The Girl from Munich

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‘Times have changed, Mutti. The war has made sure of that. Look at all the women who work to help the war effort – Heidi von Schmitt and Catherina Dollmann are both working for the Wehrmacht and their parents haven’t died of embarrassment. I want to make a contribution.’

My mother stared at me with frosty blue eyes. She was beautiful, her wavy blonde hair glinting with auburn highlights in the sunlight, even though she sat there unmoved, sipping her coffee. I jumped up from my seat and went to the window, wishing I had her poise, her elegance and her tight control. I always thought better when I was moving.

I gazed out at the tree-lined street. It was hard to believe that war raged in affluent, cosmopolitan Schwabing. It wasn’t far from the centre of München, where now the ravages of war could not be missed. A couple strolled past, holding hands, oblivious to anything but each other as a woman dressed in a tailored skirt and jacket moved briskly towards them, no doubt on her way to useful employment of some kind. I shook my head and turned back to face my mother. Why couldn’t I have what I wanted? Time for a more forceful approach.

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