War and Love

War and Love - Swinging Copenhagen

© JoeMo1619 - Juni 2025 ff

Prologue:

A big thank you to all readers of the first two 'War and Love'-stories in English translation.

"Swinging Copenhagen" is located in Nyhavn, the entertainment district of Denmark's capital Copenhagen. For more than 150 years this location has been the attractive centre of entertainment and amusement for Danish and international citizens as well as tourists with all its restaurants, pubs, music and jazz clubs, galleries and a number of small theatres.

This story picks up two historically difficult topics: the racists motivated holocausts against Jewish people by Germany's Nazis all over Europe and the behaviour of the Danish public during the five-year-period of German occupation. To give a simple illustration about this difficult topic: during World War II 1,750 Danes lost their lives as fighting members of the Waffen-SS, but only 500 Danes died directly or indirectly as fighters for Danish resistance groups.

Copenhagen, Denmark, April 1940

For the petty bourgeois Denmark of the interwar years, I was rather unusual. Born and baptized as Oscar Nyrup Olsen, I was the youngest of three sons of the government director Rasmus Nyrup Olsen. After World War I, my father, as an administrative lawyer, had helped reintegrate the regions of Sønderjylland (North Schleswig) -- which had been lost in the 1864 war against Prussia and returned to Denmark in the Treaty of Versailles -- into the Kingdom. He held a prominent position in the Danish Ministry of the Interior until his retirement in 1925.

My two older brothers also entered civil service after studying law and held respectable positions in the Interior and Finance Ministries, respectively. I alone was the odd one out. I dropped out of law school after my first year at university and became a musician. Still, my father, recognizing my talent, paid for me to study piano at the Copenhagen Conservatory starting in 1909, a course I completed with a concert diploma.

Then I truly diverged from the family path. When the Great War broke out -- later known as World War I -- my homeland remained neutral. This fortunate circumstance allowed me, at the age of 25, to travel to the likewise neutral United States, where I quickly abandoned classical piano and fell for jazz. I was good enough to earn a modest living as a soloist, band member, and performer in various jazz orchestras.

By the time I turned 40, the Great Depression had severely impacted the entertainment industry. Gigs and performances became scarcer and poorly paid, and prospects grew bleaker by the month. My letter to my now-retired father asking for help with the funds to return to Denmark was, fortunately, met with approval. He arranged and paid for a second-class ticket on Denmark's only transatlantic steamer, which was waiting for me in New York. Thus, I returned to my homeland in 1930.

The Great Depression, which had hit the U.S. and our neighbouring country Germany so harshly, had far less severe effects in Denmark. Life, especially in Copenhagen, continued with little disruption for ordinary citizens and young people. The city's entertainment district, Nyhavn, remained lively, and with my years of American jazz experience, I quickly found opportunities to perform and a new audience.

Three years later -- a major political shift had just occurred in Germany, bringing to power an Austrian-born man largely unknown in Denmark named Adolf Hitler -- my family's financial support enabled me to take over a respected jazz venue in Nyhavn.

Over the seven years leading up to my 50thbirthday on April 7, 1940, I established my club and restaurant as an attractive destination for jazz lovers of all ages and social classes. I benefited from Copenhagen's dynamic and creative art scene, which embraced my jazz club, "Swinging Oscar," as a trendy hotspot. I celebrated my birthday that Sunday with a twelve-hour party that continued privately after official closing time until five in the morning. When the last guests left and I collapsed into bed upstairs, above the club, I felt all was well in my world. One day later, the German Wehrmacht invaded Denmark.

The German army's attack on Denmark was essentially a passageway to quickly reach their real target: the conquest of Norway. At 4:15 a.m., the first Wehrmacht units crossed the barely twenty-year-old border north of Flensburg. By noon, after minimal military resistance, the Danish government accepted the terms of an armistice.

Following this turbulent day -- which saw firefights with fatalities and injuries between the Royal Guard and Wehrmacht units just a few hundred meters from "Swinging Oscar" at Amalienborg Palace -- the restaurants and clubs in Nyhavn remained closed. Nevertheless, I had my entire staff, including the jazz band booked for the week, gather at the club behind closed doors to discuss the change in circumstances.

"Today has brought lasting changes," I began my opening statement. I looked into many serious, worried faces. Beside me sat my long-time friend and lover, Helle Schmidt, a professor at the Copenhagen Art Academy, two years my junior. With her were her daughters, Friederike and Christiane, 22 and 20, respectively, both art students who worked as waitresses to help finance their studies. Hans Rudolf Mortensen, my long-time head bartender and a true entertainer behind the counter, looked unusually troubled. I knew Hans was Jewish, though religion played little role in his daily life. Victor Christensen, my head chef, and his kitchen assistants were already changed and ready for the evening when I announced my decision not to open the club that night. Also present were the five musicians in our house band, who usually ensured good spirits with their lively music -- often joined by my own piano playing later in the evening. But that night, no one was in a festive mood.

"From what I've learned, King Christian and the entire royal family remain in the country, and the government under Prime Minister Thorvald Stauning is still in office," I continued. "The German ambassador is now acting as the Reich's representative. Whether this will affect our lives and work here at the club is something no one can say for sure tonight." I leaned back, took my beer glass, and drank half of it in one gulp. "Best-case scenario: like all Copenhagen establishments, we'll be closed for a few days, maybe a week or two."

"And in the worst case?" Hans Mortensen voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"No idea." I shrugged. "But I currently have the impression that the Germans don't care much about us. And our king and politicians want to maintain as much Danish-led normalcy as possible. I even heard that King Christian plans to take his usual ride through the city tomorrow to symbolize this normalcy."

"There's still my Jew problem," Hans added. "I don't know if the Nazis will leave us alone, given how quickly they hunted us Jews in the Reich, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland."

"Lay low for now, Hans. If you need protection, come to me."

"You're not the only one with that problem," Helle suddenly interjected. I looked at her in total surprise, which she answered with an embarrassed smile. "I was born as Helle Rosenborg in German Apenrade, the daughter of two Jewish parents. I only converted to Protestantism when I got married. That's why Friederike and Christiane were baptized as infants. But if I understand correctly, under the German racial laws, I'm considered a full Jew and my daughters half-Jews."

"What?" I was completely stunned. Though I had been in a semi-public relationship with the art professor for over five years, I was hearing this part of her past for the first time. I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "So, we now have this so-called Jewish problem four times over." I looked around the room. "Anyone else affected by this danger?" Fortunately, everyone shook their heads.

I finished the rest of my beer in a second gulp. "Then the four of us will meet later to discuss our precautions." I looked around again. "I hope to reopen the club by next Tuesday. Until then, stay home as much as possible and wait. I'll pay your wages for this week as if you had worked normally. No need to worry about that." You could feel and hear the relief in the room.

"You really shocked me tonight," I said to Helle as we climbed the stairs to my apartment above the club.

"Why?"

"Helle! Even if I'm an apolitical musician and restaurateur, I can still read a newspaper. And what the Nazis did to the Jews during what they called Kristallnacht and later in the occupied countries -- any halfway intelligent person could read about it in the Berlingske or other papers. And now, for the first time, I learn that the woman I've lived with and loved deeply for years is a born full Jew? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I never thought it mattered. Denmark was neutral in the last war. And I expected that neutrality would be respected this time too. By all sides."

Helle stood before me like a drenched puppy. I felt infinite pity for her. I stepped forward and wrapped her in my strong arms. "We'll find a way, my love. But we need to be cautious now and see how things develop."

My guarded optimism was a bit like whistling in the dark. Because of course, from my daily newspaper reading, I also knew that there were serious political factions in Nazi Germany who denounced the jazz I loved so much as "Negro racket."

Helle trembled in my arms. "I'm scared, Oscar."

"What are you afraid of tonight? For Denmark, the war ended at noon today -- no gunfire, no bombs."

"That's not it. But the Nazis hate Jews, as we both know. And I was born 48 years ago in imperial German Apenrade -- which has been called Aabenraa again since 1920 -- and I have a German birth certificate that lists my parents' religion as 'Jewish.' That's the problem, one that even my conversion at marriage can't erase."

"Hm." I thought for a long time while still holding her and stroking her back. It soothed her; she stopped trembling. "I'll talk to my father and brother. Let's see if the Interior Ministry can issue you a Danish replacement birth certificate that doesn't list your parents' religion." I truly intended to address this matter with my family as soon as the situation in Copenhagen allowed.

Though it was still relatively early in our daily rhythm, we went to bed. Given the day's heavy events, neither of us had any interest in intimacy. But it did us both good to fall asleep wrapped tightly in each other's arms.

The next few days felt almost surreal. Life continued nearly unchanged. King Christian resumed his daily horseback rides through Copenhagen to be visibly present to the public. He did so explicitly without any military escort and would stop if a citizen approached him.

Helle stayed in my apartment in the days following the invasion and did not return home. The Art Academy extended Easter break for a week due to the unclear situation and was closed, freeing her from her teaching duties.

I had learned from the city authorities that restaurants and venues could reopen by the weekend, though a new curfew required them to close by 9:30 p.m., so citizens could be home by 10:00. Helle and I, like all Danes, closely watched whether the previously insignificant Danish National Socialists would now play a dominant political role. Prime Minister Thorvald Stauning was a Social Democrat, and every moderately educated Dane knew what fate the German Social Democrats had suffered under the Nazis. But even a week after the capitulation, the leader of the Danish National Socialists, Fritz Clausen, was ignored by both German diplomats like Cécil von Renthe-Fink -- promoted from ambassador to Reich Plenipotentiary -- and the few generals and officers present. The Wehrmacht focused on occupying strategically vital Norway and saw no further need to intervene in Denmark.

"I'm reopening our venue on Saturday evening," I announced the evening before and sent out messengers to summon my staff for duty the next day. Indeed, by Saturday afternoon, the entire team had returned to work. Helle also saw her two daughters again for the first time; they had spent the week safely at the studio of one of the art professors, along with other students.

"We had a lot of fun," Friederike reported. "We were totally cut off from the outside world."

"And how did you sleep in the studio?" Helle's question was a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Like at a camping trip -- just without tents. We don't know where Professor Knudsen got all the mattresses and bedding, but it was enough."

"If some of us shared blankets, it worked quite well," her younger sister added with a grin.

Helle didn't ask further, certain that the group of art students hadn't consisted solely of girls. But her daughters were old enough to know how to enjoy life without getting pregnant. She had made sure of that in time.

My team was noticeably happy to be able to work again. I myself reinforced my house band on both Saturday and Sunday for several hours. The guests at my jazz club consisted almost entirely of regulars who had heard about the reopening through word of mouth.

"Feels like a family celebration today," I joked between two solo numbers. "Last weekend was my fiftieth birthday. And this weekend we celebrate that we've got away unscathed -- at least for now." I was so elated that I offered two rounds of drinks on the house. "Who knows what the future holds," I proclaimed loudly as a toast. "So, let's just celebrate tonight."

My girlfriend and partner Helle, as well as the entire staff, were swept up by their boss's positive mood. At the early curfew, they headed home in an unusually cheerful manner for such uncertain times. We would face the future, come what may.

"As long as the war doesn't bring its horrors to Denmark," was the general sentiment. "We just want to live in peace."

"How do you do it?" Helle asked me later that evening when we were back at my apartment.

"Very simply, my dear," I replied. "It's the music. You can unload your worries into it, express your feelings, and pour all your hope into it. The rhythm of jazz and its styles -- like swing or boogie-woogie -- is uplifting and speaks to the soul. It sets you free!"

This time, I didn't have a Helle trembling with fear in my arms. On the contrary, that Sunday evening she was exhilarated and yearning for love. Fifteen minutes later, we lay naked on my large double bed, and Helle rode out all the frustration and gloom of the past days with wild abandon. She practically bounced on my rock-hard erection until we both drove each other loudly to orgasm.

"It's so nice not having to worry about getting pregnant anymore," she said afterward with a cheeky grin. "I love it when you pump your sperm deep inside me. I can really feel it when you come. That's what pushes me over the edge too."

I grunted a satisfied but unintelligible response. I loved this stress-free lovemaking with Helle just as much.

After the usual Monday rest day -- which I used, as always, for orders and shopping -- my jazz club reopened on Tuesday, April 16, 1940, with particularly cheerful energy. One week after the start of the German occupation, Copenhagen's public life had returned to its normal rhythm. The few German soldiers hardly stood out in the city streets; newspapers ranging from the conservative 'Berlingske Tidende' to the Social Democratic 'Politikken', along with the tabloids, were being published without noticeable censorship and reported relatively neutrally on the progress of German and British military operations in Norway. Most of the papers, however, featured ordinary news and sports coverage.

But by midday, newspaper boys ran shouting through the streets of Copenhagen: "The Crown Prince Couple announces the birth of a Princess!" Indeed, Crown Princess Ingrid had given birth to a girl seven days after the German invasion. Margrethe was King Christian's first grandchild.

I took this happy news as an occasion to toast the newborn princess with a proper glass of champagne with my entire staff. A toast I would repeat a few hours later in a nearly full venue.

"As you've probably all heard by now, the royal family announced the birth of Princess Margrethe today. Mother and child are doing well, according to the papers." I raised my glass, followed by everyone present, and gave a traditional Danish "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" which the crowd echoed loudly. "May this joyful birth in such a dark time be a sign of a better and more peaceful future!" The strong applause showed that I had spoken from the hearts of many.

I had booked my house band for the week again, and in honour of the new royal princess, I played the piano myself for an hour and a half. Our joy in playing transferred directly to the audience; it felt like the pre-war days.

"You gave your guests a gift today," Helle told me later at the bar after congratulating me with a heartfelt hug and several kisses. "For an hour and a half, they forgot the uncertain and nerve-wracking reality and enjoyed the evening. Wonderful!"

"Then we should try to keep it up. Who knows how long our new overlords will let us go on unchecked." I knew well what kind of tightrope German musician colleagues walked when they drifted too far into jazz with their art.

All through April and May, Helle and I, her daughters, and the entire culinary and musical team atSwinging Oscarwaited for something to happen -- for the authorities to impose new restrictive rules. But nothing came. Danish newspapers continued to report in their dry, relatively neutral tone about the war: Germany's final victory over Norway, then the lightning-fast conquest of the Benelux countries and France. The Danish population was largely relieved to have been treated gently by the seemingly unstoppable German war machine and simply carried on with their lives. Given the existing treaty between Germany and the Soviet Union, even the political and union cells of the Danish Communists remained quiet. An eerie calm normality prevailed across the city and countryside. Danish agriculture, in particular, benefited from the food demands of the large neighbouring country and its ever-expanding military. The collapsed exports to Britain -- especially bacon and pork -- were fully offset by increased exports to Germany.

By early June, life in the Danish capital had normalized enough that Helle returned to living with her daughters in her own apartment. At 'Swinging Oscar' and at my home, she was once again "just" a regular guest, like before the occupation. Only the slightly earlier curfew had shortened our opening hours by an hour -- a change that my team and I actually welcomed, as it allowed us to have some private evening life.

"Surprisingly, the shortened hours hardly affect our daily revenue," I noted while having a final glass of beer. "The audience just comes earlier and drinks faster." Then I took Helle by the hand and led her upstairs to my apartment. "I have a surprise and a gift for you."

"Oh, how lovely," said Helle. "Have you moved my birthday up?"

"No," I grinned. "But it does have something to do with your birthday."

I solemnly handed her an unsealed envelope. "I hope this solves a problem for you."

Helle opened the flap and carefully pulled out a sheet of paper. Her astonishment grew as she examined the document. "Unbelievable. I can't believe it!" she murmured. Then she looked at me with the happiest smile I had ever seen on her face. "You got me a new replacement birth certificate?! How did you manage that?"

I was as delighted as a little boy with a successful surprise. "My father and brother helped a bit. There's actually a legal provision that allows Danish citizens born before 1920 in the returned territories to get a replacement birth certificate. It's long forgotten, but my father, who used to work in the Ministry of the Interior, remembered it -- and my brother took care of the rest."