The Separation (8 page)

War was going on, was getting worse. Thousands more good men like Lofty Colin, Kris and Ted would have to die before it was over. If I went back, I might have to die too. For a while the war had seemed necessary and inevitable, but now I had heard about it I could not stop thinking about Rudolf Hess and his plan for peace.

The BBC never mentioned Hess any more. After a flurry of excitement, the story of his flight to Scotland had vanished from the newspapers. Surely an offer of peace from the Nazi leadership could not be tossed aside?

I kept remembering Hess, the way I had met him.

10

The race got away at the first attempt, all six teams starting cleanly. The German pair moved effortlessly into the lead within the first few seconds. I had never rowed so hard in my life, driven to maximum effort by Joe’s ferocious stroke rhythms. All our thoughts of pacing ourselves, our plan of producing a surging burst of energy in the final quarter of the race, went out of the window. We stretched ourselves to the limit and were rowing flat out from the first stroke to the last. We were rewarded with third place, a bronze medal for Great Britain!

The Germans won with a time of just over eight minutes sixteen; behind them came the Danish team at eight minutes nineteen; Joe and I came in at eight minutes twenty-three. All times were slow: we had been rowing into a headwind.

After we crossed the finish line we collapsed backwards in the boat for several minutes, trying to steady our breathing. The boat drifted with the others at the end of the course, while marshals’ motorboats circled around us, fussing about us, trying to make us take the boats across to the bank. My mind was a blank, thinking, if anything, about the medal we had won. Of course, we originally aimed to win the gold. That had been the driving force. However, once we saw the other teams in training in Berlin we realized the enormous task we had set ourselves. For the last few days both Joe and I were haunted by the fear that we would come in last. But third! It was a fantastic result for us, better than anything I had dared hope for.

Eventually, we recovered sufficiently to row back to the bank and we did so with precise and stylish rowing. The first person to greet us as we stepped on to dry land was the coach, Jimmy Norton, who pumped our hands up and down, pummelled us on our backs, treated us like heroes. About three-quarters of an hour later, after we had warmed down, showered and changed into clean tracksuits, Joe and I were directed to a building behind one of the grandstands and asked to wait. We found ourselves in a small room with the other two medal-winning teams. None of us knew the others, beyond the formal introductions on arrival and seeing each other training during the week. It was difficult to know what to say to one another at this stage. Joe and I tried to congratulate the two Germans who had won the gold, but they only acknowledged our words with dismissive nods. Eventually, three officials came for us and led us at a quick walking pace across the grassy enclosure to where the Olympic podium stood. It faced the special grandstand used by Chancellor Hitler and the other leaders, but for the moment we were unable to see anyone up there. Waiting directly in front of the stepped medal-winners’ platform was a small group of men in black SS

uniforms. As we climbed up to the platform and took our places on the steps, one of the SS men moved forward. He was a bulky, impressive figure, his face high-cheekboned and handsome, with deep-set eyes and bushy black eyebrows.

He went first to the German pair and placed their gold medals around their necks as they inclined their heads. There was a huge burst of cheering and applause from the grandstands, so although he was speaking to them we could hear nothing that was being said. Press cameras were bobbing and jutting towards the German rowers. A film camera, mounted on the flat roof of a large van, recorded the whole ceremony.

The SS officer presented the silver medals to the two Danes, then it was our turn.

‘[Germany salutes you,]’ he said formally, as first Joe, then I, leaned forward to allow him to place the medal around our necks. ‘[For your country you did well.]’

‘[Thank you, sir,]’ I said. The applause was merely polite and soon finished. He straightened and peered closely at both Joe and myself.

‘[Identical twins, I think!]’ For such a large man he had an unexpectedly soft-pitched, almost effeminate voice.

‘[Yes, sir.]’

He was carrying a slip of paper in his left hand. He held it up, consulted it with exaggerated care.

‘[I see.] he said. ‘J. L. and J. L. You have the same names even! How remarkable.]’ He looked again from one of us to the other, his dark eyebrows arching in a theatrically quizzical expression. His greenish eyes seemed not to be focusing on us, as if his real thoughts were elsewhere or he was unable to think what to say next. It was an uncomfortable moment, standing there on the platform with the cameras around us, while this Nazi official took so much interest in us, peering closely at our faces. Finally, he stepped back. ‘[You must be playing amusing tricks on your friends all the time!]’ he said. We were about to make our usual response to the over-familiar remark, but at the same time the band struck up loudly with the German national anthem. The SS officer moved quickly-back to where a microphone had been placed on a stand. He snapped to attention.

Everyone in sight stood as the flags of our respective nations were raised to the winds on the flagpoles behind us. In the centre, the red, white and black swastika flag fluttered on the tallest of the three poles. It reached the highest point at the exact moment the music ended. The officer stretched his right arm diagonally towards it, straining so hard his fingertips were quivering.
Heil Hitler!’
he shouted into the microphone, his voice distorted by the amplifier into a high screech. The salute was instantly taken up in a stupendous roar from the crowd.

He turned to face them, swivelling round in a quick and presumably practised movement that ensured the microphone was still before him. His face was glowing red in the sun. The other SS officers turned too, a synchronized movement, a concerted stamping of their right feet.

‘Sieg heil!’
the officer yelled into the microphone, swinging his arm from a taut, horizontal position across his chest to the familiar slanting Nazi salute. The crowd echoed the call in a deafening shout. Many of them, most of them, had also raised their arms.

‘Sieg heil! Sieg heil!’
he shouted twice more, saluting again, his glittering eyes regarding the huge crowd. He was rocking to and fro on his heels. At the front of the crowd, high on his special plinth, was Adolf Hitler. He stood stiffly as the salutations went on, his arms folded across his chest in the same forced position I noticed earlier. He looked around to all sides, apparently basking in the deafening waves of adulation that were flowing towards him.

Next to us, on the highest step in the centre of the Olympic podium, the two gold-medallist Germans were standing side by side, their right arms raised in salute, their faces lifted towards Hitler’s remote figure.

It was simultaneously terrifying and enthralling. In spite of what little I knew about the Nazis, I felt myself responding to the intoxicating thrill of the moment. The sheer size of the crowd, the deafening roar they were making, the almost mechanical precision of the SS men paraded in front of us, the high, distant figure of Adolf Hitler, virtually godlike in his remoteness and power. The urge to raise my own arm, to thrust it emphatically towards the German leader, was for a few moments almost irresistible. I glanced across at Joe, to see how he was reacting. He was already watching me and I instantly recognized the expression of suppressed anger that Joe adopted whenever he felt cornered, unhappy; uncertain of himself. He spoke some words to me. Although I leaned towards him to hear better I couldn’t make out what he said because of the noise.

I nodded instead, acknowledging him.

With a sudden, peremptory swirl, Hitler turned his back on us and moved to return to his seat. The noisy acclaim quickly died away, to be replaced by the band striking up a new marching number. The SS men in front of our stand dispersed. The man who had given us our medals walked back towards Hitler’s podium with a measured tread. He went at the same relaxed pace up the steps and after a moment I saw his tall figure leaning over to speak to someone. Shortly afterwards he sat down. The Olympics officials were clustering around us, making it clear it was time for us to leave. We shook hands with the Danish and German athletes we had raced against, uttered congratulations once more, then stepped down on to the grass. Our moment of Olympic fame had already passed.

11

We walked together towards the British pavilion, where we had left our street clothes and our other possessions. As we approached the temporary wooden building we saw a group of British Embassy officials standing by the entrance. They were apparently waiting for us, because as soon as we appeared they strode towards us, stretching out their hands in greeting and congratulation. A man we already knew as Arthur Selwyn-Thaxted, a cultural attaché at the embassy, was the quietest but most insistent in his congratulations. As he shook my hand affably he gripped my elbow with his free hand. ‘Well done, Sawyer!’ he said. ‘Well done indeed, both of you!’

He turned to Joe and said much the same.

‘Thank you, sir.’ we said.

It’s a great day when Britain wins another medal. You probably heard us cheering for you! It was a hard race, but you did exceedingly well. What a brilliant race you rowed!’

We said what we felt we were expected to say.

‘Now, we can’t let this remarkable achievement of yours pass,’ said Selwyn-Thaxted. ‘We’d be pleased if you would join us this evening. Just a little celebration at the embassy. The ambassador would like to meet you and there will be members of the German government present.’

Out of the corner of my eye I detected Joe stiffening.

‘What kind of celebration would it be?’ he said. ‘We were planning - ’

‘A quiet reception. It’s not every day that we have Olympic medal-winners to show off, so we like to make the most of them when we can. Your sculling colleagues will be there, the equestrian team, Harold Whitlock, Ernest Harper, many more. The evening clearly wouldn’t be complete without you.’

Joe said nothing.

I said, ‘Thank you, sir. We’d enjoy that.’

‘Excellent,’ Selwyn-Thaxted said, beaming at us as if he meant it. ‘Shall we say from about six o’clock onwards? No doubt you know the British Embassy, in Unter den Linden?’

He smiled sincerely again, then turned away towards somebody else, raising a hand in simulated greeting. He went back to the group with whom he had been standing when we arrived. They moved off at once. When I turned to speak to my brother, Joe had already walked away. I saw him striding at great speed past the marshals by the entrance to the enclosure. His head was lowered. I went after him, but within a few seconds he vanished into the crowds that were standing about in the park outside. I went into the pavilion, changed into my street clothes, collected Joe’s gear as well as my own and walked down to the U-Bahn to catch a subway train back to the Sattmanns’ flat. By the time I arrived, Joe had already packed his belongings and his bags were stacked in the hallway. He looked impatiently at me then went back into the room we had been using. I followed him in and swung the door to behind me.

Birgit was practising her music in one of the rooms at the front of the apartment. The sweet sound was muted when the door closed.

‘What’s going on, Joe?’

‘I feel I should ask you that. Have you any idea, any idea at all, what’s been happening here at the Olympics?’

‘I know you don’t like the idea that the Games are a Nazi showpiece.’

‘So you’re not as blinkered as I thought.’

Joe, we came here to row. We can’t get involved in politics. We don’t know enough about it.’

‘Maybe there are occasions when we should.’

‘All right. But any country that hosts the Olympics uses the Games as a way of promoting itself to the world.’

‘This isn’t just any country’ Joe said. ‘Not now, not anymore.’

‘Look, you knew that before we left home. In effect we both made the decision to be part of it when we were selected.’

Did you realize who that was, who handed us the medals?’

‘I didn’t recognize him. I assumed it was someone from the government.’

‘It was Hess. Rudolf Hess.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘He’s one of the most powerful Nazis in Germany.’

‘But that doesn’t affect us, Joe! It wouldn’t have made any difference if Hitler himself had given us the medals. We’re of no importance to the Nazis. We’re simply here to compete in the Games and when they’re over we’ll go home. We had to go through with the ceremony. Are you suggesting we should have turned our backs on that?’

‘Didn’t you even think we might?’

‘What good would it have done? President Hoover went to Los Angeles four years ago. You presumably didn’t object to that, so how can you object to Hitler turning up at his own Games?’

‘How can you not?’

‘You didn’t say anything at the time.’

‘Neither did you.’

We both stood there angrily in that pleasant room overlooking the broad parkland, hot in the late afternoon sun. Birgit’s plaintive music could still be heard, a little louder than before: it was a piece she played every evening, Beethoven’s Romance No. 1. I noticed that the draught had moved the door ajar. Because I knew that the family who were our hosts could all speak English, I quietly pushed the door and closed it properly.

We argued on, but there was no shifting Joe from his position. He intended to leave for home more or less straight away. I put up objections: our shells were with the scrutineers, the van was parked close to the Olympic Village, we still had some kit at the pavilion. No matter what, we couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Jimmy Norton, the coach. Joe shrugged the objections away, saying he would deal with them all. He said he was going to retrieve the van, pick everything up and set off for England at once. He planned to drive all night and with any luck would have crossed the border out of Germany by the next morning.