While he was out, Frau Tannhäuser discovered a letter in Anton’s shirt pocket.
It was from Artur Axmann, the national leader of the Hitler Youth. In the letter Axmann proclaimed: “As the sixth year of war begins, we, Adolf Hitler's youth, stand prepared to fight with determination and dedication for our lives and our future. I say to each and every member of our movement: It is time to decide whether you want to be the last of an unworthy race, despised by future generations, or whether you want to be part of a new wonderful time, glorious beyond all imagination.”
She showed the letter to her husband. “Is there no limit to the sacrifices Adolf Hitler asks of us? Must we lose our children to this senseless war?”
Herr Tannhäuser shook his head sadly. He had no answer.
18
October 2 dawned with a chill wind from the East and news that the Westwall was under intense artillery bombardment by the Allies. The Wehrmacht was preparing for the coming assault when they would be called upon to defend the Reich’s western border.
In the allotment, the planting was all done. Potatoes, onions, carrots, parsnips and a row of peas would all be harvested in the spring. On October 10, Hans received a short letter from the Gauleiter’s office informing him that his plot would be inspected on Monday October 16 to ensure that it conformed to the Gauleiter’s requirements for optimal production.
Gretchen was sure they were ready for the inspector. She continued to visit every second day to keep the plot clear of weeds. Hans was less than confident that he would be able to satisfy the Gauleiter’s production requirements in the spring.
“You’ll pass with flying colors,” she reassured him.
On October 15, accompanied by funereal music, the radio announced the sudden and tragic death of General Erwin Rommel. Germany’s hero had died of a heart attack brought on by head injuries suffered in an Allied aerial attack in July. The report said that the Führer was distraught by the news and had announced a day of mourning in the General’s honor and a state funeral with full military honors to be held in Ulm, near Rommel’s birthplace.
Hans shook his head when he heard the news. Since the failed assassination attempt, Germany’s military leaders were dropping like flies! Beck, Witzleben, Tresckow, Hoepner, Falkenhausen, Kluge, Fromm, Gersdorff, Olbricht… The list went on and on.
Early the following morning, he unlocked the cabin and waited patiently for the Gauleiter’s inspection. A grey mist had descended over the Schrebergärten. By 8 o’clock Hans’s confidence was flagging. Would Gretchen’s hard work pass muster? How could the inspector judge the weight of produce that would be delivered six months in the future? As he waited, he fussed about, tidying the inside of the cabin like a schoolboy about to sit an exam.
Max Jungblutt arrived at 9:30 a.m. accompanied by a Wehrmacht soldier, an older man armed with a Schmeisser Machine pistol.
Hans offered Jungblutt a hand which the Gauleiter’s agent ignored.
He followed his two visitors outside, swinging his leg and showed them where the various vegetables had been sown. “I am confident of a satisfactory harvest next spring.”
Jungblutt rubbed his chin with his hand. “You have done well, Herr Klein. I have seen few allotments so well prepared and planted.”
“Thank you, Herr Jungblutt.” The compliment was welcome, but Hans had an uneasy feeling that Jungblutt had not finished with him yet.
“How have you managed it? I would have thought this work beyond your powers, given your obvious physical handicap.”
Hans’s scalp tingled. Warm blood flushed his face. “I had help from a woman of my acquaintance.”
A salacious leer on the soldier’s face alerted Hans to the impropriety implied by what he’d said. “She helped me with the work, nothing more.”
“Well you are both to be congratulated,” said Jungblutt. “And I thank you both for all your excellent work.”
He handed Hans a piece of paper. Hans unfolded it and read the contents. They made no sense. He scratched his head. “What is this? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite straightforward,” said Jungblutt. “You will vacate the plot by Friday of this week. Your tenancy has been terminated. Someone more able will be appointed to this allotment. Good day.”
Gretchen was furious when she heard the news. “We did all that work. How can they take it away from us? It’s grossly unfair.”
Hans shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. Gauleiter Goebbels is king in Berlin.”
“You should object. I bet this is a decision Max Jungblutt took on his own initiative. The Gauleiter probably knows nothing about it.”
“You may be right, Gretchen, but how can I raise an objection with the Gauleiter in person? There’s a war on. I would never get near him. Herr Jungblutt would never allow it.”
The loss of the allotment was a terrible blow to them both. Hans still had some potatoes, carrots and cabbages in sacks in the cabin that would help to tide them over for the winter, but Gretchen knew with certainty that she and Oskar would face starvation sooner or later in the coming months.
19
On October 18, Herr Tannhäuser received an official letter embossed with the Wehrmacht insignia, the eagle and swastika. It was a call to arms for all able-bodied men over the age of fifteen.
He reported to the recruiting office that afternoon. After a prolonged delay, standing in line with other unfortunate draftees, he reached the recruiting officer’s desk. “By all that’s holy, how can I be called to active service?” he said.
The soldier looked him up and down. “You look able-bodied.”
“But I’m an undertaker. Contact the Gauleiter’s office. They will confirm it.”
“That’s not my concern,” said the soldier.
“I have a reserved occupation,” said Tannhäuser. “If I’m conscripted who
