The House by the Lake Read online

  Robert admitted that Fritz Müller had been beaten but added that he had not even been in the room when the beatings had taken place. As to the communist Herr Steek, Robert remembered that the prisoner had been ‘very rude’ during his questioning and had to be ‘restrained’. ‘I admit without hesitation,’ he testified, ‘that in some cases when dealing with bad boys I have punished them, but I don’t agree that any of these were disproportionate to the situation.’

  To prove that he was a loyal supporter, Robert passed the court paperwork showing that he had joined the Nazi Party on 28 April 1933 and to demonstrate that that he was an adherent to the cause of National Socialism, he provided witness statements from friends and associates. What more evidence was required, he asked, of his loyalty to Adolf Hitler?

  With Robert von Schultz’s testimony concluded, the trial came to an end. Shortly afterwards, he was found not guilty, and on 27 October he was released from prison. Upon his return to Groß Glienicke, he learned that his wife had accepted the offer from the Ministry of Aviation. Almost a quarter of the estate had been sold to the military.

  By the start of 1935, work commenced on the new airfield, just a few hundred metres from the north-eastern corner of the Groß Glienicke Lake. Known as Berlin-Gatow, the facility was slated to become one of only four training schools for Göring’s quickly expanding air force, but as the closest to the nation’s capital, it would become the most high profile. The brief was to build a training school for technicians and an academy for pilots. The plans for the buildings were laid out by Ernst Sagebiel, the same architect who had designed the Ministry of Aviation in Berlin, and later the airport at Tempelhof near the city’s southern boundary. Over four thousand labourers, many from Groß Glienicke and nearby villages, set to work, first constructing the airfield and then the school buildings themselves.

  On 2 November 1935, Adolf Hitler attended the official opening of Berlin-Gatow2. From this time forward, he would often choose to use this airfield for his personal journeys, including to his mountain retreat in Berchtesgaden, providing a degree of privacy that he could not find at Berlin’s other airfields. A few months later, on 21 April 1936, Göring took part in the Luftwaffe Day ceremonies at Gatow, during which he invited military officers from around the world to visit the airfield, proudly displaying what was a flagrant contravention of the Treaty of Versailles.

  Meanwhile, Robert returned to his schloss, broken, paranoid and overwhelmed by mounting debts. Realising that selling parcels of land was not going to stave off their financial problems, and fearing that that he might be rearrested, Robert and Ilse loaded their four children into a car, and drove away from Groß Glienicke. This was the end of an era, for no member of the Wollank family would ever live at the schloss again. The estate’s management would now rest with a supervisor.

  Having left the estate, the Schultzes drove three hundred kilometres north, up to the Baltic Coast, and over the Stralsund Crossing to the island of Rügen. Here, Robert moved his family into his father’s old manor house, away from the political and economic turmoil gripping the rest of Germany.

  8

  ALEXANDER

  1934

  INTENT ON ENJOYING their summer, the Alexanders organised a birthday party for Lucien Picard, Elsie’s grandfather. To memorialise the day in crisp 16mm black and white1, Alfred walked around filming the occasion on his movie camera.

  In the morning, long tables and folding chairs were set up on the lawn below the house. The tables were covered with white linen and laid with the family’s best silverware, transported from their home in the city. Soon after, the musicians arrived: five men dressed in tails, starched shirts and patent leather shoes, carrying violins, oboes and a small drum. They set up on the terrace above the pump house.

  Lucien wore a well-tailored pinstriped suit, a white shirt with the collar turned up, a striped tie and a waistcoat, a similar outfit to the one he had worn every day of his forty-year banking career. Elsie and Bella were dressed very differently. Keen to follow the latest fashion, Bella had cropped her hair short, parted to one side, and was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt tucked into her trousers. In contrast, Elsie still wore her hair in two long plaits, and was dressed in a conservative white skirt and plain white shoes.

  The guests soon arrived and, with the musicians playing tunes from Berlin’s hottest cabaret venues, were served aperitifs on the veranda. Next came lunch; men and women were seated alternately and couples split so that they were forced to speak with someone they didn’t know.

  Before coffee, Alfred gave a speech celebrating his father-in-law’s long life and then raised a toast in his honour. ‘To Lucien Picard,’ he called. The rest of the guests stood and echoed the words, leaving the elderly man the only person still seated. Then, as was the family tradition, Elsie and her brothers and sister gathered at one end of the table and sang a song, using a popular melody but changing the words to tease their grandfather. Bella had the better voice but Elsie had penned the words. People commented on the charm and talent of the Alexander children.

  Throughout the day, Alfred walked around the party, his camera spooling away, capturing the mood: a large group of young and old Jews, well educated, doctors, lawyers, artists, singers and actors, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, happy, smiling, laughing, relaxed and unworried, at least at that moment, about the future.

  A few weeks later, Elsie invited a group of friends from university out to Glienicke. With them was Rolf Gerber, a handsome and large-framed young man from South Africa, who was visiting Berlin for year to study German. Elsie and Rolf took an instant liking to each other, playing long games of tennis and walking along the lakeshore. Their friendship blossomed back in Berlin, where they often attended dances and parties together, with Bella, as chaperone, in tow.

  By this time, Alfred’s medical business was under threat. With the newspapers, radio and streets filled with Nazi propaganda, many of his non-Jewish patients had stopped visiting. On 17 May 1934, in a bid to tighten the screws, the government outlawed the reimbursement of Jewish doctors through the public health insurance funds, dramatically reducing his fees. Then, the mayor of Munich banned Jewish doctors from treating non-Jewish patients, and it seemed only a matter of time before Berlin followed suit.

  Over breakfast, lunch and dinner the Alexanders discussed the worsening situation. Henny thought it was time they left the country. Many of their friends had already departed, or were making plans to do so. Of the more than 500,000 Jews living in Germany when the Nazis had taken power, over 37,000 had already fled.

  While the children agreed with their mother, Alfred persisted in believing that the political situation would improve, clinging on to the belief that the country of his birth – moreover the country that he had fought for – would see reason and throw the Nazis out of power. Even if they decided to leave, how would they manage their departure? What would they do with the business? Where would they go? In the face of Alfred’s position, all the family could do was monitor events.

  As Germany’s political atmosphere darkened, and as their romance grew, Elsie and Rolf began discussing where they should live. Elsie suggested London, given that Bella and Harold were already in England and Rolf had an automatic right to live there as a South Africa citizen. Rolf, however, said that he wanted to return to Cape Town, so that he could be close to his family. Either solution would require them to marry, for Elsie to gain an entry visa, but Rolf made it clear that he was not ready for such a commitment.

  Upset by Rolf’s rejection, Elsie tried to change his mind, but she was unsuccessful. A short while later, Rolf returned to South Africa. ‘I wasn’t angry,’ Elsie later recalled. ‘I was in love. What can you do?’ She was heartbroken.

  Elsie spent the rest of that languid summer at the lake house. Often she would sleep in, and then, if she had the energy, she took walks around the lake and into the woods. In the afternoons, she kept an eye on her grandfather who suffered from digestive problems
and needed frequent medical attention2. Then, in the evenings, she had dinner with her parents and their guests, after which they played card games such as ‘oh hell’ or bridge, often for money.

  Then, towards the end of the summer, Elsie’s boredom was interrupted by the arrival of Bella from London. Now five months pregnant, and despite the precariousness of the political situation, Bella had returned to Glienicke. As Mrs Harold Sussmann she had a British passport and was therefore able to travel in and out of Germany without trouble. Elsie found herself becoming jealous of both the baby and her sister’s marriage. This was not helped by Bella sitting each evening on the terrace, the table shaking as she typed and read aloud long letters to her husband in England. In these letters, Bella complained that she felt ‘ten months pregnant’, and addressed Harold in adoring terms – ‘my darling hubby’, ‘my darling schnucke’, ‘my darling schnuckeltier’ – gloating about the baby, whom she already called ‘Sigi’, and talking endlessly about how glorious England was and all the wonderful times they would have together there.

  One morning the family heard on the radio that Paul von Hindenburg had died. To the Alexanders this was worrying news, for they considered Hindenburg to be one of the few restraining hands on Hitler’s shoulder. Yet Bella appeared unconcerned by the president’s death, which warranted only the briefest of mentions in her next letter to Harold. She believed that ‘everything will go its way’, and spent the morning in the city having a dress fitted and purchasing a pair of blue shoes.

  In December 1934, word arrived back from London that Bella had given birth to a boy, called Peter. The following spring, thrilled now to be a grandfather, Alfred sat down at a table at the lake house and wrote a letter to Harold and Peter. He wrote in English, a language of which he was not confident.

  My Dear Grandchild

  I have been much pleased, my dear Harold, in receiving your letter and to learn that you and the sweet Peter are well. I am anxious to make soon the acquaintance of the latter and I promise you that I shall treat him very well. As a surprise for the welcome I shall write to you in English, as Peter would not understand another language.

  You will be glad to receive an English letter from me, I had intended to buy an English dictionary but Elsie had forgotten to send it to me, therefore I was compelled to write this without help and you must excuse this rather ‘German’ style.

  Here everything is as nice and beautiful as the preceding years and you will admire not only my language but also the fine surroundings.

  With my sincerest love for you and the first grandchild and best greetings to all the family.

  I remain, yours truly,

  Grandfather

  With Bella settling down in England, and motivated in part by boredom, Elsie volunteered full-time for the Cultural Association of German Jews. Since April 1933, when the Nazi Party had passed the Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service, Jewish singers, dancers, writers and musicians had been banned from performing in the city’s main cultural venues. The Association had been established in response, to allow Jewish artists to play for Jewish audiences. Though unpaid, Elsie helped out in the office, typing up letters and assisting with the administrative tasks. In return, she was able to attend the concerts, plays and operas for free.

  At one evening concert, Elsie met a young Jewish leather merchant, named Erich Hirschowitz. He had a nice smile, thick greased-back brown hair and a high forehead. Later, Elsie discovered that one of her co-workers had played matchmaker, arranging for them to sit next to each other. Talking to Erich, she learned that he played the violin and shared her enjoyment of music and culture. He asked her out and soon they were attending concerts together. She was not as besotted as she had been with Rolf, but Erich was funny and had a kind face.

  In due course, Elsie invited Erich out to Groß Glienicke3, to see the house and to meet the family. At the lake one day, Erich explained that he was spending much of his time travelling back and forth from Berlin to London where he was setting up a leather company for his father. He invited Elsie to join him in England. Bella of course was now living there, and Elsie thought that Erich’s British entry permit and contacts might be helpful if she had to flee Germany. Not long after, on 1 April, Elsie and Erich announced their engagement.

  Hearing the news, Rolf now wrote from South Africa4, begging Elsie to reconsider. But Elsie had made her decision and, on 28 July 1935, she and Erich were married in Berlin. The large wedding they had planned was cancelled given the government’s restrictions on Jewish gatherings, and instead, a small reception was held for a dozen family members at the apartment on the Kaiserallee.

  After the lunch had been served, and over coffee, it was customary to read aloud the telegrams sent by well-wishers to the bride and groom. Since so few people had been able to attend, Elsie and Erich received over two hundred telegrams. A few were read, including one from Cape Town:

  WARMEST CONGRATULATIONS ALL THE BEST = ROLF GERBER

  The next day, driving a black Austin 75, Elsie and Erich left Berlin for their honeymoon. They headed south-west for Switzerland, along the main highways, via Leipzig and Nuremberg. Choosing to take a more scenic route, they left the main road and drove towards the Black Forest. Arriving at a small village in Bavaria, they came across a wooden sign that had been posted on the outskirts of the village. The sign read ‘Juden verboten’: Jews forbidden. Shocked by the naked anti-Semitism, Elsie and Erich found a way around the village, only to encounter similar signs posted nearby. Upset, they continued on their journey to Switzerland, where they had a few quiet days in Basel, before travelling on to Italy.

  Returning to Berlin at the end of August, they moved into an apartment which had been furbished for them by their families. Located at Kurfürstendamm 103, it was only a short walk to Elsie’s parents on the Kaiserallee. For now at least, they agreed, they would remain in Germany.

  On 15 September, further discriminating measures were announced at the annual Nazi Party rally in Nuremberg. The Reich Citizenship Law concerned those deemed not to have German blood – so called ‘non-Aryans’ – a definition which included the Jews. These ‘non-Aryans’ were now considered Staatsangehörige, or state subjects, while those of German blood, the ‘Aryans’, were Reichsbürger, or German citizens. Another measure, the Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honour, declared that Jews and non-Jews could no longer marry, nor have extramarital intercourse. One person immediately affected was a good friend of Elsie’s who worked as her father’s assistant. This man was in love with a girl from a non-Jewish aristocratic family and now faced real dangers if they continued the relationship. Wanting to help, Elsie invited the couple to discreetly make use of her and Erich’s new apartment. By doing so, Elsie took a big risk; the penalties for breaking these laws ranged from hard labour to imprisonment.

  Wannsee beach, 1935

  In the following weeks, the rise of anti-Semitism crept closer and closer to Elsie and her family. Her brothers were forced to leave their school because they were Jewish, and both were called ‘dirty Jew’ in the streets of Berlin. Then, at Wannsee Strandbad, the massive lido near Groß Glienicke, which the family still sometimes visited, a sign had been placed in front of the entrance declaring ‘Juden ist der Zutritt untersagt’: Jewish entry is prohibited.

  Eight years earlier, in 1927, the Alexanders had been the first Jewish family to live in the village. Before long they had been joined by others, so that by 1935 there were twenty-five Jewish families registered as living full-and part-time around the lake, making up nearly a quarter of the village’s total population. These were Berliners with varied professions: doctors, accountants, lawyers, dentists, company directors, actors and singers. There was even a Jewish ice-hockey player. Following the announcement of the Nuremberg Laws, however, most of these families stopped coming, more intent on planning their escape from Germany than spending weekends by the lake. Still Alfred clung on to the belief that his countrymen would see sense, t
hat they would finally understand the madness of Hitler and his cronies.

  In early 1936, Alfred travelled to London to see Bella and her newborn son. While he was away, Henny received a phone call from Otto Meyer, the old German Army colleague who had protected their home during the 1933 Jewish boycott. He said he had urgent news about Alfred. ‘They will be coming for him, and you must see that he goes into hiding at once.’ Apparently, the Gestapo had compiled a list of Berlin’s most prominent Jews whom they planned to arrest, and Alfred’s name was high on that list. Thanking Meyer for his concern, Henny immediately sent word to Alfred that he must stay in London. She then discussed the situation with Elsie, Hanns and Paul, and they quickly agreed that they had to leave as soon as possible.

  At this time, the Nazi government was encouraging Jewish families to emigrate. Obtaining exit documents was relatively easy. Far more difficult was securing an entry visa from the country to which the refugee hoped to travel. First to leave were Lucien and his wife Amelia. As she had been born in Basel, it was quite straightforward for them to relocate to Switzerland. Next was Paul. Through Lucien’s banking contacts, he was able to secure a job and entry visa to Switzerland.

  A few weeks later, in the spring of 1936, Hanns took a bus to the British Consulate in Berlin. Arriving early, he lined up with the hundreds of others, all hoping for a British entry visa. Luckily, Harold’s family had arranged a job for Hanns in a London bank and so, unlike many of the other applicants that day, Hanns walked away with his documents in order. At the end of May, having said goodbye to Henny and Elsie, Hanns climbed aboard a train in Berlin and headed for Switzerland where he would take a plane to England. A few days later, on 2 June, he arrived at Croydon airport in London, where he was greeted by his sister Bella.