The Unlikely Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: Soldier, Spy: Soldier, Spy

By Caroline Banton

The book blends two parallel narratives. Lilly is experiencing difficulty re-entering the work force after taking time out to raise her children. She learns of her father-in-law's (Alfred) astonishing history as a young Jewish boy brought up in Munich during the rise of Hitler. She decides to write her fathe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amazon Pro Hub
• Release date: Feb 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088105016

Book preview

The Unlikely Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

A True Story

Caroline Banton

Copyright © 2022 Caroline Banton

All Rights Reserved.

For Glenda, Al, and Trudie. Also, for my two boys, Rees and Haryn, who are my stars, and my husband Ken, who made it all happen.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to the Engels for being such a wonderful and welcoming family. Thanks especially to Al and Trudie for being such generous and inspirational in-laws.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caroline is a Pennsylvania-based freelance writer and editor. She has been creating content for many years for people with creative, complex ideas and transforming those thoughts into engaging prose, articles, blogs, and books. As a writer of biographies, she interviews clients and turns their life stories into family keepsakes. Originally from Manchester, England, she craved adventure and found her way to Washington, D.C. early in her career. There, she worked for the World Bank and gained an MBA from Johns Hopkins University. Her business and finance articles have appeared in Time, Huffington Post, Yahoo!, The Motley Fool, Investopedia, and SoFi. In this early literary project, Caroline pens the memoir of her father-in-law, who escaped Nazi Germany as a young boy. She writes unremittingly from her home in central Pennsylvania where she loves to explore trails with her dog, Addy.

CHAPTER 1

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. 2012

"What do you mean, you lost a day?"

Lilly had taken to calling her mother every couple of days since she had come home from the hospital. Tingling in the arm, shimmering lights in her vision, and dizziness had all indicated a mini stroke or TIA, but the doctors had found no evidence of a stroke and had instead sent her home with a diagnosis of ocular migraines.

I don’t know. Her mother answered, sounding bewildered and a little frightened.

I woke up this morning, and I just can’t remember yesterday at all. I have no idea what I did!

Lilly’s mother was seventy-six and fit as a fiddle. She didn’t drink or smoke, and her blood pressure was on the low side. Yet there were sure signs of something going on cerebrally.

There were emails that she would send to Lilly that intermittently were full of typos and gobbledygook. These from a former schoolteacher and someone who had always prided herself on her shorthand and 60 words-a-minute typing.

hI Lilly, wHERE HAVE YOU BEEN i CAN'T type very well I don't know why. I've been rrying to get you for a few days is everything alright? I had one of my little turns on Monday - if you ring me I'll tell you all about it.

Her little turns were actually times of utter confusion, such as the time she got out of bed but couldn’t remember how to get to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. She’d called Lilly in a panic, and Lilly had guided her downstairs and to the kitchen over the phone from 5,000 miles away on the other side of the Atlantic. There was also the time when her mother had visited from England. The two women were in the car taking the children on an outing when Lilly’s mom lost the ability to speak. She tried to put a sentence together, but all she could muster was a string of nonsensical sounds. They went home, and Lilly’s mother retired to her room to take a nap. She woke up later with a headache.

So, how’s the book coming? Lilly’s mum enquired, changing the subject.

Oh, pretty good. I’ve got most of the interviewing done, and I’m transcribing it all now. I’ll email you a first draft as soon as I have it.

I’m dying to read it, Lilly’s mum said.

CHAPTER 2

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. 2012

The call came on a Tuesday morning, around 8:15 am. It was a normal day, quite sunny. Lilly had given the kids their breakfast, hurried them off to school, and was putting away the breakfast dishes when the phone rang.

Lilly? It’s Nicky.

Lilly froze. This was different. Her sister-in-law calling from England on a school-day morning. Her sister-in-law calling at all, for that matter. Lilly braced herself, already fearing what was to come.

Your mum’s had a massive stroke. She’s in hospital, but the doctor says there’s nothing they can do. I’m so sorry.

There was no cushioning to the blow. No hope for a best-case scenario. It was done, final. Lilly was thousands of miles away from her mother, who lay dying in a hospital in England. It was ironic to think that now she would go to her. Now, when it was too late. Why had she not spent more time with her when it mattered? Cost. That’s why. And time. She had been so busy with two small children, and her husband was building a pub in their small town. But now, she would give anything to have spent time with her mother. She wished she’d gone months ago, spent the summer there, particularly considering her mother’s recent episodes.

Should I come?

The practical side of Lilly reasoned that going would yield nothing. But her emotional side just wanted to be there. Her sense of loss grew as she realized now that it was not just her mother she was losing, but also her connection to her childhood.

It’s up to you. Jim’s at the hospital, and your dad. You can call him if you like.

The details weren’t going to change the outcome, but she wanted to know what had happened. She dialed her brother. His voice was shaky, breaking over the line.

It was just a massive stroke. The doctor said there’s too much damage to the brain, and it’s better to just let her go.

They say that the secret to surviving a stroke is to get help immediately. Lilly’s mother had collapsed from a cerebral hemorrhage right outside the hospital. She had just attended a dental appointment there for dental implants. She couldn’t have been closer to the emergency room, but it still hadn’t helped. Lilly’s father had accompanied her mother. Although divorced, the two had got into a habit of taking each other to appointments and even having dinner together with Lilly’s brother and his family.

As the two had left the hospital after the dental appointment, Lilly’s father had walked slightly in front of her mother. He had noticed a commotion as people started running toward him. Lilly’s mother had collapsed in his wake.

Lilly flew to England that day and arrived early the next morning. Her brother met her at the airport and took her straight to the hospital.

* * *

A sign with the letters DNR, do not resuscitate, hung above the bed. Lilly’s mother lay motionless. One side of her face was noticeably swollen, and there were remnants of dried blood in her ear and nose. Apparently, the blood from a brain hemorrhage has to find its way out.

Lilly’s instincts kicked in, and she began a one-way conversation with her mother to comfort her.

Hi, mum. It’s me. I came to see you. You’ve had a stroke.

Her mother appeared to move at the sound of her daughter’s voice close to her and all the way from America. She tried to lift her shoulders and seemed to try to speak. Lilly had been told her mother was unable to move. Then, she saw a tear fall from the corner of her mother’s eye. But that was impossible. She had suffered from Sjogren’s syndrome and apparently couldn’t produce tears. Her mother’s skin was damp and shiny with sweat.

Lilly told her mother not to worry about the garden, and that she would tend to it while she got better. She told her mother to rest. Then, she tried to find a nurse.

She moved and tried to say something when she heard my voice, Lily told the nurse, shaking, thinking that perhaps the doctors had made a mistake and her mother was more aware than they thought.

Yes, honey. She might do that. The nurse said calmly. We’ll take a look at her.

Lilly returned to her mother’s bedside. She found some Vaseline and put it on her mother’s dry lips.

The doctor arrived and examined Lilly’s mother. He put a pin in her big toe to see if she would react. She didn’t. He explained to Lilly that it was best to let her go, let her keep her dignity. The damage to her brain was so extensive that she would never be able to feed herself.

It was decided then. No fluids; no intravenous feeding. It was what her mother would have wanted. Any type of disability would have been unbearable for her. Her mother had always been in a hurry to move on to the next thing.

Alone again with her mother, Lilly talked to her.

I’ve brought Al’s book with me, the first draft, I can read it to you if you like.

Lilly got up and closed the door. She pulled out a manuscript, turned up the light, and began to read.

CHAPTER 3

Munich. 1932

photosfile 021

There goes Hitler, Ella noted, matter-of-factly, as she glanced out of the apartment window at Thierschstrasse 19. It was winter 1932, and Alfred Julius and his mother watched the familiar figure walk purposefully down Thierschstrasse for the third or fourth time that week. He was a short man, but striking. He always wore a raincoat and carried a dog leash, although there was never a dog.

Ella and Harry Engel owned a modest apartment that looked out onto the town square. From there, the couple struggled to maintain a fur repair shop. Ella’s mother and brother had built a thriving fur tailoring business during the early 1900s, which had been all but obliterated during the depression of the 1920s. Now, Ella and her husband kept it alive, repairing fur coats for the well-to-do wives of Nazi officers.

A young, smartly dressed Al and companion

A trained eye and deft needlework were required for fur repairs, and Harry and Ella had both. But Harry, in addition to his skilled hands, also had magical feet. Despite his 105-pound, five-foot-one-inch frame, he was a professional soccer player for Bayern Munich and the only Jewish player on the team.

The family’s apartment had no central heating, just a large coal stove in the kitchen that became the winter headquarters for living and working. Harry and Ella often worked until two and three in the morning to make a living. Al would take frigid evening walks to the soup kitchen with his mother. They’d stand in line, hungry, holding aluminum stacking pots to collect their meal for the day. Alfred, or Fredi, as his mother affectionately called him, was their only child. Ella doted on her son, sometimes to the consternation of Harry, and she was proud and keen to dress her only child in the best clothes. She was also a very good cook.

A person and person posing for a picture Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Harry and Ella Engel, mid-1940s

At the far end of Thierschstrasse was a publishing house. It was there that Hitler would pen his popular editorials for the newspaper Völkischer Beobachter, or the People’s Observer, as head of the National Socialist Democratic Workers Party (NSDAP).

A picture containing text, person, posing, group Description automatically generated

Harry and his team 1917. Harry is fifth from the left, bottom row

From the apartment’s vantage point above Thierschstrasse 19, Al watched street brawls that broke out between the Communists, the Nazis, and the Social Democrats. The brawls were fueled by Hitler’s incessant radio propaganda and purposefully organized by the warring factions to exacerbate the emotional and political chaos.

Don’t look out, Fredi. Come back in. Ella would say, closing the window. It will all get better soon.

It was January 1933, and Hitler was about to become chancellor under dubious circumstances.¹ The depressed populace supported the change – even Harry and Ella shared the common hope that a change in the governing party might mean a better economy and a better life.

For Al, who was still full of childhood innocence and undashed hopes, life at Thierschstrasse 19 had its advantages despite the tough times. Downstairs and next door was a restaurant. Often, Al would go downstairs and grab a stein, a tankard of beer, for his father. The journey home and up the stairs was always a lot slower than the journey down. Al would sip the froth, savoring the creamy taste until the door to the apartment swung open and his father demanded his pilsner.

A person standing in front of a building Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Thriving Family Fur Business, Munich 1928

CHAPTER 4

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. 2011

So, why has no one ever written this stuff down?

Lilly was on her second or third glass of wine and not quite believing what she was hearing. Her in-laws, Trudie and Al Engel, were over for Sunday dinner. Trudie, Al, Lilly, and her husband sat at a large dining room table in a historic Georgian home. There were candles adding warmth to the high-ceilinged room. The children had already grown bored with the adult conversation and left the table to seek out more interesting entertainment. Al was reminiscing and recounting old stories that were new to Lilly, but her husband and mother-in-law had heard them many times before. Lilly was shocked that their faces even looked bored as Al talked about his daily sightings of Hitler and his experiences as a young, Jewish boy in a nascent Nazi Germany.

No one’s ever shown an interest, Al replied.

Lilly felt something akin to adrenaline. She felt like a German Shepherd that could smell the scent of a groundhog or deer. Her senses were excited; her ears pricked. Al’s tales were not just remarkable, the way he told them was compelling. He had you in shock one minute and laughing the next.

Al and Trudie were funny, warm, highly ed

Slide112

ucated, and well read. They had settled in