Tania Blanchard - The Girl from Munich

‘These are her latest designs.’ Mutti passed me the drawings the designer had done for her. ‘She wants you to try on some dresses in a similar style so we can see what suits your shape.’

I looked at the variations of design, some of them easy to imagine in fabric, some more difficult. There was a limited supply of silks, satins and lace, but those with money could still purchase such luxuries. Salons made it their business to source the best fabrics from around the world and guarantee a gown that befitted the social elite of München.

‘Fräu von Klein?’ a tall, elegant woman said in a musical voice with a slight accent I couldn’t quite place. My mother introduced her as our designer, Fräu Andree.

‘So you are the bride to be. Such a special time. Have you looked through the designs I sent across? Are there any you particularly like?’

‘They’re all beautiful,’ I said nervously. I didn’t want her to think I was inept with fashion choices and style. ‘It’s a bit hard to know which would look the best on me.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘That is very true. Now come over here, please, so I can have a look at you.’ She guided me to the centre of the room and walked around me, taking in every detail of my appearance. It was very uncomfortable and I was worried she would find my body inadequate for her designs.

After the necessary measurements were taken and calculations made, gowns were finally brought out for me to try. It was a haze of white satin, silk, lace and organza – skirts that were full, straight, A line; bodices with high necks, V neck, round neck, collars turned up, down and Grecian style.

I paraded in front of our mothers.

‘Not that one dear,’ said Tante Klara to a dress with a full skirt and layers of silk ruffles and an unusual bustle. ‘Not very elegant.’

I had to agree. It was awful and made my behind look huge.

The designer dismissed the dress with a wave of her hand. ‘Too many ruffles for you,’ she said.

One gown felt wonderful. It was satin, figure hugging, with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a skirt that flowed sensuously around my legs as it fell to the floor. I held my breath as I was led to the full-length mirror.

‘Not bad,’ said Fräu Andree. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

I stared at the vision of elegance in the mirror, hardly believing it could be me. I was reminded of glamorous movie stars. I let out my breath slowly. I could hear our mothers murmuring in the background but I ignored them. I twisted and turned to view the gown and my profile from all angles. It was not a gown just anyone could pull off. My height allowed it to flow as it should, sleek and slimming. The only thing on the gown I wasn’t sure about was the plunging V neckline. Admittedly, I had the bosom to accommodate such a style and it was very daring and sophisticated, but it was not me. I needed something with a higher neckline, possibly something that buttoned up at the throat. Suddenly the designer’s hands were inside the gown and I drew in a sharp breath, startled as she deftly lifted each breast so that it settled into the fabric more advantageously.

‘That’s better,’ she said. And it was. She placed a small halo of satin and silk with an attached veil on my head. It added to my height and I felt like a statuesque goddess. I felt like a bride. I imagined how Heinrich would view me in this gown and blushed deeply. Then I wondered what my father would think and my heart dropped. This was not the gown for me.

‘Not very modest,’ said my mother disapprovingly.

‘But it is very elegant,’ said Tante Klara.

‘Turn, dear,’ said Fräu Andree. ‘Let your mother see the full effect of the gown.’

I turned obediently, as the skirt swished across the floor behind me.

‘What is your objection, Fräu von Klein?’

‘Too figure hugging. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination and that neckline is too risqué.’

I blushed deeper, embarrassed now, feeling guilty that I had loved the dress at all.

‘I don’t think it’s the gown, really,’ said Heinrich’s mother, leaning forward, warming to the task at hand. ‘I like the way the satin falls on her, there’s enough fabric in the skirt.’

‘What if we change the neckline,’ suggested the designer. ‘It will change the whole look of the bodice.’

My mother stared at me without really seeing me. I felt like a mannequin with no thoughts and feelings of my own and squirmed with discomfort at the scrutiny.

‘Maybe,’ Mutti said after a time. ‘Perhaps a round neckline, I liked the single ruffled neckline on that earlier gown.’

Although I wasn’t asked, I agreed with their suggestions and knew that whatever the mothers and designer decided upon would be stylish. I could imagine myself as a bride now. I wanted to make Heinrich proud. Thoughts of the oberinspektor came into my mind. I pushed them away. Heinrich was my groom and my future.

It was early December when I found my mother in the parlour, white as a sheet, clutching a paper to her chest.

‘Mutti, what’s the matter?’ I asked, although my mouth had gone dry.

She began to tremble and looked at me with blank eyes. My body tingled with apprehension.

I rushed to sit by her side, fear weighing me down so I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I could feel her tiny frame wracked by waves of shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Mutti?’ I said desperately. ‘Is it a telegram?’

The physical touch must have got through to her. ‘It’s Willi.’ She looked at me, her eyes wide with shock and filled with pain.

I knew then that Willi was dead.

Pushing my own horror aside, I wrapped my arms around her. She remained stiff and unyielding in my arms, fragile and still trembling violently.

Heinrich chose that moment to walk into the parlour. ‘Lotte, what’s wrong?’

I heard his voice as if from a distance. I pulled away from my mother long enough to look over to him. ‘It’s Willi. Mutti just received a telegram.’

Heinrich crouched in front of us, dressed immaculately for the concert he was supposed to be taking me to. My shocked mind focused on the shine of his black shoes. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered. ‘I haven’t read it yet.’

Heinrich gently pulled the paper from my mother’s grasp. I watched his face carefully as he read. His wariness quickly turned to grief as his shoulders and face sagged. ‘Bloody war,’ he murmured, shaking his head.

‘Tell me,’ I demanded, looking into his blue eyes misty with sorrow. I held my breath.

‘Willi was killed in action on the Eastern Front near Kiev a few days ago.’

I released my breath in a ragged sob. Heinrich placed a hand on my shoulder in sympathy. Distressed as I was, I still wondered why he didn’t pull me into his arms to comfort me as Vati would have Mutti.

My poor mother moaned. Her second son had been taken by this cruel and relentless war. How much more sacrifice did the Führer expect us to make for the Fatherland? I pulled her closer, comforting myself as much as my mother.

‘Are you sure?’ It couldn’t be. Willi had seemed safe in Rome in his last letter. Surely I would have known – we were so close.

Heinrich nodded, grief cracking his solemn expression. ‘The telegram’s from his commanding officer, General Lieutenant Wilke. The 2nd Parachute Division was deployed there from Italy a couple of weeks ago. There’s no doubt.’

My heart felt like it had stopped and then exploded into a million shards of grief and pain. I couldn’t breathe. ‘No, not Willi too,’ I gasped. ‘Oh, Mutti.’ Tears ran freely down my face, soaking her hair. It had barely been a year since we lost Ludwig. I was all that was left and by the way my mother clung to me, it felt like she would not let go.