Side by side they rode. Up and down hills, past streams, through fields and sweet-smelling forests. Stopping occasionally for draughts of apple juice.
Both of them knew that they would remember that wonderful day’s ride all their lives. Their spirits rising with every kilometre passed. With the scent of the forests and the freshly made hay and sweet meadow flowers, all wafted to them on a warm and gentle breeze through pure and pristine air.
‘It really is a lovely world,’ Silke said.
‘Yes it is,’ Otto agreed. ‘Shame about the people in it.’
He said this as yet another labourer in a field paused in his work to greet them as they passed, not with a wave or a simple ‘
‘I almost
‘Well, of course there never was any sun before Hitler,’ Silke joked.
It was the time of the September Solstice. A pagan festival beloved of the Nazis. Every village they passed through was bedecked with flowers and swastikas. Every little green or square was filled with dancers.
Girls in traditional country dress with garlands in their hair. Boys stamping about in HJ uniforms with wooden rifles on their shoulders. Marching bands playing and children’s choirs singing songs.
Songs Otto recognized as he cycled past returning the friendly waves of the singers. The same songs that were sung at his school, at assemblies and during music lessons.
‘The Jews’ blood spurting from the knife makes us feel especially good.’
All day they cycled, alternately delighted to be free and in the countryside and depressed to be so continuously confronted with evidence of the Nazi occupation of it. Village after village had a banner strung across the road at its entrance saying ‘No Jews’ and ‘Jew Beware’.
And then there were the shouts.
‘Death to Jews,’ peasants called out cheerfully as Otto and Silke passed. Just as if they were shouting, ‘Good morning! Good luck! Enjoy your ride.’
Time and again they cycled past marching groups of boys and girls with happy, smiling faces, calling down death on their fellow man. The countryside was alive with them. Off to the rivers and forests intent on developing the ‘steel hard’ bodies that Hitler had demanded of ‘his youth’.
That night, exhausted, they made camp together in a little copse of trees beside a stream. Or a small river, as Otto insisted it should be ranked, having pronounced it as one from the map.
They didn’t bother pitching the tent because the night was warm and there was no chance of rain. It was too warm even for a fire, which Otto thought was a great shame but Silke said was fortunate.
‘Fires attract all sorts of nasty insects,’ she said. ‘Gnats, mosquitoes and
Otto agreed. ‘Smart girl,’ he said. ‘Paulus would be proud of you.’
‘And there was you thinking I was just a pretty face.’
She laughed selfconsciously as she said it. Otto laughed too.
‘Good old Silke! One of the lads, eh?’
A compliment which did not seem particularly to please its recipient.
They ate their supper of cheese and bread and some fruit and then each curled up in their blankets beside each other. Lying staring up at the stars, which they could see twinkling through the canopy of trees.
Otto couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to Silke. Talked
‘What do you think will happen, Otts?’ Silke asked. ‘I mean to Pauly and you and your mum and dad?’
‘Well, hopefully Mum’ll manage to get the family out,’ Otto replied. ‘I know her and Dad talk about it quite a lot, but of course Dad’s basically unemployable these days and then there’s Pops and Grandma to think about. It would be hard for them to move even if they wanted to.’
‘Don’t they want to?’ Silke asked.
‘Come on, Silks, you know them better than that. They’re Germans! They don’t know how to be anything else. Pops always says he’s been German since 1870, while Hitler the Austrian has only been German since 1932, so why should Pops be the one to leave?’
Silke laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s Herr Tauber all right. He always used to scare the crap out of me.’
‘He still does scare me,’ Otto said.
‘So do you think your mum will leave them behind?’
‘I think in the end she might have to. But I’ll tell you one thing, Silks, if Mum and Dad do manage to get the family out, I won’t be going with them.’
Silke raised herself up on one elbow and looked down at Otto’s face, faint and pale in the shadowy moonlight.
‘Because of Dagmar?’ she said quietly.
‘Of course,’ Otto said. ‘Unless Dagmar can get out herself I’m staying to look after her.’
‘Saturday Club rules, eh?’ Silke smiled.
‘Yeah. That’s it,’ Otto replied.
But they both knew it had nothing to do with the Saturday Club.
Silke changed the subject.
‘Have you ever heard of the
‘The Red Help?’ Otto repeated. ‘No, I don’t think so. What is it?’
‘It’s a sort of resistance thing,’ Silke went on, ‘in Berlin. It was attached to the Red Cross before Hitler but now of course it’s underground. They try and help out families who’ve had their men stolen to camps. And also to let people abroad know what’s really happening.’
‘Are you a member then?’
‘Well, I don’t really know. It’s all secret and you never know anybody’s name, but I have a couple of contacts.’
‘What do you do?’
‘It seems a bit silly to me. They write a newsletter and it’s my job to see that copies get out of Germany.’
‘Wow, how do you do that?’
‘Easy. I post them! Nobody suspects a teenage girl in a BDM uniform, you see. I buy a woman’s magazine and slip the secret stuff between the pages. Then I go to the post office and send it as general printed matter to an address in Geneva.’
Otto thought about it for a little while.
‘Good for you,’ he said eventually.
‘I just wanted you to know,’ Silke said hesitantly, ‘that the gang is still together. The Saturday Club. I may wear a BDM uniform but we believe in the same things.’
‘I know that, Silks.’
‘And,’ Silke went on nervously, ‘just like
‘Well, we’re all bound by oath, aren’t we?’ Otto laughed.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘So you’d help Paulus too?’
‘Of course I would! How can you even ask!’
‘And Dagmar?’ There was a pause. ‘She’s in the Saturday Club too, remember?’
‘Yes. I
