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On the morning of the race the top of the Kochelberg was in the clouds. It so happened that there were no other cars between me and the last of the ‘aces’, one of Germany’s top drivers, Ernst von Delius, who was driving something called a ‘Zoller’, which was so named after the designer of its supercharged 12-cylinder engine. The machine was turning at an unheard-of rate of rpms and they were having trouble with clutches, which kept burning out.

My practice times had been quite good and as I was screaming up the mountain that morning I was probably doing even better than the ace until I reached the wet part of the road where the clouds began. I came around a bend in second gear, with my foot on the floorboards only to discover von Delius, clutch obviously gone, trying to push his machine out of the way. In order to avoid the Zoller I had to take my foot of the throttle – a fatal thing with a front-wheel-drive car in those days. All I remember was the hiss of my tyres as my ‘pride and joy’ went skidding off the road. Somehow, I was thrown clear before my 500 Marks disintegrated on the way down the mountainside. My racing career had lasted just three minutes twenty-three seconds and I had to pay 200 Marks to have the debris taken away. Tony cried for days.

Hard work was necessary to recoup such losses and I took to deepest Bavaria in order to peddle my automobiles to trusting farmers. One night, in Passau, I spotted a truly lovely blonde with an unmistakeable mother and a nice little four-year old daughter. I established contact after dinner and the blonde promised to call me on her way through Munich; which she did three weeks later. ‘I am staying at the Regina. Why don’t you move in here’, she said. The hotel was full, however my old friend Rosenow (the barman) was full of understanding and had a cot moved into a broom closet – no windows, no water, but lots of brooms –and that got me into the hotel. In those days, visits to guests of the opposite sex were difficult, especially late at night when eagle-eyed night porters would check all callers for their legitimacy. Today this seems hard to imagine, but it is totally true. Anyway, sometime later, I knocked at the lady’s door. ‘I am the ‘night waiter’ I said, with one eye on the cute child, ‘will you require anything else?’ It was an appropriate question, full of hope. The answer was negative, ‘But was I comfortable?’ ‘Not very’, I stated, ‘having to sleep in a broom closet, two doors down on the left. Goodnight, Madam’.

For three nights we made breathless love in that unventilated hole, and for three more in a room I thereafter managed to obtain. Her name was Hedi and she had married, so she told me, a homosexual millionaire grain merchant in Naples who wanted children and a hostess. She was free to do as she pleased, and she wanted to see me again – often. This was the moment of a vote of thanks to Hansi, my superb instructress, who had rendered me worthy of such a sophisticated, and older, partner. Then she left, and after some months, I received a letter with a project for a joint holiday. I had to reply that I couldn’t make it because of lack of funds, following which there was an immediate request to forget my handicap and come at her expense. Young, dumb and impetuous as I was, I declined to do any such thing at any woman’s expense, and that seemed to be the end of it. However, my wallet later recovered, and I was in love with Hedi. My letters addressed to the Naples Post Office were returned unclaimed, so I decided to try and find her. I drove to Naples non-stop and started my search. There was nobody of the surname she had given me in the phone book or various registers and there was no information at the German Consulate.

I was wandering around Naples feeling rather lost and out of ideas, when I saw a queue outside what seemed to be a cinema. I looked closer and saw two prices above the cashier’s box – something like five and fifteen Lira. It didn’t seem much so I paid fifteen Lira and entered. To my surprise I was taken over to a lift by a chambermaid in a white apron who showed me to another floor. There she opened a door and half-shoved me into a bedroom where a very naked lady was adorning a rather functional looking bed. I was, as I discovered somewhat late, in a brothel!

There is no happy, or even satisfactory ending to this tale, however I did gain some very useful information. I had never been to a whorehouse and I was afraid, probably of infection, and being in love I was unprepared. So, trying my best Italian, I began to beg off. The girl however was from Bohemia and spoke perfect German. She was also delighted with the unexpected breather but asked me to stay the fifteen minutes I had secured with my fifteen Lira, so as to give her a bit of a rest. We chatted idly and I asked a question I had always had on my mind – how many clients in one day? Now, in the ‘officers section’ (fifteen Lira department) she explained, there was no problem, about four per hour, eight hours a day, so thirty to thirty-two maximum. But before, in the ‘five Lira’ department, she allowed only five minutes to a customer and, sometimes, she worked unlimited hours. Her record, she said, was ninety-five in one day! So now I had my answer and it was the only tangible thing I took back with me from my search for Hedi whom I never did find. Sometimes, when I can’t go to sleep, I multiply ninety-five by seven inches. It comes out to one hell of a stretch!

8. JOINING THE RESISTANCE MOVEMENT

ON MY RETURN TO MUNICH and the Carlton Tearooms Rita, the helpful waitress, continued to warn my friends and me of Hitler’s impending approaches. She considered these visits from the Fuehrer to be partly a boon and partly a nuisance. She had benefitted by telling people what she heard him talk about, for which she would be well tipped, and on one occasion she had ‘rented out’ her apron and bonnet to a girl for twenty Marks, thereby enabling an adoring female fan to take the Fuehrer his coffee. Rita was however annoyed when Hitler occupied his usual table since that part of the establishment was then cleared of all but the most trustworthy guests, which meant a falling off of her tips.

My friends and I visited the Carlton daily and Rita would let us know what confidential matters were being discussed. These friends were all much older than me and included a banker, a wine merchant and several members of the Bavarian nobility who enjoyed a pleasant life of idleness. After some months I became particularly friendly with one of them who will have to remain incognito since, as I write this, he is still alive. One evening he came home with me and we drank a few of the precious bottles of wine my father had left me in his will. My friend asked a few apparently innocent questions such as ‘Do you have a valid passport? Do you like to travel? Do you know Switzerland? Do you have any relatives other than your mother?’

The answers I supplied must have satisfied him because he approached me again a few days later and asked me if I would be willing to take a journey to Switzerland, which would ultimately help a Jewish friend of his. I asked for details. He told me that the Jewish director of an industrial concern in Berlin had been imprisoned by the Gestapo. They were however prepared to release him if he in turn was prepared to sell to a certain German bank his shares in one of his companies. A large sum of cash would also be required to ‘straighten out matters connected with his release’.

The man didn’t have that much cash and it was clear to all that he would eventually be forced into selling his business and still remain in prison. His friends were anxious to raise money to pay the bribe and enable them then to take over the factory.

Their plan was to smuggle German money into Switzerland and there exchange it for Swiss Francs. With these Francs, a Swiss agent of my Munich group of friends would purchase the so-called German ‘Sperrmark’[1] funds, owned by Swiss holders, which were blocked inside Germany because of the currency restrictions.

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1

The German Government placed the liquid assets of German Jews in special blocked accounts known as ‘Sperrmarks’ which could only be used in Germany. Those Sperrmarks held their value internally but had much less value (perhaps as low as 25%) outside the country. To purchase goods (such as cars) in Sperrmarks and then sell those goods abroad was one way of getting a better exchange rate – however such transactions were soon made illegal by the Third Reich. Similarly smuggling banknotes out of Germany – which could be exchanged at true market value for Swiss Francs was also a crime that carried the severest of penalties. Francs obtained through such transactions could then be used to buy Sperrmark funds in Switzerland at extremely advantageous rates. Those Sperrmark funds could then in turn be used to pruchase shares in German companies. This was a hugely profitable, albeit highly dangerous, way for German Jews to use the financial system to their advantage.