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“My darling, what’s wrong”, she cooed placing her arms around my shoulders. “Have you drunk too much wine?”

“Ralf and I were merely discussing the pros and cons of National Socialism”, Alex informed her.

“Don’t listen to him”, mother replied, “He loves to embarrass people with his rudeness and lack of manners. Isn’t that right Alex?” She threw him a stabbing glance.

“Absolutely Cecilia, I’m an ignorant fool who knows nothing” Alex laughed.

The rest of the evening was an anti-climax. We tried to revive the earlier humour but everyone was now on tenterhooks. I spent some time speaking with a girl called Camille. She was nice enough but what really interested me was where she was from. She came from a village in Cathar country and knew everything about the Holy Grail legend. I told her about Otto Rahn’s book but she didn’t appear that interested.

“Crusade is not a popular word in Villelongue”, she said.

I returned to Berlin the next day. Six weeks later Leni and her parents visited my house. Leni was pregnant. It was quite a surprise. Mother was home having a short break before she toured with
Carmen
. She summoned me to the living room and sat me facing Leni and her parents.

“Leni said it happened at the Rally”, her father began. “Can you confirm this?”

I said nothing and looked hopefully at mother for assistance. She appeared flustered and fanned herself with a magazine.

“Frau Hartmaan, have you anything to say about the matter?”

“I am quite shocked Herr Himmel. Shocked that Ralf would do such a thing. In fact, I don’t believe he would. He is a respected member of the Hitler-Jugend and very well thought of at the school. His principal, Herr Lang is a close friend and I suggest you speak to him about it.”

Leni was crying and her mother looked terrified.

“With all due respect Frau Hartmaan, I fail to see what Herr Lang has to do with this.”

Mother struggled to retain her composure.

“He will tell you that Ralf could not be the father.”

Herr Himmel shook his head. He asked me again if I was responsible. I was now gripped with nerves.

“What if I was”, I replied.

“If you are then I would expect you to do the honourable thing. Leni is a sweet child and does not deserve to be cast aside.”

“It’s all right Papa”, Leni sobbed. “It wasn’t Ralf’s fault. I had been to the women’s meeting and heard the Fuhrer speak about the role of mothers in the new Germany. He encouraged us to bear healthy children for the future of the Fatherland.”

“I don’t care what he said”, her mother interrupted loudly, “speaking like that to a group of young girls is irresponsible. I have already made a complaint to the authorities of the complete disregard shown for moral safety at that rally. It is a disgrace that young boys and girls were allowed to camp so near to each other. What did they think was going to happen?”

“I absolutely agree Frau Himmel and I said as much to Ralf”, mother added. “There seemed to be little or no proper supervision and the ones that were supposed to look after them spent more time in the Bierkellers.”

Herr Himmel appeared frustrated now. The women were now agreeing with each other and Leni blamed herself.

“May I speak to Ralf alone Frau Hartmaan, man to man so to speak?”

Mother nodded and appeared relieved. I went with Herr Himmel to the drawing room.

“Now Ralf, I think you and I need to come to some understanding.”

Leni had told me he was a banker and now he certainly sounded like one.

“In what way”, I replied.

“I want to tell you that I am not happy with the way you are handling this. I get the impression that you think you are clever and above everyone else and that you can sail through life using people to suit your needs. Well you can’t. I’ll make sure of that. You are the father of Leni’s child and you need to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like marry her! We are not prepared to accept the disgrace of your mistake Ralf and I don’t think your mother should have to either.”

Marriage! The thought had never entered my mind. How could I marry her? I was only eighteen.

“Have you spoken to Leni about marriage?”

“Leni will do as she is told.”

And that was that! No more discussion. I admitted I was probably the father and our parents spent the rest of the evening talking about our marriage while Leni and I sat facing each other like strangers. We had met briefly in the heat and passion of the weekend, gotten drunk, had sex, spoken a little about our likes and dislikes and enthused greatly about the Fuhrer. She still looked pretty but so did Camille from the opera. We were married on the 3
rd
November 1936 with a small civil ceremony and reception at our apartment. Leni came to live with us and the following summer she gave birth to our daughter Resi.

On completing my studies at the Goethe School in 1937 I had assumed I would go to the   Humboldt University to study literature. Now I was married with a child, work seemed a more practical option. I had no desire to go to the factories and no father whose footsteps I could follow so I proposed joining the Schutzstaffel but as I had no formal military training it was impossible for me to enrol in a military unit. Herr Farber suggested a more suitable position with the Rasse- und Siedlungshauptamt-SS and in January 1938 having been presented with glowing references from both Herr Farber and Herr Lang I was assigned as a clerk to the Amt Sippen und Heiratsamt which dealt with Family and Marriage in the new Reich. Mother was delighted and said if I worked hard, “they might even give you one of those cute black uniforms to wear.”

My duties included maintaining files lettered L to N and checking that each section of new marriage applications was completed properly. I was determined to work diligently and impress my superiors and in July 1938 I was promoted to senior clerk with full responsibility for checking all applications. It was the duty of our department to safeguard the racial purity of all marriages so stringent checks on nationality and lineage had to be conducted. One such case was an application from a Herr Thomas and Fraulein Sauer. He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-three. They were both born in Berlin from Prussian parents. Their grandparents were also Prussian. They seemed ideal Aryans. However, his surname intrigued me so I did some research. The name derived from the Aramaic
t’om’a
, meaning twin. This alerted me to the possibility that there may have been some past corruption. The name Thomas is best known as the one who doubted the reality of Christ’s resurrection but I quickly discovered that it was also used as a 
family name
 among the 
Jewish Christian
 (
Nasrani
) families from 
Kerala
, 
South India
. I immediately reported this discrepancy to my manager. After some deliberation he accepted the application on the basis that our Aryan lineage had originated in the Indian sub-continent and as such any name that could be referenced there was indeed suitable. I enquired about the Nasrani
connection and was told this only confirmed the extent to which Jewish culture corrupted even the purest people.

In spite of my initial concern, life with Leni and Resi was becoming more joyful with each passing day. Mother was singing now with the Berlin State Opera and home more frequently though there were times when she disappeared for days on end presumably to spend time with her lovers. I didn’t mind. It meant Leni and I had the house to ourselves and we took full advantage of that. Our passion for each other was growing as was our understanding of National Socialism. We had both joined the party and Leni was particularly active in the NS-Frauenschaft,
the women’s branch, organizing
instruction in the use of German manufactured products such as butter and rayon in place of imported goods and holding information classes for brides and schoolgirls.
Herr Farber also suggested that I enrol in the Sturmabteilung.
I rejected his advice. I was fully aware of what the SA was; a den of thugs and criminals who cared little for the principles of National Socialism. Indeed, they seemed to be opposed to any intelligent political analysis concentrating instead on very public displays of violence. I knew the Fuhrer had attempted to re-organize them a few years earlier but recently they had grown bolder. In the end I compromised with Herr Farber and agreed to work with new recruits to the Hitler-Jugend.

As 1938 progressed more effort was being put into extricating ourselves from the debilitating effect of Jewish culture on our society. From January to October Jews had been forbidden to change their names, own gun shops, use health spas, had their property transferred to non-Jewish Germans and their passports stamped with a J. They were also required to add an additional name to their birth certificates, Sara for a woman and Israel for a man. It all came to a head on November 9
th
. Someone told me at work that an incident had occurred two days earlier in which a 17-year-old Polish Jewish student named Hershel Grynszpan had shot Ernst vom Rath, the Third Secretary of the German Embassy in Paris. Apparently Grynszpan was enraged by the deportation of his parents to Poland from Hanover where they had lived since 1914 and hoped his dramatic action would alert the world to what he referred to as the ominous plight of Europe's Jews. When he was arrested Grynszpan announced that being a Jew was not a crime.

“I am not a dog”, he said, “I have a right to live and the Jewish people have a right to exist on earth."

It was a ridiculous statement but unfortunately vom Rath had died and now everyone was calling for revenge. Minister Goebbels delivered a speech urging us all to take to the streets. Our superiors called a meeting later in the day and informed us that
Obergruppenführer
 Heydrich had issued an order demanding street demonstrations against Jewish businesses. He stated that during the demonstrations, business establishments and homes of Jews could be destroyed but not looted and that German life and property should not be jeopardized. There would be as many arrests as the jails could hold but there must not be any physical assaults especially on foreigners. Synagogues were to be attacked and even burnt but all documentation must be removed beforehand and sent to the security service. The message was clear. Jews would have to pay for vom Rath’s death. I was told to report to my Hitler-Jugend corps that evening.

At dinner I discussed the forth-coming events with Leni and mother. Leni was concerned that I might be hurt and urged me not to get too involved in the violence. Mother on the other hand was more reserved.

“Do you have to go Ralf? Can you not just let the others do it? You have a good job and a family to consider.”

I assured them both I wasn’t going to do anything heroic. No-one would be hurt. To be honest, I wasn’t telling them the whole truth. I was looking forward to meeting some of my old friends again; people like Reinhardt whom I’d heard was an officer in the SA but more especially Jurgen who I’d not seen since mother’s party. She had told me a few months back he was now an officer in the Schutzstaffel and I had learned recently he was back on leave from the Konzentrationslager at Dachau.

I had been told to dress my corps in civilian clothes so as not to give the impression that this was solely a paramilitary attack, more a spontaneous outburst of indignation. We assembled in Potsdamerplatz and there I spotted Reinhardt. The attack had already begun and large crowds were smashing many windows. He was directing some of his subordinates to paint slogans on the wall of a bread shop owned by a Jew called Dreifuss. We embraced warmly.

“Ralf, it’s great to see you again. How have you been? I heard you married Leni and worked behind a desk now. Some of the boys are calling you the Marriage Councillor.”

I laughed and ordered my corps to help with the painting.

“I have to say you’re looking well Reinhardt. You’ve come up in the world.”

“It’s just a stepping stone Ralf. Next year I’m moving on to the real thing, the Schutzstaffel.”

“Talking about Schutzstaffel, I’m looking for a guy called Jurgen. I met him a few years back at one of my mother’s parties.”

“Not Jurgen Groer?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“You know Jurgen Groer? He’s a legend Ralf. He’s at Alexanderplatz, gave a speech earlier that had my boys chomping at the bit; go on up if you want, I’ll look after your lads.”

I was about to take Reinhardt up on his offer when I recognised one of his SA men.

“That’s not that Otto Becker is it?”

Reinhardt laughed loudly. “I’m afraid so Ralf. We had to give him something to do.”

“Well God help you and any Jews you find tonight. He’ll probably bore them to death.”

To my annoyance, Reinhardt shouted over at Becker, “Otto, there’s an old friend of yours here.” Otto turned and seemed surprised to see me. His uniform was too small and he looked even fatter than when I last saw him. He came and joined us.

“Otto knows where Jurgen is. He’ll take you up.” Reinhardt explained.

Otto led me off towards Alexanderplatz. We didn’t say much to each other. The sound of breaking glass was everywhere punctuated with screams and cries. SA gangs were attacking shops that didn’t even look Jewish and looting seemed to be widespread despite the directive from Heydrich. Occasionally Otto would shout encouragement, “Get those fucking Jews out of our country.” and “Slaughter the Yids!” It went on and on. We came across one group who had surrounded two old men who looked like Rabbi’s. Both were pushed to the ground and some of the group were urinating on them.

“I need a piss” Otto declared and went to join them. The old men tried to escape but were met with kicks and spits. We found another group with three women. Some were trying to rip off their clothes, urged on by their comrades. Otto was even more enthusiastic about joining this group but fortunately an officer appeared and put an end to it. He told the women to go indoors if they valued their lives. As we moved on I looked back and saw some of the boys following the women into their home. We eventually reached Alexanderplatz and Otto pointed towards a small group standing on the back of a lorry.

“He’s over there”, he said before running back the way we had come. I was glad to see the back of him and approached the truck delighted to see Jurgen dressed immaculately in his black uniform. I called his name. He looked at me.

“It’s Ralf Hartman”, I shouted, “We met a few years ago at my mother’s house”.

Jurgen smiled, jumped down and gave me a pleasant hug.

“Of course I remember you Ralf. How could I forget?”

“This is some evening! Who would have thought, eh?”

Jurgen offered me a cigarette. I didn’t smoke but took it anyway.

“This is the start of it Ralf. All those years of preparation and discussion have finally come to an end. Now we have action. We will rid our country of undesirables and then turn our attention to Europe. By the time we have finished our race will have fulfilled its destiny and those that sought to destroy us will have been consigned to history. A thousand years of stability and purity is what we can look forward to Ralf.”

I loved his passion but I was struggling to smoke the cigarette and coughing badly.

“You don’t smoke, do you? Jurgen laughed. How’s your mother?”

I shook my head and tried to smile.

“My mother”

“Yes.”

“She’s fine.”

“Is she still singing?”

“Yes, in Peer Gynt at the Main Opera house.”

I stood for a while longer listening to him speaking about the Schutzstaffel, the training, the expectations and his obvious pride at having been selected to oversee what he referred to as “this important occasion”. To be honest, I was in awe of him and wanted to be just like him. Mother was also right. His uniform was glorious and dressed him in dignity and respect.

When the attack finally ended, hundreds of shops lay burnt or ransacked. Synagogues were reduced to ashes. We had definitely made our point.

“Our will is what is important Ralf”, Jurgen said, “It is who we are, our country, our hopes and desires.”

He decided to accompany me home telling me he wished to see mother again. As we approached the apartment we could hear her singing
Solveig’s Song
from
Peer Gynt.
We stopped to listen. She really was a special singer. Her voice soared through the open window and drifted high above the city, high above the flames and the wreckage.

The winter may pass and the spring disappear
The spring disappear
The summer too will vanish and then the year
And then the year
But this I know for certain: you'll come back again
You'll come back again
And even as I promised you'll find me waiting then
You'll find me waiting then.

Mother was surprised and delighted to see Jurgen. Leni too seemed impressed. He entertained us thoroughly as we ate supper, sharing tales of his exploits in Bavaria and exciting us with his passion and energy. Later as I lay in bed I heard him with my mother. Their lovemaking was anything but gentle.