Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters in it. I do, however, own a wide variety of knitting needles and plenty of yarn.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reads this story. Thank you especially to Katbybee, who beta read this story and provided helpful suggestions and encouragement. Carter's dialogue from the phone conversation was transcribed from the Season 3 episode "Casanova Klink."
Hammelburg may have been a sabotage hotbed waiting to happen, but it was not an exciting place for the elderly to live, so when Gretchen's friend Frieda decided to start her own friendship club, Gretchen happily signed up along with most of the other elderly people in the town. They tried to get together as often as they could, but there were times when that was simply impossible, especially during the winter when the roads were icy and the cold set into the bones and joints even in warm rooms. It was on days like that when most of the Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club business happened over the telephone, so when Gretchen awoke one night and could not get back to sleep, she decided to give Frieda a call. Frieda was known for not falling asleep until well after midnight on most nights due to the fact that she lived next to the Hauserhof and the noise kept her awake on all but the most exhausting evenings.
Gretchen made her way to the telephone, given to her by her very thoughtful son, and dialed Frieda's number from memory. Her memory may not be as sharp as it once was, but she had found before that her fingers could remember what her brain could not. Gretchen listened to the other phone ring, then it was picked up and a gruff voice spoke. "I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."
Gretchen was stunned. "I have not even told you whom I'm calling yet."
"Well, so what if you haven't told me who you're calling yet? No matter who you're calling, you still got the wrong number because I don't even have a phone."
"Young people these days!" Gretchen exclaimed, frustrated by this man's impertinence.
"What's that?" The man was apparently startled by Gretchen's exclamation, and his voice lost its gruff quality.
"You are being very rude, young man. I am eighty years old, and I will not have you speak to me that way."
"You think I'm being very rude?"
"Ja."
"Well, I didn't mean to be."
"That does not matter because you were very rude."
"Well, maybe I was, but I really didn't mean to be."
The man did seem genuinely apologetic now, so Gretchen decided to let the matter go and switch back to the original topic. "Now will you let me tell you whom I'm calling?'
"All right, go ahead and tell me who you're calling."
"The Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club." Gretchen said it proudly.
"Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club?"
There was a muffled noise in the background, and suddenly the phone connection ended. The young man had hung up on her! Gretchen was insulted. He could at least have ended the conversation politely. Suddenly she made up her mind. She would call the place again. The boy seemed sorry to be rude, so maybe he would let her teach him proper etiquette for hanging up. She jangled her phone's hook, and soon the phone on the other end was ringing again.
"Hello?" The boy was using the gruff voice again.
"Hello," Gretchen responded.
"Oh, hi." Again, the gruff quality vanished from the boy's voice.
"It is not polite to hang up on people."
"Well, I didn't hang up on you. I'm telling you the truth."
The boy sounded sorry again, but a horrible suspicion crept through Gretchen's mind. Frieda was pretty good with her voice, so maybe this was all part of a joke. It would be exactly like Frieda to pull something like this on her, especially considering that the life of the elderly in Hammelburg was not known for being exciting. "Are you sure you're not Frieda? You have already changed your voice."
"Well, I-I-I can't help it if I sound like Frieda." Apparently the poor boy stuttered a bit when he was nervous, which was something Gretchen had never heard Frieda do.
"Are you sure? I wish to contact the Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club."
"This is not a friendship club."
"This is not a friendship club?"
"No, it's a prisoner of war camp."
"A prisoner of war camp?" That certainly did not sound like one of Frieda's style of jokes. There were some topics that were sacred to Gretchen, one being prisoner of war camps because her grandson was in an English prisoner of war camp. She knew that Frieda would never joke about it, which meant that this really must be a prisoner of war camp telephone number.
"That's right." Now that she listened closely, Gretchen could tell that the voice had an American accent.
"Who are you?" Gretchen asked, curious and sobered by the reminder of her grandson.
"Who am I? I'm a prisoner." Gretchen's suspicions about the boy's accent were confirmed at least, but before she was able to ask any of the multitudinous questions that filled her brain, the line disconnected again. Gretchen was surprised, and a few moments later she tried calling back again, but this time there was no response, and it left her with even more questions than before.
What was an American prisoner of war doing answering the phone in a prisoner of war camp? Gretchen was not an expert on prison policies, but she knew that prisoners of war were not allowed to use the telephone. Gretchen was also not an expert on politics, but she knew that there were many things wrong in her country, not the least of which being who was in charge of law enforcement. She could not help but wonder if letting a prisoner answer the phone and then forcing him to hang up was some sort of punishment meant to remind the prisoners that they were prisoners. It would also explain his rudeness. How hard would it be to be polite in those circumstances? She could only hope that she had not gotten the poor boy into trouble.
The phone conversation continued to bother Gretchen over the next few days. She started paying more attention to any idle gossip that mentioned the prisoner of war camp a few miles away from Hammelburg, limited and infrequent as it was, and not everything about it was good. She had never suspected that it was known as the toughest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany, and it only increased her worry for the prisoner she spoke with, especially after she overheard an off-duty prison camp guard in the marketplace mention to his mother that one of the prisoners had been thrown in the "cooler" for thirty days. It was already winter, and she hated to think of the young man who did not want to be rude catching his death of pneumonia because of her. That was not what friends did.
After much careful consideration, Gretchen worked out a plan. She would do her best to be a friend to the boy from the stalag. True, friendship with the enemy was not encouraged, but Gretchen did not agree with all the policies of her government, and she could not help but remember the verse about doing unto others what you would have them do unto you. She wanted more than anything to know that her grandson was being cared for in England, so maybe she should demonstrate that by caring for the prisoners of war here in Germany.
So Gretchen began to knit as many scarves, hats, and gloves as she could, figuring that the prisoners must certainly be cold right now. She had always been known as an unusually fast knitter, so she soon had enough to justify a trip to the local stalag. She could only hope that she would be allowed in to "sell" them to the prisoners, though she really planned to give them away if the guards were far enough away not to notice. She hoped she could recognize the boy's voice if she heard it, and she hoped that the guards of this unusually tough prison camp would not take away the scarves, hats, and gloves as soon as her back was turned.
As Gretchen walked along the road to the stalag, carrying her baskets of knitted goods and wishing she had an automobile, she heard the sound of a motor on the road behind her. She turned and was pleasantly surprised to see Oskar Schnitzer's truck coming up the road behind her. Not only was he a member of the Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club, but he was also the veterinarian who serviced the guard dogs for the camp. While she hated to think that her friend Oskar was one of the people who made life hard for prisoners of war, she understood that it was his job. What was more, she understood that he was on his way to the stalag, the only place this road led, and therefore she could hitch a ride. So, holding out her thumb, Gretchen turned and waved as eagerly at Oskar as she could without dropping her baskets.
"Gretchen? Is that you?" Oskar had indeed stopped and rolled down his window.
"Of course it is me. And since we are friends, I would like to request a ride."
"Ah, I would like to help you, but I am on business and giving you a ride depends on where you are going."
"Where do you think?" Gretchen asked, put off by Oskar deliberately grouchy words, though she knew he was moments from opening the passenger door for her. No matter what anyone said about Oskar, he was not the type of person to leave an elderly lady standing on a cold road when he could do something about it! After all, he already stopped his truck for her. "I am going to the stalag to sell warm winter items to the prisoners."
"Not to the guards?" Oskar paused in the action of opening the door.
"Not to the guards," Gretchen confirmed, standing up as straight as she could and looking Oskar in the eyes. "My grandson is a prisoner of war, as you already know. I cannot do much for him, but I have an entire camp filled with prisoners of war right here."
"You would help them, even though they are the enemy?" It was then that Gretchen became suddenly very nervous, though she did her best to hide it. Maybe Oskar was her friend when it came to small things, but she had heard horror stories of friends turning one another over to the Gestapo. Even though Gretchen had done nothing wrong, she did not believe that the Gestapo would have any respect for her age, unlike that prisoner after she told him.
But it was the moment of truth, and Gretchen's family had taught her to not back down. "I see nothing wrong with helping my fellow humans stay warm in the winter. Perhaps they are not Aryan, as the young people say these days, but in any case are not fighting our soldiers right now. The military already provides warm clothes for our soldiers, so they do not need these."
Gretchen shook the basket in her hand a little, and Oskar opened the door. His expression was not intense any more, though he still seemed to watch her carefully. Gretchen could only hope that he had accepted her reasoning, but she did not try to explain further. Soon they reached the camp, and Gretchen stayed in the truck while Oskar talked with one of the guards about letting her in to sell her knitting. Eventually the guard seemed to agree and motioned some of the prisoners over while Gretchen climbed out of the truck.
Soon Gretchen was surrounded by a group of prisoners excitedly looking at the clothes and trying them on, and she listened carefully to the voices around her. Suddenly she heard the right one, and she turned to see a man, younger than most of the others, excitedly examining a pair of gloves. "Boy, these are really well made," he said to another prisoner standing next to him.
"Ja," Gretchen said, startling the boy, "I always take pride in my work. I would not make anything less than perfect." Gretchen could not tell if the man recognized her voice, but he listened like he found it familiar. Finally he responded.
"How much for these gloves, Ma'am?"
Gretchen looked around, seeing that the guard was not paying attention to her and even the other prisoners were busy with other things. There was no one listening. "For you, they are free. After all," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "the Frieda Hoffman Friendship Club does not want its members to be cold in the winter."
The boy looked startled for a moment before a grin filled his whole face. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said very politely. "I'm afraid I won't be able to attend very many meetings."
"That is fine," she said, "just remember whenever you wear them that friendship is a hard thing to find and should always be treasured, and also that you should always be polite."
The boy's embarrassment was gone by the time Gretchen left the camp. She was glad she had gone, and decided to find more excuses to visit in the future. But for now, she would let Oskar drive her back home and sit down to some more knitting, cherishing the friends she had and looking forward to reunions with those who had gone on before. Life may be short, but friends made it happy.
The End (unless Oskar decides to induct Gretchen into the underground…)