Prison Visits

One morning I got a telephone call from Berning, a lawyer friend of ours. He asked me to come to his office as soon as possible. I said I would come that afternoon without having the faintest idea what he wanted. I didn’t know then that he was one of the leaders in the resistance and in charge of financial contributions.

“Sit down, Grethe. I guess it’s time I give you some information about what’s going on and what you can expect. First, how are you holding up?”

“I’m alright. I’m better than I thought I would be.”

Watercolor of Aksel's cell, rendered by his cell mate, Villy Lindavall  (Sign on the door: "do not lean out, you can die")

“You look good. I hear you are running the business. I want to tell you that if you ever need money, we can give you a loan, we have funds to do that.” I told him that it wouldn’t be necessary and that I was able to manage.

He also told me that Aksel had been transferred to the State prison in Copenhagen and that I could apply to Red Cross for a visitor pass to the prison. Fifteen minute visits each month was the rule.

“Fifteen minutes,” I said. “Well, I guess it’s better than nothing. I’ll apply right away. Thank you for the offer it’s good to know that in case I need it, I know where to go.”

“By the way this is a temporary office. We move around as you can understand. I’ll call you from time to time to see how you are doing. In the meantime, take care of yourself.” He followed me to the door where we shook hands. I went directly to the Red Cross and filled out an application for my pass.

In the middle of December I took the train to Copenhagen and then a bus to the State prison. I showed my pass to the guard and was led through countless slamming doors into a cell used for visits. At a table in the corner of the cell sat a translator. I was asked to sit down and wait.

An eternity passed before Aksel came into the room led by a German soldier, who told the translator in German that he would come back in fifteen minutes.

Grethe recounts seeing Aksel in prison

Aksel embraced and kissed me. He slipped a letter tightly folded up in my hand which I again slipped into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe my eyes. If the translator had seen it, she didn’t say or do anything.

In the fifteen minutes we spent together, we talked about the children, his mother and the business. I told Aksel how well I had managed with the help of Steve. Aksel had lost a lot of weight and I sensed he was depressed of course, that was understandable.

In exactly fifteen minutes the German soldier returned and dragged Aksel by his arm back to the prison cell. As they left Aksel turned around and smiled. I was convinced that he was feeling better and that the news I had brought him had cheered him up at least temporarily.

The visit was not very uplifting to me. Going through the slamming doors again, I finally got outside. I decided to walk the 3-4 miles to the train station. I needed to clear my head. As I walked, I noticed the enormous changes in Copenhagen. Over the years it had always been a treat and inspiration to spend time in our beautiful old capital. Now ugly bomb shelters were built on every open square. Every beautiful statue in the city had been covered with cement blocks to save them from the destruction of the air raids. The city looked like the war zone that it had become. I had read in the papers how bad it was to live in the city. There wasn’t a day without air-raids or sabotage. I had also read about all the hundreds of thousands of German refugees; women, children and wounded soldiers stayed in schools, community halls, etc., that were made into shelters for them by the German army. The Germans now controlled the country 100%, everywhere, Denmark didn’t belong to the Danes anymore.
France had been liberated by the allies, and Belgium and Holland were next. Soon, hopefully very soon Denmark and Norway would be also be liberated. It was inconceivable to predict what terrible things we had to go through before that freedom would be ours.

I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the air raid warning at 2:30 in the afternoon. Most air raids occurred during the night. I looked up to the sky and saw airplanes approaching. I followed the running people to a nearby bomb shelter, where many men, women and frightened children already were sitting on the cement benches attached to the wall. I was barely inside when one explosion after another could be heard. Somebody said that the RAF bombers were aiming at Burmeister and Wain, a shipyard, which had helped to build and repair the German fleet which of course wouldn’t be tolerated.
After two hours the “All-Clear” sounded and the shelter was emptied in no time. People hurried to get home. The few buses going to the train station were filled and I had no choice than to walk.
It began to snow and by the time I reached the station I was completely covered. I didn’t mind, in fact it felt good. I brushed myself off, and went into the station restaurant where I had a sandwich and a cup of coffee before I took the train home to Elsinore.

It had been an eventful day. When I got home, I called Nora. She had been taking care of Lone after kindergarten. I explained how I felt. Lone was asleep. I didn’t have enough strength to go over and get her and kindly Nora offered to keep her overnight. I went to bed, and fell asleep, the minute my head hit the pillow.

A Surprise Visit

Two watercolors created Gilbert Smith, a fellow prisoner with Aksel, and given to him as a present

January was always the longest, coldest month of the year and January 1945, was no exception. In fact, it was longer and colder than any I can remember.

The 21st of January I took the train to Copenhagen to visit Aksel in prison. This time I took the street car to get as close to the prison as I could and then walked the rest of the way, about two miles. It always helped me to walk when something was weighing heavy on my mind.

From a distance I could see the large, ugly, grey cement building. I dreaded to go inside not from fear, but from anger. I felt so vulnerable and very helpless. There wasn’t anything I could do to change the situation. There was also something else on my mind other than the forever ongoing war. The previous day I had had a surprise visit from Gerda’s brother, Peter. I was still in the state of shock.

The very instant I opened the door and saw Peter standing outside I sensed that something terrible had happened. I asked him to come inside, offered him coffee and an aquavit which he gladly accepted. Then he told me that Niels had committed suicide two days earlier. Gerda had found him in the barn. He had hung himself. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. It was like a nightmare. How in the world does one cope with this?

“Gerda is still in shock. She is walking around like nothing unusual happened.” Peter said.

“That’s the way nature helps us to endure situations in life we otherwise wouldn’t be able to endure.” I commented.

He told me that their parents were staying at the farm and helped out the best they could. He also asked me if there were any way I could come out to the farm and spend a couple of days or more with Gerda. He had added, “She needs you, you may be able to help her. I know you are not a psychologist but I know that Gerda admires your strength and the way you are able to cope.”

I told Peter that I would do everything I could to arrange to come out as soon as possible and that I might bring Lone along, which would be all right as far as he knew.

I followed him to the door and promised to get in touch as soon as I knew when I could come. Shortly after Peter had left Lone returned from kindergarten. I took her by the hand and together we went over to Nora’s to consult with her.

By the time I reached the prison my head was spinning. I knew for certain that I had to block Peter’s visit from my mind and use my best acting skills, which someone once told me I possessed, otherwise I wouldn’t be of any comfort to Aksel.

I did manage to pull myself together After the usual process of going through countless slamming doors, I was able to pull myself together and show Aksel a smiling face and tell him about the trip to the farm before Christmas, the walk in the forest, the snow and the Christmas Lone and I had spent with Nora Frederik and Bedste. He seemed pleased him that we weren’t suffering too much. What an actor I was.

When he came into the room I barely recognized him. He had lost more weight, his hair had turned completely grey. He was badly in need of a haircut and he had started to grow a beard, which oddly enough was becoming.

We kissed and hugged each other, managed to exchange tightly folded letters. He told me that now they were four in a cell. One of them was an artist who spent his time drawing on any little piece of paper he could get a hold of.

In a way I felt that the fifteen minutes we spent together had done more harm than good. We had become strangers, living in two different worlds. It had felt as if I were opening up a wound, not letting it heal and not being able to do anything to help. By the time I left the prison I was walking in a daze as I approached the bus stop.

I got back to reality when I saw and recognized an older woman already waiting for the bus. “Mrs. Petersen, I’m surprised to see you in this neighborhood.” I said. She turned around and smiled, “Hi there. Did you just come from that awful place?” She nodded toward the ugly prison building, “Yes, I had just visited Aksel, my husband.” I answered.

We both lived in Elsinore. We knew each other and while we weren’t close friends we were both happy to see a familiar face. She told me that one of her sons was in the prison and that she had been to visit him.

“I’m sorry. It’s a tough experience to go in there. Is your son all right?” I asked, as we boarded the already crowded bus.
She told me that he hadn’t been there very long. Only three weeks. He had been picked up at the hospital where he was working for doing what any doctor should and would do, helped wounded freedom fighters.

We took the bus as far as we could and walked the last mile to the train station. As it turned out we had an hour until the train would leave for Elsinore. We went into the train station restaurant where we had a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

After a while Mrs. Petersen suggested that we use first names. I agreed, after all we were in the same boat so to speak. All that conventional formality between two women like us seemed unnecessary.

As we reached Elsinore, our destination we both felt better than we had when we met at the bus stop.
As it turned out we both had Visitor passes for the same date in February 1945 and decided to go in together. In the meantime we got together on a weekly basis for lunch or coffee in each other’s home and a good friendship developed between us.

An Execution

Lone and I spent one long weekend with Gerda at the farm. As it turned out Niels hadn’t been able to make any payments to the bank which held the mortgage and the bank took over the farm. Everything was sold at auction. Gerda and the children ended up living with her parents in Elsinore and she found work as a local telephone operator. Niels had taken the only way out he could see when he was unable to solve his problems.

On the morning of February 21, 1945, I was getting ready to leave for my visit with Aksel when the telephone rang. For a moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to anybody but then I changed my mind, thinking it could be important.

I answered the phone and a voice which I didn’t recognize asked me if I was Grethe Erting? “Yes,” I said. The person on the phone introduced herself as a friend of Erna Petersen. She told me that Erna wasn’t going to meet me at the train station that day. Her son had been executed by the Gestapo early that morning.

As long as I live I will never forget that phone message that morning and the way I felt when I left for the train station. I couldn’t believe it was true. I ran all the way to the train hoping, hoping that the phone call had been a hoax and that Erna would be there waiting form me. I couldn’t believe it even though later I saw the countless rows of names in the paper listing the people executed by the Gestapo.

The allied forces were gaining ground and Hitler’s army was on the run. Liberation was close and the Germans were getting more and more desperate. The prisons were overfilled. Every tenth person was picked out at random to be executed, leaving room in the prison for more people.

When would it end? What more was required of us to endure this horror that our lives had become?

Grethe recalls getting a call about her friend's execution

Close to a Breakdown

I don’t remember very much about February 21, 1945, the day I went into the prison to visit Aksel. I managed to smile and I don’t believe Aksel suspected anything unusual had happened or that I felt on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
When I saw him coming toward me I wanted to cry. Aksel looked like an old man. He could barely talk and actually had nothing to say. The bastards had broken his spirit. Again I managed to put on an act, it was as if I was on stage. I made up and told stories about Lone, Bedste and Aksel’s other children. I made up all sorts of stories just to give him some encouragement. “Soon this will be over and all of us can live a normal life” I said, keeping in mind that a translator was sitting in the corner listening to every word. I couldn’t wait to get away and when I got outside I walked and ran all the way to the train station.
I boarded the train a few minutes before departure. When we pulled in on the station in Elsinore I was the first one out. I walked as fast as I could. I wanted to get home. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my chest and was forced to sit down on a bench along the road. After a while I was able to continue walking until I got to Nora’s house where Lone and Peter were waiting, all happy to see me.

“How was your visit?” Nora asked. I told her what a terrible experience it had been and I also told her about the terrible phone call which I had hoped was a hoax and my half expectation to see Erna at the station. When she wasn’t there, I knew it really was true and that hey had killed her son. Nora was in shock and speechless. She put her arms around me and stroked my hair and insisted that I stay for dinner. I hadn’t eaten all day and was very grateful for her offer until she told me we were having seagull stew.

“I was just wondering what the smell was when I came in. Where did you get the seagull?” I asked.
She told me that Frederik had been out on the sound with his friend Svend, a fisherman. They hadn’t caught a lot of fish so Frederik had shot a couple of seagulls. “Of course, I don’t know how old they are. This one has been on the stove for three hours and it’s still not tender. I have added all kinds of roots, leeks and onions.”

I lifted the lid off the soup pot and saw the gull swimming among the vegetables and I began to laugh—I just cracked up, tears were running down my cheeks and the tension of the day released itself in the comedy of dinner.

Thousands of people were executed and killed every day. We were reduced to live in poverty, not knowing where the next meal would come from. Restrictions became stronger and stronger and food and fuel rations became smaller and smaller. The stores were practically empty. There wasn’t a decent pair of shoes or boots for sale. Even fish skin was used to make shoes out of, all kinds of substitutes were being invented. We desperately tried to live a normal life—and low and behold now we were having seagull for dinner.

Nora and Lone, even the dog looked at me in astonishment. They couldn’t understand why I was laughing. I should be crying. All I know and recall is that the pain I had felt inside was being released.

Nora pushed me down on a chair. She brought me a shot of “Life’s Water,” aquavit. I stopped laughing and then the tears came.
After a while I managed to pull myself together and got up ”I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t want to all apart like this, I’m fine now.” I told Nora that I had baked several loaves of bread the day before and that I was going to get her a large loaf from my house.
Nora had given up on the seagull. It wouldn’t get tender. She had already used a big part of her gas ration in trying. “The bird might be 100 years old, who knows. We are just going to eat the stew without meat” she said. It didn’t taste too bad and when we added thyme and bay leaves it was quite edible. I felt laughter coming back just as Frederik walked through the door. “Are we having seagull for dinner?” He asked with a big grin. He and Svend had obviously had a few beers as they often did when they couldn’t get out on the water. In many places the sound was still covered with ice.

Nora was not pleased to see Frederik in the condition he was in. “Don’t bring any more seagulls in this house we can do without them.” She cut a leg and a piece of breast meat and served Frederik. She was punishing him I guess. I cut slices of my homemade bread and put that on the table. I served Lone as well as myself a plate of stew without the meat. Nora did the same. I’ll never forget the sight of Frederik trying in vain to cut the meat. He finally pushed the plate aside and took a couple of slices of bread. Nora served him some vegetables. Peter had a good dinner that evening. He wasn’t averse to eating seagull.
After dinner I helped Nora with the dishes and went home. I asked them over to my house the next day. I was going to be home most of the day and I would do the cooking. In the following month we took turns cooking dinner. We shared and helped each other any way we knew how which was the only way we would be able to survive.