Uncommon Enemy (13 page)
Authors: John Reynolds
The mellow sound of the Kestrel’s whistle echoed round the wharves and the ferry building as it moved out into the stream past the cargo ships at their berths. The cranes were busily transferring their cargoes from wharf to ship, assisted by teams of wharfies. The wharves were full and there were more ships anchored in the stream waiting to disgorge their cargoes and fill their holds with wool, butter and meat. The work was plentiful for the full-time wharfies and the casual labourers (the ‘seagulls’) like Stuart and his fellow students who earned good money loading and unloading the ships. Nevertheless, during the morning and afternoon ‘smokos’ he had heard dark mutterings from the old hands who had been used to working in a strongly unionized
environment. Not only had it provided them with excellent working conditions but also ensured that they had a major say in the operation of the country’s waterfronts. All the workers knew that one of Hitler’s first actions on taking power in Germany was to abolish all unions and to make strikes and work stoppages illegal. It was rumoured that the same process would be imposed in New Zealand. Some were content that their working conditions were largely unchanged and that their wage packets, due to plentiful overtime, were increasing in size. Others were concerned at the implications of being on the losing side, seeing their government replaced and their unions abolished.
The sun was beginning to set as Stuart and Carol sat down outside the main cabin on the long slatted seats. Silently they watched the passing panorama of ships, docks, cranes, small waves and wheeling gulls.
The rattle by his right ear startled him. A teenage boy with a black air force-style cap on his head and a gleaming white diagonal canvas band across the front of his black shirt, stood rattling a collection box. The belt that held up the boy’s black shorts was highly polished and bore the motto ‘Sure and Steadfast’.
“I’m collecting for the Soldier’s Relief Fund, sir. Your support would be appreciated by the authorities.” Clearly the boy had learned the patter off by heart.
“‘Soldiers Relief Fund’? That’s a new one. What soldiers? What relief?” Stuart was annoyed by the interruption and by the reference to the authorities.
“I think it’s something to do with the New Zealand volunteers fighting on the Eastern Front in Russia. I read something on the way up in the papers,” said Carol.
“That’s right, madam,” responded the boy with a smile. “The brave soldiers fighting the Communists: the enemies of all the people.”
“You said ‘Relief Fund’. Why do they need relief?”
“They need some nice things to eat and, you know, presents on their birthdays and at Xmas - that sort of thing. The brave soldiers are fighting on our behalf.” He rattled his collection box again. “Your support would be appreciated by the authorities.”
“Jesus, son are you some sort of trained parrot or something?”
Stuart immediately felt Carol’s elbow in his ribs. Smiling at the boy Carol asked, “Your uniform? Isn’t it the Boys Brigade? My brother Ian was in the 11th Wellington at our local church.”
“Yes, madam,” replied the boy politely. “We are being re, um, reconstituted as part of the New Order. The government is granting us extra money. They said they liked our black uniforms so they won’t be making any changes and they have given us extra medals to earn. Look,” he went on proudly, “I was presented with a new one at last week’s church parade.” He stepped towards Stuart and bent down to show the medal on the end of a ribbon, pinned to his chest. “It’s the Model Citizen Award.”
“What did you have to do to earn that?” asked Stuart, forcing himself to sound pleasant.
“I accurately informed my section leader about some seditious talk I heard from one of my teachers at Takapuna Grammar School.”
“Good God----,” began Carol. This time she was the recipient of a jab in the ribs.
“That’s very, er, commendable,” said Stuart smiling encouragingly. “What did the teacher do?”
“It was in history class. He told us that Napoleon’s Grand Army perished in the snows of Russia, and that the same thing could be happening to our volunteers.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told our section leader who told the authorities.”
“And?”
“The teacher was severely, er, reprimanded. And I received this new badge.”
The boy stood closer so that Stuart could view the badge more easily in the fading light. It depicted the head of a boy looking earnestly upward. Underneath was written ‘Model Citizen’. The head and the motto were encased in a laurel wreath. A chill ran through Stuart. At the base of the wreath was a small swastika.
“Well done, son,” he said, digging in his pocket. “Here. Sixpence for your fund.”
“Thank you, sir.” The boy sprung to attention and nodded his head briskly at Stuart and then Carol. Stuart’s mounting discomfort at the guileless boy’s story increased with the awkward imitation of the German colonel’s gesture made earlier in the day.
As the boy moved on with his rattle and his patter, Stuart slumped forward resting his elbows on his knees. “Christ, Carol. And there are Kiwis telling each other that if we keep our heads down everything will be OK.” He sat up and abruptly turned towards her.
“You know, for a while I’ve been hoping, stupidly, that things may get better but, you heard that kid in the pseudo-fascist uniform. And he’s in the bloody Boys Brigade!”
“Were you ever a member?”
“My parents sent me but I didn’t like it. It was Bible Class on the parade ground. Heaps of drilling and saluting. I would have preferred the Boy Scouts but it didn’t have a sufficiently religious content for my parents. So, it was either ‘Onward Christian soldiers’ or nothing. But I can see the attraction of the black uniforms for our new masters. Very clever tactic. Maintain the semblance of business as usual to lull the masses into compliance and then, through the existing systems, implement the New Order of Model Citizens.” He sat bolt upright and his voice rose in an imitation of a citation reader. “On behalf of the Boys Brigade I award you the Most Excellent Order of the Juvenile Automatons!”
“Stuart, please keep your voice down.”
“Exactly! ‘Keep your voice down’-the new mantra of our new guardians of the New Order. But,” and he gesticulated with an outstretched hand as though addressing an assembled multitude, “if we don’t keep our voices down and our heads down, we may have to start re-locating.”
He paused, lowered his hand. His voice was barely audible above the sound of the waves and the throbbing engines.
“Perhaps underground.”
Turning unsmilingly towards Carol he took both her hands in his and studied her face. She made no attempt to pull away. He spoke softly and earnestly. “Carol, beautiful girl, I believe I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. I know you’ve become engaged to Hamish but we both know that you don’t love him. I understand that you’re deeply concerned about your parents, but in the end, in the final analysis, it’s your life. If you settle for second best, you’ll regret it forever.”
Carol reached up with her right hand and put her fingers to his lips. Her eyes were wet. “Stuart. I’m sorry. It’s too complex. I have to go ahead with my promise to my parents. I know you don’t fully understand, and I don’t blame you. Maybe one day you will. But in the meantime I really want us to remain friends and keep talking to each other.”
He grunted cynically.
“Look, let’s meet on Tuesday for lunch. We can talk some more.”
He had let go of her other hand and looked away.
“Please, Stuart.”
He managed a slight smile.
“OK. Tuesday. In the meantime I’ll make my motto ‘nil bastardo carborundum’.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
As the ferry began docking at the Devonport wharf he stood up.
“Never let the bastards grind you into the ground.”
“There’s to be a meeting of the departmental heads, tomorrow.”
“Oh,” responded Stuart surprised at the abruptness of the statement. He had just dropped into the Sterling’s office for a chat but dispensing with his usual warm greeting the professor had looked up from his desk, regarded his young colleague bleakly and then barked out the information. After a long pause Stuart asked tentatively, “Is it an important meeting?”
“Yes. We knew it was coming but it’s still a shock when it happens. Here. Read for yourself.”
| Memorandum | |
| To: | All Heads of Department |
| From: | The President, Auckland University College |
| Subject: | Extraordinary Meeting |
| Date: | 28th November 1941 |
Colleagues
The new Ministry of Education and Culture has instructed us to convene an extraordinary meeting to receive a presentation from their representatives regarding what they term ‘New Order Regulations governing tertiary curriculum and delivery processes’.
I strongly suspect that this meeting will be the beginning of the curtailment of those areas of academic freedom that we have hitherto taken for granted. It is therefore vital that all Heads of Department are present.
The meeting will be held at 10.00am. We have been instructed that no other meeting is to be convened prior to this one. I interpret this as being an attempt to prevent us from planning any initiatives prior to their presentation. After consideration I have decided to comply with the request. However, this should not, of course prevent you from consulting with your colleagues over the next 24 hours. Please feel free to contact this office to discuss the matter further with me. However, I advise you against using the internal phone system for anything other than mundane administrative matters.
Please ensure that your attendance at the meeting is punctual.
Stuart breathed a long sigh and handed the letter back. “I told you about the Boys Brigade boy I met on the ferry.”
Sterling nodded. “Didn’t take them long to move up the system. The Nazis bullied and intimidated their own universities into meek compliance. They regard any organization that encourages free thinking as the enemy. Therefore I’m not optimistic. However, I’d like you to accompany me to the meeting. I’ve discussed it with the President and he has agreed. You’ve researched this area extensively, been part of the Berlin delegation, and while there may not be much any of us can do, your perspective could be useful.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m flattered that-----.”
“Don’t be. I’m inviting you for your knowledge and insight, not for false flattery. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to prepare some documents for the meeting. Please arrange with Alice to make an appointment to come and see me tomorrow morning, some time before 10.00.”
Sterling bent over his desk signalling that the conversation was at an end. Stuart, at first a little put out by the older man’s uncharacteristic abruptness, realized that the news of the meeting was of great concern to him. With an increasing sense of unease he quietly exited to make an appointment with the departmental secretary.
The following morning the heads of department assembled in the large meeting room. The usual hearty greetings and good-natured banter were missing as they seated themselves in a double-L formation. At the top table the President Henry Cooke and Registrar Les Desmond, a recent appointee, sat grim faced, confining themselves to returning the occasional nod of acknowledgement. As requested, all had arrived punctually. Noting that everyone was present Desmond cleared his throat noisily. A hush fell over the room.
“Colleagues, thank you for your attendance.” He indicated the three vacant chairs next to the President. “Our, er, visitors have not yet arrived. I suggest we give them a few more moments.”
“Always thought that fascists made a virtue of punctuality,” murmured Joseph Goldman, head of the Philosophy Department, probably a little louder than he intended.
President Henry Cooke, a humourless, puritanical man who regarded his position as being of the utmost importance to the university, looked up sharply at the comment.
“Could I suggest, colleagues, that we avoid confrontational comments such as that? We are the first university college to be visited by representatives from the newly constituted,” he glanced at his notes and barely concealed his distaste, “Ministry of Education and Culture. Consequently we will be establishing precedents here that will have a major effect on academic life throughout our country. The process will require reasoned argument and considerable diplomacy. We need to be able to show these people that the continuation of a healthy and vibrant university sector is an asset to this nation and its aspirations.”
A low murmur punctuated by some suppressed derisory snorts greeted the final sentence.
“What the President is stressing-----,” began the Registrar helpfully.
Cooke sharply interrupted the younger man, ““What I am stressing is that we will do our utmost to retain our integrity and our academic freedom-----.”
“As critic and conscience of society, Henry?” The speaker was the snowy-haired Professor Don Wilson, head of the English Department, a former All Black and Rhodes Scholar.
Over the past six years the President had been embroiled in a number of controversies involving academic freedom. He shifted uneasily. “I am hopeful----.”
He was interrupted by his secretary who entered hurriedly and murmured in his ear. He stood immediately and turned to greet the three visitors. The first, a tall grey-haired man was dressed in a neatly tailored lounge suit. The second brought a gasp from the meeting – his uniform was entirely black except for a red Nazi armband on his right sleeve. In his gloved hand he held a high peaked cap, encircled by a metallic braiding underneath a death’s head badge and a German eagle. The third man, who carried a grey homburg hat in his hand, was dressed in the civilian garb of the security police. Once they were seated the President, clearly shaken, turned to his assembled colleagues.
“Er, ah, Gentlemen, may I introduce,” he looked as the piece of paper that had been thrust in his hand, “Dr Hans Schulze, Colonel Ludwig Stubbendorf and Mr. Hamish Beavis.”
At the sight of Hamish Beavis Stuart had sat rigid with astonishment. Sterling had earlier pointed out that the new German rulers, facing a manpower shortage, would have to maximize their use of the local population to implement the New Order. He had heard that a number of locals were now working in key positions for the new authorities, but Hamish Beavis! He looked at Professor Sterling who was staring open mouthed at the new trio.
“That’s Hamish Beavis, sir!” he whispered.
“I realize that,” muttered the professor. “But I’d be far more concerned about his uniformed companion. With men like von Stauffenberg there was some hope. But if the Gestapo begins to gain more power----,” his voice tailed off as the trio seated themselves.
The President whose voice betrayed his nervousness interrupted him. “Dr Schulze has asked to address us. He is then prepared to answer any questions that you may have.” He resumed his seat as the German academic rose slowly and shuffled his notes.
“Gentlemen,” he began in softly accented English. “I will be brief and to the point. It is the intention of our new government, your new government, to maintain the role of the university colleges as the primary places of learning.”
There was a murmur of assent from some of the staff. Others, filled with foreboding at the presence of the Gestapo officer, remained silent.
“However, there will be some changes. We need to ensure university colleges will implement and maintain programmes that support the government in its efforts to build a new nation founded on the principles of National Socialism. A programme that will be of benefit to all New Zealanders, and not just those few who are privileged to study or work at the nation’s universities.”
Schulze paused, coughed and shuffled his papers. “As part of this process we will be establishing an Academic Values Authority. This Authority will be under the control of the new Ministry of Education and Culture. It will have the ultimate responsibility for the subject matter taught in all New Zealand universities.” He paused and his eyes swept the utterly silent room. “This will include all the reading material that supports the subject matter.”
There was a collective gasp from the listening academics.
Looking up the President, clearly trying to maintain his self-control, asked, “What will be your role, doctor and the role of
your two colleagues?”
The German paused and his eyes again panned the room. “Oberst, that is, Colonel Stubbendorf will be part of the team responsible for the smooth,” he paused seeking the appropriate word and then smiled “yes, smooth implementation of the new changes.”
“‘Smooth implementation’, doctor? I do not understand.”
“Perhaps I can explain, Herr Doctor, with your permission,” responded the black-uniformed colonel rising to his feet. “It has been our experience in a number of universities, including those in Germany that some students have deliberately engaged in unpatriotic acts designed to discredit or even undermine the country’s lawful government.” His dark eyes swept the room. “It will be my role to support the Academic Values Authority and to ensure that all students, and staff,” a momentary smiled flickered across his pale features, “cooperate with us for the greater good of the New Order.”
Visibly shocked the President sat quite still. A voice from the back of the room asked, “And what about the third member of your group. What’s his role in this glorious New Order?”
The Gestapo colonel’s eyes moved immediately to those of the questioner. “What is your name and position?”
“Professor Joseph Goldman, Head of the Philosophy Department,” replied the questioner, a little too loudly.
“Professor Joseph Goldman.” The colonel paused and then repeated both names with careful emphasis. “Interesting.”
He put the tips of his gloved fingers together nodded to Hamish and then faced the group.
“Mr. Beavis is a financial expert. He will oversee the financial conduct of this university - to ensure that it receives the appropriate funds to enable it to continue to operate and,” the gloved hands pushed themselves more tightly together, “to ensure that those academic staff who support the University Values Authority continue to receive…er.”
He glanced at Hamish.
“Appropriate remuneration, sir,” came the prompt response.
“Genau, exactly.”
Professor Sterling broke the silence that followed. “What qualifications does Mr. Beavis have for this crucial position?”
Stubbendorf, who was still on his feet, looked down at Sterling, paused and slowly smiled.
“And your name, sir?” he inquired.
“Professor David Sterling, Head of the History Department.”
“‘David’. Interesting.” Another pause and another smile. “Mr. Beavis, who was flown up especially from Wellington this morning, has two qualifications. The first, a thorough knowledge of financial matters. The second?” He turned to Hamish. “You tell them Herr Beavis.”
Hamish scrambled to his feet.
“Of course, Colonel.”
He touched the small badge on his lapel.
“Yesterday,” he began, “I was enrolled as a foundation member of the New Zealand National Socialist Party. I am looking forward to serving the Party and the nation’s interests in my new role.”
His voice slowed.
“I am also looking forward to ensuring that the New Order is totally supported by the university,” Stuart felt a crawling sensation as Hamish stared directly at him, “and each person in it.”
Stuart immediately felt the area above his knee gripped hard. “Sit still and say nothing,” murmured Professor Sterling.
Dr Schulze stood up again. “We have with us guidelines for the Academic Values Authority. Herr Cooke, you will arrange for them to be distributed to all departments. You are to discuss them with your staff members who will, in turn, discuss them with all your students.”
He clicked his fingers and Hamish placed a small pile of papers in front of Henry Cooke.
“There will also be a series of twice weekly meetings of your departmental heads with our representatives to discuss the immediate implementation of the guidelines. Be good enough to arrange the first one for this Thursday, at 10 o’clock.”
He drew himself momentarily to attention, nodded his head briefly, spun on his heels and, followed by his two colleagues, strode towards the door. At the doorway Hamish, the last of the trio, stopped and turned slowly to face the assembled academics. Raising his right arm to chest height he pointed his index finger directly at Stuart. The sneer that spread across his face was accompanied by a slow, deliberate nodding of his head. As all eyes turned towards Stuart, Hamish gave a short sharp laugh and turning abruptly, strode from the room.
