they could speak the language.

  Before leaving, Will spoke to Hanns Hartmann. Explaining that his family would soon be relocating to Austria, he invited Hanns to live at the lake house. Hanns was grateful for the opportunity. He and his wife, Ottilie Schwartzkopf, had spent the war ducking the attentions of the Gestapo, given her Jewish heritage and his run-ins with the party. While Hanns had criss-crossed Germany promoting Edition Meisel’s back catalogue, Ottilie had remained alone in their Berlin apartment, unable to work and afraid to go outside. Hanns hoped that by staying out of Berlin they might avoid both the aerial bombs and the authorities. After discussing it with his wife, Hanns told his boss that he would be happy to take care of the lake house. Handing over the keys, Will reassured his colleague that they would be back as soon as it was safe.

  12

  HARTMANN