divided into three categories based upon the physical demands of their work—normal consumer, heavy worker, and very heavy worker—and would be allotted rations accordingly, with additional categories for infants, children, and adolescents. Special arrangements were made for Jews. Their allotments would be drastically smaller, and they would be forbidden to shop except during certain times of the day, typically the last half hour before the shops closed. If what Greta had witnessed in the stores that day was any indication, by the time the Jews were allowed to shop, there might be nothing left to buy.
When Greta took Ule and Saskia out for a walk through the Tiergarten on the morning of August 29, the day was sunny and warm, but the mood in Berlin was dejected and somber. Troops flowed through the city in a steady stream from west to east, but with none of the glamour of the parades made to feed Hitler’s vanity. Some soldiers rode in troop transports, but others were packed into commercial moving vans and grocery trucks, proving that expediency had become more important than military protocol.
Diplomatic talks were ongoing, Greta knew, no doubt at an increasingly frenzied pace as the days passed. She wanted to believe that the recent spectacle of war preparations—the rationing, the bold proclamations in the press, the flight maneuvers, the rapid shifting of troops in the direction of the Polish border, the official assurances to Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Switzerland that Germany would respect their neutrality in case of war—was a show staged to intimidate Great Britain and France, and that ultimately no war would come. Judging by the apprehensive expressions and slumped shoulders of the people Greta passed on the streets of Berlin, the thought of imminent war filled them with dread.
In the last days of August, strange reports appeared in the press of Polish terrorists crossing the border to attack German troops. “I don’t believe it,” said Adam, incredulous and angry, after they read of an alleged attack on a radio station in the German border town of Gleiwitz. “If these stories aren’t complete fabrications, then the incidents must have been staged.”
Greta agreed. Poland had no reason to provoke their increasingly aggressive neighbor, whereas Hitler was strongly motivated to create evidence to justify a strike against Poland. If they required any more reason to doubt the truth of the official accounts of what was happening on the Polish border, they need only consider the fact that Hitler was a proven liar, a master of propaganda and manipulation.
The next morning, Greta woke to a hand on her shoulder, the faint aroma of coffee, an urgent voice. “Greta.” Adam shook her gently. “Greta, wake up.”
She blinked at him, then at the clock. Adam always rose first and started breakfast, minding Ule and allowing her to sleep undisturbed as long as she could. But although it was past dawn—“What’s wrong?” It was too early. She scrambled to sit up. “Is Ule—”
“Ule is fine,” he said quickly. “He’s fine.”
“Thank God. But what—”
“Greta, it’s happened. This morning at dawn, Germany invaded Poland.”
Chapter Forty-six
September–October 1939
Mildred
All German radio stations carried the same announcement: At four o’clock that morning, German troops had crossed the Polish frontier and were advancing toward the east. In this valiant counterattack against Polish terrorists who had repeatedly assaulted innocent German civilians, force would be met with force. German honor would be defended.
“Counterattack?” echoed Mildred, incredulous. “This is a flagrant, unprovoked act of aggression! Surely no one believes this nonsense.”
“Those who want to believe it, will,” said Arvid. He turned the dial from one station to another, but each announcer only repeated the same bare sketch of the invasion, the same nationalist platitudes.
Eventually they remembered their breakfasts cooling on the table. Dazed, a knot in her stomach, Mildred finished her coffee but could barely swallow a piece of toast. “I suppose I’ll go to work,” Arvid said as they cleared the dishes, uncertain. It seemed strange to carry on as if it were an ordinary day, as if they were not at war.
It was a beautiful morning—abundant sunshine, a cool, gentle breeze carrying the first hint of autumn. Unable to settle down to her work, Mildred went for a walk in the Tiergarten to clear her head. She found Berlin outwardly unchanged—quieter, perhaps, more subdued, with slightly less traffic on the streets. On her way home, when throngs of delighted children passed her as they dashed along the sidewalks in their school uniforms, their knapsacks bouncing as they ran and