What do you know about the Holocaust? If your family were involved then the facts might be familiar, but many people—myself included—have a sort of blinkered view. We do not want to know. We do not want to look. The name “Auschwitz” sends a shiver down our spine. Nor were most of those of my age taught about it at school.
In the years following the Second World War, the Holocaust was a taboo subject. The author of this book says that for many survivors not speaking of it was an additional survival tactic, to ward off lingering anti-Semitism. Also many survivors understandably could not cope with the raw emotions talking would raise. And, astoundingly, they were not always believed. In fact the first question Lucy Adlington was asked by “Mrs Kohút”, an Auschwitz survivor, on the first of her many visits was, “How can you believe it?”
As the years have passed, the information has become more widespread, despite the Nazis’ desperate attempt when the liberation of Auschwitz was inevitable, to burn all the evidence. Children now learn about the Holocaust in schools, but it has taken until the third generation for curiosity to flower without being repressed. When I was small, perhaps about 1963, my father told me of prejudice, and the notorious Nazi death camps, quietly showing me some of the few photographs that existed. Routinely “called up”, he had spent this time in the occupied countries of Belgium and Holland. He explained that the Allies wanted to tear the place down, but realised that if they did that, there was a risk that it would not be believed. It was all very fresh in people’s minds then, within a decade of their lives. It seemed strange, shocking, unintelligible to us.
So my knowledge about Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi extermination camp in Poland delivering “the Final Solution”, was sketchy. Before The Dressmakers of Auschwitz I had not read any factual books about the Holocaust except for Anne Frank’s Diary. The closest to this book might be the film “Playing for Time”, which was based on the acclaimed musician Fania Fénelon’s autobiography “The Musicians of Auschwitz”, where she and a group of classical musicians were spared in return for performing music for their captors.
The facts one picks up from historical fiction are horrifying enough, so I needed to steel myself to read The Dressmakers of Auschwitz, which is indeed a grim, gruelling, hellish read. Yet it is not written in an emotional way; nor are there gratuitous harrowing descriptions. It is simply the facts which are so horrifying, feeling as if they should be unbelievable. In a way, a film could never convey the facts. It would need expert CGI to portray the human skeletons people had become, or the earlier humiliations they had been subject to, such as the routine stripping and head-shaving of all new inmates, as soon as they were forcibly taken down from the cattle trucks which had transported them there.
“The undressing process in Auschwitz not only stripped identity as clothes came off, it also stripped away dignity.”
The induction process at Auschwitz also stripped the Jewish women of any delusions. This was no agricultural camp, but one where those able to work would be worked to death. For others, and routinely for mothers with children, a flick of the Nazi officer’s thumb would signal a different route off the truck: one to the gas chambers. But this was a little later, by which time the inmates were saying to new arrivals “The only way out of this place is through the chimney”.
We know about the blue and white uniforms, but did we know that for the first year or so, there were no uniforms? The prisoners worked naked—or in a strange assortment of clothes thrown from a truck, for prisoners to scramble after. Perhaps you might get a shirt if you were very lucky—or a bit of a dead soldier’s uniform complete with blood and faeces. And nowhere to wash it. How could you film this? All films glamorise, to an extent. By stripping the woman of clothes, they consolidated the message travelling in a packed cattle truck had made. They were sub-human.
“The Nazis were well aware of the power of clothing to shape social identity and to emphasise power … uniforms are a classic example of using clothing to reinforce pride and identity.”
The author Lucy Adlington goes through the rise of Nazism in the European countries invaded by Hitler, and we see the greed, cruelty, and hypocrisy of the Third Reich.
Jewish people were at the heart of the textile and clothing industry; it was dominated by Jewish capital and Jewish talent, and the Nazis had their eye on this wealth. We read details about how the Nazis ruthlessly withdrew all rights for “non-Aryans”, so that Jews could not longer own their own businesses.
“Jewish businesses were compulsorily purchased. There was widespread looting of Jewish businesses after the customs border between the Czech Protectorate and Germany was abolished on 1st of 1940, and also in Ukraine and German-occupied Poland.”
They would be forcibly “sold” for a pittance to any Aryans wishing to have them. The Nazi budget had to be bulked out with Jewish money, and this began in the 1930 with “Aryanisation”—a forcible takeover of Jewish businesses for “Aryans” or non-Jews, under a new law. An “Arisator”—an Aryan manager—could claim any Jewish business they liked for a nominal fee. In November 1938 in Leipzig, 1600 Jewish businesses had already been forcibly sold that way. 1300 were left, but not for long. In Berlin there were 2100 textile-related businesses about to be swept up under the law of Aryanisation.
“It was a long and degrading downfall, beginning with state-sanctioned theft …
It was a buyer’s paradise. Arisators knew Jews had to sell, and sell quickly at that. They were snapped up for … as little as 10 per cent of their actual value. If stock was liquidated … shoppers might innocently browse clothing sale rails … delighted to find a bargain. Plenty of people were not so innocent, but happy to make the most of Jewish misfortune.”
It was a short step from here to poverty, homes being seized, and anyone young and healthy being forcibly recruited to work on the land for the war effort. Or this is what they were told. At the end of 1942 unmarried Jewish girls over the age of 16 had to report at assembly points for service in a work camp. They were advised to pack a warm coat, strong shoes and so on, and on boarding the cattle truck were assured that their luggage would be looked after. It was. Clothes were highly valued, and destined for the “Kanada” warehouses of clothes for the soldiers, and sold at knockdown prices to good Aryans, while the inmates in the camp shivered.
In Czechoslovakia:
“Under the first Aryanisation law in force from 1st June 1940 [many] Jews’ work licenses [were increasingly] revoked. This law essentially meant that Jews could not conduct independent businesses of any kind … Without work there would be no income. Without income—starvation and homelessness … [Their] work was now illegal …
Jewish charities were unbearably stretched, particularly in caring for the thousands of desperate refugees who had fled Germany to Czechoslovakia thinking it would be safer than Germany …
Of the first transports of Jews to arrive in Auschwitz in 1942, over ninety per cent were dead within the first four months. Of the 10,000 Jewish women deported from Slovakia, only about 200 would return home.”
Adverts for Jewish shops simply disappeared. The actual buildings were still there, but after Aryanisation the signs were painted over with new names, selling the same stock but with the Jewish clothes labels removed. In Prague any expensive properties were confiscated, with a receipt issued to give the illusion that it was temporary.
“Back in Germany, mother, wives, sweethearts and siblings received surprise packages from menfolk abroad, and they were delighted at the abundance. In their own domestic way these women became war profiteers. Perhaps they were genuinely unaware that their gains were other people’s losses.”
Meanwhile the plundering of Jewish shops in Germany continued, and warm items of clothing were confiscated.
“Nationwide collections of winter clothing and kits for troops were referred to as a Christmas present from the German people to the Eastern Front. Hundreds of thousands of items were received. No doubt men of the Wehrmacht appreciated the new warmth. And the Jews who shivered in bitter weather—what did their suffering matter? ...
The stripping of all assets was a foretaste of the literal stripping of clothes the prisoners would be subjected to on arrival at Auschwitz, as they were “processed”.
Alongside these stories, we read the back story of the wife of the camp commandant. Hedwig Höss was a young wife who was taken up with the Artaman philosophy. The Artamans formed part of the German Youth Movement, representing its more right-wing back-to-the-land elements. They advocated blood-and-soil policies with a strong undercurrent of anti-Slavism. Nazi Germany classified most of the Slavs—especially the Poles, Russians, Belarusians, Serbs, Ukrainians, and Central Asians—as “subhumans”.
Just a few years before, young Hedwig and Rudolph had dreamed of their ideal family life: an Artaman farming fantasy. When Rudolph was appointed camp commandant at Auschwitz, this became a reality. They had vegetable plots in their villa’s garden and also vast agricultural sub-camps in the Auschwitz area, (including the incorporated village of Rajsko) worked on by the inmates of the camp. They were in essence slave plantations:
“The ‘blood and soil honest toil’ ethos promoted by Artaman ideology was carried out by enslaved workers. A hideous biological symbiosis also linked masters and victims; vegetables at Rajsko were fertilised with human ash still sharp with pieces of bone that were not entirely burnt up … Human excrement was used to fertilise vegetable patches”.
Lucy Adlington makes it clear that this is not a novelisation, but the history of 25 women based entirely on testimonies, documents, material evidence and memories recounted by family members. The chronicle of the rise of Nazi power is interspersed with the early life of a handful of young women who are fated to meet. We see photos of them in family groups, singly, or with friends, but all before their internment in Auschwitz. They came from different backgrounds, and had different skills, although all came to learn that to be able to sew a seam would be valued.
“Auschwitz was a grotesque world where lives could be rescued, ruined or ended on a whim.”
The archives were the author’s starting point, and from there she made questionnaires, finding that survivors were more willing to answer questions on paper than to be interviewed. But it seemed critical to collect as much information as she could. As Mrs Kohút said to her “Why couldn’t you have come 10 years ago?” So few survivors were left. She was “One of the Few Who Survived” (chapter 1).
Jewish people became desperate to get out of Germany as soon as possible. After Autumn 1941, “Jews Out!” meant deportation. A ghetto in the Czech town of Terazin was called a “model town” for Jews only, but in reality was a transit camp for a far darker destination. As we read, each of them is forced to travel to Auschwitz, a death camp posing as an agricultural establishment, where the infamous slogan declares its great lie to the world over the gate “Work Makes Free”.
Meanwhile young Hedwig Höss’s commitment to the Nazi cause became fanatical:
“At the birth of their next child, Hans-Jürgen, Hedwig specifically requested a caesarean operation, so that a lengthy labour would not interfere with plans to hear Hitler’s big May Day speech in Berlin.”
She continued to create her dream home and garden, like a good Nazi wife:
“Hedwig called her garden paradise. Crazy paving paths invited you to wander under shady pergolas, around an ornamental pond, alongside a superb glasshouse and down to a cool stone pavilion with two plush green sofas, a rug on the parquet floor and a cosy stove when needed. Relaxing on much-appreciated days off, the camp commandant joined his family for al fresco meals around an elegant picnic table with matching benches, covered with a lovely blue cloth.
When they picked fruit from the garden, Hedwig was said to remind the children to ‘wash the strawberries well, because of the ash’. Auschwitz crematorium I was just over the wall, after all.”
The children were not told that this was human ash, but that the stink was from the garlic factory.
The camp had a problem with disease and parasites. This was the reason given for shaving the women’s heads as soon as they arrived. It also of course satisfactorily added to their complete degradation. At the beginning there were no gas chambers, but a scientist theorised that since they were using Zyklon B to fumigate the clothes for Kanada, which were crawling with lice, why not use this gas to exterminate human vermin too? Women inmates constructed the extra blocks, labelled “shower block” over the entrance, and the imitation shower heads above, where the gas would be pumped in. Inmates were told they were going to have a shower as they were led to their deaths. It was all part of the great lie.
Many died as they worked. This was convenient, as the numbers as more and more people were transported on the cattle trucks quickly became too great for the extermination process to keep up with. One inmate who had been a doctor said she didn’t know how to use a pickaxe. A blow from the butt of a gun soon showed her. Others not able to keep up with the work were shot, with the reason given that they were “trying to escape”.
And Hedwig’s “paradise” blossomed:
“When Adolf Eichmann visited, he described Hedwig’s domain as ‘homey and nice’. The villa guest-book filled with compliments. ‘Thanks to Mother Hoss’—‘Wishing you health, happiness and contentment’—‘I spent many hours of relaxation with old friends …’
On the occasion of Himmler’s second visit in January 1943, Hedwig served such a fine breakfast he was late arriving to a demonstration of the gas chambers operation. The chosen victims endured the wait locked inside the cement hall with its fake shower heads. After a tour of the camp in bitterly cold weather, Himmler could warm up at the villa, which had been fitted with modern central heating.”
Other Nazi SS families also owned similar green sanctuaries. Between 1942 and 1943 150 Jewish inmates had reworked the gardens into Hedwig’s paradise, whereas in the house, Jehovah’s witnesses were selected to be servants because they never stole anything (of course nobody was paid). The camp’s inmates were not only Jews, but anyone of a different religion, or political prisoners, or homosexuals or suspected spies from any of the occupied countries.
Hedwig Höss had no intention of letting standards slip, or being a dowdy German wife. She liked stylish clothes. When she learned that Marta Fuchs, one of her servants who had been picked from the inmates, was a skilled designer and dressmaker from Bratislava, Hedwig saw how she could get the high-end fashions she craved. She could order the best designers and seamstresses to create unique fashions, as befitted the wife of the camp commandant. Not only would the Nazi officers look powerful and commanding in their smart uniforms, but their wives would too.
Hedwig called her fashion workshop the ‘Upper Tailoring Studio’. Marta Fuchs was allowed to visit Kanada, and select what she needed from the beautiful fabrics freely available to Nazi officers’ wives. All had been purloined from the best Jewish businesses. Hedwig relied on Marta to say who she needed to cut out, stitch seams and darts, and complete her designs for the haute-couture suits and dresses needed for the officers’ social functions in Auschwitz:
“Where the SS selected people for death, in picking out her helpers Marta was selecting them for a better chance at life …
Under her aegis, the Auschwitz dressmaking salon became a refuge, saving seamstresses and non-sewers alike. Marta’s wider involvement in resistance runs like silver threads through the murky weave of Auschwitz life.”
We read the stories of those we followed in the beginning: Irene, Renee, Bracha, Katka, Hunya, Marta, and add new ones: Mimi, Manci, Olga, Alida, Marilou, Lulu, Baba, Borishka. All now had hope, but:
“However light the atmosphere in the sewing studio, beyond this haven the camps continued their grisly process of turning people into fearful skeletons; of converting living people into smoke and ash and bone fragments …”
This little-known chapter of the Holocaust ends with the liberation of Auschwitz. Those in the dressmaking studio knew it was coming. Apart from the rumours, the air now smelt of burning paper rather than bodies, as the Nazis desperately sought to destroy their detailed records. The next day about 30,000 inmates were ordered to march; Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp was on the move to an unknown destination. Some managed to escape, while the rest continued to Löslau. Some from the group escaped by train while the rest, “to the accompaniment of shrieks, beatings and shootings” were loaded onto open coal wagons, 180 women to each wagon.
Those who survived this ended up at Ravensbrück. Those who had hidden in the camp were released when the Russians broke in—astonished at what they found—and said they were free. But the story does not end there.
As I reflect on this remarkable chronicle, scenes flash back to me. The young woman who came across her sister’s dress in Kanada, and then knew that she had died in the gas chamber.
The girl recovering from typhoid, who was told by the doctor working under Mengele, that if she stayed in the hospital, she would be clean, and have more food than the normal ration of turnip water and hard bread—but that she would never have children.
Commandant Hoss, complaining that his siesta was disturbed by noises of nearby torture.
Those who were ordered to dig up turf from around the camp perimeter and transfer it to Hedwig’s pleasure gardens, because “Jews had no right to see green grass.”
But also this:
“Hunya was saved by friendship and loyalty—something the Nazis could not stamp out despite all their abuses.”
And what of Mrs. Kohút, whose wry comment “They Want us to be Normal?” is the title of the final chapter?
This was the seamstress Bracha Berkovic, then 98 and living in California. Sadly she was to die of Covid-related complications shortly before her hundredth birthday.