The Land God Made in Anger. John Davis Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ War broke out and the South African government rounded up almost every German male in Namibia and shipped them off to concentration camps to prevent them fighting for the Führer. Then Hitler launched a gun-powder plot in South Africa. It was called Operation Weissdorn and the key man was a South African called Robey Leibbrandt.

      McQuade knew of Robey Leibbrandt as a legendary character, once South Africa’s boxing champion, who became a Nazi spy during the war. To McQuade he was some kind of nutcase, almost as distant as Guy Fawkes: he had no idea how important Operation Weissdorn had been, or how close it came to changing the outcome of the war.

      The extraordinary true story was told in a book called For Volk and Führer, by Hans Strydom, formerly President of the Southern African Society of Journalists. So, a big wheel. An authority. McQuade read the book through the eerie, unreal small hours, his tired mind racing, the possible significance of it in terms of today dawning on him, pieces of a jigsaw materializing out of the foggy night into his yellow pool of lamplight; as a plan Operation Weissdorn could be as valid today.

      Robey Leibbrandt represented South Africa in the Olympic Games held in Germany in 1936. His family had suffered during the Boer War and he was fanatically anti-British, a detail known to the Nazis. Even before he set foot in Germany it had been decided to recruit him as the key man for the grand plan. In Germany he was fêted by the Nazi press, and became a cult-hero with his dazzling boxing in the preliminary fights. He was introduced to Hitler, who flattered him. He broke his hand but nonetheless courageously insisted on fighting in the finals, and only missed the gold medal because of his hand. Invited to return to Germany for ‘further education’, he became a fanatical Nazi. When war broke out he remained in Germany and was trained in sabotage and espionage. He was now invited to spearhead Operation Weissdorn, asked to return to South Africa and gain control of the Ossewa Brandwag, the faction of Afrikaners bitterly opposed to the British and to South Africa’s involvement in the war, and to set up a large guerrilla infrastructure. Then he was to assassinate General Smuts, the pro-British prime minister of South Africa, seize control of the country, and order the South African troops fighting in North Africa to return home. Rommel would then have vanquished the British under Montgomery, and Germany would have dominated the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal. With the Cape sea route in Nazi hands, the British empire would have been strangled. If Operation Weissdorn had succeeded, Hitler would have won the war, and achieved the grand plan of establishing the Third Reich in Africa. From there the Persian gulf was his, and from there the world …

      The rising sun did not penetrate the dense fog; the morning was opaque and chilly and cars drove with their headlights on. McQuade stared out his window at the hanging mist, astonished that he did not know how close his country had come to changing the world: Operation Weissdorn failed only because of the expert, hair-raising work of one dedicated Afrikaner policeman, called Jan Taljaart, who infiltrated the organization.

      McQuade sat there, wide-awake tired, trying to see whether all this could reasonably have anything to do with that submarine.

      Then he picked up the telephone and dialled the son of Dr Wessels, the man who, in 1945, was the only dentist for many miles around.

9

      Mr Wessels’ charming wife had coffee ready. She had a slight German accent. ‘Of course I can tell you something about the old days of Swakopmund, and about my father-in-law, but I do not understand why you need to look at his old records of his patients. I agree, dental records are not so … delicate as medical records – teeth are only teeth, but nonetheless …’ She trailed off.

      McQuade took a breath. ‘Mrs Wessels, I was not entirely frank with your husband when I telephoned him this morning.’ He sighed. ‘I really am writing a book. But I’ve come to do so in a roundabout way … I am trying to trace my father.’

      ‘Your father?’

      He nodded. ‘My surname is McQuade. But that is my mother’s maiden name. You see, I am illegitimate.’

      Mrs Wessels looked embarrassed. ‘I see …’

      McQuade held up a palm. ‘I’m quite used to the notion. But … naturally, I have an intense curiosity about my father. I believe that that’s very normal.’

      ‘I’m sure …’

      McQuade said, ‘I don’t even know my father’s name. My mother refused to tell me, and now she’s dead, too. But … I believe that my father consulted your father-in-law shortly after the end of the war, and I believe that if I searched through your father-in-law’s records for that period, I would be able to identify him. From the dental work done on him. Then I would have his name.’

      Mrs Wessels was sympathetic. ‘I see … But why do you think your father came to Dr Wessels?’

      ‘Because,’ McQuade said, ‘it is one of the few details that my mother ever told me.’ He smiled: ‘One of the few things I know about myself is that I was conceived in Swakopmund. In 1945. My mother happened to be here, looking for a job. Plenty of jobs, because so many Germans were interned in concentration camps. The war ends and the Germans start coming home. And out of the desert comes staggering this handsome German. That’s how my mother described him.’ He smiled, then went on: ‘Evidently when the South Africans had started rounding up the German males, my father hid in the desert. And survived there throughout the war.’

      ‘I see …’

      ‘Evidently my father had been in a fight. He was in bad shape when my mother met him. And in pain. His front teeth had been broken. My mother took him to the dentist. And the only dentist in Swakopmund in 1945 was your father-in-law.’

      ‘I see …’

      ‘And,’ McQuade said, ‘if I could get his name, maybe I could trace him. If he’s still alive.’

      In the corner of the spare bedroom stood an old filing cabinet. On the floor lay the long boxes of dental cards which McQuade had already searched. Mrs Wessels came in with another mug of coffee for him. ‘Any luck?’

      ‘Your father-in-law was a busy man.’

      ‘He used to say that his practice here extended over an area the size of Bavaria.’

      ‘Do you know who his dental nurse was in 1945?’

      ‘Sometimes it was my mother-in-law. But she’s away at the moment. Sometimes it was Mrs Kruger. She lives in the apartments on the beach called An der Mohle.’

      McQuade was delighted. ‘Do you think she’d mind talking to me about your father-in-law’s patients?’

      ‘I’ll telephone her when you’re finished here.’

      ‘Thank you very much.’

      Each card showed two crescent rows of teeth: upper and lower jaw. At the top was the patient’s name, address, age. On the rows of teeth, Dr Wessels had made marks in black, indicating the dental work done before the patient came to see him: other marks, in red, indicated the work which Dr Wessels himself had done. Below were notes, describing the work. Extracted teeth were marked with a cross.

      McQuade was only concerned with cards after May 1945. Females, children and males under thirty he discarded immediately.

      He ran his eyes over the marks on the upper jaws. СКАЧАТЬ