‘Where’s Mutti?’ I ask in a whisper.

‘Gone to bed,’ Vati mimics my whisper in reply, ‘and left us men to it,’ he adds in a normal voice.

‘Yes, I should get home myself,’ says Gratz, looking at his watch. ‘I must send my report on all of this to Dresden before nine tomorrow morning. Can we finish?’

‘Of course.’ Vati becomes serious. ‘Off you go, my dear. Get your beauty sleep.’

‘Goodnight, Vati. Goodnight,’ I say to the men.

In the hall, I collapse onto the bench to remove my shoes. I ache all over and wonder if I have the strength to do it. I sit for a long time staring at my feet, back resting against the wall, listening to the men talk through the open door.

‘… estimated to be around fifteen hundred in the Leipziger Meuten alone. We’ve clearly not done enough and the resistance has spread to towns all over Saxony. Dresden knows only too well…’ The voice of Theo Gratz, I think. I listen harder.

‘And you know where these pockets are operating from?’ Vati now.

‘The working-class areas primarily – Plagwitz and environs. Some are communists. Some just troublemakers. But there are enough to be a worry. Most concerning thing is they are predominantly young. They pick fights with the HJ, calling them prigs and snobs, actively seek them out for attack.’

Silence for a moment. My heart beats wildly. Could this be what Herr Bäcker is involved in? He’s neither young, nor working class, but it’s possible. Or is it another resistance group? Perhaps there are many, springing up everywhere. I have a glimmer of hope, a sign that everything may not be lost.

‘Recommend to Dresden that we take swift and decisive action.’ Vati’s voice again. ‘We cannot allow this dissent to continue. We should use the Marxist rhetoric as an excuse for prosecution, and fight this with full brutality, stamp it out, fast. We should make an example… discourage others…’

Murmurs of agreement.

Someone clears their throat. ‘I must be away, Franz. Thank you for your kind hospitality…’

Quickly kicking off my shoes I tiptoe to the stairs and dissolve into the darkness of the upper floors of the house.

5 February 1939

The conversation I overheard last night about the Leipziger Meuten replays through my mind. In the crisp morning light, I wonder what I should do.

I wander through the downstairs rooms, Kuschi at my heels. I should pass the information to Herr Bäcker. Would he know the leaders of the Meuten? They need to be warned. Unease grows. This is beginning to feel horribly like it did before Kristallnacht last year.

In the garden room, my eyes fall on a two-day old copy of the Leipziger which lies on the coffee table. Hitler’s recent speech to the Reichstag is printed in full. It takes up more than a double-page spread. I sink into a chair to read it.

… when the outside world insists Germany is threatening other peoples by military extortion, it is on the grounds of grossly distorted facts. Germany has realised the right to the self-determination of ten million German people without the mobilisation of any forces, contrary to the fictitious reports by the foreign press. In this area, neither the English nor other Western nations have any business meddling. The Reich does not pose a threat to anyone, it has merely defended itself against the attempts at intervention by third parties… We will not stand for Western states meddling in our affairs…