V.S. Alexander - Her Hidden Life

Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked the SS driver where we were headed.

He took his eyes off the road for a moment, looked into the rearview mirror and said, ‘The Berghof.’

I’d heard of Hitler’s ‘mountain court’ from my parents and my aunt and uncle. Before the war, it had become a tourist attraction after the Führer had taken up residence. People had gathered on the long driveway outside the main house to catch a glimpse of him. Often he stepped out to greet the adoring crowd and shake hands with well-wishers.

My heart raced at the thought that I would be working at his secluded retreat. My feeling arose more from excitement about my post rather than any admiration for Hitler. I imagined seeing the diplomats, the foreign visitors, the important Party members: Bormann, Göring, Speer, Goebbels, many of whom visited the Berghof almost daily.

Soon we came to an area cleared of forest as the road climbed upward. Through the driver’s windscreen a rustic-looking gatehouse appeared beside a gated archway. The rough-hewn structure rested on a rock base. Several SS men peered through a window as our car approached. One of the guards stepped out and pulled back the gate. He must have known the driver, for they exchanged nothing more than a wave. Another guard stood in the gatehouse doorway, his weapon strapped over his shoulder. They barely gave me a look, unimpressed with my presence. They were used to seeing kings, princes and diplomats from all over the world.

As we drove past the gate, I caught sight of the Berghof. It sat perched on the hillside, like an eagle preparing for flight. Its chalet style had been modified to monumental architecture, yet the sloping wings of the roof gave it an inherent lightness. Perhaps the mountain air made it seem delicate and airy, unlike the fortified home of a leader at war. The sun glinted off the white exterior giving it a welcoming look. I watched in awe as it slipped past my eyes. The car rounded a corner near a linden tree and headed toward a small driveway that split off from the one we were on. The driver was taking me to the entrance of a long building on the east side of the structure. He stopped the car and opened the door.

‘You are to see Fräulein Schultz, the Führer’s cook. I will take your luggage to your quarters.’

‘The cook?’ I was dumbfounded. Although I had experience preparing meals for my family, I hardly felt qualified to cook for the leader of the Third Reich.

‘Those are my orders.’ He shifted his head toward the door and a guard stepped out of the shadows. ‘Take Fräulein Ritter to the cook.’ The driver got into the car, turned it around and drove toward the main entrance of the Berghof.

The guard stepped forward, opened the door and led me through the halls to the kitchen. Although it was early, a large staff had already gathered for meal preparation. The room was well appointed with modern equipment. Several stoves and ovens were set against the walls, as well as racks of dishes and cookware. Cookbooks lay scattered across a large table. Men and women dressed in service uniforms were kneading dough, preparing eggs and cutting fruits and vegetables. A tall woman with an oval face and wavy brown hair stood out from the crowd. She projected authority in her dark dress covered by a white apron. She was talking with a man at a black stone sink. When she spotted me, she stopped her conversation and walked over.

‘You must be Fräulein Ritter,’ she said.

‘I am.’ I shook her hand. ‘You are Fräulein Schultz?’

‘Yes. The Führer’s dietician and cook.’ She looked at me with concern. ‘What have they told you about your position?’

I shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

‘Come with me to my office off the kitchen. You’ll be staying here in the east wing so you can be close to me, the kitchen staff and the other tasters.’

I didn’t understand. We went into the hall past the kitchen to a series of doors. Hers was the first. She opened it with a key and we stepped inside the small room. She took off her apron and sat at her desk while I took a seat in the guest chair. A window faced north, the same direction as the Berghof, looking out upon the sprawling view of the Untersberg. She turned to me with her hands folded in her lap.

‘You have been chosen,’ she began, ‘by me and Captain Karl Weber, the SS officer who oversees the security of my staff. You are one of fifteen.’

I shifted in my seat. ‘Fifteen what?’

‘Tasters who work for the Führer at his headquarters.’

‘Tasters?’ I had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Perhaps you could explain what that means.’

She looked at me like a teacher who was irritated with a student. ‘You, and others, taste the Führer’s food. Your body is offered in sacrifice to the Reich in case the food is poisoned.’

My breath fled, horrified as I was at her words. The cook must have recognized the distress in my face, for she reached across and held my hand.

‘There’s no need to panic,’ she said. ‘I will tell you frankly, he is obsessed with being poisoned. He thinks the British have it in for him – it’s all very Shakespearean if you ask me. Why would they resort to such medieval tactics when one well-placed assassin’s bullet would do? His personal physician could poison him as well, but we don’t taste his medicines. Your chances of being poisoned are slim. After all, we all sample the food as it’s prepared.’ And with a sly glance she said, ‘Still, I suppose there’s always a chance. I suppose you may not be ready for such candor, but you need to know the truth.’

‘This is why I was chosen for civilian service?’

She withdrew her hands and returned to her businesslike demeanor. ‘Yes. Apparently, the Reichsbund felt you were qualified for this position. It’s a great honor.’

I didn’t know how to respond, so I said meekly, ‘I suppose it is.’ I thought of my uncle Willy and wondered if he would be proud of my position. His recommendation had gotten me here.

‘You will be working with me,’ she explained. ‘If you do a good job, I have other duties you might pursue, such as bookkeeping for the kitchen. That’s an important task as well. We have full growing capabilities for food – greenhouses you will become familiar with.’ She paused and studied my face. ‘You’re pretty. There are plenty of attractive men here, enough to keep a flirtatious girl busy. I discourage intimate fraternization with officers and other staff. We have movies, dancing sometimes, but you must remember you are in service to the Führer. Your personal life is of no consequence.’

I shuddered. My life might end here. Not even the bombings in Berlin had forced me to face my mortality in such a brutal way. The thought that I might die for Hitler stunned me. An unwitting trap had been set and closed over me. My parents had sent me away, Uncle Willy had pulled strings and now I was in a position that might lead to my death. My mind raced, thinking of ways that I might get away from the Berghof. But where would I go?

She stood and I felt dwarfed by her figure. Apparently, she could read my thoughts, too. ‘I wouldn’t be hasty in your conclusions. If you reject your position there could be serious consequences. You might never work again. As I said, the risk is slight. When the war is over, your service to the Reich will be rewarded.’ She picked up her apron. ‘I must get back to the kitchen.’ She lifted the hair that fell across my left cheek before she opened the door. ‘Captain Weber was right. You are pretty – in a different way. Perhaps that’s why you were chosen. He wants to talk with you. Wait here.’

She left me sitting alone in the office. I bent over, covered my face with my hands and waited for the SS officer. In a matter of days, my life had changed from that of a common German girl to one of importance in the Reich. My head spun from what fate had thrown my way so quickly. The thought of dying, let alone for Hitler, had rarely entered my young head. Like a trapped animal there was nothing I could do. To back out would place shame and derision on my family, perhaps even open them to questioning. I could only wait and hope for the best.