The Camp Tailor
Kurt Von Brugher was a tall handsome fellow and very well spoken. He mixed easily in the Munich society and was able to pass himself off as being well educated, even though his father had pulled him out of secondary education, at the earliest opportunity to enter the family business, tailoring. True German tailors were in demand at this moment in the Nation’s history. Kurt was a quick learner and sped through his apprenticeship in quick time, even though he loathed the business. At the age of twenty, Kurt was more than capable of measuring up, cutting and running up a three-piece gentleman’s bespoke suit, to his father’s high standard. His attraction to the fairer sex soon had him in trouble. An affair with one of his father’s female staff soured his relationship with his family, to such an extent, that he was thrown out on the street, never to darken the family doors again. Being a resourceful fellow and aware of the times, he propositioned a number of local Jewish tailors in Munich and finally found one that accepted his proposal.
The Jewish population was being ostracised and their businesses were suffering from the consequences. Kurt’s business scheme was simple. For half share of the business, he would provide the Aryan front, with his name over the shop and the Jewish tailors would be hidden out of sight in the back room, in the workshop. Josh Nieman was a visionary and could read the writing on the wall. His shop had already been daubed, the glass shop front broken several times and his clientele disappearing at a rapid pace. A new shop sign was commissioned, the graffiti cleaned off and a banner put up announcing, ‘Under New German Management’. Business quickly picked up and Kurt hired a German apprentice to help him in the front shop.
To oil the wheels of business he joined the Party and quickly realised that there was an increasing demand for bespoke uniforms and military styled suits. He used the finest woollen cloth he could and that had to be imported from England, famed for its quality. The best worsted suiting that Yorkshire weavers could produce and the smoothest satins from Lancashire for the linings. The business expanded sufficiently for him to invest in a small factory unit, away from the shop, which now boasted four German staff whose function was to sell, measure and advise the clients, whilst their garments were made up at the factory workshop manned by Jewish tailors, beavering quietly, out of sight and out of harm’s way.
Kurt’s general charm ensured that business was brisk. His clients generally brought their spouses along to discuss the cloth, cut and finer details of style. Kurt noticed that the military wives also wore military styled suits which set him thinking of another way of expanding his trade. He offered the ladies a bespoke personal service of visiting them at their own homes for the initial measuring and for the final fit. In pursuit of accuracy, the ladies were persuaded to disrobe which led to services not identified in the tailoring handbook but never-the-less customer orientated. This additional service soon got passed along the ladies’ grapevine and demand grew exponentially by the insatiable demands of wives, whose husbands were away on military service. When the war broke out, Kurt’s inevitable call up was delayed by influential wives who argued that his war service was better served as a tailor to the Party, than in some distant fox hole. His philandering activities finally caught up with him and he was ousted out of his business, which by this time was suffering from depletion of local Jewish labour to internment camps.
With some remaining influence, he managed to avoid a front line posting and was assigned to Ravensbrook Concentration Camp for women. With the elevated position of Captain, he was ordered to set up a workshop to sew uniforms for the German Military, using the slave labour interned there. He also had an unwritten order of continuing the supply of bespoke uniforms to his former influential clients. Kurt set about the creation of a fully fledged workshop with some trepidation and natural distaste whilst outwardly he had to display enthusiasm and zeal. His orders for machinery to equip his factory were soon fulfilled with materials requisitioned from the conquered lands of Poland, Netherlands and France. He chose his own labour force from the inmates and new arrivals. His only condition was that the women could speak fluent German, to understand his instructions and that they had some modicum of experience in the rag trade. The latter was easily met by the largely Jewish population of the camp. The building he had assigned to him was on the perimeter of the camp, so he was able to cordon off a section of the building and convert it into his own office and accommodation with private access to the outside.
Four burly Ukrainian kapos, wielding heavy wooden batons, were assigned to him to bully, control and ensure that the women worked the long hours demanded of them. Kurt was set a substantial quota of uniforms to fulfil each month apart from the full order books from his private clients. With the help of the only too willing Kapos, Kurt set about getting his work force sorted out, trained and the unsuitable, rejected back to the main camp. Within two weeks he had selected the elite for his private work and the rest divided into groups under section leaders to work on the main Military orders. The cold weather of the late Autumn had come early and he was finding that the fingers of his workers not functioning properly in the freezing cold. He had barrel stoves installed using precious coal but since this was required to support the war machine, the fuel was reluctantly supplied. This had a double benefit in that production increased and having seated the Kapos up high on observation platforms, near the stoves, it kept them away from the workers and the rising warmth made them reluctant to come down and swing their batons, to the women’s relief.
Lice were a constant problem, on the inmates and on the old uniforms that were returned for recycling. Kurt eliminated the problem by having a delousing chamber constructed and the heads of the women regularly shorn. To compensate, he allowed the women to sew up bonnets and berets from scraps of cloth. This kept their heads warm and kept the production up. On a regular basis the women had to de-fumigate their crude striped shifts and headgear. All the recycled clothing that came from the front was first of all fumigated, searched for personal contents and washed to get rid of battle stains before it was sorted into recyclable cloth. The pockets often contained the previous owner’s personal items including photographs, letters and coins. The coins were shared out amongst the Kapos to keep them sweet and the rest burned in the stoves. Kurt created an enlarged separate section to keep pace with the increasing number of garments received as time went by. Trainees sewed useful scraps together, to form crude blankets for the women to cover themselves at night as they slept on the floor by their workstations. Even the Kapos on night duty had capes made up to keep them warm. The larger pieces of cloth and buttons were incorporated in with the new production. The unusable waste was baled up and sent off to some factory for complete recycling.
Amongst his fellow Officers, Kurt was generally liked and appreciated, especially since he offered to refit their uniforms and even make new ones. Being a sociable fellow, he was always invited to the regular drinking sessions and card games. Cards were one of his passions but he had the intuition to know when he could win with impunity and more importantly to lose gracefully and avoided making enemies. His ranking as a Captain raised him high in the hierarchy, but his influence was greatly enhanced by his influential contacts, his customers. He shared a secretary with the Camp Kommandant and his frequent letters to his high-ranking clients were a constant source of gossip, comment and awe.
His salary was modest but his gambling winnings quite substantial and he was able to purchase the comforts of life, on the black market, quite freely. He had a weakness for fried fatty bacon and eggs, ‘speck und eier.’ In the late evenings, especially after a heavy bout of drinking, he would come back to his accommodation and fry up some sliced potatoes in bacon fat and an egg or two, depending on his mood. A cup of ersatz coffee would be made if he was so inclined. After a successful gambling session, the radio would be turned on for a music programme or if the interjection of propaganda was too annoying, he would wind up his gramophone and play his favourite operettas. The smells of sumptuous food and nice music, wafting into the workshop, used to send the starving inmates there into apoplectic frenzy. Many agreed that they would rather have a beating at the hands of the Kapos than be subjected to these tantalising impacts on their senses.
One evening, arriving in his room early, having purposefully lost at cards and left the card school in an affected huff, Kurt opened his door that led to the workshop to check on his charges, when he was immediately accosted by a brazen young girl who had obviously stationed herself outside his door. He recognised her as a new arrival and had only taken her on because she was the most attractive of the latest intake, even though she had no experience of the rag trade. He remembered that she had worked in a club in Berlin. She smiled and offered him her body for the night if he would share his supper with her. This was a tall order, since it was common practice for the Officers to select a girl for the night at will for no other payment than probably a beating if they weren’t satisfied with the outcome.
With a smile, Kurt beckoned the girl into his chamber and locked the door behind him. As the girl stood by the door, slightly bewildered by her good fortune, Kurt stoked up his stove with fresh coal and put on a large frying pan to heat. The stove doubled up as a water heater, cooker and provided welcome heating to the room. Kurt ordered the girl to fill the tin bath with hot water. He was going to have a bath first. Whilst the bath was filling, he got undressed, hung his uniform up carefully on hangers in his wardrobe and went over to check the temperature of the water. Satisfied, he stepped in and ordered the girl to scrub his back with the loofah and genuine soap. He washed his hair and got the girl to rinse it down with a jug of water. Having finished he ordered the warm towel by the stove and stepped out of the bath. Having dried himself he ordered the girl to have a bath and she didn’t need any further telling.
The girl threw off her cap, clogs, shift, leapt eagerly into the warm water, clutching the sweet smelling soap and believing she was in heaven. Kurt smiled at her and carried on preparing the supper by slicing up some bacon fat and throwing it into the sizzling hot frying pan. A generous number of boiled potatoes were sliced and scattered in amongst the sizzling cubes whilst two eggs were set aside ready for the pan. As the sweet smells of frying pervaded the room, the girl jumped out of the bath, dried herself on her shift and dunked it into the bath to give it a quick wash with the perfumed soap. By the time she had hung up her shift to dry on a line above the stove, she noted that the potatoes were now divided amongst two plates and two eggs were frying in the pan. Also, a kettle was hissing on the stove and a coffee pot was at the ready.
Kurt beckoned her to sit on a chair at one end of the table and placed a full plate in front of her plus some cutlery and a mug. He cautioned her to eat slowly as he placed a hunk of bread beside her plate. She stared at her plate, unsure what to do or where to start. Having decided on her course of action, she speared a nugget of bacon fat, licked it, then popped it into her mouth. She decided to savour every piece that way and keep the bread to the last to mop up the plate and especially the egg yolk. Kurt put on the radio and tuned into a music station and in his dressing gown, picked up his plate and sat at the table opposite the girl. She was too busy eyeing up her food to really notice him. After a few forkfuls of potato, he got up and made the coffee, pouring a cup for the lady. She hardly noticed until the pungent smell of ersatz hit her senses and then acknowledged it with a smile and a slight nod of the head.
Having finished his meal, he pushed his plate over towards the girl, who snatched it up and wiped the plate clean with her finger, having finished her bread. Finishing her coffee to the last dregs she looked up quizzically towards her master. Kurt looked at the girl and nodded his head towards his bed. She dutifully stacked the plates, cutlery, cups and quickly scurried to the bed. Luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the soft warm duvet she snuggled down to await her fate. Kurt slowly finished his coffee, turned off the lights and joined the girl in his bed.
Every evening after that, half a dozen girls would line up, outside his door, hoping to be the chosen one. Most would smile, put on an attractive pose to attract his attention. Little did they know that, before coming out on his final inspection tour, he would draw a card at random from his pack and the number would determine the choice of girl in line. The women had obviously discussed the events in minute detail, because they were familiar with the regular routine, procedure and drill. The only time they were disappointed was when he came back from the Officer’s Mess too drunk to do much more than flop onto his bed and not enter the workshop.
His private business was thriving as the Military demands grew. His main problem was in sourcing good quality cloth, since his original supply of the British textiles was running low. He had his influential contacts scouring all of occupied Europe for the finest materials. Colonel Schmidt, a Diplomat, based in Zurich was certainly not short of food since his measurements had gone up a full size or two rather than the other way. He demanded that Kurt Von Brugher pay him a visit in Zurich and re-measure his portly frame. This was impossible for Kurt but he could send one of his assistants to travel for the final fitting and finish the suit on site. This got him thinking and scheming. He was rather embarrassed at the way his Nation were treating the Jewish population. After all, throughout his life, connected to the rag trade, he had mixed and socialised with them in Munich and couldn’t understand the current wave of hate towards them. He couldn’t change attitudes on his own but felt that he should do something, however small to alleviate their plight. He wrote to the Colonel and requested that he send a travel warrant so that his two assistants could fulfil his order to his satisfaction.
The Colonel duly sent him the proper forms, fully stamped and counter signed plus a headed letter, with a full explanation and permission outlining why these people had to travel. Kurt called in the head of his private client section and explained his plan and swore her to secrecy. He also scoured the local black-market community for the best forgers to maintain a supply of official looking documents, having genuine originals at hand.
Two weeks later, he commandeered some military transport and accompanied by guards, drove two well dressed ladies in German uniforms, to the nearest main station. The four armed guards, plus the accompanying Capitan had little problem in convincing the Station Master of providing the important ladies with seats on the train and a list of possible connections to get them safely to Zurich. Apart from a small suitcase, the ladies each carried a brown paper parcel, with a carefully stencilled address, ‘Colonel Schmidt of Zurich, Urgent consignment of uniforms.’ Apart from a forged travel warrant, the original being in safe keeping, the ladies had several letters outlining their official duties plus a temporary passport with crude photograph and enough impressive official stamps to satisfy the most officious guards or conductors. Kurt had also drilled them carefully in what to reply to the questioning that that they would inevitably have to face.
Travel in war torn Germany was discouraged and only people on official business could move about the Country and even then, they were subject to frequent checks. The one obvious flaw in the paperwork was that their travel warrants displayed instructions for both outward and return journeys. Both journeys required separate documentation but this was a deliberate flawed, devised by Kurt, which he hoped would provide him with some explanation, why the ladies did not return. If questioned on this matter, the ladies would say that Colonel Schmidt would handle the matter and issue a correct return document.
On arrival in Zurich the ladies duly completed Colonel Schmidt’s uniform to his satisfaction, noted his new measurements and then presented themselves at the American Embassy to be admitted to the Jewish Repatriation Programme. Their final act was to send a letter to Kurt confirming the Colonel’s satisfaction with the service and a list of his new measurements. This signalled the successful conclusion of the operation.
The administration of the camp followed the usual Germanic correctness and attention to detail. All prisoner details were carefully entered in a ledger which was finally updated when they died. There had to be no gaps between the two entries. Kurt managed to get around that problem by bribing the Kapo of the cremation detail to drop off a couple of corpses on their way to the ovens. Even the scrupulous Germanic administration didn’t see why they should record the final act. As two ladies disappeared over the border to Switzerland, two deaths of heart attacks at the workshop were recorded and the corpses disposed of in the usual detail. No one bothered to check and reconcile the tattoos on the inner arms.
Kurt’s plan and operation got bolder and he was preparing and sending off pairs every two or three weeks, on false papers. He even chose his replacement workers more carefully. He selected ones without or minimum Jewish features to cause less attraction on the journey. His selected girls were given double rations in an effort to get rid of their skeletal features acquired in the camp from starvation. He had managed to acquire a list of Senior Officers serving in the Diplomatic Corps in Switzerland so that he could rotate the destinations. He made a point of contacting each officer offering his services so that at least they had some knowledge of Kurt and his business, should an official enquiry go that far.
This clandestine operation lasted for over eighteen months and Kurt felt confident that he could carry on for ever. As far as he was concerned there were no loopholes and everything seemed watertight. It was a Friday morning that an orderly from the Camp Kommandant’s office came running, in a fluster, announcing that Colonel Schroeder of the SS was coming in the afternoon, on an inspection tour and the Kommandant wanted everything ship shape. Kurt sent the orderly off and searched in his desk drawer for his tape measure, which he slipped into his jacket pocket and checked his already impeccable appearance in his long mirror. The Colonel was a good client of his and maybe he needed some adjustments to his cut and passing by, was going to call on him.
An hour later, the orderly returned with an order that the Captain presents himself immediately at the Kommandant’s office to meet the Colonel. Kurt knocked politely on the office door, entered and presented himself with a smart salute and a ‘Heil Hitler.’ He strode up to the desk and stretched out his hand expecting the Colonel to rise and greet him in the customary manner. After all, they were old friends by now, more than just a tailor and client relationship. The Colonel didn’t rise up from his seat but glanced down at an official paper in front of him and announced that he had just had a letter typed, an order to transfer the Captain to the Russian front. The Colonel, without looking up, nudged the letter forward a little. Kurt took a smart step forward, picked up the letter, saluted with a ‘Heil Hitler,’ about turned smartly and marched out, as the orderly held the door open. Kurt heard the Colonel comment to the Kommandant, something that sounded like ‘the bloody fool.’
Two months later, Kurt died of shrapnel wounds and frost bite in some distant foxhole on the retreat from Moscow.
