Tania Blanchard - The Girl from Munich

I felt foolish, too, as I tried and failed to set aside my crush to begin wedding preparations. Our mothers, however, were in their element, planning the society wedding of the year. Heinrich’s mother, Tante Klara – as I had called her since childhood – had always wanted a daughter. I knew she was happy to have me as her daughter-in-law and she made the most of her involvement. Blonde heads bent over lists, magazines or in deep discussion about the benefits and disadvantages of each tiny detail. I noticed that the haunted, faraway look I often saw in my mother’s eyes disappeared during her conversations with Tante Klara. Her constant worry about Willi faded into the background when she immersed herself in the wedding – this was something she could control, a way to obliterate, if only for a little while, the cruel reality of war. I was worried about Willi too. He was in France awaiting deployment and while he was safe for the moment we didn’t know how long that would last.

Sometimes my patience was sorely tested when Mutti and Tante Klara forced their preferences on me. I was finding it harder and harder to care about the perfect wedding they were planning, unable to keep my mind from straying to the oberinspektor, struggling privately with the constraints I felt.

‘What flowers do you like?’ asked Heinrich’s mother as we sat in our parlour one Sunday, flicking through catalogues.

‘Something a little different…’ I said casually. ‘Perhaps peony… some delphiniums… cornflowers?’ I heard the intakes of breath around me.

‘They’re not formal enough, dear, for the type of wedding you’re having,’ said Tante Klara quietly. ‘How about some calla lilies or roses?’

I stared out to the potted geraniums on the wrought iron balustrade of the balcony off the parlour, the masses of red blooms cheering me up. Looking down at the catalogue once again, a particular picture caught my attention. ‘Oh! I like that very much.’ I looked closer at the arrangement and then glanced up quickly to the balcony, smiling. ‘All right, roses it is.’

‘Good,’ said my mother.

Tante Klara was nodding next to her. ‘Yes, dear, that will be very nice, white roses in a formal arrangement.’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘Red roses, long stemmed, in a sheath, tied with a ribbon.’ I raised the catalogue. ‘See, like this.’ I pointed to the picture. Both mothers craned their necks to study the photo. ‘If Maria Anna is putting such an arrangement in her catalogue, it must be the next thing and soon everybody who’s anybody will be doing their flowers like this.’

‘Red roses are not appropriate for a wedding dear,’ Tante Klara said, leafing through another booklet.

‘White roses,’ said my mother and the glare she gave me caused me to close my mouth with my objection unuttered.

‘Here’s one. Perhaps this could work for you, white roses in a cascading arrangement. Not what I’m used to but I think it could look lovely.’ My future mother-in-law passed the booklet across to me. I had to admit, the arrangement was beautiful and at least she was willing to give me a little leeway but I had my heart set on the red roses now that I had seen them.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

My mother stood, snatching the offending booklets from me and placing them on the side table. ‘I think that will do for the flowers. We’ll plan for white roses in a formal bouquet and work the other flowers for the wedding around that.’

It was pointless to fight what they both wanted, they would have their way and if I was honest, it was going to be spectacular. I wasn’t sure I cared that much any more, though – the wedding was for our families, not for Heinrich and me. I reminded myself I only wanted to be with Heinrich, living our lives together, the details didn’t matter. But the oberinspektor’s sparkling green eyes were never far from my thoughts.

One night in October, just before the first anniversary of my brother Ludwig’s death, I awakened to the sound of air-raid sirens, the high-pitched whine echoing in my bones. It was a sound we hadn’t heard in over a year. My door was thrown open and my mother appeared in her silk dressing gown, her hair dishevelled and lines of terror etched across her face.

‘Lotte, get up quickly. We have to go.’ I could hear the strain in her voice even though it was still husky from sleep. I swung my legs over the side of my bed, a little disoriented and my chest tight with fear.

My father was right behind her, carrying her coat, pulling her away and extending his hand to me. ‘Leave everything,’ he said urgently. ‘None of this matters if I lose one of you. Come.’ I knew he felt the fear we did but he was steadfast and calm even in the middle of a crisis, always ready with a logical response or solution. It was one of the things I loved about him.

My heart pounding, I jumped out of bed, sliding on my dressing gown and slippers. I grabbed my suitcase with my treasures: my camera and photos. I couldn’t leave them behind. Before I grasped my father’s hand, I snatched Willi’s most recent letter from my desk and jammed it into my pocket. Vati shoved my overcoat into my arms and dread coiled through my body like lead, weighing me down. The horror of the Hamburg bombings and subsequent firestorm in which thousands perished and hundreds of thousands were left homeless was fresh in my mind.

Huddled between my parents in the bomb shelter, neighbours and strangers pressed all around us like sardines in a can, I could only hear the muffled thud of a continuous stream of bombs pounding the city. I held my hand across my face, attempting to filter the air as I breathed through my mouth, trying not to inhale the overpowering smell of so many bodies in a confined space. Another explosion rent the air, and I jumped.

‘It’s all right, Lotte,’ whispered my father, squeezing my hand. ‘They’re not close. I don’t think we’re the target tonight. Maybe one of the industrial plants on the edge of the city. Hopefully not mine.’ Vati’s factory had been consigned to the war effort and although his family still owned the business, he no longer had anything to do with its operation.

‘What about Heinrich? What if he’s still at the hospital?’

‘He’ll be all right. He’ll be as safe as we are.’

I nodded, leaning against Vati in relief, wanting to believe him, drawing on his strength, wondering how my other friends and work colleagues were faring, Bettina and the oberinspektor included. Most lived close to the city and listening to the relentless whistle and thud of bombs, I couldn’t imagine how München would survive such an attack.

Mutti clutched my other hand in terror, holding tight as though she would never let go. She was shuddering. I let go of Vati’s hand, gesturing to Mutti. Vati stood and squeezed in on the other side of her, putting his arm around her.

‘It’s all right, Amelia. We’re safe tonight,’ he murmured into her ear.

‘Just keep Lotte close. I don’t know how much more of this noise I can take.’

Mutti’s panic was feeding my own anxiety and I didn’t need any more of that. I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the coarse paper of Willi’s letter. I hoped that, wherever he was, he too was safe. I closed my eyes to shut out the pale faces in shadow and silently recited Willi’s letter to myself.