Gertrud at seventeen years was a year shy of ending compulsory membership to Hitler’s female Youth League, the Bund Deutscher Mädel. Soon she would be free of the repetitive marching practice and the stupid domestic classes that aimed to turn her into a diligent Aryan wife and mother. Neither matched her self-image of adventurer and famous swing dancer.
She resented the constant surveillance by her local Nazi Youth Commander, Reichsreferent Heinrich Rűdiger, a mere youth of twenty years, but with the authority to cause Gertrud and her family great harm. He walked with a spine of iron and was relentless at interrogating absentees from marching practice and compulsory weekend camps. Gertrud had almost exhausted all plausible excuses to explain her truancies.
‘Your father’s illness is interfering with your responsibilities to the Reich. Why can’t another family member nurse your father, who seems to be sick far too often?’
Gertrud’s words tumbled out in a breathy rush. ‘I am an only child, sir and my mother must work.’
‘Not good enough Fräulein Műller. Stop the excuses!’ His cold eyes pierced Gertrud like a blade of steel.
‘We could of course discuss your situation over coffee and cake’, he said stroking the length of her bare arm. A cringe silently travelled up her body from her toes to the tip of her head. Repulsed by his intimacy, Gertrud wanted to wound him where he would always be reminded of her disgust. I must flee but I refuse to appear intimidated.
‘Excuse me Reichsreferent, I must reach the pharmacy before it closes. My father’s medicine!’ and she scarpered down the street.
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