a single bottle of beer and some milk, a hunk of dark brown rye bread and a rind of cheese. Mary peered gloomily over her shoulder.
‘I thought actresses were supposed to keep champagne and cold salmon in their refrigerator.’
‘Not this one. I haven’t been shopping in a while.’
‘What do you eat?’
‘I tend to eat out. Or at the studio. It’ll have to be coffee for now.’
As Clara put on the kettle and got out the cups, Mary scrutinized her critically.
‘You’re looking thinner. Not starving yourself, I hope, for some role.’
‘Oh, Mary. You’re going to find a lot has changed here.’
How could you explain, to someone who had been away for four years, just how Germany had changed in that time? Now, in the autumn of 1937, food was so much scarcer. Under Goering’s
four-year plan, there was a new slogan, ‘Guns Not Butter’, to drive home the sacrifices everyone needed to make for the nation’s rearmament. Not that it was such a sacrifice,
given the state of the butter when you did find it.
‘There are food shortages all the time. You can’t find eggs. Any butter you get is rancid. The milk is so watered down they call it Corpse Juice. People have to save their crusts. On
top of that, there are all sorts of rumours whirling round. Like the reason you can’t buy onions is that they are being used for experiments with poison gas. And out in the country, you can
be hanged for feeding grain to pigs. There’s this song they sing. “
Der Hitler hat keine Frau, Der Bauer hat keine Sau, Der Fleischer hat kein Fleisch, Das ist das Dritte
Reich.
” Hitler has no woman, the farmer has no sow, the butcher has no meat, that’s the Third Reich for you.’
‘Catchy.’
‘Yes, and liable to get you caught if anyone hears you singing it.’
‘The place doesn’t look too different to me. The restaurants are full.’
‘Sure, but they only serve two dishes. Try ordering anything else and you’ll find it’s sold out. And the waiters scrape the plates and take the scraps home to their families.
According to the Reich Food Corporation we need to make the nation self-sufficient. The only problem is, the Government says if Germany is to be self-sufficient, it’s going to need more
land.’
‘Somebody else’s land, I assume.’
Clara handed her friend a cup of coffee and tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa.
‘Exactly. But let’s talk politics later. First things first. I want to know everything. What’s been going on in your life? What brings you back to Berlin?’
‘Apart from the biggest story in Europe, you mean?’
‘I mean how did you manage it? Being expelled by the Propaganda Minister himself isn’t an achievement all journalists can put on their resumés.’
‘Oh, getting accreditation was a nightmare. I’d gone back to New Jersey to spend time with my father, and when he died, my mother wanted me to stay on at home to entertain her. Given
that her idea of entertainment is playing bridge at her country club and peekaboo with her grandchild, I was dying to escape. We never saw eye to eye. Keeping out of journalism was killing me and
once the civil war broke out in Spain, I said damn it, I just have to go. Mother’s always saying she wants there to be more between us. I thought, let’s make it the Atlantic
Ocean.’
‘You went on your own?’
‘Sure. I decided I was going to be a one-woman band. I took out a thousand-dollar bank loan and booked a passage. Took my Remington,’ Mary tapped the typewriter case beside her,
‘and my lucky hat,’ she pointed to a battered black felt creation which Clara recognized, ‘and set sail for Europe.’
‘I can’t imagine what it’s like out in Spain. The reports are terrifying.’
‘Words can’t describe it, Clara. I went to Madrid first, while it was being besieged by Franco. The International Brigades were fighting from street to street. I’d never seen a
sight like it. They saved the city from the hands of the
‘I thought actresses were supposed to keep champagne and cold salmon in their refrigerator.’
‘Not this one. I haven’t been shopping in a while.’
‘What do you eat?’
‘I tend to eat out. Or at the studio. It’ll have to be coffee for now.’
As Clara put on the kettle and got out the cups, Mary scrutinized her critically.
‘You’re looking thinner. Not starving yourself, I hope, for some role.’
‘Oh, Mary. You’re going to find a lot has changed here.’
How could you explain, to someone who had been away for four years, just how Germany had changed in that time? Now, in the autumn of 1937, food was so much scarcer. Under Goering’s
four-year plan, there was a new slogan, ‘Guns Not Butter’, to drive home the sacrifices everyone needed to make for the nation’s rearmament. Not that it was such a sacrifice,
given the state of the butter when you did find it.
‘There are food shortages all the time. You can’t find eggs. Any butter you get is rancid. The milk is so watered down they call it Corpse Juice. People have to save their crusts. On
top of that, there are all sorts of rumours whirling round. Like the reason you can’t buy onions is that they are being used for experiments with poison gas. And out in the country, you can
be hanged for feeding grain to pigs. There’s this song they sing. “
Der Hitler hat keine Frau, Der Bauer hat keine Sau, Der Fleischer hat kein Fleisch, Das ist das Dritte
Reich.
” Hitler has no woman, the farmer has no sow, the butcher has no meat, that’s the Third Reich for you.’
‘Catchy.’
‘Yes, and liable to get you caught if anyone hears you singing it.’
‘The place doesn’t look too different to me. The restaurants are full.’
‘Sure, but they only serve two dishes. Try ordering anything else and you’ll find it’s sold out. And the waiters scrape the plates and take the scraps home to their families.
According to the Reich Food Corporation we need to make the nation self-sufficient. The only problem is, the Government says if Germany is to be self-sufficient, it’s going to need more
land.’
‘Somebody else’s land, I assume.’
Clara handed her friend a cup of coffee and tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa.
‘Exactly. But let’s talk politics later. First things first. I want to know everything. What’s been going on in your life? What brings you back to Berlin?’
‘Apart from the biggest story in Europe, you mean?’
‘I mean how did you manage it? Being expelled by the Propaganda Minister himself isn’t an achievement all journalists can put on their resumés.’
‘Oh, getting accreditation was a nightmare. I’d gone back to New Jersey to spend time with my father, and when he died, my mother wanted me to stay on at home to entertain her. Given
that her idea of entertainment is playing bridge at her country club and peekaboo with her grandchild, I was dying to escape. We never saw eye to eye. Keeping out of journalism was killing me and
once the civil war broke out in Spain, I said damn it, I just have to go. Mother’s always saying she wants there to be more between us. I thought, let’s make it the Atlantic
Ocean.’
‘You went on your own?’
‘Sure. I decided I was going to be a one-woman band. I took out a thousand-dollar bank loan and booked a passage. Took my Remington,’ Mary tapped the typewriter case beside her,
‘and my lucky hat,’ she pointed to a battered black felt creation which Clara recognized, ‘and set sail for Europe.’
‘I can’t imagine what it’s like out in Spain. The reports are terrifying.’
‘Words can’t describe it, Clara. I went to Madrid first, while it was being besieged by Franco. The International Brigades were fighting from street to street. I’d never seen a
sight like it. They saved the city from the hands of the
Similar Books
