In the midst of oppression and hardship, the people of Schwarzenfeld had a pastime that served as a welcome distraction. They loved speculating about what the Nazis were doing in Fr. Viktor’s monastery.
The first years were limited to disgruntled chatter in support of Fr. Viktor and his plight. Party officials evicted the Passionists from the Miesbergkloster in April 1941, and for the next two years, the NSV—National Socialist Welfare—converted it into a boarding school for children evacuated from cities threatened by air raids. Fr. Viktor bristled at the thought of his monastery being used as a den of indoctrination, though he managed to find a silver lining in the cloud. During services, he looked up to find unexpected attendees tip-toeing into the church sanctuary.
“Our Monastery was being used in the meantime to house children from 11 to 15 years of age, to bring them up as good Nazis. When the first allotment of children came, some crawled out through the windows to come to Mass. They were not allowed to leave the building during the so-called day’s exercises. Later on the boys were seen to leave the church during the middle of Mass because they had to be back at seven, the beginning of their day’s exercises.”
—Fr. Viktor Koch, SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Rome (September 26, 1946).
In 1943 the tides of war turned against Germany. Eager to regain a military advantage through weaponry, Hitler cast about for solutions from science. Rumors of Wunderwaffen—wonder weapons—ran rampant.
At this point the monastery keys passed from the NSV to mysterious new tenants who belonged to an organization that no one had ever heard of: the Continental European Research Institute for East Areas. Canvas-covered crates of equipment were delivered under the darkness of night. Junior staff members like Herta “Hedy” Arata found housing in town. They vanished into the monastery six days out of seven and emerged late in the afternoon, never breathing a word about their work. They answered questions with evasive silence. Meanwhile, senior members lived in the monastery itself and rarely left the premises.
If Fr. Viktor despised the boarding school, he must have felt a surge of panic when he realized the Nazis could find purposes even more sinister for his monastery. The intense secrecy hinted that their work supported the war effort.
The air of mystery provided grist for Schwarzenfeld’s rumor mill. Menacing observations incited the imaginations of avid gossipers. Visions of mad scientists in white coats trading “Heil Hitlers” while tinkering with bombs inspires a dark fascination. Even Fr. Viktor himself had a pet theory.
“In the Fall of 1943 the children had to leave the building to give way to research work for the military, this being of course a more important affair than the children. It was given a camouflage name, so as to cover its real work, but we knew they were experimenting on the famous ‘atom.’ We told the chef not to blow up the building.”
—Fr. Viktor Koch, SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Rome (September 26, 1946).
When Joe Koch stopped by to visit in June 1945, Fr. Viktor took him down to the monastery basement. Herta “Hedy” Arata once told me that the room was packed with glass tubes (most likely vacuum tubes) and a baffling maze of pipes and pumps and resistors and meters. It must have been an impressive sight to Joe. Even he couldn’t resist indulging in speculation.
“He then showed us where the Nazis had set up their lab, supposed to have had equipment [that now must be] worth about $800,000. From what I could gather it was experimental work on their V-1 and V-2 rockets.”
—Joe Koch to mother Fannie Koch, Koenigstein (June 23, 1945)
Joe’s family recoiled from the sensational notion of Nazis developing weapons in a monastery. They shared his letter with their hometown newspaper, The Sharon Herald. The reporters loved it.
Once the monastery fell into American possession, agents from the CIC (Counter Intelligence Corps) arrived to examine the equipment and put all this speculation to rest. Imagine all those gossipers holding their breath and quivering with anticipation at the verdict.
The monastery, it turned out, had insufficient electrical wiring to support atomic research. The Nazis were not tinkering with plutonium in the basement, or developing a new generation of rockets.
What were they doing? The scientists were testing the effects of electrical charges on various metals. Their experiments might yield discoveries permitting the Luftwaffe to evade Allied radar—so they hoped. Their experiments ended on April 22 without producing any notable results.
The gossipers must have been crestfallen. I felt the same way once I read the CIC’s notes in the National Archives.
In the end, the U.S. government gave those scientists a new assignment—find ways to turn the rubble of Germany into construction material. It was a cause that Fr. Viktor supported. He let them remain in his basement for the next five years.
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
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