1932
In August 1932, Clara Hartwell, a British midwife, arrived in Berlin to work at the prestigious Charité Hospital. Within months, she met Captain Friedrich Bergmann of the Wehrmacht logistics division at a medical lecture. Their courtship was swift, and they married in 1933.
The couple settled in Charlottenburg, where Clara continued her midwifery at the hospital and Friedrich worked at the Bendlerblock military headquarters. By all accounts, theirs was a devoted marriage, despite the growing tensions between their two countries.
What happened next would test not only their love for each other, but everything they believed about duty, loyalty and survival.
Chapter 1
Berlin, 29th August 1939
The rumble of military trucks outside on the street below woke Clara before dawn. It was the third convoy that week. She lay still in the darkness, listening as the heavy vehicles rolled past their Charlottenburg apartment, making the glass shake in the window frames. Friedrich’s side of the bed was already cold. It was still early, but fully awake now, she got out of bed. Wrapping her robe around her, she went out into the hallway.
The air in the apartment was stuffy, and in the living room, she drew back the blackout curtains, which had to stay closed throughout the night, and was greeted with the red flag on the opposite building, its swastika emblem catching the early light. She looked away, hating the fact that it was the first thing she saw now. It had been there for the past week, along with several others lining the street. She had fantasised about cutting it down several times.
The faint smell of diesel from the convoy lingered in the air. Below, the street was just coming to life. A light glimmered from the bakery opposite as Herr Vogel opened his shop blinds, and a milk cart rattled over the cobbles. Everyone went about their daily routines as if nothing had changed, it all looked ordinary. Yet the air felt different now. This was Berlin’s new kind of normal.
Clara moved around the kitchen quietly with practised ease, the familiar ritual of preparing breakfast offering a small comfort in uncertain times. From Friedrich’s study came the sound of papers being shuffled, the scratching of his fountain pen on requisition forms that seemed to be arriving in greater numbers by the day. So much so, he was having to bring work home from the administration centre, Bendlerblock, where he worked in logistics.
As a captain in the Wehrmacht’s logistics division, her husband’s work had grown relentless over recent months. Clara couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken to find him still in bed beside her, his side already cold. Today was no exception.
She crossed the hallway of their second-floor apartment situated in the elegant district of Charlottenburg, Berlin. Her footsteps deadened by the rug that ran the length of the hall. The study door was ajar, but Clara tapped gently before stepping inside. Friedrich was sitting at his desk, head down looking at some paperwork. His uniform jacket was draped over the back of the chair. The desk was underneath a window and overlooked the courtyard below, but it was a view that Clara doubted Friedrich had time to appreciate. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he studied the document in front of him.
He looked up and his expression softened immediately. ‘Liebling,’ he said, setting down his pen. ‘Good morning.’
Clara crossed the room to stand at his side, resting her hand on his shoulder. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ she said, leaning down to kiss him. She regarded his face. ‘You look tired, Friedrich. I wish you didn’t have to work so hard.’
Friedrich covered her hand with his. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s not so much the amount of work, it’s just some of the supply requisitions don’t make sense,’ he sighed. ‘Shipping medical supplies away from the hospitals that need them. I don’t understand the logic.’
Clara frowned. ‘That might explain why even at the Charité Hospital, we are low on stock of certain medication and equipment.’ She slid her hand across his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. ‘Can you question it?’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘Every time I do, I’m reminded that it is not for me to question, just to facilitate. Duty to the Fatherland and so on.’ He closed his eyes momentarily, putting down his pen and dragging his hands down his face. He gave a short bitter laugh and looked towards the window. When he spoke again, his voice was low. ‘The trouble is, I’m not sure I recognise Germany anymore. My grandmother used to say Germany’s heart was its music, its poetry, its culture, its medicine, but now all I see .?.?.’ His voice trailed off.
‘You still believe in Germany, though – the one before all .?.?. all this,’ replied Clara, not really knowing how to describe everything that was happening around them.
He met her gaze. His blue eyes clear and determined. ‘Always,liebling. It’s the only one I ever will.’
He slipped his arms around her waist, and she cradled his head against her body, both mourning the elegant city they had once known. Clara had arrived in Berlin in 1932, drawn to the prestigious Charité Hospital to pursue her midwifery dreams after doors had closed to her in London. Within a month of her arrival, she’d met Friedrich at a hospital lecture where he was visiting to gain knowledge about new treatments to better inform his logistical work within the army. Their connection had been immediate. Now, seven years later, she could barely recognise the vibrant, cosmopolitan city she’d fallen in love with and where she’d fallen in love with Friedrich. The sophisticated cafés where they’d spent countless evenings with friends and family, or just the two of them, now stood empty of the laughter and carefree company had been replaced with muted voices and suspicion.
‘Come and have some breakfast,’ said Clara, pulling back from the embrace.
He followed her back to the kitchen and sat down at the table while Clara poured him a cup of fresh coffee. Outside, a distant siren wailed once – just a test, she told herself – but even that sound set her nerves on edge.
The fatigue in Friedrich’s face looked even more pronounced in the morning light. He sat in silence as she made them breakfast, setting it down and taking her seat opposite him. She watched as he swirled his spoon slowly around in the dark liquid.
‘They’re moving men east,’ he said at last, putting the spoon down. ‘Whole divisions. It’s all been planned for weeks, but the official word hasn’t come yet.’
Clara’s fingers tightened on her cutlery. ‘So, it’s true. They really are going to invade Poland?’
Friedrich didn’t answer immediately. ‘All the signs are there. Supply orders, fuel convoys, hospital reallocations .?.?. the machinery is already in motion.’
The telephone ringing cut short their conversation and Friedrich went out to the hall to take the call.
Clara could hear her husband greeting his mother on the phone. Clara was very fond of her mother-in-law, Gertrud. The Bergmanns had taken Clara into their family with much kindness and enthusiasm. Gertrud had been trying to convince her son to find a wife for a long time and although Clara wasn’t German, it hadn’t mattered to his aristocratic family. It was usual for Clara to spend every other Wednesday afternoon with Gertrud, and both women enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes they went to the theatre or shopping, other times they just enjoyed spending time in the Bergmann home – a rather large and impressive mansion house in the Grunewald district.
Clara was due to see Gertrud that afternoon after she had finished her shift at the hospital. It had been several weeks since the two women had seen each other.
After a few minutes Friedrich came into the kitchen. ‘That was Mother,’ he said.
