In the Way of the Reich. Paula Astridge
Although Epenstein had long since converted to Catholicism, he had never been able to cast off his innate cultural instincts. This was to become a rather alarming reality for Hermann in his World War II Wonder Years. It was one which he would strategically neglect to mention when chatting to the likes of Hitler and Himmler and indeed he would go out of his way to keep his fond memories and gratitude for his godfather under wraps.
Yet that was something Albert never felt the desire or necessity to do. For safety’s sake his birth certificate stated that he was the son of Heinrich Goering and of solid Aryan stock, but his heart refused to disclaim his true heritage and deep-rooted respect for his real father. The feeling was mutual. For each time Epenstein sat listening to his son playing Beethoven on their drawing room Steinway, there was no doubt in his mind that this son of his was a chip off the old block.
Nevertheless, in his will, Epenstein left his entire fortune to Hermann. That included both his castles, Veldenstein and Mauterndorf, together with a substantial holding of stocks and shares. It was all bequeathed on the understanding that Hermann must always see to the needs of his younger brother, which Epenstein trusted that his godson would do. In matters of the like, Hermann was painstakingly honourable.
All this great wealth was to come to the Goering boys, but not before that same benefactor of theirs had first thrown them and their mother out into the streets. It was a shock and humiliation which Hermann’s father, Heinrich, was spared because he was already dead. In 1913, the lethal combination of liquor and love lost had driven him to an early grave.
Unlike her husband, however, Fanny was not removed from Epenstein’s presence by an act of God but by his pretty housekeeper. A more youthful, blonde and blue-eyed woman than she, who stepped in to fill the void in the aging doctor’s love life. Her hourglass figure and promiscuous promises had done wonders to hoist his flagging libido and to persuade him to push Fanny and her sons aside. After their 16-year relationship, Epenstein had tired of the Goering girl and was eager to replace her with a new model.
So Fanny, without the support of her two husbands’ cravings or cash, had been forced to set up a house just on the outskirts of poverty in Munich. From thereon in, she, Hermann and Albert (unaware that they were to inherit a fortune) were expected to make their own way in life. It was a way which had been smoothed, to a degree, by Epenstein, who had provided both boys with a first rate education.
Hermann had graduated from the Karlsruhe Military Academy and the Lichterfelde Officer Cadet School, and Albert, with his more analytical mind, had achieved a final report marked ‘High Distinction’ from Munich’s Realschule, which concentrated on scientific and technical training.
At that low point in their lives, however, neither young man was in the mood to show his appreciation. Yet, despite their razor-sharp resentment of Epenstein, they were not prepared to cut ties with him entirely. Instead, they chose to hold their love for him in abeyance, because an expedient little voice at the back of their mind told them that their continued loyalty to him might still pay off.
In the meantime however, they were both poor and in desperate need to prove themselves.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a lucky thing that World War I happened just in time to help them out. It was the perfect forum, the heroic Hermann believed, to start him on his road to glory. He set out on it, however, on the wrong foot when his infantry unit marched to Muelhausen, where they were stationed to fight to the death in defence of the Fatherland.
Hermann, at the age of 21, came close to doing just that; his close call with death not due to any glorious military deed, but to the ravages of disease. Excelling at Army Training Camp and proudly goose-stepping his way through Berlin’s streets in the early days of the war had earned him nothing more than a position in the cold, wet trenches on the Western Front. Within a few months of suffering the rats and repeated bouts of dysentery, he caught rheumatic fever.
He honestly didn’t know which was worse: the excruciating pain of his inflamed joints or the horror of sharing close quarters with a stream of nameless, frightened men. Just teenagers really, with mud-splattered, terrified faces who were there one day and gone the next. Hermann learnt fast not to count any of them as friends because they were all destined to be dead within days. He spent the bulk of his time lying flat on his face in the mud, so afraid and ill that he could barely move other than to throw his arms up over his head to protect himself from enemy fire. There, in his private hell, he was unable to even call out for help because the muddy, blood-soaked sludge filled his every orifice.
It was not until he was face up in a disinfected hospital bed that he was able to breathe easily again. Within its sterile surrounds, he got over his disillusion with the war and life in general the instant he struck up a conversation with the wounded soldier who shared his ward.
‘Do you think I’d have any trouble getting in?’ he asked of Bruno Loerzer, who had been sidelined from Air Training School with a minor injury.
Their shared convalescence had made them fast friends and given Loerzer the opportunity to convince Hermann to transfer from the Infantry to Germany’s Air Service. He hadn’t had to try too hard.
‘To fly is the ultimate adrenaline rush,’ Loerzer insisted. ‘For men of intelligence and social substance such as we, it is our direct link to our German Knights of old. You can’t imagine the thrill, chivalry and glamour of it all.’
Oh yes he could! For as long as Hermann could remember his aspirations had been fixed on raising himself higher than the rest of humanity so that he could look down upon it like an Olympian God. So far, scaling mountains and bettering other boys in all activities dangerous had been his only means of doing it. But now, in his adventurous imagination the heavens had opened up before him.
‘You’ve got all the necessary qualifications,’ Loerzer assured him.
Hermann turned his head stiffly on his pillow and looked at his companion with surprise. ‘I have none.’
‘But don’t you see? Nothing is required if you have courage,’ Loerzer replied with a shrug. ‘It’s all out there for those of us who’ve got the guts, dear boy. The sky’s the limit.’
These were the very same sentiments of another young man from Munich at the time. Ernst Udet, like Hermann, was doing everything in his power to make himself a part of the war’s action. Whereas Hermann had a relatively easy go of it, quickly transferring from the infantry to an Observer Training Course with the 3rd Army Air Detachment, Udet had to fight for his right to even join up with the infantry before making his excuses to transfer out of it into planes. Apparently the men afoot weren’t so keen to have him.
‘You’re too short,’ the Army Recruitment Officer said when the bright-eyed, 18 year-old Ernst put in his application. ‘You won’t be able to even see over the top of the trench to fire your rifle.’
Being barely above five foot tall had always been a sore point for Udet, but it was not about to stop him dragging the best out of life. Why should it when he had a handsome face and was so confident of his abilities? With such outstanding attributes at his disposal it would be insane for him to take no for an answer. If the system wasn’t prepared to accommodate him on the paltry issue of height restriction, then he would simply have to get around it in another way.
He had never been able to understand why being short equated to being inept, when in reality, it was quite the reverse. Although lucky and carefree by nature, he was a dogged little creature who had had to work hard to compensate for his height, forever pushing himself forward to stand out in the crowd while being utterly unfazed by walking over other people to gain a clearer perspective of the world around them. In lieu of another way to sign up for the services, he joined the 26thWurttenberg Reserve Regiment as a dispatch rider. They accepted him, not because they were any more tolerant of his size, but because he was prepared to provide his own motorcycle.
It wasn’t exactly where and how he wanted to start, but he was in and that was all that counted. From that point, he knew he could work his way around the rules: a practice with which he was well acquainted when he had never been able