The Willow Wren Philipp Schott (best free e book reader TXT) 📖

in the greater historical context. I am sure that the news reached us within the next day or two, but again I do not recall this specifically other than some general chatter about the bravery of the SS Panzer Hitlerjugend division in the early days of the invasion. It turns out that Hitler was right about one thing: these young lads reportedly fought with a ferocity that terrified the enemy. They appeared to have no fear of death whatsoever. The thought of this terrified me as well.

As an aside, at some point after the war I found out that Hitler had slept in that morning! He and Göbbels were in the Berghof, Hitler’s retreat in the Bavarian Alps, and had been up until three in the morning, reminiscing about the good old days. Hitler knew that an invasion was imminent but felt certain that it would be farther north towards Calais where the English Channel was at its narrowest. Rundstedt and Rommel, his two chief generals in France, had disagreed on the appropriate defensive strategy with respect to the placement of the all-important panzer divisions. Rather than make a decision, or give the authority to decide to one of them, Hitler stated that the panzer divisions were to be left where they were and that they were only to be moved on his direct orders. On the morning of D-Day both generals saw that the panzers needed to be moved to Normandy immediately, but neither dared to ignore Hitler’s orders, and his aides at the Berghof did not want to wake him in case it was a false alarm. You see, Hitler had just the day before warned everyone around him not to be fooled because the Allies would make a fake landing before they made the real one. They finally woke him at noon. Apparently, he was pleased by the news as he believed that the German forces were so superior that any invasion would be repelled, and it was time to get it over with and crush the Allies’ foolish hopes. Then all those divisions could finally be moved to Russia where they were really needed. Now some historians believe the delay in the arrival of the panzers may have made the difference. The success of D-Day hung in the balance and Hitler’s late night with Göbbels tipped it. I have always disliked staying up late.

Be that as it may, one way or another alea iacta est, as Papa would say. The die is cast. A third front had been opened. Enemies were now approaching from the south, the east and the west, pressing in inexorably like massive screws being turned one slow quarter turn at a time. All around me was optimistic talk, but whether it was inborn pessimism on my part, precocious realism or somehow being attuned to deeper currents, I could not internalize this optimism. I wanted to believe, but I could not. This whole enterprise — the Nazis, the KLV-Lager, the Hitler Youth, the Reich — now had a distinct whiff of doom about it. I did not care about any of that though. I cared only what it meant for me and for my family. The propaganda was very effective. If the Russians got to us first, they would kill or enslave everyone, and they would destroy everything. If the Americans and British were first, it would be better but only marginally, as Roosevelt was a gangster and Churchill a murderer and both were in any case Stalin’s stooges and would do his bidding. The world had gone from feeling vast and boundless, as I am sure it does for most children, to feeling alarmingly claustrophobic. I could not directly confront these feelings. What ten-year-old could? An obsession with the concept of escape began to take hold of my thoughts.

Chapter Eighteen

Summer 1944

Within weeks of the move to Colditz I found an escape of sorts. Sundays with Mama and the family in the brewery rooms were already an escape from the hated KLV-Lager, but they were not an escape from the war and the impending cataclysm.

The town was full of soldiers and our immediate neighbour blared his Volksempfänger through the thin walls whenever he was home, which evidently included most Sundays. Herr Rittmann worked in some capacity up at the castle and would wag his finger at me when he saw me walking by. “Don’t let those dirty Tommies or Kanaken get a hold of you. We try to keep them in, but sometimes one slips out.” (Tommies were British and Kanaken were Canadians. The French, Dutch and Poles had largely been moved out to other camps and the Americans were yet to arrive.) This contradicted what Papa had told me, and I made a mental note to ask Mama. In the first few months Papa often visited, and while it was good that he came, he was also a direct reminder of the war and a particular focus of worry with respect to how it would all end.

No, the town of Colditz was not the escape I needed. The escape I needed was a kilometre directly west of town in the Colditzer Forst. (No, I did not miss an E in that word. The explanation will come soon enough.) I could see it from the road as we walked to Colditz from Schönbach on Sunday mornings and was immediately curious. Just beyond the fields to my right was an unbroken line of dense green. It seemed to be mostly conifers, probably firs, but with clumps of deciduous trees scattered through as well.

After the first several visits, certainly by early July, it became clear that we did not need to hang around our two small rooms all day. When Papa was visiting from Leipzig, he was satisfied with a greeting, a perfunctory report of the week’s activities in the Hitler Youth and perhaps a short family walk. In total this might take up an hour of the day. Afterwards, as soon