Hitler's Heroine: Hanna Reitsch (7 page)

The love story was superfluous to the real message of the film, which wanted to promote an Aryan image of courage, mental strength and virility, and inspire young people to take up flying. The Luftwaffe was still under wraps, but Hitler knew he needed to inspire and train the next generation of pilots. Gliding, as has been mentioned, was ideal, and
Rivals of the Air
aimed to get as many young men interested in flying as possible, thus providing a ready stock of pilots for the war. Hanna could argue she was oblivious to this dark under-current, though Ufa’s role in Nazi propaganda was hardly secret. But her association with the film’s director Karl Ritter is harder to ignore. Ritter was a committed Nazi, having joined the party in the 1920s. When Hitler gained power Ritter was moved from being head of production at another company to become company director and chief of production at Ufa. One of his first films was
Hitlerjunge Quex
, which ridiculed Communism, while promoting an image of the Hitler Youth as clean-cut, organised and morally superior. Released in 1933, there was no mistaking its overt political message; Hitler, Göring and Goebbels all attended the premiere.

Ritter was unrepentant about his role in Nazi propaganda: ‘The path of German films will lead without any compromise to the conclusion that every movie must stay in the service of our community, of nation and our Führer.’ Ritter would go on to be rewarded by Goebbels with membership to the chamber governing the film industry, the Reichsfilmkammer, and on Hitler’s fiftieth birthday he gave Ritter a professorship. Admittedly, in 1933 Nazism was still in the background for many, just another part of the turbulent post-war political scene, and Hanna, who chose to avoid politics all her life, saw nothing but an opportunity to make money and appear in a movie. That she later went on to meet with Ritter in the 1960s is another matter entirely …

In those exciting days of 1933 Hanna saw nothing but another chance to fly. She empathised with Christine and enjoyed taking part in the filming, especially the crashes:

The crash into the lake was not easy, for the ‘lake’ turned out to be no more than a large-sized pool and the ‘pancake’ landing had to be timed with absolute precision. However, all went well and I landed plumb in the middle of the water, giving vent, in joy at my success, to a loud ‘yippee!’

I had clean forgotten that the cameras were recording sound as well as vision and that, instead of the ‘cry of despair’ which the story required, the girl would now be heard to give a yell of triumph!

Heini Dittmar was doubling for Karl and Wolf Hirth for Frahm. A strange symmetry now formed. While Hanna watched her double fall into the arms of Hirth’s double, she was meanwhile being observed and adored by Heini Dittmar, who, much like Karl, was completely overshadowed by the instructor figure of Hirth. Was Hanna in love with Hirth? It is difficult to say. She certainly idolised him and saw him as a father figure. Hanna was always drawn to older men and the scenario of
Rivals of the Air
struck home to her. In any case, Dittmar was out of luck. A year older than Hanna, he was a small, wiry man with a cheeky, boyish grin and rather prominent ears. He never seemed to stop smiling, but there was a quiet reticence in his manner and he lacked the kind of commanding presence that drew Hanna in. Dittmar did not attract her and though they would remain friends she always repelled his romantic advances.

Filming came to a close with Hanna giving no thought to the role the film would play in Nazi propaganda (after the war
Rivals of the Air
would be banned by the Allies). Instead she was just glad to have her 3,000 marks and was ready for adventure in South America. She had even achieved two new world endurance records for women in her spare time while filming – one for nine hours, and the other for eleven hours and twenty minutes.

There were ice floes in the waters off Hamburg as the
Monte Pascoal
began slowly to negotiate its launch from Germany. Winter in Germany can be cruel and Hanna was more than willing to wave goodbye to her homeland for the promise of sunshine and flying in South America. It was January 1934, the
Monte Pascoal
was far from the most luxurious liner leaving harbour that cold morning, and ice floes broke on its hull as it slipped out, but for Hanna it was a dream-ship, a chance to escape from her ordinary life – her first adventure outside the fatherland. Her parents waved her off as the ship’s band played ‘
Muss I denn, muss I denn zum Städtele hinaus
’ and Hanna leaned precariously over the rail. She was a few weeks off being 22 and her excitement was almost unbearable.

Ship life suited Hanna. As might be expected of someone who loved to soar and swoop without any discomfort, she was not affected by the swell of the sea and indulged eagerly in the exotic menus and rich meals provided aboard. Hanna had always lived a restrained life and the offer of such food was almost too much to resist. When she wasn’t eating she was exploring, discovering every secret nook and cranny of the ship, or avoiding Heini Dittmar, who was now making himself something of a nuisance.

Hanna would rather spend time with Peter Riedel, the overall winner at the 1933 Wasserkuppe. Riedel was seven years her senior, with a gentle, ordinary face and a quiet smile. He lacked the boyish charm of Dittmar, but that in itself attracted Hanna. She felt able to confide in him, much as she did Hirth. Hanna complained to Riedel about Dittmar’s attentions, she perceived him as a brotherly figure rather than lover material. In fact, Hanna remained aloof to the possibility of romance, seeing it as a deadly ensnarement resulting in marriage. Married life, to Hanna, was akin to slavery and a complete destruction of her freedom. If she wished to fly, she must do so unfettered by male companionship and control.

Riedel remembered her as ‘a flight-crazy young girl’. When they arrived in South America there was a great deal of free time and on one expedition into Rio, Riedel remarked to Hanna, ‘Hanna, you are like Joan of Arc.’ He expected her to laugh. Instead she gave him a questioning look and then changed the subject. Perhaps it was too uncomfortable being compared to a woman who was martyred for her patriotism.

Rio de Janeiro is a beautiful city and it seemed Professor Walter Georgii could not have chosen a better place for his gliding research. Georgii had taken over the management of the RRG, now under Nazi control, in 1933. He had National Socialist leanings, but not to the extent of some of his colleagues. Hanna’s presence on his expedition was partly due to her determination and partly for good PR. Hitler was no fool when it came to knowing how Nazism was viewed outside of Germany, and during the 1930s he would arrange various stunts and goodwill missions to improve his regime’s reputation. South America had always been a hotbed for Nazism, but external pressures, not least from the US, were taking their toll. Bans on German films and other forms of propaganda had been discussed.

Though Hanna constantly reiterated that Georgii’s expedition was not a goodwill mission, it nevertheless had that effect. Hanna, once again, failed to recognise the value placed upon her as a symbol of Aryan pride and achievement. In her memoirs she wrote sadly:

The interest in our activities was enormous. Each day hundreds and thousands of the city’s inhabitants trekked out to the airfield to watch us fly. What interested them most were the aerobatics and while my colleagues performed them only rarely, to my regret, I had to fly them almost every day. I would much have preferred to have been taking part in cross-country flights …

Hanna was right where Georgii’s backers needed her. While she entertained and impressed the crowds, he could get on with studying thermals, knowing Hanna was flying the flag for Germany. Much of Hanna’s subsequent career followed this pattern. She ignored it as best she could. The alternative was to be reminded that she was a mere novelty to her masters, a woman who could fly but who did not deserve the same respect as her male companions.

From Rio, they went to São Paulo and Hanna was involved in a fateful incident that would further thrust her behind her male rivals. It was a fine sunny Sunday morning, the cloud base around 6,500ft. Dittmar and Riedel were to go up first and by the time they were in the sky and silently gliding over the grassland, Hanna was itching to be with them. Her usual impatience did her a disservice. Despite her time with Georgii, Hanna was ignorant of one of the most interesting phenomena to be found in that region – the ‘thermal bubble’. The bubble was a rising rush of hot air that could at first appear to be a typical warm thermal, but would pass over an aircraft and could not be used as an up-lift. Instead it left a pilot floundering in down-winds, baffled as to where the thermal had gone. Hanna had not experienced one of these bubbles before, so when she started to feel her glider quiver she believed she was riding a true thermal and cast off prematurely from her tow-plane. Hanna assumed the thermal would quickly take her up to join her friends. Instead she suddenly found herself sinking: the bubble had passed and as Hanna coasted around trying to find her missing thermal her height continued to drop.

São Paulo loomed ahead, a maze of streets and buildings – impossible for a glider to land among them safely. Hanna desperately pulled at her controls and tried to find an up-draught, only to fail again. ‘I was in desperation, my mind’s eye seeing a terrible slaughter as I crashed into a street, when, in the distance, I saw what looked like an open field.’ In fact, it was a football pitch and a game was in progress, but Hanna had few options left and dropping onto the pitch might at least spare others from injury or worse. She came down so low that for a moment she feared she would hit some of the crowd. No one seemed to have noticed her, they were so intent on the match that the silent glider had sneaked up on everyone unnoticed (it was just this sort of stealth that Hitler would utilise during the war). Hanna tore open her window and shouted in Spanish, ‘Beware! Beware!’ The footballers looked up in astonishment, but no one moved. They all imagined that soon this strange plane would open its engines and fly off, having given them another of the German stunt performances they were fond of. Hanna had no engines to save her.

Screaming at the players, her glider was almost on the ground when she narrowly negotiated a goal mouth. At last realisation dawned on the footballers and at the very last moment they scattered, and Hanna hit the ground, having missed everybody. There was little time for relief as a mob rushed across the pitch and swelled around the glider. Hanna had nightmarish visions of her wings being broken and her glider being trampled to pieces. She climbed on a wing and tried to tell everyone to hold back, but her audience was even more delighted and waved and blew kisses at her, all rushing on, trying to be the first to touch the glider.

Hanna was not naïve in her fears, at least. Early aviators had often had their planes shredded by an enthusiastic crowd keen for souvenirs. Desperately trying to fend off her audience, Hanna spied military uniforms. A small group of soldiers was trying to divert the crowd, but it was not enough. Finally the mounted police arrived. To Hanna’s shock they ploughed through the crowd; those who failed to get out of the way in time were trampled and before long ambulances were being summoned. The mounted police formed a circle around Hanna and kept everyone at bay until it was possible to transport her and the glider to safety.

The experience, though largely glossed over in her own account, was eye opening for Hanna. The authorities who were so favourable to Germany had treated their own people with callous disregard. Hanna had spared lives only for her ‘protectors’ to crush and maim. That the local press spun the event into a German triumph only said more about the casual nature of violence in the country and the way it was routinely covered up. Hanna buried this observation, as she would do many more, beneath layers of blind disbelief.

On the whole, the expedition to South America had been a success. After Brazil came Argentina, long flights across open plains with only pampas grass and herds of wild horses for company and a Silver C Soaring Medal. Dittmar, Hirth and Riedel all contributed world records of their own and by the time they set sail for home the German glider pilots were naturally bursting with pride at their successes. There was one episode of the adventure that Hanna viewed with sorrow rather than joy. She had briefly entertained a fondness for a Spanish pilot, which was reciprocated. On the verge of giving all to this young man, Hanna had got cold feet and fled. A part of her still fought ferociously against the ties of love and romance; she regretted the abrupt parting and sailed home convinced she was suffering a broken heart.

4

F
LYING
IS
E
VERYTHING

Professor Georgii had discovered Hanna and now he would not let her go. In his role at the RRG (renamed the Deutsche Forschungsanstalt für Segelflug (DFS) in 1937) at Darmstadt he regularly needed good glider pilots to help with his research. Dittmar was already signed up, Hanna swiftly followed. Unwittingly she was now firmly established within the Nazi programme of flying research. The RRG, while overtly working on studying gliders, was really helping to redevelop the Luftwaffe with its research. Riedel was equally embroiled as he had taken up work as a commercial pilot for Lufthansa, the German civil aviation company, which was also serving as a front for training airmen and testing potential troop-carrying aircraft. Wolf Hirth went off on his own to form a glider company with Martin Schempp. Schempp-Hirth would go into business in 1935.

Political undercurrents completely passed by Hanna. She was already busy preparing for a trip to Finland, another PR stunt to promote good relations with Germany and encourage gliding. The head of the expedition was a research scientist named Dr Joachim Küttner. In the years to come he would discover to his horror that he had a Jewish grandparent on both sides of his family tree.