Golden Boy. Paula Astridge
of mindless sheep being mustered to the slaughter.
No one cared who he was. No one cared that he was rich, clever and earmarked for success. When push came to shove, no one gave a damn whether he lived or died. Out of the blue, his very existence on this earth became an arbitrary decision made by the powers-that-be, which meant that they had to go.
To that end, he could no longer afford the luxury of apathy, of sitting back with a cynical lack of personal involvement, claiming elitist exemption from the rest of the world’s upheavals and horrors. Whether he liked it or not this night had involved him, quite literally up to his eyeballs. Fate had plucked him from his seat on the sanctimonious sidelines and forced him to deal with this physically terrifying, hands-on confrontation.
It was hard to come to grips with it; to believe that civilised men were actually capable of such random, wholesale violence. Contrary to newspaper reports the following day, the crowd had been completely couth and under control. There was no disturbance of the peace, no flouting of the rules. That was until the implementers of those rules descended upon them, intent on their murder and destruction.
That was that, as far as Albert was concerned. No government that condoned such indiscriminate inhumanity had the right to rule a country that considered itself a democracy. In its name Hitler had merely been practising what had proved to be the country’s selective freedom of speech, one that was up for abuse when adherents to a new political faction threatened to uproot the establishment.
‘Well, uproot away,’ Albert thought with conviction as he got to his feet. ‘For all the man’s faults, and much as I hate to admit it, this Adolf Hitler has got it right and promised better.’
Yes, it was a case of choosing the lesser of two evils, but from this night forward, for better or worse, Albert’s choice was made. Hitler had his unerring support.
CHAPTER SIX
Albert and Margret set out for Berlin to sign up with the Nazi Party as soon as they could. Albert’s Membership no: 474 481 (or no.1, as any decent numerologist would classify it), augured well.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Albert’s fledgling architectural office in Mannheim. Despite his father’s well-intentioned corporate referrals Speer Jnr. was having trouble getting his business off the ground. Poor economic climate could be blamed to a degree, but the truth was that his heart wasn’t in it.
‘You can’t just give up,’ his father objected.
‘It’s not working, father, despite all you’ve done to help. I’ve sent out hundreds of marketing letters to prospective clients and had absolutely no result.’
‘But what about the referrals I gave you to my friends? Haven’t any of them come good?’
‘Only in as much as they’ve returned the most polite of rejections. Something’s not right, something’s not working. I know that it’s what I’ve been trained to do, but my heart is just not in it. I have a feeling that the business is doomed to fail.’
‘That’s nonsense! You have to give it time. What did you expect? To fall on your feet from day one? Patience and hard work, that’s what it takes. You’ll hit the big time, wait and see. And in the meantime you’re making a satisfactory income from managing my properties here in Mannheim aren’t you?’
‘I am father, and I’m grateful for it. It’s given me the cash flow to keep my doors open, but you know as well as I do that that’s not enough. I can’t be satisfied with scraping the crumbs from your table. I’m better than that and I think you know it. You wouldn’t have settled for it, and I think deep down that you’d think less of me if I did.’
His father nodded his reluctant assent. The writing was on the wall. Keen as he was to have his clever son stay and share in his fortunes in Mannheim, he knew that Albert was acting for the best. There was little to be achieved then in arguing the point when, from experience, he knew better. Nothing he could say or do would stop Albert from doing precisely what he wanted. It never had. It never would. Yet, irritating as this was he rather admired this stubborn, selfish streak in his son. It gave him a certain strength of character which was something positive to cling onto when he thought so little of Albert’s other attributes and even less of his architectural ability.
Nonetheless, Speer Senior wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
‘I don’t approve of that vulgar National Socialist Party you’ve been talking about lately,’ he said in an abrupt change of subject.
Although completely off the point, it was his last opportunity to voice his opinion and advise his son against it. He had an uneasy feeling that Albert was sailing into dangerous waters by aligning himself with such a controversial crowd, but he knew he had to tread carefully. One wrong word would trigger Albert’s perversity and push him towards rather than away from Hitler and his roughneck gang. If he wanted to have any sway over his son, it was imperative that he stay as calm and objective as possible.
So, striking a match, he lit his cigar and puffed on it until its tip glowed red. It was a play for time, however, that offered as much to Albert. He took advantage of it to tackle his father head on, rather than wait to be intimidated.
‘I’ve done more than just talk about it father. I’ve joined The Party.’
It took great presence of mind for his father to take in this alarming piece of news without reacting violently against it. Working hard to subdue his rage, he paused and slowly shook out his match, but it was no use. He was appalled.
‘Disgraceful! To think that a son of mine should connect himself with such riff raff. Mark my words, if we’re weak and foolish enough to vote them into power, that man and the mongrels around him are going to be the death of our country.’
‘The death?’
Albert was genuinely surprised. His father, if nothing else, had always been such a sensible, shrewd man. Couldn’t he see the good Adolf Hitler was doing, not only for the business community but for the economy as a whole?
‘He’s breathing new life into it. He’s going to save, not sacrifice us,’ Albert continued.
At these words his father looked up at him, his eyes unflinching and filled with cynicism. ‘Evidently I made a mistake in crediting you with insight. Are you blind as well as stubborn?’ he snapped, before sighing in resignation. ‘I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’
‘No, nothing, it’s made up, and I’m not alone in my convictions,’ Albert replied, feeling defensive yet diminished.
His father’s air of intellectual and moral superiority always made Albert feel that he had to justify himself.. But then nothing he ever said or did seemed to please his father or make him proud, even when they tried to go one-on-one and indulge in the unworkable fantasy that they were a loving father and son. The sad reality was that they just never could, nor ever would, see eye to eye.
‘You do know that Mother has joined The Party as well?’
For the first and only time in his life, and thanks only to Frau Speer’s newfound hobby in Hitler, Albert had her on side. Throwing her hat into the ring was the ace he had up his sleeve. Her sanction for deeds either good or bad stood as their ultimate justification. The strength of her convictions and her fierce-eyed challenge to those who questioned them brooked no argument.
‘Yes, I do. I’m shocked and disappointed,’ his father replied, tight-lipped. ‘I would have expected better of her.’
‘But not of me!’ Albert thought bitterly, mentally filling in the gaps in his father’s cruel argument. It was an argument insulting enough to push his son over the line. In a state of pique and political zeal, Albert decided to base himself in Berlin, his professional and political interests well matched to a city gripped by election fever.
First however, he had to say goodbye to Wolters, who had secured a steady architectural position with the National Railways Department and was about to be transferred