The House on Schellberg Street

 

Renate, 28 January 1939 9:00 a.m.

 

Hans Edler suddenly roared with laughter. “Well, well. That spotty little Hitler-fan might have actually saved your life by being so pedantic. Or maybe even our dear Father Brandt, the old soak.”

“Hans!” Mutti said sharply.

“Well, getting a new passport now, you know—”

“Ssh!” her mother said.

He just shrugged his shoulders, then looked a bit more serious and said “You take care now.”

Renate had had her passport for two years now, since she went on a school trip to Italy. She remembered going with her father to get it.

“But the birth certificate is wrong,” he’d argued with the official. “The fool of a priest who christened her was drunk at the time. She is supposed to be Renata Clara – Renata ending in ‘a’, not ‘e’ and Clara with a ‘C’ after both of her grandmothers. Not Klara with a ‘K’. Renate with an ‘e’.”

“Well, you should have found a priest who wasn't drunk,” said the young official.

Renate remembered his eyes: blue and lifeless. He’d looked beyond them, not at them.

“She was born in a thunderstorm, six weeks early. We didn’t think she would live,” her father replied in a raised voice.

The younger man hesitated for a moment. Then he slapped the application form down on the table. “Oh, go round the corner and get her an adult passport. She’s old enough anyway.”

“One of Hitler’s trumped-up youths,” her father had mumbled as they joined another queue in the passport office.

When they were eventually shown into the office, Vati recognized the official. He was Herr Müller, one of his old school friends.

“But Hans,” said Herr Müller slowly, “even if the birth certificate is wrong, we must put on her passport exactly what it says there. Of course, in the privacy of your own home and amongst your own family and friends, you can call her what you like.”

“Yes, you’re right of course.” Vati sighed. “But I just can’t stand the attitude of Hitler’s young bully boys.”

“Yes, I know, I know,” said Herr Müller. “But we still have to obey the rules.” He turned to Renate and winked. “Now, the passport will be ready very soon.”

Three weeks later he personally handed the passport to Renate. “There,” he said. “Your very own grown-up passport. That should last you quite a long time. You’ll be a pretty young woman by the time you need a new one, I’ve no doubt.”

Then Herr Müller had looked at her father and said quite seriously. “You know, I think it was a good thing to get her an adult passport. You never know how useful that might be one day.”

Renate hadn’t understood what he’d meant then, and still didn’t now, though she supposed it was useful for this trip.

 

“That’s the biggest we’ve got that you’ll be able to carry,” said Mutti. They were putting the last of her things into the suitcase. Renate was wearing her best dress under two extra jumpers.

“Surely it won’t be that cold there?” Renate said as she pulled on even more layers.

“It is a damp place, surrounded by water,” explained Mutti. “Not that all these clothes will keep out the coldness.”

“I’m not really Jewish, am I?” asked Renate.

“Wear your blue sweater on the boat,” Mutti said. “Even with your thick coat on you’ll be cold.”

Find your copy here  

 

The House on Schellberg Street by Gill James

 

Renate, 22 December 2:30 p.m.

 

“What’s going on, Wilma?” said Renate. “Why was Mutti crying this morning?”

“I expect she’s just worrying about the packing,” said Wilma. “You know what a tizzy she gets into when she has to pack.”

“I suppose so,” said Renate.

“And I expect she’s bothered about leaving your father on his own,” said Wilma. “It’s not very nice, families being split up at Christmas.”

“Vati’s not coming to Stuttgart?” said Renate, alarmed. She had been looking forward to spending time in Oma’s rambling house on Schellberg Street, and the few days before staying with Hani. Christmas without Vati?

Before Wilma could answer the door opened. It was Mutti.

“Renate, I need to talk to you,” she said.

There was something about the tone of Mutti’s voice that Renate didn’t like.

“You may have wondered, perhaps...” her mother began. “You may have noticed …” She folded her hands and closed her eyes and then started again. “Have you ever wondered if we might have Jewish connections?”

Renate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What did Mutti mean? They couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Jews could they? That would mean … that would mean they would have to give up all sorts of things.

“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid it’s true,” her mother continued. “I am Jewish, and so is Oma – but not your father. You and I and your Oma will have to leave Germany after Christmas and go and live in England. A lot of very kind people have done all sorts of things to make it possible for us to go there. You will have to go first.”

“What? On my own?” cried Renate.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. But I shall be following very soon. Your uncles are waiting for you in England and will take care of you. But Vati won’t be able to come too – he won’t be allowed to leave Germany.” Her mother’s voice broke and she added almost in a whisper. “Go and think it over in your room. I… I want to be alone for a bit.”

Renate couldn’t move. She stared at her mother. They were Jewish? She and Mutti were Jewish? She knew that it was very difficult for Jewish people living in Germany and was getting worse all the time. Everything had been just the same as normal, except perhaps for Mutti’s strange moods. But they didn’t look at all like the Jews they’d seen down in town. Those men with the big hats and the long sideburns and the women always dressed in black. Mutti just looked like any other German woman.

“Renate, I told you to go,” said Mutti. “I need to be on my own.”

Somehow, she managed to will her feet to move. She left the lounge and set off for her room. As she crossed the hallway, she caught her reflection in the long mirror but she could see nothing different. She was not a racial disgrace or a contamination. That’s what they said the Jews were, didn’t they? She pushed her shoulders back and held her head up. “I’m just the same as ever. I am not a disgrace. I am going to England and I shall like it,” she whispered.

Her father came out of his study and stood beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s for the best,” he said.

“But I can’t speak any English,” said Renate.

Find your copy here  

 

The House on Schellberg Street: Renate, 22 December 1938 6:30 a.m.

 

Renate reread the letter while she waited for the paint to dry.

 

22 December 1938

Dear All,

This is such an exciting idea! I’m really glad you asked me to be the first. I had thought of waiting a week or two, until I’d got something to report about the Christmas holiday and the new school. But in the end I couldn’t wait. The sooner I send it on to Anika, the sooner it will go round to the rest of you. And the sooner I’ll get it back to read all of your news.

I hope you all like the book I chose.

It’s going to be a glorious Christmas this year, anyway. Two weeks of snow, in Stuttgart, they say. We are off to stay at Oma’s house on Schellberg Street for Christmas as usual. I’m looking forward to those walks through the hills again – it’ll be such fun in the snow. And I’ll be seeing my cousins and my friend, Hani.

We lit the Adventskranz at coffee time yesterday afternoon. Wilma had made a lovely one with fir branches and fat white candles. Mother had baked one of her famous Apfelkuchen. She makes them so nice with big chunks of apple and lots of cinnamon. My favourite.

I love this time of year. Even father seemed in a brighter mood than usual. Both he and mother have been so serious-looking recently. There’s something wrong, I think, and they won’t tell me what. Do you remember that fuss mother made about me going to Mostviel last summer? Well, it’s gradually got worse. Father looking more and more worried, and mother cancelling dinner-parties and refusing to go to the opera. I hope they’re not falling out or anything.

But yesterday they got into a bit of the Christmas mood. I almost choked, though, when the telegraph boy came round.

“Heil Hitler!” he said.

And my father replied “Heil Edler!” Thank goodness the boy didn’t notice. But I was going redder and redder, trying not to giggle. After he’d gone I almost spat the whole mouthful of Apfelkuchen out.

That scene repeated itself at dinner. Father knows very well that I hate spinach, and that I just hide it in my mouth until I can get rid of it later. He kept trying to make me laugh. Then it happened: a great explosion of green all over the white table cloth. Mother made a terrible fuss and muttered something about young ladies in her day. Wilma was trying not to laugh, I could tell! Father just roared.

It’ll be funny in January, all being in different places. I’ll see some of you at the Gymnasium, next autumn. I’m looking forward to hearing all about what the rest of you do at your new schools, and about your Christmases.

So I’ll finish now and get this in the post!

 

Love to you all,

Renate Edler

 

Yes, it was going to be a lovely Christmas. She smiled when she thought of Hani. She would have appreciated the Apfelkuchen. She liked her cake – and it showed. Renate looked down at her own thin arms and tutted. She looked so bony! If only she could curve a bit, like Hani. Oh, it was going to be such fun staying with her for the few days before Christmas.

The picture was dry now. Renate carefully glued it into the little exercise book. This was exciting. She placed the book into the brown envelope and neatly wrote Anika’s address, before making her way down to the kitchen.

Wilma was there, preparing the breakfast.

“Are there any stamps?” asked Renate.

“On the shelf in the hall. Why don’t you leave that, and Johann can take it when he calls?”

“Oh no!” replied Renate. “I have to take this myself. It’s special.”

“Well, don’t be long. Your mother says you have to pack. And wrap up warm - it’s bitter out there.”

“I’ve done my packing,” replied Renate. She’d decided to wear most of what she was taking; layers that she could peel off. The train was always so cold at first, and then, usually when they were almost there, it would get unbearably hot and stuffy, because by then it would be absolutely packed with people.

She walked quickly to the post-box at the end of the street. It was such a promising day with the sun was getting higher in the sky. Something ran in front of her, into the nearby woods. It was much too quick for her to see what it was.

So some of you aren’t hibernating, then, she thought.

She felt like skipping but thought that perhaps she was a bit too old. Nothing could spoil this day, though. Not even the huge swastika on the fence opposite.

The house was oddly quiet when she got back: no wireless; her father was not arguing loudly with the newspaper like he usually did; and Wilma was not singing in the kitchen. She could hear her mother and father talking softly but urgently in the dining room. The usual smell of strong black coffee and warm bread greeted her as she went into the room, but the coffee cups were empty and the rolls were still in the basket. Both of them jumped when they saw her. They stared at her, then looked at each other and then back at her. Her mother gazed  straight into her eyes and opened her mouth to say something. Her father turned away. Then she noticed her mother’s lip wobbling as tears formed in her already red eyes.

Find your copy here 

Girl in a Smart Uniform

 23 March 1932 : food fight? 

The doorbell rang. I didn’t want to get up and answer it straight away. I was too absorbed in my history project. Whoever was there rang again and again. Then they kept their finger on the bell. It got louder and louder and started to hurt my ears. All right then. I opened the door, and there was Thomas standing on the step.

“Will you do something for me?”

“What? Why?”

“My mother’s expecting a parcel and I‘ve got to go out.”

“Why can’t you wait for it?”

“Because we’re going on a hike, and we’re going to build a campfire and cook on it.” His eyes were shining.

“Well I hope you don’t mess up your lovely new uniform.” I felt a bit mean as soon as I’d said it.

“You could join the Jungmädel.”

Hmm. Herr Silber kept saying he would buy me the uniform and Kurt thought it would be a good idea. Bear, though, said I would have plenty of time for those sorts of things later. Mutti just smiled and shrugged her shoulders every time the subject came up. Anyway, back then, I wasn’t sure I was thant keen on creepy crawlies and sleeping outside. I wished, though, that I could enjoy things like Thomas did.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, can you take this parcel or not?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just leave a note on the door.” 

“Well I hope you don’t get the hook-nose.”

“Hook-nose?”

“He’s a Jew.”

“So?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Don’t you know anything? You know. Jesus-hater. Home-wrecker. Work-stealer.”

What was he talking about? “Oh, just put a note on the door and tell him to come here.”

      Thomas jumped on the spot and clapped his hands. “Thanks.” 

I shut the door and returned to my project. What an idiot! Getting so excited about going out into the countryside with a load of other idiots. 

Soon I was once again trying to work out who German people were really supposed to be. Herr Lindemann was always going on about how we should be proud to be German and we should look at all the history books to see how great Germans really were. But we’re not. We’re poor and we keep losing wars.

Then I heard Bear coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Giselchen. Are you doing your homework on a nice sunny day like today? You should be out getting some fresh air.”

I smiled to myself. I knew why he was in such a good mood. He’d come back on leave last night and he’d gone for a walk with Helga Brassel. Maybe they’d kissed. I was a bit jealous in a way. Maybe when he came home now he wouldn’t have so much time for me. Never mind, though, I was glad he was happy. He was so nice, my big Bear brother. Especially when he was cheerful. And that always made it nicer for me as well.

He leaned over to see what I was writing. “Oh, oh, oh. The glorious German people. Do you think so, really?”

“It’s what Herr Lindemann says.”

 “Well, if it’s what your teacher says, I suppose it must be true. Or at least you’d better pretend to agree just in case.”

As if I’d ever not do what my teacher told me. What was he thinking?

The doorbell rang again. Before I could get up out of my seat Bear had rushed to the front door and opened it. It was the parcel man. I could tell by the conversation.

“That right Giselchen? You’re to take in a parcel for Thomas’s Mutti?”

Did he have to call me that in front of other people? I quite liked it when we were at home together as a family. But I was growing up now and ought to be called by my proper name. “Yes,” I called.

A few moments later he came back into the kitchen with a large brown box. “I wonder what they’ve been buying? It’s not very heavy.”

“Was it the hook-nose?”

“What?”

“The hook-nose.” What else had Thomas said? “The Jesus-hater?”

“Now then.” Bear’s eyes were flashing. I’d never known him be angry before. Well not with me, anyway. Sometimes when he and Kurt argued perhaps. “Do you mean was he Jewish? Yes he was – is. They’re just people, Gisela. Remember that. Just people.”

I felt my cheeks burning. I didn’t know what to say. 

Bear made himself some breakfast and sat reading the newspaper. He was really cross with me and I didn’t really understand what I’d done wrong. Okay, so Thomas had been a bit cruel in what he’d said but hadn’t Herr Lindemann said almost the same thing? That the German people were good and it was others who were making life difficult for us. Didn’t that mean the Jews?

About an hour later Bear stood up. “I’m going for a walk.”

I would have liked to go with him but something about the way he looked at me told me that that wasn’t an option this time. 

 

Not long after I’d done as much as I could on the history project. I was getting confused, anyway. It didn’t really make sense. Nobody seemed to like the Germans because of the war but Herr Lindemann had kept telling all of us in our class how great the German people were. And the Germans didn’t like the Jews but the Jews were some of the cleverest people around – good business men, doctors and lawyers. I was worried as well that Bear might still be cross and that he wouldn’t want to spend time with me – especially now that Helga was on the scene. Is that where he had gone now? Was that why he hadn’t wanted me to go with him? What could I do to get back into his good books?

I saw his boots standing in the shoe rack. They were pretty dirty. That was it. I could clean them for him.

I put out newspaper and organised the shoe-cleaning things. I brushed off the loose mud and rubbed the polish into the stiff leather. Then I brushed the boots vigorously until they began to shine, finally polishing them really hard with a duster. Goodness, they really gleamed now. I was enjoying this. There were other shoes that needed cleaning as well; Mutti’s working shoes, the ones I wore for school, an old pair of Kurt’s and even some that Vati had left behind. I polished until my arms ached and I had polish all over my arms. I guessed I probably had some on my face as well because I had to keep pushing my hair out of my eyes with my mucky fingers. I was determined now to make sure that all of the shoes really sparkled.

I was just finishing the last pair when I heard Bear whistling.

“Goodness,” he said, as he opened the door. “Somebody’s been busy.”

He definitely seemed in a better mood. He picked up his boots. “You’ll have to join the army if you can shine boots up like that. Where did you learn to clean shoes so well?”

It wasn’t really that clever, was it? I’d watched Vati do it hundreds of times.

“Did you see Helga again?” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. It was none of my business.

He blushed then grinned. “Yes. I took her some flowers.”

Had they kissed again? Had they even kissed yet? I would have loved to know but didn’t dare ask.

“That’s nice.” Would somebody bring me flowers one day? Herr Silber often brought them for Mutti.

“Actually, do you fancy coming into town with me on the tram? We can go and have coffee and cake? At that nice little place near the synagogue.”

“Now? What about lunch?”

He shrugged. “The portions are big there, I’m told. They’ll make up for not having lunch. And they’re not too expensive, considering. Herr Silber gave me some money last night.”

“Yes, but don’t you want to save it?”

“Helga and her mother are going there this afternoon.”

“So wouldn’t you rather go on your own?”

“You’d be my excuse for going.” 

      I shook my head and then nodded. Why should I argue? I liked cake, didn’t I? It wasn’t often I got taken to a nice café.    

 

I’d never been into this café before. It had always looked too smart. It was in one of the old buildings right in the middle of the town.

“Come on then,” said Bear pushing open the heavy wooden door.

It was a bit gloomy inside at first but my eyes soon got used to it. It was so elegant.  There were white table cloths and pretty china and silver cutlery. There were candles and a small vase of flowers on every table.

There was such a strong smell of coffee and the coffee machine whooshed and spluttered all the time.       

It was quite full. I thought everybody must have a Herr Silber who gave out money, then. The other people there weren’t like us, though. They were all smartly dressed. Some of the ladies were wearing fur stoles even though the weather was so warm.

It was the cakes, though, that astonished me, the most. There were large tarts, covered in fruit, big gateaux smothered in cream and fancy individual ones very cleverly iced. I had no idea which one to choose.   

“Have you decided yet?” Bear was actually frowning as he studied the display.

Then I saw it though.  My favourite. “Can I have some baked cheesecake?” I said. 

“Good choice. Lemonade to drink?”

I nodded.  I really would have liked a coffee, though but Bear would probably have said I was too young.  I wasn’t, but I never wanted to argue with him. 

Bear gave our order to the lady at the counter and a waitress in a very smart black dress and a starched white apron showed us over to the table. Bear gave her our ticket. 

“One black coffee and a lemonade,” he said. He sat up very straight. I think he was trying to look smart. I found it hard not to giggle.

She wrote in her little notebook, smiled at me and then went towards the counter at the back of the shop.

Bear looked around. “Do you like it here?” 

I nodded, though actually I wasn’t all that sure. I felt out of place.  

A few more people came in. All of them were really well dressed. I had put my own best frock on – Bear had said I should. But it looked very dowdy compared with the ones other girls my age were wearing.

“Oh. Here they come.” Bear blushed bright red and looked away. “Don’t stare at them and if they do see you looking, pretend to be surprised.”

“Didn’t you tell her you were going to come here?”

He shook his head.

I quickly looked at Helga and Frau Brassel. Helga was wearing a pretty white dress that had a pattern of pink roses over it. Frau Brassel had on a grey silk dress with a hat and a fur stole to match. Would I ever be able to dress like that? 

At that moment the waitress arrived with our drinks and slices of cake. Bear rubbed his hands together. “This looks good.”

The lemonade was delicious. The cake was rich and creamy. He’d been right; the portions were so big that it more than made up for not having lunch. By the time I’d eaten half of my slice I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to finish it all.  

“Is the coffee all right?”

“The best I’ve ever tasted.”   

“Will you go and talk to them?”

  “Maybe, when we’ve all finished. If I get the chance.”

Suddenly somebody knocked on the window. I jumped. Kurt’s face was staring at me. What was he doing here? He hadn’t written to say he would have some leave.

He mouthed something at Bear and frowned.

“I think I’d better go and talk to him,” said Bear. “You wait here.”

I watched him walk out of the café and into the street. He and Kurt stood talking on the pavement. I couldn’t tell what they were saying. 

I toyed with the last of my cake. I just couldn’t manage it. I pushed the plate away.

“Are you all finished here?”

I nodded. The waitress cleared away the plates, the cup and saucer and the glass. “Would you like anything else?”

I shook my head. “My brother will be back in a minute.”

The waitress smiled and nodded. “Take your time. It’s fine.”

He didn’t come back in a minute, though. Nor in five or ten. He and Kurt were talking for ages. Suddenly Kurt started shouting. I could hear him now all right. So could everybody else in the café.

“You should not be mixing with the scum like that. Don’t you know they’re taking our jobs and stealing our homes and businesses? This café should belong to a good German family, not people like them.”

Bear was shaking his head.

Kurt suddenly stared waving his arms around.

Bear started shouting, though I still couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Then Kurt leaned forward and punched Bear on the nose. It began to bleed. Bear swung his arm at Kurt and made his nose bleed in turn. Then they were on the ground. Punching and kicking each other.

“Help, somebody. Please stop my brothers fighting.” I shouted as loud as I could but everyone just stared at me as I ran out of the café.

“The bill?” said the waitress as she passed me near the doorway.

“It’s all right. We’ll take care of that.” Frau Brassel stood up and waved the waitress over to her.

By the time I got outside two men had pulled Bear and Kurt apart. Kurt shrugged himself away from the man who was holding him. 

“If you’re going to defend that sort of scum you’re not my brother anymore.” He picked up his cap and walked off.

I punched Bear in the stomach. “Why do you and Kurt always have to fight?”

He looked such a mess. His best white shirt was covered in blood and dirty marks. There were some cuts on his face.

Helga and Frau Brassel came out at that moment. Frau Brassel shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Helga…?” Bear walked towards her. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Helga stared at him for a few seconds, frowned, linked arms with her mother and turned her back on him. The two women walked away towards the centre of the town.

I guessed he wouldn’t be kissing Helga anytime soon. He didn’t say a word on the tram journey home.

Find your copy here