In this his first novel Walter Kaufmann tells with stark realism the story of a group of underground fighters against Hitler. Woven into the heroic pattern of struggle and resistance, is the Iife story of a Jewish boy who sees his family disintegrating before the onslaught of HitIers thugs. With the passion of one who has Iived through many of the events described in Voices in the Storm, Walter Kaufmann presents an unforgettable picture of the face of fascism. Written in Australia, the novel is a Iiving link between the turbulent days of the thirties in Germany and Australia to-day, raising anew problems we hoped had belonged to the past. No Australian could put the book aside thinking: Fascism cant happen here. For the men and women in its pages are essentially the same, and are subject to the same social forces as the men and women who walk the streets in our own cities. Voices in the Storm is a relentless story, yet it is a story of Iove and hope and fight. Even through the depiction of defeat the author inspires us with the strength and grandeur of man. The courage which upheld countless Germans who defied fascism in the face of death, their confidence and strength, their belief in the future and the worlds radiant dawnthe spirit of these men and women is alive in Walter Kaufmanns deeply moving novel.

Born in Berlin in 1924, Walter Kaufmann was adopted at the age of two by parents who fell victim to the Nazis when the boy was fifteen years old. The lad managed to escape to Australia. There he lived until 1955 and in that year, a man grown, he at last returned to the city of his birth... The long, lean years in between were spent in fruit farming, as a soldier during the war, as a street photographer, a docker, a seaman. It was during this time that he began to write and a first novel, Voices in the Storm, has since been published in several languages. A second book was followed by a series of articles about Japan where he visited extensively. All of his writings reflect the diversified and rich experience of his life and his travels ...

After work, some days later, Papa Mueller approached Erwin Schmitz and said: Id like to talk to you for a bit, if youve got time. As they walked down the street Schmitz asked the plasterer to discuss whatever it was over a drink at the Blind Cow. Mueller declined; what he had to say was best talked over somewhere else. He led Schmitz to an open shelter owned by the tramways and used at night by trackmen, sometimes by tramps. The shelter stood by the kerb of the main street and faced the traffic. It was almost dark inside; intermittently the headlights of a passing car would light up their faces.I wont keep you long, Mueller began.All right, whats the trouble? said Schmitz.There was a pause. Mueller took out his pipe, pressed his thumb down into the tobacco, lit it. The flame played deep shadows on his thoughtful face.Whenever Ive got a job like this I get a bit uneasy, he said simply. Im thinking what I might talk a man into. But with you its a bit easier. Youre on your own arent youyouve got few responsibilities?Thats right. What do you want, Papa?Erwin, do you feel you can trust me?I think youre an honest man.Youve been around, you can judge people?I think I can.Im glad you said that. I can judge people, too. I want you to help us against the Nazis.What made you pick on me?In the darkness Mueller could not tell that the others face had paled, his lips set, his body tensed."Erwin, Im talking as plainly as I can, and simply enough. Ive said enough now to put me out of the road in a concentration camp for goodthats if you want it like that, said Papa Mueller."You havent known me long, but long enough to know that Im no rat. Say what you want to say."Ive known you longer than you thinkbesides some men are easy to trust.What do you want of me?Does the name Spartacus League still mean anything to you? Im finished with all that. Schmitzs hands trembled as he lit a cigarette.I dont want to sound like a conspirator, Mueller said."Im a plain working man and Ill tell you all about myself if you want to know. But will you let it go if I tell you that I know something of your past?You neednt explain anything; its all done with, anyway. We were stabbed in the back in'19 and again in 33. I can guess what you want me to do, but its no use. I know you re a Communist Ive guessed that for a long time. I know youre sincere, But thats not enough. Look He checked himself. No, it s no use, Papa.His tone was bitter and lost.Cars swished by, a tram, a bus. Schmitz gazed into the street as if the traffic held all his interest. The cigarette hung between his lips; his fists in his coat-pockets were bunched hard.Erwin, Mueller said, I want you to know that I won t blame you and wont judge you. Its something only you can decide. There s not a man with us that will take on himself another mans decisions. I havent said to you what I want you to do, and perhaps there s no need now. But Im glad that I had a chance to talk to you. We 11 be breaking up in Prinzenstrasse in two weeks or so, and we might not see each other after that. He rose, holding out his hand. Schmitz looked up, but his own hands stayed in his pockets: Wait a minute, Papa, he said. Slowly Mueller sat down again.Just tell me this. What can a man do these days? It s each one for himself now, the best way he can, just so long as he stays honest, does his work and doesnt rat on his mates. That s as much as a worker can do. We cant fight the Nazis with our bate fists. What hope have we against guns and truncheons and spies and prisons? There were times, not so long ago, when it hadn t come to all this. Only a year ago, Papa, we could ve pushed the Nazis back into the gutters where they sprang from. But the same lot of bastards the pot-bellied politicians and the spineless union leaders who let the Orgesch and the three Corps shoot us down in 19 they did the boss s job again all along the way. We were pretty strong once, Papa, but we had our guts eaten away from the inside. What did they call themselves, those rats who used to come out with a lot of fine phrases and sit on top of a strike and strangle it? Social Democrats! I dont know where they got the Democrat from! The only unity those fellowsve ever known was the unity with the boss. Of course, theyre finished now, some of them are even dead or behind three rows of wire, but thats not the way they d worked it out. They were going to get fat under Hitler too. No, Papa, it s too late to fight the Nazis nowbe honest."It is not, the older man said emphatically. I know its not. Today the best of us are tortured and killed, but still were not crushed. There are always new ones to take our places. Tomorrow well win. Look what they went through in Russia before they got Socialism there. Even defeat has another side to it. It teaches us the need for political struggleteaches us to fight better. Lenin wrote about that in a pamphlet I got at home. I remember it well. Somewhere in it I underlined a sentence:'In times of misfortune you get to know your friends. And that s true that s true, he said reflectively.Again he rose as if there was nothing to add. Schmitz rose with him. Im with you and Im no coward, he said defiantly, but perhaps Im a little saner than youjust now, anyway.I dont think so, Erwinyoull come our way in the end. You know the score, and once you know, you cant forget it. This isn t the first time for you.Listen to me, Schmitz said. 1 know what you want me to do. Why dont you say it? You want me to paint up a slogan or two, get rid of some leaflets, come to a meeting sometimes. Be sensible. Is that going to make any difference now?"Not right away, but in time. Listen, I dont want you to do any thing. Its what I know you want to do yourself. They stepped out into the street, and the wind blew in their faces. It was dark.I dont want to risk my neck for a leaflet or slogan or a word here and there, Schmitz said quietly,"you can be sure of that.No one does, answered Mueller,"yet 1 know of four or five who are doing it this very moment while were talking.Theyre fools, Papa."I dont think you believe that, said Mueller. Youre not the sort. I saw you take a bigger risk not long ago.Wherewhen?In Muelheim, Erwin, last March. You yelled at the top of your voice at an S.A. man who kicked me in the kidneys and sent me flying on the pavement. Cut it out, will you? That s what you yelled. Something snapped in you. You didn t think of the risk then, did you?Schmitz look up amazed. The plasterer smiled."It was me all right. And it was you that yelled, he said quietly.For a moment Papa Mueller hesitated. He relit his pipe deep in the shelter of his upturned coat-collar, turning away against the wind. Then he said: However, Ive learned one thing. A man can argue and argue and get nowhere. Then one day everything conies clear to the one you tried to convince. Hes made his way on his own. It seems to him as if a lids been lilted from his mind. Suddenly he stops thinking of any risk hell take or wont take. He 11 do what he can once he realises all that fascism means. And about that, you don t need much convincingI can tell by the way you talk.Erwin Schmitz relaxed. It was as though he had known Papa Mueller all his life. If some danger had threatend him now he would have fought like a tiger in the old mans defence. I here was nothing he could say; words teemed in his mind, but his lips were silent.Muellers tram arrived and be boarded it. But before he did he turned back and smiled."Goodnight, Erwin, see you tomorrow, he said."Goodnight, Papa, he replied with warmth.Schmitz caught another tram that approached from the opposite direction. Out on the platform he began to smoke thoughtfully. His glance swept past a young woman sitting in the almost empty car; he did not recognise her. In time his attention focussed on a darkhaired, ragged boy, with bare feet in boots too large for him.Whatre you looking at? the boy demanded suddenly. Schmitz, who had been starring absentmindedly, began to notice him. The boy was clutching a parcel that was bulging under his jumper.Whats on your mind, you brat? Schmitz asked good-naturedly, trying to place a hand on the boys narrow shoulders.The lad edged away as if stung. Get out, he hissed.Oho! Tough, eh? Schmitz said, then grinned and let him be.The tram swung into Moltkestrasse and stopped by the gasworks, where a large group of workers, homeward bound from a late afternoon shift, mounted noisily. They nearly fillled the car. The boys eyes darted about like a wildcats. The instant the tram moved off he whipped out the parcel, which turned out to be a bundle of leaflets; then, darting about like a weasel, he handed the leaflets out.