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The Dominafuhrer
Miss Spiteful's War

The New Recruit

The Dominafuhrer 1952
Miss Spiteful's Gold

Give My Regards To Bremen
Storm Takes A Bow
Two Long Winters
Bonnie Ingrid Of The Argylls
A Soldier's Wife For Me
What Became Of The Lively Ladies?
Walter's Warning
Castanelli Meets The Order
Kelly From Calgary
Three On The Bed
Solace For Solitaire
The Early Morning Tease Maid
The Chevvy With The Fritz On Top
J Edgar Hoovering
Signals From The Past
Gold In The Grave
Morning In Manhattan
Six Hatch A Plan
Back To Berlin
Two Little Girls From School Are We
Spoiling Miss Spiteful
The Taming Of The Slave
Kaffee At KaDeWe
Sugar's Stroll In The Park
The Checkpoint Chorus
The GDR People's Silvery Moon
Into The Tomb
The Festival Is Over
The Stasi At Night
Seraph Revealed
Old Photographs Never Lie
A Fair Exchange For Freedom
The Night Porter
Kelly's Heroines
Surgery En Suite
A Stiffie For Sapphire
The Torturous Twins
A Stilletto Up The Back
News From The East
We're Going To Wedding
Rudi's Revels
Down In The Dungeon
Nappies, Knots and Needles
Walkies With Alfred
Black Marcius For Miss Spiteful
The Return Of The Dominant 7
Grab Your Knickers And Run
Vive La France
Showdown With Seraph

The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair

Alice And Anna
On The Beach
The Bisley Boy
Silk Stockings On A Ladder
A Merry Ferry Christmas
Stella and Fanny

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

Julia

An Introduction

VO Stories

Jenny
Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss
Programme

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict

Stories

65
A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
Charles
George
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Kim
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
Penitence
Plimsolls
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters
Z

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1

Norseland

The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood

EXIT

EXIT THIS SITE

The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S GOLD

Episode 26 - By The Light Of the German Democratic People's Silvery Moon

September 1952

"Mein Gott! Look at the Tor!" Sapphire cried and we twisted in our seats to view in horror the Brandenburg Gate that we had just passed under.

Despite being on the agreed Allied list of German monuments to be retained and restored, the Russians had not hurried to repair the battle damage sustained by the city's greatest symbol. One end of the top pediment had been completely shot away; one of the columns had been reduced to a thin core and all of the others had shell or bullet holes. The Quadriga on top had a wheel bent over at an angle, two of the horses were a tangle of twisted metal and, where the German eagle and Maltese cross had topped the charioteer's staff, a red flag flew, as it had done since May Nineteen Forty Five. The war might have been over for more than seven years but the Russian conquerors continued to flaunt their victory in the Berliners' faces.

From Pariser Platz, we drove down Unter Den Linden and could immediately see the contrast between East and West Berlin. The approaches to the Reichstag was where the bitterest fighting had taken place and, although the ruins and rubble had been cleared away, little or no effort had been made at rebuilding. It was not until we had crossed the River Spree at Museum Island did we see the first new construction of Communist concrete monoliths. The lack of traffic on the streets and how the light and bustle of West Berlin was missing also struck us.  

"Don't look now, but we are being followed," Kelly warned, leaning forward to peer at the driving mirror. We all turned round again to see a big black car about two hundred metres behind us.

"That bearded weasel face in the leather jacket from the checkpoint was getting into it when we went through the barrier," Kelly said. "It’s cut up a couple of other vehicles to get behind us."

"Get rid of them!" Miss Spiteful commanded and Kelly changed gear, accelerated across Alexanderplatz and weaved into the gap between two converging trams. She ignored the indignant bells and pressed her foot down even harder on the accelerator pedal as we all clutched at straps and handles and closed our eyes.

After several more violent turns and disregard of red traffic lights, Kelly slowed down slightly and checked the mirrors again as we drove down Mollstrasse.

"Lost 'em," she was able to announce and, smiling broadly, unwrapped and popped a stick of chewing gum into her mouth with her free hand. Moments later we on Landsberger Allee and the Volkspark Friedrichshain was on our left hand side.

When the bulk of the Hospital loomed up ahead, Kelly turned the wheel to the left, cutting across the front of yet another approaching tram. She also scattered the pedestrians crossing the approach road to the Hospital which went between the cemetery and the rest the rest of the park. Parked cars and coaches lined both sides of the dimly lit road and Kelly had to use the limousine’s horn to warn off more people on foot emerging from the shadows between the vehicles.

When the road turned to the right the sky suddenly turned bright and we saw, off to our left, the back of the festival stage outlined by floodlights. Ahead of us was a small square, also full of people and parked vehicles and, on the far side, the maroon painted hospital gatehouse with its high pointed arch. A uniformed porter was guarding the entrance and, seeing us approach, he put his hand up to stop us.

Kelly pointed the nose of the limousine straight at him and then nudged my left arm.

“On the shelf under the dashboard, Mistress,” she said, narrowing her eyes in determination. “Wave it at him as we go past.”

I reached forward and found a printed card, which was a parking permit for the hospital’s Head of Clinical Research. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and Kelly just shrugged as she touched the brakes. “I lifted it this morning; these commie cars have cheap locks.”

I wound the window down on my side and, as Kelly neatly avoided the custodian’s attempts to prevent our passage, held the permit up so that he could see it without reading the details. The ruse worked and the porter snapped to attention as we drove past him.

Once through the arch, Kelly turned us to the right, away from the main buildings of the hospital on the other side of an open square with green lawns and flower beds. Built in red brick, at the end of the previous century, it had obviously suffered in the air and land battles for Berlin and sections were still covered in scaffolding or were missing altogether.

At the end of the range of low buildings that formed the western perimeter of the hospital grounds, Kelly did another right turn, applied the brakes and switched the engine off. We sat in silence for several minutes as we our breathing returned to normal. Ahead of us, through a gap in the wooden fence, our headlights picked out a gravelled park road and, beyond that, some sheets of corrugated iron set in a high hedge.

From the distance, we could hear music, amplified over loudspeakers coming from the festival in the park and we could see the glow of the floodlights over the trees in the cemetery. This part of the hospital grounds was in darkness but, far over to our left, Landsberger Allee was a blaze of street and vehicle lights.

“Are we safe here?” Solitaire whispered.

Miss Spiteful got out of the limousine and looked around.

“I think so,” she declared. “Sugar was right. There are no lights in the nearest buildings and, with that path through the cemetery closed; there is no need for anyone to come this way to get to the park. They might still use that road between the hedge and the fence so we will have to keep a look out while we break through the gap. Come on, let’s get it over with!”

We all disembarked, feeling very exposed, despite the darkness and approached the wooden fence. Kelly locked the limousine and followed us, carrying a heavy canvas bag that she had taken out of the boot.

“What’s in there?” I asked her when she caught up with us on the unlit park road.

“Torches, rope, a crowbar and a pair each of bolt and wire cutters,” she replied, dropping the bag with a clank in front of the barricade and opening it up.

We examined the barrier by torchlight and found that the sheets of horizontal corrugated iron had been nailed to the wooden gate posts, with strands of barbed wire across any gaps. A faded and peeling Eingang verboten! notice had been pasted onto it which Miss Spiteful placed her hand on so that she could test the strength of the fastenings. She gave it a push and staggered forward as the metal sheets swung inwards dragging part of the right hand wooden post with them.

“Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength,” she smiled modestly.

I directed the beam of my torch onto the remains of the post and saw that it had been cut through at an angle so that the barrier could be opened and closed without detection. Some loose strands of wire, which had been masking the break, were coiled around the foot of the post.

“Love always finds a way,” Solitaire giggled. “Some young East Berliner with a saw and an erection has defied the authorities.”

We filed through the gap and, as we closed the barrier behind us, Miss Spiteful flashed her torch on her wristwatch.

“We’re in! Lead on Sapphire. Let’s see if we can find your lost hymen.”

Sapphire sniffed and set off to the right, away from the path that bisected the cemetery. We followed her, directing our torches on the grass in front of us to make that we didn’t trip over or step in anything wet, soft or disgusting. I was grateful for having the foresight to wear sensible flat shoes with my schoolgirl outfit. Both Stiletto and Solitaire had chosen to wear high heels, which sank into the soft earth, occasioning squeals of alarm and some oaths as they struggled along.

Whatever destruction had been done to the cemetery’s trees and shrubbery in the fall of Berlin had long been restored by nature and, with fresh mounds of earth and piles of stone to negotiate, as well as the monuments, it took longer than Sapphire expected to find the one that we hoped concealed our pot of gold.

“Donner und Blitzen!” Sapphire stopped and we almost collided with each other. “I forgot how close the tomb was to the perimeter hedge.”

We almost had no need of our torches. This end of the cemetery was illuminated, not only by moonlight, but in reflected light from the floodlights on the festival stage. The noise from the loudspeakers was tremendous, even when the music and singing stopped and the audience applauded. Then a compere introduced the next act and we were able to hear each other speak.

“The stage cannot be more than one hundred metres away,” Sapphire wailed as she pushed aside some bushes and we entered a small, sheltered glade. There in the centre, resting on a stone surround, was a long, grey, granite slab that curled into a scroll at the headstone end.
”Here you are,” Sapphire said triumphantly. “Just as I told you.”

We gather around the tomb, directing our torches onto the chipped headstone to check the inscription and make sure that this was the one that we sought.

“How the hell do we get in?” Stiletto asked, running her fingers over the slab. “It will take a crane to lift this off.”

“I don’t think that we need to,” Miss Spiteful said, bending over to peer closely at the lower part of the headstone and revealing her lacy black knickers.  “Look here, where the base meets the headstone. There’s been some cement smeared over the join less than one hundred and four years ago. Bring me the crowbar, Kelly.”

In fact, it was Kelly who chipped away at the crude patchwork and we could soon see that there was a definite gap between the two parts of the monument. She did the same on the opposite side and then inserted the bent end of the bar between the scroll and the face of the headstone. There was no movement.

Miss Spiteful was not defeated and narrowed her eyes as she pondered on the problem.

“I still think that headstone comes away. But how on earth did Von Kreps get it back in place? Even four of them would have a struggle to get it upright.”

The solution to the puzzle came when the heel of one of Solitaires shoes caught against something in the grass behind the headstone and she was sent sprawling on her hands and knees.

As she moaned and cursed whatever had caused to fall and ruin her stockings, I shone my torch on the grass at her feet. The grass had grown over the top of a wooden block which had been sunk into the earth at an angle. Casting around, I soon located another one nearby. I frowned and shone my torch on the back of the headstone. There were two scratches and indentations in line with the blocks.

“I think I know how they did it,” I announced. “There’s two wooden blocks in the ground here. They must have loosened the headstone and lowered it, probably with ropes, onto a couple of jacks which were on top of these blocks. When they had finished inside, all they had to do was pump the headstone upright and cement over the joins.”

Miss Spiteful looked at the evidence by her torchlight and agreed with my solution.

“Well that confirms that the way in is behind the headstone but we don’t need any jacks because we don’t intend to put it back up again. Kelly!” she snapped into command again. “Take the bolt cutters and break into the workmen's huts. We will need spades, picks, wedges and sledge hammers. Stiletto and Solitaire can go with you. We’ll make a start here.”

To continue this story, click Into The Tomb

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