grown up, pretty well, and they only come at weekends. So it’s just me and Father here and deadly boring. I can’t wait till the holidays are over and I go back to school in Berlin. You can call me Reggie by the way.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died.”
“Why?”
“She was struck by lightning.”
“Here?”
“No, of course not. She wasn’t really. She had an illness .”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twelve and a half. Is it true that your father is Josef Goebbels?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Do you know Adolf Hitler?”
“Do you mean the Leader?”
“Some people call him that.”
“We call him Uncle Leader.”
“Is he your uncle?”
“Not my real uncle.”
“Is he scary?”
“No, he’s not really scary, but he’s smelly.”
“My father says he’s a very dangerous man. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Two sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest – except for Harald, he’s sixteen, but he’s only my half-brother and he mostly lives with his father – Hilde is three and a half, Helmut is nearly two and Holde is just a baby.”
“Is that all? Father always says Goebbels has hundreds of children – at least 23 or something.”
“Oh bother, that’s Cook calling. I’ve got to go to lunch. Be here the same time tomorrow!”
After that I used to look for Regine, Queen of the Goldschmidts, whenever I could. She would come over to our side and we would lie in the grass and she wouldtell me stories about her school, and show me how to do the splits, which I never could. I remember one lovely warm day, she took me over to her side, down to a jetty sticking out into the lake at the bottom of their garden, and we sat dangling our feet and making little ripples in the still, still water. No one saw us.
After that the days became cooler and I had to wear a cardigan. I looked for Regine in the usual place, after breakfast and after lunch, but she wasn’t there any more. She must have gone back to Berlin.
Uncle Leader used to come and stay a lot – Mummy did up a special guest house for him so that he could come whenever he wanted. He came for my fifth birthday and he gave me a toy sewing machine. Even though it was a toy, it really worked. It was beautiful: shiny black metal decorated with gold flowers. I immediately pictured all the gorgeous dresses I was going to be able to make.
“How does it work?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea – your mother will have to show you.”
Mummy sent for an old sheet.
I didn’t want a dress made out of an old sheet.
“I’ll show you how to hem.”
I didn’t want to know how to hem.
“We’ll start with a handkerchief!”
Mummy cut a small square.
She leant over me and directed my hands to push the material into place. Her big ring squashed into my fingers.
“No, no, no… Helga, hold it flat. I’ll do the pedal.”
I DON’T WANT TO MAKE A STUPID HANDKERCHIEF! I thought, but I didn’t say. I held my tongue. The stitches rushed along: one, two, three, four sides, closed neatly over.
“There,” Mummy said. “Lovely. All done. Show Uncle Leader what a clever girl you are.”
Papa had his own guest house too and he used to stay there so that he could work undisturbed. Mummy said we made too much noise for him to concentrate, but I think she did more shouting than we did. Lida must have been good at keeping quiet because she was allowed.
Day Two in the Bunker
Monday 23 April, 1945
I was the last one to wake up this morning. I can vaguely remember Helmut turning on the light at some point, but I just pulled the blanket over my eyes and fell back to sleep. When I woke up properly Helmut was firing elastic bands at the door handle; Hilde was reading a book about the Red Indians and Holde and Hedda and Heide had “gone to Iceland”, which is what they call it when they dive down under the sheets to the bottom of the bed and pretend it’s an igloo.
Mrs. Junge came to call us for breakfast. She
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died.”
“Why?”
“She was struck by lightning.”
“Here?”
“No, of course not. She wasn’t really. She had an illness .”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twelve and a half. Is it true that your father is Josef Goebbels?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Do you know Adolf Hitler?”
“Do you mean the Leader?”
“Some people call him that.”
“We call him Uncle Leader.”
“Is he your uncle?”
“Not my real uncle.”
“Is he scary?”
“No, he’s not really scary, but he’s smelly.”
“My father says he’s a very dangerous man. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Two sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest – except for Harald, he’s sixteen, but he’s only my half-brother and he mostly lives with his father – Hilde is three and a half, Helmut is nearly two and Holde is just a baby.”
“Is that all? Father always says Goebbels has hundreds of children – at least 23 or something.”
“Oh bother, that’s Cook calling. I’ve got to go to lunch. Be here the same time tomorrow!”
After that I used to look for Regine, Queen of the Goldschmidts, whenever I could. She would come over to our side and we would lie in the grass and she wouldtell me stories about her school, and show me how to do the splits, which I never could. I remember one lovely warm day, she took me over to her side, down to a jetty sticking out into the lake at the bottom of their garden, and we sat dangling our feet and making little ripples in the still, still water. No one saw us.
After that the days became cooler and I had to wear a cardigan. I looked for Regine in the usual place, after breakfast and after lunch, but she wasn’t there any more. She must have gone back to Berlin.
Uncle Leader used to come and stay a lot – Mummy did up a special guest house for him so that he could come whenever he wanted. He came for my fifth birthday and he gave me a toy sewing machine. Even though it was a toy, it really worked. It was beautiful: shiny black metal decorated with gold flowers. I immediately pictured all the gorgeous dresses I was going to be able to make.
“How does it work?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea – your mother will have to show you.”
Mummy sent for an old sheet.
I didn’t want a dress made out of an old sheet.
“I’ll show you how to hem.”
I didn’t want to know how to hem.
“We’ll start with a handkerchief!”
Mummy cut a small square.
She leant over me and directed my hands to push the material into place. Her big ring squashed into my fingers.
“No, no, no… Helga, hold it flat. I’ll do the pedal.”
I DON’T WANT TO MAKE A STUPID HANDKERCHIEF! I thought, but I didn’t say. I held my tongue. The stitches rushed along: one, two, three, four sides, closed neatly over.
“There,” Mummy said. “Lovely. All done. Show Uncle Leader what a clever girl you are.”
Papa had his own guest house too and he used to stay there so that he could work undisturbed. Mummy said we made too much noise for him to concentrate, but I think she did more shouting than we did. Lida must have been good at keeping quiet because she was allowed.
Day Two in the Bunker
Monday 23 April, 1945
I was the last one to wake up this morning. I can vaguely remember Helmut turning on the light at some point, but I just pulled the blanket over my eyes and fell back to sleep. When I woke up properly Helmut was firing elastic bands at the door handle; Hilde was reading a book about the Red Indians and Holde and Hedda and Heide had “gone to Iceland”, which is what they call it when they dive down under the sheets to the bottom of the bed and pretend it’s an igloo.
Mrs. Junge came to call us for breakfast. She
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