What had happened to Rudolf Hess’s peace plan?
8
Joe and I came second in our first heat, behind France but ahead of Finland and Greece. In the afternoon we took second place in our semi-final heat, which allowed us to scrape through to the main race. The final itself had us ranged against Argentina, Denmark, Holland, France and Germany.
We spent the morning of the big day in training, but at lunchtime Joe suddenly announced that he needed to return to the apartment in Goethestrasse, meaning that I would be alone, with at least two hours to kill. I was furious with him, because we were so close to the start of the most important race of our careers. We should keep working, stay out on the water for more and more practice. Joe shrugged it off, saying we could overtrain ourselves into last place. Then he was gone.
At this time of day, with no events in progress, most people, competitors and crowds, had drifted away to lunch. I stayed by the lake, calming down after my argument with Joe, resting on the grass, watching what was going on around me. I started thinking about Birgit. My last real conversation with her had taken place two days earlier, when I had worked up my courage and asked her if she would like to visit the Olympic regatta arena to watch us race. Like all the athletes, Joe and I had been issued with complimentary tickets for our family and friends. Birgit told me she would love to be present for our race but that it would not be safe for her to be there. Although I was disappointed I had not pressed the point. I wished now that I had. We would be leaving Berlin soon, with no telling when we would be able to return.
A little later I went to stretch my legs. Between the two main grandstands and slightly in front of them was a raised viewing podium, draped in Nazi flags and banners, reserved for dignitaries and officials. So far, whenever we had been competing or training, it had remained unoccupied and our efforts passed unobserved by the important and powerful. This time when I wandered past, though, two armed SS men in their distinctive black uniforms had taken up positions at the bottom of each of the flights of steps that led to the platform. I walked past, staring up at the swastika-draped railings.
‘[Move on!]’ said one of the guards as I lingered in the area of the podium.
‘[I’m a competitor,]’ I said mildly, showing him the pass that all athletes were issued with, so that we could gain unrestricted access around the sports complex.
‘[Being a competitor is of no importance. It is forbidden to be here.]’
‘[Yes, sir!]’ I said, having realized during the last few days in Berlin that no one in their right mind questioned the authority of the SS. I added, ‘Heil Hitler!’
He returned the salutation instantly, but continued to stare at me with intense suspicion. I walked away smartly, suddenly a little frightened of the situation.
Down by the river I went to watch the scrutineering of our shell, together with those belonging to the other teams. The German-speaking officials were making no attempt to keep spectators away, so I stood alongside as they methodically selected each of the boats, measured it, weighed it, checked its trim and alignment, then affixed a tiny tag to the helm to certify it was within the set limits.
When I returned to the spectator enclosure I saw a remarkable sight: the crowds were flocking back to the huge grandstands, flooding in from the park area that lay behind. The quiet area where I had been wandering only a short while earlier was now thronged with officials, police, adjudicators, other sportsmen, pressmen and an alarming number of uniformed SS officers, looking out of place in the bright sunlight. A tremendous sense of occasion filled the summer air and I could not help but respond to it.
I was at the Olympic Games and I was about to compete in a final!
Still the crowds poured in, guided towards the narrow entrances to the stands. The officials seemed concerned, overwrought, chivvying people along as if there was no time to lose. A military band marched impressively into the enclosure, took up position and launched into a medley of cheerful tunes with a bouncing beat. The crowd greatly appreciated this. I sat down on the grass again, watching the band and enjoying the music.
I saw Joe walking along the river bank, looking from side to side. I waved, beckoning him anxiously towards me. We were running out of time. After a moment he saw me and came straight over. He squatted down beside me.
‘Look, JL, we have to change our plans,’ he said directly, raising his voice over the noise of the music. ‘Something’s come up. We’re going to leave Berlin tonight.’
‘You want to go home already?’
‘I want to get out of Germany. Whatever it takes.’
‘Joe, we’re here to compete. Where the devil have you been? Have you forgotten the race? This is the most important afternoon of our lives!’
‘Yes, and I feel the same as you. But there are other things we have to worry about.’
‘Not now, not just before the race!’
‘An hour from now the race will be over as far as we’re concerned. There’s no point hanging around in Berlin afterwards.’
‘But it’s in the agreement we signed. We have to stay on for the closing ceremony’
‘It’s not safe for us to be here.’
‘What could possibly go wrong?’ I said, indicating the huge and good-natured crowds, the warm afternoon and the calm river, the oompah band, the squads of officials and adjudicators. I glanced at my watch. ‘We should be warming up.’
Joe turned away from me, his attention grabbed by something that was going on. I looked over to where he was staring. Many of the people in the grandstands were getting up out of their seats, stretching up on their toes to see better. The band continued to play, but we were close enough to the musicians to notice that several of them were rolling their eyes while they blew into their trumpets and tubas, trying to see what was happening. I stood up and after another moment so too did Joe.
A group of men in German military uniforms was coming along the pathway that led down to the enclosure between the two main stands. They weren’t marching but were walking briskly, staring straight ahead. The way for them had already been cleared, with lines of SS men standing to attention on each side.
Many of the people in the crowd raised their right arms at an angle and a huge racket of shouting, cheering and some screaming was going on. Ripples of excitement were fanning through the crowds in both grandstands. The mood was electric.
‘My God!’Joe shouted over the row. ‘It’s him!’
I stared in amazement. In the centre of the group of men, the instantly recognizable figure of Chancellor Hitler was striding along, acknowledging the excited crowd by holding his right hand slightly aloft, the palm turned upwards. He looked to neither right nor left. He was no taller than any of the other men, dressed in a nondescript pale-green military jacket and a peaked cap, yet somehow his presence had instantly become the focus of interest of everyone.
I was astonished by the effect of the man’s appearance on me. Simply by being there, by arriving, by striding into the arena where the regatta was taking place, he commanded our immediate attention. Like everyone else, Joe and I were craning our necks to keep him in sight.
The group of men reached the base of the raised podium. On that hot day in early August 1936, Joe and I recognized none of them apart from Hitler; even though we understood from the way they behaved that they were hugely important men. Without ceremony they climbed the steps to take up their positions on the viewing platform. A few years later, those men on the podium with Hitler would be amongst the most widely known, and feared, men in the world.