Chapter 2
By the time Clara reached her ward, she had managed to hold off the tears.
Yes, she was hurt by their comments, and yes, she was angry, but most of all she was frightened.
Not for herself, but for Friedrich. Would they really report him to the authorities, the Gestapo even?
She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him because of her.
She’d have to do exactly what Brandt and Krüger said, she’d have to watch her step.
Fortunately, she didn’t work directly with either of the women who both worked on a different ward to her.
On her way to the office for the handover, Clara passed the nursery room where the newborns were cared for by the nursery nurses who settled the babies.
The Charité encouraged breastfeeding every three to four hours, after which the babies were brought back to the nursery to allow the mothers to rest. The babies were all lined up in their basinets, swaddled in white cloth and wearing little knitted hats.
Handover was an efficient and swift affair. Instead of sitting in her usual place at the table next to Clara, today Marie had chosen to sit on the other side. Clara tried to ignore the little pang of disappointment.
Once the handover was complete, the day staff began to file out of the room.
‘Frau Bergmann,’ came Matron’s voice. ‘Can I have a word, please?’
Clara’s heart thudded against her breastbone. ‘Of course, Oberschwester,’ she replied, standing to one side as the rest of her colleagues left the room.
‘Today, you will be working in the storeroom,’ said the matron, looking at the duties list in front of her. ‘You are to restock all items, linen and equipment and then carry out a full stocktake.’
‘A stocktake?’ repeated Clara.
‘Yes. Do you have a problem with my instructions?’
‘No. But . . .’ She wanted to say what about the ward, the women, the babies, but she knew it would be considered extremely rude to question her superior. The matron raised her eyebrows as if daring Clara to object. ‘Very good, Oberschwester,’ said Clara.
‘Good. That is all.’
And just like that Clara was dismissed.
It was the most awful shift Clara had ever experienced at the hospital.
She felt alone and isolated. Of course, she knew why but she hadn’t thought it would come to this.
She’d thought at least her friends and colleagues would be professional, but it seemed the prejudice against her as a British woman was strong.
Clara went about her tasks as diligently as ever, despite the nature of her new duties. If she complained it might give Matron more reason to keep her from going back to the ward. She checked her watch and realised it was tea-break time.
As she walked down the corridor towards the staffroom, she became aware of raised voices at the nurses’ station ahead of her.
One of the voices belonged to a young woman, who was clearly heavily pregnant and judging by the way she was holding her stomach, experiencing a lot of discomfort.
Clara slowed as she neared the altercation between one of her colleagues and the pregnant woman.
‘Please, just get your matron,’ the pregnant woman was saying. ‘This can’t be right. What am I supposed to do?’
‘I’m sorry, but she won’t say anything different to what I have,’ said the nurse.
At that moment, Matron did appear, obviously summoned by the raised voices. ‘What is going on here?’ she demanded. ‘There are women in labour and newborn babies. You’re disturbing my peaceful ward.’
‘Please, my wife needs medical help,’ said the husband. ‘She’s six months pregnant with twins.’
‘One of the babies isn’t moving,’ said the woman.
Clara was now just a few feet away from the group. She came to a halt, next to Marie who had come out of the ward to see what was going on. She exchanged a look with Clara but didn’t speak.
The nurse was talking to Matron. ‘She’s Jewish. I said we couldn’t help her.’
‘This can’t be right,’ said the man. ‘My wife has been coming here for her antenatal appointments. She’s registered with you.’
Matron looked at the file the nurse handed her, before looking up at the couple. ‘I’m sorry, my nurse is right. You are no longer entitled to receive any medical care at the hospital.’
‘You have to see me,’ said the woman. ‘My babies. I can’t feel one of them moving.’
‘You need to see your own doctor from now on,’ said Matron, closing the file and handing it back to the nurse. ‘I suggest you go there straightaway.’
‘But he sent us here,’ said the husband, desperation and frustration hanging on his every word.
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do for you here.’ Matron stood firm.
The woman looked around the corridor, her eyes stopping at Clara and Marie. ‘Please, help me,’ she begged.
‘You need to leave,’ said Matron.
The woman rushed over to Clara, grabbing her hand and pulling it to her belly. ‘My baby isn’t moving.’
Clara’s automatic response was to begin to feel the woman’s stomach but before she could even move her other hand, Matron was pulling the woman away. ‘Nurse Bergmann, please leave. Go to the staffroom. Now!’ She had to raise her voice to be heard above the increasing commotion.
There was more disruption in the corridor as a doctor appeared on the other side of the pregnant woman.
Clara couldn’t believe what she was seeing – they were physically manhandling the poor woman out of the hospital.
Her husband was trying to stop them. He was shouting at them.
They were shouting back. The pregnant woman was crying, her arms were outstretched towards Clara.
All Clara’s instincts screamed silently at her to help the woman, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Not here. Not in the hospital.
She looked over at her colleague who dropped the woman’s medical file on the desk and went to the aid of Matron and the doctor, to help extract the woman from the hospital.
Clara rushed over to the desk and before she had time to think about what she was doing, she whipped out the front sheet with the woman’s name and address.
She stuffed the piece of paper into the pocket of her apron.
As she turned away, she saw Marie watching her. Clara shook her head sending a silent plea for her friend not to say anything. Marie looked at her long and hard before turning and going back to her ward.
Clara took her tea break, which unsurprisingly was in silence since no one attempted to engage in conversation with her and awkwardly avoided eye contact.
She returned to the stockroom as soon as she could and, closing the door behind her, she looked at the piece of paper she had taken from the file.
Hannah Rothstein, a twenty-three-year-old woman, living in the Prenzlauer Berg district which was north-east of the hospital. First pregnancy. Twins.
Clara knew the Nazi regime had been restricting the movement of the Jewish people and making it increasingly difficult for them to access healthcare but that was the government. How could a nursing professional turn away a woman who was clearly in distress? How could one woman do that to another?
For the rest of the morning all Clara could think about was Hannah Rothstein and by the time her shift at the hospital was over, she had made up her mind what she was going to do.
On the dot of two o’clock, Clara left work and hurried to the nearest tram stop, her coat draped over her arm to hide the bag she had smuggled out of the hospital.
Some fifteen minutes and two tram rides later, Clara was standing outside the apartment building where the Rothsteins lived, her bag in her hand containing a fetoscope, a blood pressure cuff, a measuring tape, a small vial of antiseptic solution and a few clean dressings she had carefully taken from the medical supplies cupboard she had been organising that day.
Friedrich’s position had taught her that taking only small quantities meant it wouldn’t immediately, if ever, be noticed.
Equipped with a small medical bag of basic supplies, she now had everything she needed to adequately assess whether the unborn baby was truly in danger.
It had been easy for Clara to make the journey as she had access to public transport, but even travelling around the city was becoming increasingly difficult for the Jewish community.
Clara hoped the young woman hadn’t been made to walk too far.
She could only imagine how desperate she must have been to make the journey in the first place.
Clara entered the building and after climbing two flights of stairs, found apartment six.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
David Rothstein opened the door. ‘Yes?’ he asked, looking Clara up and down.
‘I’m a midwife at the Charité Hospital,’ said Clara. ‘I was there earlier when you and your wife were turned away.’ She unbuttoned her coat, to reveal her nurse’s dress. She’d taken off her hat and apron before leaving.
‘I don’t understand. Did the hospital send you?’
Clara shook her head and checking no one was about, she spoke in a low voice. ‘I have come of my own accord to see your wife. To check on the babies.’ She held up her medical bag.
David looked at her for several long seconds before opening the door wide and ushering her in, checking the landing before closing the door behind them. ‘This way,’ he said.
Hannah Rothstein was pacing the living room, her hands cradling her stomach. She stopped her pacing as she recognised Clara, who quickly explained she was here without the knowledge or consent of the hospital. ‘Please go through to the bedroom and lie down on the bed.’
‘Why have you come to help us?’ asked Hannah. ‘You are putting yourself in danger just by being here.’
Clara took the fetoscope from her bag and huffed on it, then rubbed it against her uniform.
‘To warm it up,’ she said as she waited for Hannah to get into position and pull up her dress to expose her swollen belly.
‘I want both of us to sleep with peace of mind tonight.’ She gave a reassuring smile to the young woman.
‘When did you last feel the babies move?’
‘One today. This one at the top. But the other, at the bottom, it was yesterday morning,’ replied Hannah, her voice wavering. ‘Normally they are so active, especially in the morning. But there’s been nothing today either.’
‘I’m going to examine you now,’ said Clara. She first measured Hannah’s abdomen to ensure it was the size she’d expect for a twin pregnancy.
Clara then pressed her hands gently, but firmly, across Hannah’s abdomen, feeling for the position of the babies. Her fingers detected the firm roundness of the baby’s head low in the pelvis. Another good sign.
‘This baby is in the correct position,’ she said, offering another reassuring smile. ‘Now let’s see about the other.’ Again, her hands expertly detected the baby. ‘There’s not much room for them. I’m going to use the fetoscope to listen for their heartbeats.’
With methodical care, Clara placed the wide end of the trumpet-shaped instrument on Hannah’s stomach before placing her ear to the smaller end.
She closed her eyes as she concentrated on locating the heartbeat, while silently praying she’d be able to detect it.
For a moment there was nothing but silence.
Hannah tensed as she gripped the side of the mattress with her hand.
Clara was aware David was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his breathing deep and heavy as anxiety radiated from him.
Clara moved the scope again. Then, there it was, the distinctive, rapid galloping rhythm of a foetal heartbeat – strong and regular. Exactly what she wanted to hear.
‘I can hear the heartbeat,’ she said. ‘Now, for the other one. Our quiet baby.’ She moved the fetoscope around again. And there it was, the steady rhythm of the second baby. ‘I hear the second heartbeat,’ she said, looking up and smiling at Hannah.
‘You can? Really?’ Hannah asked, excitement mixed with fear coating her words.
‘Yes. It’s very strong,’ said Clara. ‘Let’s see if we can wake the baby up. I think they are just having an extra-long snooze today.’
After several prods and gentle massaging of Hannah’s stomach, there came a sudden movement from inside the womb.
‘Ugh. It kicked me. I felt it kick me,’ cried out Hannah in relief.
‘Baruch Hashem,’ sighed David under his breath as he expressed his profound gratitude to God.
Hannah closed her eyes and when she opened them, tears slid down her face. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for coming.’
‘I couldn’t not come,’ said Clara. ‘You don’t need to worry about your babies. Sometimes they have quiet times. I think your little one has got themselves nice and comfortable and decided not to move much.’
Clara spent the next few minutes checking Hannah’s blood pressure, which was a little high but given the stressful day, it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about.
‘You must rest, though,’ she instructed Hannah as she packed away her equipment.
‘You know, sometimes twin pregnancies don’t go to the full term.
They often come early. Try to see your doctor as soon as possible. ’
Hannah and David exchanged a look. ‘It is not possible,’ said David. ‘He has been relocated.’
Clara frowned. Relocated? And then the reality dawned on her. This poor young couple were all alone without any medical care.
‘Can you help us?’ asked Hannah. Her eyes were full of fear and hope at the same time.
‘I don’t know,’ said Clara. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deliver a baby. She was more than capable of that, but it wasn’t always straightforward. ‘I don’t have the facilities to help if something were to go wrong.’
‘Neither do we,’ said David.
‘With you at least we stand something of a chance,’ said Hannah, sitting herself up on the bed. ‘Without you, we have nothing. Just hope.’