Munich 1947. Everyday life in the ruined city. Inge, who has now trained as an actress, is a member of a cabaret group run by Ralph Maria Siegel, performing under her professional name of Ingeborg Zomann. Traudl too tries to start out again in her home city this year. The sisters share an attic room in the house of Walter Oberholzer, the sculptor for whom Traudl had modelled when she was fifteen; since then the whole family have been friends with him. He finds Traudl her first job with an electrical firm making items known as fireless cookers: zinc-plated containers which can be electrically heated and will then hold the heat, so that with their aid hot meals can be served even during power cuts. There is also a good market for ‘warming rolls’, items in the shape of a small rolling pin that you connect to the electricity supply for a minute; you can then carry one about with you to warm your hands. Traudl Junge finds them very useful when she gets a new job as secretary at Helge Peters-Pawlinin’s studio theatre, where her sister is part of the original ensemble. It is so cold there that she cannot type without thawing out her fingers first on the warming-roll.
‘It was wonderful to be living under American democracy. I hadn’t realized before that I wasn’t hearing music by any Polish or Russian composers, couldn’t read Jewish literature… that so much was banned or taboo. All of a sudden the intellectual world opened up again.
In Munich at this time the world of theatre and cabaret was starting up again… In fact there was a new sense of life in the air. Hitler’s prophecy that Germany would be finished and become an agrarian country again was not realized… Of course the Americans brought their modern music with them… and their authors. Hemingway, for example. We had to scrape and save, but we lived a fulfilling life.’
Traudl Junge is not short of work, although it is badly paid. In 1947 to 1950 she does secretarial work for the Meto Medical and Technical Marketing Company, for the Iranian journalist Davoud Monchi-Zadeh who also lectures at Munich University, for the firm of Munich Publishing and for the printing works of Majer & Finckh, usually working half-days and for several employers in parallel. Obviously none of them shuns contact with her. The fact that she once worked for the head of state vouches for her good qualifications, ‘[…] which enabled her to work part-time, to our complete satisfaction, in the post for which a full-time employee always used to be necessary,’ say Majer & Finckh in writing her a reference. ‘Frau Junge was an extremely valuable member of staff, and we were sorry to see her go,’ says Munich Publishing enthusiastically. ‘Both management and her colleagues felt particular respect for her abilities. Her pleasant manner to everyone made her universally popular.’
For some time she also types for Hans Raff. He is a lawyer, and has married her close friend Ulla, whom she has not seen since 1942. Hans accepted Traudl immediately, says Ulla Raff, something that could not be taken for granted because, being half Jewish, he had suffered persecution during the Third Reich. In 1933 Raff, a qualified mechanical engineer then training as a lawyer, was expelled from the university eight weeks before his finals, in 1941 he was dismissed from the army as ‘unworthy to fight’, until 1944 he managed a Munich factory making artists’ canvases that he had taken over from Jewish relatives, and then he was put in a labour camp and forced to work in a salt-mine. He finally took his examinations in 1946, changed his original plan to make a career in patent law and decided to specialize in compensation cases instead, and was soon one of the country’s most respected lawyers working in the field of compensation and reimbursement.
They avoided talking to Traudl about her time with Hitler, says Ulla Raff. From today’s viewpoint, their reason seems surprising: ‘We wanted to spare her. We always felt sorry for her because we saw how much she was suffering in her heart.’ Instead of confronting her with her past, Hans Raff gives her financial support, and several times provides money for her mother, knowing how poor Hildegard is.
‘When I came back from Berlin I felt very small and wretched and was grateful for any kind of human affection. I never heard personal accusations from the people around me. They all said: but you were so young. You couldn’t know what was going on… No one discussed it with me at more length. And when I’d written my memoirs no one wanted to read them. For many years I was glad of that, because their encouragement meant I could quieten my conscience. In the end, though, there’s no deceiving your own subconscious mind.’
A particularly important event for Traudl Junge is her working relationship with Karl Ude, which soon becomes a close friendship with him and his family. She meets the writer when she, her mother and her sister come to live in Bauerstrasse in the Schwabing district of Munich. Number 10, into which they move (illegally), was so badly bombed during the war that it has been struck from the records of the housing department as a total write-off. But a Catholic priest called Berghofer, who originally lived on the fourth floor, has done some makeshift repairs to the ground floor and lets the three women have two rooms. They have to cover them with roofing felt before they actually have the proverbial roof over their heads. ‘From Berghof to Berghofer. You’re going up in the world!’ joke Traudl’s friends. Karl Ude has made himself a rough-and-ready office among remnants of walls on the first floor; one of his activities is to edit the literary journal Welt und Wort. His son Christian, now Mayor of Munich, describes him as an impeccably democratic but otherwise non-political man, who waited quietly during the Third Reich for the terrible times to be over. He did show a great interest in contemporary history all his life, says his son, but basically he adopted no particular stance towards it. He was too diplomatic for that, and anyway he had chosen the role of the artist. Traudl Junge acts as Karl Ude’s secretary in the afternoons, while in the mornings she works as editorial assistant in the publishing firm of Rolf Kauka and edits a crime magazine.
‘Karl Ude was very liberal and democratic, and as a writer and a cultured man he had a great influence on my mind. Of course he knew I had been Hitler’s secretary◦– I always told that to anyone I was closely involved with at once, because I didn’t want my past to spoil our relationship. But Ude never asked me about details or my motivation. We didn’t dwell on the recent past. Our thoughts, feelings and activities were bent on the future. We were working to build a normal life again, bit by bit… I also came into contact with the SPD Cultural Forum through the Udes. I’m still a member.’
Christian Ude is only a year old when Traudl Junge enters the life of the family◦– he, his parents and his sister Karin live in the building opposite, Number 9 Bauerstrasse. Even at primary school he is beginning to take an interest in history and politics, and asks her questions about her job with Hitler. In many conversations with her, he says looking back, he developed an awareness that ‘Adolf Hitler and the Second World War were not just huge historical events of the past, but that political activities were going on in my immediate vicinity, almost close enough for me to touch.’ When he joined in conversations at mealtimes with his parents and their friends later, as a boy old enough to be taken seriously, he found that Traudl Junge had a ‘lively, critical mind’, and said she was ‘better at discussion and more committed than many other people we knew’.