If the people once know they can frighten the government out of their taxing system, they will soon learn that it will be as easy to frighten them as far as regards more serious matters.
~ Friedrich Engels,
Beer Riots in Bavaria
“Here’s to the man who brought us Lloyd George!”
Paul Levi patted Ernst on the back as there was a jovial cheer from the assembled crowd of party members, once again Ernst’s Comrades. He was back home in the Lindenstraße offices of the SPD having returned from the German Socialist Party and, more than that, he was coming home to a welcome hosted by the Chancellor himself. Ernst basked in the moment for he was more than a prodigal son, he had returned victoriously
With the international community unable to come to any clear agreement it seemed that the limbo between Austria and Germany might continue in perpetuity, at least before Ernst had spoken to Mosley’s friend and former ally John Strachet. It had turned out Comrade Strachey was no longer a close collaborator with the Home Secretary but he was willing to reach out to get Mosley to pass on a note to the British Cabinet. Ernst had been able to contact whatever friends he had left in the SPD to tell them of the offer he had floated and they in turn had passed it onto the foreign ministry.
Therefore, when the British ambassador came to offer diplomatic support for a League of Nations referendum on unification in exchange for a lifting of the cap that kept German coal prices artificially low, there was already a willing atmosphere for negotiations. In the end the French had been grudgingly brought along with the agreement that there would also be a referendum on Bavarian independence at the same time. This had caused some consternation, the Bavarian independence movement had a great deal of popularity, but it was expected that holding it alongside the Austrian referendum would prevent any serious issues.
For all Hitler had sneered at entertaining foreign visitors in Hamburg, indulging Mosley and Strachey had just provided a big win for the United Front. More importantly, it was one that paved the way for Ernst to return to his old party. Gustav Noske hadn’t taken it well but he had seemed to understand at the very least. He had told Ernst he didn’t need him.
Noske had probably been right about that, in this own way. The German Socialist Party could continue its intransigent tactics without requiring Ernst’s skills for problem solving but such actions were increasingly self-defeating. The future lay with the United Front, or at the very least pulling it apart from the inside.
Paul Levi put an arm around Ernst and pulled him in close, whispering, “All comrades together again. That’s the way it’s meant to be.”
Ernst nodded back at the Chancellor, his face was worn greatly despite less than a year in the job. He seemed genuinely happy to have him back. It had been less than two years since Levi had had to apologise for associating himself with the Communists but it seemed like an age had passed. Now the roles were reversed, and the Chancellor only had kind words for him.
Ernst smiled, he might not be Chancellor yet but it was good to be back with the winning side.
---
Hofbrauhaus, Munich; March 1932
The Beer Hall was packed with regulars and tourists alike and the clink of glasses, clatter of plates and noise of discussion reverberated despite the live music The enthusiastic rhythm of the oompah band gave Peter Klompf warm feelings of nostalgia all the same. It was his homecoming after all.
It had been more than two years since he had departed Munich for his training to become a Reichswehr officer, much had changed since then but not just for himself. Whilst Peter had gone from illicit armoured warfare training in the Soviet Union to fighting on the front lines of the Civil War and eventually switching sides, Bavaria had opted out of Germany altogether under the leadership of Crown Prince Rupprecht of House Wittelsbach, an event that had partially helped draw the conflict to a close.
The truce between the People’s Guard and the Reichswehr had effectively halted Wittelsbach’s declaration of independence, even though he and those around him continued to express their renewed belief in an independent Bavaria. To emphasise the popularity of the idea amongst the Bavarian people Wittelsbach had run in the Presidential election held after the Civil War, campaigning solely in Bavaria upon an independence platform. He had won in Bavaria in both rounds although by a lesser margin the second time. Many on the right throughout Germany blamed him for not standing down in the second round altogether in favour of Wilhelm Marx. This had made him an unpopular figure in many parts of Germany on the basis that he had handed the election to the United Front. However that clearly wasn’t the case in Bavaria.
Even in Munich, one of the areas where German sentiments were considered to be the strongest, there were posters everywhere with Wittelsbach’s face extolling for the reader to vote for independence in the upcoming referendum.
It was that referendum which brought Peter to the city and it seemed like he wasn’t the only one. The first signs of Spring had always brought tourists to the city but many of these new visitors were journalists looking to cover the unfolding independence debate. Others were political types looking to influence the decision of the Bavarian people one way or the other. Peter had returned from the Soviet Union to register to vote, having been in Hamburg for the last elections.
Technically he was employed by the National Reconstruction Council which had taken over the remit of rebuilding Hamburg alongside the rest of Germany affected by the civil war, before rolling out several large public works initiatives to fight the global depression. Peter’s own role over the last few months had been to return to the Soviet Union to help restructure the tank school at Kama into a People’s Guard operated facility. The development in aerial warfare in Lipetsk was being reestablished in a similar fashion, even as the National Reconstruction Council worked to build on the civil aviation industry within Germany.
These projects were going well and his return to Munich counted for well earned leave, even if he had been keener on helping to make sure Bavaria didn’t leave Germany. Having spent the morning completing the registration he had popped into the Hofbrauhaus for a drink before seeing how he could make himself useful to the local campaign to keep BGermany united. He had heard of a unity demonstration taking place outside the Alter Hof nearby from some fellow patrons and seeing it was nearly the time they said it would begin, he prepared to leave the friendly atmosphere and go out into the political world.
Peter sank the last of the blonde beer from his litre glass and left a tip. That amount of beer would have left him light headed before his time in Russia but now he was unfazed, the welcoming nature of the beer hall had had far more of a positive effect on his spirits. He ventured outside into the bright March day and made his way towards the Alter Hof. The old residence of Holy Roman Emperors was perhaps one of better places to hold a demonstration in favour of one united fatherland including both Austria and Bavaria. Then again, the complex had also once been a place of residence for the Wittelsbachs and he wasn’t too surprised to see a street stall draped in Bavarian flags nearby.
A handful of smartly dressed men of varying ages were handing out flyers connected to the stall, each making affirming remarks to the passersby they came into contact with .
“Bavaria isn’t Berlin!” One of them chirped as he thrust a leaflet into Peter’s hand before he could object. The pamphlet depicted two contrasting images of Bavaria, on the left was a reincarnation of the Bavarian Soviet Republic engulfed in some sort of inferno whilst a caricature of Adolf Hitler grinned over it. To the right was a prosperous, independent Bavaria bathed in golden light being watched over by the Virgin Mary in her role as patron saint.
Peter found the contrast to be jarring but he was more taken aback by the fact his father was sat behind the stall, apparently registering people for the independence campaign.
He was well dressed like the others but something looked wrong, like they had landed on him. He looked older than Peter remembered, beyond the two years since he’d last seen him but his father was animated in a way he recognised from when he would go on one of his rants. Peter hadn’t ever seen his father’s energies directed to political activism before.
He approached the stall hesitantly but aware that he would have to say hello. At least this was a public place. His father looked up at him as he drew nearer, his eyes widening for a moment before he began to scowl.
“I never thought I’d see you bringing the revolution to the streets father!” Peter exclaimed. His father continued to sit. Peter put out his hand but he didn’t take it, although he did now reply.
“There have been few causes fighting for in this sort of politics but this is one I’m happy to put my name to.”
“I hope you won’t mind your son campaigning against you, it might make our names’ stance on things complicated.” Peter had made his comment in jest but his father’s face darkened further.
“My son died in the Civil War, I have no interest in whatever you support.”
“What do you mean?”
Peter was aghast and in response his father did now rise from his chair. His issues with gout made him unsteady on his feet but he was resolute all the same.
“You defected to the Bolsheviks!” His father roared, bringing pause to the activists around him.
“I did no such thing!” Peter shouted back, failing to match his father’s volume.
“No letters from you for months, your mother and I feared you were dead and then we get Blackshirts coming to our door asking about your Bolshevik connections! I was outraged but I checked with my friends and they confirmed it. It turns out our son did die. Deserting your comrades for those
scum. We were made into outcasts in our own neighbourhood. You’ve betrayed your family, so be off with you!”
Peter stood back as his father's arm projected out, pointing for him to leave. He could feel the smartly dressed activists crowding behind him. Perhaps there to make sure he wasn’t going to stay.
“Betrayal?” Peter scoffed, inside he felt wounded and he wanted his father to feel the same. He wanted all of them to.
“You sent me to fight for Germany and now you’re voting to leave it.”
“Well your Bolsheviks claimed to be fighting for democracy didn’t they? Let’s see how they react when the people of Bavaria have their say.” His father’s face returned to its usual colour as he sat down again and Peter felt someone grab him, he tried to free himself but before he could he was pushed on to the floor by one of the activists. He tried to kick the man’s leg off-balance but merely tapped him in his winded state. It was at that point a police officer arrived.
“We were just handing out our leaflets and this Bolshevik started causing trouble.” The man who had initially given him the leaflet protested. The policeman helped Peter up to his feet before leading him away from the stall until he was far enough away from any more hassle.
Peter could still see his father but he had already returned to his registration forms.
The old man seemed confident he longer had a son.
---
The painting is
Alter Hof by Adolf Hitler
