Chapter 3

Paris. 1935

A s I strolled along the banks of the Seine, the early morning rich scent of coffee and croissants drifted through the air. Picon, my wire-haired terrier, strutted along by my side. It was love at first sight when I spotted him in the pet shop window one day. His large brown eyes locked onto mine through the glass, and some invisible force lured me inside. The little chap was a bundle of energy, licking my hand and face, his tail wagging so fast. He’d already convinced me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re too adorable,’ I said, knowing I was smitten. I emerged a short time later, carrying my pup in my arms, a huge smile on my face as the two of us made our way home.

Paris had never looked more beautiful, and from that day on, we were virtually inseparable. Two weeks later, having bumped into an American clergyman in a bistro, Picon was baptised before friends and strangers alike as I promised to raise him as a Christian. Everyone laughed, but he was my boy, and I loved him.

We trotted through the Jardin des Tuileries, passing beneath the shaded boughs of elms, past mulberries, and made our way to Rue Daunou, slipping into Harry’s Bar. All the literary and artistic types hung out there alongside those of us in the news business. I sipped pastis, savouring flavours of liquorice and aniseed while I listened to the words of the young man who sat at our table. Marie, astute as ever, scribbled down notes as he spoke, completely engrossed in his story. I picked up my cigarette holder and inhaled deeply. His name was Samuel Goldberg. He was nineteen years old and had recently fled Germany along with his parents and younger brother.

‘I knew Hitler would be the leader as soon as Hindenburg died. Everyone did. But everything he and that Nazi Party of his stands for is evil. So many people are fleeing now, and not only Jews.’ He gulped down the brandy Richard had bought him. ‘There are those who don’t agree with the new laws. They sense what’s coming and they’re getting out while they can.’

He said he’d arrived in Paris with his family two months ago, but he intended to apply for a visa to go to Canada. We’d all seen the refugees filing into Paris, flowing through France, many of them travelling on to England or further still, escaping overseas to get as far away as possible. The Nazi Party was intent on rearming Germany, building her defences, making new laws. The Nuremberg Laws were now in place. Hitler was on the march and had been for a while. The news was grim. A plebiscite last year revealed that ninety percent of the people approved of his powers.

‘There are signs everywhere— “Juden Verboten”—Jews Forbidden in shops throughout Germany. We have no rights. We are powerless, and I fear he cannot be stopped.’ Samuel pursed his lips and gazed out into the street, a lost look in his eyes. ‘The Enabling Act means Hitler can make his own laws without the need for the Reichstag’s approval. He can do whatever he chooses. Germany is no longer safe for Jews. If only they realised.’

The Aryan race was high on Hitler’s priority list. Pureblood. The Nazis perceived Jews and other ethnic minorities as undesirables. I’d heard shocking reports. A breeding programme to purify the German race, for Christ’s sake. Enforced sterilisation of women, taking the sick and disabled away. What happened to them? Other parties had been banned, meaning the Nazi Party was the only political party. Hitler had complete control over Germany and her people.

The café was filling up, and the noise of multiple conversations bubbled all around. I overheard a group of Parisians at a nearby table complaining about the increasing number of refugees. Anti-Semitism had petered out in the twenties, following the number of Jewish men who had fought for France in the Great War, but it was resurfacing again. I was not political, but it was impossible not to engage with the times, especially for a reporter. Still, there was much I didn’t agree with or fully understand. Overall, as far as I was concerned, humanity had to prevail, and Hitler’s vision for Germany was anything but humane. And God help the rest of us.

‘It is not simply the repression we have to face, but physical violence. The storm troopers are a law to themselves, so aggressive, so angry. They think nothing of lashing out as they walk past the Jews. So much evil, ransacking businesses and homes, terrorising Jewish people and humiliating them in public. Thousands are fleeing, not only to France but to Belgium, Denmark, Switzerland, wherever they can think of to go. And yet so many choose to stay. They do not see that it is no longer safe.’ He adjusted his spectacles. ‘They sit and hope for the best, praying for peace, refusing to believe that any harm will come.’

Hitler was on many minds. Just who was this man who had risen meteorically from nowhere to the ultimate power of Germany as its ruler? After Samuel left, we sat a while longer, chatting. Often, I liked to people watch, listening in on conversations. It wasn’t rude exactly, more of a necessity in times such as these. That’s how I saw it. You never knew what you might discover. Many people came here, natives and foreigners, prominent artists, writers, poets, actors.

‘Hitler sounds like the devil.’ I sucked on my cigarette.

‘He survived the Great War,’ Richard said.

And so many good men didn’t, I thought.

‘An interesting fact about Germany. Most people believe Paris has the greatest number of intellectuals, but it’s not true, you see. They all flock to Berlin, which is the true capital of Europe. And all the railroad tracks that zigzag through Europe end up in Berlin.’ He smirked, his ice-blue eyes dancing as he lit another cigarette.

Interesting indeed, but equally meaningless. I deduced that being the greatest writer or artist of all time did not guarantee safety, not in a country whose government had ordered the mass burning of books, unless pure Aryan blood flowed through their veins.

‘Did you know the Pope made an agreement with Hitler which allows him greater power in Germany with no opposition from the Catholic Church, as long as he leaves the Church alone?’ Richard dragged a hand through his hair, took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke rings.

‘Really?’ Why was I even shocked? Religion had always been an overbearing presence in wars over the centuries. Politics, religion and money, all tightly interwoven. And the Pope wished to save his Catholic Church, and his priests and cardinals. It was contemptible to turn a blind eye. To me, we were all equal, each life as precious as the next, despite the divisions created by religion and now the Nazis. Yes, things were changing radically, and it was unnerving.

Since my arrival in France, all I’d heard about was the magnificent fortifications that formed the Maginot Line. Built following the Great War, designed to keep out ‘the beast that sleeps on the other side of the Rhine,’ as the French referred to Germany. However, it didn’t extend up to the Belgian border in Northern France where the Ardennes lay, a fortification of natural means. The French remained convinced it was impenetrable by any army. Perhaps, but Hitler and his generals bore devious, unscrupulous traits.