 
Opposite Sides

By Susan Firman

Copyright 2014 Susan Firman

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE of CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER 1 England

CHAPTER 2 Minus Times Plus

CHAPTER 3 Intricate Shakes

CHAPTER 4 The Turners

CHAPTER 5 Friends

CHAPTER 6 In the Millions

CHAPTER 7 Privilege

CHAPTER 8 Acceptance

CHAPTER 9 The Picnic

CHAPTER 10 Something Important

CHAPTER 11 Confrontation

CHAPTER 12 Tea at the Turners

CHAPTER 13 The Rising Storm

CHAPTER 14 Prelude

PART II

CHAPTER 15 The Meeting

CHAPTER 16 North Africa

CHAPTER 17 To catch a Bear

CHAPTER 18 The Desert

CHAPTER 19 Captured

CHAPTER 20 Camp

CHAPTER 21 The Last Christmas

CHAPTER 22 Last Days

CHAPTER 23 Jan

CHAPTER 24 Germany

CHAPTER 25 Hunting

Other Books by Susan Firman

Connect with Susan Firman

Opposite Sides
PART I

CHAPTER 1

England

It is always difficult making a new life in a new land, especially when the two countries had been on opposite sides only six years before. Friendship bridges that were so difficult to build, were destined to be broken again through a series of events that would sweep across Europe and involve most of the world.

Thursday 22nd May, 1924. A warm English spring morning. Lindbergh had just completed his solo flight across the Atlantic the day before so today was one full of life and anticipation. A restless call of a cuckoo resonated somewhere high in the tree tops. It seemed to be following the line of old beech trees from the gateway towards the stone building at the end of the long driveway. A solitary figure was slowly walking in the shade that spread halfway across the wide driveway. Above him was the spreading canopy of new burgundy-wine foliage and beneath his feet, the small white angular stones that defined the path. The figure hesitated, resting his two bags on the ground as he thought about what had taken place during the previous two hours.

The young man had finally arrived at Prince Albert College, a private finishing school on the outskirts of a small English town, fifteen miles inland from the coast in Sussex. How would this sixteen year old son of a German military officer fit into a society that was still trying to understand how and why they had been dragged into a most devastating war. He was not sure how well he would cope for, even though he had some knowledge of English, he had already had a few days in England, long enough to realise his limitations in the language. It made him feel strange and a little on edge.

Since the death of his mother, he and his two brothers, Renard and Axel, had been looked after by his father's sister Laura and her husband Karl Klön. They had not been fortunate enough to have had children of their own. After an enduring ferry trip of many hours across the North Sea and after following directions about which train to catch, he had finally arrived at his destination. He remembered how nervous he had been, standing there in the middle of the platform, his two large travelling bags at his feet and some English pounds in his pocket, watching the rear of the guard's van recede into the tree-lined distance. He had waited for what seemed like hours for his contact person to arrive. He had had to look for the man in the white hat.

The Germany he had left behind was struggling to build a new republic, for when the war ended, the Kaiser had abdicated and fled to Holland, leaving his country to pull itself out of the mess left by its defeat. Uncle Karl had a profitable knife-making business, so as the boys were growing up, many of the post-war difficulties passed them by and the boys, together with their uncle and aunt, were able to spend many of their holidays either hiking somewhere in the southern forests or splashing around in one of the numerous lakes dotted across the landscape, just north of Berlin.

But that world was not his any more. His world lay ahead, an untrodden pathway filled with the mysteries of a new country, the thrill of learning another language and meeting new people. He wondered how he would manage with all the subjects he had chosen, especially as he was not yet fluent in English. Yes, he already knew just enough English to get by, for he had studied the language for almost four years, yet he had now found that when people spoke to him, it was far too quick and so he did not understand much at all. He had managed to ask a few simple questions at the station but when the man answered, everything became a jumble. He had been left feeling confused and helpless. Just as well someone would be there to meet him. Ah, yes, the man in the white hat.

He had stood on the platform watching all the other passengers leave. They all knew exactly where they were going. He had watched the line at the ticket collector grew shorter and shorter until he was the only one left standing on an empty platform. At least it had been easier to find each other: the man in the white hat and the younger one in the dark trousers, school jacket and cap.

The young man picked up his heavy suitcases and made his way over to his contact.

"Mornin' young man!"

The white hat was removed and a driver's hat took its place.

"Good morning."

"I've 'ad instructions t'take you to the school. Main gate be fine?"

"Bitte?"

"Main gate, young man?"

"Gate?"

"Gate. Entrance. Where the school is. I'll take you there."

Finally, he understood.

"Thank you, mister driver."

The driver had first loaded the bags into the back and then he had held the rear door open. He remembered how he had stepped up on to the running board and into the vehicle and how his tired body had sunk into the soft upholstery and how he had spread himself out most comfortably in the middle of the back seat. Then, as the car drove through the town Hans had reminded himself of the expectations his family. He hoped he would be good enough to gain a certificate at the completion of his studies. Such a certificate, an English certificate, would give him an entrance into a very good job either here, or in Germany, or anywhere. It could be his ticket to see the world. What a prospect for a young man!

As these thoughts churned over in his mind, he became aware that the car had stopped by a gate and sign which read: Prince Albert College: modern education for young men and women. The driver unloaded the two suitcases, touched the peak of his hat and announced with a cheerful manner,

" 'ere you are, young man. Good luck with your lessons!" With no more to say, the driver pocketed his fare and drove away.

Hans had picked up his bags and he had began walking. The thoughts of travelling surged through his mind and he walked automatically, hardly aware of the huge trees or of the cuckoo hiding high above. He did not notice the wide expanse of grass that spread out from both sides of the driveway until it met the high stone wall of the school ground perimeter. All he heard was a cornflakes-crunch beneath his shoes, like the monotonous breaking of sea shells when one walks over them on the beach. He had stopped half way up the drive to give his aching shoulders a respite from the heavy load which he was carrying. The bags were far heavier than he had expected. His arms felt like over-stretched elastic and he needed time before they could snap back into his arm sockets. The weight of his bags had not impinged on him until now. The pinching pain had came on suddenly. He stood and stretched and looked up the driveway. It was awfully long.

Finally, he reached the dark grey-blue stone flint school building with its narrow angular windows and steep roof. The stones had been split so that their broken surfaces formed the façade. Each one had been randomly set into dark-grey mortar and each corner and each window was edged with dark coloured bricks which gave the building and air of permanency and authority. There was no hint of welcome in its presence. Even the plain concrete steps leading up to the twin solid, oak main doors did not appear inviting. The stone motto above the door lintel, in Latin, bared down on him, demanding obedience and respect from all those who passed beneath its arch.

The youth hesitated at the foot of the steps for a while. In his mind he went over the instructions that had been sent to him a few weeks before he had left home. He gripped his fingers together tightly enough for his nails to pinch the sweaty flesh of his palms. He focused on the heavy wooden doors within his reach. One had a large iron ring on it and he decided that that was the one to open. Inside, stretched a long hall from which countless doors, both to the right and left broke the walls into a hundred segments. Old photographs of past pupils and staff sized him up: was he good enough to be admitted to their school?

The hallway smelt of fresh polish and well-matured timber, together with a mustiness that goes with old scholarly books. He walked hesitantly across the polished floorboards, trying to muffle his squeaky footsteps until he located the door he had been told to find. It was very clearly and formidably marked: 'MATRON'.

Doubts flooded his brain and he began to feel dizzy and somewhat sick in his stomach which, in turn, made the muscles in his thighs begin to twitch. He checked the letter he had stuffed in his top pocket to reassure himself that it was the matron he was to report to; and not the principal. Would 'she' even be pleased to see him? He paused while he steadied himself, and using his thumb, he rubbed his little finger up and down in time to his breathing, slower and slower until he felt calmer. Then, he knocked, a light, unsure tap which seemed to be absorbed right into the wood and did not go any further.

Matron would never hear that knock, he thought. She would never know he had arrived and he might still be standing there until the end of the day.

He knocked again, this time louder. An authoritative educated English woman's voice answered from the other side of the door.

"Enter!"

There was no going back, now. He pushed the door a little, took a gulp and bit his finger so violently that a small drop of blood crept out of the small wound and turned his fingernail red. He rubbed it away on the back of his trouser leg. Then, with a deep breath, head high and back straight, he stepped inside.

His eyes immediately scanned the book shelves. There were so many books, stacked or squeezed together until no more could be accommodated. The ceiling was high with dark-stained timber beams criss-crossing in a chequer-board pattern from which dangled a single light, switched on as the single window only cast narrow daylight into the shadowed, dim room. He was somewhat relieved to see another young person already in the room, standing slightly to one side of a large desk, behind which sat the commanding 'Voice.' The other student . . . he presumed the girl was a student . . . still wore her coat and had short auburn-hair. She seemed to be about his own age, maybe a year younger was his first impression. Never-the-less, she smiled at him and then her green-blue eyes turned back to the middle-aged woman behind the table who was now standing.

"I am Miss Turner, the matron of the college."

Miss Turner was smaller than he'd expected but even so she appeared to be someone completely in charge of the situation. She sat down again on some sort of high stool so that her upper body towered over the desk top, taut and exceedingly straight. .

Maybe she sticks a rod down her back, He wondered. Otherwise, how could she maintain such a posture?

The next thing that struck him was the severity that was part of her. She wore her hair pulled so tightly away from her face that her thin nose stuck prominently out and reminded him of the carrot nose the children stuck on their snowmen. Her glasses had slid part way down her nose so that she appeared to be looking at him from over the rims. And as she read through her notes, he became aware of how thin those lips were and that they now reminded him of the line that cartoons used to represent a mouth. Then, she turned her head slightly and he saw that the round bun of her hair was one of the tightest he had ever seen and that her once dark hair had already begun to turn quite grey around her temples so he came to the conclusion that she could be similar in age to his grandmother. But this woman was not at all like Oma. This woman had authority.

Yes, very much in charge, thought Hans.

She was also surveying him: from head to toe and back again. Her thin lips twitched slightly. Then she spoke.

"Oh, you have arrived. You may leave your suitcases out in the hallway."

Hans bent over to pick them up.

"Not now. When you leave."

"Yes, of course Miss Matron,Miss Turner."

"Miss Turner will suffice."

It was an unemotional comment.

"Yes, Miss Turner."

She reached for the letter his previous school had written and his enrolment papers which were in a brown-covered file.

"Erwin Hans Resmel." She spent some time sizing him up. "So, you're our new student from Germany. Our first overseas student for almost twelve years. We did have two previous students from Europe but that was before nineteen fourteen. I assume that you do speak and understand English."

He was not sure whether she was telling him that was the case or asking if he did indeed have some knowledge of the language. He decided a nod was in order, for he was too scared to speak in case he muddled up his tenses or made silly mistakes with his plurals. So, he stood in silence, watching her flip methodically through the pages in his file. When she had finished, she looked up.

"What do you prefer to be called?" She spoke the words so quickly, he was unable to comprehend exactly what she had asked. He frowned and then made some stuttering comment which, luckily, she did not hear clearly. And after an awkward minute, she spoke slower. "What do you call yourself? Erwin? My notes say you would prefer to be known as Hans. Is that correct, young man?"

"Correct. Yes, Miss Turner. Hans. Hans Resmel."

He always left out his first name when he could. It sounded so official.

"All right, Mister Hans Resmel." Her voice had softened a little and the corners of her mouth indicated a faint smile. "However, here you will be known as Mister Resmel. You are expected to follow the rules for all our pupils are addressed by their surnames. And, this young lady is Miss Sutherland." She indicated the girl on his right who smiled at him again and he thought she was very pretty and very English-looking, not that he really had any idea what English girls were supposed to look like. "Now, about our school," the Matron continued. "We're a very modern private institution that offers vocational training for young people between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. Until a few years ago, we only catered for boys. Most lived in. That means they boarded at the school. Today, we also have some students who are day students so there is more coming and going throughout the week. We are also thoroughly modern for we're one of the few private boarding schools that also offers classes and training for girls. There's a separate part of the college for the education of young women. Completely out of bounds to you boys." The woman the other side of the large table narrowed her eyes and looked at Hans with the glare of disapproval. "You are not to go to the girls' part under any circumstances . . . and that goes for the dormitories, as well. Completely off limits. You understand that, Mr Resmel?"

Hans had understood very little of what had been said but he thought it better to agree, what ever it was.

"Yes, Miss Matron."

"Miss Turner."

"Yes, Miss Turner."

He watched as she wrote something down. It took a minute but it felt much longer than that. The silence was awful. Finally, she looked up at the figure of the youth before her.

"You and Miss Sutherland should now make your way to the assembly hall and sit down at the back. It's the only time both parts of the school come together. I have already asked Miss Sutherland to show you the way to the assembly hall. She's familiar with the school layout. After morning break, you will begin your lessons. The assembly begins in a few minutes. Students enter as soon as the second bell is rung." Then, Miss Turner addressed Anne. "Remember to remove your coat before you enter the hall and when the assembly is over, Miss Sutherland, you are to join the other girls. One of the masters will familiarise Mr Resmel with all the school rules."

"Yes, Miss Turner."

Matron slid her chair back and reaching behind her and pulled out a file from one of the shelves.

"Leave your bags outside. You can collect them at the end of the day." As she breathed in deeply, he became aware of how much her breasts filled out towards him. His face coloured and he hoped neither she or the girl had noticed his reaction. "And now, Mister Resmel, Miss Sutherland, I have other important matters to attend to. Thank you and I hope you will enjoy your stay with us."

She indicated with a flick of her hand that they should go.

Hans had understood very little of was said so he waited for Miss Sutherland to make the first move. He did not want to appear stupid. Not on his first day. Miss Sutherland mimed with her fingers that they should tip-toe quietly out of the office.

The other student waited until Hans had closed the door. He put down his cases as close as possible to the wall and stood with his back resting against the dark-wood panelling. It was the girl who spoke first.

"Mister Resmel?"

"Please, my name is Hans. I am . . . sehr . . . um, pleased to meet you."

He bowed very slightly, bringing his heels together with an audible click. He felt awkward and was uncertain what to say or do next.

"I'm Anne to my friends. We are going to be friends, I hope." She held out a smooth, alabaster hand for him to shake but, instead, he raised it to his lips. The girl was taken back a little but did not comment on his action. She placed her coat over her bags, then straightened the skirt of her school uniform. "There! Now we're ready!" Anne flicked her head to one side. "Follow me, Mister Hans Resmel. I've been here several times. One of my brothers came here five years ago."

"Your brothers? They are since five years here?"

She laughed.

"One brother. Five years ago. Not now. He's grown up and left. I'm the baby of the family. Understand?"

He nodded. He liked her. If English girls were like her, he would feel at ease straight away even though he was understanding far less than he thought he would. Everyone so far had spoken to him too quickly and he was finding the concentration of it quite tiring.

The school assembly was formal: boys on the left and the girls on the right and it was always conducted in exactly the same way. Mr Bowes-Heath, the headmaster, was a tall, wiry man in his late forties, greying slightly at the temples, draped in a black academic gown that made him look as if he could easily take flight the moment he should raise his arms. His staff of eight masters sat on the stage, a silent semi-circle of eyes, eyes that remained fixed on every student in the hall: girls in the front four rows to the side and the boys in the rest. On the left were two women teachers. They sat behind Miss Turner. She sat upright in the front like a meerkat on watch, a large black folder resting on the lap of her long grey skirt that almost reached down to her ankles and her hands folded with exact precision over the top.

As the final hymn notes melted away, Mr Bowes-Heath left the podium and stepped forward towards the front of the stage. His voice was neither high nor deep but easily reached into the furthest corner of the hall and his words were delivered with the skill of an accomplished stage actor as he announced the arrival of the two new students.

" . . . and after one of our senior boys left to take up further studies at university and two further boys having been accepted for positions with the Bank of England, the staff and I have much pleasure in introducing two new students." He paused as he drew himself up to his full height, extending his wing-like elbows and bringing his hands in towards his chest where he grasped either side of his open gown. "Today Miss Turner enrolled Miss Anne Sutherland and Mister Hans Resmel. Miss Sutherland will be in the female wing under Miss Turner's guidance. Miss Sutherland is already acquainted with our school through the education of her older brothers." The headmaster paused. The hall remained quiet except for one muted cough somewhere in the centre. A minute passed Then, the headmaster continued. "Mister Resmel comes to us from overseas. His house will be Coleridge in Block Two A. I hope both of them will enjoy their time with us and work diligently at their studies, helping to keep up the good name of this wonderful college. Veneratio est nostrum rector. I hope everyone will help them realise our school motto: Honour is our Guide so I ask you all to do the honourable thing and demonstrate your loyalty to this school by making them feel that this is their school, too; a school in which each one of you needs to show how proud you are to be a pupil. Thank you."

"Everybody stand for the headmaster!"

Mr Bowes-Heath walked down the centre steps leading away from the stage and began making his way down the isle between the rows of students in the assembly hall.

Miss Turner picked up her black folder, swished her dress fan-like around herself and quickly followed her headmaster out of the hall. As the last of the staff left and the assembly had come under the control of the prefects, the students, now seated again, turned and craned their necks to gawk at the two 'new-comers' who were seated at the back.

Miss Anne Sutherland was a slim, good-looking girl of sixteen years, five months and twenty-three days. Her light auburn hair which had been cut in a modern bob-style, cupped each side of her oval face as though it was a precious jewel. Even in her unflattering school box-pleated black uniform she was a stunner of a girl and the admiring looks from the boys in the hall showed that each one of them was already trying to work out how he might be the first to gain her attention. She smiled at two senior boys who were sitting opposite to her and then dropped her eyes and remained looking down in the direction of the floor.

Attention was now moved to the young man sitting beside her for many of the students wanted very much to see for themselves what someone from overseas might look like. Mister Hans Resmel looked directly back at the waving sea of faces and craning necks which waved before him like a flock of flamingoes he had seen when his mother took her boys to the Berlin Zoo. The similarity almost made him smile so he quickly had to push that image from his mind.

He must have passed the inspection in a favourable light for the younger girls began whispering among themselves as they noted every detail from his thick light-brown hair which he got that from his grandmother, to his large bright blue eyes and finally to a strong, determined chin which he had inherited from his grandfather on his father's side. Several of the girls actually smiled quite sweetly at him from the other side of the hall.

Like many boys of his age his body was still thin and gangly. It needed time to fill out and muscle up after the spurt of growth that had taken place. He appeared to be several inches taller than the girl next to him him but it was difficult to be exact as they had remained sitting.

As the whispering grew, the school prefects took up their places around the perimeter of the hall.

"Everybody, turn around!"

The loud voice of one of the masters brought the students back into order. All the heads faced forwards once more.

The senior prefect took his cue from the master.

"Now, the notices for the day . . . "

Hans turned and smiled faintly at Anne as he noticed the relief on her face. He seemed to convey some understanding that he knew how she felt. Anyway, he was having a lot of trouble trying to focus on what was being said and found that he was not understanding much of it at all. He began to wonder how he was going to survive the next few months.

The assembly hall emptied, boys to the left and girls to the right, never to come together again until the next main assembly. The chatter outside began to subside. One of the masters reminded Hans of his father: they would have been about the same age. He moved like his father so it was likely this master had been in the army for some time. His father had been a soldier, too. Hans only knew his father in uniform right from the time he could remember.

When Hans was a little boy the family lived in Salzburg on Austrian border. He was proud of his father. When he wore a bright uniform with shining badges and colourful epaulettes and Hans thought he looked exactly like one of the tin toy soldiers he kept in a box under the stairs' cupboard. Then, when he was older, the family left Austria and went to live on the outskirts of Berlin, not far from his aunt and uncle. That was when his father went away. That was when the war began.

Hans remembered the last time he had seen Papi. It was almost a year before the war had ended. Everything was to have been fine and when it was all over, Papi had promised to take them back home to Austria. But it was not to be. Only two weeks after that, a telegram boy had rang the doorbell. That dreaded telegram which no one wants delivered. Mutti cried. Her world had been shattered. Her children soon knew their father would never be coming back and that he would never take them back to Austria. Not ever!

Hans then thought how lucky he was that his grandmother had chosen him as the one to go to England. Papi's mother had been born in England. It had been a desire of hers that one of her grandsons would learn to experience her homeland and grow to love its countryside as much as she had. Oma had left some of her money in England, which was just as well, as after the war many people in Germany were to lose all their savings.

Even though there had been a bloody war between his country and this one, the Resmel family had no hate for their cousins across the sea. One day, he decided to learn English at school. It was then that Oma told him that it was her wish for him to go to a school in England. If he could make friends there and find his English relatives, then he could help to mend the bridges that had forced them on opposite sides. The trouble was that Oma had lost touch with her English family and all she could give her grandson were hazy directions or names of people long since gone.

So, with all that going through his mind, and with eyes fixed firmly in front, Mister Resmel pushed back his shoulders and was determined to make his grandmother proud.

During the morning recess, twenty boys took the opportunity to surround the new-comer and learn everything there was about him.

". . . and where did you say you came from, old boy?" asked a one of the boys. He was a well-built boy who, Hans noted, had thick, round lips like a girl.

"Salzburg."

"Oh, ho-ho. Where's that? Is that why you speak so strangely?"

There was an air of contempt in the boy's expression that Hans did not like. He took an instant dislike to him.

"Österreich," he said with conviction. After all, that is where he had spent much of his early childhood. Oma still lived in the same house in Salzburg. It was where she and his grandfather had raised all their children.

"What? Ostrich?"

"Österreich." Hans repeated.

"Where?" The boy's eyebrows rose. He shook his head, and with a mocking grin looked at the senior boy sporting a prefects badge who had just joined them. "Sorry, never heard of it!"

Hans felt that the boy was ridiculing him and he did not like the tone of his voice. Some of the others around this boy mimicked 'never heard of it' and began laughing loudly together. Hans thought they were laughing at him. He felt the skin on his face begin to burn as his blood surged upwards and made his temples throb. Hans clenched his fists and was ready to lash out when he was stopped by the hand of someone touching his shoulder.

"All right, old chap. Take things easy. Don't get fashy or worked up about it. It is not worth getting into trouble over a little harmless bantering."

The touch was friendly enough and comforting at first but it didn't last long. The well-built boy who had mocked him stood slightly to one side, just behind the prefect and continued to make mocking faces as he eyed Hans up and down. He balled his fist at him as though he was now ready for a punch-up.

"Hau ab! Go! Go away!"

Hans flung his arms wildly in his tormentor's direction but the other boy ducked out of the way directly behind the prefect. Hans appealed to the senior boy but the words that were spoken now were stern and threatening.

"Your name, boy?"

"Resmel."

"Well, Mister Resmel, watch it next time. I have you marked." He pointed to the side of his skull. "It's in here. I won't forget!"

"That boy start the fight!" Hans pointed behind the prefect who turned to look behind him.

"Nobody is there." He instructed the small group to move away before addressing Hans once more. "Mr Resmel. I shall not forget."

As the prefect walked away, Hans felt another hand touch him lightly on his arm.

"Keep calm and keep your head down for a while." The voice behind him was friendly. "That boy is known to be a bully. He always rubs any new boy up one way or another, just to take pleasure in seeing him punished. As for that prefect, his name is Timmins and he's one to avoid as much as possible."

Even though Hans had not understood, he felt that here was someone who, at least, sympathised with his situation. He was sorry and angry with himself at the same time for his stupid outburst. He knew he needed to control himself but everything was so difficult. Something inside him took control of all his emotions and then the anger just suddenly welled up and threatened to gush over like a burst dam. He was here, he had to remind himself, to try and understand these other boys; not fight with them. There had been enough fighting in the world . . . for four long years . . . four years during which so many boys had lost their fathers.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, old chap." The boy had wavy black hair which he had attempted to flatten with hair oil. His round face broadened further in a wide grin as he asked, "What did you say your name was?"

"Hans. Hans Resmel."

"Robert. Robert Brinkwater. Pleased to meet you, Mister Hans Resmel."

Robert held out the hand of friendship. It was firm and resolute. Hans felt relieved.

Several weeks after that episode, the House, as each of the main groupings of boys was called, went outside to do 'manual.' Working in the garden was one of the activities that the boys had to do to help them become honourable members of their society. As many of the men had been killed during the Great War and as there were not enough working men available for employment, the boys were obliged to keep the college grounds clean and tidy. So, every Friday morning shortly before the midday recess, each House from the senior and junior boys, was made responsible for a certain section of the grounds and gardens.

Coleridge House was responsible for the east wing area which included part of the main driveway. On this occasion, it was Miss Turner who arrived to supervise the allocation of tasks, together with two of her girls . . . one, who Hans had noticed briefly two days after his arrival at the school and Anne Sutherland. Hans had already been told that garden duty was only expected from the boys so he was surprised to see Miss Turner with two of her girls.

Hans nudged Robert in the side.

"Who's that with Miss Sutherland?"

"The matron's niece. The younger Miss Turner, the Miss Janine Turner."

Hans had already heard that Janine Turner was one of the youngest of the girls at the school and always did exactly whatever her aunt said, especially if it was passing on a message to one of the other students. Young Janine Turner was well known throughout the school for that role.

Most of the girls at the school came from privileged backgrounds, a new rising middle class that now spent money educating their girls so that they would find positions as private secretaries, be accepted into accounting firms or become a companion for some wealthy and titled lady. This school was the finishing school which would turn each girl from an awkward or rebellious teenager who had reached the school leaving age of fourteen into a polished and desirable young lady of seventeen or going on eighteen that any father would be proud of. Of course, there was always the hope that some successful business tycoon or landed gentry may be looking for a good match for a younger son.

The first time Hans saw Janine was when one of the boys pointed to this girl piled high with books making her way over the wide driveway towards the section of the school where the administration and library was. A pile of books with black-stocking legs. A nameless pile of books. He now remembered that Robert had mentioned that the girl he had seen carrying the books did not mix with much with the other girls but spent much of her free time in the library. Hans had thought that was because there were so few girls who were as young as she was but now he knew her name, he thought that it was most likely because the Matron was her aunt. Anne had been seen with Janine on several occasions for she had helped the girl with some of her homework. Since that day Janine had told everyone that Anne was her friend and since then she had latched on to Anne like a limpet to a rock and was seen either tagging along behind Anne or not too far away from Anne and her group of friends. Being in Anne's company allowed Miss Turner's niece to become one of the admired members of 'Anne's group.' This gave the younger girl courage and occasionally the suppressed side of her nature became bold enough to make its appearance, like this day, a month after Hans had entered the school. It was his turn to see the bossy side of the young Miss Janine Turner.

The afternoon had been allocated as a tidy-up afternoon. Each boy was given one of the duties and then, as each task was completed, Miss Turner got her girls to check it off the list. Janine Turner approached Hans with an air of smugness and began reading off the jobs on the work-card she was holding.

"My Aunt says . . . " She was known for always starting with those words. It made the boys feel very uncomfortable as though the school mistress was always present even when she was not. "Mister Thickpenny and Mister Stafford are to tidy the main garden area. You have to pick up paper and rake pebbles back on to the drive." Hans noticed she gently knocked the bottom of her glasses with the back of her hand when she looked up from the form. "And then . . . my Aunt says . . . " She stopped mid-sentence and waved the instruction list at them. "It's all here in black and white, if you don't believe me!"

"Go on," said one of the boys in a flat, disinterested voice as if he had heard those words a thousand times before.

"It says . . ." She indicated the pile of tools which had been dropped at the base of one of the trees. "It says you are to take those buckets over there, together with these brushes and rakes and spades here." She began reading the names of each boy, together with his pair and the list of duties they were to perform. Each pair collected a bucket and then gathered the tools they needed. Hans watched them go and wondered who his partner might be. He did not have to wait long. "My aunt says . . . Mister Brinkwater and Mister Resmel are to scrub the fountain and its surrounds. It has to be clean. Spotless! And my aunt says I'm to say if it is spotless, see?"

It was the way she stressed the 'is' and the way she looked at him, especially him, that that Hans found annoying. He was indignant that a girl, especially this rude and bossy girl who was several years his junior, should even tell him what to do. No real man should ever take orders like these from a woman. In uncle Karl's house, it was always his word that ruled. Aunt Laura always deferred to her husband and he could never remember his own mother telling his father what to do. There had been no place for any petticoat politics in Hans' life, ever. And he was not going to take orders from any female, especially a trumped-up chit of a girl like Miss Janine Turner!

Hans stood for a minute or two, brush in one hand and bucket in the other, watching the other Miss Turner disappear in the direction of her office, and trying to summon up enough language to confront this bossy girl.

"Did you understand?" she asked him. Her hazel eyes behind her round lenses looked directly into his face with the intensity of a chicken. It roused his indignation and he clenched his fists.

"Let it drop, Hans." Robert reached out and pulled his friend back by the elbow. "Take my advice, Hans. It's not worth it. Don't argue with her."

Janine appeared to be enjoying this battle of nerves. She stood on tip-toe and made herself even taller by pulling her two plain plaits above her head.

"Mister Resmel. No dilly-dally!"

The girl sounded just like her more formidable aunt and Hans was just about to say something else when the booming voice of a bigger authority sounded.

"You heard the young lady tell you what you have to do!"

Hans swung round. It was that senior boy he had come up against before. This time it was clear he was a prefect. He had walked over to see how the younger boys were progressing through their tasks. Three prefects and one of the masters, a Mr Moore were the work supervisors. Hans had heard from the other boys that this master was the sort who excelled in firm discipline and backed the senior boys whatever the case, yet Hans had not understood all the implications of their warnings. He looked from the prefect to Robert Brinkwater. Robert had remained riveted to the same spot since he had picked up the rake and his motionless made him exactly like one of the school's garden statues. His mouth had dropped open yet there was no perception of breathing; his wide blue eyes remained firmly fixed on the master.

The prefect pointed at the buckets and scrubbing brushes. Like a chameleon in slow motion, Robert leaned down and picked up one of the brushes. He was a stockier boy than Hans, and six months older. He was noticeably shorter, a good five inches shorter which made him shorter than most of the boys. Normally, he would have been the butt of their joking but the other boys looked up to him, for Robert was one of the best bowlers in the college cricket team. And for that skill, alone, the other boys in the college admired, no almost worshipped him.

Behind Robert was the fountain, its slimy green fountain bricks begging to be scrubbed clean and along side that was Janine Turner. Never in his life had Hans been told to perform such a menial tasks and he could not control his anger.

"Sorry, I refuse!" He spat the words out with utter disgust. "I refuse. Fountain-man . . . it is his job. Dig gardens, grow plants I do . . . but this, I refuse this!"

The master came over to see what the commotion was about. The senior boy was explaining the rules but his words had little impact on the youth standing directly before him. In the background Hans could clearly see Janine Turner. She was seemingly enjoying the confrontation between the prefect and this new boy.

At first, the prefect began to explain how each student's name had been drawn out of a lottery and Mister Resmel, together with Mister Brinkwater, had only been allocated this job by chance and that their job had nothing to do with young Miss Janine Turner. Then, something must have clicked in the prefect's head because he stopped what he was saying and took several determined steps towards Hans until they were standing chest to chest.

"Resmel. I told you I would remember you. And now you disobey an order. Well, let me tell you. No one disobeys an order around here, and especially when I give one. Get it? So, I am ordering you to pick up that bucket." As Mr Moore came closer, the senior boy stepped back and became less threatening. "Now, as I've been explaining to you, the job has to be done by someone, and as the students use this area, well most of it, they must be responsible for keeping it in a clean condition. That is how the college operates."

The master had come right up to the two boys. He beamed at Timmins and congratulated him on how well he was handling the situation. But to Hans there were only the stern words of authority.

"You heard . . . so, the sooner you make a start, the sooner it will be over. You will follow all the rules whatever they are so get to it, boy!"

But Hans was feeling angry with the world today, with himself and everyone around him. Whenever he struck such a mood as this, he felt everyone was against him.

"Sorry! I refuse still! I feel not happy!"

"We are not interested in how you feel, Mister Resmel." The voice of the master was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Young Miss Turner, here . . ." He indicated the Matron's niece who was now visibly smiling with the satisfaction of revenge. " - has told you what to do and you are expected to do it. Right now!"

"Not from a Mädchen. No!"

"It's a pity you feel like that, Mister Resmel. What is the motto of this school?"

The master glared at him and indicated that he had no patience for any hesitation. The hem of his black gown rippled slightly as a slight breeze wafted across the school ground and Hans wondered at what point the master would set sail.

"Er, um, I think . . ." he stumbled over his words.

"Yes?" Hans watched the master reach up and pull the top of his gown closer around his neck. "I suppose you do know, sir. I am waiting!"

"Veneratio est nostrum rector, sir."

"And what does that translate in English, young man?"

"Honour is our guide, sir."

"Then you would do well to remember that, my lad. You know that morally you are expected to fulfill your obligation to help with keeping the school grounds clean and tidy. We expect you to obey the rules set here. Honour is to do so with diligence and dignity. You have shown that you have neither obeyed nor done the honourable thing. Besides, subordination will not be tolerated, no matter who has given the order!" The master turned to the prefect. "Take this offending boy to the office, sir. Get him out of my sight!"

The master shouted in Hans' face at the top of his voice, "Go! Now!" He thrust out a long arm like the Grim Reaper and pointed in the direction of the two main offices.

Hans glared in anger but directed it at the ground away from the master. Never in his life had he heard of a girl telling any boy what to do. His father or his uncle had been the only ones to give orders to the boys. Even his mother did not do that. Yet here was a girl telling him what to do! If this was the English way, how he hated English ways! He turned, and shuffling his feet along the ground so that he sent little pebbles scattering in a million different directions, he followed Timmins in the direction of the main college building.

"This way first, you scum!" Timmins pointed to the prefects' room. A young boy came round the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. "You, boy!" The prefect beckoned the boy to come over. "Your bottom button has not been done up. What have you to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, sir," answered the youngster bowing his head in new found shame.

"Nothing! You say nothing. Then, you also need to be taught a lesson. No boy at this school will be sloppily dressed and express no remorse. Do that button up at once and come with me."

Now Timmins was trailed by two younger boys as they hurried to the prefects' room. Hans wondered why they had to go there at all, for he had thought the headmaster or the matron were the ones they should have headed to.

It did not take many minutes before both boys knew exactly why the prefect had dragged them along. As soon as they reached the room, Timmins opened a cupboard and brought out the cane, a long, swishy rattan cane that almost reached to the ceiling. First Hans and then the other boy received the punishment: four swift strokes before both were sent on their way: the younger boy with his jacket correctly buttoned up and Hans to stand outside Matron's door.

He was lucky. Matron was occupied and did not not have the time to try and make head or tail out of his mixed-up attempts to explain in English. She gave him a warning, making it very clear that such things as canes were used for boys and that next time he would not be treated so leniently. When he returned for duty, he was muttering under his breath about the unhygienic situation of the entire cleaning-up affair. With much loathing, he picked up the brush again and began to help Robert scrub the dirty stones and then rake the pebbles off the grass and back on to the driveway.

"Is it correct that prefect permitted to cane?" Hans pretended to hit his backside but dared not even touch it as his buttocks were still stinging from the blows.

"Quite normal, Hans. It saves the masters time."

"And do the men here always do how the women say for them?" Hans asked Robert as the two raked over the grass.

"No, not as a rule. My father says that women have too much power today. They began to demonstrate for equal rights after the war. Haven't you heard of Mrs Pankhurst and her followers?" Hans shook his head. "Votes for women is their slogan and that is exactly what they are demanding, although my papa does not think the government would be so stupid to allow just any woman the right to vote. Take Miss Turner, for example. She already has a large say in matters concerning the running of this college and no-one, not even the masters dare go against her. She has the education to make sensible choices. I do not think my papa minds her being given the right to vote but allowing those who can barely read or write the vote would be another thing. My papa says the country would slide into rack and ruin."

"Miss Turner has a vote?"

"I am sure she does. Most women do not, however."

"So she has by this the power?" Hans was a little confused but he was starting to catch on.

"Miss Turner is a lady of power around here. She's next in line after the headmaster so when orders come from her, even through her niece, those orders have to be obeyed."

"Then, this girl, she has power also?"

"If her aunt stands behind her, yes. Best not complain, Hans. Get's you nowhere in this place."

"Not from my home. My uncle says always what is right. He is boss."

"In my family, too."

Robert gave a short laugh, hardly perceptible but enough to convince Hans that he did not entirely agree with Miss Turner's position.

The last hour of the morning passed by quietly so that when one o'clock came, he was only too glad to return to the cottage across the road from the school where he had been staying since his arrival.

Hans was still feeling somewhat angry and bitter when he put his key in the lock and opened the brown front door of number twenty-five. The school had arranged his accommodation and it had been Miss Turner who had made the decision to accommodate Hans with the Brymers rather than in one of the dormitories with the other boys. That is, until Hans had time to become familiar with the language and school rules. Consequently, his Midday dinners were always eaten with the Brymers at the cottage on Fridays as Mr Brymer always finished any work on a Friday sharp at twelve.

Hans hung his thick woollen coat and hat on a peg alongside the others in the dimly lit hall and shuffled his way into the small living room, flopping into the nearest chair with both his arms sprawling untidily over both sides of the armchair. All that could be heard was the constant ticking of the clock in the next room where the dinner was being laid out on the small rectangular dining table. Mrs Brymer briefly poked her head around the side of the open glass door.

"Dinner's ready. Come and eat."

Hans pulled himself out of the chair and entered the small dining room. The ticking clock got louder. He watched Mrs Brymer straighten one of the corners of the table cloth that covered the light oak dining table. She had on her work apron, the one which covered her from her breast to her knees; her 'busy-pinny', as she liked to call it. Mr Brymer and his daughter Agnes were sitting at the table along side the sideboard waiting for his wife and Hans to join them. Mr Brymer had had a small business in Germany during the time of Bismark and he had emigrated to England well before the war started. He was semi-retired now and looking very much like any one of the beer-drinking farmers he had seen in his youth. He rented the small cottage at the back of the school property for a nominal amount and in return he helped out around the school with any odd jobs that would be too difficult for the boys to do. He was pleased when the school found him another border for the extra earnings would provide his family with a reasonably comfortable life.

They were a fortunate family, as Mr Brymer had been lucky to find employment after the war while many of those who had returned with high hopes from the battle fields had found it very difficult to find any job at that time and many families had been forced into the work-houses. Even though the Brymers were lucky they had little spare cash to waste on anything other than essentials but they did eat well on two days in the week, Fridays being one of them. All but Agnes, their youngest, had left the nest and she managed to join the family for the Friday meal electing to work for her employers every Sunday as on Saturday morning the family always went to their church. She now waited patiently for her father to bless the food and begin cutting the meat. That was always the last item to be brought to the table.

The family always spoke in English. The girls thought of themselves as English girls but Mr Brymer still had a distinct German accent. Hans learnt that their eldest daughter was married and living near Oxford so she and her family rarely managed to visit. The Brymers had changed their name from the German 'Breiner' a few years before the war to a more acceptable English version: 'Brymer', even though to say the name was just about the same. Mrs Brymer was English and that may have helped with keeping her husband out of one of the interment camps that were set up during the war or prevented him from being deported as an 'enemy alien' like so many of those who had been born overseas. However, as the family had previously spent a few years overseas when they first were married, suspicion always surrounded them and that became especially noticeable when anti-German feelings ran high during the war. But the Brymers did not let that bother them.

"How did the English school go today?"

"Not good." His young face clouded over as he searched for the words to express himself. "Frau Brymer - it was - so, so un, un-hy-gie-nic. Jawohl. To clean the fountain! Ungust, not . . . not . . . Ach, widerlich!"

"Try to use the English word, Hans. You must if you want to improve. Disgusting's the word."

"Dis-gust-ing. It was."

He repeated the new word and tried to say it in his mind several times in the hope that it would stick. Once said, words were so easily forgotten.

Mr Brymer's mealtime rules were that a good meal should be savoured and enjoyed in peace. Dinner was eaten in silence. That's how it was always done. There was a proper time to talk again and that was when the meal was finished, the table cleared and the family had retired into the confines of the cosy living room.

"A drink, dear?" Mrs Brymer was quite used to addressing an upright newspaper. Somewhere behind was her husband and always she received no reply but as soon as the wine glass came anywhere near the paper, a hand would automatically move across to take it from her. "Would you like a little taste?" she asked Hans.

"Danke schön!"

Mrs Brymer ignored this use of his mother-tongue and continued pouring the red wine into the glasses. Ever since the family had spent a few years living in France, Mrs Brymer had thought it most 'civilized' to partake a sip or two of wine to compliment her dinners. Good food needs good wine, she used to say. They make for good company. And so, after dinner, she and her husband always had a sip of wine together, remembering their time in France together and even her daughters had been encouraged to try a very little, to complete the feeling of Continental living.

"No! Speak no German here in England." The voice originated from behind the open newspaper. "Here we speak English. You must learn it."

"Good." Mrs Brymer began pouring out the wine. "Now you've got that nose of yours out of the paper, Erich, maybe you can help Erwin with his English."

Mr Brymer folded his paper in half and laid it over the broad arm of his chair. He rocked the wine gently around its glass and then took a sip.

"Tell me. How do you like your English college now, Erwin?"

"I am here Hans," he reminded his host.

Mr Brymer put his glass down on the small table beside his chair. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Then, he stood up and began to adjust the minute hand on the clock on the mantelpiece. He never liked to see his clocks running a few minutes fast or slow, so every Friday afternoon, just after dinner, he adjusted them, very precisely and with the utmost care.

"But is your name not Erwin? That's what we were told." Mr Brymer's attention was still on the clock.

"My father called me that. I like it not. I call myself Hans!"

"Mm-mm. Then, I must try to remember. And when I forget, you must remind me." He slowly closed the glass face, re-checked the minute hand against his watch and then sat down with satisfaction of a job well done.

"Pass me my embroidery please, Erich. It's just there." Mrs Brymer pointed alongside the chair and then held out her hand as her husband handed over the cloth bag containing her sewing things.

Mrs Brymer immersed herself in her embroidery, humming to herself, which only she knew the tune. Agnes had gone to the kitchen and Mr Brymer had decided it was now time to check the wall clock in the upstairs hallway. Hans was left alone to brood over his own thoughts: the assembly, meeting the students, the fountain incident and his general introduction to the rules and day-to-day life of Prince Albert College. After all, the boy was still young and had a lot to learn in the relatively short time he would be in England. Mr Brymer did understand the difficulties of trying to settle in a new country, for he could still remember some of the problems he had to overcome. He made a promise help the boy make his adjustments from one culture to the other.

CHAPTER 2

Minus times plus gives minus in luck

"What no homework, Mister Resmel? Whenever will you learn to do as you're told? And what will your guardians think when a letter to that effect is sent home? Do you think they will be very pleased to read that you have wasted their money? Well, lad?"

The first couple of months had not passed without problems. Mr Moore, his main classroom master, always seemed be picking on him. Hans did not like this master. In fact, the majority of boys did not like Mr Moore and often referred to him by the nick-name 'Moose-head' as, with his large nose and greying hair that stuck out sideways, he did look something like a moose. Warm or freezing cold, the 'Moose-head' always wore exactly the same clothes: tie, white stiffly starched shirt and pin-striped trousers partly covered by a black gown. He always insisted the side windows be open even when the ground was covered with frost. Minds must be kept alert at all times for learning, he would shout above the moans of those too cold to dip their pens into the inkwells. The boys really believed that this master originated in the Arctic regions and really must have been a moose in some former life. 'Moose-head' also had those secret eyes that teachers seem to cultivate, for he could always spot a yawn, even when his back was turned. 'What! Going to sleep in my class? Open that window there, Mister Gilling. Now for something to make all those lazy brain cells work . . .'

Hans gave many yawns as the concentration with a foreign language tired him and consequently did not enjoy Mr Moore or his lessons of History or Classics.

The day Hans appeared especially sullen and unresponsive, the master lost all patience. The chalk missile hit Hans just above his ear and made his aching head hurt even more. 'Moose-head' strode between the desks and stood, both arms on his hips with his gown spread wide like some huge vulture waiting to devour its prey. Hans bit his lip and dared not to look up.

"Did you not feel the chalk, Mister Resmel?" boomed the voice.

"Yes."

"Yes, what Mister Resmel?"

"Yes, sir, Mr Moore."

"Then look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Slowly Hans raised his eyes from the desk top to the master.

"You know what the chalk means?"

The master waited for the answer. He waited, stood and waited for the boy's answer but Hans could not find the words to explain himself. At that moment Mr Moore's patience ran out; he grabbed Hans by the back of his collar and pulled him towards the door.

"Matron can deal with you! I don't have the time to waste on those who do not listen! Out of my sight!"

He opened the door and pointed out into the corridor.

Why should just one master's opinion of him override all the other reports, which had been quite satisfactory? Why do some grown-ups pick on you for the slightest thing and never try to see things from his point of view? And as walked down the corridor to the Matron's, he mulled these problems over and over in his mind. He could feel frustration and anger welling up inside him like an untapped spring.

Miss Turner peered over the top of her glasses and he watched them slide slowly down her long, slender nose until they reached the position where she automatically pushed them back up again.

"Well, what will your uncle think when he reads of such a bad report, Mister Resmel? You've not been sent you here for a holiday! What do you think their answer to my letter will be?"

What did this old woman know of his background, or of his feelings but before he could stop himself, he blurted:

"It is not the money of my uncle, Fräulein Turner."

The impertinence of the boy! Miss Turner was not going to stand for talk like that.

"Don't you Froy-line me! It's Miss, Miss Turner or Matron to you! Well?" She glared at him from behind her metal-rimmed spectacles.

"My uncle does not pay."

"I am perfectly aware of your circumstances, young man. That has little bearing on your behaviour here. Have you thought about that?"

She leaned on her elbows tapping the tips of her fingers as she waited for his response.

Hans was thinking fast. He had already noticed that the very junior boys were dealt with by a prefect while those in the middle classes, like his, were directed to one of the senior masters when they needed to be disciplined. Why should he be the one sent to Miss Turner? It was common knowledge that the matron dealt with the girls . . . and he was no girl!

"This girl, your . . . " He had forgotten the English word. It was terrible how the words slipped from his memory the minute he wanted to say something when he was angry or upset. "That girl. I am now a man and . . . "

"Then treat the girls and the young women with the respect of a gentleman. Honour, Mr Resmel. You need to be honourable."

"Yes, Miss Turner."

"Well? Was there something else?"

She had noticed the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice. Her penetrating look made him feel uncomfortable yet his feelings over the matter beat so fiercely in his body, he had to let them out.

"Orders come not from girls. They should be, be cosy. Not bossy. Men give orders! Men only are rulers."

Miss Turner did not explode as he had expected. Instead, she remained silent, interested and taking several deep breaths to calm herself. He watched, almost fascinated, by the way her breasts heaved upwards and outwards at each breath. He wondered whether her niece would have breasts like those when she was older. Then, quietly, in almost a whisper, Miss Turner intruded his thoughts.

"I don't know where you got that silly idea from but I do not want to hear anything more like that. Many youngsters of your age have already been working for two years. You are very lucky. Yes, two times when England has been a great country there was a woman on the throne and men were only too pleased to take orders. You have heard of Queen Victoria, have you?"

"Yes, Miss Turner."

"And you know the motto of this college?"

"Veneratio est nostrum rector, Miss."

"Queen Victoria was a person held in great esteem. She knew what her duty was to the nation and was willing to be guided by the highest principles. A most honourable monarch. Maybe, you can learn something from her." She drew in an audible breath in between her thin red lips, then straightened herself even more so that her body grew taller. "You will write me a three page essay on The importance of honour for Queen Victoria and her rule for the British Empire. Maybe, through this exercise, you will get to think about your own situation with respect to honour and how it should guide your behaviour. Bring it to my office by tomorrow morning, before assembly. Now go!"

That evening, he rummaged through all the encyclopaedias and history books he could find until he located an article about the British Parliament. He read it, re-read it, scratched his head and re-read it again. What did he know about this English queen, let alone about the British Empire? Then, with the aid of an old dictionary, endeavoured to translate it from English into German so that he knew which parts he could use. To copy the text might cause further problems with Miss Turner and he certainly did not want to be disciplined by Mr Brinkwater.

"What's up, Erwin . . . er, Hans?" Mr Brymer asked, glancing around the side of his newspaper and at the same time removing his pipe from his mouth. Mr Brymer always liked to have his pipe when reading even though, on most occasions it was not lit. He had been made aware that there was a problem when the sighs and mutterings of the youth became louder and louder.

Hans lay stretched out on the carpet, resting himself on one elbow. Open books and pages of writing paper surrounded him like an open fan.

"Ach, Herr Brymer, this is very hard."

"What is? What are you trying to do?"

"My English . . . this English . . . I must write over the Queen Victoria."

"Sorry, Hans," replied the elderly man. "I did not learn when I was a boy English history, especially with Queen Victoria. I had very little schooling and managed to learn only a little arithmetic and writing. You young people learn different things. If you try yourself, it may be difficult but you will learn. Then, you make progress and become the winner. You can only do your best. Always must be your best."

Mr Brymer shrugged his shoulders, folded his newspaper, switched off his reading lamp and walked out of the room. Even though he had been in England fourteen years, his own knowledge of the English monarchs was not good. He was content just knowing that King George was the present king and knowing that Ramsay MacDonald was the new Prime Minister. Beyond that, he had no stomach for politics, of any kind. It had been politics, together with an uncertain future, that made him leave his homeland. That was enough for him.

A few minutes later he returned with a large, well-worn, brown-covered book which he handed over to Hans,

"This was my book when I was young. It should help. It is in German and I think there is a little about Queen Victoria when she was first made queen."

Hans was then left on his own, to read and translate and then rewrite the whole thing again as best he could in a language he was still not very familiar with. It was a struggle but he managed to fill two entire pages, carefully filling his nib with ink and taking care with rolling the blotting paper over his writing so that there was not a single ink splotch on either paper.

Hans handed in his essay attempt the next morning as soon as he arrived. Miss Turner scanned the document in silence. The constant ticking from the clock on the wall was the only sound to be heard. Then, a brief rustle of paper as she turned the page over. Again the awful silence and the ticking returned. When Miss Turner had finished reading, she stretched, drawing her body upright and looked at him full in the face. The morning light caught the edge of her spectacles and made the metal frames glint. Hans found the waiting unbearable and crunched up his toes in his shoes.

"This is rubbish, Mister Resmel!" She waved the paper before him like someone waving a protest flag. "Even some of the facts are wrong!" She slapped the essay down on her desk with a distinguishable thud. "And, you need to pay a lot more attention to your grammar." She waited, waiting for him to absorb her message. The silence was awful. After a full minute, she asked, "Where did you get all this misguided information?"

Hans had been rubbing the side of his little finger while Miss Turner was reading and now when he looked at it, it was as though he had run a hot iron over the surface. Along the side of his finger was a stroke of inflamed redness. It began to sting as the wounded finger throbbed in empathy to his wounded feelings. He felt completely deflated and hurt by the matron's cruel remarks and he hoped she would be willing to listen to his explanation.

"I have little English books. Mr Brymer, he give to me a book. It is in German. I am not think in English. It is for me very difficult."

"Then must pay more attention to your English masters and work harder. Most young men of your age are already out working, and have been doing so for the past two years. You are most fortunate to be able to continue your education so make the best of it." She picked up the essay again and skimmed through it once more. "Well, at least you did produce something and I do admit it is tidy but, and take note Mister Resmel, that it still would not have received a pass." She eyed him up and down and then promptly screwed up his essay and let it drop, plop, into the waste bin beside her. "You need to improve your standard of work if you have any hope of gaining your final certificate. Another month and the present school year comes to an end. In the meantime, standards cannot be lowered just for you. We have high standards at this college. We have a very good name for achievement and we wish to keep it long after you have left us. If you wish to remain here for another year or two, you must make an bigger effort: you must be vigilant in class and always do your home study thoroughly. You could have used the books in the library. That is why we have one: for students to use. You've been sent here to succeed; not fail. Make your family proud of you. And, if that is not enough for you, think of the sacrifices your grandmother must have made that allowed you to come here. I also know you are capable of higher standards, so the sooner you apply yourself, the quicker. Better still, we will become friends. I am not your enemy, Mister Resmel. No-one here is. Understand that. I have confidence that you will do well in the end and leave this college with honour and dignity."

After that small pep-talk, Hans decided he had better begin to make a big effort and apply himself. He did realise how privileged he really was to be given such a chance at such an exclusive school. Miss Turner knew that this young man would show promise, if only he could be persuaded to try. She knew more about Erwin Hans Resmel than he realised and she knew that he had hidden and undeveloped qualities that he did not even know himself.

But Hans did not know himself, let alone what Miss Turner knew about him. His teenage years still made him vulnerable and prone to act rashly. Well, he would have to show her. He would show them all, all these English people. They would soon see that a person like Erwin Hans Resmel was a force to be reckoned with. He did want to make a good impression and he did want to succeed. But throughout the traumatic readjustment he had to make, he had discovered that any small criticism woke up a wild animal-like emotion in him that he had not yet learnt how to control and he found that his anger and frustration was being directed towards the younger, more vulnerable students who constantly followed him around the school grounds. At first, he found their constant curiosity somewhat annoying but then he discovered those same boys could easily be coerced into doing things for him. He hoped to gain a group of followers who would support him against the older boys but soon discovered that loyalty could not be enforced. First of all, he needed to prove that he was deserving of any leadership. It all came back to being thought honourable.

As early as the beginning of July, the headmaster suggested to Miss Turner that the boys who would be senior students next year could be given various duties to help the younger boys during the last few weeks of term. In this way the middle class students would have a sense of responsibility and it would give the masters a chance to assess which students would become senior leaders. The college thought it most important for the boys to demonstrate any leadership skills, for these boys were among the ones who would become the leaders in society and industry, managers in businesses or officers in one of the military forces.

The girls' section of the college was kept quite separate from the boys'. This college may have prided itself on being extremely modern in its educational offerings but fraternisation between the sexes was never permitted except in very special circumstances and under very strict rules. Old habits and ideas concerning girls had not really made much progress since the war and not very many families considered a good education was important for the girls of the family. It was normally expected that girls would become good wives and mothers. In government-run schools, girls were taught only to demonstrate excellent home-craft skills such as cleaning, cooking, and sewing. Prince Albert College, on the other hand, did offer its girls such skills as book-keeping, music and letter writing as well as skills needed to run a household with the minimal number of servants. In other words, to be able to keep a good upper-middle class home in good order. The girls at Prince Albert College were fortunate. The small number of girls who were lucky enough to be admitted had the good fortune to have parents who realised that the education of a daughter was just as important as a son. Anne Sutherland was just such a girl. She had been lucky enough to have had a suffragette for a mother and an astute business-minded man for a father. Also, Anne was admired by many of the boys, Robert Brinkwater and Hans Resmel among them.

Boys were expected to find themselves a good career for they would be the supporter of the family. A man's family standing depended entirely on his capabilities and his recognition of exactly where he fitted into society. Life for the boys continued as it had done for decades: the older students making sure the younger ones knew their place; the younger ones seeking out some form of protection from those older boys who enjoyed the power they now had. Each boy had to earn respect and each had to learn what is was to be loyal. It was the way in which agreements, alliances and business were conducted within the adult world.

Robert Brinkwater felt sorry for the way some of the senior boys had been treating Hans, especially Timmins, who chastised Hans for any small uniform irregularity. As for the younger boys, they appeared to be fascinated by the student who spoke the King's English in a strange way. They followed Hans until they were called upon by their house leaders to show loyalty to their group. The younger boys were still around but this time they stood in small groups and watched, learning to conduct themselves in the ways of the older boys. Sometimes, the taunting had turned cruel, as was often the case with any new boy. During those first months, the harassments drove Hans into such a fury that he had lashed out with fists and boots, blooding the noses and bruising the shins of those who stirred up his anger. Such war wounds were blamed on rough and tumble 'sports games' that supposedly took place out on the school field but these battles happened well out of sight of the masters and senior prefects.

Robert was the first to realise that Hans was as little to blame for the fighting as he had been when he first arrived at the school but Robert had been content to submit to a 'blooding' as a mark of respect one has when one is blooded on one's first successful hunt. But that was tradition and one never doubted or questioned a tradition that had lasted for centuries. But Hans did not understand those ways. Robert realised this and consequently he was becoming the one friend Hans could rely on. The two boys were often seen going around the school grounds together, closely followed by a small band of younger boys who wanted to be present should anything exciting take place.

Whenever Robert wanted to be alone with Hans, it had to after classes had finished for the day. He would borrow a second bike and the two were seen riding the lanes together or wandering along one of the narrow pathways that criss-crossed the rolling hills between the newly planted fields.

Thus the month progressed smoothly until, late in July when, Prince Albert College would close its doors for the long summer holidays. However, just before the academic year ended, something happened that sent shock waves right through the school. Some unknown person, after 5pm, had run down the college's prized roses, snapping a large number of them almost at ground level. Then, far worse, was the destruction of a lovely sycamore tree at the back, often used by the boys to sit under as they waited for their batting turn in the numerous cricket games which were played. A pile of shrivelled leaves and drooping branches announced the fact that the entire tree had been ring barked sometime ago, and that throughout the late spring and early summer, their favourite tree was being slowly strangled and starved of life. And now the roses! Who could have done such a thing?

Prefects and seniors, together with a few younger boys willing for adventure, were told to keep vigil. Everyone vowed to watch out for the vandals and to stop them at 'all costs.' Students were happy to patrol the grounds and show their loyalty to their school. Between 5 o'clock and well into the sunny evenings while others in the grounds practised their bowling or batting skills, watching for any sign that those responsible for such an attack would be noticed straight away. Even the girls offered to help keep watch and a roster system was drawn up.

That evening, Hans was in charge of 'patrol duty' along the western perimeter of the fence. With Miss Janine Turner, it seemed. No-one had planned it that way; it just seemed to happen.

She is so much like a younger version of her aunt, he thought, even to the glasses. He thought she was a bit of an ugly duckling, straight like a wooden doll and nothing about her appearance recommended her but then many young teenage girls seemed to be that way: to the boys, at least. In reality, Jan Turner was not unattractive. She was just a girl and as Hans had no liking for her aunt, so he did not care for the younger version, either.

One day, when he had been walking from the Brymers to school, he had come face to face with young Miss Turner on the footpath. As usual she had been hidden behind her great stack of books and as Hans had come along side her, the books had tumbled out of her arms and had been strewn all across the pavement. At first Hans had hesitated and he would have picked them up but the girl had made some comment which he had not fully understood but then she had laughed at him. That had roused his anger and he had shouted at her.

"That was deliberate!"

"No, it wasn't!" Her words snapped at him like a mouse trap. "Aren't you going to pick them up for me?" she asked, shaking her head so that her plaits swished aound her head like a broom sweeping the scattered books in to a pile. The sneering remark had left him cold. "Or, maybe, you're no gentleman like our English lads!"

Hans hesitated but then reluctantly knelt down and helped her retrieve the scattered books. He was more annoyed when Janine Turner walked away and did not even bother to thank him.

Since that encounter, he now made a conscious effort to keep out of her way. On one occasion when she came across him talking with a small group of girls, Janine stuck her tongue out at him when he looked at her. Maybe, it was because she was so much younger or perhaps she did it because she was the matron's niece and that gave her the power to behave that way.

Horrible silly girl, he had thought and his distaste for her grew stronger. And now he felt that she always seemed to be watching him. He felt her eyes follow him especially when they passed each other somewhere, in or around those areas in the school grounds that were common to both boys and girls. He had assumed she couldn't tolerate him because he was different, but he never really thought very much about it. If possible, he avoided contact with her.

This evening, the sunset seemed to linger longer and the blue sky faded to a warm softness of rainbow-colour as the sun refused to leave the day behind. Hans had the feeling that he had been at the school for an eternity and that everything was at one with such a glorious evening. He and Janine Turner had crossed paths a few times since the fountain incidence. In his eyes she was merely a silly girl, to be kept at arm's length; nothing like Robert or the other boys that were becoming his friends. The safest thing was to do one's own thing and ignore the presence of the matron's niece.

It seemed to be the same on this evening, each taking their tour of duty seriously but doing so, alone, although several times Hans had the feeling that Janine Turner was not too far away. However, each time he turned around, there was no-one to be seen.

It was almost time to go home. The dusk was just beginning to settle and the colours had begun to merge and become that undefined greyness that signals the end of the day. Suddenly, down beside the outer wall where a number of bricks had fallen away and just among some of the larger shrubs, Hans heard a faint noise. It sounded as if someone was had broken a branch in the bushes. He strained his ears. There was a faint cough. Hans stood still, hardly daring to breathe lest his very breathing would betray his position. He leant his head forwards and peered into the semi-darkness.

Something moved. Something rustled the leaves of a shrub that grew hard up against the wall. Someone appeared to be crawling along the inside of the wall. Was this the intruder?

Hans' breath stuck halfway down his throat and, after the sudden shock, the thought of an exhilarating chase excited his mind. Here was his opportunity to prove himself. He would show his loyalty to the school. He imagined the glory he would feel, the honour he would carry when he would be praised by everyone: all those students who had tormented him, the masters, especially Mr Moore the Moose-head . . . and above all, Miss Turner, the matron who reigned supreme, like Queen Victoria, over everything to do within the school walls. He smiled with satisfaction and began to put his plan into action.

His mind focussed keenly on the task at hand. He would be ready to strike just as the thief was making his way back out of the grounds, at least that was his plan at the moment.

Hans looked around for something to use as a weapon. Ah, just the thing! His eyes fell on a loose stone which had worked itself partly free from the wall and had remained hinged by one edge, overhanging the vertical drop of the wall. What luck! If he could climb up on to that wall and wriggle the stone free, he could use it to stop the school's vandal going about his wicked work.

He ran past he point where the intruder seemed to be and found a place where he could use the rough protruding stone surface for hand and foot holds. With some effort he reached the top. He remembered to take his bearings, carefully estimating the distance and direction of the intruder.

Hans crept, cat-like, along the top until he reached the position of the loose stone. Carefully, he began to rock the stone, gradually prizing it loose with his fingertips. Almost free! Now wait until the intruder moved closer. Just an extra push to the right!

The rock crashed to the ground, snapping the twisted branches of several shrubs renting the air around him with cracks and snaps like a machine-gun. No scream, just a muffled murmur. Had he stopped the intruder? Hans bit nervously on his little finger and listened. But now the only sound he could detect was a dull rubbing noise made by the decreasing movement of broken vegetation. What had happened? He couldn't see anything. It was now too dark.

A tingle shivered downwards, slowly creeping from the back of his neck and finishing in the tip of his toes. He sweated. He froze. He broke into a sweat again, perspiration wetting his brow as if he'd just plunged his head into water. The duration of the silence scared him.

He called out but there was no answer. Now his senses keened and he strained his ears to listen for any sign of the intruder. The smell of night closed around him. Nothing moved. Maybe he had been mistaken and the noise had only been made by some animal or other . . . a slinking fox or a wandering hedgehog perhaps? If it had been an intruder, it would seem that the intruder must have left the area.

Hans dropped down from the wall with the agility of a cat. He listened for a moment but heard nothing. He began to whistle, a little folk tune he had not heard for many years as he walked home.

The following morning at assembly, the boys could sense that something grave and important hung in the air. The morning hymn, 'Be still, my soul,' was played a little slower than usual and the boys seemed to be singing a little lower than they usually did. As the last murmurings of that last 'Amen' faded away, the headmaster grasped the sides of the eagled lectern and conducted a hushed silence. He glared down at the students, surveying the interior of the school hall from its high wooden ceiling down to its highly polished boarded floor. A lecture entitled 'Stupidity' followed. Behind him, sat Miss Turner, 'the Dragon,' breathing fuming clouds of invisible fire as the edges of her nostrils twitched with anger and impatience. She did not leave, as usual, with the headmaster. Instead, her voice echoed, shrilly shaking throughout the subdued hall.

" . . . and all the boys on patrol duty last night will to report IMMEDIATELY to my office! You will begin leaving right now! Caps on and you will wait outside until I call you! Go!"

Hans felt his stomach fold over itself. Did she know about the episode concerning the loose stone? Had her niece spied on him and reported his failed attempt in stopping the vandal, to her aunt? It was the event of last night that she meant, wasn't it?

The senior boys waited, caps on and jackets correctly buttoned. They stood in silence, huddled close to the dark oak walls as if looking for protection. Every few minutes the office door opened and one by one they filed in, then out. Hans observed each one, frowns of puzzlement on each face. Soon, there was only Hans and another. He watched the doorway swallow up his companion, like a hungry monster. As soon as that victim was spat out, the huge oak-rimmed doorway with the one word 'Matron' was ready to swallow him whole.

"Next!"

That piercing voice of hers shook him back into reality. He entered. He removed his cap and rolled it up in his hand. She was not alone. The headmaster was there in his black gown, standing guard like some huge vulture, intently watching every boy until his eyes had bored right into the depths of their inner bodies.

"Stand there and don't move!" The curt order came from the headmaster.

Hans stood, hands behind his back, screwing his cap into the tightest roll he could. Miss Turner shuffled forward and perched like a vulture on the edge of her chair. Mr Bowes-Heath remained standing beside the back wall.

It was Miss Turner who spoke to him.

"Were you on duty last night?"

He hesitated, frozen with fear as the headmaster's eyes bored deep into him. It was not what he had expected.

"Were you?" she asked again.

She looked over the top of her glasses, her eyes boring holes through his blazer and pullover until he was sure she could see right into his soul.

"Yes, Miss." The words were mumbled and barely audible.

"I should like you to know that . . ." The voice lowered, paused, and began again. "Did you remove a large stone from the wall and crash it down on the ground?"

A hundred tiny spines pricked the back of his neck.

"Did you, or didn't you?"

That piercing stare of hers. It drilled through his skin and burnt the flesh below. His clammy hands wettened his cap making it damp as if he had been caught in a shower of rain. He could feel the muscles of this thighs twitch as he willed himself to be sucked down into the floor. But miracles never happen to those wicked of soul. The honourable and manly thing to do would be to admit.

But it didn't happen that way. A whisper squeezed out from between his dry lips.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, If you did . . . which I don't doubt, as boys can take it into their heads to be so stupid at times. Only an idiot would aim at a target he had not identified. What do you think would happen if a shooting party did not keep to rules and identify the pheasants before they fired their shots or a batter swing the bat around before the bowler threw the ball?"

"Someone could be hurt, Miss Turner."

"And did you not think of the consequences of your action? Most likely, not. If you were the idiot responsible, you will have to be punished."

"Sorry, Miss Turner."

"Do you remember what the school motto is, Mr Resmel? Or do we have to remind you?"

The headmaster had moved and now stood just behind Hans ready to catch any mistakes and call him out.

Hans was ready to be batted out. He squeezed his fingers tighter around his cap and began to twist it as if wringing the life out of it. His hands began to shake. He could feel Mr Bowes-Heath's eyes bore right through him from his back to his front so that he thought he might end up like one of those hole-peppered block of cheeses he had once seen in a market in Holland.

"Honour is our Guide," he mumbled

"And do you know what that means for you, young man?" said the voice behind him

"No, sir."

"Well, you have shown us that you do know what it is to do your duty. We are pleased that this time you have done so willingly. We commend your loyalty. That is what we like to see in a boy. But did you act in an honourable way, Mister Resmel? Remember honour and duty must go hand in hand but that it is most important that morality must guide your actions."

"Yes, sir. I'll try to remember that."

"We want you more than 'try.' You must be prepared to live by the sentiments of our motto." The headmaster straightened himself and grew with the vigour of a shoot pushing itself through the turf. "You must have a sense of respect in what you do. Respect for yourself and others. Be prepared to take the responsibility. Did you act in an honourable way, young man?"

Hans could not bring himself to answer straight away and fidgeted by sliding his right foot along the wood joint between the floorboards.

"N . . . no, sir."

"Then, I ask you - were you responsible?"

Mr Bowes-Heath stepped from behind and positioned himself like some huge, black raven between Hans and Miss Turner.

"I think I am, sir."

"It is an honourable thing to own up to your responsibilities, lad. You must remember that and be prepared to take responsibility for your actions. Miss Turner has something to say to you."

Miss Turner drew in a long, deep breath which sounded like the tide going out on a beach.

"For your information, last night, Mister Resmel . . . yes, last night when you were on ground patrol . . . my niece's paperwork was blown under a bush. She was trying to retrieve it when a large rock from the wall on which you claim to have been on landed on her. Janine was the victim of your foolhardy action. That rock broke her leg!"

Hans hung his head and screwed up his eyes to try and erase the picture that had formed in his mind. The sound of Miss Turner's voice bounced round and round his skull and made his head ache. She leaned further towards him over the desk. The headmaster moved closer and leaned forwards from his toe tips. Hans could feel his hot breath funnelling out over his copious moustache.

"I . . . I . . . " The rest of the words would not come out.

The headmaster bowed down even closer and looked Hans right in the eye.

"Yes, Mr Resmel? Remember Veneratio est nostrum rector. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I never knew, sir, Miss Turner." His voice was husky. "I am sorry. I thought it was the thief."

"Good man," said the headmaster standing straight again. "I think you are sorry for what you have done and I think you thought you were acting for the benefit of the college. We've both been in this job long enough to know of the stupidity of boys. But because you did not check first, you must take the consequences of your misguided actions."

Mr Bowes-Heath let Miss Turner speak again and she brushed aside a thin strand of her tight hair that had come adrift. Then, she leaned back in her soft, upholstered chair and addressed the visibly remorseful youth

"I should like you to know that my niece will have to be in a wheelchair for some time." She looked at the headmaster, averting her eyes from Hans. "What are we to do with him, Mr Bowes-Heath?" she asked.

"The cane's not the answer this time, Miss Turner," he said wiping the corner of his moustache. "May I suggest that he be responsible for pushing your niece around during the remaining time left in this term."

"That seems a very sensible thing to do, Mr Bowes-Heath." Miss Turner turned her attention to Hans once more and as a judge to a criminal, she pronounced his sentence. "Each day, young man, you will push Jan's wheelchair from my house to the school building. And every afternoon, you will push her home." She shook her finger at him to make her point. "And, if you slacken in this duty, I have no hesitation in forwarding a letter to your uncle. He will not be pleased. And, young man, think yourself extremely lucky you haven't been dealt with more severely. Mr Bowles-Heath and I are prepared to give you another chance. We know you've had a difficult time settling in. I think you have ability to do well here so make good use of your remaining time. You're a young man and it's time you put such silly, childish behaviour behind you."

She stiffened her back and adjusted her position in the chair.

"Young man, you can report to Miss Turner during interval and she will provide you with your instructions." The headmaster walked towards the door, placed his hand on its handle and turned slightly back towards them. "I shall have those instructions typed out and sent over to your office, Miss Turner. Good morning."

"Good morning, Headmaster."

The door opened. Mr Bowes-Heath and his long, black cloak billowing out like a sail swept round the door-frame and disappeared down the corridor.

Hans had wanted so much to impress everyone but somehow, this was not turning out as expected. He did not know whether to leave or stay, so he remained looking down at an ink stain splotched between two dark circles on one of the wooden floorboards.

It was an awkward moment. No one said a word. Hans shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. The watery lines between the boards began to move, making patterns of waves. Finally, Miss Turners' voice broke the silence.

"I can't understand why you should have done this. Do you?"

"I am sorry."

"Oh dear, what am I to do with you?"

"Weiss n . . . nicht," he stammered.

"English, Mister Resmel, please."

"Sorry."

His voice box was drowning in remorse. He swallowed heavily. His throat kept clogging up with phlegm.

"Nothing more will be said of this unfortunate incident, Hans, if you carry out your duty." It was the first time she had addressed him by his first name. "But, let this be a lesson to you: think carefully before you try something again but remember that everything you do has a consequence. Take my advice, Hans. Never, never act so stupidly again. Brain first before action!"

"Yes, Miss Turner."

"Now, go before I have second thoughts." She indicated by a wave of her arm that he should leave the office. As he reached the door, he hesitated.

"Excuse me, Miss Turner. Is the . . . is your niece . . . with . . . um, pain?"

"She will survive. You have much to be thankful for. I do not entirely blame you for her accident for it appears you thought you were acting in the best interests of the college and Janine should not have gone off on her own like she did. Also, Janine asked me to be lenient on you so let us leave it at that. Off you go or you will be late for your next class."

Hans left the office. He felt baffled and unsettled. Did Jan Turner really ask her aunt to be lenient with him? He had been totally convinced that her niece could not stomach him. Also, he had wanted to make a name for himself at this school but not in this way. He could not think why Miss Turner should have let him off so easily .Why had she called him Hans? Strange, these English and their ways.

CHAPTER 3

Intricate Shakes

Behind the main college buildings stood the school house, a dull square Georgian house with long thin windows and numerous tall chimneys. This is where Miss Turner lived, together with her niece. The house could be seen in the distance when the boys sneaked round to the rear gate to smoke, some of them coughing out their lungs as they drew their first breaths while the more proficient boys became bent double in fits of laughter at the novices' painful attempts. There was a loose stone in the wall and if one of the masters happened to make an appearance, the evidence of their secret habit could easily be hidden without any trace. Hans pulled the heavy, iron gate open and stepped into the large surrounding garden, full of mature trees and thick plantings of shrubs. As he got closer to the house, he became aware of a narrow, colourful flower bed which hugged the foot of the house's front wall.

He found the huge block of grey granite cold and imposing, not at all like the picturesque painted façades of the buildings in his own home town. He hated the obliqueness of the house with its heavy stone columns imposing themselves on the entranceway and it made him feel awkward. and intimidated. The house and the matron seemed to go together: unattractive, intimidating, yet at the same time, demanding respect. To Hans, her niece was not dissimilar.

Miss Turner's niece was already waiting for him in the porch. She was sitting in one of those wicker wheelchairs. A pile of books had been stacked on her lap with her school hat on top. She had folded her arms so that her hands held the brim of her hat. For the first time, Hans noticed that her brown hair had not been plaited this time but pulled back into a low, loose pony tail. Her chustnut-brown hair was thick and wavy and not at all like the hair on her aunt's head. Jan looked quite different today.

"Looking for me?"

"Miss Janine Turner."

"I know you're Hans Resmel. I have seen you around the grounds. I call myself Jan. Everyone else does except my aunt. You may call me that, too."

"Call you?"

He stepped closer. She placed her school hat over her hair and pulled it down firmly against her ears.

"Jan!"

She did not attempt to smile but peered at him in earnest: two rimmed lenses peering at him under the brim of her hat. She made it obvious that that was what she wanted to be called.

"You are then, ready?"

"Jan. Don't forget!"

Hans made up his mind not to reply this time and, instead, leaned down and released the brake. He began pushing her away from the house, bumping the wheels of the chair over the uneven cobblestones. He was determined to say as little as possible in the hope she would decide to use someone else. But Jan Turner was as obstinate as he was and was prepared to see his punishment through, however unpleasant she found it to be.

"Can't you push this thing a bit better," she complained as he bumped the wheels of the chair roughly up onto a bit of the grass. He said nothing but steered the ungainly wheelchair back onto the stone pathway. He found the going difficult and was working up a sweat, with beads forming over his forehead and staring to trickle down his nose. "Slow down! Slow down! I don't want another accident!"

"Sorry," he mumbled but she did not seem to hear.

"I hope you'll do better by the end of the day. My aunt wants my full report. I'm going to write down every little detail, so watch out!"

I bet you will, Hans thought.

He screwed his eyes into slits and imagined her eyes wrapped in bandages and tape stuck over her mouth. He began to think of all the bad things he could do to this spiteful fourteen year old girl when, suddenly, they had arrived at the entrance way to the girls' section.

"Don't forget me at the end of the day or I'll tell my aunt you were absolutely awful."

She gave him a look that could kill a man dead at a hundred paces so that when the time came to pick her up at the end of the day, he hoped to make it out of his last class in a hurry so that she would not give him that look again. He had already decided that he had to act quickly and needed time to race over to the Jan's part of the building, collect her and push her back to the Turner's house before most of the boys had a chance to see him. He knew that the ones who loved to tease him crept round behind the back shed for a quick smoke before the master on duty began his after-school inspection. Hans became restless as the time for the final bell got closer and found that the skin on his legs felt as though it were crawling with a thousand small insects. His feet began to ache with anticipation and he found he could no longer concentrate on his work.

Careful. Careful, he kept telling himself as he slumped even more over the book on his desk trying to become one with the desk top. His hand shook as he tried to re-load his pen with ink from the ink-well and several blobs dripped on the wood from the well to the edge of his exercise book. His hand fumbled around in his jacket pocket until he serendipitously drew out a piece of blotting paper to mop up the offending ink. He was afraid to raise his head in case the master sprang on him like a fox. Finally the bell sounded. Books shut with a dull thuds around the room. The master gave his permission for them to leave. Seats banged and scraped across the wooden floorboards as boys straddled their bench seats, fumbling to get books, pens and papers into their bags which had been stowed underneath. Hans had already secretly stowed away his things, except his writing book so that as soon as he heard the words to go, he jumped back off the seat and rushed out of the room. He had no wish for anyone to see that he was heading for the girl's section.

Jan was not in the hurry Hans was. She had decided to keep her teacher in conversation at the border between the two school areas so that Hans was forced to wait. He was visibly irritated but that did not seem to impinge on Jan. He chewed on his little finger, anxiously waiting for the conversation to end, all the while dreading the possibility of meeting one of the boys who still delighted in teasing him.

" . . . you've certainly got a good idea, there, young lady." The classroom mistress leaned over the front of the wicker wheelchair, her back in Hans' direction. Jan paid him no attention as she and her teacher submersed themselves in one of Jan's exercise books. Jan's work was always carefully planned and neatly written, not like some of his with its smudged ink blotches after he'd tried to soak up the excess ink with his piece of black-stained blotting paper. When it seemed that Jan had finished, she removed her glasses and spent some time carefully wiping and re-wiping them before putting them back on, and then taking even more time to pack up her things and lay her bag across her lap. Finally, she managed to turn the large wheels of her cumbersome wheelchair and cross the divide.

"You can wheel me home now, Mr Resmel."

Hans said nothing. He took hold of the high handles on the rear of the chair and began pushing the heavy, awkward chair down the pathway which led round the back of the main school building and through the rear gate. He made an awkward right turn and followed a narrower path leading up to Miss Turner's house. Jan did not speak; not even one word. When he finally reached the house door, Miss Turner's two maids, Mary and Ellen, were there to meet them and help Jan with her wheel-chair. Jan just nodded in Hans' direction. She sat in her chair looking at him in deathly silence.

"Thank you, sir." It was Mary who came down the steps and spoke to him. "We'll be ready f'you tomorra mornin'. Good afternoon, sir."

Hans clicked his heels to acknowledge the greeting. Then without a word, he swung round and strode back down the path back into the college grounds. He was so relieved to have rid himself of that dreadful girl.

So, that was Janine; no, that is Jan Turner.

As soon as he had got rid of her, he let his guard down and began to whistle a snippets of music he had remembered from his early childhood. As he rounded the last corner to make his way to the wide gravel driveway, four of the remaining boys who had been behind the shed blocked his path.

"Here comes Fritzy boy!" They pointed and jeered in Hans' direction. "Hun on the end of the 'andles!"

Hans stopped in his tracks, his fists clenched so tightly together that his nails bit into the sweaty flesh of his palms. He glared at his tormentors. The taunts continued.

"No funk hole for you this time!"

The words were spat out, menacing and threatening. The boys began chanting one of Wilfred Gibson's war poems as they edged closer, trying to push Hans against the wall.

"Both his legs are shot away, And his head is light, So he keeps muttering, All the blessed night: Two rows of cabbages, Two of curly greens' . . . Two thumps to his kidneys, Let's see how he screams!"

Hans raised his fists, ready to defend himself. The largest boy, well-muscled and menacing, sneered right into his face as he pretended to shoot.

"Bang! Bang!" The other three laughed like troopers as Hans recoiled like a gun. "They all fall down!"

Hans was at the point of lashing out when the click of the main door was heard in the pause. His attackers suddenly broke ranks, and disappeared in the opposite direction, leaving Hans standing, shaken. But this time he was unharmed.

Over the next couple of days everything went wrong. Mr Moore had been assigned to take the boys for a game of cricket out on the sports' field. It would be the last match of the year. Hans knew nothing about the game and did not want to know about it, anyway. He had tried to watch it with Robert several times but found it so boring and slow that he had fallen asleep on the grass.

Mr Moore had divided the boys into two teams. Hans' team had won the right to bat first which meant the Hans at the rear waiting for a turn that was never to come. Finally, their team was bowled out and everyone had to take their place on the field. Hans positioned himself as far away from the wickets as possible and tried to think of other things other than the boring game.

"Get the ball, boy!" The master's voice had anger and frustration in it.

"Sir, can Harry bat now?"

One of the boys pushed Harry forward and another placed the bat in his hand. They all knew Harry could not strike a ball no matter how gently it was bowled. Harry blamed his poor eyesight but his teacher knew full well the boy was far more into books rather than into sports. Mr Moore's attention was re-directed to the fielding team.

Hans was pleased when Mr Moore called an end to the game. The bell had not yet gone so there was still a minute or two left and the master held up his hand to rescind his last order.

"Ah, Mr Resmel. You appear to have done very little this period. Let's see how good your bowling arm is!" The master laughed, a cynical laugh. "Let's see how a German boy can play a real English game! You call the score, Mr Anderson."

Mr Moore threw the cricket ball to Hans and motioned to him that he should bowl.

"Give it your best, Hans," Robert whispered. "Copy what Lofty did."

Hans wiped the little ball on the side of his trousers as he'd seen Lofty do. Then he lined up the wicket in his sight, took several large running steps towards the batter, raised his arm and heaved the ball with all his might. One of the stumps flew into the air as if it had been launched from a catapult.

"He's hit the wicket!"

"Next batter!"

The boy handed over the bat. Mr Moore was not impressed. He threw the ball back to Hans. Hans prepared himself again. The ball shot down the bowling green so fast the new batter did not have time to react. Matthew Anderson called out again in his flat voice.

"You're out!"

"Pack up, boys!" the master ordered.

Mr Moore turned his back on the bowler and stormed off the field.

Later that afternoon, Hans found it extremely difficult to keep his concentration focused on his studies. German became mixed up with English, and Religious Studies with History. What was worse, this afternoon Mr Moore had decided to give the boys their test results and after the morning's cricket game, he had a very short fuse. Each boy was made to stand before his competitors as Mr Moore read down the list, the top ranking student first and then progressing downwards as the marks got worse and worse.

The day was turning out to be a dismal failure. Mr Moore, whose normal temper seemed to be as short as an inch, was now on the point of exploding. Then, he got to Hans.

"What do you call these blotches in your book, Mr Resmel?" Hans stared at his page. He could not see anything terribly wrong with it. There were a couple of tiny ink smudges but nothing to really anger a master but this master continued in a very loud voice. "They are a disgrace! You expect me to read and mark this rubbish? You're just wasting my time! Out! Get out of my sight!"

A hushed silence hung like a fog in the classroom as each boy caught his breath and dared not exhale. The black cloaked arm of the master pointed towards the door, waiting for Hans to gather up his things and leave.

He was making his way along the corridor, past all the photographs of past masters and headmasters and towards the headmaster's room when he happened to bump into Miss Turner; well, almost.

"What are you doing wandering the corridors and why are you here, Resmel" she asked, "and not in class?"

"My book was not good for the master. I was told to go. Nothing's good for Mr Moore!"

"Come into my office. Come! Come!" She made him sit. "I'm very much afraid, Mr Resmel, that you've burnt up the last straw." She eyed him like a hawk. He really couldn't think what a heap of 'straw' had to do with his school work, or why she should have accused him of burning anything for neither the garden litter nor any of the buildings had gone up in smoke. But before he could fathom it out, her next comment, along with her tone, told him that she was very, very angry with him. "A good bout of corporal punishment might teach you a lesson or two. Unfortunately, Mr Bowes-Heath is far too busy at the moment to deal with you and I do not remember seeing any prefects around. They have too many other duties without having to take you to task. What have you to say for yourself, young man?"

"I do not understand."

"Maybe a caning one end will send messages to your brain at the other end." Hans was astounded. He had been led to believe that of the teaching staff, it was only the headmaster or that dreaded senior master, Mr Moore who caned. If this was to be his punishment, and from a woman, that would be far worse. It would punish his pride. "Come into my office. Stand and bend over that chair."

He turned his head to the side, watching her closely as she opened a cupboard door and take out a long cane; silently cursing every bone in the old dragon's body. Surely, she did not mean to administer the blows herself. It seemed to be so degrading, being caned by a woman. His body ached. The constant strain of tensed muscles making him feel weak as he waited for the seconds to tick by.

"It pains me to have to do this, especially on the last day or so of the year Mr Resmel but I fear if I let this incident pass, not only will your mind not be saved, but I fear for your soul as well. Now, prepare yourself and bear it like a man."

Think of something, anything . . . Salzburg, the mountains, the Tiergarten in Berlin . . . anywhere where he had lived. But he failed. Only a blankness remained.

The slashes cut into him, stinging his flesh even under the layers of clothing. He never realised a woman could hit so hard. The cane hummed as it vibrated through the air. One, pause; two, pause; three, pause. He counted. It made things worse as he anticipated each lash of the whip. Three, pause; four . . .

It stung his pride more than his backside, yet he was surprised that the 'old hawk' had so much muscle in that arm of hers. He was upset that she had used the cane on him for such a trivial thing. It was so unfair!

He waited for the next sting to arrive.

"You may stand up now!" Miss Turner relaxed and laid the cane across her desk. "I hope that will send you a message: take more care with your learning next time. Your family did not send you here to waste time. Many sacrifices have been made to allow you to come here. Don't dishonour that. And, don't test my patience again, Mr Resmel. Now, go back to class! And I think you owe an apology to your master."

How he hated her: not because she had punished him but, because this time, he felt it unjustified. She had humiliated him. It was open warfare, now.

It was during another Friday afternoon when gardening duties were handed out again - Mr Moore made sure Hans was handed the dreaded scrubbing brush and ordered to clean the dreaded fountain. He did so while the master was watching but the moment he felt the eyes were no longer there, Hans threw the brush down in anger.

A prefect had seen him. Six lashings this time. In the prefect's room he was instructed to bend over the chair. Three short swishes from the long slender weapon.

"This will hurt me more than you!" A routine saying to every boy who was to be caned. And then, "I hope you take it like a real man!" Whatever, that was meant to mean seeing he was constantly being told he needed to grow up.

The prefect, a year or two older than himself, threw all his feelings of anger and hate into that cane. There was a swishing noise as it cut through the air. Then a hiss as it made contact with Hans' rear end. This time the sting bit hard. It lingered for much longer than before.

"You may get up now. Return and report to Mr Moore."

When Hans did return, the master had no more time for him.

"Report to Miss Turner. If you cannot obey the rules, let her deal with you. Good bye, Mister Resmel!"

Hans knocked on the matron's closed door. He waited alone in the corridor and this time he knew better than to lean back against the wooden panels of the wall. He waited and watched the door intently. He really didn't want it to open. But, he knew that sooner or later, it would open up and then he would be swallowed up and sucked inside. The voice on the other side summoned him in. In a hypnotised state, he opened the mouth and entered the digestive tract of the monster.

Miss Turner sat behind her large desk. She almost looked demure as she peered around a high stack of what looked like student exercise books. Hans told her what had happened.

"You can't go on like this, Mr Resmel, Hans. You must obey orders. If the school is to operate in an effective way, there must be order. Do you understand that, young man?" Hans nodded so she continued. "What are we going to do with you?" she asked but did not wait for him to answer, for she speculated none. "That arrogance of yours is doing you no good. No matter what the task, do the honourable thing by getting the task done, no matter what the job. Do it without all this anger. If this college teaches you nothing else, you should learn to be willing to do whatever is asked of you and do it well. Is that understood?"

She waited for him to answer.

"I understand, Miss Turner."

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now, how to help you? I am not the enemy you take me to be and I take no pleasure in punishing you like this, believe me. What I hear is that you are having a difficult time. Most boys do when they first come here. You are not alone in that so I suggest you try to make more of an effort to fit in with the other boys. Let me give you some advice: do the things they like doing and I am sure life will prove to be much better."

Hans slid his feet over the floor-boards, silently shuffling towards the door. He did not want to tell her about the bullying or the threats he had received. He had decided that he would have to deal with them himself.

"Hans!" It was one of the very few times she had used his first name. "Are you listening to what I'm telling you?"

"Yes, Miss Turner."

"Join in with sports activities. I've heard you've got a good arm for cricket." That surprised him. He had no idea how she heard about that but then Miss Turner knew everything that went on in, and even sometimes out of school. "Also, listen to your masters. It will make things so much easier." She stepped forward and patted him on his shoulder. She even smiled a little . . . very faintly, hardly perceptible. "So, I have your promise that you will make a proper attempt?"

"Yes, Miss Turner."

What a 'proper attempt' entailed, Hans was not too sure. Miss Turner waved her hand. Hans was about to leave when she called him back.

"Before you go. I am asking that you need to change your attitude towards my niece for I saw the way you pushed her down the pathway this morning. I was not impressed, young man. Remember . . . Veneratio est nostrum rector: the college motto. Make that part of yourself and everything you do. Never forget that, Mister Resmel."

Hans nodded, then left. How he wished he was at home, his real home, his childhood home. He felt a longing to belong and be accepted. He had the same feelings when the family left Austria and moved to Germany where Papi was closer to his sister and her husband. Hans had been wrenched away from his friends and away from his grandmother. He had that feeling again where he felt as though his insides were being torn apart. Homesickness. Home was so far away. There was no-one he could tell how he felt and now, not even Mr and Mrs Brymer.

Over the next few days, as each bell rang between classes, he moved trance-like, from one room to the next, from one lesson to another. He remembered the time when the family moved away from Austria, riding for many hours on the train and ending up in the large city of Berlin. For the first week it was like being on holiday. There were new areas to explore and it was exciting. Strange smells, the constant noise and bustle of people and all the traffic. He had never seen so many horses and carriages, buses and trams and honking cars in his life. He could feel the hardness of the city surfaces under the tread of his boots as he trotted along side the long strides of his parents. But when the initial excitement had subsided, he was enveloped in an empty feeling of sadness as he came to the realisation that he had lost all of his playmates and may never see any of them again. There was nowhere in this city where he could roll and tumble like he did in the alpine meadows, or lie on sloping grass banks as he did by the Salzach River. If only he were that young child again . . .

"Pssst! Moose-head."

Robert Brinkwater who sat on the bench with Hans gave him a nudge that, luckily, escaped the notice of the master and Hans was shot back to the reality of 1924.

Mr Moore was not in the best of moods and by now his fuse was extremely short. He was taking the boys for their afternoon double period History lesson which was dealing with the development of the Trade Unions which the majority of boys found to be uninteresting to the point that their minds were often diverted to other things running through their empty minds. The master had paused in his journey between the desks and was now standing just out of arm's reach from Henry Smithfield, one of boys known for giggling like a girl.

The master's attention was centred on Hans.

"Well, Mister Resmel?"

A pen-nib clattered onto the floor. Smithfield giggled. The master swung round and pounced, the wide sleeves of his gown first swirling around before folding inwards like two black bat wings.

"And what do you call these disgusting black blobs, Mr Smithfield?"

"I believe they're ink blobs, sir," the boy answered still with a grin playing around his mouth.

"Ink blobs are they, Mr Smithfield? They look more like large black lakes on your page, boy!"

"They're not lakes, sir. They're ink blobs!"

A stifled snigger crept around the edges of room until it found a cupboard in which to hide. The master was not amused. He looked for another victim.

"Mr Resmel have you anything to say to that?"

"No, sir?"

"I'm glad to hear that! Now, maybe you can answer that question of mine before I was so rudely interrupted by Mr Smithfield here."

All silent eyes became fixed on Hans as he desperately thought for an answer. Any answer. Grab a word, any word; but answer.

"Gewerkschaftbewegung."

"WHAT?"

The voice shot up to the roof as 'Moose-head' spun round, creating a small whirlwind with his gown. Hans looked at the master and bit his bottom lip. Mr Moore was standing like a huge bird of prey, pushing back his arm wings, glaring down at the boy, waiting for him to recoil and sink downwards as if his body had been squashed into the hard wooden bench seat on which the unfortunate victim was sitting. There was silence. The boys in the room barely dared to breath as the master waited for a response.

Finally, Hans thought he had better say something.

"Mr Moore, sir?"

"I don't like the tone of your voice! Both your work and your behaviour I find unacceptable. This time report to the Headmaster!"

Hans was stunned and remained seated. He did not think he had said anything to annoy the master. It just seemed that Mr Moore could not tolerate him. It was so unfair.

"Stand up when I'm talking to you!"

The master scribbled something on a piece of paper, folded it and glued down the edges.

"You'd better do as he says," whispered Robert. "I'll look after your books."

"The door!" The master pointed as he handed over his note. "Take this to the headmaster. At once!"

Hans opened the door and began to walk through.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

"Huh?"

"Give him my note. And you can tell him that you've been wasting both my time and the rest of the students'. And, talking of time, sir, it's time you faced reality: either act like an Englishman, or go back to where all you lot should be! We should have wiped out the lot of you when we had the chance!"

The master's outburst had unsettled him. So, that was the problem; he could not stop the hate which had been built up in the war. Hans wondered how long Mr Moore had been on the battlefield. Maybe too long, for the battlefield had been brought into the classroom and the ex-sergeant Moore was having difficulty realising the fighting was all over. Reluctantly, and feeling victimised, Hans left the classroom and dawdled over to the office, his hands thrust so deeply into his trouser pockets that he could easily feel his pocket seams. He knew the way well now, knew every paving stone and crack in the path, knew the exact edge in the building where students had rubbed their hands as they walked around the corner of the hallway that led up to the offices. If only people would leave him alone. If only people could accept him for himself and not throw all the blame for what had taken place when he was only just a child. He needed time to sort out his homesickness. Instead, hate was increasing it's appetite and things were getting worse.

Mr Bowes-Heath read the note. His face was serious.

"We do appear to have a problem here, Mr Resmel," Mr Bowes-Heath said calmly.

There was little emotion in his commanding voice. His presence was one of authority that demanded absolute obedience. Mr Bowes-Heath had also served at the Front but his front-line experiences had been quite different to those of Mr Moore's. As one of the few surviving officers, Second-lieutenant Bowes-Heath had met with some of those they had been fighting with: battle weary men who were only too keen to return home and leave the horrors of battle where such horrors belong. Hans' only choice now was to listen in silence, just as the men in Mr Bowes-Heath's unit would have done six to ten years ago.

"This difficulty the master is having with you will have to go onto your report. It is regretable and your uncle will have to be informed. There need to be changes if you are to remain with us. We knew things might prove difficult for you, and having received such a glowing report from your previous school, I had hoped that you could have dealt with anything thrown at you. For the time being, I think you need time and space to think things over. Time for everyone to reassess the situation. The holiday break should help. Miss Turner has already sorted things out with the Brymers. Collect your bag from the classroom as soon as the bell sounds and go to Miss Turner. She has made all the arrangements for you."

What ever did Mr Bowes-Heath mean? Hans had no idea. He grabbed his bag and books from Robert and bolted out of the school grounds before anyone could see him. He had trouble understanding everything that had been said to him and he knew the situation was serious but did not not think he was entirely to blame for it. At this moment, he hated everyone . . . everyone in this foreign land and he hated himself for ever agreeing to come. Why couldn't it have been Renard? He always knew what he wanted and he would have known what to do. Hans was so angry that his lips had become pale and his his limbs felt as if they were about to shake out of their sockets. He was angry with his grandmother for being born in such a stupid country; this awful country she had wished one of her grandsons to know. The Brymers would understand. They would know how much he was hurting.

Hans reached the Brymer cottage and opened the back door. He dashed through the kitchen without stopping and flopped onto the couch in the living room. He sat alone, brooding and fuming over his terrible day. It was several minutes before he realised just how quiet the cottage was. It appeared to be empty and where was Mrs Brymer when he wanted her? It was not like her to be away from the house this late in the afternoon. He went to the foot of the stairwell and called up the stairs.

"Frau Brymer!"

No answer. Maybe, she was weeding somewhere in the garden and in his haste, he had not noticed her. He rushed back to the entranceway, gave another call, and listened. Only the faint traffic noise and the soothing clip-clop of a horse's hooves. Maybe she was ill. Or worse, dead. A corpse, lying face down somewhere on the floor, strangled or stabbed by some enemy who wanted to put his own life in ruin.

"Frau Brymer! Frau BRYMER! FRAU BRYMER!"

He edged open the creaking door of Mrs Brymer's bedroom. The usual small trinkets that she kept on the dressing table were not there. Neither was Mr Brymer's spare pipe. Something made him check the wardrobe. What he saw made the colour drain from his face. He staggered back against the wall. it was much worse than he had imagined.

All the Brymers' belongings had gone. The wardrobe was completely empty. He looked around the room for other clues. On the dressing table was a note. It shook in his hand as he picked it up.

Erwin,

Sorry. We had to leave. Somebody will call for you and explain all the details. I think that this way may be the best for you. You should see Miss Turner. Some day we hope you will understand.

Be good and strong. We know you can be a good student.

Good luck.

Alice Brymer

Hans was still staring at the note when he heard the front doorbell sound. Taking the note with him, he ran along the hall and down the stairs. He opened the door.

He was surprised to see Anne Sutherland and Robert Brinkwater standing on the doorstep.

"Yes? What do you two want?" he asked with a snap.

Anne drew back. She had never seen him like this. His hair was ruffled, his face muscles taut as he clenched his teeth tightly together and the look in his blue eyes made her freeze.

"Come now, Hans. We heard you'd copped it. We're really sorry. Wasn't all your fault. Everyone knows old Moose-head's rather touchy. It's said he's been that way since a shell splinter hit him in the head. We're both on your side. Anne was worried you might do something you'd regret. We've skipped our last classes."

"I've been handed this for you, Hans," Anne said in a quiet voice. She took a step back down onto the lower step. Hans now towered above her.

"What?" His fingers squeezed the edge of the door.

"I was supposed to give it to you after school. It's a . . . a letter." She fumbled inside her deep dress pocket and pulled out a typed addressed envelope. "from . . . " She held it out close to his right hand. "Miss Turner."

"Sow!"

He snatched up the offending letter, glared at it, mumbled something under his breath and then, triumphantly, ripped it into two. Not satisfied, he repeated the performance several times, until, with satisfaction, stuffed the pieces back into Anne's hands and slammed the door. He stood, head leaning against the hall wall, hands clenched trying to understand why his emotions were so out of kilter. Anne stood, eyes filling with tears, humiliated and hurt and wondering what on earth she had done to deserve such a reception.

"He needs time to cool down," said Robert quietly. "Life's always stressful when anyone gets on the wrong side of Moore-head." Robert placed a comforting hand on Anne's arm. "Come, I'll walk you back."

The reminder of Miss Turner brought back thoughts of injustice and feelings of hate. Hans changed out of his uniform and put on his favourite black mountain jacket, velvet trousers and lace-up hiking boots. He began to feel better. The churning of his stomach began to settle and the aching he felt for his homeland began to subside although he was still angry and upset with everyone and everything.

He opened the door again.

They must have given up and left, he thought for he could see no sign of either Robert or Anne. Even they've given up on me.

He closed the door and decided to go out through the back and along the narrow, weedy pathway that separated the houses from the countryside. After a few minutes, he came out on to the large expanse of mowed grass known as the Green. It was late afternoon and people were out walking their dogs. They paused to stare at the strangely dressed figure hurrying by. Noticing the scowl on his face, they decided to be polite and not break out into laughter, for even though the day was still warm, the young figure appeared to be wrapped up like an Eskimo.

It was surprising how quickly and deliberately a sixteen-year old could stride out when he wanted. With long, determined strides he made his way quickly up the hillside which ran partly parallel to the Turner's large garden. When he reached the top, he was breathing heavily and sweating over his chest and back so that his shirt stuck to his skin. He let his body slide down against the knarred trunk of an old oak while he surveyed the landscape below.

To his left was the small town and as his gaze moved right, he only saw quiet farms and further beyond were other low grassed hills, clad in clumps of trees and low hedgerows. Everything appeared so neat and tidy, the patchwork vegetation making orderly patterns across the fields. The hills rolled gently, one hill hugging the other until the land became flat, spreading itself in a wide expanse until it kissed the sea. This was England, peaceful in one way yet so frustrating in another.

Life was so complicated. He compared his present location to his memory he had of his homeland: the Alps, their summits forever white, their grey, rocky upper slopes reaching upwards towards the sky as they commanded and dominated the the green prostrated land at their feet. On some days, the peaks and sky seemed one, an icy-grey merging of land and sky. But when the evenings were fine and warm, then the sun's rays would brush the snowy tops and with a sweeping stroke turn the mountains into splashes of gold.

He remembered clambering over the lower grassy slopes of the mountain meadows with his friends, rolling and laughing among the wild flowers until exhaustion rendered them speechless and quiet. Then, they'd wait, looking down at the Salzach, as it twisted between the town and the high cliff opposite. On the top of the Mönchsberg they could see the imposing fortress of Hohensalzburg with its white walls and far below lay churches and palaces. He could remember listening to the ringing bells calling people to Mass and he could remember watching the miniature figures of people and horses criss-crossing their way around the centre square.

Whenever he returned to his grandmother's, which the boys did every spring holiday, they would hear the first calls of the cuckoo echoing high above the trees around the Hellbrunn Palace. People knew, then, that the winter days had finally ended. And, strangely, he remembered one of the children he used to play with: Heidi, several years his junior with long fair hair which one of her older sister's had always plaited so neatly. He could hear her voice calling to him,

Hänschen! Komm! Lass' uns den Berg hinuntergehen!

If only, if only his father had not taken that promotion. If only war had not come to take his father away.

"Good evening, Mister Resmel."

The intruding voice shattered his dream. He jumped to his feet.

"M . . . M . . . Miss Turner!"

"I was told I'd find you up here," she said.

"Who?"

"Never mind that. You need to know about the Brymer arrangements."

"The what?"

He didn't know of any special arrangements. But there was that strange note that had unnerved him.

"You heard me. I've telegraphed your uncle and I've written to your grandmother in Austria. Not quite the sort of news I wished to send. But there we are. It's done. Did you read the letter I asked Anne to give you?"

"Letter?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, never mind for the moment. Your uncle has wired me back and agreed that from now on you will be completely under my control. You will be my responsibility, at least for the next six months. You'll board with me . . . in my house, not with others in the dorms. I will see that you finish your education." Her lips drew a pencil thin line as she waited for him to grasp what she had said. Then, she continued, "You're not mature enough to make your own decisions. Not yet. You obviously need some guidance before you make a total fool of yourself. I also realise that you are not totally to blame for what's been happening. Believe me, I do know. I have ears as well as eyes and I do know what has been going on and I will be speaking to the boys concerned." Miss Turner actually smiled at him. Those thin lips that spoke with such authority actually softened and relaxed at the edges to the extent that he thought of her as human in some ways. Then, no sooner had the smile formed and taken away some of her mouth wrinkles, it dissolved and the mistress continued in as serious a tone as before. "I've got a job to do on you, my lad. And I am not going to fail! I can be just as stubborn as you." She smiled slightly again and pointed the way back down towards the small town. "Now, walk with me back to the house."

Hans was lost for words. His mind was trying to fathom out why the woman was taking such an interest in his welfare or why she had even bothered to consult his aunt and uncle. What was it he didn't know? As she walked alongside him, back down the flint-covered pathway towards the school, Miss Turner began to sound more like a parent rather than the severe school matron he had known her to be.

"As soon as we get back to the Brymer's cottage, you had better get changed into more appropriate clothing. Wearing things like those in summer! Honestly!"

She drove him in her little black car round to the cottage where he had been staying and waited in the kitchen while he packed up his belongings into the two brown suitcases that had been stored under his bed. He locked the back door for the last time and handed over the key. As he pulled the gate shut and heard the click of the latch fall, he wondered what had become of the Brymers, really the only ones who understood him since arriving in this country.

CHAPTER 4

The Turners

Hans stepped over the Miss Turner's front door sill and felt as if a monstrous jaw was snapping shut, and he would be in its bowels forever. There would be no escape. What a summer holiday he would have!

"There is no point in trying to go back to the other house, young man, because there is no way in, now. The place has been locked up and will remain empty until the college find new people to move in. You can't run away from here, either, because there is nowhere for you to run to. The police would catch you in an instant. Our people help the police and you would be handed over before you could get very far. Put your bags down there and stay here a minute. One of my maids will show you up to your room."

Hans gulped. He knew she was right. He felt as though he were her prisoner and yet, at the same time he was slightly relieved by her protection. Many students still had not accepted him, especially when they had found out that he had come from the country of their former enemy.

We don't want any Fritzies, like you! they would shout. Why don't you go back to where you belong!

Boys could be very cruel, especially teenage ones. It was not only the bantering and name-calling that had made him lash out but also the readiness for some boys to take him on. He had been involved in fist fights even though he knew he could not win for it was many against one. However, he still managed to get in some good nose shots, sending several of his opponents away holding their heads back so that they had to be led home. All he had to do was to keep them at bay and put in a good hard punch when one of them made a mistake and got too close. Several times Robert had tried to pull him away but that only seemed to escalate things and if the skirmish happened anywhere in or near the school grounds, as it inevitably did, the fight dissolved as soon as the lookouts caught sight of a master. The bullies always knew when to run so that it was Hans, and sometimes Robert as well, who found themselves standing outside one of the senior master's door.

While he was standing in the corridor a few weeks before the end of the school year, Hans thought he heard two staff members discussing Miss Turner and saying that Miss Turner would be a bit short staffed as her younger maid, Ellen, would be leaving next month. As to the reason why Ellen had to go, Hans didn't hear.

Maybe, she's a bit broke, Hans thought. Maybe, that's why she's got me a a boarder. I bet Uncle Karl is paying her sufficient, though.

Robert Brinkwater was one who wanted to put the past war differences behind him. A cousin, eight years older than Robert, who had been one of the last young men to have been drafted and sent over to France, had talked quite frankly to Robert about his experiences in the trenches. He did not blame any of the young men who were thrown on to the Front to be slaughtered in the madness but, instead, laid the blame at the feet of the elderly generals and politicians who had been itching for a fight for some years before. Robert was beginning to see that it was now the responsibility of the younger generation to make a far better world than their own parents and grandparents had done.

"You know, Hansie old boy . . ." Robert and Hans had been semi-lying on the grass together. "If you really want to be accepted by the lads, why not try your hand at cricket? Remember when Moose-head gave you the ball to bowl? Well, you did. And you were really good at it. I've never seen anyone bowl like that. Not on his first try."

"Mr Moore didn't seem to be impressed!" Hans made the comment with haste but Robert could sense that there was genuine disappointment in his voice.

"Don't think of him. He had it in for you that day. You were good, damned good! Look, you don't have to play for the team, or anything serious like that. Just the odd game or so. It'd go down a treat with the boys. It's a spiffin' good game, really."

"Really?"

Hans brightened up. He had always thought of cricket as being a strange game but he was now interested enough to ask Robert whether the idea could work.

"I think it would. It's worth having a go. It'll give you something to do and keep you fit at the same time. Our games are never as slow as those during sports lessons. So, what about it?"

"All right, then. But when?"

"I'll introduce you to my captain and we'll see what he thinks. I'll tell him you've got the makings of being a top-notch bowler. That'll get him interested." Robert spoke with excitement in his voice. "And with the summer holidays coming up, we often play in the evenings and eat sandwiches on the lawn. You'll get to meet more of the locals and be part of our group."

Hans wanted to be accepted by the others. He wanted a chance to prove that he could be friends with them. If only he did not have all the other pressures to contend with as well. Now that he had ended up at the Turner house, supervised and monitored every minute of the day and night, cricket with Robert and the cricket boys might give him the opportunity to escape for a few hours. It might work and was worth considering.

His thoughts were interrupted by Miss Turner's voice instructing Mary to take his bags upstairs. Servants of any sort were difficult to find these days, especially men, for after 1918 young men were in short supply. Many young women had found jobs in factories, jobs that before the war had been jobs only the men ever did. The girls did not want to be servants or maids any more.

Mary had been in service for twelve years now, ever since her father had thrown her out claiming that his meagre pay did not stretch to feeding all his large family, especially a daughter of working age. Now she was a mature twenty-six year old and had been with the Turner household for just on ten years, long enough to have been considered part of the family. Her main duties were cleaning and organising the collection and return of the weekly wash. Ellen, on the other hand, was far younger; only fifteen and three quarters and still inclined to giggle for no obvious reason at all. Her mother had insisted she become a domestic as such a position would not only provide her daughter with a steady income but keep her out of harm's way and out of any temptations out in the modern world so as soon as Ellen had left school, she had gone into service, first as a kitchen maid and then she had graduated to being the cook's assistant. In a year and a half she had learnt enough to be able to prepare simple dishes and present them adequately for a small household. She had helped her own mother in the kitchen since she was ten and now, still very young, was able to dish up plain food that was not only acceptable but tasty as well. She still needed to improve and when she arrived at Miss Turner's, she had been provided with a copy of Mrs Beeton's Cookbook. As well as kitchen duties, Ellen was sometimes called to help Mary make the beds as the expense of another full-paid household maid would have stretched the college finances too much.

It was Mary who showed Hans into the front room downstairs. Hans watched as Mary quietly pulled the door closed, leaving him standing in the middle of the room wondering what to do next.

He milled aimlessly around, looking at the ceiling, then the pelmets and thick heavy curtains and a collection of small red poppies that had been pushed into a narrow vase across the room from where he was standing.

"Hans Resmel, I never thought I'd see you here."

The voice, which had originated from near the fire-place, was mocking. He abruptly turned round. It was Janine Turner. She had let her hair down and he noticed that it fell way past her shoulders. He knew that she had not forgiven him for her broken leg and the inconvenience it was causing and he noted, also, that this time she was using crutches. When inside, she found the large wheelchair far too cumbersome to use with the stairs and narrow hallways that linked the numerous rooms.

He pretended not to have noticed her and looked intently out of the window, deep into the garden with its shrubbery boarded by multi-coloured cottage annuals, together with a splash of deep red and scarlet garden poppies. He half expected Jan to say more; but she didn't and when he turned round again, she had gone.

I must stop day-dreaming, he thought, unsure now whether he'd even seen her.

His reflections moved from the garden poppies to the artificial ones in the room. Then his eyes drifted around the walls. For the first time, he noticed how dark the room was and how high the wooden ceiling was. The wallpaper was also gloomy and for a minute he was unaware that photographs were hung in a row along the picture rail on the far side of the room. Slowly he edged towards them and looked up. They appeared to be family members . . . firstly, young and older women, dressed in black with white lace frilled collars, stiff like mannequines with severe wax-like faces. It must have been taken at least fifty years ago.

He moved along further until his eyes rested on a more recent photograph showing a small group of soldiers posing together in what looked like a muddy, pitted field. Hans stood only a short distance away from it and immersed himself in the picture. He then noticed that the soldiers were wearing different uniforms.

"You find that interesting?" He heard the dull thud of her crutches move across the floor. Jan had returned into the room to collect some papers she had earlier put down.

"This photograph; it was taken during the Great War. They're soldiers." He turned and looked directly at Jan.

"I know. They are." She brushed her hair back over her shoulders. "My aunt told me it was taken in 1914." She answered him in a matter-of-fact, unemotional tone. "The men on the front right are British. Those there are the Boche. You can tell them from the funny spiky lids they're wearing." She turned on her crutch and faced him, triumph on her face at having him at a disadvantage. "Don't you think they look silly?"

She watched him closely to see what his reaction would be but his face remained as unreceptive as the faces in the photograph.

"What? The spikes on the helmets?" he asked.

"No. Not just them. The soldiers."

"Which ones? The German . . . or . . . the English?"

"The Fritzies!"

She cleared her voice in triumph and, putting more weight on one crutch, adjusted her glasses in much the same way as her aunt was seen to do. She eagle-eyed him, waiting for his reaction. He hated the word 'Fritzies' but this time he was determined to ignore the insult.

Suddenly, he spun round back to the wall. Something in the photo intrigued him. His eyebrows shot up. He felt a thousand hammers pound his temples. It seemed like minutes, yet only a few brief seconds had really passed.

Slowly, very slowly he turned round on his heels. His fists were clenched and his face muscles had become taut and hard. Jan's mouth dropped open and horror filled her eyes. His lips had lost their form and colour and were now tight and white. His eyes had become cat-like, glassy and cold as if they were made from ice. Then, she saw that the small muscles in his face began to twitch slightly under the strain.

"What did you say? What did you mean by that?" His voice was loud and excited.

"Nothing!" She covered the lenses of her spectacles with her fingers but he could see she was still watching him.

"Then, if it was nothing why did you say that?"

"I've heard some of the boys say that," Jan answered removing her hands and biting on her bottom lip.

Hans observed her a while and then said,

"You stupid, beastly girl!"

She found her lack of mobility around the house annoying, not having enough room to easily manoeuvre through the doorways and having to struggle with her crutches up and down the stairs. At this point she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. In her mind she wanted to see him squirm like the worm in a bird's beak.

"I'm not stupid and those are beasts!" she screamed at him.

"Who?"

"The Hun. Everyone was told to beware of the Hun!"

"Stupid goose!" he hissed. "You wouldn't remember. You were too young for all that!" Jan poked her tongue at him. "Bitch!"

He'd heard others using that word. He was a little uncertain as to its meaning but it sounded as if this was the opportune time to say it; and it sounded satisfying.

"How dare you use language like that in my house, Mr Resmel! Go to your own room, at once!"

Neither of them had noticed that Miss Turner had even come into the room. As Hans was making his departure, he heard Miss Turner turn on Jan. He let the door swing gently towards a close and stood eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Janine Turner." The schoolmistress always called her niece by her full name whenever she was annoyed with her. "What was all that outburst about? What did you do to make him so angry?"

"Nothing, aunt. He's crazy. He's out of his mind. I, I didn't do anything."

She did not want to admit that she had tried to badger him. She did not want to share the blame.

"Some thing has upset him, Janine," Miss Turner commented, the gap between her eyebrows narrowing, expressing her displeasure with the flippant answer.

"Boys always take things the wrong way."

"You said something to upset him. What did you say?"

Jan knew that look on her aunt's face. She could not deceive her any longer.

"He was in here looking around . . . looking at the photos. That's all. I did nothing, Aunt, really. I just told him who they were, that's all. His eyes went all glassy. Oh, it was horrible. I didn't know what he would do and then, he called me a . . ."

Jan stopped short. She made sure she did not incriminate herself.

"Janine, that's enough! I don't want you repeating what he said. We do not use such language in this house. You know the rules!"

"I don't know why we have to have him in our house!" She banged one of her crutches hard onto the floor. "He is a Fritzy! Everyone calls him that!" Jan had never shouted like this at her aunt before. Her behaviour had become quite erratic.

"Janine, that will do! I do not want you ever to behave like this again. Saying such wicked things. Mr Resmel is our guest. Remember that, young lady. And, for your information, his grandmother came from around these parts so he is almost as English as you or I. Something you would do to remember."

"But all the others keep saying . . ." Jan's voice was continuing to rise in octave as her protest continued to gather momentum.

"I am not interested in what others say, Janine!" Miss Turner cut Jan off. "And neither should you. Lies and gossip. We had enough of all that during the war. I don't want it entering my house. Do you understand?" Miss Turner glared at her niece until the girl bowed her head and looked at the floor. "And in future I expect you to be much more civil towards him. Mister Resmel is a long way from home and think how it would be like for you living with a different family? And in a different country?"

"I don't know," Jan mumbled. In reality she had not thought about it at all.

"Resmel needs your support; not your hostility." Miss Turner's voice quietened as she tried to defuse the emotion her young niece was feeling at this moment.

"Why's he here? In our house?"

"Because I have allowed him to be. This is my house, Janine and I make the rules. You will just have to learn to button that mouth of yours and cope. He is staying here and that's that so stop your silly behaviour. Hating him for your accident will not change a thing. There are things you do not understand but when you're older . . . "

At that point, Hans quietly closed the door and went upstairs to his room.

He was sorting out some clothing to hang in the wardrobe when a knock on the door disrupted his task. He had had to find something to occupy himself, so that his mind would not brood over what had just taken place.

"May I enter?" Miss Turner stood in the doorway. Hans was most surprised that she had even asked for his permission. "What was all that about, that outburst of yours?" Her voice did not seem as hard as when she was in the college. When Hans did not reply, she wanted to know what had happened between Jan and himself.

Hans found his throat tighten. He could not speak and looked at her with pain still evident in his gaze. She realised he was very upset."You two need to sort out your differences. You are going to be here for a long time." Her voice was much softer than he had heard before. The voice of authority had gone and in its place was the genuine feeling of one who cared. "We will leave that outburst for now." Her face softened and her posture was far less powerful. She had become a woman and the matron of the college had been put aside. "If you do have any problems, you must come and tell me. Janine's had the house to herself until now and, well, teenage girls can allow their emotions to make them upset over little trifles. As for the Brymers . . . they have moved out of the county and are living in Essex. Mr Brymer was considering a new job, anyway, so you are not to blame for their departure. He found another position at a larger school where they can pay him more than we can. I'm afraid that is how things stand today. They will not be coming back here and the cottage will remain empty until the school board decides what is to be done. Now, finish what you're doing and come down to eat. Mary's just about to serve supper. You would like some browned pasties, wouldn't you?"

He was moody for a few more days as he tried to avoid Jan as much as possible. He either went out walking alone, or stayed in his room, reading. He wished he had the luxury of a wireless or whisker set, for Robert told him it played some interesting programmes and it would have been one way to have spent the time. He was still upset that no letter for him had arrived from Mrs Brymer in either the morning, or in the afternoon postal delivery. She had promised him that they would keep in touch, if they should ever have to leave. Hans dearly wished for that promise to be fulfilled.

Then, true to English weather, the warm spell broke right in the middle of summer and a whole week of cold, wet weather with heavy showers and howling winds followed. Hans remained in bed for several days. He had caught the bad cold that was laying many a boy low and after going out in the rain and getting wet, the cold had worsened. Ellen ran up and down the stairs bringing him hot lemon drinks and countless bowls of steaming vapour balms and towels to help clear his nose and chest. His head remained groggy and he could not think. But as soon as he was beginning to get over the worst of it, his thoughts returned to his happy, carefree childhood.

He had been just on seven when Vati had uprooted the family upon his promotion. Emperor Franz Josef had wanted representation in the German Kaiser's Imperial Army as the two countries organised closer connections with each other through promises and treaties. As fears grew over the instability in Russia and the alliances between France and England, the Empires of Austria-Hungary and Germany pledged to stand side by side, come what may. That was the time when his father had moved the family and set up residence near to one of Kaiser Wilhem's palaces in Berlin. The move meant that the children saw much less of their father than they had ever done in Austria. He was always so busy and their mother always seemed to be occupied with well-dressed, rich ladies draped in fox-furs and large pheasant feather hats. It was left to one of the servants to take the children into the city centre to watch the Kaiser ride along the wide street in his open carriage. But it had been exciting. The boys squeezed themselves between the crowd lining Unter den Linden until they were able to peep round the soldiers who stood between the people and the richly decorated carriage. Hans could remember the huge carriage horses with their proud, arched necks and sleek, shining black backs and behind them sat the Kaiser alone in his beautiful golden carriage and he could also remember the rows and rows of soldiers that went on and on, stretching all the way from the huge grey solemn columns of Brandenburg Gate and reaching well past the statue of Frederick II sitting astride his horse. He remembered how he and Renard cheered in their childish voices along with all the other onlookers until the golden carriage was well out of sight. Such pomp. The Kaiser knew how to impress his citizens.

Hans also remembered the brief appearances of his father after that fateful summer in '14. Something dreadful had happened back in his homeland but he did not know what. Only that his mother was very distraught and wanted father to take the family immediately back to Austria to be closer to the family. But Papi had his orders. They remained in Berlin and there followed long, ever so long, periods of absences during which they never heard or saw their father from one month to the next. When Papi did come home, it was for such a short period. Hans did not understand why but he was old enough to sense the distress his mother showed each time his father said 'goodbye.'

The Kaiser and his ministers know what they are doing. It will all be over by Christmas. You'll see, everyone had said.

Christmas 1914 came and went and with it, his father. Papi did come home at the beginning of December for a week. An early Christmas. The joy they felt, the excitement of being able to share this time together had stuck in his mind. He remembered the exhilaration of hanging small fruits and biscuits on their tree which Uncle Karl had found for them, and after dinner sitting in the soft glow of the crackling fire, singing together, Papi's deep voice leading the melodies of Stille Nacht and Tannenbaum. It had seemed so long ago when they had been together like that, a happy family . . . Papi and Mutti and their two little boys. Yet, in an instant, it had passed and Papi was dressed in his uniform and walking away into the freezing, snow-covered street. Their Christmas was over.

Mutti, why does Vati always have to go away?

He's gone to do his duty.

Why does he go to do his duty, Mutti?

Because your dear Papi is a soldier, that is why and all soldiers must obey their emperor.

He had noticed that his mother's voice appeared sad and tired. And each time Papi came back, he seemed more and more remote as if he belonged to another world. And then, there were the years of waiting . . . waiting for his father's letters to arrive, waiting for Mutti to read them the part where Vati told them to be good children and help look after Mutti. The boys always looked forward to that part. One day, Mutti took the boys back to Salzburg where they stayed for several months with Oma while Mutti grew fatter and rounder, and more tearful as the weeks slipped by. Then, as the Spring of '17 began to stir, Mutti took to her bed and Aunt Laura came and looked after everyone and a short time later, Aunt Laura took the boys in to their mother's bedroom and told them the stork ahd brought them a little brother. Mutti was holding Axel and from that day, they became three. But Vati never wrote. He would never write again. Several weeks after that a telegram arrived and Mutti cried and cried so much that she became really ill.

Both his parents were now gone and it made him sad to remember. And he remembered hearing that it would never happen again and that children would never lose their fathers like that again. He resolved to push the thoughts to the back of his mind.

As soon as Hans recovered enough to move around again, Miss Turner kept him occupied with jobs around the house. First, she got him to take the books off the shelves in the library so that they could all be dusted before returning them again, and next she got him to repair several wooden seats that sat out in the garden. Jan Turner also asked him to do several little things for her but she never remained around him for very long. She did not speak much to him and he, in turn, had very little to say to her. They now had an understood truce. It allowed them time to come to terms with their own thoughts and feelings with regard to each other.

He was rubbing down a small occasional table top with a piece of sandpaper, preparing it for a new coat of varnish, when Miss Turner, who had been planting some small plants in the kitchen garden, leaned her head through the kitchen doorway.

"Resmel," she said. She had dropped the more formal 'Mr' but on many occasions still called him by his surname. "Do you mind fetching the clock from the front-room? I've got my gardening boots on and cannot come inside."

The wooden carved clock with its gold-rimmed glass face stood on a shelf close to where that war photograph hung. He was drawn to it once more and he stood gazing at the small cluster of sepia figures with the grey, gloomy background. He had not noticed Jan until she spoke.

"Hans Resmel, my aunt's calling you. Aren't you going?"

He mumbled something but didn't budge. Jan noticed his attention was drawn in to that old photograph again and she came over.

"That's my aunt's brother." She pointed to one of the English soldiers. "That one. Those are the enemy ones. You know." She closely observed him for any reaction. Hans gave no indication that he had heard her. He remained quite still and silent. So, she continued, "You're one like them, aren't you? The other boys say you are. Irving calls you a 'Fritzy', doesn't he? Like that one there in the spikey helmet. And like that one, too."

Her finger pointed to one of the men standing on the mud-splattered terrain close to her aunt's brother. The man was dressed in a different uniform and it was clear that he belonged to the others on left: the ones with the spikes on their helmets.

Jan watched intently for any reaction as Hans turned away from the photograph. He peered into her face with same glaring stare as the men.

"That officer there . . . " He stiffened and drew himself to attention. He sucked back his lips so that his cheeks were drawn tight against his teeth. "That one. The officer. He is my father!"

With that, he clicked his heels and stormed out of the room.

CHAPTER 5

Friends

The photograph was immediately removed. It was hidden away in one of the side-board drawers. Someone must have told Miss Turner. Jan insisted it wasn't her. However, from that time on, Miss Turner seemed to be kinder and more understanding towards Hans.

Maybe, she suddenly realised that war had two sorts of victims: the men in the field and the families that were left behind, Hans thought. My family suffered just like your family. But how she had come to have such a picture was beyond his comprehension.

Miss Turner did understand. How he must have suffered seeing his own father in the photograph. Her brother Timothy in the photo had lost his life in that dreadful war, just days before the whole ghastly thing came to an end. She had never believed that the Resmel in the officer's uniform was one of those monsters they had been led to believe in by their own government. They were all young men in that photo and on that Christmas Day in 1914, the ordinary soldier had shown that they did not really want to maim or kill their fellow man. And as the war had dragged on and more pictures came to light, the suffering grew stronger. You could see it in their faces. You could see it ingrained into their souls. Verdun, Ypres, Mons, the Somme . . . places where those 'heroes' had been mown down or blown up at the whim of an order.

Now, here was another a victim. Erwin Hans Resmel. In her house, in her school, in her country. How much like his father the boy was: the same facial features, the same look. She wondered whether he was like his father. He certainly had his grandmother's firery temper. That she could not deny. No wonder the boy was having trouble settling in with the hate still fresh in the minds of the masters and boys. So many had lost fathers or brothers, uncles or cousins. Many more had said farewell to a man only to be reunited with a battered and fragile shadow of the human form. It had not been that many years since the Great War had ended and people needed time to forget. New bridges needed to be built and new friendships made. It was up to the young ones to show their parents how it could be done. The older generation had to let go of their past and allow the younger ones a chance to build their won lives.

Miss Turner decided it was time to talk to Hans about the photo he had seen before the new school year began. She made herself comfortable on the settee and patted alongside her to indicate she wished him to join her. He perched himself on the furthest edge if making sure he could jump up if needed. But she did not seem to notice and was most satisfied that he had agreed to join her.

"I am sorry you were upset over that photograph," she began. "I had intended to put it away before you came."

"It was Papi. Why Papi?"

"It was that first Christmas. Both sides met in No-man's Land and shared Christmas together. The brother from England; the family friend from Germany. That is why I have it."

"Friend?" he asked.

"That one."

Hans was gob-smacked. He hardly knew how to react.

"You knew my father?"

"I knew your grandmother."

"Then you knew that Papi was killed?"

"Only after the war. We were deeply sorry for your mother and you boys. We lost Timmy in that war. He was killed . . . blown up. Died instantly the family was told but Mother never got over it and refused to believe he had gone. "

"Sorry. Was he that man in the photograph?" Hans asked. He could see the sadness deep in her eyes.

"No." The look in her eyes was far away and Hans thought for a moment that he could see a small tear in the corner of her eye.

"Jan's father?"

"No. Raymond and his wife were killed in 1921 in a train crash. Luckily, they hadn't taken Janine with them. She became an orphan and has lived with me ever since. She's still not come to terms with losing her parents. Now, I am all she has in the whole wide world. I know she says some dreadful things at times but she hurts herself as much as others. I think at times she feels she has been deserted. She built a wall around herself after Raymond and Nancy died. She still feels very alone at times, especially when that dreadful anniversary comes round again. Is that how you felt after your mother died?"

"I had my brothers. There were three of us but Renard was always in charge. He's my older brother."

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"And we had my uncle and aunt. They looked after us. Aunt Laura is Papi's sister."

"Janine's only got me. It has always been just her and me in this big house these past three years or so. I am busy with the school so Janine is on her own much of the time. She has not got many friends, well, ones who come here. And, being an only child she has the house to herself. I think she feels threatened by you being here. Suddenly, this big house is not only hers any more. But I think it's just what she needs."

Hans was feeling better about his situation. Life did not look so bleak for him again and Miss Turner had shown that she did have a caring side to her.

"So, I stay?"

"That is the idea. You will both benefit. Do you both good. Young people need someone their own age as well as older ones around. Do you agree with me, young man?"

There was silence for a while as he weighed up what she had said.

"I suppose so, Miss Turner."

"We will all have to make a big effort, Resmel, won't we? We have to be friends and put that dreadful past behind us. I will talk to Janine. I'm sure it has been a terrible misunderstanding." Miss Turner smiled slightly and for the first time he noticed her mouth lifted higher on one side than the other and behind her plain spectacles, there were eyes that had feelings. How different she was from the school mistress who inhabited the room down the main corridor and never went out unless to scold or chastise some unfortunate student. This new side of Miss Turner was a surprise. She was human after all. "I will see what can be done. Oh, before I do forget, you will be pleased to know a letter arrived for you in this morning's post. From the Brymers. Mrs Brymer also wrote to me and reported that she and Mr Brymer have settled in to their new job. They both send you their greetings and wish you well in your studies but I expect she has written something like that in your letter. You can pick it up from the hall sideboard. The Brymer's have given me some ideas that may help. So, it is up to you now."

"I'll try. This time I'll really try, Miss Turner. I promise. Even if other students are beasts, I'll make you all proud. Grandmother will be pleased."

"Good. And what's this I hear about you playing cricket now?"

"Robert Brinkwater invited me to join them."

"He is a good lad and he will be a good friend to you, Resmel. Our boys are not all bad. They will accept you if you make the effort to meet them half way. Mix with them and join in with their activities. That's how you will find friends."

Hans did find more friends on his seventeenth birthday. Robert Brinkwater, together with several other boys from around the neighbourhood, decided to invite Hans out for 'a good time with the lads' and to prove to him that old feelings could be laid to rest. It was to be a fun day: cricket, picnic and some male high-jinks during the long, balmy summer evening. Gerald Brookfield-Smith, who lived out of the town, had got permission from his father for the boys to spend the night in one of the old barns that usually stored farm machinery. The only restriction put on them was that there was to be no smoking because of the hay remnants lying around. All Hans needed were a couple of blankets or a sleeping bag.

A chauffeur was sent round to Miss Turner's house to collect Hans and drive him out to the Brookfield-Smith estate twelve miles north-west of the town. When Hans arrived, Gerald and another slightly younger boy were already there and came on over. A few hens scratched around in the dirt where the boys had been walking.

Gerald was a year and a half older than Hans and had his mind set on doing something really exciting with his life. His hair was a loose tangle of straw-coloured fine hair and his grey eyes darted around as though he was trying to follow one of the flying midges in the warm air. He made sweeping gestures in Hans direction and beckoned him over.

"Hans, this is Eddie. Eddie, Hans. Got to dash. Others to see." Gerald's face grinned in pleasure as he flicked an unruly tuft of his wayward hair away from his face and immediately made a quick disappearing act into the shed nearby, followed immediately by indignant clucking and a missile of ruffled feathers making a dash for the safety of outdoors.

Hans held out his hand to Eddie.

"Pleased to meet you."

Eddie was about the same height as Hans, only rounder and more muscled. Hans liked Eddie as soon as Gerald introduced him. He had upside-down eyes that made him look as though he was laughing all the time and a crop of tight dark curls . Eddie did not attend the school but worked in his father's butcher's shop in town. His father owned and ran the business and because of this, together with the fact that Eddie could hit a ball better than anyone else in the county, Eddie was accepted into Gerald's ring of cricket-playing boys.

"Hello. Pleased to meet you, too."

Eddie always wore his white cricket clothes when he was with the boys whether there was a game on or not. He grinned at Hans and pulled down the bottom of his white cricket jumper.

"Glad to have you in our team. Good idea of Robert's to bring you along. Really great!"

They sat together on an old piece of machinery that had lain around for so many years that the grass had entwined itself around every rusty strut and pulley. Gerald was still inside the shed. They could hear him thumping around and moving things. He had given them strict instructions to remain outside until he was ready.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Eddie asked as he plucked a stalk of grass and began chewing on it.

"No. I'm from Austria."

"Really?" Eddie was trying to place the accent. "I've got a cousin who went out there after the war. He's got lots of sheep. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Loads more than you'll ever see here."

Hans was the puzzled one now.

"We don't have sheep in Austria," he said.

"No? Well, my cousin does. Absolutely thousands of 'em."

After that, the two boys sat in silence for a while listening to the dull thumps and bangs from within. Then Eddie thought of something else to say.

"Seen any kangaroos?"

"No, why should I?"

"They're from Australia. My cousin wrote me. Says he can jump almost as high as 'em."

"Really?"

The conversation came to a halt again but this time they didn't have long to wait before Robert arrived, together with one of the tallest boys Hans had ever seen.

"Hello, Hans. Hello Eddie. Bertie Williams couldn't make it this time."

Robert was a little out of breath. He brushed back a strand of hair which had fallen forwards over his forehead and beckoned his companion to move closer. "This is Alistair Montgrove, known as Loppy. His father's a lawyer with Leavers and Company Solicitors, so be careful what you say or do."

Loppy awkwardly leaned forward from his slender waist and thrust out his long, gangly arm and presented the boys with a large plate of a hand for them to shake. He was at least two years older than Robert and Hans. His laugh was gangly and spread out in all directions around him.

"Don't take any notice of that. My old man's not likely to bite your head off and besides I keep mum about what we do. Heard all about you from Robert." He shook Hans by the hand so vigorously, Hans wondered whether his fingers, let alone his hand, would survive the ordeal. Robert stood shaking his own hand after receiving Loppy's strong grip. "Funny," Loppy continued, "I hadn't noticed you around the school. But then, I was usually out on the pitch or in the library, if I wasn't studying."

"Hans sometimes joins us on the cricket field, don't you Hans?" Robert's hand had given up feeling squeezed and now rested comfortably by his side.

"Great!" Loppy replied. "It's a good game when you get to understand it, don't you think?"

"Not bad," answered Hans. "What are you going to do after the holidays?"

"Hope to make it to one of the universities. Just done my finals. Can relax a bit now until results come through." He looked around above their heads, making Hans think of giraffes. "Seen Gerald?"

"Inside." Eddie pointed to the open door. "Says we're to stay out here. For the moment. I saw his cousin go in there with him. It's all hush, hush."

"If I know Gerald," whispered Loppy, "He's definitely up to something. Just you wait. Meantime, I think we can get in a short game. Come on. Let's round up the others now we are all here. I see Eddie's come prepared."

Hans and the others had to wait until the end of the afternoon to find out why Gerald had been so secretive. Phil, a younger cousin of Gerald's who had arrived to stay for the week, had been permitted to join in the fun but on the condition he helped with Gerald's barn preparations and never breathed a word about this to any living soul. This was the boys' night when boys became men.

"Careful with the lamp." Gerald pointed to a lantern hanging from a hook well above their heads. "I'll snuff it out when it's time to sleep."

After they had all eaten, the boys flopped down on piles of straw and the odd lost feather from one of the roosting hens. They had raked the straw together in five separate piles for five separate beds. This far corner of the barn was theirs, away from the dusty farm machinery and row of old, dull leather bridles, collars and haines. The air was dusty with the smell of dried manure and animal sweat. The boys lay on their beds in the semi-darkness chatting about cricket, auto-mobiles, then girls. It didn't really matter which girls they were as long as they were girls. Girls from the school, girls from the town, special girls who came to watch the cricket games. Soon became clear to everyone that the best girl of all was Anne Sutherland, not only within the school, but within the town as well.

"Gerald said he'd be willing to fight a duel to get Anne all by himself!" Robert laughed loudly at the idea of he and Gerald locked in mortal combat while Anne stood seemingly disinterested, on the sideline.

"I think I should have first choice," shouted Hans over the chatter and laughter.

"Why?" the others shouted back loudly in unison.

"Because I met her first. Before any of you. Before the assembly."

Boos and hisses shot around the barn. Then, a voice called out above the noise.

"What about before? How do you come to that?"

"I was introduced with her," Hans shouted. "At the same time! That should be enough."

"All right!" Gerald held up his hand. "I'll surrender. Just this once. But only because it's your birthday, Hans."

"How did you know?" Hans did not know whether to be delighted or embarrassed.

"Never mind how I found out." He dived his hand into his pile of straw and held up two bottles of red wine high in the air. "Tonight, we celebrate! Make a man of you, Hans!"

"Am I included?" asked Phil who was several years younger that the others. He was hoping not to be left out.

"Yes, Phil. You're included," someone said as uproarious laughter lifted high into the loft. "We're all in this together!"

"Loppy can drink a whole bottle and not get drunk!" Eddie said at the top of his excited voice. "Let's see who can drink Loppy into the straw!"

"Where did you get that grog from?" asked Robert as another bottle appeared.

"From the cellar."

"Won't they be missed? I mean, won't your butler cop it when they're discovered missing?"

"No. I've been stashing up for weeks. Snodders will blame it all on some of the stable lads."

Gerald groped into the straw pile again and extracted another three bottles. He popped the cork on the first and began pouring out the beautiful intoxicating liquid into the clean, cut-glass bowls of the wine glasses. Tonight they felt like the ancient gods.

"Drink up, lads! The night is still young!"

The boys continued drinking until the early hours of the morning until one by one they leaned so far over to one side and were not able to right themselves again. Some time next morning, and Hans was not sure what time it was, he awakened back into consciousness. His head throbbed and his eyes felt burning and bulging at the very point when he thought they would explode out of their sockets. He rolled over onto his side and tried to prop himself up on his elbow but it would not lock and he flopped back onto his straw mattress with the control of a jellyfish.

"You awake?"

The whispering was only a few feet away but the thickness within his brain prevented Hans from recognising it. With no windows in the barn, and the lantern extinguished, the interior was as pitch black.

"Is . . . you . . . Robert?"

"Um, er am I?" came the voice in the dark. "Is that you . . . Dicky?"

A voice that sounded like his tried to answer but the noises wouldn't come out of his mouth. He tried to concentrate. Finally, his wobbly lips which had as much feeling as if he'd just had a tooth extraction managed to form some words.

"No. It's . . ." There was a long pause while Hans tried to think of his own name. He finally gave up because it hurt every cell in his brain to think at all. "Me," he replied.

"I'm me too," said the other voice.

This was becoming difficult. 'Me' could not be 'Me'. There were too many of them. Hans was now totally confused by the haze in his mind.

"Robert?"

"D . . . don't think so. Don't f . . . feel like Robert. Do you?"

"No! Scheisse, my head hurts. Must have been hit by . . . "

"You too?" asked another voice from the dark. "I've spent most of the night pissin' my way through."

The strange conversation continued another few minutes. Someone got up and opened one of the doors. A shape appeared standing near to where Hans thought his feet were. He squinted but his eyes refused to focus properly and the shape remained ghostlike, yet solid. Then it spoke.

"Come on, Hans. Rouse yourself. It's the effects of all that wine."

"Am I?" He couldn't think of the word he wanted.

Drunk? Yes. We all are in varying degrees." A long thin arm held something out towards him. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel a lot better."

Hans took the mug and tried to direct it towards his mouth. Funny, he thought, I've forgotten exactly where my mouth is. His wobbly, misdirected movements slowly produced the result he needed and the rim of the mug finally came into contact with his lips.

"One gulp," another advised, another voice coming closer through the fog. "Swill it down. Don't wait. One. Two. Three. Go!"

Hans gulped. The stuff tasted awful but it rushed down his gullet as quickly as a flood down a drainpipe. He sat pulling faces, almost gagging from the taste. An unmoving shape at the end of his feet and a much taller, leaner one by his shoulder. Slowly Hans' eyeballs settled back into his head and his bewilderment began to evaporate. He could now focus.

"Ah, Loppy. It's you."

"Glad to have you back with us, old boy. You and Phil had it bad. Your first?" Hans nodded and his head wobbled as it nearly fell off. Loppy laughed at his misery. "Your first is always the worst."

"Ooh!" Hans held his head which was still refusing to stay square on to his neck and shoulders. "How long do I feel like this?"

He tried to massage his temples but they still throbbed. Slowly his body was recovering and he could see further around himself. Those boys who were mobile were tidying up. There was Gerald over the far side picking up the binge night evidence and pushing empty glass bottles into a black bag. When he noticed Hans was with them again, he went over.

"Should be sobering up by the time we head back." he tapped Hans lightly on his shin. "Don't worry. My Dad's never noticed anything strange yet."

"What? You've done this before?"

"Hundreds of times, haven't we Loppy?"

Loppy picked up his bag and stuffed his things inside until the bag was so swollen it couldn't hold any more. He was not prepared to incriminate himself.

"Well, lads, I'm off !"

Loppy gave a wave high in the air and slipped away between the barn doors that had been cracked open just wide enough to allow his slender body to slip through. Hans could now see that it was daylight, probably well into the morning hours.

Time for all of us to go, he thought as he got up on legs as wobbly as a new born foal.

He staggered around the side of Miss Turner's house. Even now his legs felt uncoordinated and the ground was too far below his shoes. He hoped to reach the safety of his his room before anyone else noticed how ungainly he was walking. He rounded the back corner and focused on the large glass panels of the back porch. It would be a short trip from there through the kitchen and a longer trip down the hallway to the stairs but there were several doorways he could duck into if anyone else appeared. So far, so good.

He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that to run up them would most certainly cause him to lose his footing. He listened. Nothing. The house was silent.

Good, he thought. Here goes.

Hans had almost reached the first small landing where the stairs now turned to the left, when he heard a door below him open and footsteps sound in the hallway. He lowered his bag to the ground between his feet, stopped breathing, and listened. The steps began to come closer towards the bottom of the stairs but in the next second, turned and receded. A door opened, then closed. The muffled voice of one of the servants was snuffed out by the door shutting. Hans bent over and picked up the bag, one hand steadying himself against the wall. Only eight more steps to climb.

Each step up seemed to be growing higher; each step narrower. He cursed his senses for playing tricks on him, distorting reality and teasing his legs so that he had trouble placing each foot down firmly and precisely on each step ahead. He counted:

" . . . three, f, fr . . . five . . . "

"Watch what you're doing!" A pause. Then the voice changed to one of suppressed laughter. "You're drunk!"

Immediately in front of him, only two steps higher, stood Jan Turner. She had expected him to have moved over and let him pass but his manner of moving and the way in which he hugged the wall told her that things were not normal. Hans had been unaware of her approach for all his concentration had been centred on getting his legs to behave and not falling backwards back down the stairs.

"What drunk? Not!" His words still sounded slurred, enough to alert Jan that Hans Resmel was behaving like men she had seen stagger out of 'The Cook's Arms' on a Saturday evening as she and her friends had come out of the cinema when they were allowed to go to this new entertainment.

"You are! Wait 'till I tell my aunt! What do you say to that, Mr Drunky? Drunky Resmel." She held out her arms wide so that he had no way of avoiding her.

"Many boys drink. Not only . . . me!"

"Who else? Not Gerald Brookfield-Smith!" She shook her head at him and made clicking noises, just like he had heard her aunt do. "You know that that much is not good for you?"

Hans raised his head and tried to focus on her but he began to feel a bit dizzy and thought that if he did not get past her soon, he would fall over backwards and go crashing back down the stairwell.

"Let me pass, damn you!"

"I might. Then, I might not." she was in command. "Only if you promise me something."

She stood firm. It was a battle of wits and his wits were not intact. She eyed him carefully from toe to head, waiting for him to react to her request. She took off her glasses and with utmost slowness wiped the lenses several times extremely carefully before setting them back on her face. She flicked her head back and then just stood there, blocking his way up the stairs.

"All right! Anything! Just . . . let . . . let me pass!" The words squeezed out between his clenched teeth as if they had been through a press.

"Promise. Promise. You've got to promise, first!"

"Ich schwöre!"

"Cross your heart and hope to die!"

"Anything. Tell me quickly before I do die here on the stairs. Then you'd have a body to deal with."

Jan cleared her throat and gripped the top of the bannister but still there was no room for him.

"I've been invited over to a friend's place but I need to get there, somehow. Aunt would never let me go there alone. So, you can either go with me on the bus or . . . " She lowered her voice so that only he could hear what she next had to say. "I could borrow a bicycle but don't you dare tell aunt. You can piggy me over. I've seen others hitch a ride on the bar. You pedal, I ride. See?"

"I'm not that good on a bike. Don't have one."

"You'll have to practice!" She lowered her arms and leaned against the bannister this time to give him room. "I'll get the bike and we can try it tomorrow round the back of the school. No one will see us. Everyone's on holiday." As Hans stumbled by, she hissed her warning. "If you don't, I'll tell my aunt you're drunk." Then, with a light, triumphant smile and with glee in her voice, she trilled, "See you tomorrow, Hans. Don't forget!"

With those words, she danced brightly past him and down the stairs.

The school year began again in September. The days were becoming shorter and early fogs crept across the fields, rolling in from the sea and lingering until the students were already sitting at their lessons. Miss Turner kept her word and Jan had become much more pleasant, even sharing the odd joke with him during the weekends.

November 4th and the Prime Minister together with his Labour-led government resigned. It was emblazoned in thick black headlines all over the front page of Tuesday morning's newspaper. Ellen had taken it into Miss Turner and the shocked look that had been on Ellen's face told Hans that something awful had happened. He was about to enter the front room but decided to backtrack and keep well out of Miss Turner's way. It was not until dinner time just after one that afternoon that Hans learnt the truth.

"What happens now, Aunt?" asked Jan as they sat waiting for Mary to bring the meat pie to the table.

"We'll have to wait for Parliament to decide. My guess is that Mr Baldwin will most likely be our next Prime Minister."

Jan pulled her I don't know or care face and glared at Hans on the opposite side of the table. He pretended to ignore her and cast his gaze over the serving dishes arranged around the table.

Two weeks later, Miss Turner decided that the school house in which she lived needed some repairs done as well as a few small alterations before the really wet and cold weather set in. She had made the decision to engage the very handy man who was employed to do jobs like that around the college buildings. That morning, Freddy Knox arrived, together with hammer and metal toolbox and immediately began chipping out the soft rotten wood that had turned up in the corners of several windows and cutting out parts of the window ledges that also needed repairing. He had set up his work-horse and was just bringing in a heavy piece of timber ready for sawing when a young girl in a long grey overcoat and carrying a suitcase that was almost too large and heavy for her, struggled up the back steps and tentatively knocked on the open door.

" 'ello, lass!" Freddy came up behind with the timber tucked under one arm. "Can I be 'elpin' yer?"

"I come. Miss Turner to help," she said with a very strong non-English accent.

"Right-e-o, miss." Freddy put his timber down and stepped past the young visitor into the kitchen. "Nobody around?" he asked her.

"Nobody?"

"That's fine. I'll find 'er for yer. 'ang on. I'll just give a call through that 'all door." Freddy began walking over towards the hall door but just before he pushed down on the latch, he turned and again spoke to the girl on the outside step. " 'oo did yer say yer was?" The girl did not understand but he was flattered by her smile. "Yer name, luv?"

"Ah?"

"Name? Yer name?"

"Friedl. Fräulein Friedl.

The young girl looked rustic and strong, just the kind of lass he would like for a wife, if he did not have one already. He was amused by the way she had tilted her round fawn-coloured hat on the side of her head so that its long feather flicked and bobbed each time she moved. When she removed her hat, she shook her head which seemed relieved at the freedom, for she had pulled her hat down very firmly until it had almost covered every strand of her light-brown hair. It was not short after all but had been wound in two pinwheels either side of her head. Freddy thought that altogether, the girl looked friendly and homely.

Freddy whistled into the hallway. He had done that several times before so he knew Miss Turner would know that he needed something. He quietly closed the door and made his way over towards the girl.

"Come in, missy. 'ere, let me take yer 'at and coat." She handed them over. He carefully draped her heavy coat over a chairback and laid her hat on the table edge. That was when he saw that the dark-brown dress she wore did not become her, for it hung rag-like, several sizes too big and that the girl had attempted to gather it in at the waistline by the use of a large black leather belt which crumpled the material up into several large folds. With her outer clothes removed, Freddy decided she did not appear to be as well nourished as he had first thought and he came to the decision that she must have been through hard times lately. Should he leave her in the kitchen or take her through into the living room? Such a girl like her might well be light fingered and if something were to go missing, he would have to take the blame. On the otherhand, she had arrived with a large suitcase so she must be the new servant Miss Turner had told him was coming.

Freddy sat on the edge of a kitchen chair and began unlacing his heavy work boots. The tip of a toe poked out through the hole in his sock. He tried to hide it behind his other foot but as he lost his balance, the young visitor smothered her laugh.

"Ah, there be a piggy poking out! Sorry about that!" Freddy grinned and shrugged his shoulders. " Would yer like t'come with me, Miss. You can leave yer bag there. It'll be safe enough. I'll find someone to 'elp."

He led the way to the front room and knocked very gently in the centre of the door. No one from the other side responded so Fred carefully pulled down on the handle and cracked open the door.

"I think you'll be all right in 'ere. I'll ring for someone." He was not used to acting like a butler. He bowed and reversed out of the room leaving the girl standing by herself. The only sound came from the clock ticking in the corner.

Hans entered. He remembered seeing a large dictionary on a shelf and wanted to look up a word. He did not notice the visitor at first. She had quietly stepped aside, out of his way. She had learnt to make herself invisible as part of her training. Hans found the book, looked up the word and made ready to leave. That's when he noticed her.

"Good afternoon. Are you waiting for someone?" He was puzzled over her appearance; surely he should know this girl. There was something familiar, her face, perhaps or the way in which she moved, yet . . .

"Good afternoon. I wait. Miss Turner?"

"I think she's somewhere in the garden. Shall I fetch her?"

She shrugged her shoulders, with a broad smile, and then looked blank.

"Tut mir leid, I speak only little English."

"You spoke German!" he exclaimed in the language of his homeland. He wanted to know what part of Germany she came from although by her accent he thought she could come from a Bavarian village.

"Austria," she answered. "And you? You visit Austria?"

"No, I am from there. Salzburg."

"Me, too!" Her eyebrows betrayed her surprise. She laughed with delight.

Hans held out his hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Fräulein . . . ?"

"Friedl. Fräulein Friedl."

This time it was Hans who was taken aback. She had taken him back to his childhood, to the mountains and valleys where his grandmother still lived, Oma who had sent him to this town in the Sussex countryside. "Friedl?" he asked. "The Friedl's I knew had a farm close to Esch."

"Why, yes, yes. You know of them?"

She could not think why this young man should know anything about her family. Any correspondence that had been between this house and the agency had only involved the agency manager and Miss Turner. Miss Friedl had brought a letter of introduction to Miss Turner. It was still in her small handbag.

"Let me introduce myself." Hans put his right hand behind his back, brought his heels together with a light click, and bowed. "Erwin Hans Resmel."

"Hänschen?"

There was only one person who ever called him that.

"Heidi? You must be Heidi!"

She laughed again. It was that laugh that Hans now remembered. She had changed. The last time he saw Heidi, she was only a very little girl but, together with her brothers, the Friedls had been his playmates since the day he was old enough to realise how good having friends was.

His grandparents had been very friendly with Herr and Frau Friedl. Hans and his brothers had spent many holidays in Austria with their grandparents and he could remember romping around with the Friedl children over the sloping mountainside fields on their farm. Now those happy days had resurfaced and Heidi's smile was just as he remembered. A happy country girl with an infectious laugh that bubbled up whenever she became excited.

Words began to tumble out of him. Words he thought he had forgotten. Childish words they had shared in the dialect of his childhood, bonding and uniting them once again. He took both her hands in his and stood shaking his head in disbelief. He was thinking that if he were to let go, she would vanish into thin air and he would be left alone again.

"Heidi Friedl, Heidi Friedl, I'm so pleased to see you. I never thought it would be here in England that we'd meet again. You know so much has happened since I saw you last. And you are quite grown up."

She laughed.

"Well you're not the little boy who came to play."

"When Papi took us to Berlin, I missed you all dreadfully for a long time," he suddenly said before the embarrassment of his words took hold.

"Really?"

Her eyes flickered and grew wider. She laughed and her laughter rang out just as it did round the hills.

"Yes. It's true!" Both hands grabbed his hair for her presence was still beyond belief. He stepped back and scanned her up and down several times before speaking again "Is it really you? I can't believe it! But here you are !"

"I am and I do not feel strange any more. It's like I feel when summer comes. I also enjoyed our summer holidays together when your Mutti brought you round."

Her eyes sparkled like the lake reflecting a clear blue summer day. It made Hans remember those earlier days and he was happy at being alive.

"I can just see your father now," he laughed. "He was sitting on the front of the cart and us on the back with our legs dangling over the back. Remember that? Going up the hill at the back of the farm?"

"I do! I do! You didn't like the smell. That's because Papa had been carrying the winter manure out of the barn!"

Hans was happy when he remembered those childhood days, when they had all played together on the hills near Salzburg, looking down at the silver thread of the Salzach River winding its way between the the older and newer part of the town. The image faded as Heidi's excited babble and giggles of laughter broke into his thoughts.

"And do you remember Uwe and Elsa who lived near Kaputzinerberg?"

"Sorry, I can't say I do."

They were children and sometimes children do forget things or cannot put all the pieces together. Heidi shrugged off his comment.

"Maybe you'd left when they moved to Salzburg. I remember your older brother, though."

"Renard? What made you remember him?"

"I don't know. Probably because he was older than us and had crazy ideas which he tormented us with. And he was very bossy."

"That was Renard. Always ordering us around as though we were his to do with as he pleased. I'd call him a trickster, for one never knew if he was being serious or stupid."

"Is he like that now he is older?" she asked.

"Ah, he's older but he still acts the same, orders everyone around just as if he were the Kaiser." Hans gave a grunty laugh, more like the snuffle a pig makes than that of a human being. "I don't think Renard will ever change."

"No, I guess not," she agreed.

Hans did not want to continue talking about his brothers, especially Renard. He gave another snort and looked at her with his head held to one side. He was suddenly aware that they were still both standing in the middle of the room.

"Sorry, I should have asked you to sit down. Would you like to sit.? He held out his hand, flat to indicate she should take a chair. As soon as she sat, he sat opposite her with his back to the window. "It's unbelievable, Heidi that here we are together . . . in England. It's incredi . . . "

He did not complete the sentence for the front room door opened and Miss Turner entered the room.

"Resmel!" Her voice rose with surprise as he got out of the chair. "What are you doing here?" She stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of Heidi who also stood up. "Oh, you have already met Miss Friedl."

Hans grinned in a sheepish way and after clearing his throat, he told Miss Turner that they had previously known each other.

"She's from Salzburg, too," he finished.

"Miss Friedl will be here for a few months working as a maid and helping Mary with some of the more mundane duties." Miss Turner turned towards Heidi and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Friedl. Welcome to my household."

Heidi blushed. She bobbed a small curtsey. She shook her employer's hand.

"Good afternoon, Miss Turner."

Hans indicated that he was prepared to leave the room but Miss Turner shook her head.

"I need you to translate for me, Mr Resmel. Please tell Miss Friedl that I am sorry I was not able to meet her as soon as she arrived. I hope she had a pleasant voyage." Miss Turner explained some of the duties Heidi would be expected to carry out and waited patiently as Hans translated.

This is the Miss Turner of the college again, thought Hans. "Efficient and cool."

As Hans got to the end of Miss Turner's instructions to Heidi, he added that he would meet her in the kitchen after Mary had finished showing Heidi to her bedroom.

"Mary can show Miss Friedl where things are kept after she has unpacked her bag. Mary may need you to translate for Miss Friedl if she doesn't understand all the house rules. That will be agreeable with you, Mr Resmel?"

Hans nodded and was secretly pleased to be able to be with Heidi, even if for a short time. Miss Turner rang the bell for Mary and then she left the pair alone again.

CHAPTER 6

In the millions

It was not unusual for middle-class households to employ foreign girls, especially to do lower house duties such as washing dishes or peeling vegetables, duties even the scullery maids loathed doing. Heidi settled in well and after a few weeks it was decided that she could help Mary with normal domestic duties to keep the household running smoothly. Whenever Hans caught a glimpse of her she was carrying a duster or sweeper, quietly humming to herself as she moved silently in and out of rooms reserved for Miss Turner, Jan and himself. Servants in all houses were expected to be unobtrusive and quiet as they went about the daily duties. Sometimes Heidi did forget and could be heard singing in one of the upstairs rooms as she made up the beds. Mary would have to lay down the pile of fresh linen she had been carrying, find Heidi and reprimand her.

"Sorry. Sorry, Mary. I try to remember."

The excitement of Christmas had come and passed and in a few days everyone would be celebrating the last day of the year. The weather had become so dismal and cold that nobody had even wanted to go outside. Heidi had remained with Mary and Ellen in the kitchen and although Hans had been cheered by knowing she was so close, he was rather upset that he had seen so little of her. Heidi was only too pleased to have a job and a little money of her own. Usually, as soon as the girls finished with school, they were off to the cities, preferring to work in factories or shops where pay rates were better and time off was greater. The middle class English found they were having to look abroad for those willing to be general maids in their houses, especially as their homes did not carry the prestige of the landed gentry.

Saturday morning dawned dismal and cold again. It was the third Saturday in a row the weather had been awful with intermittent snow flurries and a biting icy wind that found its way into every corner. Hans could feel the tension in the house brought on by the bad weather and from being cooped up indoors. Voices became more strained and tempers were on a short fuse.

The awful morning dragged out into a bleak, cloud-covered afternoon but at least the snow had stopped. Finally, as the daylight faded, the low clouds began to part so that by early evening, the heavens were finally lit up by hundreds of crisp, twinkling stars. Things were looking up again.

Hans had been sitting upstairs at his desk, trying to finish reading the chapter of a book that had occupied him for most of the day. The small fire burning in the grate had kept the bedroom moderately warm so that he had intended to return to his reading as soon as the supper table had been cleared. When he did return, he decided to sit for a while in the flickering semi-darkness watching the small flames curl round the blackness of the coal. What made him move over to the window, he did not know but something inside pulled him over, and as he wiped the glass, he looked upwards finding the constellations he recognised: Ursa Major, the Great Bear; and the bright star in Auriga that helped him find the nearby Perseus.

The moon rose, its pale light glimmering through the windowpane taking away the faintest stars making the night sky less crowded. He got up to shut out its light but as he touched the curtain, he changed his mind and decided to leave it as it was. The night was beautiful and enticing.

On the other side of his bedroom window was the rear garden, whiteness stretching out until it faded into the dimness of a perfect winter night. Trees that normally stood like dark, unfriendly giants now welcomed him with their silver canopies and intriguing shadows. As he continued to gaze downwards, a movement caught his attention. He wiped the glass of the window once more and peered intently through the circle he had made in the condensation. A figure, wrapped well in heavy clothing, was making its way across the lawn, leaving a trail of white smudged footprints indented into the frozen grass.

Who could that be? he wondered. Who would be walking outside at this time of the year?

He was intrigued. He grabbed his coat and rushed outside to investigate. For a while the lone figure melted into the dark shadows and Hans wondered whether his eyes had been playing tricks with the light but just as he was about to turn back to the house, a silhouetted movement caught his eye. He stepped out in its direction until he could plainly make out the outline of a person near to one of the large oaks.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" he called as he came upon them from behind. His call made the figure start and it swung round to face him. The woollen scarf was immediately pulled down from the face.

"Heidi!"

"Ach, Hänschen, you made me jump! I'm not cold at all and I just had to get out of the house. We've been shut in for days and days and the evening sky looked so beautiful now that the clouds have cleared. Look, at that." She pointed up to three stars still visible in the moon-lit sky. "Look! Isn't that the tail of the Bear?" She turned to face him. "I love looking at the stars. I used to do it with Papa on clear evenings and we'd play a game to see who could find shapes. Do you ever do things like that?"

"Yes. I was doing exactly the same thing. Trying to see them from my bedroom window. Look, Heidi, see those four over there and then those fainter three? Do you know what they are?"

She hardly had to follow his pointing finger for she was well conversed in the lore of the sky.

"Oh, yes. They're Perseus."

They stood looking upwards at the sparkling carpet above, with Heidi outlining the shapes and pictures the Ancients had also seen. "I had another letter from Papa today," she said with a sigh in her words. "Arrived with the afternoon mail."

"Mmm." Hans was not really listening. He stopped looking at the sky and looked at Heidi standing in her long grey overcoat. "Why did you come to England?"

"To work."

"Why here?"

"One gets good experience in England. Besides, there is no work at home. Nowhere. It's almost impossible to find work."

"Really? Uncle hasn't written to me and mentioned anything like that."

"Maybe he didn't want to worry you. Our rich people are not taking on any more servants. I tried everything: I found nothing. Want to walk with me?" she asked.

They began walking round the whiteness that covered the lawn making their way over to the back gate which led directly on to one of the paths which skirted the perimeter of a field. Hans knew the way well for he had walked the circuit many times.

"Why didn't you stay longer at school, Heidi? You were such a clever girl."

"Papa couldn't keep us all. My brother Christian had to go away to find work. And now it is my turn."

"Fifteen and a half is such a young age to be away from home."

"I know. When Christian was looking for work, Papa asked your grandfather if he had any ideas. He was told to write to Herr Klön to ask if there was a position in his factory. Christian was willing to try anything. Any job, it did not matter what. If not with your uncle, perhaps he could put in a good word for Christian."

That surprised Hans for neither uncle nor Renard had told him they had heard from any of the Friedls.

"Uncle Karl? What did he say?"

"It was several months before we heard back. By then, he wrote and told Papa that people were loosing their savings and firms were going under. He said he was sorry but the had nothing to offer at his factory."

"Yes, I guessed that would be the case. He had to lay off some of his own workers."

"Then, out of the blue, he wrote to Papa to say he had found a job for me if I wanted it . . . in England. Was I willing to go? So, here I am."

Her face lit up into a pleasant smile.

"So, you are here to replace Ellen?"

"What makes you say that?" She appeared surprised.

"Isn't Ellen leaving then?" he asked sounding just as surprised as she had looked.

"Not permanently. She will be going home for a few weeks when her mother's confinement ends."

"When what?" Somehow he felt as if he were missing something.

"When she has her baby. Ellen tells me it will be her eigth one."

"Oh." He did not want to get into that embarrassing subject, for he found anything to do with babies quite daunting, so he changed the subject. "Do you miss Salzburg?"

"When I get homesick. Do you?"

"I did at first. A lot. I did, too, when we first went to live in Berlin. I missed my grandparents, especially Oma. I missed the mountains and Sunday bells. I still feel Austrian although I've spent almost as much time in Germany. It was so different: busy, noise, parades. I liked watching Kaiser Wilhelm in his coach go by and all the soldiers in their shining hats with colourful feathers on top. Because Papi was in the army, we were always expected to go and watch the parades. But all that waiting made my legs ache. Renard stood to attention all the way through and cheered and saluted when the carriage rolled past."

"Was it good to live in Berlin?" Heidi tipped her head slightly to one side side like a puppy when one spoke to it.

"I don't like city life," he replied rather dryly.

"I've never lived in a city. I thought cities would be an exciting place to live."

"No, not all the time."

"Do you like it in England?"

"I'm beginning to. It's better now."

"I've heard you speak English. I think you're good."

Hans put on his English face and accent and spoke to her in English.

"Like a true Englishman, I play now cricket. Bowl away!" He swung his arm up and forward in a curve as if bowling the ball. "El-be-vay." That was not quite correct. He laughed and tried once more. "No, el-bee-double-you! That is: leg before wicket." He switched back into German. "See? I do still make mistakes. Not yet fluent."

"Sounds perfect to me," she answered. "Have you made lots of friends?"

"Yes, have. It took a while. When I came here I suffered the same as when we first went to Berlin. Teasing and such. The boys kept saying horrible things. I could hear them talking and laughing. I understood just enough to know they were talking about me. I got into some really bad fist fights with some of them. Nosebleeds and bruises as large as saucers."

"Poor Hänschen. Why? Everyone has been so nice to me."

"It's different with boys and it's worse when you don't understand each other. Your mind plays tricks with you. The boys didn't like me coming from Germany. The war, you see. I met some people who had to change their name and make it sound more English. Mrs Brymer told me she had a terrible time during the war years. And she was English. People were so suspicious of her because she had a German husband even though they had lived here for years and years."

"Really?" Heidi's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Did you meet them here?"

"Yes. I stayed with them for a while. They used to live in the school cottage where Mr Knox, the grounsman, now lives."

"Were the boys suspicious of you, do you think, Hänschen?"

"I think so. I've had to change many things but I think it's better now. I've got some good friends now and as long as I play cricket with them every now and then, they accept me." He snapped his fingers together to fire away the rest of his thoughts on that subject and focused more on Heidi. He nodded. "So, . . . I can help you. What do they say here?" He spoke to her in English, trying to imitate how the other boys would have spoken. "Chin up, me girl. Don't let 'em grind you down." He laughed with himself as he realised that the girl did not understand. He returned to German. "It's good for me now. The more English I become, the better." He tried to sound cheerful but seeing the tears in Heidi's eyes, he felt his last words sounded rather hollow. "Come, it's cooling off. I'll walk you back to the house."

The track widened and they were easily able to walk side by side. For several minutes they walked in silence, each thinking their own personal thoughts. She lightly touched his hand and they paused in their steps while he kicked at an oversized stone in front of him.

"How long have you been away from home?"

"Almost a year now. I've been here such a long time. Almost as English as the English. My grandmother would be pleased."

"She came from England, didn't she?"

"Yes. Not far from here."

They continued walking again. Two dark figures silhouetted against the dark foliage of the low bushes beside a wooden post and rail fence. They said nothing for a few minutes but enjoyed each other's presence, the closeness of companionship that is heightened under the cover of night. Heidi hesitated. The darkness had sharpened Hans' field of perception and awareness and he felt there was something else she wanted to to tell him. He stepped back as she moved directly in front of him.

"Hänschen, do you really have any idea about the terrible things that have been happening?" The corners of her mouth dropped so that she looked sad.

"Where?"

"In Austria. Assassination attempt on our chancellor."

"Really?"

"Among others. Then, there was that trouble Germany. You heard about that?"

He shook his head.

"Surely, when you left Germany you knew things were very bad."

"Such as?"

He could only think that he had forgotten, if he ever knew of it. Uncle Karl had protected them from the worst of the troubles although he had noticed long queues of poorly dressed people outside the soup kitchens that had popped up in some of the side streets. He had caught glimpses of them through the train window when he had travelled across the city with his brothers and aunt. Besides, Heidi had always lived in Austria, so what did she know about a country which was across the border?

"Don't you ever get any news from Herr Klön, your uncle?" Her voice went up several octaves to show her surprise. "Surely he writes to you?"

"Not about that. His letters are short and are mostly about what my brothers have been doing. Mainly Renard. Axel is much quieter so I do not think uncle takes much notice of him."

"What is Renard doing?" she asked.

"Thinking about starting his own business. It is his way of asking Oma for some money. Uncle did write at Christmas and said that money was tight and that banks were not lending. He said that many businesses were struggling to keep on their employees. But I can't think it is that bad because he would not have allowed Renard to waste his part of our grandmother's inheritance. He will be going in business with a friend."

"What business?"

"I don't know." Hans thumped his hands on the sides of his thighs to warm them up. His warm breath curled outwards and evaporated into the cold night air. "Uncle hasn't told me much about it."

"He could lose it. It is not a good time."

"That's up to Renard. Axel's still at school so nothing Renard does affects him."

"It may do, if Renard loses all his share."

Hans did not want to think of that possibility so he began walking again, taking the right hand turn that would take them back in the direction of the house. They had walked not fast but just enough to keep away the cold of the night-time air.

"When you left Germany and came here everything was in a mess. Were you aware of that?" Hans nodded dismissively. Heidi continued. "Don't you remember those bad days when money meant nothing?"

"Didn't impinge on me much. We were shielded from most of it."

"You were lucky. It was bad for those who lived off the land. One day when Mama was complaining that we didn't have enough flour to last the week, I heard Papa tell her that it took millions of Krone just to buy one loaf. I believe it was even worse over the border."

"Are you sure about that?" He was stunned. He wondered whether to believe her. Maybe Heidi had got her facts wrong. She was still young and as women were not involved with business it could be that she had only heard part of the situation. "When I first came here, my uncle wrote and told me that prices were still increasing. I knew there were crazy prices before but I didn't take much notice then!"

"Everything still costs so much!" Heidi exclaimed, "and Papa doesn't have anything left. Not even his savings he so carefully put away."

"How come? I always thought your father was so good at managing his money."

Heidi shrugged her shoulders and at the same time gave a shaky laugh. She dropped her head and stared in silence at the dark ground in front of them. Finally, she lifted her head and looked him in the eye.

"Papa was good with his finances but it wasn't enough. Nothing's as it was. Everything's changed. That's why I'm here. Too many people are squabbling over things, ordinary things." He could see that she was upset. "Did you know that Papa had to leave the farm?"

"No. No one told me."

"Papa wasn't the only one who lost out. You know, Papa had taken over the land from his father and grandfather so he had come to think of the land as his. No-one could buy the farms when they were for sale so the government took them over and we had to leave."

"When?"

"When the Krone crashed a year, maybe eighteen months ago. That's when people started to lose all their savings. Shops were empty because people had no money to buy things."

"Yes, I had heard about that. Empty shops. I'd seen some in Berlin. A neighbour of ours had a friend who lost his shop. That was about six years ago. Had his pistol from the war hidden somewhere and when his wife returned from the market, there he was in the bathroom. Stone dead."

"How awful for her! Poor lady!" Heidi was one who could easily feel the pain of others. "Was it because of the hardship?"

"I suppose it was as he was never the same after he had returned from the war."

Heidi reflected for a moment but then her facial expression lightened and her mouth formed a smile.

"We don't have the old Krone any more. We've got new money: the Schilling. The government tells us it's much better than the old."

"Is it?"

"I'll show you. I've got some with me. In my room." They walked slowly in unison together. Heidi gave a sigh. "The new Schilling might be better but it won't do Papa much good. It won't get back Papa's farm. It hasn't helped my brothers get work. No one wants farm workers."

"Could they not find some other kind of work?"

"No. My brothers tried to find work across the border. It was the same there. Farmers couldn't or wouldn't take on anybody. So, they thought they'd try in a factory. They went north into Germany. They'd hoped to find work in the factories or even in the coal mines. But that didn't work, either. Foreign workers and French soldiers had taken over all those jobs. Germans and Austrians weren't wanted any more. So, the boys came home again. Without a steady income, Papa can't find enough food to feed all of us."

"Yes, I do remember some food shortages. We were lucky. Uncle had connections."

"You were lucky. Papa made us walk into the town centre where the nuns dished out plates of soup with a slice of bread. It wasn't enough but it helped I hated always being hungry but at least none of my family starved to death."

"Things have improved since then, haven't they?" he asked hoping to bring the subject to a close but Heidi was upset and he had removed the tight cork from its bottle.

"A little but it got worse before it got better. The worst time was when we moved away from the land."

She had alarmed him by what she had just said and he wanted to know more.

"What do you mean, worse? How worse? I mean, could it have got much worse?"

She drew in a long, deep breath to calm herself. The cold air constricted her throat and she ended up coughing.

"I overheard Papa talking with the boys . . ." Heidi broke off her words and began coughing again, each expulsion of her breath forming spheres of warm air before her.

"Breath into your hands. It will help," Hans suggested, showing her what he meant.

It worked. Heidi pulled her scarf up to cover her bottom lip.

"Papa told the boys that if they got a job, to make sure they were paid twice in the day. He said that the papers were reporting that people who were paid only in the evening ended up being out of pocket because prices had risen that much during the day. Imagine working a whole day and then only having enough money for the tram fare home! There were people living on the streets because they couldn't pay their rents any more. When they went to the Ruhr, the boys said landlords were asking up to nineteen billion Marks a week."

Hans stopped dead in his tracks as though he had just crashed in to a tree. He turned a full semi-circle to stand directly in Heidi's pathway.

"Impossible! Are you absolutely sure?"

"That's what Papa said was reported in the headlines: nineteen billion. He noticed it when the paper boy called it out. Yes, I know it was. Yes, nineteen billion."

Hans was speechless for a while. Nineteen billion Marks! He knew Heidi was probably right for she had a good head for figures. No wonder nobody had written and told him about that. How could anyone deal with figures like that? And what would that pile of worthless paper money even look like? When he had regained himself, he asked,

"Things are better now though, aren't they?"

"A little," she replied and they began walking again. "The government tells us that the economy is returning to normal but many families are still struggling. Our neighbour, Frau Horst has four children. They're no different from other families. Her children are so frail and thin and she's at her wits' end to find enough food. Her husband's not had work for ages so they've not got enough money to buy anything. She sometimes takes them to queue for food but it takes all morning. I feel sorry for her little ones. It's so hard on them."

"That's terrible, Heidi."

"My brothers only found odd jobs, like shovelling dung or chopping wood. So, when your uncle wrote that there was a job here in England for me if I wanted, it was like a fairy-tale come true. I couldn't believe it. I don't know why me. Why was I the lucky one?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. Uncle uses his influence. Seems it stretches this far."

"You've been very lucky. Here in England where things are so much better.

"I have my grandmother to thank for that. But not everything's rosy here, either. I am told there are soup queues and kitchens here as well. The poor are the ones who always suffer most during any crisis."

"You sound like one of the Communists."

"Well, I'm not! I just think those people are unlucky."

"Then, I'm really lucky, aren't I? And to end up in exactly the same place where you are. Luck or co-incidence?"

"I didn't know you were coming," he added quickly as he opened the gate to let her through but Heidi didn't hear. She swished through the gate and swirled herself round on the crunchy frozen grass almost knocking him with her outstretched arms.

"Lucky! Lucky me! I still can't believe it's happening!"

Heidi's still young enough to pull through without too many scars, thought Hans as he watched her cavort around him, her two loose pigtails swirling around her head as they tried to keep up with the swing. She's experienced more of life with its roughness than ever I will.

Heidi laughed. The moonlight reflected off her face, giving her the appearance of a porcelain doll. Then, a broad smile appeared as she stopped directly in the middle of the path.

"You know what?" Her eyes were wide with excitement. "I can send money, real money to Mama and Papa. You know, Hänschen, it may only be a little . . . I don't earn much, you know, but I know it'll help buy food for them all. They won't be hungry any more."

They walked slowly past a row of large dark rhododendron bushes and then took a narrow path which wound its way through a small park as they passed by empty flower beds and low bare-branched shrubs.

"I know life looks rosy here but there are many people in the large cities who are finding it very hard. We read that the rich have it easy while the poor either work their bodies into the grave or spend many days lining up at soup kitchens but one really does not know what to believe. My friends around here are the lucky ones for their parents have enough money to give them a good start in life."

"I've got a good life, too," said Heidi emphatically. "I have a job and money of my own. Not much but a little over each week to help Mama and Papa. They will be pleased," she said with conviction in her voice and determination in her face.

"What else has made the news since I've been away?" Hans asked. His interest and concern had been roused and he wanted to hear more. His uncle had never worried him with information such as that. Although he had mentioned that things were difficult, there had been nothing about poverty or starvation. Maybe Uncle Karl did not want to burden him with further worries or he had no wish for Hans to return home to a miserable existence. His thoughts of what may be were stopped by Heidi now telling him about the new groups and their support by the Trade Unions.

" . . . and they've been springing up just about everywhere," she said.

"I know all about Trade Unions. I have studied them in the college."

Hans was reminded of the last lesson Mr Moore had given to the class. He had told them about the struggles between the classes in Britain and how people were banding together to fight for their common cause. Maybe, the same was happening the other side of the Channel. He wanted to hear more.

They had reached the part on the track where they could climb a style and head across two narrow pony fields but with high trees blocking the moonlight, he thought it better to keep to the path.

"I only understand a little of what's been happening," continued Heidi without even stopping to take a breath. "Papa said some of them only wanted to make trouble but now even important people were giving their support to some of the groups."

"What groups?"

"Fascists and such like."

"Yes, there are a few here. Crazy ideas!"

Hans had read about Mr Mussolini and his Fascist followers in Italy in the daily papers that were delivered to the college library every day. Some people were worried about their popularity but many considered Italy too far from Britain to be much of an immediate threat. More worrying was the growing unrest in the northern cities where heavy industry needed a large population. Hans had already seen some indication of growing unrest in the streets in Berlin where he had seen different groups marching and shouting their slogans in opposition to each other. As a child, he had been frightened when those angry mobs had taken to the streets.

"Papa said that General Ludendorff was one of them."

"What? A fascist?"

"A trouble-maker."

"General Ludendorff?" His voice rose in a crescendo. He could remember his father talking about that man, for he was an important officer in the Kaiser's army. "Why, was he a trouble-maker?"

"It's only what I've heard from the grown-up's talking. Papa was always talking to someone about such things."

"I think it's marvellous the way you've picked it all up." He remembered that when he had stayed with Oma in Salzburg during the long holidays, Heidi had been the most astute of them all. She was fortunate, for her father had been a patient man and took the time to explain all the marvels of anything that had interested any of his children, his daughters as well as his sons. Heidi had always shown an interest in everything. Her mind never stopped working and she never stopped asking questions. She had been such a clever child so it was no wonder she knew about everything.

"Well, last year, the General, together with another man . . . ," Heidi tapped her head several times as if by doing so, the name she sought should pop out. "I can't remember his name." She laughed. "It can't be that important. Well, their group . . . a hundred or so, marched along one of the main streets in Munich and as that's not that far away from us, Papa was most interested."

"I think I remember that there was something in the papers. Round about Christmas time, I believe. How did you hear about it?"

"Papa was told about the march. A friend of his went to Munich for the day."

"When?"

"November in twenty-three, I think and that's when he saw unions marching. I think there was a group of Bolsheviks there, as well. Trade Unions and Bolsheviks but agreeing about nothing. Then it turned ugly. Someone called the police. Papa's friend said there was some fighting and some of the marchers had pistols. Soldiers or police were called and some of the marchers were shot."

"Really?"

"Yes. The newspapers reported that General Ludendorff and this other man were arrested for their part in the putsch." She took out her handkerchief and wiped her nose which had become drippy in the cool air.

"I remember uncle telling Renard something about a General being part of a putsch. In thirteen or fourteen just before the war but I did not take much interest. Renard is the political one in the family."

"This time the trouble-makers were arrested. I remember Papa discussing their trial last year with Herr Sessel but he said the judge was too afraid to do much with such a famous General involved."

"Oh?"

His voice betrayed his inner thoughts for he did not share Heidi's interest for things political. He remembered now that Mr Friedl had always found the subject interesting and had voiced his opinions rather openly and loudly to anyone willing to listen.

By now they had reached the gate and brick pathway which led back into Miss Turner's garden. The window lights of the distant house began to lighten the blackness around them and it was much easier to see.

"I wonder if we'll hear any more of them?" Hans unlatched the gate and let Heidi through. "What was the group, anyway?"

"I don't know. Not Bolsheviks. Not this time. Not like the Fascists in Italy. Something to do with a union and their working members. Something like that."

"Unions here hold demonstrations too. Workers want a share in profits. That's what Mr Moore tell us."

"Do they have fights here?"

"No. They're not strong enough. Here they do lots of talking. What about in Austria?"

"Papa says our politicians will sort it out. They'll have to, won't they?"

"I guess so." Hans blew through his teeth so that his breath whistled. "They can't afford to let the whole country collapse back into conditions as bad as nineteen nineteen."

Heidi sighed, then shook her head.

"That's what Papa says, too. The governments will have to make it work."

They had almost reached the house. A strong light from an upstairs window lit the ground ahead of them and as Hans glanced upwards, he thought for a minute that someone had been watching them. But now there was nobody.

Hans led Heidi round the edge of the building. She followed him as they walked in silence, each withdrawn into their minds, thinking how fate had somehow removed them from the disastrous realities back home. In a minute they had reached the back-door porch and by now Hans had already made up his mind to tell Heidi he was available to help her, whenever she wanted. He did not want her to suffer any more than she had done and did not want her to feel the loneliness he had felt during those first few months of arriving in England.

"Remember, Fräulein," he said as he placed his hand on the doorknob, "While you're here, Mr Hans Resmel is always at your service. You'll remember that, won't you?"

"Thank you. It's very good of you."

He opened the door and let her go in first. The clock on the wall read a few minutes after ten.

"Come. We'll make some cocoa together. You need a hot drink after all that. It was cold outside."

CHAPTER 7

Privilege

The weather began to improve as nature began to shake off the gloom of winter. Bulbs which had remained dorment under the icy ground now began to stir as they pushed upwards through the grass and the earliest daffodils brought splashes of white and yellow into the gardens and along the college driveway. A few weeks later, millions small bells exploded from the winter litter and turned the forest floor into the brightest blue carpet nature could offer. Their glory lasted but only a few weeks and no sooner had they set their tiny seed heads, than Hans began to notice Anne and Gerald together more and more frequently. Lofty had stopped going out with the boys and he had made them aware that cricket would be off his menu for the coming season. He told Hans that he had decided to throw all his energies into his studies as an opportunity had opened up for him to further his studies at Cambridge.

The college re-opened after the short Easter break. Students settled once more into their studies as warmer days increased. Waves of white and yellow daffodil trumpets covered a countryside which was beginning to take on a faint light-green hue as the earliest leaves burst from the trees and announced that the end of winter had truly arrived.

The school committee, made up from the head boy, two parents and four masters, announced that the senior classes could have a social evening. This was part of their education as it gave the 'young men and young women' the opportunity to experience some of the acceptable social graces under the watchful eyes of the staff. This form of social 'get-together' had long been an important part of the college and after that, the students were expected to settle down to hard work and diligence until the final exams in June.

It was a great privilege for the girls to be invited to the evening as all invitations had to be sent out, and received, by the young men. Masters were on hand to give advice and the students had to make themselves available during lessons to write out invitations and to decorate the hall, as well. Good weather was prayed for, even in the church on Sunday morning. If they could have just a few weeks of good weather, the large hall doors could be left open so that students could dance or chat on the paving or grass area that connected the hall to the main school building. But, knowing English weather, one really never quite knew what was round the corner. Then it turned cold again and someone said it had been snowing further up the country. In May! A decision was made not to decorate the outside area.

One of the girls had previously whispered to her boyfriend that it would be a good idea if small titbits of food were on offer, a new idea that was beginning to catch on quite rapidly with the young ones. The only problem seemed to be the music, finding a small group of musicians who were prepared to play what the adults considered to be reasonable dance music. Miss Turner forbade any of the loud, modern dance music commonly found in the rowdy music-halls. She did condescend, however, to permit the Charleston or one of the other latest dances . . . only as long as it didn't get out of hand. She had seen how the young danced; jiving and wriggling in all directions, flinging out parts of their bodies they ought to keep strictly to themselves. She had made it quite clear to the students that she did not approve of the modern ways or of the latest Flapper craze.

Everyone was given a list of rules to be adhered to. Everyone would be checked in and out at the main entrance. Strict dress code was to be observed and no-one without a partner was permitted to enter. It would be like the animals going on to the ark, arriving two by twos and immediately being taken inside. Mr Somerville, one of the masters who was known for his copious proportions and booming voice was given the job of standing at the entrance and announcing each couple as they arrived. The final obstacle was to be approved and welcomed by Mr Bowes-Heath and Miss Turner. Now only the invitations needed to be hand delivered. Everything to the exact detail had been sorted and Janine Turner had been told she could go.

"Resmel, you can show me how honourable you can be and offer your invitation to my niece."

That was all that Hans wanted to hear. He was sure Miss Turner was making absolutely certain that Jan would be able to attend for what she said sounded more more like a command than any suggestion. By his calculation, Janine Turner was still too young to be seriously taken to a dance, especially by him. Besides, if it was permissible for Jan to be allowed to attend, then Hans thought he might be able to ask for Heidi to be his partner. But that would have meant asking Miss Turner and she had already chosen her niece.

Miss Turner made it quite clear that Heidi was here to work; not to mingle with the offspring of the well-to-do. Everyone was expected to know their place and never, never cross the boundaries that separated the classes. Then, he thought of Miss Anne Sutherland but he would have to get his invitation to her ahead of any one else. Could be tricky for Anne was one of the most popular girls and was always in great demand: seen either in the company of some lucky lad as she sat perched on the rear seat of a sporty motorcycle, her arms wrapped with great satisfaction around the lean leather waist on the front; or she would be seen on many Saturday mornings riding to hounds with some eligible young son of one of the local gentleman farmers at her elbow, so Hans did not think he'd have much chance with Anne. And now Miss Turner had firmly quashed both ideas. Janine Turner it was to be. Still, once inside the dance hall, who knows what may happen?

Hans could feel the tension and excitement in the house as Ellen spent a good hour setting the twenty or thirty slim curlers into Jan's hair. Ellen enjoyed messing around with hair and had previously shown she had a talent in that direction. Jan sat reading one of her favourite novels as her hair was tightly twisted around each blue curler and then doused heavily with the strong smelling setting lotion. When Hans had opened the living room door and had watched the procedure for a few minutes, it was Ellen, with the bottle of liquid in her hand, who turned round and gestured with a nod of her head that anything that resembled a male was not wanted in the vicinity.

Late in the afternoon, the unveiling of the wrapped head of hair was ready and as the hair fell free in ringlets onto her shoulders, Jan's voice carried from the living room and along into the hallway.

"How does it look? What's it like, Ellen?"

"You look a treat, miss. Real grown up." Ellen handed over the silver-backed hand mirror Miss Turner had lent her niece for the occasion.

Jan pushed the morning gown she was wearing off her shoulders and held up the mirror as she moved it around to admire her new style. Ellen had had a bright idea to decorate the curls with small white daisy flowers.

"Jus' like a princess, miss. As beau'iful as Queen Alexandra was when she was young."

"Oh, stop being so silly, Ellen." Jan shook her head to make the curls swirl. "Tidy up and then come and help me change. I'll be in my room."

Jan rushed out of the room in such a hurry her morning gown slipped down to her waist and she almost banged into Hans at the foot of the stairs.

"Do watch yourself Hans Resmel!" she exclaimed as her hand gripped the banisters to steady herself. Her chest heaved up and down under the light camisole as she caught her breath. Hans could not help noticing she had breasts.

Breasts, just like her aunt's, he thought. So, Jan has reached the age of breasts. No wonder she has been giving me strange side-glances, lately.

As for Jan, she could hardly wait to get into the dress she would wear. Hans stepped aside. She grabbed at her clothing and pulled it back around herself, and with a flick of her head, together with a smile that would have satisfied a cat that had found the cream, she passed him by and floated up the staircase, using both her arms to push her forwards so that she could fly above the steps three at a time.

When Ellen arrived and helped fasten her into her dress, Jan danced her way over to the long dress mirror on her wardrobe door, turning first one way and then the other as she admired the way the straight laced bodice flared out just below her hips into a full skirt. It did emphasise the curvature of her youthful hips. The fabric swished and swirled around her like water in slow motion. Around the hip line were clusters of daisy beads which had been sewn on to look like cascading flowers She shook her head slightly from side to side so that her curls bobbed and swayed rhythmically around her head and laughed out loud in sheer enjoyment at it.

"Don't you think my dress looks beautiful, Ellen?" she asked patting the v-shaped neckline flat against her chest. The pale-blue colour suited her. The neckline was not too low to show the crease between her breasts but low cut enough so that Jan could wear a necklace.

"Try this one on, Miss Janine," Ellen suggested taking out the fine set of pearls from the small white jewellery box on the dressing table. "They'll match the pearl bangle there."

Jan was already doing up the clasp around her wrist. She decided that her three-quarter length sleeves needed just that little extra to compliment them. And now with the necklace in place. Jan felt like a débutante.

" 'ere, miss, put this around you. It might be cold outside."

Ellen draped Miss Turner's warm fox fur cape around Jan's shoulders. She had fussed around her as though Jan were her own daughter about to walk down the aisle but in reality there was less than six years between them. A transformation had taken place and the normally quiet clothed Miss Janine Turner had emerged in the colours of a beautiful butterfly.

Other than his everyday college uniform, Hans did not possess much other clothing. He did not possess any formal evening wear but he had managed to borrow a striped black suit together with a dark waistcoat from Robert. It was fortunate that Robert was the owner of several suits, as he jokingly said: One for each occasion.

"Mister Resmel and Miss Turner!" boomed out the voice of Mr Somerville.

Jan hung onto Hans as though he were the prince who had rescued her from some horrible fate. She was too overwhelmed this evening to say much to him and Hans was grateful for her silence. He escorted her through the open double doors and guided her over to Miss Turner

"You look a treat, my dear." Miss Turner beamed with pride at her niece. "And Mr Resmel escorted you in so very much like a gentleman. It was a pleasure to behold."

Hans could not help thinking about the arguments Jan and her aunt had had as Jan tried desperately to persuade her aunt to allow her to wear something very modern, something without sleeves and much much shorter than halfway down her calf. The shocked gasps of disapproval from Miss Turner told Jan everything she was to know and then the laying down of rules if Jan was going to attend were so strong that in the end Jan bit her lip and silently submitted. She would have to wear something her aunt approved of and far less daring and modern than Jan had imagined.

"Mister Woodhill-Jones and Miss Sutherland!"

Anne looked stunning. She was an attractive girl at the best of times but tonight she took the breath away. A shining silver head band had been set low over her short auburn hair so that part of it covered the top of her forehead and her dress, made up of alternate bright yellow and deep orange sections, each with tasselled edges and coloured frilly bits which fluttered and twirled in a rainbow of colour every time she moved. Anne looked slender, exquisit and terribly sophisticated. Jan noted with envy that Anne's dress was both sleeveless and so short it only just covered her knees. How Jan wished she had been allowed to wear something equally so modern.

The first dance of the evening was the fox-trot and after that the dance music filled the hall and the room came alive with colour and movement. Hans had danced the opening fox-trot with Jan, but after leading her back to one of the chairs, had managed to excuse himself and slip away into the crowd. He'd done his bit: he had escorted the girl onto the dance floor. He glanced over his shoulder and was even more pleased when one of the other young men approached her and whisked her away for the next round. He was winding his way between the swirling figures when he bumped into Robert and his partner half-way across the floor.

"Not dancing this time, Hans?" Robert shouted as his own partner twirled around, holding on to his outstretched arm.

"No," he shouted back trying to be heard over the loud dance music of the quartet. "I'm saving my toes. I've already been trodden on several times. My shoes need polishing again."

"Just rub 'em on your trouser leg and keep going."

Before Hans could comment further, Robert and his partner were out of reach. Hans pushed his way through again until he was able to reach the opposite side where the outside doors had been thrown open. He stood at the edge of the opening, looking back across the hall.

"Hello, chappy!"

This time it was Bertie Williams. He was one of the boys Hans played cricket with. Hans turned and stepped backwards out of the hall doorway.

"Hello, Bertie. I didn't notice you before."

"Wasn't here, then Hansie. Just been out for a quick puff. Don't tell anyone. It's not permitted but everyone knows that if you disappear for a bit, you're either snogging, grogging or puffing."

Hans grinned and patted his friend on the back. He looked past Bertie, stretching his neck to look back into the hall.

"Lost your partner?" Bernie asked.

"No. I was hoping to see someone. You haven't seen one of Miss Turner's maids, have you, Bertie?"

"Which one?"

"Miss Friedl."

"The young foreign girl?"

"Yes."

Bertie laughed loudly.

"Looking for a bit of crumpet, eh Hans?" Hans missed the joke.

"I am lucky that Miss Turner did not have them made," he answered dryly. The puzzled expression on his face told Bertie that he didn't like the taste of crumpets very much.

"That's all right, Hansie. Leaves more for me. But I think that's the one you're looking for . . . over there. She's not bad looking but I think a trifle too young for me."

Bertie pointed through the throng and across to the other side of the hall. He patted his friend on the shoulder and the two of them pushed back into the crowd, each going in a different direction. Hans struggled through a thick cluster of dancers until he found Heidi by the side-table.

"Hello. How's it going?" He reached forward and picked up a small triangular sandwich, popping it all in his mouth. "Mmm. Good. English cucumber sandwiches. Will they be playing any Strauss, do you know?"

"The waltz. I do so love that music." Heidi had a dreamy look in her eyes. "I think of home. So much music."

Hans remembered the Mozart musical festivals that were held annually in their home town. He could almost see the Mozarthaus in his mind, the large, grey building where the famous composer had been born.

Heidi handed Hans the plate of English triangular cucumber sandwiches again. He popped another in his mouth and tried grinning at her as he ate.

"Shall I find out for you?" she asked as she tipped a half empty plate of tidbits to fill the plate next to Hans.

"No. I'm sure they will play a waltz . . . at the end. There's always a waltz at the end. Strauss, the waltz and Vienna go together. Papi took Mutti several times to Vienna when there was an officer's ball. I think Mutti said that even the Archduke and his wife, Sophie, were there once."

Heidi's eyes went soft and dreamy.

"Oh, how I should have loved to have been there," she sighed. "All those beautiful dresses and dancing in the same room as the royals!" Her mind was already twirling in time to her favourite Strauss waltz. Suddenly she returned to the school hall and her face became serious again as her body stiffened. "But no more dreaming. I have to work!"

"Not dancing much tonight, Mr Resmel?"

Hans had been so engaged in conversation with Heidi, he hadn't noticed that Miss Turner had appeared. She looked around and over towards the seating, which was not too far away. Several girls were sitting together in silence watching couples spill on to the dance floor as the small orchestra returned their instruments for the next dance.

"Janine!" She beckoned to her niece. "You've got some spare dances on your card, haven't you?" Jan nodded and produced the card for her aunt to inspect. "Well, see here. This is blank. No partner for that one?," Miss Turner pointed. "Hans would like this dance. I'll write him in for this one. He can accompany you. I think the next one's called the Camel Walk."

Hans went a bit pale. He had learnt to keep his inner emotions more under control as he had found it much safer to do so, especially when Miss Turner was around.

"I cannot dance that!"

"No such thing as can't! What's your problem, young man? Stubborn again?"

"No. Sorry, Miss Turner. I really don't know this one."

Miss Turner shook her head like a cow with a fly irritating its ear. Her voice went up to a higher scale.

"Don't let that bother you, young man. Janine will soon show you. She's just learnt it, haven't you, m'dear?" She pushed him towards her niece and smiled condescendingly at him. "Come, Resmel. There's very little to it. Be the gentleman. Veneratio est nostrum rector. Now, off you go."

Jan tugged at his arm with the familiarity of a younger sister.

"Come on, Hans. I'll lead."

For once in her life, Jan felt superior. She had Hans Resmel just where she wanted. She remained in front of him, holding out her arms in expectation. Her aunt stood like a sentry guarding against any thought of escape. He knew he had no choice but to obey.

The music started again. Hans and Jan stood together, yet as far apart as their arms would permit. They waited. Hans hoped that by watching the couple in front, he could try and follow their movements. He waited for Jan to take the lead. It was all so painful. It was awkward holding her at arms length and trying not to look at her. He hoped that this dance would be as short as that first introductory fox-trot. He tried to imagine he was Papi dancing with his mother but Jan's vocal instructions kept breaking into his thoughts and after only a few bars, all his imaginations were destroyed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the drum beat announced the end had arrived.

Hans returned his partner to her seat, made some excuse to leave and disappeared once more into the crowd. He was able to hide himself away for the next few dances and then his luck changed. He had bumped into Anne, just at the end of one dance and before the next had begun. He had previously asked her to include his name on her list of dance partners and now he had her attention, he was not going to let anybody else slide in between them and take her away.

"Sorry. This dance is for me," he blurted out when another student came closer than three feet away. "She's taken. She promised me this one. My name's on her card."

"That's all right." The student stepped back and held up the palms of his hands ."I can wait."

"Sorry, Gerald. Didn't see you for a minute." Hans was embarrassed that he hadn't recognised his friend.

"That's all right, old chap," Gerald replied with a grin. He bowed his head slightly in Anne's direction and spoke softly to her. She laughed, showed him her card and nodded. Gerald pointed on the card.

"Would you do me the honour of allowing me the following dance? I see you don't have any name written in for that one."

Anne laughed again. She knew she'd been extremely popular and, for a girl like her, there would be no rest from those wanting to dance with her. Her card was quite full with the names of prospective dancers.

"Certainly, Gerald. I'll see you back here as soon as the music stops." She fluttered her hand seductively in his face and then pulled at his bow-tie. "Now, don't you run away. Wait here." She pushed him and pursed her lips at him. "Stay!"

"Won't budge. Not an inch. Promise." Gerald turned and faced Hans. "She's all yours."

Hans held out his arm and led Anne into the crowd as the orchestra made squeaking and rumbling noises which they always did to announce they were ready.

A waltz began. Hans was glad. He knew how to do that. Papi had allowed him and Renard to look over the top balcony at one of the dances below as partners swirled as if on a carousel. Both boys had been wonder-struck. The hall was magnificent. It was the biggest and grandest room Hans had ever seen with exquisite wall decorations and large candle chandeliers hanging high above the dance floor. It had been such an exciting experience that the boys talked about it for days afterwards, marvelling over the officers' gold-braided uniforms and wanting to be soldiers just like them. Hans could remember manoeuvring their toy soldiers around their bedroom floor for several weeks until the novelty began to wear off.

"You waltz very well, Mister Resmel," complemented Anne as they twirled together in complete harmony. "Better than most. Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"Mutti showed me. She'd let all of us practice with her, especially after Papi had taken her to a ball. My father was too busy. He didn't have the time nor the patience to teach his children how to waltz."

"Your mother did a very good job."

Hans nodded. He was feeling special again, dancing with Anne. The school hall changed into a beautiful ballroom, like the one in which Hans had watched his parents dance together and for a moment, he imagined that he was his father and Anne was Mutti, charming and radiant in her elegant gown.

They continued to dance in silence, round past Gerald on the sideline. As they drew closer, Gerald waved his hand and mouthed I'm waiting and then the dancers whirled and twirled even more as the music became faster and faster and the walls of the hall past them by with the mad rush of a speeding locomotive. Then waltz slowed and the last bars of music dissolved into the atmosphere. The clapping subsided and they found themselves on the opposite side of the hall from Gerald. They waited side by side for a few minutes as the dancers began to thin out.

"What did your father do . . . before the war, of course?" Anne asked.

"He was in the military," he answered. "An officer in the Imperial army. Families paid for their sons to go into the military but I don't like to talk much about it. The war and all. It's rather embarrassing now."

Hans took her by the hand again and they began walking together. They dodged round several couples who remained together in the centre of the hall.

"Doesn't bother me," she added. "It's exactly the same here. A military career was a most respectable occupation. Most of the upper-classes here still send their sons into one of the services. It's considered good training."

"And you approve?" he asked.

"Of going into the military? Such men do have a certain bearing. And then there's the discipline."

"True, but didn't the military make the mess in the last war? The one to end all wars."

"Did rather." She answered quickly and then laughed. "But I still think they look so handsome in their uniforms!"

Hans was contented. He had enjoyed dancing with Anne and he found it was so easy to discuss sensitive topics with her. She was so mature. He was sorry to have to hand her over to Gerald but all good things come to an end sometime.

The master on the megaphone announced that before the final waltz, students could let themselves go a little as the orchestra had been given permission to play the latest hit: Yes Sir, that's my baby.

"Oh, Gerald," squealed Anne in delight as she bent her knees and wriggled her hips. "We can do the Shimmy together. Spiffing!"

Hans watched as she pulled Gerald teasingly on to the dance floor. He wished it could have been him. The music was loud and exciting. It drowned out the calls and shrieks of laughter.

Hans sat on one of the assembly hall benches for a few minutes as he sulked at not capturing Anne's interest as Gerald seemingly had. He needed to talk with someone. He thought of Heidi. He could talk with her. He made his way along the wall and watched the enthusiasts swinging their knees and flinging out their arms as they danced face to face. He wished he could have danced the Charleston or the Shimmy with Heidi instead of watching her walk round with the sandwich plate.

"Would the young men like to take their partners for . . . The Turkey Trot!"

Hans knew instinctively that Anne would be delighted. A modern girl like her knew all the latest crazes. And after that, the Cakewalk. Such lively tunes and certainly not to the taste of the masters or Miss Turner. What the young saw in the Shimmy or the Black Bottom . . . or, indeed any of them, Miss Turner could never begin to understand.

And after the modern tunes, the finale: a slow, soothing and respectable waltz to bring the evening to a respectable close.

Hans's last partner had been one of the girls from Anne's group. Anne had promised to find Hans a partner and to introduce him to the Camel Walk. It had been such fun; arms and legs swinging in all directions and had been so much fun that Lydia suggested they remain together for the farewell waltz. Hans was thankful he did not have to dance with Janine Turner again.

As the last bars of the music melted into the walls, the students jumped with their arms in the air and shouted in glee. If Hans didn't count the ungainly fox-trot he had had with the young Miss Turner and his ungainly attempts at the Camel Walk, the evening had gone off remarkably well. Although he had not disliked the evening, neither had he been elated by it. But it had been an experience and everyone had been so friendly and happy. A spiffing time! As Anne would say.

He hung back and waited for Heidi to collect her hat and coat. Jan had also remained, helping her aunt lock the doors and switch off the new electric lighting. Together, the four of them walked back through the gardens to the Turner house. Through the trees and in the distance they could just make out the faint glimmer of the town street gas lights. In another hour, the gas-man would begin his round and snuff out each burning light, inviting the darkness of the night to draw its silent blanket over the town.

The following day was clean-up day. Anne and three of her friends had come over to give a hand as the task of clearing up was far greater than Ellen, Mary or Heidi could easily manage. Miss Turner had also commandeered the assistance of Hans and Jan and, as usual, the school matron was like a sergeant major, constantly barking orders at them, then checking and re-checking that everything was done to her satisfaction.

"Resmel, you can help Mary with the tables. A strong lad like you can pick them up and take them round to the shed behind the hall. Heidi, you can see to it that all that rubbish is put into those bins, and, oh yes, . . . just a minute . . . No! Don't put those there! They'll have to be properly stacked and stowed away under the stage. Janine, show them where the door is, will you?" She indicated the last remaining chairs to her two maids and left Jan to open the small door under the side of the stage. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, Heidi. Stand those rubbish bins over there by the rear door. The groundsman can collect them later today. Then help Resmel and Mary. " She looked around for Ellen, saw that she was still occupied with taking down the lanterns, so decided to leave the girl in peace a while longer.

As they seemed to be making headway, Hans heard Miss Turner remind Jan to go and do her music practice. In some ways, Hans did feel sorry for the girl, for her aunt made sure she kept to a very tight schedule and Jan had to account for her every move.

Heidi collected all the rubbish. Mary had joined Anne's group and was folding up the tables and stacking them against the wall for Hans to carry out. Things were going smoothly until Ellen called for help to unthread the wires from the branches and foliage. Everyone, except Heidi left the stacking and rushed off to help. Heidi struggled alone with the remaining tables.

"Let me help you with that, Heidi." Hans had noticed the girl's predicament and turned back. He lifted one end of the trestle table so that she could fold away its legs. "It's far too heavy for a girl," he commented. They had almost finished, when Miss Turner walked over.

"I'm pleased to see you are lending a hand, Resmel. When you first came here, hard work was never one of your strong points. Why, I almost think you're beginning to grow up!"

He made no comment. She could cut through ice with her words when she so wished and he had begun to realise that it did him no good to make any remarks back to her. She had a frosty way and he was certain nothing could be done to thaw her out. The matron nodded her head in satisfaction. "Good. Yes, good, Mr Resmel." She caught sight of the groundsman. "Ah, Mr Cummins," and rushed off to remind him about the rubbish bins. Hans and Heidi carried the last table outside and across the courtyard to the small store shed at the rear. After the table had been stored away, they dawdled back to the hall. Heidi seemed to be troubled about something, for several times she tried to get out the words but everything was jumbled and nothing was making sense. Hans stopped walking. He grabbed Heidi roughly by the arm.

"Heidi, tell me what's wrong."

"Hänschen, I've had a letter, she said, her bottom lip beginning to quiver."

"Who from?"

"The government. It says I have to go."

"Go? Where go?"

If it was was he thought it was, it came to him as a bullet in the chest. He waited while Heidi composed herself enough to talk.

"I must return to Austria. No more visa to stay. I have to leave."

Hans did not know what to say. He didn't realise Heidi would be with them for such a short time. He'd only just got used to having her around him. Her presence made him easier and far less homesick.

"I'm s . . . sorry," he stammered. "I'll miss you dreadfully."

"I'm sorry, also, she replied."

"So?" He kicked at the ground. There was a silence before he cleared his throat and asked when she had to leave.

"Not for a month but I cannot stay longer."

Hans wondered how he could cheer her up. He tried to think of something to light-hearted to say. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Heidi, if you've got the day off tomorrow, and it's not raining, maybe we could go for a walk up the hill. I know of a great place up there where you can see for miles. You'd love it, Heidi, not as good as our Alpen meadows but still a good view. What do you say to that?"

Heidi's eyes lit up. Even if the day rained, she wouldn't mind. A walk in the country was just what she needed.

CHAPTER 8

Acceptance

Robert had borrowed a bicycle from a friend of his and had called in to the Turner residence hoping that Hans would be able to ride with him along some of the country lanes. He was warmly dressed. His plus-fours had been tucked into thick knee-length woollen stockings which disappeared into a pair of sturdy leather boots.

Robert was unwinding his neck scarf when the door opened and he saw it was Jan and she looked at him in the suspicious way and spoke to him exactly how Hans had said she would.

"Yes?" She pushed her glasses back hard up against her face. "What do you want, Mister Brinkwater?"

The meeting was so vivid in his mind, he could recall every little detail and when he and Hans were finally alone, Robert described Jan so well that Hans burst out laughing.

"And you asked for me?" Hans shook his head.

"Yes, I did and Jan looked at me in a haughty way and said: where else did you expect him to be? I tell you, I was lost for words. And then she said: I'll see if he's around and without another word I was left on the doorstep looking straight at the front door. I didn't know what to do: go or stay. "

"I'm glad you did."

"What?"

"Stay."

Robert told Hans that while he was waiting, he remembered whistling one of the new catchy tunes he had heard on the wireless. He had helped his father erect the high aerial pole before Christmas and since then he'd been able to sit close up to the small wireless amplifier and listen to a popular music programme every Saturday night. He said he had been thinking about inviting Hans over for an evening, when the door re-opened, this time by Ellen.

"She took my scarf and cap and put them down on the hall table and I was led into that room you said had the war photo in it. Ellen left so I took the liberty to sit down. That's when I noticed Jan in the corner but she pretended not to have seen me."

"Ah, that's Jan," commented Hans without offering any other explanation. He was sure it had been Jan watching him and Heidi that evening when they were walking in the moonlight and now he was enjoying Robert's experiences for he found it pleasing to realise he was not alone in his feelings towards the pesky girl.

"Then, Miss Turner came in and wanted to know why I was here. All I could think of was how much she reminded me of a heron waiting to snap up a fish. And I was the bait!"

Hans laughed.

"I'm beginning to get used to it but never the less glad I'm pleased to hear I'm not the only one who feels that way. So, what did you tell her?"

"Well, I said we were going bicycling together."

"But I don't have one!" Hans exclaimed. "Miss Turner knows that. Or are you suggesting I ride on your cross-bar?"

"No. I told her I'd brought another along one in the hope you could go." Robert led Hans round the corner of the building to the place where he had rested the two cycles against the stone wall. "Then she wanted to know where we'd be riding." Hans ran his hand over the small metal bicycle bell. "Try it, if you like," Robert suggested as he began tying his bag on the back of his bike. Hans rang the bell. It was loud.

"Where do you suggest we go?"

"I suggest we bicycle along some of the lanes . . the one leading to the pond, through the village and back past 'The Cook's Arms'."

"Sounds fine by me," Hans folded the bottoms of his trousers and secured them with two cycle clips and then tried out each pedal to make sure they rotated. As he did, he thought back to the conversation they had had inside the house only a half hour ago. When Robert mentioned they might take a rest at the village pub, he remembered the mocking voice of Jan as she reminded him of his last escapade with the boys.

You're not going to get drunk again are you, Hans Resmel?

She had not been pleased when he reminded her that it had nothing to do with her what he and Robert decided to do. Jan had pouted her lips followed by an adjustment of her glasses. His eyes had tried to read Jan's thoughts but she had flicked her hair and turned her head away from them as she had stormed out of the room.

When the two had been alone, just himself and Robert, Robert had stood up, pretending to adjust his non-existent spectacles and had put on a high voice that made him sound vaguely like the school mistress.

"I won't hear of you two boys popping into the tavern. I've heard tales about what young men like you get up to. It makes me shudder to think what the young are coming to these days!"

They had both bent over in laughter but it had been cut short when Miss Turner appeared. Hans had not been as relieved as Robert when Miss Turner had sat down in her favourite armchair as if she had not noticed their laughter nor had heard a single word they had been saying. But Hans noticed how Robert had fallen down on the edge of the sofa in subdued silence with a look of guilt and shock clearly showing on his face. Hans had managed to find a chair as far away from either Robert or Miss Turner as he possibly could and he had tried to think of anything other than Robert's incredibly funny impersonation.

"Will you be playing cricket for the college again this year, Mr Brinkwater?" the school mistress had asked.

Robert had not been able to answer until he had cleared his throat with a mighty cough and splutter. When he did, his voice was broken and hoarse and sounded more like a young rooster trying to crow for the first time than the voice of a young man.

"Yes, Miss Turner," he had finally said.

"We've got some very keen younger boys wanting to give it a go this season," Miss Turner had remarked.

Hans thought she had appeared pleased to see that one of his friends had made plucked up the courage and made the effort to come up to the house. Hans had been even more surprised when Miss Turner had given her permission for him to go out. She had even offered to get Ellen to make up a picnic basket for them.

"Well, off you go, lad," she had said. There was even a hint of rush and excitement in her voice, something Hans had never before been witness to. "Don't just sit there," she had told him. "Go and get changed!" She had sent Mary to find him some bicycle clips so that his trousers wouldn't get caught in the chain.

When Hans had returned, only Robert and Jan were in the room with Robert sitting once more in uncomfortable silence. The very minute Hans had opened the door, Jan had pounced like the feline she could be.

"So you and Robert are going bicycling, I see." She adjusted her glasses and looked around. It was clear she was upset. "It's all right when you're not a girl around here!"

"I don't know what you mean."

Jan had shrugged her shoulders and had fiddled with the lace cloth on the sideboard; another indication that she was not pleased. Her next comment confirmed his suspicions.

"You know Aunt won't let me go bicycling. She still thinks it's only a fit pastime for men."

The boys had not known what to say. Hans had told Robert once before that Miss Turner had kept her niece under lock and key very much like parents used to before the war. But now things were different and young women had new expectations and were beginning to stride out on their own and take charge of their own lives.

Poor Jan. Hans had to admit to himself that he did feel sorry for her, sometimes.

The rest of the day was enjoyable and by the time they returned, Hans felt as if his legs were made from jelly. His thigh muscles were not used to that kind of exercise and he knew that for a few days after they would feel stretched and stiff.

It was as if Jan had been spying on them, for the minute they rode up the drive, she was there, standing in the exact same spot where Robert had first parked the bicycles. Jan walked towards them.

"I've just heard Osbert Webster's now got an auto-mobile. That's much better than a silly bike."

"Yes, I know," Robert replied. He began untying his bag. "His father bought it for his birthday. Quite the rage, you know. To be able to get behind a wheel. He's promised me a go sometime. Says he can get it up to forty-five miles an hour."

"That's too fast!" she exclaimed. "What if it should throw a wheel?"

"It's not a horse, silly! Auto-mobiles do not throw wheels. They have bolts to hold them on. As for speed, did you know that a good racehorse will almost reach the speed of Osbert's auto-mobile? But, one has more control of an auto-mobile."

Jan ignored that last comment and changed the subject. Hans had picked up Robert's bag and had begun walking round to the back of the house and now it seemed to Robert that Jan had her own agenda.

"Are you really the best of friends with Hans Resmel?" She pushed her glasses right back hard against her nose and looked at Robert most seriously and intently.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You don't care that he's not English?" She concentrated on Robert's reaction. "You do realise they were our enemy not that long ago?"

Robert stiffened and crunched his teeth so that the muscles in his jaw became taught.

"Were they?" he asked nonchalantly. He shrugged his shoulders and looked her right in the face. "Sorry, I seem to have forgotten."

The wind was blown out of Jan's statement. Robert's answer was not what she had expected.

"You don't think of him as . . . ," she lowered her voice to a whisper. "As a Fritzy then, like William Showbry says?"

"No, I don't! And I'm going to tell him what you've just said." Robert was beginning to show the inner anger he was feeling. "Never mind what Showbry says. We can't keep raking up the past. Isn't time we accepted each other and started enjoying ourselves?" he asked sarcastically.

Jan backed away.

"Please, don't tell anyone. I didn't mean it, really I didn't."

"Then stop listening to gossip!" Robert let it be known that her comments had annoyed him. "We owe everything to all those who died and I do not think they would want us to continue the pain. They've given us the opportunity to be young. Something neither side was able to experience. So, come on, Jan, have fun while you're young enough to enjoy it. I am sure those young men would wish you did."

"I wish I could." There was disappointment and resignation in her voice.

"Are you two coming?" called Hans from around the corner. "Mary's made us a drink. She's bringing it into the front room."

As Robert and Jan joined him, Hans was puzzled by Jan's mood and wanted to know the reason.

"Everything!" Jan shouted in his face. "Everything! This house . . . it exists in the past. All the furniture is old. Aunt is old. She won't let me wear anything modern. She wouldn't even let me go see Polylanna and Mary Pickford is so pretty. It's awful. I have to live in last century." She flung her arms widely about as if trying to wipe everything away. "Look around this room. There are photos but they're all old ones. And stacks of old postcards and old letters. They're all there in that drawer." She pointed to the sideboard where she had put the offending photograph. "My aunt won't throw out anything. She's still living in a time before the war. I live in a time capsule!"

"Sorry." That was all Robert could think to say. He was feeling unsettled again and was hoping that Hans would hurry up and make some excuse to leave.

"Nobody understands me!" Jan cried. "Why can't I be more like Anne. She's so twentyish. So modern!"

With that outburst, she snatched up one of the small biscuits and stormed out of the room without having taken a sip of her drink.

During the warm early summer evenings, many of the boys met up in the town centre where street entertainers performed. For the boys this was a draw-card for watching groups of pretty young girls who were also spectators. If they were lucky, there could arise an opportunity for some conversation with one of those girls, for Hans and his friends had come to the age where chatting with girls was far more enjoyable than sitting over piles of dull text or exercise books.

One evening, Miss Turner surprised them when she invited all the senior prefects up to the house. As each prefect arrived, Mary took their coats and laid them over furniture in the front room. Then, she directed each student into the back room where the French doors had been opened into the garden.

Robert Brinkwater and Bertie Williams and Hans were sitting on some spare chairs that had been brought outside.

"This is a bit of a surprise," Robert folded his arms behind his head and stretched out his legs to show how relaxed he could appear.

"I expect Miss Turner is really quite sad that we'll all be leaving as soon as the exams are finished," commented Bertie. "After the exams, of course," he added after a quiet pause of fifteen seconds.

"Is Loppy coming?" Robert leaned upright and scanned the outskirts of the garden as far as the gate that separated the house from the stone school buildings.

"Yes, I think so," said Bertie. "He told me earlier he thought he would be able to spare the time. He's been a study freak all year. Serious and never with his nose out of a book. Mind you, with an old man like he's got, one would have to pull themselves up and do well in the finals."

"I think he's afraid his allowance would be cut and he'd never get to Cambridge." Robert turned away from Bertie as Hans joined them. "Hello, old chap. I was wondering when you'd come down."

"It would have been sooner but Jan Turner was giving her aunt a hard time. Did you hear anything?"

"No? I thought Jan always did as she was told." Robert snorted a laugh. "What her aunt said, went," he announced with conviction.

"Not lately. She's been a real little rebel. Had you noticed her hair was quite a bit shorter?"

"Not that I saw. Why?"

"The other week she was caught with scissors in one hand a handful of hair in the other. Her aunt was so furious. I think this time it was over what she had on." Hans laughed a little, a shaky uncertain kind of laugh. "Last week Miss Turner went off her rocker because Jan had coloured her lips."

"But my sister wears make-up!" exclaimed Bertie. "And she's the same age."

"But she's not Miss Turner's niece! I heard her say that only tarts . . ."

Miss Turner suddenly appeared on the patio. She clapped her hands loudly high in the air like two shots from a pistol. All the student chatter ceased. Even the birds went very quiet.

"It looks as though we're in for a fine evening. I hope you enjoy yourselves. Mary, bring over the gramophone. There. Put it on that table." As soon as the gramophone had been put down, Miss Turner addressed her guests again. "You may play a little of your own music tonight. I shall not mind. Just for this occasion." A wave of subdued laughter rippled over the walls. They laughed out of politeness and as no sooner had the wave begun than it died into silence again. Miss Turner turned to her right and beckoned Ellen forward. "Ellen, pass the scone stand round. Janine you can look after the tea."

Jan pulled a disgruntled face but made no comment. Tonight she had promised to obey.

Early evening daylight merged into a quiet lavender sky. The house and conservatory lights were switched on. The courtyard was bathed in a soft, yellow glow of the latest electric light bulbs. Mary remained standing beside Miss Turner's gramophone ready to wind it up whenever one of the records was played. The music that came out of the trumpet was not loud but able to be heard, as long as the talking was subdued. The record only lasted a few minutes.

Hans was hoping to meet Anne and catch up on her news. Rumours were rife that she and Gerald were seriously going out together but he had not been able to confirm any of it. This time, dress was not formal but the standard was still to be 'as one would expect' for any young gentleman or young lady. And then, Hans caught sight of Miss Anne Sutherland as she stepped lightly through the open glass doors and walked on to the red bricked patio.

Her dress was stunning; a soft, lacy pink dress that flowed from her bare shoulders to her hips in a cascade of small, pale-blue petalled flowers until they reached her knee length skirt which was showing at least half of her leg, far shorter than anything else being worn that day. It was positively, outrageously modern. And to compliment the picture of delight, Anne was wearing a hat with the same pale-blue flowers on it as on the dress. Yes, he thought. Anne certainly has style.

Such sophistication. Young men immediately flocked around her, drawn to her like moths to a lantern. But this time Hans Resmel was not one of them. He would wait until the moths had danced their dance and fallen exhausted on the floor away from the glowing light. Gerald had not arrived so there would be no competition from him.

"Where's Mister Resmel, Ellen?" Miss Turner stopped her in her tracks as she was taking a large plate of enticing nibbles over to one of the low tables.

"I have not seen him these past ten minutes, Ma'am. Last time I think he was talking with those boys."

Ellen pointed out Robert who had returned to his chair and was sipping out of a tall glass.

"He's not there now. Did he go back into the house?"

"I think he did."

Miss Turner let out a stifled grunt.

"And Miss Janine? Where has that girl got to?" Miss Turner helped herself to a small coconut truffle from the plate. "I told her to pour the tea. I do not think it is good for people to just drink the cold drinks. Tea is a much more suitable beverage. Are you certain you have not seen Janine?"

"Sorry, Ma'am."

The plate began to wobble. Ellen could not be expected to have stood holding it for much longer yet Miss Turner was certain she had seen Hans ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Now he did not seem to be anywhere in the vicinity. Even though he was almost nineteen, she still felt he was her responsibility. Hans Resmel and her niece, Janine Turner. And they were both missing at the same time. Most unusual.

Miss Turner was still wondering whether Hans would join them when she caught sight of someone in the distance, coming round the side of the house and heading across the courtyard towards the conservatory where most of the other students had now gathered. It was her niece. As Jan got closer, Miss Turner managed to catch her by her flapping sleeve.

"Where have you been, Janine?"

"Nowhere. I was just helping Mary with something."

"I see," Miss Turner replied. "And have you seen R . . .?" But she never completed her question, for there was a figure in the distance who was taking her interest. "Who is that over there?" She leaned her head forward as though that would help her identify the unusual figure.

"It's Resmel, aunt." Jan's voice was flat, monotone and disinterested.

As the figure got closer, Miss Turner noticed that it was, indeed, Hans Resmel and that he was not dressed in his normal clothing. He had a bright green waistcoat on and a white shirt with puffed out sleeves. He was also wearing what looked like black heavy breeches and thick white stockings that covered his knees. Perched on the top of his head was a small grey felt hat with a small side feather stuck into into its narrow band.

Well, no matter, was what she thought at this moment. He could be a strange boy when he wanted.

She had already noted his complete incomprehensible standing on cricket, even though he had proved he could bowl a fast hand. Then, she had also witnessed puzzlement on his face when the other boys stood in the school grounds telling their boyish jokes and bending over in raucous laughter as they blurted out the final punchlines. And, although Hans Resmel had become friends with many of the boys, she had noticed that he did not always join in with all of their high-jinks. She had watched him on several occasions quietly moving away from a group when the boys became rough as they jostled and pushed each other around. He was not shy. Neither was he a loner. Jan had told her aunt he did that because he did not feel all of the boys had come to accept him on equal terms.

Miss Turner realised she could not force him to conform to their ways. She had to let him be different, if that was what he wanted. She remembered his first few days: a stubborn, immature youngster, thrown into a hostile community, pulled between love and hate and unable to cope with all the pressures that had been put on him. But since he had joined one of the cricket teams and had also been prepared to kick a soccer ball around the college field, this young man now eighteen years and nine months, had shown that he could be mature and grown up. That was, until she saw him appear in this new outfit. He obviously wanted to show he could still be independent and individualistic.

The school matron moved her eyes away from Hans Resmel and began to pay more attention to her other young guests. What did the future hold for all the young adults she had come to call her students? Were they really growing up in a better, more responsible world? Had these youngsters really learnt to bury the suspicions of the past that had thrown the countries of Europe into a vicious conflict? Did they now really live in a forgiving world or was the carefree behaviour of the young merely a front for not being capable of facing the reality of a world still messed up by inequality, new suspicions and different hates? Seven years was not long for such feelings to be put to bed. She wished the future would give them the hope and answers to build a better world than their parents had made.

Miss Turner saw Anne approach Hans and the two began to converse. His appearance did not faze that girl and even though Anne came from one of the more privileged families in the district, never-the-less she was the one who was always prepared to make that first advance and speak to anyone, no matter how strange they might be. Anne considered herself equal to any of her male companions was also most willing to let them know it. Maybe that was because she had an understanding father and a fortunate mother who had been one of Mrs Pankhurst's women. Votes for Women was still their cry and until every adult woman could have equal voting rights alongside men, they were prepared to show that they could be a fighting force to be reckoned with. Their heroines were the likes of Emily Davidson who had been prepared to sacrifice herself under the hooves of the king's racehorse to further the cause. And Anne was determined to prove that sacrifice should not be in vain.

"Hans, why are you dressed up like that?" Anne whispered in his ear. She drew his attention to a small group of onlookers. "Haven't you noticed the strange looks they have been giving you?" Anne held up the flat of her hand to him, like a policeman on traffic duty.

"Miss Turner's watching me very closely. I do not think she approves."

"I'm not talking about her," Anne snapped. "It's the boys I'm talking about now. Have you noticed the looks they have been giving you? I realise you want to make a point but is this the time and place to do it?"

"I don't think that should worry you, especially when I hear of you campaigning with your mother. I saw you the other day when the women marched down the main street. And I noticed how others tried to block your way. They did not approve of what you were doing!"

Anne laughed scoffingly. She sat herself down with determination on the edge of the bench seat.

"That is politics! I'm talking about social convention and how you dress where Miss Turner can see."

"I wear these because today because it is my convention to wear something different. Besides, how I choose to dress should not interest Miss Turner." He plonked himself down heavily on the bench beside her.

"Well, I wish you'd be more conventional, then. Like them. Over there," Anne whispered to him in a lower voice. "Don't you think they look perfect in their polos and trousers?" Hans nodded but he did not see what that really had to do with him. Anne continued, "So, why couldn't you have worn those?"

Suddenly, Hans jumped up as if he had been stung.

"I'm not like them!" He sounded very sure of himself. Then, he added with a cheeky grin, "They arrived in a parcel. And not from Uncle Karl this time. I think it was Heidi's idea to remind me I grew up in Austria."

"Whatever or whoever you think you are doesn't interest me at the moment." Anne was restless. Her body language indicated she was ready to leave. Hans laughed awkwardly. He held out his hand so that Anne could easily stand up. "I can manage perfectly, Hans. We women can, you know."

"I know you can, Anne," he replied dryly. "Let's not argue the point."

"It does not bother me. I was only going to say . . ."

Hans had been suddenly amused by the way Jan Turner had almost tripped over as she turned her head around like a duck about to roost, watching him intently and at the same time as she was trying to negotiate the patio steps. She had been giving him puzzling looks as if she had never seen him before. He could not work it out. He inclined his head in Jan's direction and made winding gestures each side of his head.

"Something is bothering her."

"You're wicked, Hans Resmel. You shouldn't do things to annoy Jan."

"Miss Turner keeps telling me how I should be more like a brother to her and isn't that what brothers do, annoy you?"

"That's not right. Have you had another letter from your brother?" she asked remembering what Hans had told her about Renard.

"Yes," he answered firmly pressing his lips together and clenching his teeth. "Renard has annoyed me again but that's not unusual. And now with Heidi having gone, I don't know where I want to be: here or there!"

"No-one here to keep you?" She laughed at him in a wicked way and tossed her head like a filly in heat.

"I'd have a fight on my hands if I were to stay here and say it was because of you. Oh, you're so attractive, Anne. We all think you are: Dicky, Robert, Loppy, Bertie, Gerald. We're all madly in love with you."

"Are you?" Anne was beginning to enjoy this attention, even if it had come from a person who was dressed in a most unusual garb.

"Yes, all of us. We're all crazy about you. You're so modern. Fun. You look ahead, never back. You've not pre-judged me. Just taken me as I am, well, most of the time. I think you're fantastic!"

Anne was taken aback. She had never heard Hans talk like that before.

"I'm not so sure about that. I'm not the only one in the world."

"You are one of a kind!"

"Thanks, awfully but now I'll have to warn Gerald that he's got competition." She laughed and patted his cheek lightly with her hand. "But why are you being so extra nice? What is it you want? You boys are always so nice when you want something."

"I want nothing. Just to tell you how fantastic you look."

Anne laughed again and stroked her auburn hair. She arched her back, cat-like and smiled at him with her green-blue eyes.

"You do look flushed, Hans. I think you boys have had an alcohol tickle again. I wasn't sure at first, but Gerald, then Bertie and now you. You've all been the same. Don't let Miss Turner notice."

"It isn't that noticeable, is it?" he asked dropping the volume of his voice somewhat. He glanced around to see if Jan was still watching him but she had moved away and that was a relief in itself. If Jan even suspected . . . his life would never be the same.

"No," Anne answered peering closely as if inspecting his soul. "How are the others?"

"We only had half a glass each. Well, maybe almost a glass. Gerald's stash wasn't enough for any more."

"Do be careful, Hans," she warned quietly forcing the words between her teeth in case Jan was able to lip-read, for the girl had moved in far closer than either of them had at first noticed. "You're not men yet, you know and especially as you're boarding at Miss Turner's."

"I needed it for . . . for some Danish courage," he mumbled.

"Dutch courage." The idea amused her.

"To stand up against Jan."

"Be careful, Hans." Anne nudged him with her elbow as Jan passed a few feet away. He shrugged her warning off and grinned at her like a little boy. Anne laughed. "You know what you need, my lad?" she lightly asked.

"No?"

"A good English girlfriend."

Hans could not help looking across at Jan who was pouring out tea for two of the boys standing on the edge of the steps six feet away.

"That's one girlfriend I'll never have!" Hans inclined his head towards Jan.

Anne shook her head as some women were apt to do when there was a tut, tut or when they did not really believe what had been said. She turned her head away from him and at the same time she caught sight of Gerald. With a flick of the hand Anne had waved her goodbye and left Hans to watch them together while they talked in hushed tones and by the sudden laugh that Gerald let out, Hans guessed that Anne had let him know that she knew all about the secret sherry tasting.

Outside, coloured lanterns had been hung around on the branches of the garden trees. They shed a soft, warm glow over the lawn and spring flowers just staring to flower. Someone had brought along some extra records and after a short while, his ears began to pick up the strains of a floating waltz. Anne danced the Charleston several times, first with Gerald, then with Loppy and Robert and then with Gerald again. When that was over, she went and sat with Hans. She leaned forward and whispered to Hans that she was so exhausted, she was definitely sitting the next dance out.

"Look, don't let me stop you," she whispered to him. "I think Loppy mentioned that it's a Strauss waltz this time. Isn't that your favourite?"

She had no sooner said that when the first few bars of The Blue Danube waltz sounded out of the gramophone trumpet.

Hans leapt to his feet and Anne knew he was up to something by the wide grin that had covered his face.

"I have an idea." A strange smirk curled his top lip. "See you later, Anne."

Her eyes followed him as scrambled across the courtyard, pushing his way between the joining couples to head towards Jan Turner and her aunt who were in conversation with a small group of students. He clicked his heels and then gave a stiff bow with his right hand held behind him.

"Excuse me, but may I have the pleasure?"

He stood upright and held out his hand, not to Miss Jan Turner, but to the Matron, herself. He could see she had been taken aback but she graciously accepted his invitation to dance.

Hans was surprised, and honoured. With the grace of a knight, he led his lady out on to the lawn. He bowed slightly, straightened again and brought his heels together with a faint click. He held out his arm for her to take.

"Miss Turner."

Swinging, swaying waltz music filled the air. The young man led his older partner with charm and panache until the last bars of the wonderful music faded away.

"Mr Resmel, I don't think your attire is exactly appropriate for such dancing but you proved yourself to be a most charming partner. I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

"Thank you, Miss Turner." He clicked his heels once more, bowed slightly and quickly took his leave.

He's up to something, Miss Turner thought as she saw Hans do the disappearing act in through the French doors. But she could not think what he had in mind. She walked over to the nearby table, still well-covered with tasty morsels of food.

"Where's that niece of mine?" she asked Bertie Williams. "I thought she was keeping an eye on the teapot."

As Hans was often seen walking with Bertie and Robert around the school grounds and Miss Turner thought Hans may have said something to him.

"If you mean Miss Janine, Miss Turner, she returned to the house a minute or so ago. Sorry, Miss Turner, but I promised not to spill the beans. Gentleman's agreement."

Jan suddenly appeared through the open French doors. She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a dark navy wide-skirted dress partly covered by a lighter blue smock together with soft, white puffed out sleeves that were pulled into a frill just above her elbows. A colourful breast patteren, criss-crossed with red ribbon added interest to the darker dress bodice.

The pair walked over the patio and on to the centre of the lawn. Everyone moved to the edge of the lawn to give them space. Hans took off his small hat with its feather and began speaking, almost shouting, so that the students at the back could hear what he had to say.

"Before Miss Friedl left, she had wanted to share with you a folk dance from our home town in Austria. Unfortunately, before she could do this, she had to return home but you will still have the pleasure of seeing one short folk dance. You say practise makes it perfect. I think it will be so. I introduce now none other than Miss Janine Turner. She has agreed to take Miss Friedl's place." He replaced his hat and bowed to his audience. "And now . . . a folk dance straight from my home in Austria. I hope you enjoy watching."

A gasp of surprise escaped from everyone's lips. Hans Resmel and Janine Turner? Whoever would have thought it possible!

"So, that's why he is dressed like that!" exclaimed one of the female students in a loud, surprised exclamation which caused Anne Sutherland to turned round and speak.

"Even I hadn't guessed. Isn't that topper!"

Bertie Williams laughed slightly at her comment but no one seemed to notice. Someone began winding up the gramophone again and instead of playing one of the modern 20's popular songs or any of the previous century's swinging waltzes, a different kind of music poured out from the grammophone trumpet and filled the air with a vivacious folk tune from the Austrian alps.

Hans and Jan stood face to face. Soft white lights from the lanterns hung like dewdrops in the trees. The music played a few bars and paused. Jan dropped a deep curtsey and her multi-layered petticoated skirt spread around her like the petals of a flower.

Hans doffed his feathered hat and bowed. He held out his hand for his partner and they waited, like two porcellain figures, for the resuming bars of the music to spill into the evening air.

Anne pulled Gerald close to her so she could speak directly into his ear.,

"They do look great, don't they Gerald?"

"Never thought I would see Hans Resmel and Jan Turner doing anything together," he replied shaking his head in disbelief. "Dancing together? And not having Miss Turner make them do it!"

"Have no idea,"Anne replied. "Hans must have found out something to get Jan's co-operation." She pulled Gerald by the arm, for the rest of the spectators to had begun to step back to form a large semi-circle around the dancing pair.

The crowd was hushed, the music loud. The dance was animated and lively and it was wonderful how well Jan was able to keep in step as she twisted and skipped around her partner. They made a handsome pair. Hans bowed. Jan dropped down on one knee and the music stopped. The silence was one of hushed surprise.

Someone clapped, a single clap which immediately grew until the clapping waved and surged around the circle almost drowning out the calls and whistles which were being let loose. Finally the applause grew weaker and then it ceased. The audience was left with admiration and disbelief. Miss Turner had the look of a stunned boxer and for one of the few occasions in her teaching life, she was lost for words. She had no idea that the two had even been doing something together . . . especially rehersing for this under her own roof.

After several deep breaths, all she managed to say was a thank you. Nothing more.

Students clapped politely. No one moved. That was until Ellen turned the handle on the gramophone again which broke the spell. Students paired up and made their way down on to the lawn for the Charleston - knees swinging, heads bobbing and youthful bodies jiving in time to the beat of the music.

"Not to my liking." Miss Turner passed comment to one of the masters who had been kind enough to forgo a quiet evening with his family and support the matron. "I can't see what these young ones see in such music It's hardly what one would even call music."

"I wonder if they will be saying the same when they have children of their own," was the reply.

"Possibly. By then everything will have sunk into degradation if the young continue to undermine values with shocking living standards we have been seeing lately." Miss Turner stretched her neck to see if she could pick out her niece again but Jan was lost in among the waving sea of arms and legs. "I would like to find out how Resmel ever got Janine to participate."

But this time no-one was listening to her. As for Jan, it was one of the rare times she was enjoying the wildness and freedom the music was offering her. Her aunt watched the young ones for a minute or two and then withdrew into the relative peace of the house.

Finally, the evening drew to a close. The soft evening light had given way to shadows and darkness. Slowly people began to disperse until. In half an hour, the garden was quiet and empty. Hans wandered over towards Ellen and Mary. They were gathering up the remaining food and putting it back into boxes. Nothing was thrown away. The food could be used up over the next few days, for supper or put out for high tea. And after that, anything else could be delivered to the local workhouse for the underprivileged and poor.

"That was very nice, that dance you did." Ellen carefully folded down the lid on the sandwich box. "I'm still puzzled as to how you talked Miss Janine into doing that dance or when you found the time to practice?"

Hans laughed.

"It was not that difficult, Ellen because someone gave Jan one of those new cigarettes to try and said they would be good for her health."

"I don't know about tha'." Ellen stacked the empty plates within reach.

"I heard this coughing coming from the cupboard under the stairs and there she was. Almost as ashen as the ash itself."

"Oh dear, Mister Hans." Ellen's hand holding the last plate started to shake and she quickly put it down before she dropped it. "I never thought Miss Janine would ever do something like that. What did you do about it?" she asked.

Hans shrugged and replied,

"I told her I'd split on her if she didn't co-operate. The rest was easy."

Ellen's face turned white and her jaw dropped.

"I 'ope you didn't encourage her in any way, sir. Me mam claims they be the Devil's doing but it don't stop me dad. All that coughin' an' coughin'. It can't be good for you."

"You won't tell Miss Turner, will you Ellen?"

Ellen shook her head. That was the last thing she would divulge. The news of it would lift the house right off from its foundations.

Hans picked up the sandwich boxes and stacked several together but before he could put them back on the table, Ellen took them from him.

"I can manage, thank you but do you think you could 'elp Mary by putting those recordings back in their packets, sir?"

"Certainly, Ellen."

He walked over to the now-silent machine and closed the lid. As he began picking up the records and sliding them into their paper pockets, he found himself whistling one of the tunes. He smiled to himself and looked into the darkness that had now embraced the lawn. The last of the lanterns had been extinguished and as they packed away the items, the pale silver light of the rising moon flickered between the leaves of the surrounding trees.

"Good night, Mary. Good night, Ellen."

"Good Night, Mister Resmel."

The rest of the words dissolved like water bubbles into the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER 9

The Picnic

"Hans, what are you doing this afternoon?"

The telephone rang and Ellen had handed him the hand piece. It was Anne's voice on the other end of the earpiece.

"Nothing."

He sounded a bit low in spirits.

"I've found a great place to walk to." The voice in his ear sounded happy and cheerful. "I'm sure you'll love it. It's such a beautiful afternoon."

"I don't know . . . "

He had been at a loss for someone to talk to since Heidi had gone. The chirpy voice coming through the earpiece began to lift his spirits.

"Look, Gerald, I and . . " She sounded so enthusiastic. "Come on! You'll love it once we're there."

"But I had thought . . ."

"Don't Hans. Just come! Meet you after dinner by the back gate. Half one. Don't be late!"

"I'm never late!"

"Bye!"

Hans replaced the receiver and made his way in the direction of the dining room.

Midday dinner was rushed. Ellen and Mary had their hands full with all the chores since Heidi had left. Hans was in a hurry. It was just gone one twenty. Automatically, he began to stack up his plates as though he would take them away.

"Leave them!" Miss Turner dropped her napkin on to her plate and prepared to stand up. "Mary and Ellen are quite capable. You have my permission to leave the table, Mister Resmel. Off you go." Jan coughed and her aunt looked directly at her from across the table. "Janine, time for your piano practise."

Jan's bottom lip dropped. She pulled a sulky face but obeyed. She would be spending the next hour upstairs in the music room practising on the piano. She threw Hans a special sour look, especially when she realised he was going out with Anne and her friends. But her aunt's word ruled and there would be no escape for her. Jan's aunt would be taking her usual Sunday afternoon nap in the garden. She would have an hour or two lying in the wicker seat under the shade of her favourite tree.

When Hans met up with Anne and Gerald, there was an extra person. Anne had brought Caroline to make up a foursome.

"Caroline meet Hans. He's been with us at the school. Hans, Caroline."

Caroline ran her fingers through her black hair. The light caught it and made it shine like the surface of black obsidian which was made even more attractive by her pale flawless skin. In her left hand she held a sunhut by its wide brim and she smiled slightly as she placed her white hand into Hans' as she acknowledged his greeting. In the next few minutes, Hans learned not only that that Caroline was left handed but that she had been staying with Anne for a couple days and between them, the girls had made up the picnic basket.

Half an hour later, they were eagerly making their way along one of the main walkways that led away from the town and into the countryside, when they took the narrower left-hand path that led up the main hill and arched around the back of the town. They climbed over a stile and then progressed up the hill in Indian-file, following the winding track between the hedgerows and nettles. The narrow track skirted around the rear of several fields before coming out onto the slope of a wide grassy area. As they neared the top, they walked under the shady trees that grew in small, dotted copses until the hill steepened just below the crest. The climbing had made them all puff.

"I found this path myself last month." Hans paused and breathed deeply. "Here, take my hand, Caroline. I'll help you up. Here, can you take this for a while, Gerald?"

Hans handed over the picnic hamper and took the rolled-up rug and they scrambled up the track a little further. They discovered a clearing in the trees, a grassy knoll to one side of where another chalky pathway disappeared off into the distance. They found they could sit with their backs to the bank out of the wind and still see the surrounding landscape. They also had a good view across the Channel. On good days, the copper-sulphate sea sparkled with diamonds and, when the sky was clear, ships could be seen travelling slowly in parallel directions between London and the Atlantic Ocean. Hans knew that just beyond the far horizon line was Europe: another chalky coast in France.

As they neared the clearing, the long wispy grass tickled their legs and the sea breeze blew away their words. White daisies pushed upwards with their small faces, watching the sun move slowly across the sky.

"Can anyone find a hollow where we can sit and eat?" asked Anne.

Gerald pointed out a small, low ridge that appeared to drop away on one side.

"There's one! Must be. What do think, Hans?"

Anne spread the rug out over the shallow sloping hillside and pulled the hamper into the centre. They gathered around like eager children and then all sat down in unison on the rug. Gerald pulled out a silver cigarette box from his pocket and proffered one to Hans.

"No thanks, not today, Gerald."

Gerald inclined his head away from the others and commenced to light up. A whiff of white smoke rose from between his lips into the air.

"Look. Can you lot see that smoke?"

"What, off the end of your cigarette?" Anne asked in a surprised tone.

"No, silly. Over there!" Gerald pointed out to sea. The others strained their eyes and after a while they were able to see a faint plume of smoke rising up into the air and drifting eastwards. "Looks as if it's heading out into the Atlantic."

"Could be a passenger ship," Caroline commented.

"Agreed. Maybe they're going to New York." Gerald sucked on the end of his cigarette and began helping Anne unpack the hamper.

"Would you like to go there, Hans?" Caroline removed her sun hat and shook out her jet-black hair that Anne had spent time straightening to make it look more modern.

"I think that's too far for me," he replied. "I'm not a sailor. It was bad enough just crossing the Channel."

Gerald turned his head and looked directly at Hans.

"I don't care much for the water, either. I'd much rather be up there." He indicated with a flick of his head that he meant the sky.

"No good. We can't get to America by aeroplane just yet," said Hans.

"Now that the Atlantic's been crossed once, it won't be that long before aeroplanes will be doing the crossing."

"It'll take ages!" Hans exclaimed. He crossed his legs, Indian style and gripped his ankles. "We'll all be old by then. No. So far as I can see, aeroplanes are only any good for short rides."

"Sorry, I disagree. You wait and see, Hans. One day it will happen. And I don't think it will take too long, either."

"Well, Gerald, if you want to get to America by air you could try one of those dirigibles. That would be something like flying in an aeroplane."

"What would you boys like to eat?" Anne butted into the boy's conversation. "There's a lot to choose: cucumber sandwiches, small meat pies, tomato and . . ." She held up a couple of plates brimming with picnic delicacies.

Gerald chose two and handed the plate on to Hans.

"Thanks. Ever been up?"

"Up?"

"In an aeroplane."

Gerald had been interested in aeroplanes since an uncle of his had been in the Royal Flying Corp. Hans had noticed several large posters on Gerald's bedroom wall.

"No," answered Hans. "And I don't have any intention of doing so."

"If God had meant you to fly," said Anne, "he'd have put wings on your back."

"Be an angel, Gerald, and pass me a sandwich." Caroline laughed as she looked intently at Gerald to see his reaction but he was far away high up in the sky flying his aeroplane to notice what she had said. Hans found the situation amusing.

"What was that? Did someone say something?" Gerald had landed. He wiped his wind-blown fair hair out of his eyes. "One day I'll get my wings. Then you'll see! I can just see Anne sitting here looking up at me doing my loops and rolls." Gerald stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and picked an apple from the basket. He threw it lightly in Anne's direction.

"When do I get my sandwich?" Caroline's question was almost a plea.

"Sorry, Caroline. Here." Anne handed over the plate. "Gerald's back out flying again. You won't get sense from him until he comes down to earth again."

"I saw one of those aeroplane shows last year. You know, the ones where the girls stand on the wings." Caroline spread out her arms and almost hit Hans in the eye. "Ooh, sorry. I didn't mean . . . "

"That's all right. It was a near miss, not a hit."

"I wouldn't do that." Anne handed Hans another sandwich.

"Do what?" asked Gerald.

"Stand on a wing and let you, or anybody, take me up in the sky."

"Especially you," Hans laughed.

"Yes, I'd be tempted to do a loop. Up and round and over we go."

Caroline protested.

"Stop it, Gerald. You're making me feel quite sick!"

Gerald laughed wickedly as the others held their sandwiches halfway between the mat and their mouths.

"Eat up and put a lining in your stomachs." Gerald took a large bite and demolished half the triangular sandwich. For a while the conversation ceased as the others followed his example. "You girl's have made a scrumptious lunch." Gerald bit into his fourth sandwich and immediately returned to his cockpit as the others helped themselves to some fruit.

"Can you see France from here?" Caroline looked out across the sea.

"I don't think so." Hans scraped a bothersome piece of apple that had become stuck between his teeth.

"I think it's too far away." Gerald had parked his bi-plane and could now rejoin the conversation. "You can see it from Dover, though. On clear days. If I could fly, I'd be there in an afternoon."

"Off you go but you'd be by yourself," returned Hans.

"And after a few more hops, I could take you to Germany."

"You'd still be on your own."

"Will you be going back now that you've finished your studies?" Anne asked.

"I'm not sure." Hans reached forwards and took another apple out of the hamper. He rubbed it on his pullover.

"What are you thinking of doing in the long term?" Caroline asked. She had the most beautiful grey-blue eyes Hans had ever seen.

"Uncle says I should try the diplomatic office, or something. If I did do that, I could stay longer in England."

"You like it here?" asked Caroline.

"I do now. It's grown on me or I've grown on it."

He shrugged his shoulders and gave a short laugh, for as yet, he was still not a hundred percent sure of his feelings for this country.

"You wouldn't think of going into the military, like Anne's older brothers?" Caroline asked. Anne had once told Hans that most of the men in her family had been in the military some time in their lives. It was considered to be good training for a young man who might later want to go into business. Anne's father said it gave the men discipline and dignity. However, since the mess of the Great War, many middle-class people did not think the military was such a good option any more. Hans was inclined to agree and had said he was not enthusiastic about such a career.

"Not if I can help it, Caroline. Too many military people made too many big mistakes. I don't think people are ready to trust them again."

Gerald, who had been lying on his back for a while dreamingly looking up into the sky, suddenly sat up and spoke.

"Those Fascists in Italy seem to be trusting the military again. Mr Mussolini made himself a dictator earlier this year. What do you make of all that, Hans?"

"Italy needed a firm hand. At least everyone is now going in one direction."

"Mmm. I suppose so but all the same, I wonder where it'll take them. In the long run. A Fascist government could prove dangerous."

"Better than the mess some of the surrounding countries are in," said Hans. "One direction is far better than anarchy."

"What would you like to do, Hans?" Caroline asked again. She edged a little closer towards him and he could smell the perfume she had applied that morning. It had a soft lavender fragrance.

"If I had the choice, I like to work with engines or engineering. I liked it when we looked at that section called 'machines and men.' I think that the development of machines like the motorcar will become very important."

"And aeroplanes! Don't forget them!"

"We know, Gerald!" chorused Anne and Hans together.

"My brother wants to be a driver. He loves the all the new auto-mobiles," Caroline added.

"Anyone can drive them." Anne took a cherry out of the picnic basket and popped it in her mouth. "Daddy said he'd buy me one if I'm good and work diligently."

"You're always a good girl," Gerald teased. He threw a cherry at her so that it hit her chest and fell into her lap.

"I won't offer you a ride in my car, Gerald, if you keep throwing bits of food at me. You're not behaving as a gentleman should."

Anne threw the cherry back to him. Gerald caught it , put it in his mouth and then spat out the tiny stone on the grass.

"Did You see how far that went!" He beamed with pride at his achievement.

Anne moved the basket away further from his reach.

"Behave yourself, Gerald!"

"I didn't know I had to today." Gerald had found the bottle of bubbly at the bottom of the hamper just before it had been moved. He held it up in triumph.

"Did you put it in there?" Anne's voice seemed genuinely amazed.

"A good picnic should always be rounded off with a good drink."

"Gerald!"

"You never know, it might add a bit of sparkle, too. You haven't seen Hans when he's had a few, have you?"

Anne and Caroline shook their heads.

"Ooh, you don't drink, do you?" asked Caroline, her blue eyes having grown larger than those of a pekinese. At this point Hans was thinking she looked stunningly beautiful.

"Only when Gerald tempts me."

"And well away from the Turner's," added Gerald.

"You bet."

Gerald handed the bottle around. They each filled their glasses; the girls once and the two young men, twice, before the bottle was empty. They shared part of each glass with each other, Anne with Gerald and Caroline with Hans. It was turning out to be a wonderful day and from that moment of sharing, Hans was finding that he was unable to take his eyes from Caroline. He had never been moved like this by anyone before. And he felt a pleasure in it that surged throughout his body and made him feel warm and protective.

As they began to walk back down the hill, Hans was beginning to think that Caroline was the most fantastic girl he had ever met and by the time they reached the flat pathway, he and Caroline were firmly holding hands.

CHAPTER 10

Something important

Summer was in full swing. Erwin Hans Resmel was happy with life: his English was near perfect, he had gained the certificate he had come to England for and he had found Caroline. He was almost an Englishman. His grandmother would have been proud of her grandson.

Hans had written to Uncle Karl and told him how well his studies had gone and how hopeful he was of finding a good position in England if his uncle was happy to agree for him to stay where he was. When the reply letter arrived, his uncle complained about how slow business had been. He wrote that Axel was working in the knife-making business four mornings a week and although business seemed to be slowly improving, the economy of the country was still too depressed to allow for much development. Uncle Karl also mentioned that no one appeared happy and discontent was to be found everywhere.

We hope that the Government will find an answer to our problems and that they will be able to keep the trouble-makers under control. The Bolsheviks are gaining supporters especially from the ranks of the unemployed. There are demonstrations and marches in the city. Not a good sign.

As it is extremely difficult to find a good-paying job or any job at present, I think your idea of remaining in England might be for the best.'

As Hans lay on his bed and read his uncle's letter, he was reminded of what Heidi had told him. He had been under the impression that things were improving for the German people but now he was not so sure.

Hans continued to board in the Turner house for the rest of the summer but he knew he could not remain with Miss Turner and her niece for ever. He saw little of Jan as throughout the week and on weekends he went bicycling or walking with his friends. He was enjoying their company and now that they were older, they found themselves discussing everything from the latest craze to come out of America and the virtues of having a democratic government to the pros and cons of investing in shares.

He had written to uncle Karl and asked if he could advance a little more money so that he could put down a rent deposit. There were a number of small houses in a good area in town that had come up for rent and he was keen to get one for himself. In the meantime, he managed to find a part time job helping check the accounting figures for a small business. Uncle Karl had encouraged Hans to help with his own accounts as Hans had a good head for figures and could add up a column of figures in his head quicker than putting them through the slow and cumbersome adding machine. As soon as the money arrived in his account, Hans began using his free time going round the rental agencies and looking in many shop windows at the list of available accommodation. Caroline was a godsend. She spent several weeks finding out information and asking people she knew if they had any information about the properties in town. Finally, between them, they found the address of a place which Caroline said might suit.

It was a small flat in town where he could be independent and with money his uncle had sent, he had enough to enable him to employ a daily maid to come in to cook and clean for him. Wages for young girls were very low. Many poor parents still preferred to see their daughters into domestic service, knowing they would be safe from a wild life and temptation to be found in the streets of the larger centres. Parents hoped their daughters might find a position in one of the upper middle-class homes where they could pick up some of the graces that kind of household encouraged. However, Hans was young and single. Such a young girl in his house would definitely be frowned on.

How should he begin to select a servant to look after him and keep house? It was Caroline who suggested he ask Miss Turner and much to his surprise, she was willing to interview the applicants for him. Now that he had joined the adult world, he was beginning to discover that she was less of an 'old dragon' than he had thought and at times like this, she could be extremely helpful.

Occasionally, when he visited the Turner house, he ran into Jan. She was more in control of herself and Hans thought she appeared more grown up. She was no longer the rude and silly teenage girl he had met when he had first arrived. Jan did not say very much to him, other than a very polite good morning or good afternoon and she always seemed to be preoccupied one way or another so he really did not know what to say to her. He could not make up his mind whether her perceived coolness was from an uncertainty on her part, or a genuine dislike of him. Whichever it could be, Hans was content to leave her alone.

The first fall of snow arrived late in November. It had been a good autumn until then with fewer fogs than usual. Then, just as quickly, the snow melted and temperatures slightly warmed up again. As soon as Hans had settled in to his new house, Anne Sutherland and Bertie Williams had asked if they could move in with him for a few weeks until a few days into the New Year. It would be a squeeze. Hans would have to give up his bedroom for Anne and join Bertie in the tiny sitting room but he liked the idea of having company, especially it involved good friends.

Even though Anne's home was ten miles away, she wanted to be closer to friends during the time when her parents were away. Anne's father had allowed his servants to return to their own families for the festive season and, with Anne also away, had decided to shut up the house. Anne told Hans that it would be her last chance for town life before she retreated into the countryside.

Bertie also wanted time to see some of his old friends before he returned home. During the winter months there was not much to do on the family farm in Hampshire. He had told Hans that his father had made it clear that Bertie was to take over running the farm as soon as possible. It seemed that Bertie's father was struggling since last July when some sort of illness had struck him down. It was something the doctors could neither explain or help him with and before he died, he said he wanted to teach Bertie as much as possible about farm management. Hans felt sorry for his friend for he knew what it was like to be without a father and without someone so close to you you could ask them anything and they would never think the worse of you. He had never had that feeling of father and son, not even with Uncle Karl. It was just not the same as having a father.

Miss Turner found Hans a housekeeper. She knew of an elderly widow who had just lost her long-held position when her employer had suddenly died. She was happy to oblige and for a four hours a day Mrs Harrison would come in to dust and tidy and prepare the main midday meal. The housekeeper was not the young girl Hans imagined he was going to get. He had dreamed of someone like Heidi or an English girl like young Mary but he knew his new maid could never be as young as them. Still, until the maid arrived, he could dream. That was until Mrs Harrison arrived on his doorstep on her first morning and Hans knew imediately all his wonderful dreams had ended. There would not be the slightest provocation for gossip for when Mrs Henderson did arrive, Hans saw that she was a homely widow of fifty years. At least no-one would be left wondering what was going on at number 36, and besides, all of Hans' friends now knew that Hans had eyes only for Caroline Grace.

"Post's arrived early this morning, Sir."

Mrs Harrison always brought him his letters on a plate and handed them to him personally.

"Thank you, Mrs H."

She preferred it that way. Everyone adressed her as Mrs H and she was so proud of that that she had embroidered it on the top of her pinafore.

Hans tore open the envelope and began reading. He was engrossed in it when Bertie entered the room.

"What? Another love letter, Hans?"

"Get lost, Bertie."

"Caroline, Caroline give me your answer do; I'm half crazy, all for the love of you."

Hans could hear Anne and Bertie singing in the hallway. Most times, he pretended not to hear them. This time, he could hear their subdued giggles on the other side of the door but after reading all of the letter, he felt cheerful and happy. How exhilarating it was to be in love. He finished the ditty by singing loudly to make sure the others heard him.

"But she'll look sweet upon the seat, of a bicycle made for two, if I ever get one!" At the end Hans shouted as loudly as he could. It was all in good humour for Hans did not mind the ribbing he was given.

Bertie popped his head round the door when Hans answered.

"You sound extremely happy today, Hans."

"I am. Caroline's going to take advantage of the better weather and come over. She writes that she's coming down for the weekend. She wants to see me again. Isn't that great. She does want to see me again!"

"Lucky you, old boy. I'm off for a spot of fishing before the cold really sets in. Loppy's father's had permission to fish in Lord Haselmere's stream so the pair of them have invited me along for the day and Anne's off with Gerald for the day but won't say where. I think we're all going to have an exciting weekend, that's for sure."

Friday was hinting at a wonderful weekend for after a light early morning mist, the sky cleared as a high pressure settled down over England. Hans was invited over to the Turner house for morning tea. He knocked and waited for Ellen or Mary to open the door. It was Jan. He noticed her hair had been cut and was much shorter than before.

"My aunt's expecting you," she said without any emotion in her voice. She held the door open for him to enter. As he stepped inside, she added, "I've heard you're in love with Caroline Grace."

"Who told you that?"

"It's common knowledge." She pushed her glasses back and looked at him down her nose.

"I think she's a very nice girl, that's all."

"My aunt's not very pleased about it," answered Jan keeping a firm hold on the door.

"What's it got to do with your aunt? She's not my guardian. I don't go to the school any more. And I thought we were getting on better." Hans was annoyed with Jan and it showed in the way he spoke his words.

"I don't know about that. All I know is that she's not pleased."

"It's got nothing to do with your aunt or you." His answer was spat out as if he wanted to hurt her with his words. Jan bit her quivering lower lip and adjusted her glasses. Hans thought she was about to burst into tears. He knew he had embarrassed and upset her, for that little habit always gave her feelings away. "Well, are you going to allow me in, or not? Or do I have to wait for Ellen or Mary?"

Jan did not cry. Neither did she answer him but she did finally open the front room door wide enough for him to step through.

Miss Turner greeted him cordially and indicated that he should sit where she could easily converse with him.

"Are these rumours true, Mister Resmel, that you have a very soft spot for Miss Caroline Grace?" She did not wait for him to answer. "My dear boy, you cannot continue such a relationship. I'm telling you that that you will find it very difficult should you wish to court that girl. You know nothing about the family or about her father. Besides, I think you're too young at present to think about taking on a relationship. You have not found a job to support yourself and you are in no position to think about providing for a wife."

"Nobody has suggested marriage, Miss Turner. We're friends. That's all."

"That will please your uncle."

"My uncle? What does he know?"

"Nothing as yet. He understands that your first priority is to find a good permanent position. He doesn't want you to throw opportunities away and I agree with that. Once you have established yourself and have a settled address, then you can think about courting, if that is what is on your mind." Mary knocked and brought in the tea pot and three cups. A few minutes later she returned with the plate of small cakes. Miss Turner broke off her conversation with Hans and addressed her maid. "Mary, would you also bring us some serviettes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And tell Miss Janine that we're ready to take tea."

Hans shifted in his chair. The thought of Jan joining them did not appeal to him. Last time he had visited, Jan sat opposite him and spent most of the time in a silent stare. This time Jan actually spoke to him.

"Tell me, have you heard from Miss Friedl?"

"Yes, but she does not write often."

"Pour out, will you, Janine ?" Miss Turner offered Hans a cake. "She was a good little worker," Miss Turner commented. "I've heard of other foreign girls seeking work in this country."

"Yes. Uncle wrote that there's not much work in Austria or Germany. He has advised me to stay here and look for work. For a while, at least."

Jan half stood and reached for a cake. She took one and held it awkwardly in her cupped hands. Her aunt's eagle eyes had already noticed.

"Do use a plate, Janine. It's so common to hold food like that."

Jan picked up a plate and placed her tiny cake in the centre of the tea plate.

"What are you doing later this afternoon?" She took a small bite and replaced the remainder on her plate.

"Probably going boating down the river."

What Jan said next surprised him.

"Why don't you take Anne, for example?" Jan looked directly at her aunt. Hans knew full well that Jan knew Anne was not available. "I'm sure she'd like to go boating."

"Anne's going out with Gerald this afternoon. I thought you knew. I think they're making up a foursome and going out in Osbert's motorcar."

"Janine's not got anyone to take her out." Miss Turner looked quite intently at Hans. She looked serious, too. "It's such a lovely day."

In his mind, he said, it won't be Jan, if that's what she's thinking but to Miss Turner, he said instead,

"Sorry. I've already made arrangements." There was a pause while he thought of an answer. He did not want to admit it would be with Caroline. Finally, he said in a quieter voice, "with Robert Brinkwater." He bit his little finger, then laughed a little and hoped he had not betrayed himself. "Boys' day out. "

"Then that's that then!" Jan seemed both resigned and annoyed at the same time.

"Yes, sorry about that."

It sounded awkward to him but it was all he could think of. Jan huffed and put her empty plate down with an audible bang. She stormed out of the room.

"Janine!" But Miss Turner's concern did not stop the hurried exit. She turned to Hans. "Oh dear, it seems you have upset her again."

"I didn' t mean to."

The rest of the afternoon tea was spent with just himself and Miss Turner in the room.

When Hans met up with Caroline, he told her what had taken place at the Turner house.

"I don't know what's wrong with Jan Turner. One minute she appears to hate the sight of me and the next she wants me to take her out. Then, because I said I was going somewhere with Robert, she got the huff and was hostile. She is absolutely crazy. What a girl!"

"I think she's all right," said Caroline. "We've always got on well together every time we've met."

That took Hans aback. He didn't know Caroline knew Jan. Neither had hinted they had any knowledge of each other prior to Hans having met Caroline.

"What do you know about her?"

"Jan's never been allowed the freedom most of us have. I think my father is strict but her aunt is far stricter and keeps a very close eye on everything Jan does. She is so protective. Poor Jan, she hardly dares to go out of her aunt's sight and she says things she doesn't always mean. I'd hate to be in her place. I think she's being like that because she's not allowed to be herself. I think Jan does things because it is her only way to rebel and can you blame her? She sees others having a good time with their friends and she wishes she could do the same."

"Who? Jan? But she's younger than any of us. We would not want her tagging along."

"She is only younger by a year or two," Caroline pointed out. "That shouldn't make any difference. Besides, she's not the wild cat you seem to think she is."

"Jan Turner! Jan Turner?" Hans shook his head in disbelief. "You, you know her?"

"Oh, yes. We've known each other since we were babies. We're second cousins. Miss Turner is aunt to us both."

No wonder Miss Turner had been against any involvement between himself and Caroline Grace. But that didn't stop them arranging to meet up again on Saturday and this time Hans was determined to spend the entire day with Caroline. They had agreed to meet outside the small café in the High Street at nine in the morning. Hans waited just outside, leaning against one of the lamplights. He didn't notice Caroline's arrival.

"Hello, Hans. Been waiting long?"

He turned as she tapped him on his shoulder.

"No," he lied. In fact, he had been there since half past eight.

"You said nine. It's not quite nine and . . . "

"I'm impatient."

"Or keen." She laughed and brushed down her skirt. It had acquired a few spots of mud on it thrown up when a motorcar passed close by.

"Well? Where are you taking me?"

"Surprise."

"Can you wait just a mo'," she said. "I've just got to get something from the shop over there." She pointed three shops along the road to the sweet shop. "Back in a jiffy."

Hans leaned against the lamppost again.

"What the . . . ?"

It was Jan Turner. She stopped in her tracks in the middle of the pavement, letting her shopping bag sink on to the pavement.

"Hello."

"Hello, Jan."

"You going to my aunt's?"

"Um, er, no. I'm waiting for someone."

"I see. Robert by any chance?"

Why she had mentioned his name she had no idea but as the two had been seen in each other's company, Jan considered it could be him.

Hans glanced at the new watch he had recently acquired. Caroline could appear any minute now and he did not want to be caught out. He wrapped an arm around the lamp post as if it were the waist of the girl in his mind.

"It's actually Caroline I'm waiting for this time. She'll be here any minute."

The two stood looking at each other for a minute in awkward silence, the full shopping bag and the lamp post between them.

"I s-see," she finally stuttered. "Going for a boat ride again?"

"I told you, that was with Loppy."

"Oh? Yesterday it was Robert! So you said! Or let me guess. I'd say, Caroline. Not Robert at all." Her eyes narrowed and the muscles in her face twitched. "You're a liar, Hans Resmel!"

"You shouldn't be so nosey, Jan Turner. Then I wouldn't have to lie to you!" He snapped his words out at her. As he looked away, he caught sight of Caroline as she reappeared from the sweet shop. "Must go!"

He grinned triumphantly at Jan, then releasing his arm from the post, he made a dash across the road so that Caroline did not come face to face with her angry cousin. Hans grabbed Caroline by her arm and hurried her away in the opposite direction. Jan was left standing where she had met him. Her mouth half open in an unfinished exclamation and her shopping still in front of her feet.

It was marvellous to get out into the fresh air at last. It had been a long time since Hans and Caroline had been able to enjoy each others company again. They walked along the bank of the river in a westerly direction following the flow downstream. Hans carried the small picnic basket which Mrs Harrison had prepared. They would have to walk for a good hour and a quarter before they reached the spot he had previously found. As the path left the riverside, they made their way alongside large spreading beech and oaks which had been planted to give shelter to the fields of corn just beginning to show signs of a golden autumn change. The day was perfect, as perfect as any day could be.

The pathway edged the fields and then turned back towards the river again where they followed it downstream for another thirty minutes or so. They could hear the constant quacking of ducks as they swam in and out of the overhanging vegetation which grew along the river's edge. Wild flower-heads scented the air and along the water's edge, they could hear the occasional gentle swish of a willow branch as the river current caught it and tried to drag it along. Hans picked up a small pebble and bounced it across the surface of the water. He made a slight whistle sound as he watched the bounces. Caroline looked at him, and laughed.

He took her hand and led her over a crest to where a tree had fallen down during one of the winter storms. They sat down on one of the smooth branches together and Hans balanced the picnic basket on it between them. Caroline opened up its lid and took out several sandwiches, two for Hans and one for herself. They began eating.

"Do you come here often?" Caroline asked as she bit into her sandwich.

"No, but I've been here several times. It's peaceful here and not many people seem to know this little area."

"Did you see the way Jan looked at you when we were in the High Street?"

"You noticed? I thought you didn't see her."

"Well I did."

"Then you saw the way she behaved."

"You think she does that because she hates you? I think you are wrong, Mr Hans Resmel." Caroline laughed. "I think Jan likes you. A lot."

Hans' voice went up several octaves. His hands grabbed at the air each side of his head. The idea was preposterous.

"What! Are you crazy? All she does is argue with me or give me the silent look. She is always watching me. "

"Well, it proves you are no good at reading us women. You should have seen the dismay and disappointment on her face when she saw me. You didn't, of course, because by then you weren't facing her."

"I think you're completely wrong, Caroline. I boarded with her and her aunt for over a year and all Jan did was demonstrate that she really didn't want me there."

"That was jealousy. Like sibling rivalry."

"It didn't come over that way to me."

"I know her. Remember, I've known her longer than you." Caroline handed him another sandwich. "And we are both female."

"Yes, you are. All woman to me." He tried to kiss her but she ducked her head and laughed teasingly.

"Cheeky!"

"Yes my sweet. And you win." And before she could stop him this time, he pecked a swift kiss on the tip of her nose. "Come, let's not spoil our day. What have we got in here?"

He began unwrapping the two slices of cake that had been put in the basket and when they had finished eating, Hans edged closer towards Caroline. He was feeling a tingle of excitement because he wanted to hold her close to himself but at the same time, he did not want to frighten her away. He was having great difficulty finding the words he wanted to say to her.

"Schatzchen."

"Hans, I don't understand." She looked at him in puzzlement. "You're not making sense."

"What I'm trying to say, Caroline, is . . ." He swallowed the remains of his last sandwich and took a deep breath. "Your my 'little treasure.' You must have guessed. I am crazy about you!"

"You are?"

"Don't tease me. You know I am. I'd do anything for you."

He leaned forward to kiss her but she turned her face away.

"Give me time," she breathed as she returned to face him. "I can't make up my mind that quick. I'd like time to think things over before we get serious. That's not to say I don't like you. I do. An awful lot."

"I don't just like you, I adore you."

"Whew!" she gasped. "That's strong."

Caroline was embarrassed by his sudden attention. A little shift away from him indicated she was beginning to be a little unsure of her feelings towards him at this moment.

"Why should it be?" He sounded deflated.

"Because we haven't known each other for that long, Hans. I mean, you don't know anything about me."

"I don't need to! I love you. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose so." Her voice had hesitancy in it. As his expression changed to one of disappointment, she changed what she was about to say. "If you're really thinking of courting me, you should speak to my father first."

"You think he'd allow it?"

Caroline arched her back like a gymnast and flicked away a strand of hair that had been blowing across her face.

"I don't see why not," she answered. "I am sure he'd speak with you, if he was in the right frame of mind."

Hans found the situation awkward. He bit on the end of his little finger, something he had not done for some time. Finally, he said,

"What do you mean? What frame of mind?"

"When it is not church day, for then he thinks only of the good book and of our morals. And it cannot be on Tuesdays or Fridays as those are his tea delivery days. But between those . . ."

"Do you think he would give his permission for us to see each other?"

Caroline laughed.

"He might. But then he might not. He is like that, my dad." She turned over and raised herself on to her knees. It was plain to Hans that Caroline did not want to talk about her father. "What if you should decide to return to Germany?" she asked.

"Wouldn't you be willing to come, too?" He began to help Caroline pack up the picnic basket.

"It's not England," she said hesitantly. She stopped what she was doing and looked him in an earnest manner. "I've never been that far before."

"But you'd be with me. I'd look after you."

He laid his hand over her wrist. It was such a dainty one, warm and feminine. His open hand slid down over her smooth skin until his hand covered hers.

She did not look up.

"Well, I suppose so. It might be all right."

The hesitation in her voice made Hans a little apprehensive. He wondered whether Caroline really would be prepared to leave her family and country and start a new life with him abroad. He thought of his grandmother. She had followed his grandfather and, as far as Hans knew, she did not see her family again. What if their two countries should ever go to war again? The idea was too awful to think about. It was just as well their countries were friends again and that the League had been created to keep Europe stable.

His contour brightened and he leaned forward and smiled at her.

"That's a start. Let's say we're pledged to each other at least."

He had heard that saying first from Anne when she told him about her relationship with Gerald.

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend?" she asked.

"More than that."

"Like being engaged?"

"Yes. But without the ring. And then, in a few months, say three or four, we can make it more formal. That's after I've asked your father, of course"

Caroline nodded and her expression became lighter.

"That sounds good. I'd like that, very much."

She laughed teasingly. Hans made a grab at her. The picnic basket fell off the branch but nobody minded or heeded its falling. Only the declaration of their feelings for each other seemed important now.

Hans could no longer contain his love for her. He began kissing her most passionately; her arms, her neck, her cheeks, until he found her soft moist lips. She yielded but then returned his embrace with a passion equal to his. With that encouragement, he found he could not stop himself until his breath finally ran out and he was forced in gasping ecstasy to pull his lips away from hers. His body felt as if a fire had been lit in his belly. His nostrils flared like a prancing stallion as his breathing became more rapid. He laughed out loud from sheer happiness. Caroline's response had told him everything. She did love him.

"I do love you, Caroline Grace. And, I will marry you, you'll see."

Hans leapt in the air in jubilation. He was young, his muscles tingled with pleasure and excitement. He clenched his fist and thrust his arm triumphantly into the air and let out a cry of triumph for all to hear.

"She loves me! See, she loves me! Hey, you English hills! Caroline loves me! There! What did you think of that?"

"Worth watching."

"I'll start saving up for a ring."

"You'd better find yourself a job first."

"I will. Give me time. I'll find the best job in the whole of England. Then your father cannot refuse me."

They laughed together. They shared another magical moment cuddled tightly in each other's arms, kissing and loving every moment as their excited emotions spurred them on and on.

Suddenly Caroline broke free and pushed Hans away from her.

"Steady on," she gasped, gently removing his hand from inside her unbuttoned dress. "That was getting a bit strong. You'll be thinking I'm a loose girl."

"Never. I'd never think that!"He re-buttoned the bodice like a mother dressing her child. Suddenly, Caroline noticed the upturned picnic basket. Its contents lay scattered in an untidy array on the grass.

"The basket!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no!" She began picking things up. "We'd better be getting back."

As they stashed the items back into the picnic basket they teased and touched each other, delighting over the discovery of their attraction.

The Sunday sky was blue. The chattering birds mirrored their feelings. It was a wonderful walk to the bus station and they constantly chatted about all the wonderful things they would do together and counted all the wonderful children they would have in their wonderful family home. Happy, in love, they meandered hand in hand along part of the riverside, Hans carrying Caroline's small suitcase in his right hand. After fifteen minutes, they made a left hand turn which took them back into town. Hans waited with Caroline until her bus turned up. She climbed the stairs to the open top with her scarf holding on her Sunday hat and stood bent over the side waving and waving with her black gloved hand until he lost sight of her as the bus turned off the main street and disappeared out of view.

CHAPTER 11

Confrontation

The 1926 weather mirrored the mood of the people. Even by Easter, it was bleak and depressing. Rain clouds hung low and menacing, and as each dull day followed the next, people began to wonder if this winter would ever depart. Lately, it had been much harder to buy coal. The need was still there yet the amounts had dwindled. Then, towards the end of April, supplies stopped altogether. Coal deliveries ground to a halt. When Hans complained of being continually cold because of a lack of coal, he was told that it was due to employment problems with the miners. There were enough men to work the mines but now not enough mines open to supply the coal.

Wages had suddenly been slashed. That was blamed on the re-organisation of the German mines in the Ruhr for as more overseas mines were re-opened, they had first caused a flood of coal on the market which in turn had decreased the profitability of the industry. English miners would have to produce more if English coal was to survive. Now there was the cry: 'not a penny of the pay; not a minute off the day.' The country was poised on the blade of a knife. Anything could happen.

It was in this economic climate, that Hans had been fortunate to find himself a junior position with a London business firm that had become involved with one of the rising German industries. Someone was needed to translate correspondence and any documents that were sent through to the London office. The pay was not high but sufficient. The allowance which he received from his uncle, together with his earnings gave him enough to to put a few shillings away each week towards the day when he and Caroline could marry.

He had found himself a small two roomed apartment in Norwich Street, just north of Fleet Street, where he could be within walking distance of the office. Mr Scrover, his employer, had been very helpful and had allowed Hans some time away from the office to look for some furniture. He had managed to scrape together a few plain pieces, just sufficient for a bachelor to live by: a table and three chairs, a setee, a desk, small rug and a bed. The large house had been converted not long after 1910 but the plumbing and lighting system had not been updated which meant the occupants still had to share the single toilet outside the back door and rely on oil lamps for evening lightening. But that did not worry Hans. It was a place of his own where he could do whatever he wanted and when he wanted.

Every three of four weeks, he tipped out the pennies he had accumulated in the jam jar which sttod on the narrow mantelpiece over the fireplace. It was just enough to purchase a train ticket that took him back to the town where he and Caroline could meet for a few hours before he had to return to London. These travelling days were the highlight of the month and on the wall calendar he would cross the days off until he reached the Sunday marked in red.

The first day in May, which should have been Springlike, began overcast and cool and before the day had really got going, the clouds descended further and rain wet the streets. It was a long weekend and he didn't have to be back in London until Tuesday, Hans decided that whatever the weather, he would take the Sunday train and surprise Caroline with a visit. She had already written and said that she would be at Anne's that weekend. His body tingled with anticipation and excitement at the thought of seeing her again and being able to take her into his arms and smother her with more kisses.

However, when he wanted to travel this time, he was informed that the usual train service had been drastically cut. The lack of coal supplies was the cause and it was beginning to look as though things could get much worse. When Hans went to the station to purchase his ticket, the man behind the ticket booth appeared more serious than before and solemnly shook his head.

"Sorry, Sir, but we cannot guarantee that you'll be able to get back if you go. I can sell you a ticket there but not a return one. You'll have to purchase that on the day of travel. Otherwise, I suggest you try some other way of travel."

"Well, I'll take the risk, then." The news had irritated him. "I've got to go today. It may well be a month before I can get the chance again."

"As you wish, Sir. But you've been fore-warned. One single?"

Hans paid for his ticket and went on to the wooden platform. He put up his umbrella to keep off the rain. There was the heavy smell of smoke and coal, together with oil and everything that went with steam and trains. Within ten minutes, the squealing black giant slowed, then stopped alongside the platform hissing and blowing air like a snorting horse. Hans opened a carriage door and stepped up into a narrow corridor. He found a seat alone in one of the compartments and made himself comfortable beside the window. After wiping the inside of the window with the back of his hand, he slumped back to watch the outside scene slide gently past and slide away from view as the train jolted back into life and left the station behind. As the train picked up speed, the funnel blew out several good puffs of coal-black smoke which covered the outside of the carriage window.

He began to think that things may be better in Germany than in England now. The news of an improving economy had filtered through the correspondence that had come from Berlin. Last week, Paul von Hindenburg had been made President. That was good news. It gave people hope that life would improve in the new republic. Meanwhile, in England, an ugly mood seemed to be brewing.

Erwin Hans Resmel put his bag down beside him. He was standing on the front doorstep, ready to push the doorbell button. He wondered whether Miss Turner was at home. He felt quite nervous, standing there, waiting for the door to be opened. Why he had decided to call in on her first, he didn't really know but as Miss Turner had kept in touch, he felt obliged to let her know he would be in town. He was thinking how he would tell her that Caroline and he were seriously making plans to marry. Whether he would tell her that he had also been thinking of returning to Germany was another thing.

He could hear the hurried steps getting louder on the wooden hall floor as somebody came closer to the front door. The door opened. It was Jan.

"Hello Jan. Is Miss Turner at home?" He hardly looked at the face the other side of the door. He had recognised her by the way she strode along the corridor.

"Wait here." It was a cool reception. "I'll fetch her."

Jan pushed the door to and he could hear her receding footsteps and finally the sound of her voice as she called from well-inside the house.

"Aunt, Hans Resmel's waiting at the front door."

There was a muffled answer followed by more hurried footsteps, but the tread was lighter and more rapid than before, like the stutter of machine-gun fire. Miss Turner opened the door.

"Mister Resmel." She adjusted her glasses as if she needed to insect him more closely. Hans made note of the fact that it was the same way he had seen Jan adjust hers. "What are you doing here? We didn't think you'd be making the journey this weekend owing to the disruption. It was not very wise of you to have travelled this weekend."

"I need to talk," mumbled Hans.

He was still standing on the doorstep, his travelling bag beside him where he had put it. Miss Turner eyed him up and down from head to toe and back up to his head where her inspection stopped. Suddenly he remembered that he had forgotten to remove his hat. He took it off and stuffed the soft cap into the pocket of his coat. The retired school mistress invited him to step inside.

"You'd better come straight into the living room," she said. "With the shortage of coal, we can only afford to heat this one, together with the kitchen." She indicated to him that he should sit. "How are things in London at the moment?"

"Much the same, Miss Turner. Nobody's very happy about it. Everyone hopes it won't get any worse."

"We all hope so."

The room was warm even though there was only a small fire burning. He could smell the smoke from the coal as he made note of the black tarred bricks below the mantelpiece. He removed his long warm coat, intending to place it over his knees when Jan walked in and took it from him.

"I'll hang it up."

He thought it strange that neither Mary nor Ellen had answered the door or that his hat and coat had been taken from him in the corridor.

"Ellen still here?" he asked.

"No, I had to let her go. Mary's still with us but today she had asked for time off. Jan, would you mind popping on the kettle."

"I'm not bothered," he commented patting his trousers so flat that they seemed glued to his legs.

"Now, what do you want to see me about?"

Miss Turner placed herself carefully on the chair opposite. He noticed she did not move as freely and this time and that when she did sit she used both her arms to lower her body gently into the soft seat of the armchair.

He cleared his throat and felt awkward.

"Caroline Grace and I want to marry." He blurted it out as if he were in the confessional box and became aware that his last word came out more like a squeak than a word. He knew he had not seen the priest for many weeks and was certain his sins were piling up so much that Miss Turner could see into his wicked soul and see the guilt he was feeling at this moment.

Miss Turner said nothing. There was no indication that she saw any miserable sinner sitting in her armchair. He watched in silence as she removed her glasses and gave them a careful rubbing with a small frilly handkerchief which she had extracted from one of her hidden pockets. It was as though she were weighing up her thoughts and words very carefully.

"I see," she said finally. "Tell me, when did you both make this decision?" She waited for him to answer, and when he did not, she continued, "I do not think you have thought things through." She screwed the dainty handkerchief around between her fingers. Arthritic fingers he noticed for the first time.

"We've thought about it for a long time. I've now got a job and we can live on the wage I earn. Besides, I don't think it's anyone else's business what . . ."

"Resmel, I you are still too young. How old are you? Not quite twenty? And, Caroline? Eighteen. Not yet nineteen? Not a marriageable age for someone with your background. And, what does Mr Grace say to such a marriage?"

"I haven't spoken to him about it, yet."

"I suggest that before you go much further with this affair, you have the decency to speak with him. Caroline cannot marry without her father's consent. And neither can you without your uncle's approval. You would need a special licence to marry. That is the law. So, when have you decided to speak with Mr Grace?"

"I intend to ask him any day."

"And your uncle? Are you certain he will agree?"

"I don't care what uncle thinks. He is not my father. It's my life. I love Caroline. We want to be together."

"You need that permission or it cannot happen. What if your uncle or Mr Grace do not give their permission?"

"We'll find a way. It will happen. All I know is that we want to be together!"

What Hans did not know, was that Miss Turner had heard all this before; well before the war and it had made no difference to what the parents thought then, either. When two young people considered themselves in love, they could not be talked out of making any decisions, no matter how rash they seemed.

"And where do you intend to li . . . ?" Miss Turner broke off as the door was opened by Jan carrying a tray with three cups of tea. She said nothing as she bent over and set it on the low table. "Biscuits?" her aunt asked.

"I'm bringing them." She walked out of the room. Hans had hoped the interruption would have removed his need to answer but Miss Turner repeated her question. Nothing amiss with her memory.

"We could live in my place for a while until we were able to find somewhere more suitable."

"In London? Or are you thinking of taking her to Germany?"

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're together. Nothing else counts."

"A man needs money to keep a wife."

"I've been working hard for months . . . and I've been saving every spare penny each week."

"That won't get you far. Pennies don't go as far these days."

"Caroline's been saving hard, too."

He was becoming angry with Miss Turner. He could see no reason why he should have to justify himself to her. What would a silly, old spinster like her know anything about love and the passion he was feeling for Caroline.

"I know Caroline's father. You don't. He would never agree to such a marriage. I'm not sure Caroline would be prepared to go against her father's wishes. Any thoughts of marriage . . . "

Before he could retaliate, Jan entered the room with a plateful of home-made biscuits.

"Who's getting married?"

"No-one," answered Miss Turner sending a glance over to Hans that could have cut steel in half.

"I am," Hans replied knowing that sooner or later Jan would hear about it, anyway. Jan appeared stunned.

"Who to?" Her voice was shaky.

"Caroline Grace and me."

"C-caroline? Our C-Caroline?" Jan could only stammer over her words. The shock she felt was intense. "You can't!"

Hans jumped to his feet and shouted at her. Why did Jan Turner always say things to annoy him?

"I can. And I will. Anyway, who are you to tell me otherwise?"

Before Jan could say anything, she remembered her aunt had instructed her not to retaliate and she stared at him in silence while inside she seethed like a boiling kettle.

Miss Turner recognised the signs of Hans becoming defensive and she did not want another heated argument taking place in her living room. Hans stood face to face with Miss Turner, who had also got out of her chair.

"You may have control over her." He pointed at Jan. "But you have no control over me. I'm not a student of yours any more! I don't live in your house any more!"

His face was red and his fists had become tightly clenched.

"Young man, you need to learn self-control. One day, that impetuous nature of yours will land you in trouble and you will do something you will regret."

"Like marry Caroline Grace." Jan said the words so quietly that only Hans heard.

Hans looked directly at Jan and spoke deliberately and slowly. He wanted to make sure she had understood every single word.

"I am going to marry her, Jan."

She snorted and threw her head back with a defiant flick.

"Then I'll never speak to you again. Or her."

"That won't worry me. I don't think Caroline will be worried, also."

"Get lost!"

"You're horrible!"

"So are you!"

"Stop this, at once! Bickering like spoilt children!"

Miss Turner's face had turned white and her tight lips became stretched in anger like a stretched rubber-band. Then he noticed the war photograph had been replaced and had been hung back in its original position.

"What's that doing back there?" He raised his arm almost like a salute and defiantly pointed with his finger. "That picture! That terrible picture! I cannot forgive!"

"I put it back. It's where it belongs. " Jan's face was full of defiance.

"How could you, you stupid goose?" But all Jan did was to shrug her shoulders at him. He turned again towards Miss Turner. "How could you let her do such a thing? You promised it would never be put up again."

Miss Turner's mouth had been continually opening and shutting like a goldfish. His insulting language had shocked her but she was equally shocked to see the picture back on the wall when she had believed it to still be safely stored in the drawer. She looked steel-eyed at Jan.

"Did you put that there?" she asked sternly peering over the top of her glasses. Jan shrugged and said nothing. "If you did, then you can take it down again. Do I make myself clear?"

At first Jan hesitated but then, like a robot, she stomped stiffly over to the wall and took the picture down, stomped back past her aunt, glared at Hans and finally threw the offending photo back in the drawer. She shut the drawer with a loud bang. She adjusted her glasses and glared at Hans in anger before pressing her lips tightly together to stop them from quivering. Hans could see that she was visibly upset, for one small tear trickled down her cheek and dripped off the side of her chin and on to the carpet. She reminded him of a child about to cry and before anyone could react, Jan turned and fled out of the room. The living-room door slammed shut with an explosive sound.

Miss Turner patted her chest between her heaving breasts. She looked quite pale.

"The pair of you have left me speechless. Such a disgusting outburst . . . and in my living-room. Really, Mr Resmel, an apology is in order."

"I am sorry, Miss Turner, but I cannot forgive for that." He pointed at the drawer. "Why keep such a horrible picture?"

"I've explained that before, young man. It is not horrible when you understand."

"Understand that? That's war. I thought we were trying to move forward from the horrible things that happened."

"Yes, what happened was horrible, I agree. But we cannot ever forget all those young men. One day, Mr Resmel, you will understand. And understand why that photo is here."

The air was tense. He felt uncomfortable. He stood up and, clicking his heels together, gave her a stiff bow.

"I think I must leave. Thank you for the tea, Miss Turner."

He swivelled round on his heel and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Hans collected his coat from the hook in the hallway and let himself out of the front door. He did not look back

He was annoyed with himself for his stupid outburst. It had been like the earlier times when he and Jan had had words. He should have controlled himself more but when he had caught sight of that vile picture, all those previous memories had resurfaced. He had not intended to be so confrontational but why, oh why, had Jan Turner reacted in such a way when told that he was in love with her second-cousin?

Maybe, she did not want him to have anything to do with her family, he thought. Maybe, she was still annoyed with him over some previous event. And why she had replaced the photo after her aunt had express-idly forbidden her to do so? Jan knew he was to visit so did she do it to hurt him?

He was regaining his composure, quietly walking away from the college and towards the local Inn where he always stayed when he came for the weekends, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Hello, Hans."

It was Anne, bright and breezy, as usual. Bertie had written and told him that Gerald's crazy desire to fly was about to come true. He had managed to get himself into a position where he was not only being paid for messing around with aeroplanes but was learning to fly them as well. He'd already got all the kit: scarf, leather boots, helmet and goggles. In a few more months, Gerald would acquire his wings. Bertie had also written that Anne and Gerald's relationship had become much more serious and that he soon expected to hear of their engagement. Hans wondered whether Miss Turner had objected to that liaison, too, but he did not let on.

"Hello, Anne," he said in a bright, breezy manner. "How's life treating you? Still busy?"

"As ever. What's this I've heard about you?"

"Me?"

"You. I'd heard from Jan Turner that you're going back to Germany."

"I don't know where she got that idea."

Anne put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh dear, did I get it wrong? Jan said her aunt . . . " Anne shook her head and gave a weak laugh. "Oh, never mind about that." She patted him like a mother, ever so gently on his arm. She had far more important things to discuss than Miss Turner. "Isn't it absolutely beastly about the miners? So unsettling. Have you heard? They really should behave themselves and return to work immediately. This morning's newspaper is full of the strike this weekend. See? Here." She waved the newspaper under his nose with the headlines emblazoned across the front page. "I was asked to pop into town and get one. Gerald . . . " She paused and rolled the paper up into a cylinder. Anne took a deep breath. "Oh, sorry, haven't you heard the latest news around here? It's Gerald and me. Daddy's given us the green light. Been going out steady for over six months, now. Oh, and he's learning to fly."

"Who? Your father?"

"No, Gerald, silly. He's got a weekend job at the aerodrome. Adores it and when he gets his wings, he's promised to take me up. Spiffing, isn't it? There, he could fly you back to Germany."

"It is too far and I'm not going."

"Oh."

"I'm staying here."

"Are you going to see Caroline?"

"Yes, tomorrow."

"I noticed you coming out of the school grounds. Did you visit Miss Turner?"

"Yes but we had a row."

"Oh dear." Anne raised an eyebrow and inclined her head closer in Hans' direction. "Do tell me what happened."

For a few seconds, Hans chewed at a niggly piece of skin that had come loose at the side of his little finger nail while he thought of what to say.

"I was telling her about Caroline and me and she didn't like it."

"You sure?" Anne straightened. Her eyes grew wider for she loved to hear any sort of news about the school or the Turners. And anything that could be construed as gossip was even better.

"Yes," he answered in a firm manner. "Said we were too young." An angry frown formed on his face. He clenched his fists and made his little finger sting. "Thinks she owns me, Anne!" he snapped.

"Could be because Caroline's related. Miss Turner's fine with me." Anne leaned back on her heels and smiled with light satisfaction.

"Does she know about you and Gerald?" asked Hans. He was feeling upset over the rejection he had felt from the school mistress as well as being annoyed over seeing that photo again.

"Oh yes." Anne was quite matter-of-fact about it. She laughed and tossed her head. "I think nearly everyone in town knows about us. Miss Turner knows Gerald's father quite well. Mr Brookfield-Smith's on the Board, so they have dealings in that way."

Hans felt deflated. His voice betrayed the bitterness he felt. It seemed so unfair; one rule for her and another for him. He shook his hand to allay the pain.

"Lucky you!"

"Look, can I give you a lift?" Anne was bright and breezy. She ignored Hans' sombre mood. "Gerald taught me to drive a few weeks ago when we went out in the country and Daddy was so pleased, he bought me a new motorcar - that one, over there."

She pointed to a sporty car parked just across the road. Anne was lucky to have a father who not only had income from his farm but was also a partner of a profitable business, although what it exactly was, Anne had never said.

"No, it's all right, thank you. I enjoy to walk."

"Well, if you ever change your mind, you can contact me easily enough. You've still got my telephone number, haven't you? Oh, just say who you are and ask for me. We've got a new butler and he doesn't know you."

Hans nodded and tried to look brighter. He had the rest of the day to unwind and all of Sunday to enjoy himself with Caroline. He didn't need to be back in London until Tuesday.

He and Caroline spent a wonderful day together, walking, laughing, hugging and kissing. They enjoyed the orchestra in the bandstand. They sat on the lawn holding hands as they listened to the band play happy, entertaining tunes. All the world and all its problems evaporated that day and they were still in a jubilant mood when he accompanied her safely back to the bus stop.

The next morning, he saw Anne in the High Street.

"How did things go with Caroline?"

"Good."

He elaborated on his meeting with Miss Turner. He explained to Anne that when he told Miss Turner about his relationship with Caroline, she had lectured him about all the poor girls who were taken for a ride by wicked young men and then dumped after they had had their wicked way with the poor girls, whatever that meant and that she didn't want to see Caroline treated like that. He mentioned that Miss Turner had not been sure if his intentions were honourable especially as he had not spoken to Caroline's father.

"And do you intend to speak with him?" Anne asked.

"Yes. Miss Turner told me that she didn't think he would ever give his permission. Me not being a local boy, I think. I also got that impression from Caroline when she told me about her father. Personally, I think it's to do with all that prejudice from the war. I've had the same feeling before. It's a feeling of suspicion as well as not being accepted."

"There's got to more to it than just that, Hans. Caroline's not twenty yet. Her father is only being protective of his daughter. That's what it'll be. I think you're being too harsh on yourself."

"If it's nothing to do with me, then what? Even Miss Turner is not pleased. I say she has no idea about love. Look at her. An old woman. Why in a school for boys? Anyway, who'd want anything to do with her?"

"She wasn't always old." Anne felt she had to defend the woman. "She must have been young once, you know."

"Yes. Last century!" Hans snapped.

"It's Jan I feel sorry for." Anne brushed back her hair that had fallen across her face. "Miss Turner won't let poor Jan do anything. I think she is making sure Jan will be around when she gets really old and needs a nursemaid. Also, if anyone even looked at Jan, I think there would be thunder and lightning from all directions. They'd have to pass close inspection of the Turner kind! Have you thought about that?"

"I expect you're right." He gave a sigh of resignation. "Jan is a strange one. Always goes off the deep end especially when I do anything." Hans suddenly had an idea. It seemed ridiculous to him but he did not mind sharing it with Anne. "One would almost think Jan is jealous."

"Of your freedom, yes. As for Caroline . . . if she really loves you, she'll stick by you, come what may and no Miss Turner's disapproval or Jan Turner's jealousy will turn her away from you." Anne glanced at her expensive gold watch. "Oh, is that the time? I do not want to keep you talking. I say, when does your train leave?"

"I haven't got a return ticket," Hans answered. "Couldn't get one in London. I was hoping to get on the one o'clock one."

"Let's go and get your ticket now. I'll take you in my motorcar."

Hans climbed in over the over the small low door and settled himself in the passenger seat. Anne easily started the motor and drove like an expert,negotiating the numerous horse-drawn carts that still made up a large part of the traffic volume.

When they arrived at the train station, they were alarmed to find signs all over the platform.

All trains have been cancelled until further notice.

"How am I going to get back to London?" Hans's voice had an air of desperation mixed in with disappointment. "What's happened? Why no trains?" Then he remembered the warning the ticket officer had given him on Saturday morning when he had purchased his ticket to come here. "I remember. I think the ticket office said it's something to do with coal supplies . . . and the miners."

They walked through the station building and found that the station master was still around. Hans went up to him. He couldn't remember seeing this person on the station during the other times he had used the trains.

"Excuse me, but we've seen notices telling us that there are no trains today. Is something wrong with them?"

"Sorry, sir, can't righ'ly say. I'm not the real station master. I'm doin' this job just f' today, sir. It's the strike. Everyone's out. 'aven't you 'eard the news, sir?"

"What news?"

"It's all in the 'eadlines, sir."

"About the trains?"

"No. The strike"

"What strike?" Anne was equally curious to know why the trains had ceased to run.

"This mornin'." The man wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Come over the wireless. All transpor' and railways is out. In support of the miners. Got locked out, y' know."

"Scheisse!" snapped Hans in annoyance. The word escaped his lips before he could gather his senses.

"Pardon?" The station master did not catch the utterance.

Hans turned on his heel and threw his hands up into the air.

"I've got to get back to London, today. How am I going to do that if the trains aren't running?"

"Sorry, sir." The acting station-master shook his head. His soft cloth cap almost fell off. "I don't normally work 'ere. Just doin' a favour."

Hans spun round to face Anne again. He almost tripped over the travelling bag he had unloaded and placed close to his feet.

"It's most inconvenient. I'll have to think again. I've got to get back to London by evening."

"You'll not make it by train. Or bus, sir. All transport's down. Have to walk if you want to go anywhere."

Hans looked so upset, the station master suggested he go away and return that afternoon. By then things may have changed. But by the afternoon nothing had changed; the situation looked just as grim as before. The town was as extremely quiet, almost even too quiet for a holiday Monday. No trams or buses and only the occasional horse and cart passed by. Hans explained to the Innkeeper that it looked as though he would require the room for one more night and was at the point of arranging it, when Anne turned up again. She had brought some papers over to be given to a gentleman who was staying at the Inn. She noticed Hans waiting at the counter.

"Still no luck, Hans?" she asked him as she handed over the envelope of papers.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing' running. It really looks as if I'm stuck. Everyone's joined this strike."

"It's grim, that's for sure." She was about to leave when an idea came into her head. She smiled a satisfied smile."Why don't I take you?"

He was surprised. If Anne did take him back to London, it would solve his dilemma. "Would you?"

"Of course. It's a good sixty miles but if we leave now, we'll be there for tea-time. It's a good excuse to see a cousin of mine. They live in Belgravia." She sounded rather excited about the prospect, especially after Hans had put his bag into the luggage compartment. Anne gave a slight giggle. "Hop in. You'll be surprised how fast it can go."

With a flick of her wrist, she threw a scarf around her neck and urged the engine into a roar. Brakes off and the motorcar turned its massive bonnet in the direction of London.

CHAPTER 12

Tea at the Turners

The government declared the General Strike over on May 12th. During that time, England was almost brought to her knees. Jimmy Thomas, the Secretary of the National Union of Railwaymen said:

"I have never disguised that, in a challenge to the constitution, God help us unless the government won."

And win, the government had. But what a struggle! At the end of it all, workers returned to work and employers pushed for greater production output to make up for all the hours lost. As a consequence of this drive, Erwin Hans Resmel made the decision to stay a while longer working for Mr Scrover in London. All the necessary arrangements were made and the paper work completed.

Hans wanted to be close to Caroline. He wanted to be able to cuddle her whenever he felt the urge. He wanted to kiss her and fondle her and every time he thought about it, his body reacted as though he could taste her breath and smell her body and feel the soft silky touch of her beautiful black hair. It was torment. Being apart from her even for three weeks made his whole body ache. It was torture to be so young, so in love and be so far apart.

His mind could think of nothing else and his letters to her told her of his longing and thoughts of the day when they could finally be together. He told her how he would love to take her to Austria and let her see the beautiful mountains which wore a green coat during the summer months but became white and glistening during the winter. He promised to show her Berlin, the lively city where his father had taken the family to live just prior to the war. He wanted to show Caroline off to his uncle and aunt, to show them that he, too, had captured the heart of an English girl. And he wanted Renard and Axel to be envious, especially Renard.

In the meantime, Hans made the slow journey from London southwards to the town where Miss Turner lived. He had promised uncle Karl that while he was in London, he would keep in touch with Miss Turner but he could not understand why this should be so. Except that Caroline was a second cousin to Jan. But his uncle did not know that.

Once a month he knocked on the Turner door and once a month he took high tea with her in the afternoon. Sometimes he saw Jan but most times she was not to be seen. He heard her, in the front room, practising her pieces on the piano. And each time, Miss Turner lectured him about the problems of young people setting out in married life when the country's economy was beginning to flounder again.

"I still maintain you are both far too young. Hardly even adults. That may be what happens in the lower classes but not here. You've not set yourself up in life properly or secured a position with excellent prospects. Have you thought about that? As for wanting to take on a wife, why, Mr Resmel, you won't have enough savings behind you to run a decent household."

"That won't stop Caroline and myself making plans. "

Miss Turner curtly cut him off, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown of disapproval.

"I still do not think it's a good idea. I do not think your uncle would be pleased and I know for certain that Caroline's father is very much against any idea of his daughter leaving the protection of his home. A longer courting period would be so much better."

"Caroline's already said me she will come to London. She wants to be with me."

Hans waited patiently for Miss Turner to answer. He watched as a mixture of shock and disgust swept over her face leaving her lips in a tight line. Finally, she managed to speak.

"Mr Grace has insisted Caroline remain under his roof. Did you not hear me? She is far too young and still needs her father's protection and guiding hand. London is such a large city and Caroline does not have the experience to cope."

"I can protect her if she comes to London." Hans snapped his lips together in a strong, thin line. He was angry with all these obstacles. How could these adults ruin his and Caroline's happiness.

"Do not dare think of leading her astray, young man!" Miss Turner waggled a finger at him. "A young and vulnerable girl like Caroline is easily be taken advantage of. I can't see this affair . . . and it is only an affair . . . lasting. Cannot you see, it is only puppy love. Teenagers! You're not mature enough to know what a real love is."

"I say I love her. She says she loves me. What else is there?"

"True commitment together with a good income if you want your love to last."

"I know how I feel and I know what I want. Money is not important, only our love for each other. Nothing will stop us loving each other and you're not going to stop us, either!"

He was beginning to sound just like that obstinate boy who walked into her life two years ago. The idea of living in sin was almost too much for a staid lady like Miss Turner to even contemplate. The very suggestion shook her moral foundation just as if she were experiencing an earthquake full of devastation and she was left speechless and shaken again. Hans could see why she should feel it her duty to try and save Caroline from doing such a terrible thing as it would bring dishonour to the family. She pleaded with him some more.

"In the end such wickedness will be punished. God will punish you even if Mr Grace won't! Think carefully about it. Think what you would be doing to Caroline's reputation. I dread to think of the pathway where you will drag the poor girl down, especially if marriage is out of the question. If you leave England, what would happen to her then? Why, she would be ruined, Mr Resmel, ruined."

"If I leave, Caroline goes with me. She has already said she would."

"Today is a far different world from forty years ago!"

Hans didn't see the connection so he did not answer. They stood for another five minutes in relative silence. Miss Turner offered him the last butterfly cake. She crumpled up her napkin and he had the impression that it could have been his neck. Then, she pulled the bell cord to summon the servant.

"Mary will show you out. Now, please excuse me. I've got some work to prepare."

With those words, she turned and left him standing in the middle of the room until Mary entered and escorted him to the front door.

"Come back t'morrow mornin' . . . a' ten thirty," she said quietly so that her voice did not carry back down the hall. "Miss Grace'll be coming over to see Miss Janine an' Miss Turner'll be busy at the school. I'll keep me eye out f'you and let you in. Come round t' back and make sure no-one sees you. It'll only be a few minutes, though. Now, Mister Resmel, you'd better go."

She began to close the door until only part of her face was present.

"Thanks, Mary," he whispered.

"Now, go! Bye." She began to shut the door.

"Good bye. Until tomorrow."

The night time waiting was unbearable. Hans tossed over and over as his mind thought of nothing else but the horrible discussion with Miss Turner. It was a restless sleep so when he awoke, it was much later than anticipated. When he arrived at the Turner house, it was exactly half past ten to the second. He remembered Mary's instructions and slinked along the side wall and round to the back of the building where the back entrance was. He knocked, and waited. Slowly, the door opened.

"You! What are you . . . ?"

Jan appeared stunned. His arrival that morning was unexpected. "My aunt was not expecting you. And why have you come round to the back entrance?"

"I . . . I forgot something," he mumbled. It sounded awfully weak and unconvincing.

Jan's mood changed to one of suspicion. She shoved her glasses back vigorously hard up against her face. Hans knew in an instant that he was in for an attack.

"If you left something here, what exactly was it?"

"It was . . . er, I think I left . . ."

"I don't believe you!"

Jan slammed the door in his face before he could say one word more. He stood there fuming, annoyed with himself for being humiliated and also annoyed with Mary for not being there to let him in. Then he began to wonder why Jan had been in the kitchen area anyway and had opened the door in the first place. Had Mary been forced to tell her that he was there to meet with Caroline? That would certainly explain the outburst. He was still standing in the porch looking at the closed door when it re-opened and this time it was Mary who peered around its edge.

"What happened?"

"Miss Janine come in 'ere f'r somethin' and before I could warn you, you 'ad already knocked on the door. She's gone now but you'll 'ave to be ever so quick. If I'm caught lettin' you in 'ere, I could lose me job. I've told Caroline 'n she'll be 'ere in a minute."

"Hans!" Caroline was delighted to see him. She gave him a peck on his cheek. "I thought you'd already gone back to London."

"I've got another hour before I catch the train," he answered, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and pulling her towards himself so that he could give her a better kiss. "Jan knows I'm here. She answered the door."

"I guessed that. She came back into the room looking as though she'd lost a fortune."

"I hope I haven't made things too difficult for you," he said releasing her. "But I had to see you once more."

"I wish we didn't have to meet like this. Daddy was ever so angry when I told him we were going out together."

"Why when he does not even know me?"

"He says you're not Chapel," she replied.

"And your mother?"

"She says nothing. She obeys." Caroline brushed something off her skirt. "I do wish I could come away with you." She took his hand. "Don't be too long before you come again. I don't know how I'm going to bear it if I can't ever see you again. I think I would curl up and die."

"Meet me at Anne's. She's on our side. She could bring you up to London for a day. Think of it, my love, mein Schatz." He squeezed her soft, round breast and it made his pulse race. She gently removed his hand.

"Not yet."

How his body ached for her. He never knew a body could ache so much for what it most desired. He took her hand in his and kissed her again. He stepped backwards, backing out of the doorway until their fingers could no longer touch. Then he doffed his hat slightly, turned on his heel and hurried away. He did not look back. He did not want to be reminded that he had to leave her behind.

His apartment in London was small, only a couple of tiny rooms and a small kitchen on the first floor of a converted house. He was glad that he was able to walk to work especially when the cold, dank London fog rolled in from the river. Sometimes it was so thick, he had to feel his way along the buildings until he rounded the corner into Chancery Lane where the traffic moved faster. Bus and motorcar lights glowed dim and pale through the impenetrateable gloom but it was a place he could now think of as 'home.' Until he had worked his way up the ladder a little more, and had spent at least another year with the firm, the premises he called 'home,' the two-roomed apartment down the narrow crowded side street would have to suffice. But, at least it was better than the slums closer to the river bank.

He was desperately trying to put a portion of his weekly wages in a savings account for the day when he would be able to afford taking Caroline on as his wife.

Shortly after New Year, the storm hit. Slashing rain and howling gales made travelling to work one of the most difficult things he had done in his life. The entire city was on a knife-edge as the dark waters of the Thames began to rise. On the night of the seventh, Hans was woken by shouting and banging somewhere down in the street under his small bedroom window. He peered through the opaque glass panes but it was difficult to see anything through the pouring rain and refracted weak light of the street lamp two doors away.

Hans switched on his bedroom light and tried to focus on his clock. It was shortly after one thirty. Everyone should have been asleep.

Someone was banging furiously on his front door as though they wanted to break every board and rush inside.

"Mr Resmel! Mr Resmel, are you awake?" the voice of the outsider shouted above the howling wind.

Hans cracked open the door, leaving the safety chain securely latched. He was still feeling groggy from sleep but aware enough to realise the figure outside was meaning no harm.

"What? What do you want? Do you not know it is one in the morning and I have to be at work in another six hours?"

"Not this mornin', you won't, sir," the man replied. "Many 'ave halready 'ad to leave their 'omes 'cos of the rising wa'ers. The Thames is above the wall, sir 'n' the Embankment is all under a foot or so of wa'er. So, we're warnin' ev'rybody t' take care!"

It was almost a week before Hans was able to walk to work again but then Mr Scrimager did not mind for the storm had brought many areas of central London to a standstill.

Miss Turner's advice concerning financial arrangements had made sense and Hans was grateful to her for that. Uncle Karl had always encouraged the boys to save a little by themselves and when they had been able to prove to him they could, he had added that little extra. Until money went crazy, that was and Hans had seen his precious savings lose their value. Yes, he remembered that part now. But it could never happen again so in the meantime, there were the long hours of work, the weekly visits to the bank and making the remainder of his money stretch out until the next pay day. He did not forget to drop spare pennies into the jar for he knew that when they reached the line he had painted on the outside, the accumulated pennies would be enough to buy the next train ticket and that ticket took him to Caroline.

He managed to make several visits to see Caroline during the winter months but it was difficult to find warm, safe places where they could meet in secret.

"I adore you, Caroline Grace," he murmured in her ear. His tongue rolled around the warm inner surface of her ear. But, there was always the clock ticking, always the appointment to keep at the station and the sad drawn-out farewells as the London train began to pull out of the station. They held hands as long as they could and as Hans leaned out of the open window of the carriage door and as the train gathered its breath to rent them apart, they held on until only their longing for each other could be felt in the stretched out tips of their fingers and at that point they lost sight of each other in a swirl of steam and smoke.

One day he missed that parting appointment. The rain that afternoon came down heavily, forcing them to seek shelter like stray cats in a nearby barn. They squeezed through the doorway and discovered they could climb into the loft over a tangle of farm implements and tools. It was warm and dry and had the smell of sweet hay which had been stored there for the winter. Hans pulled at the hay and moulded them a cosy nest where they could lie down.

Hans smoothed the crinkled dress. Caroline was warm and her thighs were soft and silky. His fingers fumbled to unbutton the top of her dress and his hands snuggled gently against her rounded pliable breasts. She sighed and willingly allowed herself to yield to his attentions and for the next hour, they caressed each other and found delight discovering desirous aspects of each others bodies they had previously no knowledge of. Then suddenly, the rain stopped and ouside was quiet, except for an occasional drip that fell from the roofing iron and landing with a muted squalp on to the concrete pad in front of the barn doors.

In a flash, they realised the time but it was too late. The last train had already left and after Hans had seen Caroline home, he retraced his steps back to the barn where he spent that night curled up like a vagrant, wrapping himself in hay in order to keep himself warm. And throughout that long night, he could hear the dull creaking of the rafters and in between the lull of the pounding raindrops on the iron roof.

He kept in touch with Anne. He managed to write every few weeks so it was no surprise when a letter arrived saying that Anne would be driving up to London. She would be visiting a friend for a day or two. Then, as he read through the first page and began on the second, his heart made a leap when he read that Caroline had decided to accompany her. His own sweet Caroline coming up to London to visit him. It would make such a change from him always travelling south to find a few precious hours during which he could be with her.

He must get his rooms tidied and made respectable for he did not want her to see the usual muddle he had been living in lately. Work had been so demanding and Mr Scrover had insisted he stay at the office until mid-evening which did not leave him much time to keep the apartment clean and tidy. It looked more like student accommodation than the rooms of a respectable young man with reasonable prospects of advancement.

Hans managed to find a packet of biscuits to have with their tea. He had developed a liking for English tea and always kept some handy should anyone pay him a visit. When he could, he still preferred to drink coffee or make himself a peppermint tea; without milk, of course. Caroline was surprisingly quiet this time. She left most of the talking to Anne who talked constantly of things that were happening in town. Then, there were snippets concerning the school and Miss Turner. Finally, Anne blurted out that she and Gerald were now formally engaged and that Gerald had secured himself a wonderful job with one of the flying schools.

So Gerald has found himself the job of his dreams as well as getting one of the best girls in the world, thought Hans. He hoped that his own life and prospects would turn out just as well.

Too soon, Anne announced that they must be getting back. She did not want to be driving after sundown and after all, it had only meant to be a fleeting visit to show Caroline where Hans lived.

Another few weeks passed and this time Hans had been so busy at Mr Scrover's that he did not have any time to get away from London. He had worked all Saturday morning as usual but then had to put in extra hours in the afternoon. He was determined to rest on Sunday so after a very late breakfast, he decided not to attend church but to stay in and listen to the wireless. Besides, when he opened the front door to collect the milk, he noticed a few spots of rain on the step and now that it had begun to rain, there did not seem much point in going out. He lay back in his armchair and closed his eyes as the voice coming from the speaker described one of the small picturesque villages one could find in the Wordsworth countryside.

Suddenly, there was tapping on his door and when he did not immediately respond, the tapping became a much louder and more frantic knocking. He walked over and opened the door on to the stairwell. Standing before him was Caroline and a large suitcase. She was wet, exhausted and very upset. She almost fell forward on to him.

"My goodness! Caroline! What are you doing here?"

"My father threw me out!" Tears began to flow down her face.

Hans pulled her and her bag into the room and proceeded to take off her coat and hat. Caroline did not resist and it was like undressing a rag doll.

As soon as Hans had made her more comfortable and she seemed more willing to talk, he began questioning her until she admitted that she had been sick for several weeks and when her mother had noticed that she had stopped needing rags because the monthly curse was not turning up, there had been more and more questions until both her parents had come to the conclusion that she had been a wicked girl and brought disgrace upon the family through her disgusting wayward behaviour.

"I'm so frightened," she continued, tears already filling her eyes and beginning to form droplets, wetting either side of her cheeks. " Father called me such dreadful names and told me I was only fit for the workhouse. He said he couldn't bear to look at me and said I was no better than might be expected of a slut and that I was no daughter of his any more. Oh, Hans, I'm in a delicate condition."

"Bitte?"

"I'm going to have a baby!" Caroline blurted out.

Caroline's mother never said anything about babies other than they were found in the cabbage patch and then only after a couple had been married for many months. That is what happened to good girls from good families. And now Caroline was about to disgrace hers but how could she be a good girl when no one had told her how babies were made or where they came from. They just turned up one day, mysteriously, for she had looked under the cabbage leaves and had never, never found a baby there. Maybe she had not looked properly or maybe you had to be grown up, for she could remember that whenever she had a new brother or sister, she and her older siblings had been quickly dispatched like parcels and sent to some aunt for a holiday and when they returned, there was their mother nursing a new baby. From then, all household chores revolved around the newest arrival and mother was so occupied with her little one that she hardly noticed she had the other children. And after a while life continued as it had done before until the next time when another little one arrived just as mysteriously as the one before.

"Father said I have bought shame to the family and have allowed myself to be tempted into a disgraceful life by the Devil." She covered her face with her hands for a few seconds as if trying to keep the Devil away. "He called me 'wicked'." She looked at him with soft, pleading eyes and he loved her, oh how he loved her. "Do you think I'm wicked?" she asked him.

"No, I don't. You're beautiful and I love you, every single bit of you, Caroline Grace."

He kissed with a loving gentleness on her eyes. He wanted to share her feelings and hold her close to him for ever and ever and never let her go. Hans pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to dab her tears away. He led her to the setee and and they sat down together.

"You're not afraid at being a father?" she said when she had composed herself.

"A father?" He jumped up as his voice went up several octaves. He had not been ready for that. Not yet. The shock of her news must have registered over his face for Caroline immediately burst into tears.

"I am really wicked!" She cried. "Even mother said I will grow fat and ugly. I am afraid that you won't like me any more. Father said that no-one will want me. Ever."

She pulled up her jumper and smoothed her blouse tight around her pregnant form. It was only a very small enlargement as if she had eaten a huge meal. Hans did not know what to say. This was right out of his depth of understanding but he did realise that two people were needed to make a baby and if Caroline was one, then he would have to be the other. He looked at Caroline's stomach again and wondered how much of a baby might be in there.

"What can we do?" he asked. "I don't know what to do in this case."

"Father said I should get rid of it. Find someone who will make the baby go away."

Hans was deeply shocked. He had read about women who were found dead lying in some dark and dismal alley after trying to get rid of their unwanted child. It was too horrible to think about. He had not been brought up to even think of anyone wanting to kill their baby.

"No! That would be murder! I will not allow that to happen! It's against everything I believe in."

"What am I to do?"

"You must have the baby. God has allowed it the right to live."

"Well, who's going to help me when the baby wants to be born?"

Hans was out of his depth. Like Caroline, he had never had to deal with a baby before. The desire to cuddle her was exceedingly strong. He sat close and took her hands in his.

"I don't know. What normally happens?"

"I do not know. I think grandmama was there for my mother. Cynthia my friend said that was what happened when she was born." Caroline brushed back her hair as she swallowed back more tears. "Mummy won't help me. Father called me one of the 'unfortunates' and said I would be treated as mentally defective and that if I had the baby it would be taken away from me and . . ." Caroline was beginning to panic and lose control.

"Nobody's going to take away your baby. Our baby," he corrected himself. He put his arm around the frightened girl and coaxed her towards him.

"I don't want to go into one of those workhouses where your baby is taken away. I want to be with you. I want us to keep our baby."

Hans patted the top of her head. Caroline snuggled closer.

"We'll keep our baby. I promise."

She lifted her head and looked at him. A faint smile relaxed him a little. She said softly,

"I'll have to find a nurse. I need help with my confinement. Who could we ask?"

"I don't know anyone."

Hans bit his lip and chewed the end of his little finger. He always did when he was deeply worried or upset about something.

"We both know Miss Turner. She'll tell us what to do."

"Mein Gott, no. No! She's the last person to ask! Miss Turner knows nothing about such things and she already thinks I'm leading you into temptation. We don't want her to know that I already have! She'll hear of it, sooner or later and the later she finds out, the better."

"Is having a baby so sinful, Hans?" Caroline asked, hoping for reassurance from him. "Is it a sin to love each other?"

"No. Men and women are supposed to love each other. Adam and Eve taught us that."

Hans wished he had the comfort of the church and priest to help him solve their problem. If he had been in Salzburg he would know exactly where to go but this was London and it was difficult to find just the right priest to talk to. He could ask Father Stevens but that meant he would have to leave Caroline on her own for a while. He was not prepared to do that. Or ask her to return home. In the meantime, they would have to share the cramped conditions of the apartment until he could hope to find something larger, even if it meant moving closer to the East End where living conditions were not as good but where rents were a lot cheaper. Hopefully, he could ask his uncle to send him some funds and make the situation easier for Caroline, him and the coming baby but that would mean telling his uncle and aunt about Caroline and he did not want to do that. Not yet.

"We will get married, won't we?" Caroline hoped that by saying this everything would be put right and she would become a respectable person again.

"Of course. Don't worry."

"When then, Hans?"

"When I have more savings."

"Will that be soon?"

"Before the baby is born, I should think." He hoped that it would, for he had no idea how long it took before a baby was born. "My dear Caroline, do not worry. Everything will be fine." He kissed her on both her wet cheeks and used his clean handkerchief to dry them.

They spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled in each others arms until Caroline had to get up and prepare supper for them. Hans insisted she take his bed and that night he wrapped himself up in a couple of blankets and curled up in the armchair. He heard the gas lighter put his ladder onto the lamp bar and then the soft glow of the street light filtered in through the window. Hans slept fitfully, waking early to the clip-clop of the milk horse and the jangle of milk bottles being placed on the doorstep.

Each week now seemed like an eternity: the birth being so near and yet still so far away. Caroline had so much to do: knitting and sewing, finding a cot for their baby, gathering a huge pile of cloth nappies and keeping their tiny apartment clean and tidy. Money was put in his bank account. Uncle had not even asked why he needed the extra and that made Hans pleased although it still was not enough to pay rent for a larger place but at least they could remain where they were. Besides, Caroline did not want to move any closer to the rougher streets, saying she would not feel safe, especially during the evenings when Hans was asked to do more hoursso she was also relieved to learn they did not have to move. They had enough money to investing a little in stocks and shares which were rising in value and providing a healthy interest rate. Mr Scrover had helped Hans with his decision and there was optimism and hope throughout not only the office but within the streets of London. Fleet Street seemed to be humming with business transactions.

Finally, Caroline suggested that they should visit Miss Turner. The school matron was the only person they both knew and the closest one Caroline could call 'family.' Miss Turner was knowledgeable in many things, so why not about babies? With the baby's time nearing, Caroline hoped that Miss Turner could give them much needed advice.

It was strange being driven by taxi up to the front door of the large house in the college grounds. They had received an encouraging reply from Miss Turner, who said she would be more than happy to meet with them both again. No mention had been made of Caroline's condition so they were not sure if the family had told her the news.

Hans helped Caroline carefully out of the vehicle. Her bulging pregnancy had made her round like a blown-up balloon and movement had become quite difficult for her.

A young maid answered the bell. Hans had not seen her before. She took their hats and coats from them and hung them up on the coat hooks in the foyer. She opened the front room door and announced their arrival to Miss Turner.

"What a surprise when your letter arrived." Miss Turner's eyes focussed on the expanded belly but she said nothing as she indicated for them to sit. Caroline carefully lowered herself into the chair, using her arms for support. Hans paced nervously up and down the room until he was told to stop his prancing around and sit down. Miss Turner sat on an upright chair near the table, her torso straight and erect, just like she always did. She tilted back her head and spoke to her maid.

"Millie, fetch the tea. Oh, yes, you can bring some of those nice biscuits that you made yesterday. The weekend china will do nicely."

Hans looked around the room. No, still the same. It was as if time had stood still. They made small talk: the weather, London, things that had happened at school and in the town since he had left. Millie brought in the afternoon tea on a tray and set it down on the table beside Miss Turner.

"Ma'am."

"Thank you, Millie." Millie dropped a small curtsey and quietly left. Hans noticed that the voice still sounded frosty, for Miss Turner showed very little emotion. "So, you are going to be parents? I do not remember hearing about any wedding. Not from your parents, Caroline. I would have thought they would have informed me. I did not expect an invitation. I know pennies are short in that household. So, your father did give his permission, then?" Caroline did not answer. "Was it a registry wedding, then?" Caroline nodded. Hans did not comment. Miss Turner continued in a lighter tone, "I still do not approve of the marriage but I hope, for your sakes and the baby that it all works out most satisfactorily."

"We do want this baby," said Caroline. "Both of us want this baby."

Miss Turner clicked her teeth together. She spoke slowly and deliberately, addressing the pair of them as she prepared to pour out the tea.

"Caroline and you, Resmel, I think you are both too young. Of course, one would expect the lower classes to begin a family so soon but both of you should have thought about the conditions and situation the country is in. Things will be difficult for some time yet but the economy looks as though we are finally in for some improvement. I just hope you've made the correct decision. Time will tell. In one way, I am pleased that you have decided to remain in England, Mister Resmel. You've appeared to have settled in." Miss Turner swilled the tea in the teapot round three times. She always did that when she was ready to pour out. "I have been informed that you have a good and secure job. Put some of your wages away. Invest for the future. That is what everyone has been told to do." She handed a cup and saucer out for Caroline. "Now, you wrote and asked for my help. I shall endeavour to advise you both but I have the impression your parents are not pleased with the arrival of this baby you are having." Caroline shook her head and took a biscuit from the plate which Miss Turner had held in her direction. "Mixed marriages always pose problems."

"It's father," exclaimed Caroline. "He did not want . . ."

Miss Turner cut her off.

"So that is why you had to use a registry office? It is always difficult to know which church to use, too: the Baptist or the Catholic one. I expect you would want it to be in a Catholic Church. Is that not so, Resmel?" She inclined her body more in his direction as she asked her question. Those eyes behind the glasses made him feel hot and unsettled.

"Well, yes, but . . ." he mumbled.

"Then, I am not in the least surprised that your parents were upset, Caroline. I have always thought your father as extreme in his beliefs; a good church man but he has never tolerated the beliefs of others very well and your connection with someone of another faith must have been a huge shock for him."

"I thought it was because I'm not English!" Hans had been taken back by Miss Turner's last remark.

"No, not that, although he would have preferred his daughter to have married an Englishman." She smiled to herself, and then added, "Well, part of you is but whether that would be enough for Mr Grace, one cannot begin to address." She took another sip of her hot tea. "It is all to do with God and what church you worship in. To Mr Grace, that is a mixed marriage. Wouldn't that be a fair assessment of the situation, Caroline?" Caroline nodded and Miss Turner drew in a deep breath as she put down her cup and saucer. "That is why he did not want his daughter seeing you, Resmel. He could not bear the thought of any of his grandchildren growing up in the Catholic religion."

"Caroline and I don't see it as a problem. We will make our own decision where we worship and how we want our children brought up. At the moment, we love each other and want to be together. Nothing else matters."

"Yes, I understand. I have heard those very same words many years ago and it is exactly what young ones in love say today and have been saying all the time. But you cannot expect to get your way all the time. There are others to consider."

Caroline and Hans looked at each other for a while before it was Caroline who asked what they could do regarding the birth when their baby was due. Miss Turner was in the process of describing the ins and outs of the various options open to them, when Jan appeared in the doorway. Hans stood. Miss Turner who was sitting with her back to the door, called out.

"Is that you, Janine? Are you back?"

"Yes, Aunt," came the reply from across the room. She acknowledged Hans in silence. Then she glimpsed the top of Caroline's head in her aunt's chair. "Hello, Caroline." Caroline attempted to move. Jan noticed that Caroline's new plumpness was not from good food. She tried to hide her emotions but she was visibly upset by the encounter. She mumbled something inaudible and at the same time adjusted her glasses. "Sorry, can't stop."

"Won't you wait at least a few minutes, Janine and take some tea with?" Her aunt held up the teapot. "They have come all the way down from London to tell us their news."

Jan stiffened and looked thoughtfully in Hans' direction. She adjusted her glasses again. Hans knew by now that it signified that she was not pleased. Maybe it was seeing him again after so long or maybe it was seeing her cousin and not having heard the slightest murmur of their new family situation. Jan always acted strangely when a situation confronted her she did not like.

"N, n . . . no, aunt. S, sorry Caroline," she stammered. It was clear now that her exit was going to be imminent. "I've got things to do."

With those last words, she hastily left the room, shutting the door behind her with considerable force so that the light ornaments on the mantlepiece rattled.

With lack of funds to go private and pay for a doctor to attend, there was no option but to have the baby at home, in their London apartment. Caroline had wished the last days of her confinement could be spent with her mother but her father had forbidden any connection. Both parents acted as if their daughter had committed some vile and treacherous act. Eve's original sin had become Caroline's sin and as Adam and Eve were cast out of Paradise, so Caroline and the father of her bastard were expelled by the family. With her time closing in, Caroline was definitely beginning to feel very alone and afraid for her baby and herself. What if something should go wrong? It was not unknown for mothers to lose their babies during the time waiting for help to arrive. London was a large city and the midwife nurse had to cycle across several districts to reach her. The uneasy thoughts raced through her mind gathering momentum until, in an overwhelming bout of anxiety, she reached over to Hans and squeezed his hand very,very hard.

Miss Turner did not seem to have noticed but she did get up in rather a haste and left the room. Caroline made a face at Hans which signified she had no idea why they were suddenly left alone. As she began to relax, her grip became less and Hans was able to remove his aching hand.

"Everything will be fine, Caroline, you'll see." He leaned forward and smiled into her face. "Cheer up, my sweet." He made a kiss with his lips and she returned one likewise. That made her feel a lot better.

Less than ten minutes went by. Miss Turner returned and handed Hans a note on which was a name and address.

"Mrs Martin is a midwife near to where you live. She has a good reputation and is well recommend. When you contact her, say that Miss Janine Turner suggested her. That should help." Miss Turner held out the notepaper with the name and address. "This is the best we can do."

"J, Jan?" Hans was almost too taken aback to speak properly. His eyebrows rose as he caught his breath. "Why Jan?"

"She has been staying in London herself and as Caroline's her cousin . . . " Miss Turner broke off her sentence as she noticed the look of surprise that had come over Hans' face. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Janine is training to become a nurse. Janine did some of her midwifery training with that nurse."

Early in July, Anne wrote to Hans and Caroline and told them that women had just been given the vote . . . that is, if one had reached the great age of one and twenty. Hans had always thought Anne was brave standing up for the things she believed in. She had even got a mention in the newspaper in April when she, along with six other young women had disrupted a meeting of the local councillors by chanting 'votes for women.' His father had paid for his wayward daughter to be released from police custody as long as she did not repeat such public behaviour again. And now she would not have to for her supporters had changed things for ever. Knowing Anne, Hans wondered what was next on her agenda.

One lovely summer morning, just as a warm, fine weekend was beginning, Hans made two important phone calls. First, he left a message for Miss Turner saying that Caroline was due to have her baby any day, and then he phoned Anne a few hours later to say that the baby was expected within the next ten or twelve hours. Anne offered to drive up to London but Hans assured her everything was under control and that a Mrs Blossfield, and not the usual Mrs Martin, would be calling in throughout the day.

However, this was Caroline's first baby and her labour pains dragged on and on. There was little that could be done, but wait.

"The ween 'll come when 'ez ready." Mrs Blossfield had seen many children into the world and so far this labour was no different.

The pains continued intermittently throughout the night. Caroline cried out in agony each time one of the shooting labour pains wrenched her abdomen in two and by five in the morning, Hans could no longer remain in the front room. Just before six, Mrs Blossfield arrived with her delivery bag and quickly shooed Hans out of the tiny bedroom as one would shoo a stray chicken out of the house. In the bedroom, on the other side of the door, the moans and cries continued until Hans could not stand to hear Caroline suffer a single minute longer. He banged frantically on the door.

Mrs Blossfield opened the door just enough to squeeze her head through.

"Yes, I agree, Mr Resmel," she said. Her face was drawn and serious. "Seems this little mite's really takin' 'is time and giving 'er a difficult labour. I offered 'er some medicine but she'd t take it. I think now the best is to get 'er into the 'ospital. 'ave you got enough to pay for that?"

"I'll raise the money. Anything. Just as Caroline's taken care of."

"I'll go wiv 'er. It wouldn't be right for you to come in the taxi as well, 'er bein' in the condition she is. You can get the bus. There's one that'll drop you right off in front of the 'ospital."

Later that afternoon, a neighbour knocked on the door. He had been willing to receive any calls from the hospital and relay them on to Hans. When Hans opened the front door, he was told he was now the father of a little girl.

The bus did drop him off in front of the hospital.

"Can I see them now, please?" He leaned on the edge of the counter waiting for the receptionist to find the room number. "Caroline Resmel. She was brought in earlier this morning."

The receptionist looked through the admissions and then shook her head.

"Are you sure she's here? What was she admitted for?"

"She was having a baby."

The woman on the counter quickly fingered through the records again. She looked up.

"Who came with her? Her mother?"

"No. Her midwife. Mrs Blossfield. They arrived by taxi."

"There's nothing here regarding a Mrs Blossfield. Are you sure you have the name right?"

"Yes. No. What I mean is it's Caroline . . . Caroline Resmel who's having the baby."

The receptionist re-checked the admissions. She kept her finger on one line of the page.

"Yes. There is a Caroline who has been admitted but not a Mrs Caroline Resmel. It says 'Grace' on the admission slip. Are you sure they're the same person?"

"Yes. Yes. That's her. She must have given her maiden name. She was in such terrible pain. She didn't know what she was doing."

He spoke quickly, banging the flat of his hand down on the counter. If only the midwife had stayed there, things might have been easier. Instead, as soon as she had checked Caroline into the hospital, Mrs Blossfield had rushed off to another of her expectant mothers. The receptionist glanced up at him.

"You're her husband, then? You are the Dutchman?" And when Hans did not affirm, she added, "Oh, not? This must be wrong. Then, from? You're not from round these parts."

Hans nodded. He wondered whether she really thought he had come from Holland but before he could make up his mind, the receptionist had turned to the telephone on the wall behind her and had started to vigorously wind the handle round and round. A nurse turned up and motioned him to follow her and together they negotiated countless turns and doorways in a maze of corridors. Their footsteps echoed loudly and although only the tow of them were walking together, Hans thought they sounded very much like marching soldiers. As they walked, he noticed his shadow shedding a dimness across the highly polished wooden floor every time they passed one of the narrow windows and after ten minutes or so the corridor made a final bend and ended directly before two large glass swing doors. They had finally arrived at the birthing wing.

The nurse pointed to a small side room that contained a few hard-seated chairs and a low coffee table.

"You can wait in here, sir, while I check with the ward sister."

The room was dim. One narrow window provided the only light and on a low table was a folded newspaper. Someone else had obviously already looked it over as the pages had been roughly put together again.

Hans sat awkwardly. Another young man paced the up and down the floor, looking more like a frustrated caged animal than a father-to-be.

"About five minutes, sir."

The nurse rushed away again. Hans coughed but that did not stop the pacing.

"Your first?" he asked as the stranger turned for the umpteenth time and headed back in Hans' direction.

The young man did not answer straight away. His head was bent forward as if he was studying the joins in the boards.

"No, second. You?"

"First."

At that point the conversation ceased. The other man spun round on his heels and began his pacing back towards the doorway. Hans sat in silence. He waited as the minute hand on the clock ticked past the four and then another five minutes past the five. Hans had not thought that giving birth was such a long-winded affair.

"Gosh, seven and twenty past."

He spoke to no-one but just the sound of his voice calmed him. The hand jumped to the half past.

"Mr Resmel, you may go in now. Please, do not stay too long. Your wife's very tired."

Hans crept into the single room where his beloved Caroline lay.

Strange, he thought, for he had been led to believe all the new mothers would be in the large maternity ward together. They had decided to call their baby, Andrew should it be a boy and Andrea if a girl.

His eyes fell on his beautiful, young Caroline, as pale as the white linen on her bed. Her black hair made her face appear paler than ever. Her eyes were closed, and as he bent over her and kissed her gently on her cheek, she opened them and they smiled lovingly up at him.

"Hans," she murmured, "We have a beautiful daughter."

"Then, she will be Andrea." He whispered the word and was pleased with how it sounded. "I'm so proud of you, my love."

Caroline tried to raise herself but fell back onto the starched pillowcase. She pointed list-fully at a small wicket-basket bassinet not far from her bedside. Hans crept over and peeped inside.

He gently drew back the soft, baby wrapping to see his little daughter. She smelt sweet and like soap. The baby yawned and stretched out one of her spindly small arms like the princess in the fairy stories who woke from her hundred-year old sleep. Truly, she was the most appealing baby Hans had ever seen. He had never thought he could feel like this . . . not for a baby. His own little princess . . . but, then, he had not seen many babies in his life. Never matter. This small, tiny child was all his, and Caroline's; a little bit of both. How tiny she was, much, much smaller than he had ever imagined. He touched the top of her head. It was soft and warm. She had silky, soft down-like dark hair and when she opened up her little eyes, they were quite dark, like two black shining opals. He was sure she was looking at him. And then her face screwed up into a frown and a little pink tongue rolled slowly in and out between her lips.

"What do you think of her?" Caroline's voice was hardly audible.

"She's beautiful!" As he spoke, he noticed that Caroline had dropped back off to sleep. He waited a while, looking at them both, unable to move as the emotion of the moment welled up inside him.

"Are you finished?" The nurse popped into the room and glanced at her sleeping patient.

"She's sleeping," Hans replied.

"She's had a very hard time," answered the nurse. Hans followed the nurse quietly out of the room and silently shut the door behind himself. "Before you go, the sister on the ward would like a word. Wait back in here and I'll get her."

This is worse than having to wait outside Miss Turner's office door, thought Hans as he tried to shut out the anxiety he was feeling. He tried to remember exactly how his new daughter was. He said her name over and over in his mind to calm himself and the more he said it, the more he liked the sound of it: Andrea . . . Andrea Caroline Resmel.

The sister arrived. She was as starchy as her uniform and she reminded him of his first impression of Miss Turner. Sister wore a long white gown that covered most of her body and below were two, just as white, stocking-covered legs and bleached white boots. He noticed that the few strands of greying hair that had escaped her tightly bound clinical white scarf proved that this woman meant business. She was not a tall woman but as she entered the room, her presence brought with it an air of experience and determination. However, when she spoke, her voice was not of the hard woman he expected but was soft and warm.

"Mr Resmel? I'm Sister Ellsworth."

She held out her hand. Her grip was firm and sincere. Hans could not think why the ward sister should want to talk with him. After all, babies and their needs were a woman's domain. Very little to do with him. "You've noticed that your wife is extremely tired. Well, it's not completely unusual after such a difficult birth but . . . " Hans felt a shot of adrenalin shoot through his body and make his heart jump. It was that word 'but' It had been spoken with such clarity and precision. The tone sounded ominous. ". . . as she is still hemorrhaging and has lost a lot of blood, she is very weak and together with a slight heart condition . . ."

"Heart condition?" Hans had no previous knowledge and Caroline had never said.

"Minor. There is a very slight misbeat. Do you know if she had ever had rheumatic fever?"

"Sorry, no. Is it a bad thing?" He had never heard about this condition and did not like to show his lack of knowledge.

"Not to worry." The sister put away the small notepad she had been holding into her top pocket. "You are lucky the midwife decided to bring her in or you would not be looking at such a beautiful baby. You realise your wife will have to stay in hospital as she needs complete bed-rest until she's strong enough to cope. Have you got anyone who could help you when she goes home? Her mother, perhaps?"

"No. There's no one." Hans felt a tugging in his heart as though his whole chest was about to explode. Alarm made his voice shaky. "She will be all right, won't she?" he asked.

Sister did not directly answer his question. She reached out to him and gently touched his arm.

"We will wait until the doctor has been," she said. "With such cases as your wife's, we must wait and put our trust in God. You may visit every afternoon at two but visits must be kept very short. Now, I suggest you return home and rest yourself. There's nothing you can do. She is in good hands. Nurse will see you out."

"You will keep me informed?" There was concern in his voice.

"Of course. We have the telephone contact number. What a godsend these modern devices are." She smiled briefly but her eyes betrayed her concern. "Try not to worry. I'm sure she'll be fine."

When he left the hospital grounds, all he wanted to do was walk. It didn't matter where. He had to do something. He caught a tram to the Victoria Embankment terminus and wandered along the wide Embankment footpath. He watched the barges and boats going up and down the dark-grey Thames for a while. It had started to drizzle yet he ignored the fact that it was beginning to dampen his clothes. In his haste to see his new daughter, he had completely forgotten to grab his umbrella from the stand in the hall.

After a few hours Hans returned home. The place was silent, cold and empty. He had not realised how lonely a small place could be when there was no one to welcome you home. He had become accustomed to Having Caroline there whenever he arrived each evening from work. Now he realised how much he missed her. Oh, God, was it awfully quiet.

He walked into their small bedroom and gave the wooden cot a push with his hand to make it rock. Caroline had prepared it well and had placed baby clothes neatly on top of the soft, warm blankets. Soon, their tiny baby would lie there and then they would be complete as a family.

He returned to the front room and poured himself a drink. He still did not like English ale much but in such a situation he would have drunk anything. He decided to forego his meal and go straight to bed. Tomorrow would be another day.

Hans visited the hospital every day for almost a week, each day talking to Caroline and telling her how much he loved her. Occasionally she would open her eyes and smile at him. Her beautiful, warm, loving smile. And then she would go back to sleep and he would sit and stare at the bland, blank walls of the room.

Late on Tuesday morning, Mr Scrover called Hans into his office. They had all been working hard to complete some accounts that had been requested by one of the firms they dealt with. Hans could not think of any mistakes he might have made but with the events over the past week he was no longer sure of anything.

"There's someone on the telephone asking to speak to you, Mr Resmel. Normally, I do not allow employees to make use of our telephone facility but this time I think it sounds rather urgent."

Hans nodded but said nothing. Someone ringing this number? A coolness crept across his shoulders. At first he wondered whether it was Renard ringing because he had found out about Caroline but he quickly put that idea out of his mind. On the otherhand, it could be Uncle Karl as news coming out from Germany was not good at the moment and uncle wanted someone to complain to. He took the microphone from Mr Scrover as if it were made from delicate glass and brought his ear as close as possible to the fixed ear-piece on the centre of the wooden box.

"Hello. This is Mr Resmel."

The reply came instantly. It was not a call from Germany. Hans recognised the voice: it was the hospital sister only this time she sounded very serious and stiff and reminded him somewhat of Miss Turner when she had scolded him.

"I think you should come immediately," said the voice on the end of the line. She sounded serious. "Your wife is very ill. The bleeding has been far heavier than it should be."

Hans was almost unable to comprehend that his dear Caroline could be in so much danger. He could only mumble faintly.

"I'm coming." Then, he suddenly remembered where he was. "That is allowed, is it not, Mr Scrover? It is Caroline. May I leave?"

"You may, me lad," answered his boss as he took the ear-piece from Hans and replaced it on its hanger. "Take the rest of the day and the next, if needed. I'll get one of the lads to cover your area. 'n good luck, lad. We'll all be thinking of you."

Hans found himself biting hard on his little finger. He had not done that for a long time. It had become a little habit he had acquired during childhood ever since Mutti had taken sick and died.

What followed became an echo of reality, a dreamlike state in which he reacted without consciously being aware of his surroundings. At some time he must have contacted Anne, for when he arrived at the nursing home, there was Anne waiting for him.

"Try not to worry. It's probably not as bad as everyone thinks."

When the sister spoke to him he couldn't remember what the details were only that Caroline was bleeding far heavier than normal and there was nothing they could do about it. All Hans could think of was, that his beloved Caroline was going to die and that he was on the brink of losing her just as they had their whole life ahead of them. Finally, his dry throat managed to make a feeble sound and the half-whispered question was the result of a great effort.

"Can I see her?"

"Only for a very short time. We've done all we can for her. It's now up to nature. We just hope there's no infection. We cannot do much to stop that. We've only got one chance left, a new way of trying to stem the flow of blood. We need your consent."

She held out a consent form, and after dipping the pen in the bottle of ink, he wrote his name. It was hardly a signature, more of a shaky mark.

Caroline's eyes were closed when he tip-toed into the room. Her face felt cold when he bent over and kissed her cheek yet her body was moist and hot with sweat. She stirred. Her eyes opened as if from a deep sleep. Her beautiful grey-blue eyes were now dull and listless.

"Hello," she whispered faintly. "Don't you think she has grown these past few days?" She paused and drew in a lingering breath. "She's a strong baby. Do you think our daughter beautiful?"

"Yes," he answered bending over the bed. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I think she is the most beautiful baby in the world."

Caroline suddenly winced and he shared her pain. If only he could do something. His body ached for her to be well again. He wanted to take away all her misery so that she could tease him and laugh with him, as she used to. His need for her was greater than ever now. She was the mother of their daughter and who would not love little Andrea more than her own mother? He felt utterly helpless as his wonderful world began to grow ugly.

"Hans. Erwin . . . "

It sounded just like Mutti. This was the first time Caroline had ever called him that. Despair overtook him and he buried his grieving face in his hands. Surely, there was hope. Had not the sister given him a little hope?

Ach, Du, lieber Gott! He cried out in silent desperation. He stared down into the little bassinet beside the bed. Only the top of the baby's head was visible under the tightly wrapped cloths. He turned away. He was not ready to leave but he knew his time was up. The nurse held the door open for him and he stumbled out of the room. His legs were weak and shaky and his face an ashen-grey. He braced his hands against the wall and let the quietness of the ward wash over him like the waves on a lonely beach.

CHAPTER 13

The Rising Storm

Several years had now passed since Caroline had died. The Baldwin government had been thrown out and the new Prime Minister was Mr Ramsay MacDonald. The stock market had crashed in New York and many people's savings had dissolved into the large black hole the money crisis had created. The world was sliding downwards into what became known as the Great depression. But before that took hold and during a few years before, Hans had immersed himself in his work, and put every spare penny he could save into an investment account for his little daughter. At the time, it was the best he could do for her.

Things had been very tough for him during those first weeks after he had lost Caroline. The funeral was over and after that came the emptyness and realisation that she was gone forever. Hans had descended into the depths of despair and even his friends had not been able to console him in his grief. He began to drink. Too much and it made him moody. The number of empty bottles strewn around the floor said as much and his rooms were filled with an acrid smell of cigarette ash, a habit he very rarely engaged in for normally he could not stomach the smell or the taste. The beautiful dream he and Caroline had shared together was shattered: never could they share a life together and never would she be his wife. On the cold, hard stone that marked her grave, only plain, simple words told of her existence:

Caroline Patricia Grace Born 1910 Died 1929 Loved greatly. Sadly missed.

Forever, part of his soul would remain in England. Forever would his lost sweetheart remain with him, the memory of her going with him wherever he might be. In contrast, he had been unable to find a place in his broken heart for love of the child, for love as a parent should feel for a child. Andrea Caroline Grace she had been baptised, just as Caroline had wished and it was a beautiful christening. They were all there: Miss Turner and Jan, Anne and Gerald, Robert, Mr Scrover and several others from the office. There were also new friends that Caroline had made during her time in London but no one from the Grace family had turned up, not even Mrs Grace who had defied her husband when her daughter's funeral was held. Hans had noticed her sitting in the back of the church, suffering a mother's grief alone and in isolation. He had intended to speak with her but by the time the service was over, Mrs Grace was nowhere to be seen.

Anne insisted that Jan be allowed to carry the baby in to church as both she and Anne had agreed to be godmothers. Hans wanted to know whose idea that was but neither Anne nor Jan were willing to say.

When the christening was over, Hans could not bear to cuddle the baby. He turned away from the small innocent life that he had help create. He could not bear to look at the the baby that had lived while Caroline had died.

The child's grandparents had nothing to do with their little grandaughter. Hans had come to realise that Mrs Grace would not defy her husband's orders, even though he was certain she could come to love the child in time. But Hans and Caroline had not married and outside knoweldge of such a child would have resulted in seditious gossip and brought disgrace to their family. Besides, Hans had no jurisdiction over what should happen to the baby and it looked very much as if the state would now seize her and put her up for adoption or place her in one of the miserable state-run orphanages.

Hans brooded and could not bear to face the reality of the situation. Anne had applied to look after the child while the authorities decided what should happen. She had been informed that the baby's fate would need to be decided before she was three months old. Hans realised his position regarding little Andrea was hopeless; he may be her biological parent but he had no jurisdiction in the eyes of the law.

Past memories welled up inside him and he relived the pain and anguish he had felt when he had lost his parents:

'Vaterland! O Vaterland! (Fatherland! O Fatherland!)

O machtig ist der Trieb des Vaterlands! (How powerful is the urge of the fatherland!)

The call was growing stronger.

Die fremde, falsche Welt ist nicht fur dich.' (The harsh, false world is not for thee.)

Death was his companion day and worse by night. The strained face of his father, that last look on a weary face, the staring eyes that only looked forwards to the only life he knew on the Western Front. The final time Papi looked upon his children and cried. He could hear the anguished voice of his own mother when the news of Papi's death reached them via the skinny telegram boy and now he longed for the protection of his own childhood.

He felt the pull of the place where he remembered his own happy childhood: the echoing cry of the eagle that soared across the Alps, the gurgling of the Salzach as it cradled icy flows under Mozart Bridge and the sweet smell of dark frothy beer overflowing mugs that decorated the outdoor tables during those warm, balmy evenings of summer. He yearned to relive those memories and the thoughts of them chewed deeply into his heart. Besides, he could do nothing for Andrea. Her predicament made him feel helpless and the hopelessness of the situation was pulling him into the darkness of dispair. He yearned for the embracing security and comfort he had once known and at the point when his emotions seemed to be consuming him, he resigned his job, vacated his apartment and left London with only a few pounds in his pocket.

Hans thought about Gerald's suggestion. At the time it did not make sense but now, things were different. He had nothing to hold him back any more. His world had collapsed. The savings he thought he had been safely putting aside in a good interest-bearing account had gone. Andrea's inheritance, he liked to call it, and if he could have left the capital alone for fifteen years or so, it would provide his daughter with enough money to give her a good start in life. It had been a good plan and now it had come to nothing. The financial world had failed him and all his plans were collapsing into a huge empty void.

Look, why don't you pop back to Germany and Austria for a while, old chap? It'll give you a new lease on life and you can always come back when you've sorted yourself out. We will hold the fort while you're away.

It sounded like good advice now, advice that nedded to be taken straight away. However, to walk away from all obligations he had towards the child was still something he was finding very difficult to do but the new thoughts of seeing his brothers and aunt and uncle again kept him from falling into the precipice of no return.

Anne had been the saving angel, or so Hans thought at the time. She told him she would look after the baby after the christening, yet it was Miss Turner who gave Hans a glimmer of hope. She suggested that it could be possible that the baby would not be placed in an orphanage if he could show that he had an attachment to the child and was prepared to support her in some way. She had told Hans that if he could send what money he could spare to help with the child-minding duties and make it plain to the authorities that he was prepared to support the child, there was a good possibility that the child could remain with Anne. It was like grasping for a straw but it might be worth trying.

As soon as all the papers had been signed, Hans was told that Anne would be taking the baby with her to her parents' large house in the country. Hans was told not to worry as Nanny Goodman, who had been Anne's childhood nanny, needed something useful to do in her later years and Nanny Goodman was so pleased to have a baby to look after again that life for the elderly nanny was looking brighter again. As soon as little Andrea arrived, Nanny cooed and fussed over her and was so happy to be back in the old nursery once more. Meanwhile, Anne was happy to keep in contact with him and she often wrote and told him how the baby was progressing and asking him to make the time to visit them before he left. Now, Anne promised to keep in touch from the moment he left England in the hope that when he did return, he would have forgiven the child and forgotten all the anger he had felt towards her, for the child was innocent and was all he had left of the proof of his and Caroline's love for each other.

Hans spent a few wonderful months in Salzburg where he saw Heidi again. She had enjoyed her time in England and when she had returned home, she had found herself a job, together with a young man to match. Heidi was now the proud mother of three little children, a pair of twin boys and a baby girl. But Hans was restless and had an urge move on. It was not that Austria had changed but it was not the place he remembered as a child and he now felt disconnected and like a stranger. It seemed that everyone except Heidi had either moved away in search of work or had become so old that they did not recognise him any more. Even Oma was not around any more so his last connection with Salzburg had been severed.

He took the night train to Berlin and arrived at the Hauptbahnhof early in the morning. Rush hour had not yet begun so it was easy to find a seat on the tram out to his uncle's. Reluctantly he confided to his uncle that all his investment money had gone and that he did not own even a single pound in British currency. He admitted for the first time that he was destitute, no better than those who stood staring on the street corners or gathered the cigarette stubs from the gutters. And all the while, Hans kept the secret of his child to himself, secretly dreading that one day the child would be taken and put in one of the dreadful orphanages that one reads about in the newspapers. He could only wait to hear from Anne and hope that conditions would change.

But things were becoming far worse than anything he had imagined. Germany's republic was suffocating under struggling and fractured politics and now that the economy was shrinking again, the government was looking as if it were close to collapsing. Everyone he spoke to said something needed to be done but as the days passed, Hans began to realise that there would be no protection for those who dared disagree or question what was happening around them. Uncertainty fuelled unrest. Discontent steered people into a mire of differing opinions as they floundered around in a sea of primeval mud. Out of its depths new parties began to emerge, new ideas and new hopes for prosperity, all struggling for supremacy before the country collapsed back into anarchy as it sank even deeper into the quadmire.

Feelings were no better at home, either. Uncle Karl was one of the discontented. Life was not worth living when he was around. Business was difficult and Germany's foreign markets had dried up since they had been prevented from selling their goods overseas. That was making Karl Klön's mood sour and his fuse short. He insisted Hans had better make himself useful if he hoped to stay around and, besides, he needed someone to tout for new customers in an effort to prevent the firm from sliding into insolvency. Hans tried but it was hard and frustrating work as people just did not have much spare cash and many were not prepared to dig deeper into their barren pockets.

Hans had not intend to be away from England so long. Weeks became months and before he realised, a couple of years had somehow slipped by. Anne and Gerald had married and had set up house in the larger of the two cottages that stood near to her parents' house. They were so wonderful, for they had continued to be parents to Andrea even after Hans had written to say his payments would not be as large nor as frequent as before. Nanny Goodman, who looked after little Andrea, had moved in with the Brookfield-Smiths and had been kept on to look after Anne while Gerald was away on business which amounted to at least three full days in the week. As well as that, he still spent many weekend afternoons flying with a friend of the family who had been in the Royal Flying Corps so Anne did not see very much of her husband. She wrote and told Hans not to worry about a thing, for having little Andrea around was good experience for her and at the same time she could learn a little about motherhood, herself.

When Andrea had began talking, Anne had written and told him of her own happy news. At that time Hans had seriously considered applying for adoption in the hope that the British authorities would allow him to to do so. He had written a letter to say that Andrea could be sent directly to his aunt and uncle in Germany who would be able to provide the child with a loving and stable home life but he omited to write that neither his aunt nor his uncle had any knowledge of such a child. And as the weeks passed, Hans became anxious for the reply. When it did finally arrive in the afternoon post, the response was most inconclusive. He would have to prove paternity and as the child still had close relatives in England, it was doubtful that the authorities would give permission for the child to leave the country, especially with the increasing instability in Europe and the worsening situation in Germany. Hans knew he needed to settle his own affairs before he would be able to offer Andrea a stable home so any real positive moves on his part to apply for custody had to be put on hold, for the time being, at least. He was most relieved when Gerald and Anne wrote to say they thought it was best to leave the child where she was for the time being.

Meanwhile, German politics were becoming more and more unstable as each succeeding government fell. More elections, more uprisings, more elections again but nothing could stop the slide. The republic staggered and swayed as though it were about to die. Von Papen became the new Chancellor but he had little support in the Reichstag. There was in fear of civil war as riots broke out daily in the streets of Berlin. How Renard managed to get into the city centre was beyond Hans as he had been told that the military police were preventing people travelling in and out of the city centre to try and control the situation but Renard found a way and each evening he would return with stories one did not really want to hear. Then, the unemployment figures exploded and the city soup kitchens tried vainly to fill the bellies of the new underprivileged as conditions returned to the dark days of the early twenties. Rife inflation indicated another collapse in the currency. Things were looking very bleak, indeed.

Hans travelled outside the city trying to seek out new markets for his uncle. Renard was telling them about the closure of some of the small shops in the city that had been in undesirable streets. At first, Hans took little notice of what his brother was saying but the more he went out into the small towns on the city outskirts, what he noticed was beginning to impinge on his consciousness most strongly; shops, once thriving, were closed and boarded up. Slogans of hate had been scrawled over shop windows or across barred doorways in poorer areas but was now starting to make its ugly appearance in the better areas. Name-calling, stone throwing hooligans threatened all those who dared to be different and those who complained, appeared to disappear. It was safer to pretend neither to hear, nor to see.

Axel brightened things up for a while when he invited Hans to stay with him for a few days during one of his holiday breaks. Axel had been attending lectures at one of the large vocational colleges during the day and had found work not far from Hamburg working on the night shift in a factory which was making aircraft parts. He talked to the floor manager and Hans was offered a part-time position on the assembly line for a few weeks as an important order needed to be finalised. When the job ended Hans was quite relieved. The experience had been just long enough to make him realise he did not have the skills or the stomach to work in such a noisy and hot factory environment where beads of sweat constantly trickled down his back as parts constantly arrived in front of him, and together with the constant pressure to join them together, he discovered muscles he never thought he had. The night shift seemed long as his body longed for rest but even so he found it almost impossible to sleep during the day. He looked into the bathroom mirror and a pair of tired, red pair of eyes looked back. He counted off his days and found his mind fogging as he longed to be back with his aunt and uncle.

Back in Berlin again with a return to normality. Even uncle Karl's constant complaining was normal but Hans could switch himself off from that by heading for the safety of his bedroom. He had it to himself as Renard had moved out. Then one evening during supper, uncle Karl could contain his frustration no longer. As aunt Laura cleared away the cheeses and wooden cheese platter, her husband first wiped his mouth and then gave a loud cough to clear his throat.

"This damn system!" He gripped his mug in a strong grip and banged it down on the table as if he wanted to smash it into a thousand pieces. "If some thing's not done soon, the whole country will be ruined. Bloody Bolsheviks! They will be the ruin of us!"

"I remember hearing that Bolsheviks were blamed for backing the Trade Unions in England, uncle. Strikes all the time." Hans was not able to share in the anger and frustration of his uncle.

"Here, too. Why won't the authorities listen?" He glared at Hans as if the blame rested upon his shoulders.

"The government," Hans said, "ended up outlawing them in England. That told them who was boss. Why can't our government do the same?"

"What them in the Reichstag!" He blew down his nose like a snorting bull. "We've got more than Bolsheviks and Trade Unionists to contend with, Erwin, my boy!" His uncle thumped his clenched fist heavily on to the table which almost sent the mugs of beer bouncing across the table. "Many parasites are feeding off this country. Everyone wants more and more."

"Why don't you ask your workers to work less hours?" Hans asked. "Surely that might save your business."

"Less hours, less productivity. If my business goes under, where does that leave me? Bloody starving, that's what!"

"You would be able find something with your experience, wouldn't you?"

"Be realistic, Erwin. There aren't enough jobs to go around. Have you not seen those queues at the soup places? And who is paying, I ask you?" He shook his head, then held his hands up in exasperation. "Not those in power! It is the public, that's who. No wonder we're in such a bloody mess!"

Hans was angry with himself over his own inability to find any satisfactory work. Yes, there was day work, shovelling or sweeping but that was no job for a man with his education. He needed constant employment with good long-term prospects which uncle Karl was unable to offer at present within this economic climate. He needed to replace the money for Andrea which had been lost when investment companies collapsed during the Wall Street crash and, like millions of others, he now had nothing. Hans could not understand how so much money had evaporated for his money had been real enough.

He received an update from Jan earlier in the week describing the draconian measures brought in by Prime Minister Ramsey MacDonald in Britain to try and prevent a total collapse and Anne had written to tell him how those dreadful sailors in the Royal Navy had been the catalyst for rolling strikes and layoffs occuring throughout the country. However, when he received Jan's long letter, she had written that it was the poorer people with their larger families who were suffering the most while the well-off buried their heads in the sand and carried on as if nothing toward was happening in the world beyond their own privilaged spheres. But what was his country's government doing about the problem right on their own doorstep? Very little other than the soup kitchens. There was a lack of positive leadership and everyone was hurting. Hans felt there had to be a solution and it had to be implemated sooner rather than later.

"What I meant by shorter hours," he suggested, "is that it would allow you to employ more people."

"Impossible!" Uncle slammed his wrist down hard on to the table. "I've already had to cut each man's hours as it is and that does not help them, does it? There is not enough money in the business to employ more men. I can't even pay the wages I paid out a few years ago. This depression will be the death of us and it does not help when each bloody trumped-up government says is that 'further cuts need to be made.' Doesn't help, Erwin. The number of unemployed is still rising and . . . "

A knock on the door put a sudden halt to Uncle Karl's words of frustration. He pulled himself reluctantly out of his wooden chair and walked over to open the door. On the other side stood Renard, his grey hat in his hand as he finished brushing the last of the rain drops off his coat. Now he was ready to come inside.

"Good evening, Uncle." He grinned. Renard always grinned. It sometimes annoyed Hans as his brother even grinned when he was seemingly upset or angry. "Bet you're surprised to see me tonight!"

Renard acknowledged Hans' presence with a slight nod of his head. Hans thought his brother had grown into a large, strong man since he last saw him. He was easily the tallest of the brothers, a solid man with curly dark hair and brown eyes similar to his aunt's. He could easily have been mistaken for the son his uncle and aunt never had.

"Come in, Renard. Come in." Uncle Karl waved his nephew into the room and then called to his wife. Aunt Laura was in the kitchen washing the dishes. She was the kind of wife who was always busy in the background preparing, cooking or cleaning. "Laura, Renard is here."

"Hello, Renard." Aunt Laura wiped her soapy hands on her pinafore as she stepped into view. Middle age had started to grey her hair and thicken her waist. Hans thought that Mutti would have looked similar, had she lived. "To what do we owe this pleasure?" asked aunt Laura, the cheeks of her round face puckering into a cluster of welcoming lines.

Renard laid his hat on the edge of the table.

"I thought I'd call in." He spoke directly to his aunt as he began to unbutton his coat. "I came down this way for a meeting."

"Can I get you something to eat?" Aunt Laura hinted that she needed to return to the kitchen.

"No thanks," Renard replied.

As soon as his aunt left, Renard pulled out the nearest chair and sat down at the table. He pushed his hat to one side and leaned with his elbows on the table surface.

"There was a new man I wanted to hear. Everyone's been talking about him."

His uncle reached for another mug from the dresser behind him and placed it down on the table in front of Renard. He poured beer into Renard's mug until the froth began to overflow the rim. He grabbed at one of the small plates on the table that still remained from the evening meal and emptied the remaining small cakes on it before pushing it over to Renard.

"Cake?" Renard helped himself to one. His uncle continued with the subject closest to his heart. "How's business in your area these days?"

"Foul. Absolutely rotten. And yours?"

"Not much better, Renard. It's all these faction groups trying to bring the country down. I'm not sure anyone's got the answer, though."

Renard looked directly at Hans for a few seconds. He had completely forgotten the presence of their uncle as he stared Hans in the face, his eyes glowing and his thick eyebrows raised in excitement. A wider than ever grin stretched across his face and as his expression became more animated, his excited voice grew louder and louder. By now Renard was breathing so heavily that he could hardly get the words out.

"Brother, you should've been at the meeting. It was fantastic! Absolutely fantastic! There's no other way to describe it! All the torches and flags and cheering! It was electric!" He swallowed the rest of his drink and began speaking with a new-found passion. "I went to hear this new man speak. Herr Hitler. Never heard such a speaker before. The crowd just went wild! Yelling! Chanting! So fantastic! " Renard leant forward with both elbows firmly on the table and his large hands clasped together as he made the attempt to steady his nerves. He paused for a few seconds to gather his racing thoughts together before gesturing pointedly with his left index finger in his uncle's direction. "Now there's a man who's got the answers, uncle. He promises to get rid of all these trouble-makers once and for all and hand jobs and businesses back to us. 'Germany for all Germans.' That's what he says. Kick out all the unwanted, ungrateful lazy sods and good-for-nothings who only want to ruin us." Renard's eyes grew wide as he raised the tone of his voice. "You should have heard him speak! Deutschland erwacht! He's the one to kick the backsides of those idiots who signed the Treaty that's crippling our industries. The promises Herr Hitler made. He says that all lands taken from us will be returned. He has guaranteed us that!"

Hans and his uncle listened to what Renard had to say. Hans was less impressed than his uncle. Renard had always been one to brag or exaggerate and to Hans there seemed to be too much boasting in what Renard had just been telling them.

"Sounds too easy, I say. They could be empty promises. Anyone can promise the moon and promises can easily be broken. Things are never that easy, especially in politics." Hans shuffled his feet uneasily under the table. "Besides, what makes you so sure he will make it work while others have failed?"

"Stop being such a pessimist, Hans." Uncle Karl almost spat the words out like a machine gun. He opened another bottle of beer and refilled their mugs. "Give the man a chance, I say. If this man says he's got the answers, and, from what Renard's just said he seems to have a good following. Shouldn't we at least give him a try?"

"But will he destroy the Republic?" Hans hardly gave time for the others to answer. "How do we know that all the other main parties are behind him? Can we even trust him, this man of yours, Renard?" Since he had been in England, Hans had learnt the value of the democratic way yet he did not want to see this country sink into argumentative chaos. Renard leaned back in his chair with an air of supreme confidence and spoke excitedly to his brother.

"Of course! Why not? Hindenburg will still be in charge. The only one against the idea seems to be Ludendorff."

Hans was confused. He remembered what Heidi had told him and how the ageing general had once supported this Herr Hitler.

"But I thought it was that General who supported Herr Hitler in the Putch." Hans was most emphatic.

"He did." Uncle Karl thrust both elbows on to the table top and changed his intense look away from Renard and to Hans. "But lately he's decided to go against the National Socialists. Look, if it's going to save my business and if it's going to give jobs back to the people, it makes sense. Anyway, to me it does."

Hans nodded feebly yet he had to agree that something should be done, and done fairly quickly. He was one who needed to get a permanent job and quickly. He had to admit to himself that he was worried what might happen if he could not keep up regular payments for Andrea. But he did not want to divulge that to either his uncle or his brother. After all, some things were better left unspoken.

During the next few months President Hindenburg did reluctantly ask Herr Hitler to form a new government. The new government immediately passed a law which silenced all opposition and finally it appeared as though the entire country was pulling in the same direction. It looked as though this new man and his party were going to lick Germany back into shape. But as everyone relaxed and congratulated themselves on having found a solution, Hitler sacked the ageing Chancellor and grabbed the position for himself. No-one lifted a finger to stop him. Then, in a relatively short time, before anyone could draw a breath, Chancellor Hitler had created his new Reich and had all his close supporters installed in the Reichstag. Rallies and speech-making, the like of which had never been heard before, echoed up and down the country from the Alps to the North Sea, from East Prussia to the Rhine. Hysteria grew like a giant and the new-founded nationalism extended its tentacles into every pocket of society. National socialism was preparing to spread wide its eagle wings.

With incentives from the new government, uncle Karl's business began to flourish again and he was able to take on more men and, for the first time in years, pay each one a good wage. He insisted Hans stay longer and make use of the education he had received by looking after the books and accounts. The firm had changed from making only domestic and hunting knives to manufacturing army knives, bayonets and munitions and as a consequence, the business had been given a most welcome boost to its finances from the National Socialist funds which enabled uncle Karl to purchase all the necessary equipment for the expansion. There was a new policy to insure all businesses, large or small, which may prove useful to the running of the new Reichs should survive and survive well. As a result, a new vitality was spreading out into all corners of the country and things were really looking up. The depressive years of the early thirties had been thoroughly pushed aside.

One evening, Renard arrived at his uncle's house accompanied by two very sour-looking men; both perfectly turned out in their respective dark uniforms, one more senior than the other.

"Heil Hitler!"

Hans had already realised that it was dangerous to criticise this new political situation, for there seemed to be 'ears' listening in every corner. He had already been informed that one misplaced word or one inappropriate connection could result in imprisonment. There had already been several arrests further down their street and those who were outspoken never came back and nobody dared to asked why. It was better to shut certain aspects out of one's mind and pretend that they were not happening, like the smashing up of shop windows where Jewish families had had their businesses. It was easy and gave one a false sense of security not to notice such things but then the majority of people had been conditioned to look the other way.

Abraham Mossberg had been known by the family for many years. He ran a drapers shop on the corner of the Hauptstrasse and Aunt Laura always went there to buy the best buttons, cottons or embroideries for her needlework. The ageing gentleman had always been so obliging in finding just the correct or most appropriate piece of material or the exact size of needle for the job. Suddenly, one afternoon the shop window had a white painted message with deliberate large letters that spread from one side to the other. Jude! Just one word but it sent a message that this shop was to be avoided.

A month passed and the amiable Herr Mossberg was no longer there. Jude! Only one word but it changed the way aunt Laura shopped. One by one, these shopkeepers, like Herr Mossberg, were replaced and new people took over their businesses, and more and more of the new red flags with their black zig-zag hooked crosses were draped over the shop fronts, like Herr Mossberg's shop or suspended from city buildings so that no matter where your eyes looked, there hung the reminders that this was now the New Order. The rule of National Socialism had begun.

Hans led the men into the small back room, his uncle's office, and where Hans did the accounting. While Hans cleared the tabletop of papers and books, Renard fetched chairs from the kitchen and then they sat squashed together around the small table. They made a strange forum, Hans and Renard in their every-day casual clothes and the pair in uniforms so meticulously cared for that not even a button or trouser crease was out of order. The lower-ranking officer was a slight built man with a flushed face and a long slender nose. The other, his senior, had broad shoulders that pushed into the seams of his jacket sleeves and gave Hans the opinion that, for all its neatness, the man was a trifle too large for his jacket and that a body once strong and muscular had become flabby and fleshy, for this was a man who sat on a soft office chair stamping documents and signing order sheets all day.

He was a man of elephant proportions, towering over the thin man in both bulk and height. He lifted his wooden kitchen chair as if it had been made from balsa and then gently lowered himself down as if he expected it to break. He cleared his throat. His manner, when he spoke, was courteous and mild. He grinned just like Renard and that made Hans uneasy, more so when Hans observed that only his mouth reacted and this man's eyes remained aloof and unemotional.

"Herr Resmel. We are most sorry to have disturbed your evening. I hope you will accept this intrusion."

The skinny one murmured something inaudible, then nodded, watching Hans intently.

"That's all right. I wasn't doing anything important," Hans answered. He thought it much safer to agree with such characters. Any hint of rebuff or resistance on his part might have brought dire consequences.

"We've come on a mission." The first one carefully wiped away some spit from the corner of his wide elastic, grinning mouth. "Business, yes, business. And an opportunity for you." Hans nodded as the man crunched up his eyes and sought confirmation that Hans was interested. Having satisfied himself that this was so, he continued in a more serious tone. "Our great leader has taken charge of the country and in the name of the Third Reich, we have come to make you an offer."

Hans was cautiously puzzled. His eyes moved from the fat man over to Renard. Immediately the senior officer picked up on Hans' hesitation.

"Yes, your good brother here has informed us that you had lived in England. You worked for a well-recognised firm there."

"That was some years back. Before the Wall Street collapse."

"Never-the-less, you would have given you connections. I am informed that your knowledge of the English language is now most excellent." Hans wondered where this conversation was leading, yet he gave no hint of his unease. The voice persisted furthering the cause. "We need someone, such as yourself, to serve the Fatherland."

"In what way?" Hans was not certain he would like their answer.

"To go to London," the thin man answered without hesitation, focussing on Hans like a bird of prey. Hans' eyebrows shot upwards. This seemed too good to be true.

"You will be there over several short periods." The fat man took out a handkerchief and after clearing his throat, dabbed around his mouth again."

"For what purpose, may I ask?"

"Information."

"You mean spying? Is that what you want me to do?"

Hans was unsure of that question's reception but neither of the men blinked an eyelid. The fat man indicated with his finger that the other speak.

"No. Not at all." The thin man lifted his eyebrows high into the frown lines on his forehead. His hair was noticeably thinner on top. "We have our own people for that." He suddenly leaned so heavily on the table with his elbows that Hans thought the whole thing would topple over. "We just need you to make several visits . . . connected with the diplomatic office, shall we say. We do have several people there already, who will put our case to the British Government, should the need arise. We just need you to monitor the feelings of the English public. Chancellor Hitler is most interested in holding talks with their Mr Chamberlain. We'd like a little background information first, that is all. We're only interested in finding out what the man on the street thinks about the situation in Europe."

"And, if you don't like what I report?"

Hans was feeling quite uneasy about the venture. He had already heard undertonal mumblings that life could be very precarious should one go against such men. He had no desire to question any of his friends in England and considered them to be part of his private life and he wanted to keep it that way.

The thin man sensed Hans' concerns and flicked his hand in the air as if shooing away a pesky fly.

"No problem. We just want to know what the politicians and the people think of the Czech problem. We need to know their thoughts on what our Government will be offering as a solution. We need to know whether they are genuine, or not. Herr Hitler likes to know the truth. He cannot invite diplomatic ties if he does not know their thoughts with regard to the Fatherland." The man cleared his throat and leaned back away from the table.

"I'm afraid I'm not at all political." Hans wiped away the beads of sweat he could feel building up on his forehead. He was hoping the men would swallow his comment.

"That is also of no consequence!" The fat man cleared his throat with a gargle that seemed to come from deep down in his chest as though he had spent a life-time smoking.

"Think of yourself like a journalist. A reporter of sorts. We know you had connections along those lines. Did you not work in Fleet Street?"

"Well, yes, but that was some time ago and I didn't . . ."

The men were not interested in excuses. Hans felt as if his eyes bored through his clothing as the man looked for any clue to what Hans was thinking. Hans could feel the skin under his shirt pricking as he became hot and itchy.

"Why the hesitation, Herr Resmel?"

Hans looked to his brother but Renard sat like a statue, mute and unresponsive.

"I'm not sure," Hans began rubbing the top of his little finger. It still sounded very much like spying to him.

"Of course, you would be paid and we will see you're well rewarded." The thin man's forehead furrowed deeply as he now looked down his nose at Hans.

"Think of the money you'd get, Hans," Renard quipped. He glanced at the fat man, and added, "Solve your problems. Besides, you've always maintained you'd like to get back there. And you'd be doing a huge favour for your country."

The fat man leaned in Hans' direction and grinned. It was more of a sly grin than one of friendship or warmth. He held out a piece of folded paper and waved it in the air directly in front of Hans' nose.

"There is just one slight problem," said Hans as he glanced at the official heading on the papers. "I'm not actually a citizen of this country. You see I was born in Salzburg. I am Austrian."

The fat man smirked. He shook his head and looked from Renard and back to Hans.

"Oh, Mr Resmel, that is where we beg to differ. You see, since your brother Renard here has joined the Party, we have done our homework, so as to say. Your birth was actually recorded in one of our Bavarian offices. Your mother was staying in Freilassing at the time and you were born there."

"But on my passport, it says I was born in Salzburg."

"And so some records do show that. But we have found different documents which prove otherwise."

A bombshell went off in Hans' head. He looked for help from his older brother but Renard just shrugged his shoulders and commented,

"A surprise, brother. I never knew that until I saw the evidence. As for me, it would have made little difference where I was born. I had decided to join up, anyway."

"Join up?" asked Hans, looking from the men to his brother.

"The Party," Renard answered. "Germany's destiny is in our hands."

"Your signature on this would be much appreciated, Herr Resmel," the fat man smooched pouting his mouth and licking his upper lip from one corner to the other. "A worthy contract for everyone." He waved the paper back and forth in the air to try and make his point. Hans had not expected to have been pushed into such a corner.

"I need time to think about this offer but I am not willing to follow Renard and become a party member. I am just not political, that is all. I hope this is acceptable to you." He wasn't sure how the two men would react but it was worth a try.

The fat man removed a paper from his briefcase and laid it down on the table top slowly pushing it across the table so that it was directly in front of Hans. He clasped his hands together and rested his bulging arms on the top of his briefcase and waited, watching, licking his top lip as if preparing for a meal. He held up a pen and grinned, his eyes disappearing into two thin lines which made his rounded face rather like the cartoon drawings one saw regularly in any one of the newspapers.

"We only ask for your loyalty. I will not pressure you to join the party but we do ask for your loyalty to the country."

The thin man who was quiet managed to squeeze a weak smile to Hans across the table.

The fat man put the pen and paper back into his open case. There were two audible clicks as the lid was closed.

"A little time, perhaps? Your brother may persuade you where your interests lie. So, Herr Resmel, one of us will call again tomorrow evening at eight. Heil Hitler!"

The pair jumped to their feet and threw the expected salute. Renard did likewise. Hans stood and bowed his head in acknowledgement of their departure.

"Auf Wiedersehen, gentlemen."

The next evening, only one man walked through the door; a different man in a different uniform. He was punctual, right to the minute. The dining room clock had just finished striking eight. Renard, together with Uncle Karl and Hans had spent the remainder of the previous evening discussing the offer until the early hours of the morning. Uncle Karl seemed so sure that once Hans accepted the offer, that life would become much better and Hans' money concerns would be at an end. It was the least he could do for his uncle who had been so kind and helpful to him and for a brother who had already come to the decision that national socialism was the answer to solving all the country's woes. They were so organised that no stone was left unturned and their scrutinous ways were becoming expected and almost legendary.

Hans had prepared himself to hear what else he might be told when one of the men returned. He was not sure whether he should trust either of them or whether he would be able to resist their demands. When he opened the door and saw the light grey uniform, he was relieved that a Wehrmacht officer had arrived this time.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he began. He removed his cap and hung it on the empty coat hook by the door. This man was more relaxed than either of the other two and was content to remain in the kitchen. "Shall we now be seated?"

Renard was the first to sit, followed at once by the officer. His countenance now became more serious. He made it clear that there was business to be done this evening. His slim attaché case was placed with careful precision on the table half an arm's length from the edge. He took out a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles from his top pocket and put them on, putting the arm first over his right ear, and then his left. Having done that, he deliberately tapped the table top with his fingers several times, a master in making those he interviewed feel uncomfortable. His words were slow and deliberate.

"My name is Oberleutnant Pfinger. Unlike the other gentleman, I am completely under Wehrmacht orders although I am assigned to a special intelligence branch. Now, Herr Resmel, your brother, Renard, has already told us that your father was a professional soldier so we know he knew the importance of serving one's country. We are asking that you also show your willingness to serve your Führer and your country." He lowered his voice. "You wish to see this country become a great power again and regain it's international respect, don't you?"

"Well, yes. I do."

"Your name has come up for service. In other words, you are under conscription orders. The Führer has given instructions for certain men to be called up to serve their country and you are now one of those. I do not have to explain the law regarding this to you. Your name is on the paper and the Führer expects unwavering loyalty and total obedience."

The man's eyes opened wider as his voice got louder and louder. Hans' insides jumped up into his throat and he was almost choked by the suddenness of it. Oberleutnant Pfinger reopened his attaché case fished out a document from his which he then leaned across and placed in the middle of the table. Hans noticed that a large black swastika covered most of the top of the page. He had not been prepared for that. He thought that he would look to the red and white flag of Austria, not to the black hooked cross that was flying over the Reichstag in Berlin.

"Is this necessary?" Hans was uneasy about its implication. What was he letting himself in for?

"Documentation is necessary. It states that you will be salaried by the Reich. But not only that. Think what an honour it will be for you and your family. Your brother, Renard, has informed the office that he has spoken to you and he has already advised you to accept the posting. Besides, I shouldn't even think to hesitate if I were you. Those against the Führer put their lives at risk, especially when the secret police become involved, if you get my meaning."

"Was one of those other officers a secret police?"

Pfinger nodded. His staring gaze penetrated right into Hans' skull and Hans had the feeling the man was capable of reading his inner thoughts. Hans nodded. He made a guess at what the repercussions might be and his guess did not please him. Pfinger half stood and pushed the paper closer towards Hans.

"We need all your particulars, Herr Resmel." The man made sure he stressed 'all,' for he wanted it understood that complete obedience was expected. "Now, your father's full name?" He paused. The clock kept ticking, a slow second by second tick as the minute hand moved off the quarter. "We already have your particulars," Pfinger stated after a full minute had passed.

Probably all from Renard, Hans thought. Yes, Renard would do that. Slinking up to such characters and willing to drop him into anything Renard was involved with. How he now despised his older brother.

"Ludwig Uland Heinrich Resmel." Hans watched as the fat man filled in the details, carefully and deliberately using the old script. The thin man continued with his questioning.

"Your mother's?"

"Alice Margareta Kastner."

"We need to confirm the names and birthplaces of your grandparents."

The man began reading their names off another paper. Hans recognised Renard's handwriting. Hans nodded in agreement. He knew the names of his father's parents very well as they had lived around Salzburg and he had known them since he was very young. His mother's parents were less well-known and he had only known them as Oma and Opa Kastner. The thin man began reading more names out loud again only this time the names had been typed on government paper.

"Konrad Uland Kastner born Salzburg, Austria 18. . . and Julia Emma Crawford born Surrey, England 18. . ."

Hans felt strange now that he had heard his grandmother's maiden name. 'Crawford.' He never knew that Oma Kastner had been a Crawford. He knew she had been born in England, but a Crawford? No. If he had known, he could have told those English boys he was a 'Crawford' when he first arrived. Then they may have accepted him quicker. A document was pushed across the table to Hans.

"You need to sign there." A slender well-manicured finger forcefully pointed at the line on the bottom of the page. Hans noted that it came from the Foreign Branch of the Abwehr. He thought it better not to comment.

"Now?" he asked instead.

The man nodded and tapped the line ready for Hans's signature.

"I'm not as enthusiastic as my brother about this, you realise. And if I decide not to sign?"

"I wouldn't even dare to contemplate that idea, Herr Resmel. Any refusal might be taken as treason against the Chancellor as well as the country. Also, I'm not sure your uncle would like his government loan to be suddenly recalled and his business liquidated."

Renard had said nothing all evening but the look Hans received told him he had better not hesitate any longer. Hans reluctantly took the pen from him, and signed. He was not happy about it but what choice did he have? Renard had always managed to get the better of him even when they were just boys. Hans wondered exactly how involved Renard was with any of these men in their army uniforms and high leather boots but before he could ask his brother anything, the officer produced a leather-bound volume of Mein Kampf which he held in his right hand just above the table. Above them was a picture of a girl sitting on a rustic, farm gate and behind, in a smudgy distance were mountains with snow on their peaks. It was Aunt Laura's favourite. Hans also liked it. It reminded him of Austria and of Oma and Heidi.

His eyes lowered to the book on the table. Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler, written during his imprisonment years. The book that was now the testament for the nation. A replacement for the Bible that had served everyone for almost two thousand years. Herr Hitler stated his Reich would last at least a thousand years.

That is an awful long time, Hans thought. He sat watching Oberleutnant Pfinger arrange the table. The new flag with its hooked cross. And then the book.

"You are required to take the oath," said Pfinger.

"I wish to point out again that I am not political."

"I understand. We must all swear an oath."

"I do this for my family. . ." Hans noticed the slight head shake of his older brother. " . . . and for my country," he added in the hope that this would satisfy.

"As you wish," Pfinger said sending Hans the message that he had no interest as to what Hans' motives might have been. "Everybody in the payment of the Reich must take the oath. Loyalty and obedience are paramount. When you look at the flag, remember: white for Nationalism, red for Socialism and black for the purity of the Aryan race. Put your left hand on the book and swear your oath."

Hans read out the words on the card he had been given in a flat, inexpressive voice. In the back of his mind he was wondering whether he was doing the sensible thing. He loved his country yet he hardly recognised it for how rapidly change was taking place.

"I swear by God and by this sacred oath to the Führer, Adolf Hitler, the supreme commander of the armed forces, that I shall render unconditional obedience and that as a brave soldier, I shall be willing and ready to give up my life for him. So help me God!"

Under his breath Hans was silently cursing Renard for getting him into this situation. He was sure Renard had something to do with his conscription although he knew men had been conscripted for a year now. It was all rather like being in a boys' club, only he felt this would prove to be far more sinister.

Pfinger snapped to attention.

"Heil Hitler!" he barked.

"Heil Hitler!" Renard jumped to his feet. He was full of gusto and enthusiasm for his brother's inauguration.

"Heil Hitler!" Hans mimicked the sound but within his heart it was an empty echo.

Pfinger handed him a small card. It was a military one.

"Don't lose it. You are now a servant of the Reich. Carry this identity card. Always. You never know when you will need to produce it. When we need you, we will contact you. You will be hearing from us. Now, I must take my leave, gentlemen." Pfinger looked upwards. "I do believe we are in for a storm."

He clicked his heels but this time gave a military salute. He repacked his bag, bade both Resmels farewell, and left. The sky outside was darkening. A barrier of black clouds had begun to extinguish the stars.

"Heil Hitler!" Was Renard's reply. What else would one expect from him?

Heil Hitler!

Hans would have to get used to it. There could never be any more of the friendly Good mornings for him. From now on it would be a curt Sieg Heil or Heil Hitler. That would be the greeting he would hear. That would be the greeting he would be expected to use.

When he saw the wide grin covering Renard's face, Hans worried about what he had done. Renard, the Party member. Renard, the ardent National Socialist. Such men were dangerous. Even one's own brother. What option did Hans have, but to obey? From now on, there was no more freedom to decide. His identity would be controlled. He was now a military number: Number 00342, Subsection 2B of the Abwehr.

Mr Erwin Hans Resmel the civilian existed no more.

CHAPTER 14

Prelude to War

London again. It had been too many years since he had been there and he discovered that he had missed the city with its familiar buildings and busy port. Leutnant Resmel began work in a small office in number 9, Carlton House Terrace which was used as the German Embassy. It was his job to sort through foreign government and public papers that came into the office. He was also sent out into the busy London streets to gather information from careless gossip and conversations which he overheard, together with listening to wireless broadcasts. His weekly reports in which he tried to express the mood and thoughts of the British people were regularly sent through to Pfinger in Berlin. The new ambassador, von Ribbentrop, had made it clear that these reports were vital for the Fatherland to know the mood of the English people so that the Führer-led government knew how best to organise their foreign policy.

While working in the embassy, Hans was expected to be in uniform but as soon as he was able, he put on a suit and caught the train from London to stay the weekend at Anne's place. It was important for him to be with Andrea for a few days and, at the same time, try to sort out the child's welfare before the authorities decided to remove her. Any intention on his part to take her out of the country would turn him into a criminal and that would only make things worse for him as well as for Andrea. The thoughts tore at him and made him nervous, especially when he received a letter from Anne to say she was expecting again. Hans had a feeling deep down in his gut that the situation was about to change and for the worse.

Anne and Gerald had been living on the Sutherland estate since their marriage. Anne had been happy with this arrangement as it allowed her to be close to her mother as they could see each other on a regular basis. Now the family was set to move away from the cottage which had been their home for several years. Anne wrote to Hans and asked if he could make the trip south and stay with them a weekend or two before they moved.

Hans was impressed by the picturesque neatness of the small garden surrounding the cottage and thought the cottage with its trellis of wild roses around the entranceway was like something out of a picture book, even though their flowering period was well finished.

The morning was cool and the air smelt sweet and fresh. It was as if the whole world was catching its breath, poised in a silence that hangs in expectation. A wisp of lazy smoke told him that the family was home. No wind. He noticed the smoke curled upwards in a tight spiral just above the roof thatch before it evaporated into the still air.

He unlatched the gate and let it swing closed behind him. The door-knocker was in the shape of a fox. He lifted it and banged it several times on to its metal base. It would be good to see Anne again for he had missed the closeness of their friendship. Writing letters was not quite the same as meeting face to face and after the greetings and a quick catch-up of all the local small town news he had missed, the conversation focused on Anne's last letter.

"You have something to tell me," Hans began. "And I have an idea it concerns Andrea. Am I correct in this?"

Anne looked out of the window for a while. It was an awkward moment for her and Hans could feel the emotion but he remained silent until Anne was ready to speak.

"As you know, Hans, Nanny Goodman has been looking after both Andrea and our little Andrew." Anne audibly swallowed and Hans knew she was upset. He found it most unusual for Anne who always had managed to control her emotions and who always had managed to come up with a solution which suited everyone.

She should be in the embassy, Hans thought. Not the man who had recently been appointed. Too close to the Party, like Renard.

He thought Anne looked paler than last time. Something was worrying her and he could sense that she wanted to talk.

"It is Nanny," she said. "Poor Nanny's had a stroke. Doctor Tilly told us that she's no longer capable of looking after the children any more." Anne was distracted by Andrew who until now had been playing with his bricks and toys on the bay window seat. "Come here, Andrew. There." She gently removed his fingers from his mouth and wiped them with a hand towel. "Off you go. See how high you can build the tower." She straightened and took a deep breath. "We have had to let Nanny go and she is now living with a sister somewhere in Kent. Besides, Gerald's got a position with a commercial aeroplane company so we would have had to let Nanny go in any case.That's why we have to move."

"That is good news, Anne. Not about Nanny but about Gerald. He must be pleased."

"Oh, he is. Over the moon but . . ."

"But what?"

Anne brushed her hands across her hair and tucked it behind her ears. Her tiny earrings swayed back and forth at having been so rudely disturbed.

"Gerald's new position is well north of here and we cannot take Andrea with us. The authorities have looked on us as foster parents but now that conditions are about to change, we have to find another way. She has just started school and it would be good for her stay around here."

"How long have we got before you go?" he asked. He twisted his little finger as he tried to think of a way out of the problem. If the welfare took Andrea away, he may never see or hear of her again.

"Several weeks," Anne answered. "We have not told Andrea yet. I am so sorry, Hans."

"Don't be, Anne. You and Gerald have been wonderful and I thank you for everything you have done. I am pleased for Gerald. A pilot at last. It's what he's always wanted." Hans smiled but it was not the happy, warm smile he was used to sharing with these two wonderful friends.

"Yes, he may get to fly you over the Channel, yet, if . . ." Anne laughed a little but it was not the light, infectious laugh that Anne was known for. There was something else that was bothering her. Hans could tell that by the way she had drawn back away from him.

"If what, Anne?"

"If the international situation does not get worse."

"Why should it? The Olympics are coming soon and that should show how well we are all getting along with each other."

"Maybe." She did not sound convincing. "I hope it doesn't mean another war." She shook her head as if shaking out the thoughts. "Well, before that, we have to think about Andrea and what we can do."

Hans bit his lip and tasted blood. He dabbed the cut with the corner of his handkerchief and checked the situation. There was only a tiny red dot there so nothing to worry about.

"Arrangements will have to be made," he said. "I definitely don't want her going into an institution. I can't have her with me in London and I have no authority to take her out of England. The authorities would be down on me like a ton a of bricks. Even though she's my child, she isn't mine, if you see what I mean."

The phone bell rang. Anne walked over and took the earpiece off the hook. Hans took the time to look around the room. It was quite dark inside even though there were two lights switched on. The English cottages had such tiny, tiny windows, only large enough to see a tiny part of the garden outside or let just one hour's sunshine creep in between the panes. Nice, though and very homely.

Anne put the earpiece back and walked back over to Hans. Hans looked serious, and after a while, spoke out in frustration,

"I don't know what I'm going to do about it!" And Anne looked at him this time in such a strange way, that he knew she was keeping something else from him. It could only have been as a result of the phone call and he was eager to know what it was. "Well, Anne? What are you not telling me?"

"Wait a minute!" She held her palm up facing him. "Don't be so impatient, Hans."

"Out with it!"

Anne laughed, this time the real laugh that he remembered from their school days.

"You're not going to believe it, but honestly, it's true."

"Anne!" His voice rose several tones higher.

"Oh, all right. I was supposed to wait until Gerald's back. No. I'll only say that Miss Turner wishes to speak with you about the matter. She's retired now and lives in town."

"Yes, I know. I was told."

"That was her on the telephone. She's come up with an idea. I have written down her new address." Anne handed over a small card. "Don't worry about trying to find it, I'll drive you over this afternoon. I have to go that way, anyway. Got to pick something up for Gerald. Spot of business to do in town. Mummy will look after Andrew until I get back. And do not worry about Andrea. She won't be home until almost four."

As the afternoon drew closer, Hans got to thinking how strange it would be visiting the Matron again and even stranger this time not going up to the big school house and being welcomed by one of Miss Turner's maids. Anne had explained to him earlier in the day that since Miss Turner's retirement, she had taken possession of a of a small house on the other side of town so that she could be nearer the shops. She also told him that although technically Jan was still living with her aunt, she did not stay there every day but spent at least half the week away. Hans did not bother to ask why.

He got Anne to drop him off where Miss Turner's road joined the main road and walked up Rosamand Avenue until he came to the gate of number 238.

He felt a wave of apprehension wash through his body and he stood, hand on the top of the gate but daring himself to lift the latch. Memories of his first day at the school overwhelmed his mind. This time the gravel pathway which curved to the front door passed across a small pebble garden, ending at the small porch which was just sufficient to encase the front door with its narrow letter slit.

The house, a two-storey, grey-shingled roof which rose steeply up to a chunky ridge and several orange garden pot black sooted chimneys, wore an exterior of chipped grey, black and white flint walls. Dark red-brown brickwork framed each small window with their black wrought-iron window catches. He could not see inside as the small square pane bent the light away so that each window was dark and secure. Hans noticed a plant pot to the right of the front door sporting a splurge of draped colour and nestling close was a cheeky gnome with a green waistcoat and bright red pointed hat.

How unlike the large house in the school ground, he thought. He wondered how he would be received this time; would the elderly lady receive him with the same coolness she had done in the past?

He reached up, rang the large brass bell and waited. He could hear someone coming down the hall. He thought he could hear three footfalls. As the steps got nearer, he realised one made a similar sound to the crutches Jan had once had to use. He heard the fumbling I of fingers as someone unlocked the front door.

"Resmel!" exclaimed the voice he thought knew so well. Only this time it was different; friendlier and far less commanding. "Nice of you to come. It's been some time. Do come in."

He noticed she used a stick when walking. She led him into a small room, unfamiliar yet familiar: the room had a Miss Turner feel to it, quiet and retiring. He recognised several small pieces of furniture from the large house and then he noticed the dreaded picture was on the wall. Only this time, he said nothing and pretended it wasn't there.

She invited him to sit. He sat on one of the newer soft upholstered armchairs which had been placed conveniently beside the fireplace. He blurted out that Anne had told him she wished to speak with him.

". . . concerning Andrea," he finished.

It had been some time since he last saw her. She had grown old. Her hair was quite silver white around her face and as she sat down, he noticed how stiff her hips and knees had become. She leaned her shoulders back against the lace cloth which had been placed over the top part of her chair but kept her back straight so that she looked at him through the bottom of her glasses. Hans expected the small lace cloth to slide down the chair back but it didn't. It remained fixed in perfection, exactly the same distance from the back rest corners as the day it was put there. Hans waited patiently as Miss Turner leaned her walking stick against the padded armrest of her chair.

"Yes, Andrea. Our little Andrea," she said, repeating the child's name with satisfaction. "I do think your treatment of the child has a lot to be desired. Fancy going off and leaving her, especially as everyone tried so hard to persuade the authorities to let you rear her. Still, I expect you had your reasons." She paused and drew in a breath. He could hear the air whistling down into her lungs as her chest rose and fell in slow rhythm. "Maybe, you had no other choice. Poor little child, losing her mother like that. And her grandfather not wanting to have anything to do with her. He has never forgiven Caroline and never speaks of her but such behaviour is hurtful to the children who have been born into this situation. They are the innocent ones yet they are made to suffer and Andrea is still a Grace by birth, you know." Hans nodded in agreement but made no effort to comment. Miss Turner went a little paler than normal, even under the layers of powder she used these days to try and conceal some of her facial blemishes. Hans thought her face had the appearance of being more like tissue paper than skin but behind those spectacles, her eyes still bore into him with the dignity of authority. She looked him straight in the eye and most earnestly at that. "Have you come to make one last effort to get custody of the child? Is that why you've come back to England?"

She held herself stiff and upright as she waited for him to reply. It took a while as he had to gather his thoughts together for he had to be careful with what he said. Besides, the situation with Andrea had not changed.

"I still don't have any authority to take her. Nothing was signed. As far as the authorities are concerned, she's an orphan. It was only because of Anne that Andrea was kept out of an institution. I may be her father but I have no more rights than if I were someone from another planet."

A look of shock and disbelief crossed Miss Turner's face. Hans knew at this instance that the woman had no knowledge of their discretion. The Grace family had kept Caroline's involvement with him firmly closeted away.

"I was under the impression that you and Caroline had married." Miss Turner's voice almost rose to a shrill squeak. Her breasts rose and fell in several great heavings and she placed her trembling hand between them as she tried to calm herself. The realisation had come as a shock and Hans could see that most clearly. "Now, I know you weren't," she continued as the pitch of her voice drifted up and down. "Oh, dear! What a problem. What a problem! It is worse than I feared. And, that poor child!" She wrung her hands as if by doing so, she could squash the problem away. Hans sat in silence as slowly the elderly woman began to regain her composure. "So, what brings you here?" she asked. Her voice was still a little squeaky and somewhat shaky. "I had been told you were living in Germany."

"I was. I'm here on business."

"Business? For your uncle?" Her eyes narrowed and her head shook slightly as she sought an answer.

"No, government business." The answer was flat and without a hint of emotion.

He could see she was weighing up whether to press him further for information. He leaned forward and looked her full in the face. It was an uncomfortable minute and Hans was relieved when Miss Turner made the decision to move on with her own agenda.

"Oh dear. Well, it is obvious you cannot have the child with you. It is also obvious that someone must be prepared to take the responsibility for her or she will most definitely be put in an orphanage." She adjusted her spectacles and lifted her head which signified a decision had been reached. How many times had he seen that look before? He had lost count but it was the same defiant look that she gave just before an announcement was made during one of the school assemblies. "I think she should come and stay with me," she said resolutely. "Yes. I have all the time in the world and this house could do with some life in it."

Hans was stunned. Why should she take such an interest in his child? Why the willingness to help him when he had said such dreadful things to her in the past? What did Miss Turner really think of him? What was the connection between this middle-aged, spinster and his little daughter?

"Why, Miss Turner?" he finally managed to ask.

"Why not?" was her immediate response.

"Andrea is still a young child. Wouldn't you find that a burden for you? Then, there's her schooling and . . . Sending money from Germany is becoming more difficult every day."

"I am aware of all that. If you cannot send money, you cannot. And that is an end to it. I am not without means. Besides, as for looking after the child, Janine still stays here for some days in the week and she comes home most weekends." Hans thought the answer came out so quickly as if it had been a rehearsed line. "You see, I will not have to deal with the child by myself every day. Anyway, what other option is there if she is not to become a ward of the state?"

Hans thought about it a while. He could see no other way around the problem yet Miss Turner was getting on in years and he was not sure it would be in Andrea's best interest to be brought up by an elderly spinster. He thought of Jan. And still he could not fathom out why Miss Turner had made such a generous offer.

"Jan isn't married, then?" he asked remembering what Miss turner had said before.

"No. She has not found anyone she is interested in. I do not think she is the marrying type." Miss Turner smoothed down her dress, running her hands down over her knees and as far down her legs as she could manage. "Janine has thrown all her energies into nursing. But that is of little consequence. Jan likes Andrea. Anne used to bring the children over to see us. Little Andrew and Andrea. Sometimes Andrea would stay with us." She noticed the look of surprise that came over Hans' face. "You didn't realise? Oh well, never mind. As you know, Janine has always been a bit of a loner and so having little Andrea around has given her a new outlook on life. The child has given a great deal of pleasure. For both of us."

Hans remembered Anne had told him about Jan doing nursing training but as she had not elaborated, the news had not made much of an impression on him.

"Jan likes her job?"

"Yes. Very much. Now that she has finished her training, she is working in a large hospital ten miles away. That is not so far, these days. Now young man, back to Andrea. Do you think that what I have suggested is a good idea?"

"For the moment, yes. My grandmother would have been pleased to know she had a little English great-grandaughter. My grandmother was English. Did you know that? She was a Crawford."

"I know." There was not a hint of surprise in Miss Turner's voice. "The Crawford's were known to my family long before Julia married." Her eyes clouded over and Hans noted the way she pushed her glasses back up her nose; just like Jan. "None of you knew of my connection. Julia's youngest brother and myself were married."

"M, married?" His voice shot up an octave. "M, married as in . . . married? The last word stuck in his throat.

"Yes, married, young man." Miss Turner pushed herself upright and stood up. "Before I tell you about that, I think we will have some tea. She reached over to her left and pulled the tasselled cord. "Tea please, Lizzy," she said as soon as her maid entered the room.

While they waited for Lizzy to prepare the tea, Miss Turner sat down again and continued on with the conversation. "Not long after the Queen died in 1901, poor Lester went out to the South African war. He was only there a short time and then he was killed. We had only been married a few weeks before he went."

"So, your real surname is Crawford? You're not Miss Turner after all!"

"I went back to my maiden name after Lester was killed."

Hans could hardly get the words out clearly as he tried to assimilate the news. His hands trembled and he felt as if the inside of his mouth had been wiped out with a dry alcohol.

"But Oma never mentioned . . . "

"That's understandable. Julia had already gone on holiday to Austria. When she did not return we all wondered what had happened. Then, she wrote and said that she had fallen in love with a young man out there. That was your grandfather. They were married and had a family. We used to exchange letters but somehow we lost contact with her."

"You didn't remarry?" Hans wondered whether Miss Turner, or rather Mrs Crawford, would consider his question a bit pertinent.

"No. Then there were so many widows and single girls left without anyone to marry after the war, I was not alone. Besides, there did not seem to be much point: nobody could replace Lester."

"I didn't even know I had an Uncle Lester!" Hans shook his head in disbelief. It was like discovering some lost treasure in some far off place you could only read about.

Lizzy entered the room. She placed the tray on the occasional table and poured out two cups, two cube sugar lumps for Hans and a dash of rich creamed milk. Hans took a sip. He found he had not totally lost the taste for a good cup of English tea. He swilled the refreshing liquid round his mouth before swallowing.

Miss Turner took several sips before replacing her cup and saucer back on the table,which she did with care and precision.

"Lester was killed just before your elder brother was born. Someone in the family told us that Julia's daughter had had another baby. That was you. And as I said we lost touch for a while. Then that dreadful war came and Julia was on the opposite side. That made things very difficult." She picked up her cup and saucer again and drank. Hans noticed the way she held out her right little finger like some pointer to the ceiling. "Your uncle must have been given my address, for he wrote to me asking if I would have a place for you at the school. I knew Julia had quite a bit of money left to her after her parents had gone and I knew she always wanted one of you to receive an English education. It was a dream of hers. I hope you have appreciated what she has done for you."

Hans felt humbled. Earlier he had been puzzled as to why Miss Turner had taken such an interest in his welfare.

"Lester was my great uncle," He tried to piece the relationships together. "So, that means . . . " He suddenly felt shaky at the knees.

"Yes. I am your great aunt; by marriage."

The mention of the connection between his grandmother and Miss Turner had astounded him. He was beginning to see some of the reasons behind what had happened: the dismissal of the Brymers with whom he had stayed when he first arrived in England, his time spent in the Turner household, Heidi being offered a position so that he had someone from his homeland to talk with, and now Miss Turner's offer of help for little Andrea. It was all beginning to make sense.

Finally, he decided to question her about that photograph. The one with his father in it.

"That photograph . . . the one with my father. Why?"

"Just luck. Tim and your father met that first Christmas. Two uniforms. Two opposing armies. It was luck them finding each other like that. In no-man's land. For a few days they could forget the war and be family again. They could be men who could exchange greetings rather than bullets. When we finally heard about it, everyone was shocked. Not because of what the men did that day but because of what their governments made them do after that. Those men did not want to kill each other but their hands were forced for there was nothing the front-line soldier could do to stop it. That terrible war. All that suffering and, for what?"

"Papi never came home," said Hans.

He tried to sound matter-of-fact but the emotion in his words betrayed the hurt and emptiness he felt. He had admired his father and had missed him each time he had to go away. When the children had been told that Papi was never coming home again, Hans had run into the garden shed where no one could see him. He had sat among the tools Papi had once used and he cried and cried until there were no more tears left in his reddened and swollen eyes. Even though Renard was older, he did not appear to be as upset over his father's death as Hans and Axel was far too young to remember. And after the war, no one wanted to remember.

"I was angry with Janine that day you saw the photograph," explained Miss Turner. "I lost my youngest brother during the last months of 'eighteen. He'd been Janine's hero when she was a child. It was hard for her to realise that her favourite uncle was never coming home again."

She lowered her head and appeared to push her glasses back but Hans noticed that Miss Turner descretely wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye with her finger.

So, she does have emotions like anyone else, Hans thought.

Miss Tuner smoothed down the skirt of her dress and straightened her back. She looked up again and shook her head so slightly Hans almost missed noticing it.

"It was a wicked, terrible war. How can we ever forget?"

Hans had never heard Miss Turner talk like that before. Nor had he ever seen such deep-felt emotion. It was not the Miss Turner he knew.

Hans felt sad to learn that Jan had suffered the same pain and anguish he had experienced. Perhaps the incident over the photograph had been her way of expressing her distaste for what the adult world had done to her.

Miss Turner stopped talking when Jan came into the room. She was wearing her nurse's uniform although she had removed the shoulder cloak. It had only been a few years since he last saw her but she had changed. The awkward teenager was gone and a self-assured young woman had taken her place. She walked into the room full of confidence as someone who knew where she was going and knowing what path she was taking. As Jan moved across the room, Hans noticed how well she held herself. He thought she seemed taller than her aunt. Obviously, her nursing training was bringing out the better qualities in her. Jan nodded politely in acknowledgement and sat on the settee beside her aunt. Hans stood. He bowed slightly in her direction and klicked his heels together. Then, he sat again.

"Hello Jan. I hope everything's well with you?" He smiled as best he could but still found it difficult to be polite and friendly towards her.

"Thank you. Yes." Hans could tell she was also finding the meeting difficult, for she had begun to touch the frame of her glasses even though they did not need adjusting just yet. "Did you come to see Andrea?"

"I did."

Before Jan could say another word, her aunt spoke.

"I have told Resmel about our idea."

She reverted to calling him by his surname. He thought that strange after the intimate conversation they had had only a few minutes earlier.

Old habit from the school days. He found the formality rather amusing.

"Do you agree?" Jan leant forward, resting her hands on her lap. Her question had thrown him off his equilibrium.

This is not normal, he was thinking. He sensed a hint of uncertainty in her voice as though she were afraid to hear his reply.

"Er . . ."

"It's only a suggestion," she professed. He noticed her upper body stiffen and draw away from his presence. "Or, maybe, maybe you'll want to take her away with you."

"No. I would like her to stay." He forced a reassuring smile. "I think it sounds a very good idea."

"We didn't like the thought of her going into an orphanage." Jan sounded genuinely concerned. She looked at her aunt as she continued. "That was what we had decided," and Miss Turner nodded in agreement. Hans was surprised again, for Jan had not sought permission but had reminded her aunt that that was the case. "All her friends are here and she loves her school." Jan and Hans laughed at the same time but Hans felt he was more nervous than Jan. "She has made new friends. She will need them as Andrew was her best friend.

"Gerald has found himself a new job. Had you heard?"

"No, what?"

"Flying. They are moving very soon."

"Not to the other end of the country I hope?" Miss Turner asked.

"No," answered Hans. "Just north of London Anne said."

"Then the children will be able to see each other from time to time when Anne drives down to visit her mother." Jan sounded pleased.

"And Andrea can go and spend some of her holidays with the Brookfield-Smiths," added Miss Turner with an air of authority.

"It all seems well planned." Hans had had no idea the two Turners had already made all the decisions. Miss Turner inclined her body in Hans' direction.

"Janine often takes Andrea out on the weekends. She has visited London Zoo and has had a ride on a boat on the Thames, too. Did you know that, Resmel?"

Hans shook his head. He had had no idea that all these people had rallied around to make Andrea's life such an exciting one. Even Jan did not seem such an adversary now. Maybe Caroline was right when she said that Hans did not know the Jan she did.

"When do you return to London, Hans?" asked Jan.

"In a few days. I'll take a train to Oxford first and see Robert. He wants to show me around Oxford. He managed to get in to the university but I've forgotten exactly what he said he is doing his thesis on. Something to do with mathematics, mechanic or something. He can't say much. Hush-hush, I guess."

"I guess so," Jan added. "He was a very able student. And after?"

"Another four days in London and I take a boat to Cuxhaven. This time next week I'll be back in Germany again."

Jan frowned and scratched her nose. She shifted forward on the seat and inclined her upper body in his direction.

"Is it true what our newspapers report about your new chancellor?"

"In what way?"

He already knew what she was about to say for he had been making it his duty to find out what the English thought. He hadn't thought of Jan as being interested in politics. She had always been the girl who poked her tongue out at him and he had always shown his anger towards her. That was possibly the reason why they often ended up in confrontation. He wondered what she would say next.

"Well," she said with some hesitation, "we've been told that he wants to expand Germany's borders. Is there any truth in that?"

Hans knew Jan well enough to know that she was expecting a straight answer. He bounced the tips of his fingers together with short rapid movements as he thought about how he should answer her. He decided to give her the official point of view that his employers would have expected.

"Our new chancellor only wants a peaceful Europe. He has no intention of expanding beyond Germany's former borders. The English government must realise that the German Reich needs to be able to include all German people within its borders. And those borders must include all lands confiscated by the treaty, which Germany was forced to adhere to."

He wondered whether Jan would be satisfied with the answer. He was not even certain that he believed every word of it but his bosses in Berlin had trained him sufficiently well in answering politically sensitive questions.

"You expect the British public to swallow that line?" she asked, re-organising the way her glasses sat across the bridge of her nose. "And what about the rallies and the other disturbing things that are said to be happening?"

"You don't have to believe everything you read in your newspapers!" His tone was now curt and abrupt. He jumped up and physically moved closer towards her with a threatening gesture. "Much of what you read is twisted half-truths put out by splinter groups who would rather see Germany collapse." He pointed wildly into the air at some unseen protester. "They've already been responsible for the huge unemployment figures and the burning down of our Reichstag. You have no idea of the problems the Reichskanzler has to sort out!"

Hans suddenly realised he was beginning to sound just like Renard. He had not meant it to sound that way but Jan still had enough sting in her to drive him into a confrontational affront. His agitation made his face flush. His blue eyes were wild and angry as he looked intently right into her face. For a full minute, no one said a word. His eyes penetrated her defences until Jan lowered her lids and submitted to his stronger will.

"Let us just forget the politics for a while. Put our differences aside. Janine, we must not keep Resmel any longer." Miss Turner stood up and brushed down her crumpled dress. She smiled weakly at Hans as she held out her hand. "Thank you for coming. I am sure you still have much to organise." He took the hint and pulled at the hem of his pullover, more as a gesture than of necessity. The old lady took up her cane and walked him over to the living-room doorway. "Now, do not forget what I've said, young man. Janine and I will be pleased to look after Andrea. Think about it. Let us know what you decide."

"I will," he promised. "And thank you both for what you have already done."

He shook her hand again. Both grips were warm and sincere and he realised that Miss Turner bared him no ill will. He was positive that she and Jan would see that Andrea would be well cared for.

"And thank you, Jan," he said as she came up along side her aunt. His aunt as well. He must remember that. "I hope politics will not get in the way again. I hope we can part as friends."

Jan walked him to the front door to let him out.

"Good bye, Hans." She stood holding the side of the door. "Do be careful. I know the newspapers can exaggerate but all the same don't get involved too deeply with that new crowd over there. I've a bad feeling about what's happening. We have had a taste of it here, as well. It's most frightening. I hope things will not get worse. It would be awful if there was to be another war."

"Don't worry. Everything'll be all right. Kanzler Hitler would not risk another war."

"I hope you are right." She began to close the door but suddenly stopped. "If only you didn't have to leave. You could stay here, you know." She sounded most genuine.

He laughed, uneasily.

"Before long, I'll be back again in England. I travel back and forth quite regularly but I can keep in touch by mail, if that is what you would like"

"I would and I am sure you will want to know all about Andrea, Hans."

"Then, it's good bye for now, Jan. Auf Wiedersehen."

He clicked his heels together in the old way he had seen his father do and placed his hat on a slight angle.

"Bye, Hans." She began closing the door again, so slowly that she could watch him walk away. He could feel the strong lingering presence of her as he opened and closed the small front gate. As he turned right to walk down the street, he looked back at the house. Jan gave a little wave and inched the door closed.

What a difference nursing had made to Jan Turner, Hans thought.

He could almost believe he could begin to like her.

The Berlin office had been most satisfied with the reports Hans had regularly sent back. He had been recalled several times to Berlin to report personally to Oberleutnant Pfinger but he always found such meetings uncomfortable. Pfinger gave the impression that he could become a dangerous man if crossed. Besides, he had connections to those who worked high up in the offices of the Abwehr headquarters. Such men were party to every secret document and information that made its way from foreign governments to the Chancellor's office. These men were becoming experts in covert operations so it was important to be on one's guard, just in case their sympathies lay with the Party.

England's Prime Minister, Mr Chamberlain, easily gave in to Chancellor Hitler's demands that German populations along the post-war borders be included in his new Reich. Hans was reminded of the fears Jan Turner had voiced when he had seen her last. Next, the Ruhr was clutched back and then pressure was put on Austria to join the new Germany. No wonder a feeling of unease and suspicion was beginning to develop in the minds of some of the English parliamentarians. Anne had written to Hans saying that she and Gerald still hoped they could remain friends even though their respective governments appeared to be moving further apart.

While unemployment figures in the Reich fell, the military forces grew. Conscription was the government's answer to mopping up all those men who would become a burden on the state. Better to employ them building up infrastructure than have them making a nuisance of themselves in the streets. Before long, the manufacture of cars was superseded by the manufacture of tanks and guns. Chancellor Hitler maintained this was done solely for peaceful purposes: to get the economy back on its feet. And, if Mr Chamberlain agreed to swallow that, what else might he be persuaded to consume?

The last time Hans was able to visit England was just after New Year in 1938. This time he found people were less friendly and although new factories had been built around the outskirts, London was a city expecting some horrible disaster to happen and more of its people were talking about the possibility of new hostilities. Newspapers had, only a few days ago, reported that the german Chancellor had seized control of the army and had put top Nazis into positions of power. The report of this sent ripples of consternation across Europe and across the Channel. As Hans walked through the streets, he could feel a great tension and unease around him. At Waterloo Station he felt that people were looking over their shoulders and although people still went about their normal tasks, each one was less friendly, more reserved and suspicious as if they each concealed some dark secret they did not want to share. The earlier fascist marches he had once seen in Oxford Street were no longer tolerated and their supporters were openly despised. It was as if all of Britain were contracting and gathering in her strength to fight for her survival.

The train arrived on time at the main town station. Carriage doors slammed shut, steam hissed and those who had just got off began filing off the narrow station platform. Hans noticed that most of the friendly old holiday excursion posters had been removed and new ones warning people to watch out, be vigilant and never talk openly to strangers had been put up instead. Seeing them unnerved him a little so he took his time leaving the station and walking down the main street. He stopped outside the little café where he and Caroline had frequently met and ordered a cup of English tea. He sat beside the window, allowing himself time to unwind and relax. Afterwards, he stepped outside and hailed a taxi in which he could sit back and watch familiar landmarks, houses and cottages that came and went within the small rear vehicle window until the taxi finally turned a tight corner and where, after passing a dozen houses, it stopped outside the gate of the Turner home.

It was wonderful to see Andrea again, a lovely child who always brought delight. Innocently she chatted to him, showing how she could skip around the room and do pirouettes without falling over. She sat beside him on the sofa, the flames from the open fire playing patterns on her hair. She wriggled closer to him so that she could show him her colouring-in book that she had been so carefully colouring: purple painted fairies flittering among the dark trees tree tops with yellow and blue toadstools dotted in fairy circles among the grass below. She showed him with pride, for there was hardly any paint outside the lines.

"Shouldn't toadstools have red spots?" Hans asked.

"Not mine," answered the child as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Are fairies always that colour?"

"Yes. Mine are."

"Have you seen any fairies?" Hans was almost teasing Andrea.

"Yes. I have." She raised herself onto her knees so that she was able to whisper in his ear. "They only come at night. And big people cannot see them, either."

When Andrea ran off to attend to her favourite doll who, she said, needed to be fed and put to bed, Miss Turner turned her attention to the subject that was uppermost in people's minds.

"Is it true that your Mr Hitler has put every abled bodied man in the army?" Miss Turner sounded serious and there was a hint of anger in her voice and before Hans had the time to answer, she concluded with utmost indignation, "I hope you haven't had the stupidity to join!" Hans felt he could not answer. What would Miss Turner say had she knowledge that he was already holding a military rank? But the elderly schoolmistress was not finished. "All this talk of peace, yet all the demands. I am not sure this Mr Hitler of yours is to be trusted. And, what does he intend to do with the huge armed force he is creating?"

"I do think Andrea looks well, don't you?" Hans asked, anything to change the subject and divert Miss Turner's mind away from military matters.

"I hope for both your sakes, it will not come to war but I have my fears."

The following day, Hans called briefly in to see Anne and Gerald, together with their growing family. Andrew now had a little sister, Alice. Anne had found a replacement for Nanny Goodman and she now had more time to pursue the things she wanted to do. Gerald was still flying and enjoying it. He did not say whether he had joined the air-force but it would not have surprised Hans if he had. There was a RAF base not far from where they were living but when Hans mentioned it, Gerald was more guarded with his answers and quickly changed the subject.

For the first time in their relationship, Hans found this visit strained, not because they were less friendly towards each other but because of the suspicious nature of the political world that surrounded them. There were now areas of discussion that were never to be entered so much of what they had to say to each other revolved around the children or fell back on the good things things they did together when Caroline was alive.

By mid-afternoon, Hans had returned to his room at the Inn. He knew in his heart that this would be for the last time. He bought some flowers to put on Caroline's grave the following morning. The wind was cold and chilled his shoulders. He sat in silence, a cold wind chilling his shoulders and making the bones in his face ache. All the while it threatened to rip his hat from his head and toss it high into the air. He squatted and stared at the meagre bunch of flowers he was holding between his freezing fingers. They looked almost pathetic in number yet they had taken all his loose change and more to buy. He stuffed them into the small ceramic grave vase beside Caroline's headstone and wished he could have brought more. It was a sombre moment knowing that the waiting to be re-united with her would take so long. He felt a burning longing to visit some of his old haunts and re-live the memories of those happy earlier days yet he knew that could never be.

Hans quietly said his farewells and left. There did not seem much point in staying longer among the cold and silent graves. He walked quickly through the gateway, crossing the road and picking up the once familiar pathway up the hill, first along side the outer wall of the college grounds, then through the trees and up to the top where he had first sat as a young, unsure foreign student. So much had happened since that day: new language, new experiences, new friendships and then Caroline and Andrea, and, finally a new friendship he had found with Jan, for without her intervention and care, his beautiful daughter would have been lost to him for ever. The thought sent pangs of pain throughout his body.

Hans sat on the side of the hill, hands deep into his coat pockets, looking out over the rolling countryside until it levelled out and met a dark grey sea. The keen wind whistled around his ears so he used one of his hands to push his hat further on to his head. He was far away in thought remembering the happy days, his love for Caroline and how he had grown just as fond of this place as he had of Salzburg, when a voice close behind him spoke.

"What are you doing up here on your own?"

For a moment he thought it was Miss Turner. It sounded like her. But the voice was far younger. He jumped to his feet and spun round like a gyro, almost falling backwards on the uneven ground.

"Jan!"

"Hello Hans." She was only a step away from him, wrapped up to keep warm.

"I used to come up here in my student days," he added. He asked her what made her come up the hill but she avoided giving him a direct answer. Instead, she said,

"Aunt said that you'd returned for a few days. Anne phoned to say you'd visited and asked if I had seen you. She told me that Gerald was so pleased to see you again."

"Yes. They appear to be very happy together." He kicked at a clump grass swaying vigorously in the wind. It was longer than the rest so maybe the sheep did not like its taste. "It may be a long time before I can get back here." He watched for her reaction but she indicated nothing.

"What did you think of their new house?"

"Nice. The children are very lucky to have all that countryside around them."

"Cambridgeshire is a lovely county. Have you seen Andrea today?"

"Yes, but not for long. I couldn't have asked for a better child. Happy, polite and so talktative. You have done well."

"Sorry I missed you the other day. I only arrived from London last evening. Aunt said Andrea was quite excited about your visit. That was a lovely doll's pram you bought her. She has been pushing it around all day and her dolly loves it, too"

"I am glad she likes it."

Jan turned away from him and looked out over the landscape and towards the English Channel.

"It's an awful long way to France. You can't even see the other coast."

"It's there. Just over the horizon. Not that far at all."

Jan gave a light cough, not the kind where you think a cold might be coming but one from deep in the throat when it emotionally sticks and is reluctant to come out.

"Do you think there will be another war?" she asked still looking out to sea.

"Not if England doesn't want one," he answered flat toned.

Jan turned around, removing her thick gloves. She removed her glasses and cleaned them on a dainty, frilly, embroidered handkerchief.

"England doesn't!" He watched Jan set her glasses back over her ears and then shove them back until they sat firmly across the top of her nose. "I'm not so sure about Germany. It would be awful if there is another war." She grasped the brim of her hat as another gust tried to snatch it away.

Hans did not comment. They both waited a while, each one not wanting to make the first move until Hans finally spoke.

"I'm going back down. Do you want to come too?"

He perceived a slight turn up at the corners of her mouth. She adjusted her glasses very thoughtfully.

"Why not! After all, we're friends now, aren't we?"

"Agreed! Friends we are!"

She laughed and slapped her hands against her thighs before replacing her gloves.

"Well, come on, friend. What are we waiting for?"

Together, they walked back into town and Jan promised Hans that she would try to keep in touch, come what may. Hans had a few more days left when he could see Andrea and when the clouds lifted one afternoon, he and Jan took the child to a nearby park.

The next morning when he called, Jan was ready to catch the train back to work. Hans accompanied her to the station, of his own free will this time, and as they walked together, they talked of Andrea and of Jan's nursing studies and of her work at the hospital. Hans lifted Jan's bag into the train and stood on the platform, watching until the departing train was only a thin line in the distance. He wondered how long it would be before he would be able to visit the Turner house again. That evening, he received a phone call ordering him to return to Germany. Immediately.

1938, a hot summer day. Hans had been to the Tirpitzufer to hand in a report. He wandered along the canal bank and turned into Unter den Linden to make his way to the station. He paused to soak up the moment: the deafening screams and idolised chanting that electrified the air surrounding the gigantic hanging red swastika flags that swayed effortlessly in the slight breeze. The last words of Hitler's speech had cut into the air like a sabre, so that even the chatter of the birds fell silent.

Czechoslovakia shall be wiped off the map!

Resounding shouts rose to a loud roar as the thousand voices chanted in unison:

"Heil Hitler!"

"Sieg Heil!"

"Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil!"

The crowd was mesmerised. Their leader stood on the balcony high above the swaying sea of adoring faces. Hitler wiped his hair back and nodded with satisfaction so slightly that only the cameras had noted the movement. What his fans saw next, was the movement of his right arm, swinging rhythmically up and down like a vertical pendulum from his elbow.

The plans were implemented. On October 1st 1938, as agreed with the English Prime Minister, Herr Hitler marched his soldiers into the Czechoslovakian part, known as the Sudetenland. There were many celebrations that had taken place that day as the Sudetenlanders became one with the people of the Reich.

Hans knew he would never forget making his way home later that evening, for the large crowd of dancing people in the city centre had slowed all trafic progress through there down to a crawl.

"Did you see any of it, Hans? Wonderful news!"

Renard was visiting again. He broke the news as Hans barely had time to unlatched the door and step into his uncle's house. This time, Hans had noted that Renard was in uniform. A wide black swastika armband over the top of his jacket. It was plain to see that he had become one of them; one of Herr Hitler's admirers. How like Renard. He did nothing done by halves.

"I hope the Führer knows what he's doing." Hans felt his jaw muscles become taut. He removed his hat but kept hold of it as his brother came towards him down the hallway. "Nobody wants war; this side or the other side of the Channel."

"Oh, I totally agree, brother!" Renard had reached the cupboard and held the door open for Hans so that he could hang it up. Renard grinned.

"Mr Chamberlain has shown that England has no wish to stand in Germany's way but will it necessarily lead to a better Europe?"

"Certainly!" Renard was grinning so wide that Hans thought his ears might drop off. "I've told you all along that the Führer knows what's best for everyone." The two brothers made their way to the kitchen. "A thousand year Reich. A German Reich for all Germans. It all makes sense. Isn't he a marvellous leader? You must admire him! England's Mr Chamberlain knows a good idea when he's presented with one, eh?" Renard gave a sly chuckle that did not go amiss.

Hans had not answered.

If Renard wants to believe that, Hans thought, then he has been taken in more than I suspected. Even though he now knew that Mr Chamberlain's words had come true: 'Peace in our time,' and that he felt as if he had played some small part in saving the world from another conflict, there was something deep inside that had made him uneasy.

When Hans had returned to Germany this time the idea of that peace was already beginning to fall apart, whatever Mr Chamberlain may have said, appeared to be coming true. The following year Herr Hitler sent his troops into Bohemia and Maravia. The soldiers positioned their tanks in and around the attractive bohemian city of Prague. No Czech voice had the freedom of expression again.

Hans received a small photograph of Andrea and another long letter from Jan. The photograph had been taken on Andrea's birthday. He could hardly believe she was six. A lump stuck in Hans' throat when he unwrapped the picture from the letter paper he had taken from the envelope with the British stamps.

How I hate the sight of bedpans now, Jan had written. I've been emptying them for the entire week. I am looking forward to next week because I will be working alongside doctors on the emergency ward. I think that will be my forte in life.

Hope things are well with you. Let's hope things will settle down and we can meet again.

Love from Jan

Hans replaced the letter and photograph in the envelope and tucked it securely into his top pocket. Andrea was synonymous with Jan. How long would it be before he saw either of them again?

Late in August, 1939, the second large expansion was poised to take place. When Hans made his usual visit to Tirpitzufer, he was informed that Case White had been placed before the generals and areas of thrust were in the process of being transcribed on paper. The attack on Poland was set to begin. If Germany was to have a dominant position in Europe, the Fatherland would need to expand. Lebensraum was needed to grow food for an expanding population, as well as feed all the young boys and soldiers who would become Germany's new heroes. Like most of the eligible men, Erwin Hans Resmel was called upon to do his duty.

On the first day of September, Leutnant Resmel was waiting close to the Polish border for the field telephone to ring. It was a still, cool morning and the sun had barely had time to make its appearance. A light mist huddled close to the ground, a curtain concealing something that wanted to remain secretive and unseen. They waited. The minutes ticked on. The rays of the sun started to penetrate and shred the veil until it began to reveal the men and their machines like actors poised for action on a stage. The final moment had arrived. It was almost five o'clock.

General's headquarters calling all units.

The valves in the field wireless hissed and crackled. The message was faint but unmistakable to those who had been prepared to receive it: Prepare to move forward to engage the enemy! Divisions one and three - move to your positions and hold. Divisions two and four - begin your advance at precisely five six and twenty hours. Divisions six and . . . "

The men jumped to their feet like a group of school children ready to go on an excursion. But this was no picnic. A loud thundering drone of aircraft engines tore the clouds apart. The dull rumble of giant tanks came closer, passed and clattered across the flat farmland. Suddenly everything around exploded into action as the big guns hurled their whining shells high into the air. The armies of the Third Reich were on the move. The killing was about to commence. Fresh blood was starting to flow. Another war was poised to begin.

Back in his kitchen, Uncle Karl had his ear close to the wireless. The valves squealed and hissed and finally the news bulletin came through.

'Early this morning, Germany was attacked by a band of Polish fighters. The Führer now asks that you defend your homeland and demonstrate the same bravery and strength of spirit as did our fine men who bravely laid down their lives in the defence of the Fatherland. Heil Hitler!'

Uncle Karl turned off the wireless just as the first bars of the Horst-Wessel song began: 'Die Fahne hoch die Reihen fest geschlossen . . . '

Aunt Laura spooned the two brown eggs out of the boiling water and cut a few slices of bread which she laid with exactness in the middle of the oval plate. Coffee was perculating quietly in the background. Aunt Laura and Uncle Karl then sat down to enjoy their normal breakfast.

PART II

CHAPTER 15

The Meeting

As Poland was in the process of being swallowed up, Britain declared war on Germany. Before the European countries followed Britain, the Führer ordered his generals to take Luxembourg, Belgium, the Netherlands and finally, in May 1940, France. The French army was defeated. The remnants of the British Forces were squashed onto the beaches at Dunkirk. Herr Hitler was sure Britain would now sue for peace. After all, they had been continually stating that they did not want a return to the position of 1914.

All wireless broadcasts were now under the complete control of Herr Goebbels, the Minister for Propaganda. The radio continued to broadcast news of Britain's weakened position along with the anticipation of her announcement of peace. That was until the National Socialists secretly listened in on the BBC short-wave broadcast which rallied all the citizens within the Empire to rise up together and take up the fight for freedom and survival.

That same afternoon, not far from the northern Polish town of Bobolice. a field radio was turned on. Several men were sitting around a rough make-shift table trying to listen to a whining and spluttering wireless set that had been brought into the bunk-house room. Fighting on the Eastern Front had quietened down and the men had time to listen to Dr Goebbles speaking about Britain's defiant stance.

"Those English must be mad!" exclaimed the Unterfeldwebel when he stomped into the room, shedding clumps of field dirt from his army boots. He saluted and handed over the latest despatch to his commanding officer.

"What gives you that idea, Kurt? One of the others asked tucking his cigarette case back into his top pocket."

"The English don't want peace!" Kurt replied forcefully. "How do they think they can fight against the might of the Third Reich? Their weapons are no pinch for ours. Their men don't have the drive nor staying power our men have." Kurt watched as the Obergefreiter lit a cigarette and after one puff began a fit of coughing. Finally, when his lungs had quietened down, he was able to speak again. "Do you not agreewith that, Herr Leutnant?"

Leutnant Resmel shrugged his shoulders and waved the invading smoke away with the back of his hand. He pressed his ear closer to the whistling wireless on the small table before him. He was secretly thinking of the men holed up on a French beach. Did their England seem as far away as France had, the last time he had stood on English soil and looked over the sea? When he and Gerald had sat on the hillside discussing the possibility of crossing the Channel, the water had looked so peaceful. Did it look that way now to those soldiers stuck on the beach? The Channel no longer had a seaside beach and lazy waves to paddle in but was now a hostile barrier, unfriendly and dangerous. Had the English Government been too over-confident sending an army to France? And yet, at the same time, he knew that they were not a people inclined to rush in rashly. The lion had only roared: his bite might prove to be worse.

Hans thought of his friends and relations across that water divide. Opposite coasts. They were on the opposite side now. It was just the same when his parents were young. Again, the family found themselves in the same stupid position and it was happening just the same as before. Friends would be forced to kill friends, cousins to kill cousins and brothers . . . would they have to die also before the fighting was over? It was madness to go to war again. He could never think of it being exciting, like Renard.

It was unnerving the way Jan and himself were finally on good terms with each other and just as they had become friends, their friendship had been rent apart and just as he had discovered Miss Turner could easily have become his aunt, a wall had been forced between them. It hurt him even more when he thought of Andrea, for no sooner had his daughter become old enough to recognise him as father, their relationship was forced to end. And those who had done this to them were his real enemy, not the people who had been his friends and family! But they are his enemy! His own daughter was now officially his enemy! It had taken just one short broadcast; a few words between governments to separate them. For how long? Until hostilities ceased. How long would that be? Crazy, crazy . . . nothing made sense any more! Then, it occurred to him, that if everything did go to plan and the army did reach England as Herr Goebbels had foretold, he would be able to see Andrea again . . . and Jan.

Hans thought of his two brothers. Renard, the fanatic, who had jumped at the suggestion to serve his Führer and Reich and who had volunteered, even before 1935, when conscription began. Where was Renard now? Probably getting some young granadier to polish his jack-boots, proving he was an excellent example of the Führer's new 'Mensch.' Renard had always been one for adventure. Joining the Nazi Party was an adventure for him but the trouble with Renard was that once he had become a fully-fledged member, he wanted everyone else to see things his way. He had joined the Kriegsmarine with the ambition to serve on a new submarine that would join the wolf-packs on their hunts somewhere out in the Atlantic Sea.

Yes, Renard would like that, thought Hans. He would love being one of the elite.

Then, there was Axel . . . so different; the other side of the coin: a sensitive young man who was repulsed by any idea of war. He had already confided in Hans that, while at university, he had met with a group of young students who had distributed anti-Nazi pamphlets but that his connection with them had not been long standing. Hans warned his younger brother to be extremely careful with all the friends he chose to have and to trust no-one, not even one who proffessed to being his best friend. The Nazi organisation was out to round up and destroy all those who did not fit in with their idea of what a good German should be or those they thought might oppose them. So far Axel had been lucky. He had been able to keep his head down and now that he was able to work for their uncle, he would be protected as he was classified as being in one of the reserved occupations. But even so, now that war had been declared, Hans feared for his younger brother. Would he be watched? Would he remain safe? Hans had heard rumours that foreign workers were being brought in so that those men in the factories could be drafted and turned into fighting men. So far Axel's number had not been drawn and he could remain apart from the stresses and pressures of life in service. Hans had no wish to see his quiet, mild brother be dragged into bloody fighting.

Just before Hans had received his orders for Bobolice, he had discussed his fear for his younger brother with Uncle Karl but he did not indicate that Axel had been involved with anti-Nazi sentiments. It was important for all the family to keep Axel away from such influences if their own lives would not be endangered. He was most relieved when Uncle Karl announced that he would make certain that Axel was employed by him and he gave his nephew a most impressive title and a smart uniform that would have made any general envious as he rubber stamped Axel for one of the most important positions in the business. Karl Klön could not do without his newly appointed business official and, so far, the authorities seemed to be satisfied.

Following the fall of France, on July 22nd, 1940, Leutnant Resmel received instructions to take the train back to Berlin. In a locked case, chained to his wrist, he was ordered to deliver some important military papers directly to the Führer's headquarters. The thought of that made him extremely nervous. There was a slight possibility that he could meet the Führer in person. All of the personnel in the Chancellory had been selected and hand-picked by the Führer or Dr Goebbels and even being introduced to any of them was deemed a great honour in the military circles. Hans was told that a new uniform would be provided, for nothing less than perfection was permitted. He already knew that he must polish his boots until they reflected his face like a mirror and knew that a loud click of the heels and a perfect salute was part of the order. He would be judged on the execution of such expectations.

The huge, high doors were swung wide open. At the far end, a long way across an expanse of highly polished marble flooring, was one large mahogany table. The seated figure appeared so small one could have been mistaken that he was only a metre tall. Statue-like, the man waited for the Leutnant to approach the desk, a haze of strong-smelling tobacco smoke drifted like early morning mist above his table. Hans stopped three metres in front of the table. He clicked his heels, then raised his right arm.

"Heil Hitler!"

The diminutive figure at the far end of the room rose from his seat; not small at all. He was a tall man, almost one metre ninety with a thick covering of grey curly hair that had been strangely shaved, close around his ears so that it looked as though he were wearing a toupé. He reached for his hat and returned the salute.

"Heil Hitler!" he replied and then sat.

Leutnant Resmel unlocked the clasp and handed over the attaché case containing the documents. He stood to attention, and waited.

"Thank you, Leutnant."

Oberst Herschel nodded and leaned forward. He picked up his smoking pipe and sucked on its brown end as he extracted the papers with the precision of a surgeon. The vastness of the table top kept a good distance between the two men yet Hans was now close enough to review the man sitting on the other side. He was considerably older than most of the men who buzzed in and out of the offices at the Chancellory. Hans noted the way Oberst Herschel could not easily reach the things in front. He appeared stiff and awkward, almost too old to be regarded as a serving soldier.

Herschel concluded the papers were in order and looked up.

"Your papers!"

Hans obediently took out his cards from his top pocket and handed them over. The man glanced through them, all the while taking small audible sucks on the end of his pipe. He nodded, satisfactorily, to himself; nodded again and handed them back. "Erwin Hans Resmel. Mmm. Leutnant Resmel." Herschel removed the pipe and laid it back on its stand. "Where were you born?"

"Freilassing Herr Oberst."

"Freilassing? I do not know that place."

"In Bavaria, Herr Oberst. Not far from Salzburg."

"Ach, Salzburg. Interesting," murmured Herschel with interest. "Related to the Resmels there, I presume?"

"Yes, my parents and my grandparents were from there."

"Then, I believe I do know of your father. A professional diplomat and soldier? I do believe he was assigned to the Kaiser's palaces in Berlin for a few years."

"That is correct, Herr Oberst."

Oberst Herschel nodded.

"You may drop the Oberst and just call me Herr Herschel," he said dryly.

"Yes, Herr Oberst Herschel."

Hans did not want to appear out of order. The man at the desk had a higher rank so he remained at attention. Herschel looked up.

"Forget the formalities, Leutnant Resmel. You can stand at ease." Hans noted the way Herschel's features screwed sideways into an unusual smirk. "Interesting. Most interesting," Herschel kept muttering. He leaned back in his chair so far Hans wondered whether it would tip over. But it didn't. "Interesting to meet with the son."

"Son?"

"Your father did serve near Bethune? Early seventeen?"

"Yes, Herr Herschel." Hans was perplexed. It puzzled him as to how Herschel had obtained such accurate information but then he realised his own department was in a similar business. Higher authorities had ways and methods of knowing everything, about everything and everybody and the files in this building must be very extensive, Hans thought as he only half-listened to what Herschel was saying. He found that he was beginning to lose the drift of the conversation, especially as the Oberst mumbled to himself again and then just sitting there, grinning and nodding over several silent minutes.

"Your father . . . I may presume to address you as Erwin, Leutnant?" Hans did not reply and Herschel did not expect such. He sucked in his cheeks, then continued. "Your father was my commanding officer," Herschel explained. "We were both on the front together. Did you know that?" Hans did not answer again. There was no point. Besides, who was he to contradict this old soldier? Hans was only a boy at the time and he knew very little of that war. The other continued, "We were on a night attack when we were pinned down by enemy fire. That was the night I ended up with this confounded back of mine." The old soldier massaged the stiff muscles either side of his backbone. "The shelling was terrific that night. Hell on earth for us, it was. When it stopped found that we were surrounded by Tommies. Most of our immediate group had been killed but eight of us survived in that trench. We were trapped just like rats. The enemy had infiltrated our defences and there was nowhere to go. We could have fought. We were willing to die for our Emperor but so many bodies, blood and mud. We were half starving and exhausted. Your father was a brave man, Resmel. Tried to give us hope when there was none. We would have eaten our own bullets had they been eatable."

"It must have been terrible, Herr Oberst Herschel."

Herschel's eyes clouded over, first with remembrance and then turning to anger, revenge and full of hate. He picked up his pipe and banged it upside down but it smoked no longer so he put it back.

"Some bugger shot your father. A sniper. We had surrendered. It was murder. Anyone could see we had surrendered. It was murder. I saw it!"

"We were never told. It only said killed in action. That was all."

"Killed in action!" Herschel spat the words out with disdain. "No. He was walking forward and was demanding treatment for those who had been badly wounded. No-one seemed to be listening. Didn't want to. Don't think they knew what he was getting at. There was all this shouting. Guns in hands. All the fear of the enemy as we looked him in the eye. Then, your father reached for a note pad. Out of his top pocket. A shot rang out and he fell. One of those bastards had pulled the trigger. Just like that!"

Hans was stunned. If he could believe what he had just heard, it came as a bitter blow. He did not know how he should react in Herschel's presence. A man like him and with his connections, could prove to be dangerous if one reacted in an unexpected way that cast doubt on his story. Hans decided to remain silent and hope not to betray his thoughts. Herschel face smiled but the staring eyes looked back into that distant trench.

"Don't trust the buggers, Erwin. Never trust them! And always look after your back."

He shook his head and struggled with his stiff back to get out of his chair. As he walked around the long edge of the table, Hans noted the man used a stick and walked with a limp.

Herschel patted Hans on his shoulder in a familiar way.

"Sorry, to have told you like that. But now you know. Your father was a good soldier. Always thought of his men first. Not like some of the officers we have round here. They'd not only let the common soldier down but would sell their own grandmother for Reichsmarks if it meant saving their own skin. Trust in no-one." Oberst Herschel sifted quickly through a pile of folders that had been piled up on the table. He pulled one out and turned around on his cane. "Your dossier. From what I've read, you are your father's son. Respectful in duty. That pleases me. I think you will be a perfect candidate for SS Sturmbannführer Ott's consideration. It may be to your advantage to be introduced."

"But he's an SS officer. What would I have to do with him?" Hans thought it strange that only a minute ago Herschel was warning him to be vigilant and now, well, he wanted him to meet with a man from the Secret Police.

Herschel did not answer Hans's question. Instead, he produced a small card and handed it over. "That's where to go. You can easily reach the building from the U-Bahn." He pointed to the card. "At that time: 10 hundred hours. Be on time. Sturmbannführer Ott expects punctuality."

He raised himself up with some difficulty and gave a military salute which, in turn, gave a clear indication to Hans that the meeting was terminated.

Hans returned the salute with precision and then left. He wondered if Renard had anything to do with his meeting with Ott but decided, probably not as his brother was too far away. He was somewhere Mid-Atlantic in a U-boat hunting for British ships. His job was to sink the ships before they could replenish the Mother Country with food and ammunition.

No, Dr Goebbles told them, Britain could never win with such odds stacked against her, and she would be strangled her into submission as ship after ship was sent to the depths of the Atlantic. All the might of the German armed forces, with their excellent-trained and well-equipped troops, would soon be marching all across Europe. This was to be Germany's finest hour.

Hans had enough time time left to pay a quick visit to his uncle and aunt. On his way, he bought a newspaper not far from the corner of Friederichstrasse. The headlines blazoned over the front page talked of a defiant Britain. Hans began reading the article as he waited for a tram. It was full of stories telling about the Luftwaffe attacks over London.

Britain had constantly disregarded the Führer's continued offers of peace and now it was time for the British to see how foolish they had been to ignore such offers . . .

He heard the whine of the tram come nearer and the clang just prior to winding its engine down as it came closer the stop. As usual, it was crowded. There was a mixture of people on board: some in uniforms, a few in town coats and black hats, most likely bankers or those in reserved occupations, elderly people too old to have been sent to the front or drafted into the forces. He noticed a number of young mothers who were still standing in the isle, their gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the bars on the backs of seats together with one or two shy children who were valiantly hanging on to their mother's coat hems for safety.

Hans validated his ticket and elbowed a path part way down the compacted isle. There was already a mixture of uniforms: mainly army but some from the Kriegmarine. Just as the tram was about to move off, several men who had not been enlisted, stood and proffered their seat to those mothers with the youngest children. The tram lurched forward and gathered speed like a gallopping horse, forcing Hans to make a grab for the back of a seat before he lost his balance. He noticed that the baby-faced young man in the smart SS uniform who had been standing beside him was now sitting. Someone had given up their seat for him. That was the way things were now. He rolled the newspaper and stuffed it into his deep coat pocket. Twenty minutes to reach the stop nearest Uncle Karl.

"That Propaganda Minister has been on the radio for hours." Uncle Karl sounded disgruntled. "Damn them for interrupting the football finals. I will never know the result now."

"Sorry about that," Hans mumbled.

Aunt Laura came in to the room with a pile of plates.

"Hello Erwin. I did not know you were coming." She was pleased to see her nephew again. "Pass that mat would you, Karl. You should have telegraphed or sent a note, Erwin."

"No time, aunty."

"Could you put out the cutlery, Karl. Need not bother about Axel. He won't be in until later. Busy at the office. Oh, put the breadboard over there." As Uncle Karl reached round for the dresser drawer, Aunt Laura spoke once more to Hans. "Would you like to join us? I do have spare today."

"Thank you but no. I have a train to catch shortly and I can get a bite at the station."

"You will need to show your food ticket. Nothing is as easy these days. There are some things that are becoming difficult to buy. Sure I can't tempt you?"

"No, really, Tante. I will be fine."

Aunt Laura went back into the kitchen. He could hear the banging of pots and pans.

"That man can talk!" Uncle Karl slammed each knife and fork down on to the table. "Now he says that the Führer has agreed to send bombers over to Britain. Have you heard anything about that?"

Hans took the rolled up newspaper out of his pocket and laid it on the table just in front of his uncle.

"I don't need to tell you. Read about it. It's all in there. If you can believe what you read."

Uncle Karl lowered his voice and leant across the table. Even though they were the only two in the room, he spoke just above a whisper so that Hans could barely hear.

"Careful what you say, Erwin. Careless talk. Too many ears listening for any indiscretions. The stooges are everywhere and even with Renard's connections you may not be safe. Keep your thoughts to yourself if you want to survive this war. The authorities are very touchy and as you are someone who has lived overseas, you are likely to be watched more closely. So, I say again and again: always be on your guard."

"I have already realised that, uncle. I'll say no more."

The conversation ended as quickly as it had started. Uncle Karl picked up the newspaper and put it on the middle of his chair cushion.

"I will read that later."

Aunt Laura brought in a pot of steaming food. She looked quizzically at her husband and the to Hans.

"What were you talking about just then?" She began to spoon out the contents of the pot. Uncle Karl smiled and picked up his fork.

"Nothing of interest, my dear. Erwin was just remarking how cold it has been today. He said the trams and trains were crowded today when he came in to the station. Other than that, everything is exactly as it should be."

Uncle Karl winked at Hans. His aunt saw nothing. As the pair began to eat, Hans replaced his hat and bid them farewell. He did not know when he would be able to call in next.

The hostilities had been going on for almost a year. There had been no more letters from across the Channel so Hans had no idea how the Turner household was faring. Every day over the airwaves came reports of wave after wave of bombers crossing the Channel in the attempt to destroy the fighting capabilities of the British nation. When daytime bombing had little effect, Goering switched his bombers to making night raids and targeting London. Night after night, planes thundered out into the dark skies and headed north-west to deliver their devastating cargoes. The wireless broadcasts as well as the Berliner Zeitung constantly reported how effective the Luftwaffe's nightly raids on Mr Churchill's war-making factories were and how, very soon, probably by the end of the year, England would be so weakened that she would have to give in. During one of the army briefings, officers were told that an invasion could easily take place within the next few months.

However, during the night of August 23rd, the Luftwaffe missed their factory targets and dropped their bombs on a row of sleeping houses.

The following evening, a low-pitched hum announced, not the return of their own aircraft, but the arrival of the retaliation. For several successive nights, the sirens sounded in Berlin as frightened people sat in cellars or sought refuge in some of the close underground stations. All through the night, the noise of anti-aircraft fire and exploding bombs resounded across the city. The unthinkable had happened. The citizens of Berlin found they were just as vulnerable as those in London. On that first night several important buildings had been destroyed and several hundred people had lost their houses. The war had come to Germany.

After a terrifying night listening to the constant whine and renting explosions around them, Karl and Laura Klön crawled out of their cellar and tried to carry on as usual. When Uncle Karl switched on the radio, the angry voice of his Führer screamed out his message for revenge:

'When the British drop three or four thousand kilograms of bombs in a night, we will drop three hundred or four hundred thousand kilograms. the hour will come when one of us has to break . . . and . . . it will not be National Socialist Germany!'

Every night, starting on that warm September day in 1940, the great air attacks on London began. The RAF were so occupied trying to bring down the Luftwaffe bombers that very few enemy aircraft bothered with sending their aircraft to the Fatherland. It appeared that Göring's tactics were succeeding.

Back at his post many kilometres east of Berlin, Hans also listened to the broadcast of the day. It was the only way one could hope to get any news of what was to friends and family at home.

Friends. Family. Hans thought of his friends across the Channel who had been dragged into the war: Robert, Gerald, Eddie and Loppy together with the rest of the boys he had got to know. Then, there was Anne with her two young children, together with Jan and Andrea.

Andrea, thought Hans. What is she doing now? Is she as frightened of the German planes as his aunt is of the British ones?

Hans could hear the engine of several small planes fly overhead and it made him think of Gerald. The last he had heard from England a few days before war began was that Gerald had joined the RAF and was flying Hurricanes. A dangerous occupation. Was Gerald even still alive? Was what he had been hearing over the wireless even true? Was it true that the Luftwaffe was bringing England to its knees?

Well, if England did give in, he thought, I hope it will not be as smashed up as I have seen around here.

The weather was dismal. Autumn clouds hung low over most of northern Europe and, until the clouds lifted, no planes could take to the skies. That made things a lot quieter both at the airfields and in the towns. The citizens of Eastern Europe did not have to seek shelter or try to snatch sleep between falling bombs.

Hans was given a week away from duties and was able to take a train west back to Berlin. Night-clubs, theatres and restaurants were doing a marvellous trade again and people pushed and brushed past each other in the streets. It was as if the fingers of war had never touched the city. Lights illuminated the streets again. Champagne bottles popped and saucy dance halls opened their doors once more. Booming military music blasted from the loudspeakers which had been set out in Unter den Linden and large red flags gently swayed in the light evening air. The city had transformed itself into one big, exuberant carnival. No one was in fear of raids. The Führer had promised it so. It was as if the war had never begun.

Aunt Laura was like a mother hen, clucking and brooding around him until he was beginning to wish he were back with his unit. He enjoyed seeing Axel again and although his younger brother said very little about the war, Hans was of the impression that Axel did have something to hide, something he wanted kept secret, especially from Renard.

Two days later, a dispatch rider turned up at the house. He handed over an envelope with the insignia of the secret police. Hans found his hands trembling as he closed the door and walked up to his bedroom. He wanted to be alone when he opened it. He could not think why he should have received such mail.

He fumbled with the envelope but finally he withdrew out the contents. Slowly he unfolded the letter, noting that the message was short and handwritten, not typed. That meant it was not official and he relaxed and his breathing was easier.

Dear Leutnant Resmel,

SS Sturmbannführer Ott and Major Streiter request that you come to the above address this evening at 1700 hours for an informal meeting. A small matter to discuss. We would appreciate your views. We hope the outcome of this meeting will be favourable for you.

Hans noted that the letter stated: request that you come. They only requested a meeting; there was no demand. It was a good sign.

They only want to know my views, thought Hans, but even so, one still needs to be careful.

He thought it did not sound too ominous. Hans had already been told that a different branch of the military wanted to discuss the English problem with him. He had heard about some plans to invade the island nation so he wondered if these two men were interested to know more of how the English mind worked. What was making them so sure they could prevent an invasion taking place?

Hans took his small black attaché case with him. He had written out a few stastics along with some notes, just in case. It was as he had thought. That evening, after several glasses of French wine which only those who moved within the inner circles of the party were able to sample, the conversation did come to focus on the English situation.

"Sturmbannführer Ott, the more the English are hit, the stronger they become. They are well organised. They pull together, not because their politicians force them to do so but because of a willingness the people have to co-operate and get the job done." Hans could not help noticing the SS insignia on Ott's collar. It signalled his authority but not his understanding of the situation. "I was there during their great strike and during the time it was on, people from all walks of life, women as well as men, became the train and tram drivers, conductors, deliverers of goods or whatever else was needed to keep the country on its feet. That strike could have crippled the country, yet it didn't. The government almost wiped out the trade unionists. But it couldn't. And why? Because the people pulled together for what they saw as the good of their country. They stuck to principles."

Hans could see that both men were more than interested. He wondered whether he had said too much. He did not want to reveal the truth about his feelings. But, the Sturmbannführer seemed satisfied and gave no hint that he thought otherwise.

"Yes, yes. That may well have been the answer there. We have the Führer's principles to lead us," commented Ott. He poured himself another glass of wine and indicated to the other two men to do likewise. Hans declined. He needed to keep his head clear. Streiter held out his empty glass. Ott obliged. He carried on. "We have oneness: one Reich, one People, one Führer . . . what better oneness can one expect to have? And our Führer is adored by everyone. Not like that fat pig Churchill who's taken over."

Streiter wiped his nose with his handkerchief and continued to watched Hans most closely. He had been instructed to watch out for any pro-British sympathies.

"The English have a parliament in which they debate any issues. There are ministers who not only advise but make decisions. It's not just Mr Churchill telling the population what they should do."

"There I must disagree with you." Ott put his glass down on the table. He swallowed his last mouthful. "You have only to listen to that loud-mouth Churchill talking. He's always calling them to arms, always trying to lead them away from common sense. He's a dangerous man, that one. Even the Führer says that man is dangerous. Get rid of Churchill and the English will give in. They'll buckle under when they have a taste of what our Luftwaffe can dish out."

"I beg to differ. Are you interested in knowing why I think you are incorrect?" Hans knew that he was on dangerous ground and with a sentry on the door, the meeting had the trappings of being very official. Hans realised that men had been known to disappear when they had voiced any opposition to such men in the black uniform of the secret police.

"Of course!" Ott pulled back his lips and showed his teeth. It was more of a snarl than a smile. "We'd appreciate your views, Herr Leutnant and they will not cross these walls, I can assure you. Feel free."

Hans swallowed hard. He felt his mouth spit dry up and his throat become as parched as if he had been in the desert.

"If they feel threatened," he began. "Then, like the she-wolf, England will defend her cubs, come what may, Sturmbannführer Ott. I've found the English to be very much like ourselves: we have the same tenacity."

Ott snorted a laugh. It was full of sarcasm.

"Then, Leutnant Resmel, they'll become a most formidable foe. Quite a challenge for the superior forces of the Reich!" The Sturmbannführer sneered in triumph. "We hope you are not siding with the English, Herr Leutnant."

"It is only an idea for your consideration, Sturmbannführer."

"Possibly. We demand your loyalty. Your Führer and country must be paramount!"

At that point, the conversation ended. A waiter arrived and quietly removed the empty glasses as if by making any noise, it would have been "off with his head." A few minutes later, he returned with fresh glasses and a second bottle.

"Thank you, Konrad." Ott filled his glass again and handed the bottle to Streiter. "You don't know what you're missing, Leutnant. Beautiful wine. Straight from the vineyards of France." He laughed. "One of the perks of occupation. Prost, meine Herren!"

"Prost!"

Streiter drained his glass like a beer-drinker. His manner appeared more relaxed than Ott's. He offered the others a cigaretto from the silver box he had withdrawn from the top pocket of his jacket uniform.

"Thank you for the offer, Major, but no thank you. Not this time." Hans was as polite as he could be.

Major Streiter laughed off the comment and replaced the container. As he buttoned his pocket flap, he indicated that they all move over to softer armchairs to continue their conversation. They had come to the second item on their agenda.

The Major indicated with his finger that Sturmbannführer Ott had the floor.

"You're not married, I believe, Leutnant? No pretty wife to warm your bed when you return from the front?"

"No, Sturmbannführer."

"That's what I've been led to believe. No young lady you already have your eye on?"

"No, none, Sturmbannführer."

"It is every good soldier's duty to be equipped with a wife." Hans smiled inwardly as the man's use of 'equipped' as though a wife be thought of like a piece of essential equipment. The Sturmbannführer continued. "The Führer wishes all his good officers to be well looked after each time he takes leave from his duties in the field. Also, how else are we to provide the Fatherland with strong sons and daughters? It's your duty, as an Aryan and as a soldier of the Reich. The Aryan race must be kept pure. It must be the dominant race in Europe. We must be the masters." The Sturmbannführer smiled his cold, uninviting smile. "Herr Oberst, here, thinks it is time for you to have a wife. I agree. A soldier without a wife only fights with half a heart. The Führer wants your whole heart, Leutnant. He demands total loyalty: loyalty in the field and loyalty in the bedroom, if you get my drift."

"I'm sure Leutnant Resmel knows exactly what you mean, Sturmbannführer," Streiter lowered the half empty glass from his lips.

"Loyalty," Ott repeated. "Only then will you become an honourable soldier. So, a fighting man who shows loyalty to his country needs the comfort of a good woman. A wife; that is what you need. A wife of good breeding." He tapped the side of his nose and grinned. Next, he turned and spoke directly to Herschel. "One should be found at once." He addressed Hans once more. "Then, you will know what it is like to be a good Aryan."

Ott gave a catalogue of the life Hans had led so far. Hans was surprised at the information Streiter had about him. He could only think that it had come from their link with Renard but there was no knowing where the secret police got their information from. However, he was relieved to hear that neither of them knew of his love affair with Caroline or that he already had a child. Of that he was now certain. And, it was better that it remain that way.

"I have heard that your successes in the field have been most pleasing, Leutnant." Sturmbannführer Ott beamed.

"Thank you, Sturmbannführer. I do only what is expected of my duty, that is all."

Streiter poured himself yet another glass of the expensive French wine.

"This is excellent wine, gentlemen. Sure I cannot tempt you?" He held up the bottle. The others declined. Ott was more interested in talking.

"Several times your name has been brought to my attention.". Ott was still smiling. "Almost as impressive as your brother, Renard. Now there's a man who knows exactly where his loyalties lie."

As Renard and this man Ott appear to be on first name terms, Hans thought, it is no wonder that he was taking such an interest.

The presence of this SS officer was making Hans uneasy and put him on guard. He watched the man very carefully.

Ott leaned so far back in his chair so that the front two legs were raised off the floor and at the same time waved his hand with a wild unsteady gesture to indicate that Streiter should take over.

"You may have been wondering why the Sturmbannführer is here, Leutnant." Streiter cupped his hand over his mouth and coughed slightly into it. "Excuse me. I have been getting over a cold. The Sturmbannführer is here because he has connections with the Kohler family. Herr Kohler is well-known, a good businessman and supporter of the Führer." He paused and took a long deep breath. "His connections with the highest officials are most exemplary." Ott peered at Hans like a cat watching a bird whenever Streiter paused. "Ah, yes," continued the older man after he had moved his injured leg again. "Herr Kohler has a daughter. Elisabeth. She's a healthy and robust girl. A little older than the usual young ones on the market."

His comment brought a smirk from the Sturmbannführer.

"An excellent specimen of womanhood, if I may say. Just the right kind of woman to provide a man of the Reich with strong, healthy sons."

"And what happens if I don't like her? Or, more importantly, if she does not like me?" Hans quickly added, looking first at Streiter and then at Ott. He was not very happy about such an arrangement, yet he knew to reject the offer would bring a flare of anger in his direction and these were very powerful men.

"Duty has to be paramount!" Ott weaved his head and hissed at Hans like a snake about to strike. "Follow the example of your brother, if you know what is good for you. If he were not already spoken for, he would have been only too willing to have Elisabeth Kohler for a wife."

"Renard?"

Hans wondered what kind of woman would be acceptable to his brother. He had not met the new love of his life since Uncle Karl had let it be known that Renard and Magda had finally gone their separate ways. So much for until death do we part and everything we had been taught by the church, thought Hans. Hans followed the teachings of the church most seriously on matters such as this, whatever the new order teaches people to think. Obviously, not so Renard and he was disgusted by his brother's lack of morality. He could only guess that Renard's new lady friend was also a supporter of the Party.

"Yes, your brother."

Streiter shifted his weight and rested a hand on the upright cane. He smiled slightly and tried to look pleasant.

"I think you will find that, Fräulein Kohler is a very pleasant young woman, Leutnant Resmel, with excellent connections. Quite a bit younger than you but very mature in many ways."

"Oh, very mature, I would say," Ott affirmed. "Her participation in courses for young German women has been excellent. Most perfect." Streiter's eyes widened in anticipation. "You have no objections so far I hope, Leutnant?"

"None, Sturmbannführer."

"Good! I am pleased to hear that. As soon as the marriage is arranged, I'm sure there could possibly be a rise in rank coming your way. Yes, I'm almost certain of it." He laughed and his shark teeth glistened in the soft yellow light. "Much better than being demoted, would you say?"

Secretly Hans thought the man most objectionable but he did not give either of them any hint to think otherwise.

"Thank you, Sturmbannführer Ott. I'll give it my complete consideration."

"That is most pleasing to hear. I was banking on you being sensible. You're a man who knows what it is to show loyalty in his duty. I honour you for that."

Hans gritted his teeth. Those two words juxtaposed together took him back to Miss Turner's office. How empty those two words seemed: loyalty to whom and for what kind of honour? He waited as Streiter poured yet another glass. The tip of his nose was turning red like the skin of a polished apple.

"Fräulein Kohler lives with her parents near Neubrandenburg," explained Oberst Streiter. "That is not not too far away from here. You have a few days leave. Here are your travelling papers and immediately you get to the station, a staff car will pick you up and take you to Herr Kohler's house. He will be expecting you." Streiter handed over the papers and documents. They were contained in a plain brown envelope. As Hans took them and put them in his briefcase, Streiter held out his hand. "Good luck, Leutnant."

"Herr Kohler will be informed immediately." Streiter quickly wrote a few words. He clicked his fingers for the soldier standing guard at the door to come forward. Streiter handed him the message. "Contact Herr Kohler." The soldier clicked his heels together, took the message and immediately left the room. Sturmbannführer Ott stepped back to make a clear passage towards the door. He flicked his hand upwards mimicking the wave of a king.

"We wait for news, Herr Leutnant. Heil Hitler!"

Hans put on his hat and returned a military salute, as did Streiter. He wondered what his brother had told these men. Why did Renard have to involve him in their plans to rule the world? Hans was prepared to do his duty for his country. He was not happy to have connection with these so called friends of this brother.

Never-the-less, the week was a pleasant one. Herr Kohler was an excellent host and kept Party politics out of the conversation. As for Elisabeth Kohler, he found her most aimiable. She was young, no more than twenty or twenty-two at the most, yet she came over as being a sophisticated and charming young lady and one who knew how to be graceful in her entertainment. Her education had been thorough for Hans discovered fairly quickly that she was capable of discussing a wide variety of subjects from music and art to telling him about all the new and exciting developments taking place in the town. She spoke of the things the Party was doing to help young girls in the Bund deutscher Mädel group to realise their own destiny and realise how important it was to obediently do their bit in serving the Fatherland. Elisabeth Kohler was very much a daughter of the times and of the Reich.

When Major Streiter rang from Turpitzufer four days later, Hans was able to tell him that the meeting had, indeed, been a success.

The following evening, a despatch rider arrived with orders for Hauptmann Resmel. In two days time he was to be flown out from Tempelhof to a posting in North Africa where Generalleutnant Rommel and the Afrika Korps were ready to receive another man.

CHAPTER 16

North Africa

Early 1941 a Junkers-52 plane flew to North Africa, a bumpy, sickening flight barely high enough to miss the rolling waves of the Mediterranean. Had they flown higher, they could have run into one of the British fighters who were able to reach these parts from their airstrips on Malta. Shortly after touchdown, Hauptmann Erwin Hans Resmel stepped gingerly on to the African continent and was violently sick.

A staff car arrived, along with its Italian driver and lookout, whisked him off to his new posting some 800 kilometres away: as POW interrogator for the Wehrmacht. It was a long bumpy ride, from the small coastal airstrip to the Holding Camp. A vehicle had arrived to collect the Hauptmann with driver and lookout. The heat was terrific and every half hour, the driver stopped to let the engine of the vehicle cool off. The three men doused their heads with water and took long thirst-quenching drinks from the water container. Never had Hans experienced such heat during daylight hours and even though he wore a light fabric uniform, his back was continually wet and beads of sweat ran down his forehead and down his face. He soon discovered that as soon as the sun set, the clear desert air temperature would drop like a downed plane and within only a few hours, he would be shivering from the cold. Coming straight from the freezing snow-clad winter landscape of Northern Europe to this heat was torture for his unaccustomed body and Hans wondered how on earth he was going to adapt to such gruelling conditions.

After almost an hour and a half, the vehicle turned off down a rough, narrow track and bounced its way across the sand and rocky terrain towards some towering rocks in the distance. The car rounded a looming lump of dark rock, rising straight from the sand-coloured ground and immediately ahead was a broken-down grey stone wall and a scattering of small rocks like some giant's knuckle-bones' game. A low barbed-wire fence surrounded a sea of army grey tent roofs. As the vehicle approached, two armed sentries immediately jumped to attention and saluted. One checked the vehicle and its occupants and then nodded to the other who pulled open a flimsy wide wire gate. The car rolled slowly through and headed towards a mud-brick and stone building that was flying a swastika flag. What seemed to be designated as a small courtyard was to the left.

The area had been marked out by a row of stones, not accurately arranged but rough and hasty by someone who had little time. He noticed that further on the left were what appeared to be two other smaller buildings, dented and shell damaged and missing a complete roof. A tarpaulin had been thrown over the missing part of the roof and held down by ropes which had been secured to the ground via several large boulders. Hans leaned forward and asked his driver if he knew anything about the place. The man responded, telling him that as far as he was aware, the place the Hauptmann was indicating was the guards' quarters. Hans then noticed that to the right of the courtyard were four rows of rock-grey tents of various shapes and sizes and immediately in front of their open flaps, was an open area where he estimated about sixty to eighty battle-weary prisoners stood in silence, each head mirroring the the direction of the slow moving car.

As his vehicle got closer, Hans noticed that the soldiers of the camp were also guarding a much smaller group of people, possibly a dozen or fifteen who were standing slightly to one side. They were obviously not considered to be part of the main body. They were different. He was not sure but he thought some of them appeared to be nurses for they had a white covering on their heads. They certainly were not Arabs.

The car came to a halt just outside the main building. Hans noted the officer who came out walked stiffly with a slight limp. He walked over to the vehicle and stood to attention two metres from the front fender. The driver skirted round the front of the vehicle to open the door for the Hauptmann, who stepped out and gave a military salute. The officer in charge of the camp returned the salute.

"Oberstleutnant Specht. Welcome. I trust you had a good journey, Hauptmann Resmel."

"Reasonably quiet, thank you Oberstleutnant."

"There are eighty two held here as of the the present time. The majority are British. The number of prisoners changes from day to day. You will notice that we are not as formal here the camps in the Reich," he explained. "That's because we're only a holding camp as the majority of our prisoners are wounded men. As soon as they are well enough to travel we load them on to trucks which transport them where they are put on ships for Italy and from there they are sent to POW camps within the Reich. The senior officers are flown out from the same airfield you arrived in. Our main job is to patch up the wounded and process any others as quickly as possible so they can be deported. There has been heavy fighting on the front line so over the past few weeks we have processed hundreds."

"Really?" Hans walked slowly beside Specht, allowing the Oberstleutnant to dictate the pace.

"As well as the prisoners, we also take any of our own casualties who are too badly injured to be moved further down the line. Therefore, we are classed as an evacuation field hospital. We have two of our own doctors in charge and seven medical assistants. Working alongside them is a British team."

"You keep the prisoners separate from our own wounded?" Hans asked.

"No. All the badly injured are treated and housed together. They do not give any trouble. However, you may find accommodation here is rather primitive. This camp is not permanent. It used to be a British field hospital just behind their front line but when our forces pushed forwards, they had no time to evacuate everyone and we inherited their tents together with their supplies and some of its personnel; mainly nurses. Hence the British medical staff you may have noticed. They are the group over there." He pointed to the small group Hans had noticed upon his arrival.

"And are those women I see with white scarves?" asked Hans. He had been told about British nurses who had been shipped over to Egypt to help stabilise those wounded on the battle field. With a heavy reliance on tank warfare, there were many soldiers who had received nasty burns to their faces and bodies. Hans had seen some of their own casualties when his plane touched down.

"Quite so. Nurses from the Imperial Military Nursing Service. We do have one or two British doctors and they work alongside our own. All the nurses here are British."

"I am surprised they were so close to the main line." Hans cast a glance over the camp and out beyond its borders to where the stone desert stretched as far as the eye could see.

"They weren't at one stage. Our forces moved so quickly they were overwhelmed. Generalleutnant Rommel certainly gave the British a whipping."

In the background, Hans' ears picked out the words: Prisoners dismiss! given in snappy English. Chatter followed as the prisoners dispersed, guards' voices could be heard barking out orders to make sure prisoners were left in no doubt as to whom was in charge.

"This way, Hauptmann."

Specht held out his hand and indicated the way. Hans turned and took hold of a small black case that had been handed to him by his driver. The two men walked into the largest building which appeared to have sustained the least damage and which had been modestly furnished but sufficient for the main office. The rough walls had been decorated with several large photographs of the Führer together with a large red swastika flag which had been suspended from high up near the ceiling. It was obvious that obedience would be demanded here, just as if one were still in the Fatherland. One lived only to impliment orders from above. The Hauptmann had come to do a job and it was expected that the job would be done well.

"I believe you have some papers for me, Hauptmann?"

Hans reached into the case and handed over a large brown envelope. The Oberstleutnant quickly flipped through the papers and returned them to their container. Hans produced a letter of instructions and handed that over.

"These are my instructions. Their authority comes directly from Abwehr headquarters in Berlin." Hans waited a while while Specht scanned the document. "As you see I am to act as required and send my report to them."

"Most impressive, Hauptmann. You will have my complete co-operation. Please let me know if you need anything clarified."

However, Specht was not relaxed about this new posting for he had already been made aware that the Hauptmann had connections with some very influential men. The Foreign Section usually sent a lower ranking man to them as the camp inmates were not considered high risk here and an Abwehr officer with the Hauptmann's experience would not normally be wasted on gathering information from such prisoners. Specht was certain now that their army must be getting ready for a major thrust and that they could expect to capture some with vital information. Yet, he could not be one hundred percent sure and neither could he put his finger on anything specific to allay his concerns. He was, however, relieved that he would be working with an officer of the Wehrmacht rather than one from the SS.

Later that evening in the tent used as the officer's mess, a communication was received that Hitler had made a decision to thrust through the Bulgarian states and into Greece. The Hauptmann was at liberty to tell them that Operation Punishment was poised to take place on April 6th but he would divulge nothing more. Hans already knew the generals hoped for a victory before the Führer's birthday on the 20th.

"What the hell will this do for us out here?" Specht asked soon after the radio operator had handed Hans the message and the two had walked out of the mess.

"It is hoped that if we can control the gateway to the Black Sea, then it'll block up the Russians there and keep them out of the Mediterranean. Also, if we can hold that area, our supply planes will have other airports to fly out from."

"But most of our supply planes leave from Southern Italy. Our ships are targets for the British planes. Should we not try to stop that?"

"I agree, Oberstleutnant. We know that the British control Malta and Gibraltar but we do not have the capacity to do anything about it. But if we can keep the Russians away from the Baltic and out of the Mediterranean then we can use routes closer to Greece and Crete. We can then keep a closer eye on the British. We do not want them sneaking up through the Suez canal as well."

When the evening meal was set, Hans was invited to sit next to Specht so that they could continue with their discussion. The table had already been set for the five senior personnel who saw to the smooth running of the camp. Several privates were in the process of bringing in food and wine as the officers started to take their seats..

"There's a real problem with British ships and aircraft, Herr Oberstleutnant," explained Hans as he began to help himself to the hot, steaming soup from the large pot. "At the present time, they could bring in reinforcements through the Suez. After all, that appears to be their back door for Australian, New Zealand and South African troops. Now they've regrouped in Egypt there is very little we can do. They have landing strips in Malta and the RAF based there, together with their navy keep managing to sink our supply ships. It means reinforcements may not come through."

"I know all about that." Specht rearranged his cutlery as he spoke. "Medical supplies are the only things affected."

"Quite so. Those planes of theirs seem to pop up everywhere. It was dangerous for me to fly across the Mediterranean. Several times even we had to either dodge flak from one of their ships or fly so low my backside was almost in the sea. If we could fly further east, even though it is a longer flight, it could prove to be safer. We'll be further away from Gibraltar and Malta and that means further away from those infernal battleships and fighters."

The camp commander tucked his napkin into the top of his uniform. He picked up his soup spoon and nodded to those present that the meal could begin.

"Yes. Supplies are difficult to get through." Specht waved his spoon in Hans' direction. "Take this camp, for instance. We don't have an abundance of supplies . . . sufficient, yes, but only for our own. As for the prisoners, we're at capacity since the Tobruk campaign began - barely enough to feed all those extra mouths. Too much food and they become a bloody nuisance and not enough, and we have the Geneva Convention on our backs. It's a no-win situation and Berlin doesn't want to know. How on earth does Berlin expect us to get those prisoners to Italy? I really don't know at this point. In the meantime, we just do our duty and battle on until we're relieved or directed elsewhere."

"I agree. A soldier's job should be keeping the front lines moving forward, not keeping an eye on troublesome prisoners. We need all the soldiers we can get at the front. I agree with Generalleutnant Rommel that it's imperative we keep pushing the front lines forward. The sooner one of us reaches a victory, the sooner this madness will end."

"Be careful, Hauptmann, or what you are saying may be misconstrued. Those damn Gestapo boys have ears everywhere, listening to in to misplaced words is a hobby of theirs."

The two men continued their conversation well into the evening. It was agreed that some time during the following morning, Hauptmann Resmel would be shown around. After that, he could begin his duties as soon as the new prisoners arrived later in the afternoon. Six Tommies had been captured during a skirmish that had taken place two days ago and it had been decided that at least two of the men were holding valuable information that could prove most useful for an attack Rommel was planning.

At precisely ten the next morning, the prisoners were lined up for another roll call and inspection. Hans noticed the small group he had seen the day before were not part of this roll call.

"Tell me, Herr Oberstleutnant Specht, why are the medical prisoners not here?"

"These are fighting men and as they are able to walk, they must attend roll call. We do not insist the medical prisoners attend roll call every time. The army doctors and the nurses are needed to attend to the sick and injured and those duties must be paramount."

"It surprises me that women are so close to the front line."

"They are part of the Auxiliary Territorial Service. The British army accepts women as part of their front line forces. They are expected to work along side the men."

"I do not agree with placing women in such situations," Hans commented with force.

"Most of the nurses we have here originally came from hospitals in Cairo. They were sent here when the fighting got worse and I am told, they elected to stay with their patients, rather than leave them when our forces pushed forwards."

"They take their duty most seriously then."

"Yes, Hauptmann, they do. Brave women. When our forces broke through, the hospital was still functioning. What else were we to do with them but make them prisoners of war? So, they continue to save lives and patch men up but now they work in our camp hospital. Because of that we've become the main military aid station for this region which stretches from here through to the coast. Not only bodies to put together but there are also infections and illnesses to deal with. The result of this terrible climate. Wait 'till you get a bout of the raging dysentery. Screws up your insides so violently, you wish you were dead on the spot. Men are useless. They stink. And there is very little can be done. And do you know what the worse thing about it is, Hauptmann?" Specht screwed up his face at the very thought. "The worst things is, nearly everyone gets it! One time or other."

"Sounds disgusting. What do you do about it?" Hans screwed up his nose as the image of some poor soldier bent double with diarrhoea crouching over one of the basic latrines one found in the desert..

"Not much. Wait for the infernal thing to pass. The medics can't help other than give them water. If there is enough to spare. A few never make it. Poor bastards. They just lie on the stretchers and die on the stretchers. There is not a lot we can do. Dehydration. It saps the body until it can no longer hold out."

Hans remembered the terrible conditions he had seen on the eastern front. Men who had been reduced to living like savages.

"Lice and ice in Russia. Dysentery here. Seems there's something to get you wherever you are."

"That's about it. But you won't find any of it in the reports. The leaders are only interested in numbers."

The two men walked between the tents, ruffling the sand dust and leaving footprints behind them. They were like the Bedouin tents: low slung roofs with rolled up sides. They were as hot as ovens during the day and exceedingly cold at night. A foursome sat crossed leg on the ground just inside where the shade provided some protection and played a game of cards. A wide dark wet line on each back clearly marked the sweat line on their shirts. The men hardly looked up as the two German officers walked into and out of the tent.

"Where are these medics . . . the doctors and nurses housed?" Hans glanced around the thick, stone walls that made up part of the enclosure. A platform of grey tent roofs spread in all directions. No sign of any red crosses.

"Way over there. We've given them the luxury of stone rooms. We need to take care of them. They are like gold to the bank."

After they had inspected the medic's quarters, Hans could see why disease could spread so rapidly in the hot climate. Even the condition of their quarters was dismal. Camp beds were crammed together in the two small dusty rooms, each with one squashed, tired pillow at the head and a dark-coloured grey army blanket folded across the foot of each bed. In each corner was a canvas bucket and spade, the only indication of toilet needs for the men once the nightly curfews were in place. The two square window openings and the empty doorway had no cover to keep out any wind so that the sand on the floor, was constantly being whipped into miniature whirls and scattered throughout the air. Sand grains were layered over everything in the room until, over time, every item took on the same rusty orange-coloured hue In the first room, a rough canvas curtain was all that separated the men from the women.

"Is this the best that can be offered?" Hans's tone suggested he had been shocked. "It isn't very satisfactory. The Geneva Convention states that certain conditions must be met. I do not see these conditions here."

"Herr Hauptmann, this is a battle zone. I , I don't think . . . Compared to other camps this is good."

"But you expect these medics to heal the sick and repair the injured, especially when they are expected to deal with our own men. Should they, therefore, be expected to work and live under such trying conditions?"

"When you have been here long enough, you will see things differently, Hauptmann Resmel. None of us like the conditions but that is how things are."

"This doesn't look good." The Hauptmann flicked the canvas wall so that it rippled and sprayed the air with clouds of reddish desert dust. "This canvas screen is not satisfactory. You need to ask for more tents. Several could be accommodated out there. Leave the nurses here and move the doctors to there."

Hans pointed to the corner of an outside courtyard where part of a stone wall had fallen down. Specht brushed the suggestion aside in a burst of anger and frustration.

"Easy to say, Hauptmann but this is war! Everything's impossible here!"

"I am not interested in excuses, Herr Oberstleutnant. Is it not better that the Wehrmacht run this camp rather than other branches of the military? Remember, these people have only become your prisoners because the front lines have moved. Treat them badly now and you may be signing your own death warrant should the fronts move and we become their prisoners. Remember what Generalleutnant Rommel has said."

This time Specht did not reply. He beckoned to a passing guard, and mumbling something about tents and water supplies, he saluted and strode away in the direction of his office. The new man, a young soldier in his early twenties, was left with the job of showing Hans around the rest of the camp: the water tank that hopefully was replenished every two days, the two rough shower cubicles and the stinking latrines as far away from the hospital as possible.

As they were retracing their steps back past the medical area, Hans suddenly stopped and pointed at a nurse who was holding the side of her glasses exactly as . . . His face softened and he smiled to himself as his mind went back to the happier time before the war. A glimpse. The running nurse was in a hurry to get to the hospital block.

"Ach, Herr Hauptmann, you like the look of her?"

The guard hesitated in his step. He laughed roughly, then opened and shut his mouth like a fish, waiting with uncertainty for the reaction. When the answer came, it did so with an air of disinterest.

"No, Grenadier. For a moment, she just reminded me of someone I used to know."

The answer gave the soldier courage and he spoke again,

"I keep clear of her, Herr Hauptmann! Good looks but she has a tongue on her like a whip. I have heard her lash out and I was a good five metres away. A soldier who was taken to the hospital with dysentery told me about her quick temper. Said everyone gave her room, even the British. Shame she's such a snake. Pretty woman like that."

The man began coughing violently, a rough, hacking smoker's cough. Not good in such a climate such as this, thought Hans.

"That 'snake', as you so politely put it, might be a very good nurse, soldier. Remember, she may be more valuable than you!

The guard lost his grip on his gun and spent several seconds fumbling and grasping as it began to slip away from his fingers. Suddenly he managed to wrap his fingers round the butt and prevent it from hitting the ground. He looked at Hans like a pup that had just vomited rubbish. He hoisted his rifle back onto his shoulder and followed his superior.

The following morning, Hans began his interrogation of the two new British officers. A list of the captured men, together with their ranks, had been laid out on the table. As soon as he had made himself as comfortable as anyone could possibly be, he began checking the names of the people he needed to speak to. The first list contained the names of the new prisoners and under that were the names of two of the medics who had requested a further supply of medical supplies from the stores.

"Armkey, Barker, Briddle, Dodge, Keller." Hans filled in the names: one prisoner on each form. That done, he turned his attention to the requests. "Pennyweather, Turn . . . "

Hans's heart missed a beat. He re-checked. It was there . . . Turner. The name seemed to leap from the page and impinge on his mind. He reached and took the 'T' prisoner information file from the shelf. His fingers flipped the pages until his eyes caught the heading he was seeking. He eagerly began scanning its contents until he found the name.

Corporal J.R.Turner, Doctor number 3046623. Royal Essex, medical division.

In a way he was disappointed. Why did he assume it could have been Jan? Why did he feel a tingle of excitement when he first noticed the name? He had heard nothing of her for almost three years so why should she leap into his mind? He sat staring at the name. He almost wished it had been Jan. It would have been good to see her again and know that they could still be friends, inspite of the war. He wondered what she was doing right now, in this war that had built a wall between them, a more impenetrable wall than all their teenage quarrels had ever done. He wondered if she had returned to look after her ageing aunt. Then he remembered she had been training to be a nurse. In London perhaps? That is where she said she would like to be. In one of the large children's hospitals. As soon as he thought of that, he was worried that her hospital may have received a direct hit. He had heard that London had been badly bombed. The thought of Jan lying under all that rubble, maybe wedged under a hospital beam unable to escape as the building burned. He sincerely hoped that was not the case. It was too horrible to contemplate futher so he closed his mind to such thoughts.

He looked at the list of names again but could not get his mind away from Jan. Maybe Jan had been posted overseas like the nurses here. If so, he hoped she was well back behind the lines, maybe nursing in Cairo or some other town.

Jan and Andrea. The two names were intertwined. The thought of Andrea ripped into his heart and made his chest ache. No news. His mind had been forced to create a reality around her, of a happy child in the countryside. Wishful daydreaming. The reality is, is she the child of an enemy? He, the enemy of a child? Or, is she a child of no-one, with no father or mother to protect her in her hour of need?

He began to worry that Miss Turner had grown too old to look after Andrea. And, if Jan had been called up, how would she be in a position to keep Andrea safe? The thought of it churned over in the pit of his stomach and made him feel sick. He realised he did care what happened, to all of them, for they were as much his family as were his aunt and uncle. But, it was a helpless situation: his own daughter was now his enemy. And so it was with Jan. It had been that way since September in thirty-nine when they became officially on opposite sides.

Enemy! That was a far worse name than being the pest she was during their school days. It had never given him much thought before that all those students, the people in the town he had got to know and all the friends he had made were now classified as enemies. Enemies of the Fatherland and that if they were to meet face to face, then both would be expected to aim their weapon on the other, and shoot. He wondered how he would react if ever he did come face to face with any of them: Gerald, Loppy, Robert, or even Jan. How could he treat those friends of his as his enemy? It was a ludicrous situation. Frightening. Ludicrous and frightening at the same time!

He knew he had to push such sentimental thoughts to the back of his mind if he were to survive. He had to, if he was to retain any form of sanity. And that was especially true with regard to his daughter.

'Corporal James Roger Turner, 28 years, captured . . .'

Hans did not know him, yet he immediately felt a connection to him. The muscles of his cheeks tightened as he gritted his teeth. He was still thinking of Jan when Oberstleutnant Specht interrupted his thoughts. He wanted to know if he could deal with the nurse who had made a name for herself for embarrassing the youngest guards. She had an ample supply of female hormones and knew how and when to turn them on to her advantage. The majority of these young men had come from the country and their knowledge of the opposite sex was raw and explosive. They were young recruits who had crumpled under the stress of constant shelling and now were instructed to perform monotonous duties, marching up and down the compund, seemingly guarding injured prisoners, many as young as themselves. And, this nurse knew exactly how to distract their minds.

Nurse Rollings had been implicated in a failed escape plan. Three men who had been caught on the other side of the outer perimeter and had already admitted that the nurse had been their decoy by distracting the two young guards on duty. It was most unfortunate for the group, for as they dropped down off the wall that ran behind the hospital, one of them had landed heavily on his ankle. A few minutes later he was surrounded by a circle of loaded weapons pointing in his direction. With the alarm raised, it was not long before the other two were marched back into the compound.

In the confusion, the young woman seized her own opportunity, and when the rubbish truck stopped and the driver got out to check his front wheel, she unlatched the canvas cover and jumped in. A pair of sharp eyes spotted her and she was hauled out, arms and legs waving in all directions until the guards dumped her on the ground. Hans had been informed of the escape. The men had taken their recapture in good spirits but not so for the nurse. She was proving to be far more difficult and defiant .

The guards had a nick-name for this nurse but they kept it to themselves. Hans had noticed the way, these young ones spoke and laughed among themselves when they thought their seniors were not looking. Nurse Rollings was never very far away and one could not help noticing the curvature of her body and ample breasts even under the cloth layers of her uniform and as she was the youngest of the women, Hans guessed the young warriors poured all their pent up longings and desires on her. It was difficult enough being so far from home but when there appears to be a flirting female, it was no wonder that the young bucks went wild. They acted more like randy schoolboys than disclipined soldiers and because of that, they needed to be kept under close surveillance by their older counterparts.

Two days after the escape attempt, the young prisoner was escorted in to the Hauptmann's office. She was most attractive and Hans could see why young female-starved recruits would be attracted towards her like moths around a lamplight. And, this young nurse knew it.

The two soldiers who remained at attention outside the office door were much older. The Kommandant had selected them most carefully as married men with families to consider would not be so easily distracted from their task.

"Name?" The Hauptmann asked as soon as the prisoner had entered the small makeshift office.

"Your documents tell you that." She was certainly rebellious. Hans looked deeply into her light silver-blue eyes and concluded that they were enchantingly beautiful. However, he had a job to do so it was better to focus his attention on the top of her head, instead.

"Let me make it clear to you, Miss, that if you refuse to co-operate with me, I will have no option but to hand you over to higher authorities. The Kommandant may not able to have you removed so quickly, but I assure you, I have that authority. You either answer the questions put to you now, or I will see that you will be removed to a more secure camp. It is your choice now: you either co-operate with me, or you face a much more difficult interrogation elsewhere."

He leaned back so that his chair rested on its back legs. Laying on the table top was a map together with an assortment of objects and packaged food pieces.

"Your name?"

"Warrant Officer Margaret Rollings, number 4099832. That's all I need tell you."

Hans waited patiently to hear more. He stroked the back of his little finger, and waited. When she offered nothing else, he asked,

"Have you forgotten something Warrant Officer?"

"Sir!" Her eyes clouded over as she spat the word out in annoyance. She stood close to the table, her hands motionless at her sides. She could have been taken for one of those mannequins he had seen in a Kurfurstendamm shop window.

"We found your bag." He emptied its contents on to his table and swiped over them to separate the items into two distinct groups either side of a large envelope. "These things that were inside. How did you get them?"

"I do not remember, sir."

"It is clear to me that these items must have been taken from the hospital stores and these came from our own stores. How did you get them, Warrant Officer?" She glared at her interrogator but refused to give out further information. He removed her file from the envelope and, while he waited for her to answer, tapped his fingers lightly on the cover of a file as the seconds ticked by. "I have your file before me." He opened it. "I note that you are our most junior nurse. Therefore, your value is small. I also note that this is not the first time you have been repremanded, nurse. Remember, Warrant Officer that you are bound by every rule of this field hospital. At the moment, I'm asking only for information about that escape attempt." Hans paused. He was prepared to wait all morning, if needed. Time was not in a hurry in this camp. Time was only something that moved and changed outside the walls. Inside there was only the waiting as though one were within a pause, waiting for battles outside their sphere to decide their fate. But even within that climate, there was a job to do. "Where did the things in your bag come from? . . . Who got you the army rations? . . . They certainly are not of British issue." He waited, this time tapping his fingers lightly on the table edge. Still there was no reply. He leaned towards the prisoner standing before him and spoke deliberately but quietly. "Co-operation is to your advantage. Co-operation will be rewarded, Warrant Officer Rollings. Your forces are miles away. How did you think you could survive with so few things? Do you not know how difficult it is to survive in desert conditions?"

She still remained silent but not subdued. He was certain that her escape attempt was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He was more interested to discover how she acquired German army rations.

"I ask you again: Who got you the army rations?"

She smirked as a thought came into her mind.

"I had to do anything," she answered fluttering her long eyelashes at him and smiling so sweetly he was unnerved for a second. " I had to get out of here. My objective was to reach our lines."

"And you thought that by tempting your guards that it would give you that chance?"

"All men can be bought, especially those who think of nothing else but of female bodies. However, I would rather be flattered by just one of our boys than by any of my enemies."

"If that is how you feel, there is little point keeping you here, nurse! You are no use to us and you have nothing more to offer."

She looked the officer in the eye and said in a soft, melting manner,

"But I do have something to offer, Hauptmann," she crooned, pulling off her small white nurse's head scarf. She watched very closely for his reaction all the while pretending to smile and parting her lips in invitation. "Men out here have only one thing on their mind." Her hair, now loose and free played like waves as she tossed her head. She noticed him blush slightly. "Even a man such as you . . . and, it does not matter what uniform they are wearing, Hauptmann." She mumbled the first part so quietly he barely heard what she said but the end came out loudly enough. She puffed out her chest so that her ample breasts pushed hard against the buttons of her tunic and he wondered how long it would be before the bottons popped.

She looked at him with a hint of interest and ran her hand down over the curvature of her hip. It was the first time she had made any hand movement.

"Fräulein, I assure you, that in my position, I can have the choice of any woman I wish. And, you would not be one of them!"

She looked above him, at the ceiling. She lowered her eyes and smiled tantalising, taking the time to pout her lips. He felt his temper rising and knew his patience has come to an end.

"Anything which upsets the smooth running of this camp will not be tolerated. Meanwhile, you will follow the rules!"

The words tumbled out: You will follow the rules! Those same words had been told to him many times when he was attending Prince Albert College. You will follow the rules! Maybe he should make Warrant Officer Rollings write a four-page essay, too. He imagined he were the teacher scolding the naughty student. If only life was that simple again. But he was no teacher; he was a German officer and he was interrogating a young woman, with enough wild hormones and the body to upset the disclipine of the young recruits. And, besides, this was not 1925 but 1941.

"Who were the young Grenadiers who got you the army rations?

"Warrant Officer Margaret Rollings, number 4099832," she repeated. "I am not required to tell you more."

Hans decided to bring the questioning to an end. Secretly he admired her spirit and courage and although her file said that she was a capable nurse even under the most trying conditions, he knew his duty was to send her down the line.

"You can spend the night under guard. I will speak to you again in the morning. If your mood has not changed by then, Warrant Officer Rollings, you will be moved."

He wrote some comments on her form and then called to one of the guards to take her away.

"You Nazis will never win!" She cried out as the guard prodded her with the barrel end of his rifle. "Rule Britannia!"

He could hear her singing There'll always be an England as she was half-led, half-dragged out of the office and over to where a punishment quarter had been set aside.

The following day was no better. The senior British officer had also been called to the office along with Warrant Officer Rollings. If she was unprepared to make concessions in his presence, then there would be no alternative but to process her and immediately send her away. He wondered whether one of the Italian guards had been persuaded to co-operate with the misfits, but still the woman refused to offer any further information. With such an insolent prisoner, a hand-over to higher authority was the only option left. This hospital camp was not set up to deal with difficult prisoners and Specht did not want the bother. Getting through each day with its draining heat and blowing wind was quite enough to sap the energy out of one and so a quick decision had to be made.

"I'm sorry you have not seen the importance for self-disclipine, Warrant Officer. You will have to be transported immediately to one of our secure POW camps. We do not have their type of facilities. From this point you will be treated as any other prisoner."

He sat looking intently at her wondering what had motivated her to act like that. Could she not see that by flirting with the young soldiers, she was undermining army discipline? A prisoner should show the same respect for discipline as anyone on the field. It was unfortunate for her that she had decided to play such a dangerous game and had she not been caught, what would have been the outcome? It would be sheer stupidity to pretend nothing had happened and keep the nurse with them. She had left him no other choice.

He sent for the senior British medical officer to explain why disclipinary action was necessary. They saluted each other and the British officer removed his hat and stood easy.

"The necessary papers for Nurse Warrant Officer Rollings to be relocated have been completed. You must understand, Colonel, that discipline must be maintained, not only for our soldiers and medical staff but for your medical personnel as well."

"Is there no hope for a reprieve, Hauptmann? I am sure that I will be able to control that type of behaviour so that it will not happen again. She is very young, you know, full of spirit but has learnt by her mistake."

"I cannot wave any decision I have made, Colonel. You had failed to keep army discipline in your ranks and Nurse Warrant Officer Rollings has attempted to undermine the discipline of the German army. Such a disregard of camp authority cannot be dealt with in a lenient manner. Regarding the others: they will be trucked away first thing in the morning with the rest of the newly captured soldiers. The nurse will leave in three days time. Until then, she will be kept under constant guard and you will be denied any further contact with her."

The Colonel watched in silence while Hauptmann Resmel shuffled the papers together and stowed them away in an envelope. He then stood and both men saluted before the Colonel turned and left the room.

Almost a month to the day later, more prisoners arrived as further attempts by the Allies to capture Tobruk failed. The senior ranks had to be interrogated and processed before being transported to camps further from the front lines.

This is one of the drawbacks of having such an excellent fighting force,' Hans thought. We overwhelm the enemy to such an extent that we end up taking all these prisoners and are left with little choice but to send them on to more secure camps.

So far, it looked as though the Afrika Korps could do no wrong on the battle field even with the difficulty of getting supplies through to the front line. The achievements provided quite a boost to the moral of those in the camp who were given the job of guarding the British. There were many evenings when men poured many bottles of good Italian wine down their throats and sang raucous army songs which could be heard thundering out from their quarters. It was usual to find two separate groups of guards ; at one end, the Italians; at the other, the Germans . . . comrades in arms yet not accepted as drinking partners.

Hans did not join in with these rowdy evenings. He preferred to take walks within the confines of he camp, not as a duty, for neither he nor the Oberstleutnant had such mundane duties to perform, but he liked to walk in the cooler time of the day, a time when he could relax and think his own personal thoughts. Duty and obligations. This was not the life he had imagined for himself when he finished his studies and set out in the world. Loyalty is expected, regardless of what one's inner thoughts and feelings were. He had shown loyalty. He had done whatever had been asked of him. But where was the honour in that, sitting behind a desk interrogating prisoners of war? In two months' time his duty here will end and then he will leave and be assigned another task. He hoped to get back into a fighting unit. That is where he would find honour: to be able to play an active role in one of the victories of a winning army.

A few weeks before he was due to leave, Hans, as usual, had decided to make his tour of duty around the camp. Numbers had been constantly swelling as the Afrika Korps overwhelmed the British forces. There were so many prisoners to process: fingerprinting, medical checks, listing ranks and service numbers. Then, there were numerous interviews during which, it was hoped, someone would make the mistake of divulging information, information that might prove useful to intelligence.

With the increase in numbers, it became necessary to transport those prisoners who had superficial wounds to other camps yet those left behind still had very little elbow room and the camp appeared just as over-crowded as it did before. Any man who could hobble around on crutches was only seen by a nurse when his dressings needed changing. When Hans made his rounds, he stopped and chatted to those he could, making small-talk, asking them about their families they had left behind and about army life in general. Not much difference really between the ordinary soldiers of the two opposing armies. Just the top brass. Hans noticed that some of their own men who had been assigned guard duties in the camp were either too soft and vulnerable, or seemed to carry some vindictive streak and had to have their own behaviour closely monitored. Respect and discipline was just as important for gaoler as for prisoner.

Suddenly, the siren sounded. The wail rose and fell and rose and fell. Those on guard let off a volley of shots upwards. At first, it was difficult to see what they were firing at but out of the glare of the desert sun, two armed spitfires crossed the camp and climbed back upwards into the sky. Everyone waited, scanning the milky sky for the return of the planes. But they did not return.

Those men who had crutches waved them wildly in the air as they cheered the vanishing planes in the distance. Camp guards rushed around like sheepdogs trying to herd the unruly mob into the centre square but the dust they had kicked up was making the job more difficult than usual. Oberstleutnant Specht had decided a line-up was warranted and he had ordered an immediate roll-call to be taken.

"Schnell! Schnell! Line up! Line up!"

Everyone was scrambling. Some hopped on one leg as they furiously tried to get their shoes on. Others grabbed at jackets and hats, running and dressing at the same time. Guards zigzagged across the campus all the while urging the mass into some sort of order. Finally, the quadrangle was formed and the rush of bodies slowed down. Rifles were set. Barrels pointed inwards. Hats on. Jackets buttoned. The British senior officer gave the order for attention. Two hundred feet stamped in unison. One huge cloud of dust rose high into the air obliterating the assembled men for alost five complete minutes.

The calling of names began as soon as the air was clear. New names from the intake that had been captured during the past few days. First, the names of the fighting men. Finally, the names of the medical officers. Oberstleutnant Specht stood motionless his eyes fixed on the rear line of the men on parade.

Hauptmann Resmel stood to attention half-way between the main group of prisoners and the smaller number of prisoners who made up the medical corps. First, the names of the fighting men. The roll-call was slow and deliberate. Beads of sweat began to form on every face and shoulders dripped a wet stain down the shirt backs of every man and woman who sttod and had to endure the harshness of the desert sun. As each one heard their name, they took a step forward until the entire block had moved one pace towards the front.

" . . . Smith, Smith - Tooley - White, Wilson, Wittney - Yeoman."

A second voice began calling out the names of the smaller group.

"Abbey, doctor: Armitage, nurse . . . King, nurse; Knight, doctor . . . Newton, nurse . . . Turner"

Strange, thought Hans. He had not noticed that a 'Turner' had turned up before during the medical roll-call. Must be one of the latest arrivals. He made a mental note and decided that at the conclusion of the parade, he would look in the file of the prisoners.

Hans thumbed through the alphabetical pages of the ATS file. Finally he found the 'T' section and continued his skimming until he found what he was searching for. There were two entries under 'Turner': Nurse. R. Turner . . . Rosemary. Captured . . . That was of no interest to him. Entry two: Nurse Second lieutenant. Turner - Janine Grace. Captured . . .

He stopped reading. Surely, it could not be. He read the name again and a shiver went down his spine. He had a sudden compulsion to find out for sure but tomorrow would have to do. Nurse J. Turner would not be going anywhere. Not tonight.

CHAPTER 17

To Catch a Bear

Hauptmann Resmel strode into the hospital section. Most of the medics were prisoners, a mixture of English doctors and nurses and two German doctors who were supposedly in charge. However like most of the medical staff in the North African conflict, English, Empire or German it made little difference to treating the sick or wounded. Doctors and nurses worked side by side, carrying out their duties to the best of their ability.

"Second lieutenant Turner?" Hans asked. "Is there a Nurse Turner here?"

The medics nearby were too busy to answer. Someone must have heard the Hauptmann, for a loud voice called the name out again.

One of the English doctors made his way between the rows of stretcher-type beds, a mixture of sick and wounded prisoners, sick and wounded soldiers from the Afrika Korps. The camp often received the more serious cases sent over from one of the small field first-aid units which were situated much closer to the main front line.

"Sorry, Captain but she went off duty half an hour ago. You'll either have to look for her in the women's quarters or I could send her to you when she comes back on duty at sixteen hundred hours."

The young doctor waited patiently for an answer. Everything took on a time of its own in the camp; healing was often delayed due to the overbearing daytime heat as patients sweated on their beds. Water was rationed and only those suffering from dysentery were given their full ration. The rest had to wait their turn to quench their thirst or wait until the water delivery had been made. Occasionally the truck was delayed and then the body flagged in its duty and every task had to be laboured and forced. Every day, even merely living sapped all their energy. Doctors and nurses needed many periods of rest throughout the day if mistakes were not to be made.

Hans found himself rubbing his little finger.

Funny, he thought afterwards. He'd not done that since he had been in England.

"Send her over to my office, doctor. I will be there this afternoon. Sixteen hundred hours will be fine."

"Certainly, Captain. Anything I can help you with?"

"No. Just send the nurse."

Hans made a mental note of the fact that this young man preferred to call him by the English equivalent of his rank. Maybe it was because he could converse in English far better than any other German in the camp. A few had picked up some English words, just as others had done with German but it was rare to find somebody who could speak so fluently.

At precisely four o'clock, a knock sounded on his closed office door. He had lost any awareness of the time. He was busy with important paper work which he had spread across the desk. Without looking up, he snapped out the usual order to enter.

"Herein!"

The handle turned. Nurse J. Turner entered. She stopped on a spot just inside the office entrance. She waited, watching the top of the Hauptmann's head as his fingers gathered the papers into a very tidy pile. He glanced up.

They stared at each other in amazement and disbelief. He rubbed his little finger; she adjusted her glasses. Finally, his throat was clear enough to speak.

"Jan!"

"Hans!"

Then, they both spoke at once.

"What are you . . ." she began.

" . . . doing here?" he finished.

"I should think that is obvious, seeing how I'm dressed." She indicted her nursing uniform. "Are you as surprised as I am?"

"Yes. Most certainly, yes." Hans stood and pulled a chair from the corner nearest to him. "How is Andrea?" Hans wanted to know everything possible about his child.

"She is well. We never heard a word from you again the minute war was declared." Her voice was full of emotion; a mix of accusation and regret.

Hans forced himself to ignore it. Jan would have known full well that all communications were stopped between their countries. He carried the chair round the desk and motioned to her that she could sit. She did. All the while her steady unbelieving gaze told him that she was having trouble with the situation they were in. He half-sat on the front edge of the table where he positioned himself only a small distance from her. The glasses that divided her face were still very much reminiscent of the Jan he had known before but the face that looked up at him was no longer that of a child but of a woman in her prime. He found that he was pleasantly surprised by her appearance. There was something there that he had never noticed before. Yet he could not decide what that something was. He found himself observing her most carefully until the intensity of his concentration made her feel uncomfortable and she finally dropped her eyes.

"My aunt was told that you had been killed," she mumbled awkwardly.

"By whom?"

"I don't know," she replied awkwardly. She looked down at her lap and played with her fingers. "One of Gerald's friends, I think. Goodness knows where the information came from. We weren't told. Gerald said a friend who had been over in France early on had found the body of a German soldier with the surname of something like yours. Somehow, we assumed it was you."

"There are a lot of lies told during war. Lies become big business." His voice sounded bitter. "You should not believe everything you are told."

"I don't!" Jan answered with absolute conviction. She removed her glasses, wiped them on her skirt and set them back on her face. "I did not say that I thought it was true."

He did not want to discuss the matter further for where was truth now, anyway? Somewhere along the line it had become distorted or lost altogether. Neither could he compartmentalise her as he could the other prisoners. He could not treat her as an enemy but then neither could he be seen to openly treat her as a friend. It was a darned awkward situation to be in.

"Know anything of Robert Brinkwater?" he asked in a casual manner, hoping to calm down Jan's outburst.

"Robert?" She seemed surprised. "Yes. I think he ended up going in to the RAF. Same as Gerald but Robert went with bombers. Beau-fighters, I think. I get news from Anne from time to time."

"What squadron is he with?"

"Can't answer that, Hans. Sorry, that bit is classified."

He let that go. He understood her reluctance and decided it was not that important so decided not to pursue the matter.

"Dangerous occupation. Flying. Is Gerald still throwing aircraft around the skies?"

"I believe so."

"Still with hurricanes?"

"I think so." Her eyes focused on his own military medals . "Flying is not the only dangerous occupation. You didn't get those for going on holiday."

Jan was never one to miss a thing. He shook his head but didn't offer any information.

"I had no idea you were a nurse out here," he said. He had sized up her uniform together with the red-cross symbol over her breast

"Yes," She patted the symbol several times before going on. "On call-up I did nursing at Queen Alexandra's and then joined the ATS, um, the Auxiliary Territorial Services." She indicated the insignia on the top of her sleeve. "Sorry, Hans but that's all I'm allowed to tell you. Idle gossip and all that. We're told to be so careful these days."

He nodded. He understood. She frowned and he could sense that something was worrying her. There was an awkward silence for a while.

Damn this infernal war.

He was finding the situation difficult. The longer he waited and looked at her, the more he was reminded of . . . only this time it was not of Miss Turner. But who?

"The last time we heard you were in England, you did not visit." She pushed her glasses back and looked him right in the eye. "You didn't come to see Andrea and that hurt. She's still your daughter or did you choose to forget?"

The mention of his child again brought the sting of a tear in the corner of his eyes. He had not intended to turn his back on the child. The war had forced them apart. Now he could only hope that the fighting would soon come to an end for it was becoming clearer that only a return to peace would enable him to be with his daughter once more.

"I have never forgotten Andrea! Even though I am not near her does not mean I love her less. I do pray that she is well."

"The last time I saw her she was," Jan replied. "Until I was posted here, we were together. Aunt and I have been her family. She and aunt are still living in the same place but I am not sure you would recognise her any more."

"Who? Miss Turner or Andrea?"

"Andrea."

Hans wondered whether Andrea would ever forgive him. It still hurt him deeply inside for she was all that was left of Caroline. He had to hang on to that, at least.

He thought of the way even he had been enveloped in the promises and glamour of their leaders. The excitement and frenzy had been overwhelming, especially when Renard was around. He had brought his enthusiastic friends home to the family, persuading Uncle Karl that their leader had all the answers to the country's woes and that they were standing on the brink of a new and exciting era. Renard had been especially excited after attending the large torchlight rallies in the city centre or when he had gone to the Lust Garten and told them all about the captivating speeches made by the Führer and his propaganda minister, Dr Josef Goebbles.

So, what promises were made now? Only that to do with the reality of war: a war that was severing relationships and splitting families, not uniting them as Dr Goebbles had promised. It had seemed so simple and straight forward when the National Socialists had promised work for everyone. A promise of an expanding economy in which everyone could work together in the unification of all German-speaking people. Everyone who had struggled for so long from the end of one war to the beginning of this, for whom those promises had sounded so inviting: a new Germany without the troublesome elements that disrupted society and made life a misery, had been sucked into the political frenzy that had promised so much. Where was this new Germany, able to demand respect from all the nations of the world; this new Empire stretching and uniting Europe that would last for a thousand years?

He was reminded of the wedge that had been driven between those he cared most for and his duty as a soldier on the opposite side. He found the thought disturbing and at the same time he was angry with himself for being in such a ludicrous situation. Hearing Andrea's name again scrunched his stomach together as if it had been forced through a tight mangle, the pangs of guilt suddenly making him want to hit out. He stood over Jan and directed his frustration towards her.

"You had no business bringing Andrea into the conversation," he hissed, threatening her with a wild, stormy look. Before he could stop himself, it sounded like old times again. "You can never be mother to her; she is not your child. You should not have come out here. You should have stayed in England. War is for men to fight. It's not a woman's job!"

Jan jumped to her feet and faced him so close that he could feel her breath. Her eyes burnt like two fire coals behind her lenses. He had humiliated her. She was insulted by his rash, stupid comments.

"I didn't train to kill like you! I'm a nurse, not a killer! My job is to heal the injured, not to maim them! And there are many, many men who have their bodies maimed or torn to shreds. You know that already, Hans. You and your rotten guns and tanks and bombs! Look at the mess we're in!"

"England should not have declared war on us. We were attacked!"

"By whom?" A look of shock flashed across her face. She was genuinely taken aback by what he had just insinuated.

"Poland. Polish forces attacked East Prussia."

"How do you know that?" She sounded shaken and breathless.

"Dr Goebbles. When we tried to defend our borders, your government declared war. I even heard your declaration on the wireless!"

"You attacked?" The indignity in her voice was strong. "Get your facts correct. Your leader ordered your troops to advance into Polish territory. You attacked first! Come on, Hans, you would have known! Your lot smashed your way through Poland destroying everything in your path. You set out to destroy the place!"

His ears were closed. Anger had made him deaf to her words. He did not like it that Jan was so forceful. It was too much like the battles they had before.

"The strategy of warfare is for men!" He retorted, spitting the words out in defiance. "Men are the generals and commanders. Keep out of things you don't understand!"

He had expected the old Jan to rise against him again. Instead, she moved a step further away and this time looked mournfully him like a plaintive pup.

"Oh, Hans, how you've been fooled. Propaganda. You said we should not believe everything we hear. Oh dear, I fear you have been taken in by deceit and lies."

He had not thought of it like that. He knew the official versions that came daily in the broadcasts were a stretch of the truth but the papers that arrived on his desk from the Abwehr, pointing out the failings of those on the opposite side, he had considered to be much closer to the truth. He had thought of his superiors as being honourable men who were more loyal to their country than to the leader and men like Ott. As the seed of doubt entered his mind, he was angry with himself and ultimately with what Jan had just pointed out.

"Why did you have to come into a war zone, Jan? You should have stayed in England! Stayed with your aunt and with Andrea!"

"Wait a minute, Hans. I was sent, like you. And, secondly, you were the one who left your daughter. Without me and aunt, she would be in an institution. I think more of her than you do, and she's not even my child." The eyes behind the glasses blazed. The muscles around her mouth were taut. "I would hate to see the child brainwashed and turned in to a little Nazi, like you. Thank goodness she is still in England!"

He was going to say something but the warnings of men like Pfinger made him change his mind. If anything did get back to the top brass, Hans knew his life would not be worth living.

Jan was also at the point of losing control of herself. In her emotional turmoil, all that she had endured came gushing to the surface, overwhelming every sensible response in her mind and body.

You should have stayed back in England! His words played with her mind.

"Do you really think I didn't want to stay?" Tears began to well up in her eyes. "Aunt and I love Andrea. Aunt's like a grandmother to her."

"Neither of you can replace Caroline," he said dryly.

"By law we can," she retorted.

His eyes narrowed as a nagging doubt as to his connection with Andrea surfaced.

"What do you mean by that?" His eyes narrowed as he waited for her to retaliate.

"Andrea Grace. Oh, work it out, Hans. You could never have legal custody of her. Not now, not ever. The authorities would never allow it."

He reeled back from the realisation of what Jan was trying to tell him. It had become a tug of war for possession and he was angry that Jan seemed to have won.

"What? How could you!"

"Andrea Grace, Janine Grace . . . the authorities think there may be something in that."

"The Grace family did not even recognise Andrea as their granddaughter. They did not want anything to do with her. And her mother was their own daughter!"

"It is your fault the authorities regard Andrea as an orphan. Can't you see that?" In an automatic gesture, she pushed her glasses hard against the bridge of her nose. She was frustrated and angry at the same time.

"What could I have done?"

"You should have married Caroline before Andrea was born, that's what."

"I did what I could. I sent you money for her. Doesn't that count?"

"You still should have stayed and looked after her. In England."

"And you should have stayed in England and done your nursing there. You have no right being here. None what so ever!"

Jan's nostrils flared and her eyes flashed like incendiaries. She pushed her glasses firmly backwards and he knew he had now pushed her over the brink. She shook her brown hair free from her nursing cap which fell on the floor, and at the same time, her cheeks glowed with flames of anger she now felt.

"Maybe, this will show you what I think of your treatment of your daughter, Hans Resmel!"

The flat of her hand slapped his cheek, leaving a red blotch on its surface. He was too astonished to react. Never, in his entire life, had he been treated like this, not even by Jan when they were younger. But they were not children now: he was an officer and she his prisoner. To have struck any officer, a German officer, was one of the most serious of offences and carried one of the worst kinds of punishment. Such prisoners usually disappeared very quickly and even the most inquisitive of war correspondents could not uncover their whereabouts. Jan Turner was poised over a very dangerous precipice.

Hauptmann Resmel quickly regained his composure. He reached behind him for his cap and carefully put it on. He straightened the front of his uniform and slowly drew in a deep breath to control his nerves. He said nothing. He did nothing other than stare at her. He just stood and stared.

Slowly the realisation of what she had done got the better of her and Jan slumped down on to the chair. She cradled her head in her hands as a flood of tears fell unheeded onto her lap. Hans had never seen Jan so emotionally broken up. Her vulnerability shook him up.

"I think we'd both better forget that outburst of yours," Hans said quietly. He touched her on her shoulder, aware of her shaking body vibrating beneath his hand.

"I . . . I don't know what came over me. I've never done that before. I thought I was over everything . . . it was just seeing you . . . and all that about Andrea . . . and . . . "

She sobbed bitterly into the palms of her hands. Her tears tricked between her fingers and made her nursing apron wet. He had never in his life seen Jan Turner so upset.

She raised her face and he could see that her tears had made her cheeks and the top of her uniform wet. She wiped her hands several times down each side of her uniform skirt before she was able to regain any composure.

Hans waited patiently. His body had relaxed again. He had learnt to be patient when one of the new recruits broke down under the frightful burst of eneny fire. Slowly, he walked to the door and stood with his hand on the handle.

"It is best that you leave, Jan. Go. Forget it ever happened."

She could not believe it. He had shown her no real animosity and had just indicated that what had passed between them, would remain between them. Until tomorrow, perhaps. But eight days passed before she was called back to his office.

"New orders have come through. Tomorrow, I leave for Germany. You see, we are both pawns. We do what our masters demand and we have no choice."

There was no anger in his voice, nor displeasure in his face. He spoke his words with care, looking at her most intently. His change of manner totally surprised her. She stood by the doorway, her body bent over with despair.

"I suppose we do."

"Jan, we cannot keep having these outbursts with each other." He reached out and placed an arm around her shoulders. "The world may be at war but you are no enemy of mine. We've known each other too long for any real animosity to come between us. After all, you said there was Andrea. I realise the child means a lot to you. She means a lot to both of us and we both want her to be safe and I am pleased that you've taken an interest in her." Jan remained quiet. She wanted to hear what he had to say, for perhaps his words would give her some indication of hope. He continued, "What happened the other day will never go outside these walls. Your outburst never happened. I'd like it to stay that way."

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Something just snapped. Like the old days. I thought I had got over all that. I was angry with you . . . and myself. Maybe it was the shock of meeting like this or because of this blasted war. I didn't ask for this to happen. I guess you didn't, either. But both of us have been thrown into this conflict. Oh dear,Hans, I don't want us to be like that photo on my aunt's wall."

"Ach, ja. I'd forgotten that photo." He smiled at the recollection. It seemed detached from him for it was taken in another world, and yet . . . . He expressed his thoughts out loud as he remembered. "Each one on the opposite side. Neither surviving to see the end. I hope that will not be the same for us."

"Do you have to go?"

"No choice. Duty must prevail! We all have to follow the rules!" He spat the words out with contempt. Jan moved a step closer towards him and he could feel the warmth of her body through his tunic.

"I hope aunt doesn't hear those words. They have quite a frightening meaning today. I am resolved to live through this, Hans." She put her hand deep into her skirt pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was of a child, happy and laughing. About ten years old. "Here, take this," she continued handing it to him. "Hold on to Andrea. She's the only link we have with each other now. I'd rather like to think of us as . . . "

"Friends?" He suggested.

Jan hesitated for a minute or so. She had wanted to say that they were more than just friends but in the present conditions, she was prepared to accept that as being so.

She nodded and he tucked the photo into his identity card and put it back in his top pocket. Then, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "We can still be friends, even now, Nurse Janine Grace Turner." He smiled warmly at her and she felt that old tingling feeling rekindle her fervour for him. "You know, until now I never knew your middle name before," he laughed.

"My mother's maiden name."

"Like Caroline's?"

"Yes, like Caroline's."

"We can certainly never be enemies, then!" His words were earnest, yet firm. He thought of the short time he had had with Caroline. He had loved her so much. And then as his mind wound back the years, a sudden revelation took hold. It was that look again, that hint of something he had been unable to grasp. Now it was staring him in the face. It was the Grace look, the same way Caroline had looked at him and now he could see it in Jan. It came as a cruel connection, for now he was able to recognise it, a most terrible war was tearing them apart and there was nothing they could do to prevent it from happening. He took Jan by the hand and squeezed it emotionally. "For a few minutes, let us forget the war."

When he finally released her hand, she let it drop limply by her side. She smiled, a warm soothing smile and he felt the pleasure of a deep friendship bind them together.

"Now Second Lieutenant Turner, let us celebrate our friendship, and forget the war." His tone was lighter, his manner more genial. He reached into the cupboard behind his desk. "May I offer you some something to drink?"

She found she could not speak; no words would come out of her mouth. His actions had astonished her; she was completely taken by surprise. He filled two mugs with wine and they sat side by side: a young English army nurse and a German officer. Together, they sipped the wine. She had not tasted anything so good for a long time.

"Is it French wine?" she asked.

"Italian. It's flown over when there's room."

When he had emptied his small glass, he got up and walked behind his desk. She heard him open a drawer and there was the faint rustle of paper. He walked back round and handed Jan a brown envelope.

"You may need to use this. Take great care of it. It's your ticket for safety, if you ever find yourself in a difficult situation. I've written a letter . . . written out an order . . . stating that your safety should not be compromised. If you are to be moved from this camp or if you have any cause for alarm, just show this to any officer and you will be well looked after. There are orders and rules. From the ordinary soldier to the highest officer of the Afrika Korps, Generalleutnant Rommel himself. Orders are obeyed. To the letter. This letter. It's the least I could do." He laughed at his pun.

Jan was stunned. He must have written that letter shortly after their first meeting, even before she had time to make any amends for her own outburst.

"But why? How?"

"You need not know why. How is of no consequence. It is important only that it has been done. I wish you well, Jan and hope one day you will return so England. Let's both hope things will be better next time we meet. In England again. I may even see you in London sooner than you think."

"After the war. But that may take years."

"England still may decide to join the Reich: the greatest army in the world together with the greatest navy. One never quite knows!"

Jan held out her hand, the flat of her palm towards him as if she were touching some invisible wall.

"I don't think so, Hans. That . . . will never happen. Mr Churchill would never join forces with your present leader."

"Maybe not." He gave a small laugh. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?" There was an air of slight amusement in his tone so that she could not fathom if he were not being entirely serious.

"Not in London."

"Then it will have to be in Berlin."

"I don't think I could take kindly to Berlin. How about Salzburg?" She attempted a little laugh. "Isn't that where you'd really like us to meet?"

"Yes, much better." His face lit up into a wide smile as he savoured the image. "In Salzburg, then."

She turned the envelope over several times in her hand.

"Thank you for this, Hans. I'm most grateful. I hope you haven't taken too much of a risk." She took the envelope, adorned with the Reich's black swastika of officialdom, and folding it in two, pushed it deep into her skirt pocket. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I hope it will be of use."

He put on his hat, ready to escort her to the outside just at the same moment when she turned around and made a hasty move towards him. Before he could react, she placed a brief kiss on the very cheek she had so cruelly slapped only a few days before.

"Please forgive me, Hans. I want us to leave with good memories. Keep yourself safe. Some day, all this will end."

He escorted her out of the office and down the steps and as he watched her move away and merge into the background, he wondered what fate had brought them together again. He reflected on the unusual coincidence of their meeting and wondered whether their paths would ever cross again.

On October 3rd, 1941, Hitler addressed the German people:

I declare without any reservation that the enemy in the East has been struck down and will never rise again.

By October 20th, the Nazi armoured divisions spearheaded their attacks and were poised ready to take Moscow. Everything in this war was moving along splendidly, just as the Führer had foretold. Very soon, the propaganda minister told them in his broadcast to the forces, the Russian Bear would be shackled and would only be capable of dancing at the whim of the invincible Nazi leader.

For several weeks, the land link with the occupying forces failed as tanks and trucks ground to a halt. The late autumn rains had set in; the Rasputiza or mud period had arrived early. The lines of communication needed to be re-connected if the campaign were to be successful.

Hauptmann Resmel opened the folder containing his new orders. He wondered whether Sturmbannführer Ott had had something to do with it. It was frightening the way those in the SS were able to have an influence over other military departments. It was not usual policy to move a man away from his assigned unit but Hans had been told that this was only a temporary position and that he would rejoin his unit as soon as the assignment was completed.

In the meantime, the few weeks leave he was due would give him time to enjoy the comforts of home again and become more acquainted with Fräulein Kohler. He had welcomed her letters when they arrived even though three or four would arrive at the same time.

His staff car pulled in to the curb just infront of the exclusive restaurant which overlooked the Spree boats sliding up and down that part of the river which flowed through the picturesque part of Berlin's Mitte. There was Elisabeth in a smart, tailored skirt and jacket complete with narrow-brimmed hat, gloves and handbag. She waved, then walked quickly towards him, grabbing him first by the arm and then running her gloved hand up until she touched his shoulder.

"Father booked a table for us, Erwin" she said smiling. "It's been paid for and everything so all we have to do is enjoy ourselves."

"I did not expect this." Hans had been taken by surprise and was at a loss as to what he should say next. He was finding things difficult being first torn away from a regimented army life and now being thrown back into a bustling, vibrant city in which anything to remind him of the war seemed out of place. It was an adjustment all servicemen had to make every time they were given leave.

"We do not have to get the train, either," Elisabeth carried on as they walked arm in arm through the front glass doors and into the large hall of well-presented white draped tables set for fine dining and companion conversation. "Father has arranged for his chauffeur to collect us at two but as he is new and not as familiar with the city as Horst was, it may be some time after two when he arrives." She laughed and fluffed up the back of her hair as one of the waiters approached them.

"Major. Can I be of assistance?" The man was stiff but most polite.

"I believe you have a table for Herr Resmel and Fräulein Kohler."

"Certainly, Major. Will you come this way?"

"After we can sit and watch the river ferries and I can tell you everything that has happened since I saw you last." Hans let Elisabeth go ahead. When they reached their table, the waiter pulled out a chair and indicated that the young lady sit.

A few well-spent days with Elisabeth and a far gentler life consisting of dinners, concerts and conversation was exactly what he needed to remind him how good life could be and for the things he was fighting for. But when he really thought about it, it made little sense. He had noticed this time that food was not as plentiful as before the war and that the expressions on people's faces were more weary and drawn. Were these the people he was fighting to protect? He guessed that his English friends would be thinking that they were doing exactly the same thing: protecting the homeland, the families and their way of life. He looked at Elisabeth, hanging on his arm, content to be with her hero, living for the moment because what was to follow would sadden her again.

It was always an upsetting time when one had to part. Hans never knew whether he would return to savour the comforts, however slight, of normal domestic life. But Elisabeth did her best. She was his perfect hostess and never complained when he fell asleep in any one of the plush Kohler armchairs which he did frequently during the first week of leave but Elisabeth was always there, watching over him whenever he awoke.

Outside, the air was cool and the clouds hung low. After the desert heat and the hot, glaring sun, the misty mornings in Neubrandenburg seeped like freezing riverlets between the layers of his clothes and his skin shivered somewhat. Only two weeks; not enough to allow his body to acclimatise before his new orders were to catapult him into far colder regions. He told Herr Kohler that it would not be a long campaign and he hoped to be back within a month and a half. He had only been assigned to the job to make sure reinforcements and provisions got safely through to the divisions in the east.

The last reports sent back to those in charge of the front, was of the army convoy trying to push forward across the flat northern plains. The armies needed more tanks, more men and more food and with this delivery, a new thrust could be organised. In reality, their vehicles had become bogged down in sticky, squelching mud. The convoys tried pushing forward, men digging out tyres and straining their shoulders like draught animals to keep the vehicles moving forward. It was imperative that supplies get through to the front lines but progress was painfully slow.

Temperatures had begun to drop rapidly. The first sleet showers tore into the men like knives, wild winds tugged at their army coats, trying to pull them up into the billowing black clouds. Without thick gloves, their fingers began to freeze so that the foot soldiers could no longer hold on to their rifles. Men cried out in pain as the toes of their sodden feet began to turn purple. These men had not been equipped for such rough conditions. They had been told they would be home again by November at the latest.

To compound matters, the following convoys of supply trucks became further and further spread out along the route as communication between them and their command headquarters ground to a halt. Lashing blizzards set in. The biting winds howled across the land and the sweeping snowstorms buried everything in its path until there was only a wide whiteness that stretched and became one with a distant horizon. Soldiers froze while their bodies became hardened monument mounds for the dead. The heroes of the Reich and Soviets alike had no soft graves in which to rest. Ice crystals were their blankets, stiff and brittle beds were all they were given to silently share the miseries they had witnessed in this wasteful war. Those left alive became a miserable collection of half-starved wretches shivering and cursing in louse-ridden fox holes; two armies facing each other, praying to the same God for an end to their continual torture.

Full communication channels were finally resumed early in December. A faint, intermittent wireless report got through to the headquarters in Poland, giving details of a reconnaissance battalion of the 258th Infantry division being in sight of the final objective . . . the Kremlin in Red Square.

Just after daybreak the following morning, a weak, broken and crackling message came through from the front. Hundreds of men had been mown down and lay like dead locusts across the fields. The entire Infantry had been forced to pull back.

On the 4th, temperatures had fallen to sub-freezing degrees. Into this vast winter hell-hole Hauptmann Resmel finally made contact with the surviving units behind the front lines. But . . . not in any condition to please the Führer. The glorious army consisted only of a scattering of shivering, demoralised men, together with a handful of junior officers who had survived the attack.

"What the hell are we supposed to be doing here? This is sheer stupidity!"

The young officer in charge was at his tether's end. Command had been rudely thrust on him before he had the experience or age to lead. He had managed to gather up the remainder of men in his unit and lead them to the relative safety of a group of badly shelled farm buildings in which they could wait for the blizzards to subside. He was pinning his hope just as much on food and blankets as ammunition and tanks to survive, for without the basics, there would not be enough men left to fight or withdraw.

At first the soldiers had greeted Hauptmann Resmel and his men with high expectation. Supplies had got through but they were scanty supplies and bellies were full for only one meal. Tinned sausage, dried potato and something like soup soon elaborated the truth of their isolation and the mood of desperation began to re-emerge.

"Can't those bastards in Berlin see what's happening out here? It's suicide! Total madness!"

"Damn the odd PKW they send us. We need more blankets and food. Hot food. How can an army survive on these scanty bits you have given us? We'll starve if we have to rely on what we manage to prize off the peasants round here. By the time we reach a village, there's nothing: no animals, no crops and no stores."

A long-suffering soldier, young and in his early twenties, yet old and worn down like a man four times his age, sat staring into his metal dish at the fat and pork pieces floating in a sea of broth. Despair had made him bold. Bold enough to throw his reason as to why the ground troops were beginning to crack.

"There's nothing left because our Stukas have shot the place up. And the Russians have burnt down anything that remained. How the hell are we supposed to fight? No food, no blankets, no bloody ammunition and the way things are going, no bloody soldiers left to do the Führer's fighting!"

"Keep your thoughts to yourself, man, if you want to survive!" The warning had come from another of the men who had drifted towards the new arrivals.

"Where are the tanks we were promised?"

"We need more ammunition first!"

Complaints were fast and furious. The men felt betrayed and forgotten. They had been ordered to plunder the countryside and smash buildings. They had driven the inhabitants away as their tanks and their trucks had pushed further into the Russian heartland. Now there was nothing: burnt out hulks that had been tanks amid deep snow and empty fields. Only winter darkness, coldness and the constant howling of an biting wind were there.

We're doing all we can, they were told. But those were empty words. Their rescuer had little to offer. He had lost a quarter of the supply vehicles on the way and it would be days before the rest of the convoy would appear. They would have to dig in and continue to wait their turn. Orders had stated most clearly that Hauptmann Resmel must go as far east as possible until he made contact with the most easterly front line army units but with only a handful of extra troops, his problems were compounded and solved nothing.

The mud froze. The ground became as hard as concrete but at least the remaining supply trucks and tanks were able to move forward again. They slowly scraped their underbellies over the icy mound between the deep wheel-made ruts on either side. If an engine stopped, it remained silent for ever. Men dug, pushed and shouldered those vehicles that still ran, taking turns to coax them forward for neither day nor night gave rest for either machinery or men.

Finally, Hans managed to set up new depot centres along the way. It was just like an expedition to the South Pole he had read about but he hoped he would be more successful than Scott and bring his men through. Slowly his unit edged forwards until it felt as if they had reached the place where the sun itself arose but his efforts had paid and he had opened a pathway to move supplies and equipment to those soldiers on the front lines.

There was hardly enough time to take a breath before they heard the announcement that Germany was at war with the United States. The Reich was to fight the largest industrialised country in the world. An even greater effort would be required to satisfy the endless demands of this monstrous war machine.

CHAPTER 18

Africa

Hauptmann Resmel was back in Germany by early December. A light dusting of snow brought back memories of the eastern front and he could not keep out the dismal thoughts of the floundering battalions struggling back from a snow-bound Russian landscape. What he had seen this time nourished his seeds of doubt about Hitler's war. Like many of the front line veterans, die alte Hasen, who had lived through the hardships of the eastern front, Hans found himself becoming distrustful about some of the things Goebbels was broadcasting about this war. This time when he visited home, he found himself arguing bitterly with Uncle Karl, especially when he was told how marvellous everything was going for Renard on board one of the North Atlantic wolf-pack submarines. Renard's exploits were far more interesting and he had always been seen as the one who was prepared to take risks . . . and seemingly delighting in relating them.

What did his uncle really know about the war? Uncle Karl could only see the extra business and money it had brought him. Renard was securely canned in his tin boat, secretly sneaking under the surface of the Atlantic. In his letters, Renard only wrote about the excitement and the thrill of the hunt. He did not share in the intimacy of suffering and misery that Hans had witnessed on the battlefield. How could he, when all Renard could see was a far-off death plunge of some huge metal-hulled whale through the end of a periscope?

Hans had been close enough to witness some of the unbelievable cruelty that one human being could do to another. The battlefield was not for those who were sensitive or weak. It was a cruel world.

One evening, after Uncle Karl and Aunt Laura had gone to bed, Hans was able to talk frankly with his younger brother.

"Stay out of this mess as long as you can, Axel. I do not think this war is doing any of us much good."

"I've never agreed with what the government is doing." Axel hoped he could trust his elder brother for he was putting his life on the line. "I dread Renard's home-coming. All he does is talk politics and how great everything is since the National Socialists have taken over. But what does he know? He is not here to see the misery his friends cause. And he boasts to uncle about his submarine and how good the hunting is and how every woman on this planet worships the ground beneath his feet."

"What do they say about sailors? A whore in every port?"

"I hope not for Hertha's sake."

"Hertha?"

"His latest. Did you not know his marriage is in tatters?"

"I've suspected as much but Renard has never come out with it."

"He's not convinced me that every woman on this planet worships him like some Tutonic god. His female companions never seem to last and I wonder how long Hertha will put up with him. All he talks about is how the National Socialists will end up ruling the world. He really does believe in the thousand year Reich."

"I doubt that will be the case, Axel. But what about uncle? What does he think? I get the impression he has changed."

"Ach, uncle's all for them now. With Renard's blathering and party funds helping, uncle's business is now being propped up by cheap, cheap labour."

"From where? I thought most men have been drafted."

"Foreign labour. Brought in from countries we control. Poles, Czechs, Belgians and Dutch among others. They do not want to work for us but they have no choice because they have no rights."

"And that has made uncle a happier man?"

"Not really. He's always on edge. He has quotas to fill and orders to obey and we have to watch the workers all the time. Sabotage is rife."

"I see." Hans looked seriously at his brother as he knitted his brows tightly together.

"Uncle moans about the extra taxes he now has to pay. Good for one's position in society, it is said. A handful of money goes a long way to keeping certain officials at bay and it keeps them in a happy mood. Cannot say that about his workers."

"They do not like working for uncle?"

"Would you on meagre rations and long hours? It is slave labour by any other name. Surely, your department knows something about that?"

Hans did not answer his brother's question. It had nothing to do with the department he was under. Each department had a duty and they kept their noses out of the affairs of others. It was better that way, if you were to survive scrutiny from the Gestapo or SS.

He walked casually over to the sideboard and took out two glasses.

"Beer, Axel?"

"Thanks."

Hans filled the glasses and joined his brother at the table.

"You still work at the factory I gather?"

"Yes. Not as an engineer but in an advisory capacity, on paper, that is. Uncle tells them the production would fall without my input."

"And would it?"

"Probably not but they are not to know. I just fill in the forms and add up the numbers and keep my head down but I'm not happy about it. I do know someone from my university days who has been trying to help some of the workers in other factories but I don't know if I am ready for that."

"Do be careful, Axel. What you are thinking is extremely dangerous."

"I realise that but in the meantime, it pays my bills." He took a long drink and the beer froth covered his top lip like a moustache. "I'm glad I'm not in your position . . . a man at the front. I don't think I could ever harm, let alone shoot another human being. It's against everything I believe in."

"Matter of having to when it's a case of shoot first or be shot. War is no fun, Axel, whatever Renard may say."

"I've already come to that conclusion. I've not walked around the city like a blind man. I have seen those who have been injured." He leaned forward towards Hans and dropped his voice as though the room had been bugged. "I've seen what those black-shirted thugs do to those who are forced to wear the star."

"You mean the Jews?"

"Yes."

"Come to think of it, Axel, I have not seen many around the city this time." Hans poured more beer into his glass and offered the bottle to Axel.

"No thanks. I still have plenty. The Jewish areas we used to know have all but disappeared. Have you heard what is going on?"

"Nothing more than general gossip." Hans sat upright and leaned back against the chair back as if distancing himself from the subject. "If there is anything more, it will be classified and consequently has nothing to do with the department I am attached to. Our area is only concerned with gathering information about enemy prisoners but from what little I have heard, is that the Jews work for the Reich in return for their keep."

"I cannot believe that applies to all of them."

"The papers I have seen say that special family labour camps have been set up so they can be close to their work. The government line is that those who are fit enough now have to work for us rather than milking the German public as they had done in the past."

"They can't all be employed in the factories and such like, can they?" Axel appeared genuinely concerned. "What about the older ones or children? It just does not add up in my books."

"Do not openly question the official line, Axel. It is too dangerous. They need to be able see your loyalty. Never dare to say what's on your mind. That, you must keep to yourself. You realise, brother, I have never spoken to anyone as openly as we have done tonight. What we have discussed could be taken as treason by some so I ask that our conversation goes no further than these walls, not even a mention to aunt or uncle."

Axel swallowed the last of his drink in one audible gulp and began telling Hans about what he had seen a week ago in one of the side streets not far from Leipziger Platz. As he began to describe what he had seen, Axel drizzled the rest of the beer from the bottle into his glass. He described how he had seen one of the black-uniformed men kick a young woman for no other reason than she was wearing a yellow star. That act of violence on the street had made him feel sick and he wanted very much to go over and punch the offender. The worst of it, he lamented, was that no-one dared interfere and acted as though it were just a normal part of everyday life.

" . . . which it is now," he concluded, looking deeply into his rocking glass of untouched beer. "Where has our humanity gone when people aree prepared to look the other way and do nothing?"

"I do not have an answer for you." Hans gritted his teeth and the muscles in his cheeks grew hard and unyielding.

"Why should I turn a blind eye to such cruelty?" Axel clenched his hand into a ball and banged heavily down on the table.

"Careful, or you will have that drink over," Hans warned.

"Damn the drink! It's only beer! Why should people do things like that?"

Hans felt upset by seeing his younger brother in such a turmoil.

"I can't understand how Renard can be so friendly with such men!" The words exploded and bounced around the kitchen walls before Hans had time to think about his own association with men like Ott and Streiter.

"Shh! You keep your voice down." Axel hissed the warning like a deflating tyre and pointed upwards at the ceiling. "Uncle might hear. He thinks Renard's the hero of our family."

"Do you?"

"He's been decorated twice. I guess that makes him a hero."

"And do you really think that makes him one?" The question was quite sneering in its delivery.

"Renard certainly acts that way whenever he comes here on leave. He brags about how good life is for him in the Kriegsmarine."

They discussed the war a little longer and then Axel made a disparaging remark about the propaganda minister.

"Now you take care, little brother. Drink your beer up and learn to hold your tongue. Criticising the government is a crime. In my case it would result in an instant court-martial. For you, it may mean death." Hans warned his brother by stressing the words with his finger.

"I realise and I would never say anything like that if uncle was around. University taught me more than just my studies. I heard what happened to those students who were against the Nazis . . . and I do not intend to go that way."

"So keep well away from any anti-government groups, Axel. Don't get mixed up with them or it will turn out nasty. I'd like to think I will be around to see the end of this war. And I hope you will, also."

Axel got up and took his glass to the sink. When he returned, he patted Hans on the arm in brotherly comradship.

"Renard tells us you are going out with a lady from Neubrandenburg." Axel swung his head downwards and grinned into the face of his older brother. "Says you have him to thank for that."

"Possibly." Hans was giving nothing away.

"Come on, Hansie. He said he has a friend who has connections with a well-to-do family . . . and . . ." Axel edged around the table, stepping his fingers lightly around the far corner. "He said you have already met the young lady and . . ."

Hans found this annoying. He was now angry with both his brothers: Renard for his interference and now Axel for his curiosity. He did not want to discuss it. Not yet. His answer to Axel was curt. He was tired

"I'm off to bed! Another early start." Hans picked up the empty glasses and took them to the sink. "Good night, Axel."

"Is it true, then?"

"Good night. Axel!"

"Will I see you in the morning, Hans?" Axel looked upset over the rejection he had just received.

"No. I have things to do and I am leaving early so, good night, little brother!"

Hans lay in bed thinking about his life and the war; the happy domestic life Elisabeth could offer him and the pressure for him to do his duty for his country. He tossed and turned as his mind raced through the recurring images he had seen on the Eastern Front. The area had become a horrible playground for the young recruits who were learning how brutal laws became bed-fellows with the offerings of war. Was their leader using Germany's youth as a pawn in his fantasy for hate and revenge on all the peoples of Europe? Had they been feeding a hungry tiger which, in turn, would devour them as well?

Hans heard the hall clock strike two. He still had not dropped off to sleep. He was uncertain of what he should, or could do. Kill or be killed was the only law that governed men today; ordinary men who had, only a decade ago, been shopkeepers, teachers and bankers; farm labourers, blacksmiths and tool-makers. And now? To refuse orders, would mean instant death. There was no way out of this hell. Fighting and slaughter had become the fuel, greedily feeding upon the living until they, too, succumbed to it's ravenous appetite.

The newly promoted Major Erwin Hans Resmel used up some of his leave by taking the S-Bahn into the city centre. He found Berlin glitzy and glaring after what he had got used to in the war-torn cities of Eastern Europe. The traffic was still as busy, the people on the streets still filled the cafés and restaurants and the large red-swastika flags lining each side of Unter den Linden gave the city a colourful festive appearance, and yet there was little gaiety or family atmosphere. So many of the young men were absent and those he saw were mainly middle-aged or elderly. There were uniformed men, like him but they were not free but shackled like pawns to a monstrous machine that neither slept nor cared. The young ones he saw were the girlfriends and wives, the mothers hurrying their children along before the Humpelmann came to claim. These were the young of the Reich.

There were still enough privileged people capable of popping countless bottles of bubbly. They were the Party supporters, doing the entertainment rounds in hot-pressed uniforms and chin-mounted iron crosses, conspicuously accompanied by their richly dressed women companions with lavish exotic fur heads and legs dangling front and back. These people made sure city life was as exciting as before the war.

As Hans walked further, he noticed several small clusters: young men, soldiers who had been given leave, only to be re-indoctrinated with the propaganda, in the hope it would strengthen their resolve, before being thrown back to the fighting on the front lines. These voices were loud, boisterous and drunk. They were many who lived their short lives to the full, frequenting the pubs and whore houses or filling the many of the cheeky musical shows that ran continually between one show and the next.

The city was now a foreign world for Hans: exuberant and bawdy, affluent and prosperous, crowds mingling and jostling between canals and streets that surrounded Berlin's Mitte; some of those hoping to glimpse their beloved Führer, if luck was on their side. Yet, even within seemingly relaxed social engagements, war conversation was never far below the surface. Ears strained, ready to pick up on any hints of disloyalty, a betrayal of confidence that deceived the friend. Hans hoped that Axel really did understand.

Axel was, so far safe. As long as he did not re-new certain friendships from his student days, his younger should not come to the notice of the Secret Police. No call up papers, so that was good. Many new recruits were being called up and sent to prop up the Eastern Front but how many had any hope of returning home?

Uncle Karl never stopped talking about Renard. He was becoming a bore. The Atlantic had become Renard's permanent home, either on or under the sea, or resting in the northern French town where the submarine docks were. He had written to tell everyone that he had his own command of one of the most modern U-boats.

Neubrandenburg was far quieter than Berlin. The war was remote here and life was more relaxed wihtin the walls of this quaint Medieval town with its red brick gates and its old, historic houses. No wonder that Herr Kohler spent his free weekends here whenever he could get away from his Berlin office. They were the perfect hosts, Herr and Frau Kohler, and Elisabeth delighted in telling him all about her job with the girls in the Bund deutscher Maedel. She insisted he should accompany her one afternoon and watch the girls go through their exercises of dance with music that was becoming so popular with the young women of the Reich.

"We are told that we all need to keep our bodies strong and healthy if we are to provide the Reich with strong baby boys."

During the rest of the week Herr Kohler insisted Hans join them each afternoon for a meal. It would be to his benefit to engage in conversation with top army officials who were invited to the Kohler house. It was a different world from the one of the serving soldier. Hans discovered very quickly that one did not discuss any of the realities of war, only how wonderful the Führer's new initiatives had been in bringing happiness and health to the new children of the Reich.

Duty called and for almost a month, he was away again. He missed Christmas except for attending a midnight mass in one of the small stone churches near to where he was stationed. When he met with Sturmbannführer Ott again, he was quietly reminded of his other duty concerning Elisabeth Kohler. And so he felt an obligation to devote all his free time to accompanying the daughter of Herr Kohler to various entertainment venues where they could be seen in each other's company.

The Kohler family was well positioned in society. Herr Kohler ran an important business from his city office. What he did was never said but he had been given the position shortly after the Nazis had come to power. Elisabeth had let it slip that it had something to do with Ott. This man had a lot of influence and it did meant that Herr Kohler would be forever in Sturmbannführer Ott's debt.

Shortly after the second week in January Hans and Elisabeth were married. It was a lavish affair. Elisabeth arrived at the church in one of Ott's large cars, together with chauffeur and footman. Herr Kohler spared no expense in demonstrating to the people of Neubrandenburg that his family was now one of the most important families in the town. He paid to have the main street leading to the church draped in flags and Ott found a guard of honour to welcome and honour his daughter on her wedding day. People opened their front doors and came out on to the street as the highly polished limousine slowly drove past. Elisabeth felt like an Empress and Herr Kohler was well satisfied with the investment he had made.

Renard did manage to attend the ceremony. Uncle Karl had pressed Hans into asking his elder brother to be his best man, for Renard had already sent word that he would be available on the wedding day. However, Renard did not stay long. As soon as formalities were over, he excused himself saying that the love of his life was waiting and her needs were paramount. He was talking of his submarine, of course. Hans was relieved to see him leave. Not to have a conversation with Renard would be a relief for it was difficult to remain polite and courteous once party, politics and duty were introduced.

Sturmbannführer Ott was an honoured guest. He saw to it personally that the newly-weds received their national gift: a leather-bound volume of Mein Kampf.

"Neither of you will have an excuse for not reading our Führer's words." Ott bowed his head forward and clicked his heels. "But we will permit you to wait a little until after the love-making, my friends! There's little on that subject in here!" He held up the book and swept it around his head so that everyone could see what a beautiful copy it was. From every table there was stiff, subdued laughter, the like that was forced to appease. Ott strutted between the tables like a parading bull, grinning to tables left and right until he reached the bridal one where he carefully placed the book in front of the bride and groom. His voice reached every table in the room and probably even beyond, for Ott wanted to make sure everyone heard.

"As every good citizen on their wedding day, you and your beautiful new wife should be honoured and proud to receive this book. Mein Kampf. This one has been signed by the Führer himself. Heil Hitler!" Ott turned and faced the guests. His right arm extended in the Nazi salute. "Heil Hitler!" He barked like a performing sea-lion.

Immediately the entire room stood to attention: guests as well as those serving the wedding breakfast. Everyone raised their arm high into the air.

"Heil Hitler!" The sound of voices in unison exploded around the room. Ott turned to Hans and spoke with a low, deliberate voice.

"Look after this book well, Major. It will guide you in your duty to the Führer and to the Fatherland. Consider its message well."He poured himself a glass of champagne from the wedding table and held the fizzing container high in the air. "A toast! To the bride and groom! Major Erwin Resmel and his beautiful wife Elisabeth! Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil!"

His new wife was extremely happy. Elisabeth Karla Udele Kohler had found herself the man who would father the sons she would bear for the Reich. Sturmbannführer Ott was another who was well satisfied that day.

Herr Kohler had found the newly married couple a small house on the outskirts of town Only eighteen days remained for Hans and Elisabeth to organise themselves into married life. Hans thought Elisabeth charming and very efficient but he could not love her as he had loved Caroline. Maybe, in time, he could hope to find love again. Maybe, in time, he could learn to cherish his new wife in the same way he had cherished Caroline. But war had little time for love. Duty had to came first. A man's honour only came through success on the battlefield and Elisabeth desperately wanted a hero of her own to impress the girls and young women of the Bund deutscher Maedel. Love, honour and obey; not only for her brave warrior husband but for her Reich that would last a thousand years.

There was little time for the newly-weds to get to know each other or to enjoy the trappings of family life. As long as the new Mrs Resmel was satisfied with her husband's standing, together with her role as his wife, Hans was content to let it be. Elisabeth's National Socialist training had been thorough for she knew exactly how to be an excellent war bride.

The morning call from the Tirpitzufer office broke the spell. The Abwehr had another assignment and Hans would be given his new orders in a few days' time.

The clock kept ticking away the minutes of domestic happiness and the hour for departure arrived. Duty called and duty had to be obeyed. Herr and Frau Resmel both knew that. Elisabeth put her face against the thick double-paned window and searched for the car she knew would arrive on time. A large black Mercedes pulled up in the street below and stopped directly outside their house.

"I think that must be your driver," she said, straightening the curtain a moment before turning to her husband. "I have put everything you need in your suitcase, Erwin."

"You think of everything, mein Schatz." He gave her a peck on her cheek. Hans closed the lid and lifted it off the bed. "It is a lot heavier. Goodness knows how you managed to get everything in. Are you sure I need all these things?"

"I think you do," she said, curling up to his free arm. "We have standards to keep now and my hero must be well prepared." She looked at him and laughed. "Mama insisted I buy you new things to wear. So there."

Elisabeth decided to accompany her husband to the small military airport on the outskirts of the town. It was a bleak, grey day with blanketing cloud which hung ominous and low. Large spots of splattering rain began falling as the driver opened the rear door of the black car and opened a large umbrella. The Major began to climb out. Elisabeth slid across the seat and made an effort to follow.

"No, stay inside. You can just as easily watch from here and as soon as the plane's taken off, the chauffeur can drive you home."

Elisabeth loved and admired her husband as much as any wife in the Reich was expected to do. She had been deeply attracted to him from the first moment of their introduction and now he had been promoted to Major, she knew that she would have regular invitations to wine and cheese evenings put on by other very senior officers' wives. She would have a busy schedule, and time would pass very quickly until his next leave.

"Take care, Erwin," she implored him in her soft, Mecklenburger accent. Elisabeth always referred to him by his first name as she considered 'Hans' rather too countryside and unsophisticated for the office he held.

He laughed flippantly and brushed her concerns away. He was pleased to be back with a fighting unit where comradery and action went hand in hand.

"Don't worry. I won't let the Tommies get me. Don't worry, Elizabeth!"

"But I do, Erwin. I do!" She partly wound down the rain splattered small window until she could look over the top, looking at him with pleading puppy-dog eyes and fluttering her heavily mascaraed eyelashes in his direction. Elisabeth never had even a hair out of place, so perfectly manicured and presented she was.

"With our famous Feldmarschall in charge, we'll soon wipe them out of Africa." He laughed under the umbrella and glanced in the direction of his waiting plane. "Might even decide to stay near Tobruk on a more permanent position." He turned back and faced her, grinning like a cheeky schoolboy. "How would you like to live there in all that endless sun?"

"Erwin, you shouldn't joke about such things." She knew the time had arrived for him to grab his attaché case, and leave. "Poor dear," she crooned. "I know you've got to do your duty. I could never leave all my friends here. Sun or no sun, I'll wait here until you have your next leave."

"Shouldn't be too long, Elisabeth. In six months, maybe."

Elisabeth wound the window right down and wrapped her white-clad, delicate gloved fingers around the smooth top of the glass.

Hans bent back into the vehicle and pecked a kiss on the side of her cheek. The chauffeur opened the boot lid and took out Major Resmel's suitcase which handed to a Grenadier for loading on to the plane.

"My brave Major! Stay safe, my darling!"

She blew him several kisses as he walked away.

Hans walked across the concrete towards the plane before turning and giving her a quick wave with his free arm. She blew him a white-gloved kiss in return.

"Have you loaded the bottles of wine and cigarettes yet?" he asked the navigator.

"Yes, Major." The man saluted. "All accounted for and ready."

"Excellent! Let's go, then."

Just before he ducked his head to enter the fuselage, Hans turned once more and waved. The car was still on the concrete pad. Elisabeth's white fingers were still folded around the glass. Then, in the next instant, he vanished from her sight. The door was shut, the engines fired and the aeroplane turned and thundered down the concrete runway. The tail lifted and a few seconds later, it climbed into the air only to be quickly swallowed by the low grey cloud. Out through the cockpit window was a grey curtain of nothingness. Only the constant loud hum of the engines told its passenger that they were in the air.

Elisabeth sat listening as the engine noise got fainter and fainter until all she could hear were the increasing splatter of raindrops hitting the windscreen of the large black car.

The plane flew a zigzag course to take them over towards the Sudetenland and then turned in a slight south-westerly direction to cross the Austrian lowlands before setting a final course to head south, flying down the eastern coastline of Italy. They had been flying for many hours and fuel was beginning to run low so the navigator made his way down the fuselage to inform the Major that they would soon be landing. The pilot selected his aerodrome and as the droning plane broke cloud, Hans could see the unfamiliar ground nearing as they made their approach and adjusted the flaps for finals.

"Major Resmel."

The Italian officer gave the fascist salute as the Major stepped on to the concrete taxiway.

"Heil Hitler."

He hoped that the rumours were true that this officer knew some English, for the Italian spoke no German. His English was bad but at least it was worth a try.

"Mos' sorry . . . there be, is a . . . " He groped for the English word.

"Delay," added Hans, for he had already been forewarned that this refuelling stop would take far longer than at first anticipated.

The Italian officer was relieved that the Major understood.

"Si certo. Exactly. There is a trouble." The Italian pointed upwards into the partly clouded winter sky. Hans nodded. He looked upwards but saw nothing but sky overhead. "Two, three, cinco." He held up five fingers to make his message more easily understood. "Aeroplanos, Major. Inglese . . . Americano . . . they . . . " He used his hand to show how the enemy aircraft had appeared and swooped out of the gaps in the clouds and sprayed their bullets over the airfield.

"When will it be safe to take off, then?"

"Momento . . . in one o'clock, maybe two."

"Two hours? That would be too late to reach the next field. Ask someone to arrange some accommodation."

"Day shon?" The Italian officer was puzzled.

"Hotel."

"Ah, si, si . . . alloggio. I understand, Major. First, you have a drinka. Good café in aeroporta. Drink lotsa good. Then I see for 'otel."

Hans slapped one hand on the back of the other. He spoke, frustration in his voice.

"I was hoping to be in Southern Italy before nightfall and to have landed at Mareth the following day. Scheisse!"

Such a delay would mean that he would not arrive in North Africa on the designated day. He would have to send an encoded message via radio and give the code word for day. All messages had to be sent under the strictest orders, for to use unencrypted ones would be to tempt an attack and death. With war now on two fronts, German forces were being stretched and situations compromised. One did not dare take unnecessary risks. The flight, itself, was risky enough: low, skimming the sea, not enough height if anything went wrong, a speeding tube, sweaty palms and thumping heart until the safety of the African airfield was reached.

Although the fighting in North Africa was still progressing well and Rommel's Afrika Korps was still making quite a name for itself, the fighting forces in Russia were almost in a state of collapse. Both sides were exhausted, yet the battles struggled on. Goebbels kept making his promises and German wireless broadcasts kept repeating that it was the Red Army that was near to collapse. Hans had secretly managed to locate a wireless set of his own on the black market during his time in Berlin so he could furtively tune in to the BBC broadcasts from London. What he heard in those news items was at variance to the news from home. By the end of March in 1942, a BBC news report revealed that of a total of one hundred and sixty two combat divisions in the East, only eight remained effective for any sort of offensive missions.

A letter from Elisabeth had told of Ott's anger when he heard that several of his senior officers had been taken from his Berlin office and sent out to the east but as to the reason, she only wrote that an eastern victory was just round the corner. She had no idea that fresh reinforcements were desperately needed and that men were being dragged from one fighting front to the next before collapse was total. There was great fear that troops would become demoralised if they heard such truths, so an even greater effort was made to hush up such information. Wireless broadcasts were made only to inspire soldiers to push themselves further and harder for the glory and honour of the Fatherland.

No better sacrifice, no greater honour could be attained by our heroes; they go to their Valhalla as we sing our glorious praises. Through their sacrifice, we will ultimately triumph! Long live the Führer! Long live the Reich! Long live the people! Heil Hitler!

Goebbels did not say anything about the one million men who perished, or the utter despair of those who had managed to survive. But Hans knew. And others in the Abwehr also knew. Hans knew because he had been witness to a truth that was blanketed under a pile of lies.

Better news came from the Kriegsmarine. In the Atlantic, U-boots were sinking seven hundred tons of British and American shipping a month. By September, Dr Goebbles made the figures look astounding. In his daily broadcasts, his speeches constantly reminded the German population that their troops stood guard over the Reich from the Arctic Ocean to Egypt and from the Atlantic Sea to the borders of Central Asia.

There is nothing to fear for the might of the Reich is great. For a thousand years our people will look on this as one of the finest years in our history. Your Führer continues to guide us along this path to greatness. His greatness shall be your greatness! Germany's greatness reflects the greatness of its leader! Sieg Heil! Heil Hitler!

However, the fighting man, those who were on each front, knew of a fear their masters refused to heed; a fear of failure because of a lack of resources. There were simply not enough trained men; not the expected number of guns, tanks or planes; not enough raw materials to keep the increasing appetite of the monster in check. All the time, their leader demanded that fresh divisions be thrown into the fight. He forbade any withdrawal along the Eastern Front and, in a fit of rage, demanded the same for Africa. Rommel was just preparing to attack El Alamein.

"What the bloody hell are we supposed to fight with? We need weapons, not bottles of wine!"

Officers screamed at each other. Their words were the same: Eastern Front or North Africa. Always the same. Words to attack flooded in every direction out from Berlin.

"As the propaganda minister keeps promising a swift end to the war and victory for the Fatherland, why aren't the supplies coming through?"

Hans could only point out that in their case it was because Britain still controlled the sea and air routes. He knew that the men of the Afrika Korps would do anything for Rommel but to lose large numbers of them because of a lack of supplies was stupid. Britain was too well organised and even trying to bring in supplies by night did not stop the convoys of trucks being destroyed by the RAF. Never-the-less, Rommel received a message from Hitler himself demanding that he throw everything he had into the new offensive and hold fast. Every Panzer, man and gun was to be on the battlefield: for victory or annihilation.

The day began, as usual, now cold and damp as a warning of the winter rains to come. Battle lines were bloody as neither side was prepared to move back from its position. Rommel had a total of one hundred thousand men, of which half were men in his Afrika Korps. The rest were made up of Italian battalions still under the leadership of Italian generals and officers. The German officers complained that the Italians were not interested in fighting any more. Moral was low as news filtered through that more of their troops had been taken prisoner and together with food rationing, there were those who were only too willing to throw in the towel. Yet there was a glimmer of hope. Under strict German discipline, success would prove to be theirs.

Rommel was a leader who considered his men first. Against Hitler's orders, he withdrew his troops from the offensive battle positions at El Alamein and prepared to dig in and hold. For a while there was a stalemate but by early November, British tanks penetrated the Axis lines. The foot soldiers, mainly Italian, were left to surrender in vast numbers as the remnants of Rommel's divisions fell back. They regrouped near Benghazi. It was an impossible position to be in: only a fraction of his battalions had survived and they had been left with little to fight with. To survive, the Afrika Korps was forced into sending raiding parties behind the lines.

Hans, with his excellent knowledge of English, accompanied them on several excursions, listening for any conversations that may be to Rommel's advantage. Sometimes, they would be gone for a week and when hope was fading of their return, they would re-surface as soon as it was dark. Other groups executed swift, short-burst attacks on the British forces in the hope of obtaining the much needed fuel and supplies their army lacked.

Towards the end of November, Hans received word that Elisabeth had provided the Fatherland with a baby boy who had been born on the 20th October. The men in his unit congratulated him but when he would be able to see his new son, no-one could say. Elisabeth had named the child Siegfried Erwin Lothar Resmel; Siegfried after the great Wagnerian hero, Erwin after her husband and Lothar after her own father. She had written that with such names, the child could do nothing but grow into a wonderful boy, who would later serve his Fatherland in a most heroic and noble way. Towards the end of her long letter, she mentioned that Renard had been home on leave and had popped in to give his congratulations.

Renard was so proud to be an uncle that he has given Siegfried a beautifully made model of his submarine which he painted himself but Erwin, my dear, I wished in my heart that it had been you who had walked through my door. You would be so proud of our beautiful baby. He is such a good baby . . .

Letters from home were now taking longer to arrive as ships and planes ran even more of a risk trying to cross the Mediterranean and there were increasing occasions when letters never arrived at all.

As a group of senior officers came together for a meeting under the canvas covering of their General's tent, Major Resmel quickly outlined the latest information concerning enemy troop movements he and his group had found out during their last excursion a few days before. Blick picked up his locked attaché case and drew out the new set of orders.

"Now, gentlemen, we have new information and it is our duty to interpret what we have." He moved over to a long, tressle-table and rolled out a detailed map of the North African region where the fighting was taking place. "Anglo-American forces have made landings in these areas. They have taken here, here, and here." He pointed to several places on the map. "Here's the main thrust of General Montgomery's forces." He thrust his finger, this time, heavily over the positions. "As you can see, we are surrounded on several of our main fronts. Now, it is the Feldmarschall's opinion that . . . "

Having got business out of the way, General Blick insisted that they stay a while longer to celebrate the good news the Major had only just received with one of the last remaining bottles of Schnapps.

"It's not every day that we have something to celebrate. This baby will cheer us all, especially when we are celebrating the birth of a boy. I ask you, gentlemen, to raise your glasses and toast the arrival of Siegfried Erwin Lothar Resmel."

General Blick held high his glass, came to attention and downed the small amount in one small gulp. There would be no more alcoholic drinks. It was to signify another Christmas without cheer and a New Year without hope. Like their enemy, the men of the Afrika Korps fought the heat, dragged themselves across an unforgiving arid landscape and picked the blowing sand grains from out of their teeth and eyes, having to remain alert and ready to throw all their energies into battle when required. When news filtered through about the bitter, bloody fighting among the frozen ruins of Stalingrad, Hans sat with those veterans, who had been transferred from the Eastern front to the desert, and listened as they talked among themselves about the difficulties they had faced since the time they had been conscripted.

"Hell, I don't know where I'd most like to be," moaned Grenadier Ketten, one young old-hand in despair after a visit to relieve himself, "in this God awful place where I pick sand either out of my teeth or out of my arse; or out there where the ice seizes up the fingers and freezes our balls off! Which ever way, pissing's a pain!"

He finished buttoning up his flies and packing away his trowel. Those around him laughed loudly, not because of what had just occurred but because each one knew exactly what it felt like.

"God, I hate these biting flies. They find every bit of free flesh. Look at my arms! Just look at them!" The soldier rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and stretched his swollen scratched arms out for all to see. "The flies never let up!" He swatted several of the million flies hanging around in the air just in front of his nose. He spat a gulp of dry air in the sand. He sneezed and a small black dot with legs fell out from his nostril.

"You should've seen the big boil on Kurt's arse!" Another Grenadier leaned over and patted the seat of his trousers. "Sat on a hot rock. Burnt him like a hot-plate!"

"Shrapnel's worse." The soldier patted himself down the right side of his body. The others had nick-named him Willow because his injuries had made his torso lean slightly to one side but he took it in good spirit. No one referred to him as Wilhelm any more.

"Agreed, Weide. Copped some myself. Got me in the leg. Only good thing was I went home for a few weeks. Fräuleins, beer and real sheets."

More raucous laughter. Ketten sat down and hung his head until his chin touched his chest. He coughed and spat but his mouth was so dry no spit came out.

"Spit it out, Ketten! Spit all the bastard sand out! Get it out! Get it out!"

"Get it out! Get it out!" chanted the men.

Hans understood that these men needed these brief moments of respite in which they could laugh about themselves or curse the horrible conditions. Yet these times could also open the window to graver things, like battle fatigue or shell-shock. Hans noted that the lad who sat there trying to rid himself of sand could not have been more than nineteen but he already coughed with the lungs of an old man. Grenadier Kurt Ketten had experienced it all: the ice and snow horrors of the Eastern Front; the stink and fly hell of the desert.

What a hell of an existence for one so young, Hans thought. What are we doing to the youth of our country?

Ketten sat flushed green and bloated in the face, looking like a blown-up frog. He had spent most of the morning heaving as his congested lungs tired to expell mucus, together with smoke and inhaled sand grit.

"You smoke too much. Better give up those cigarettes, Ketten before they do you in!" Someone in the group called out.

"Scheisse! It's not those. It's the sand! And the heat! And the shells! And the bombs! And, and, and . . . they say we're winning! They keep saying we're winning! But are we winning? Really winning?" He looked up and there were small tears trickling down the indented lines of his sandy cheeks. "It's men like us, arme Schweine, who do all the dying! Not those in Berlin!" He pulled at his gritty limp hair in despair. "Why here? Alone. Alone in this hell-hole."

Hans made his way across to the young soldier and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"How old are you, Grenadier?"

"Nineteen, Major. But I'm almost twenty. In a few weeks."

"We are with you, Grenadier Ketten. You're not alone. And in a few weeks we'll help you celebrate your birthday."

"Danke, Major." Ketten looked up. He still felt too shaken to stand. His commanding officer understood.

"In a few weeks we'll all help you celebrate your birthday. In the meantime, keep your wits about you, Grenadier. Think of your parents back home and that one day how surprised they'll be when you walking back through their front door. This can't last for ever. Think of that, Ketten. Got a girlfriend?"

"No, Major." Ketten was beginning to pull himself together again.

"Why not? A good looking guy like you should have plenty of girls after him."

"I was in the Hitler Youth a year ago, Major." Ketten swallowed hard and swiped more flies from his face. They had been drawn to him by the few drops still left on his cheeks. Like the men, the insects were also short of water and soaked it up wherever they could find some. Ketten flicked more away and managed to smile slightly as he continued. "I liked that. It was fun. Camping in the forest, tramping, pretending to be the great defenders. I felt like a hero. We all did. Then I was sent here. I was told I must prove myself. Prove myself. What does that mean, Major?"

"Dig deep and keep your head down. Stay alert. Any man who returns home will be the nation's hero." Hans beckoned to one of the older men. "Look, Ketten, Obergefreiter Mäuschen will look after you, won't you Mäuschen? You'll share the pit together. You won't be alone, Ketten. Mäuschen might even play you something on his mouth organ."

Not that the mouth organ was still pleasant to listen to. The sand had even wriggled its way deep into the blow holes so that now, when Mäuschen played, the tunes sounded odd and strange.

"Thanks, Major. It's the shelling. That's the worse part. In the dark, night after night when we walk. Don't know if it's coming just for me half the time."

"You won't hear the one that gets you, Ketten." Mäuschen lit a short stub end of a cigarette and handed it over. "Just arrives! Wheeze! Boom! That's it . . . finish. You won't know anything. I've seen plenty of corpses, especially in Russia. They don't care. They're out of it."

"It's not that, Major." Ketten still directed his words to the officer. "If it just takes my leg off or blows my guts outs and I'm still here. Alone. You'd have to leave me. Alone out here. That's what scares me most."

"Ketten, I've told you we won't leave you. So don't think about it." The signs were all there: the rocking, the shaking, the nightmares and confusion. Hans knew this soldier wasn't far from cracking. "If you think about it, you're inviting it to happen. We wouldn't leave you alone for the Desert Rats to finish you off. Now pull yourself together. We're a team." Mäuschen crouched down beside the lad and put his arm around Ketten as he rocked back and forth. "We fight as a team,"Hans explained. "We support each other, like Mäuschen is supporting you now."

"Sorry, Major."

Kurt Ketten looked like a despondent child.

"Here." Hans opened up his jacket and took out his brandy flask. "Have some. It'll calm your nerves. You're a good soldier, Ketten. Remember that. And, . . . the Afrika Korps is still the best. Richtig?"

"Jawohl, Major."

In Russia, by 24th January, only a few scattered remnants of Paulus' army remained but Hitler still forbade any surrender.

The Sixth Army will hold out their positions until the last man!

Finally, on February 2nd, 1943, at 2.46pm, the last shot was fired. Ninety one thousand German soldiers, half-starved and frostbitten, wounded or dazed, wrapped in blood-soaked blankets, hobbled to Siberia, driven over ice and snow by the soldiers of the Red Army. The battle to take Stalingrad had come to an end. The Propaganda Minister did not broadcast that.

Hans was aware that the army was pulling back in North Africa and this time the retreat was demoralising. There were rumours that large numbers of prisoners had been taken by General Montgomery's 8th Army but until the small part of infiltrators returned, that news could not be verified. Dispatches began to come through with the news that even more British and American forces had landed in North Africa. It appeared the fighting would intensify.

Back in Berlin, the Führer spent most of his time raging, blaming the ground soldiers and their commanders for betraying the Fatherland.

Any soldier refusing to stand and fight will be shot for high treason and cowardice!

The net around the Afrika Korps tightened. Hitler recalled Rommel. The rest of the men were left to defend themselves to the best of their ability. Their leader, Adolf Hitler, had forsaken them. They could only move at night when the cover of darkness offered them some protection from the keen-eyed fighter and bomber pilots of the enemy forces. With no fuel, they dragged everything they could by hand over the towering sand-dunes and between the orange, silent rocks. With diminishing resources, they scavenged the countryside looking for discarded bits of machinery and weapons which could be used to repair those they still had. They hoped to regroup but so far only fragments of units struggled around over the desert sands. They rationed their precious rusty-coloured water and tins of food that had been their staple diet during the previous months and prayed that somehow they would survive to see another day.

In the early weeks of April, fighting was extremely fierce. Of course, the propaganda ministry at home kept the exact truth of this away from the general public. For the generals, it was the beginning of depression and surmounting shock that would begin to erode their belief that they could win. Only nine divisions remained, spread along a 160 kilometre curve between the mountains and the sea. The men took refuge in the deep gullies and ravines, huddling around wadis and any water supply for fear of dying from thirst. They sought any protection against the screaming shells and whining bombs. Their objective now was to retreat and regroup, to find the Panzer Divisions, if any still existed intact.

Then, during a sustained heavy barrage just after Easter, General Blick got hit; his head blown clear away. Major Resmel's command, or what was left of it were cut off from the rest of the army. They struggled to keep the single transport vehicle operative but by the end of the week, the engine finally gave a final cough and came to a dead halt. Nothing they did could coax it back to life.

They moved by night and rested by day but progress was painfully slow. Hans was as good as his word. The wounded were carried as best they could until there were too many to continue on. They sensed the Desert Rats were not far away.

They dug into their position among rocks and damaged tanks as best they could, trying to keep their heads down as the net was drawn tighter. Spasmodic fighting continued for a few more days and it was now apparent that there would be no way out of the situation other than in a body-bag. Supplies were now dangerously low as the last of the food and water was rationed further. The only ammunition left was in their rifles. The Major gave orders that no bullets were to be wasted on unnecessary targets and, if at all possible, the possibility of life should overrule death. He instructed his men only to respond to fire if their own life was in jeopardy.

At each sunset they could feel the cold of the evening crawl across the barren scarred landscape and creep up the trouser leg, biting a pathway into the bone itself. Without blankets and cover, the men shivered in the clear chill air, waiting for any slight indication that another barrage attack was about to begin. But for two nights everything remained calm. There was not even a hint of a flare or explosion anywhere near them,

Dawn broke just as peacefully the following day. As the sun climbed higher, the heat became unbearable. Everything not in shade cracked and sizzled. Lookouts had trouble keeping watch and had to be rotated every few hours. Major Erwin Hans Resmel strained ears and eyes to keep track of the situation. Fragments of speech broke into the long silences as men tried to reassure themselves that they were not alone.

'Got a cigarette left, Fritz?"

"Sorry. Smoked my last several hours ago."

"Who was the b . . . b . . . blasted one who took my biscuit?"

"Damn you and your biscuit. You should have eaten it when they were handed out."

"Stop belly-aching!""Well, someone did. We've got a thief in our midst."

"Shut up! Have mine. Go!"

A small tin of dry biscuits was launched into the air like a shell. The moment it was caught, it was dropped on to the ground.

"Mein Gott, Walter, this metal's come from a blast furnace!"

"What did you expect in this heat?" the thrower called over. "Try touching the side of that tank wreckage and see what that does to your hands!"

Having sorted out the biscuits it went quiet for a while. The men knew they would have to move themselves and the injured round the rocks and wreckage as the glaring sun inched its way across the sky. It was better at night. Cold but at least one did not have the burning and dreadful thirst.

They scanned the desert and rocks around them.

"What can you see? Hey, let me have a look."

A battered pair of binoculars that had been found earlier half submerged in the sand were handed over.

"What can you see?"

"Nothing!" The answer came from behind a rock. "There's no movement at all. It's too hazy to see clearly."

Over to one side, about two hundred metres away, several muted voices could be heard singing a verse of Lilli Marlene.

Mäuschen must be playing again, Hans thought.

"I wish they'd shut up," someone complained. "I'd like a nap."

"Siesta time," another commented. "Maybe the Latin's do have the right idea."

"Shut up, will you!"

It remained quiet well into the late afternoon. Then as the sun dipped towards the far hills, a barrage of shelling began. The period of quiet had come to an end.

In the last few hours of the afternoon of April 18th their position was heavily shelled. One of the unwelcome arrivals landed close to the small group which had been sheltering close by the Major. Kurt Ketten was one of those who was killed. Blown to bits from a direct hit. At least the boy didn't have to suffer. His nightmares would torture him no more. A splinter from the shell had hurled itself outwards to strike Hans deep in his left shoulder. It felt at first as if he had been kicked by a mule and after a few minutes, when nothing more appeared to be happening, he began to wonder whether he had been mistaken. He felt no pain although he found it impossible to raise his left arm much more than a few centimetres from his body. Slowly blood began to ooze through the thin material and stain his shirt and he became aware of a stabbing, throbbing pain which radiated downwards through his spine and into his leg. The old wound he had there complained and made the damaged muscles of his leg ache. He gritted his teeth, and managed to keep the pain at bay as he called the names of the men around him. A young, inexperienced boy of no more than seventeen or eighteen crawled forward from behind rock and squatted down beside the Major.

"There's some of us over there still able to fight, Major." He pointed to the group of rocks from whence he had come. "Many injured in that last round. Some bad." The young soldier noticed the bright red stain that was turning into a large black-red mark. "You're hurt, too, Major."

"Never mind that. What about over there by the tank?"

"No-one's left, Major. They had a direct hit. You're our last officer. Unterfeldwebel Mand's an old hand. He's not far from here."

"Where is Mand?'

'Over there. Behind that." The boy pointed to a large chunk of rock that jutted out of the ground like monument making a statement. It was not so far away from where Hans' group had taken refuge. The Major weighed up their respective positions. They were too scattered and too short of ammunition to wage a counter attack.

"How long have you been fighting, lad?" asked the wounded officer, squeezing out his words between the pulsating bouts of pain. Across his shoulder and down his arm, his uniform was turning bright red.

"A few weeks, Major. This was my first real go. My mate, Udo's crouched over there with his hands over his ears. At night, he rocks and screams like a frog. He's been like that ever since the shelling's started."

"You all right?" The boy nodded. "Have we anything that's white?" asked his commanding officer.

"No, Major."

"Verflucht! It's obvious they've got us well surrounded." He winced as he took a deep breath. "Not much we can do about that. To try and make a run for it . . . day or night . . . now would be suicide. They'd tear us to shreds . . . and to fight on would be sheer stupidity. Surrender's our only option. We'll have to offer our surrender. It's senseless to carry on to the last man. Think you can crawl over to Mand?"

"I'll try."

"Good. Keep down. Tell Unterfeldwebel Mand to report here." He flinched as he tried to shift his position. "Are there any more flares left?"

"I can find out for you, Major." The boy seemed eager to please and carry out orders.

Young men, like these, are a credit to any unit, thought Hans. Pity such lives were candidly wasted in such senseless ideals.

The young recruit scrabbled away, ducking and twisting with the dexterity of a rat over to Mand's position and then returning in the same way with the Unterfeldwebel crawling with difficulty behind.

"Ah, Mand. Good, you've found some. We may have to fire a few flares first. You'll have to get the men to lay down their weapons. Those severely injured need attention. There's to be no more shooting. Understand? My old wound on my leg is also giving me a problem. I'm finding it difficult to move about. I'll give up my Luger when the Tommies come over. Go, now!"

Mand did his best to salute. It was a military salute. This time there was no 'Heil Hitler.' He had not done that for many months.

Hans saw that Mand had put up a white flag and that its movement must have caught the attention of the enemy for the shelling ceased abruptly. They men waited a full eighteen minutes for the surrounding soldiers to walk, guns ready for action, towards their position. As the British got closer, the soldiers of the Afrika Korps popped out from behind the rocks and held up their hands.

It was an American jeep which rolled out from cover and headed first towards the white flag and then over to Hans. Tied to their aerial was the white flag Mand had been waving. Immediately beside the driver was Mand. The vehicle stopped a few metres from where the Major was leaning, his head resting on the side of a huge rock that had been his protector during the last few days. Mand was in the passenger seat, a rifleman just behind.

An officer in a British Commonwealth uniform stepped out from the rear seat and walked briskly up to the Major. Hans swayed a little. He used the edge of the rock as a support and managed to salute. The officer came to attention and saluted in return. Hans took out his Luger, removed his gun belt and handed them both to the officer.

"Major Erwin Hans Resmel, Afrika Korps. I request that you accept our surrender. I speak on behalf of them all. I have forty three men left, three severely wounded and a further eight needing medical attention. The rest have all been killed."

"Your surrender is accepted, Major. Your wounded will be treated. Consider yourselves prisoners of His Majesty's Armed Forces together with the Armed Forces of the United States of America in North Africa. Please give the order for your men to put all weapons in front of my Sergeant, over there."

"Unterfeldwebel Mand will see to it, at once." Hans spoke quickly to Mand who had been escorted over. Mand saluted and left. They could hear him bark out the order. Immediately, the war-weary soldiers of the Afrika Korps made a line and as the file came closer to the British officer, machine guns, rifles, shells and the remaining bullets were thrown down to make a pile. The men then remained in lines, awaiting further orders from their commanding officers.

Four other vehicles had since arrived, bringing British and American soldiers who would provide an armed escort until the two hundred men reached some form of prison camp. A tall sandy-haired American walked up to Hans.

"Major, I see you've been wounded." He indicated the entry point, using his own body, hoping the German Officer would understand. Hans nodded.

"I'll manage."

"Allow me to drive you back to our lines. Our medics there will fix you up."

"And my wounded men?" asked Hans. "They need help. Some are a lot worse than me."

"They will be seen to, Major. There's a truck on its way." The wounded Major attempted to move but now the pain was getting worse.. "No, allow me. Corporal!" The corporal came running. "Help the Major to that vehicle." He indicated the vehicle that would be used to take the wounded to where medical help could be given.

"By the way, Major, your English is excellent. Don't come across that often."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Hans was in no condition to give any further explanation. The burning of the wound made Hans woozy. He could feel the sticky blood seeping into his shirt. By the time the vehicle arrived at the First Aid post, he felt too unsteady to walk unaided into the tent. He collapsed on to one of the stretcher beds and lay there with his eyes closed, trying to think of anything to lessen the searing pain.

High up in his beloved Alps it was cool and soothing. He could hear children's voices. They were calling. The calls were for him. He was the little boy again rolling himself down the slope, turning like a spinning top: faster and faster over the grass. He heard someone call his name. He tried to answer.

"Wait for me!"

A face materialised. It was Caroline's face. She was lying between the sheets ¨C the last time he saw her. He tried to shake her.

"Don't die, Caroline. Please don't die!"

If only he could have kept holding her, maybe she would not have died.

"He's very restless, sir. Is there anything we can give him for the pain?"

Hans hardly felt the needle penetrate the muscle in his thigh.

Caroline faded away. The bed, the room, the hospital dissolved into a murky background until his mind slipped into the deep, black void of unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 19

Captured

"I think the pain's getting to him again."

A voice broke through his silence. Then again, but he had no idea of how long it had been between each episode.

"We'll get that bit out while he's still a bit groggy."

"Major! Major!" Hans tried to respond.

"It's OK," said another voice. "It's all over."

He tried to open his eyes, thought he had opened his eyes. The first voice spoke again.

". . . the rest later. Nurse, we'll put him over on that one for now."

How long he had lain there, Hans had no idea. What did time matter any more? No more fighting. For him the war had ended and he was thankful for that. No more decisions or reports. He would have time, a slow dragging time waiting for all hostilities to cease. That could still take a long time, maybe years. He opened his eyes and moved his head so that he could look around. The area was filled with men, bandaged, each one lying on light army camp beds, their lower bodies covered only by one of the thin, grey army-issue blankets. He seemed to be the only German in the tent for he noticed that his bed had been put on its own to one side. A sentry stood guard on his right, only an arm's length from the foot of his bed.

Maybe they think I'll try to escape, he thought. He tried to laugh but it hurt too much. He was not sure whether it was his old leg wound or his shoulder. He attempted to move away from the pain but the stab in his shoulder indicated that that was where most of the pain was. He fell back on to the pillow. Not like this, I can't.

Hans resigned himself to his situation and screwed his eyes closed again as the pain bit into his shoulder again. The healing process would take its own time, fluctuating between a deep burning deep into his shoulder blade to a racking, throbbing pain which overwhelmed him and brought out beads of sweat over his forehead and chest. Such was his state, when the voice of a nurse brought him back to consciousness.

"Where am I?"

When he tried to move, his left shoulder hurt too much and he fell limply back on to the pillow, his eyes closed again as the pain drove deep inside him making him feel hot and nauseas.

"Don't move! Stay as you were. Here, would you like some water?"

He blinked several times to make sure he was not hallucinating, then re-opened his eyes and, finally forcing himself to focus, he found himself looking upward into the smiling face of the British nurse bending over him. She wore glasses. They had been pushed back up the bridge of her nose, firmly resting against her brow. He only knew two women who did that.

"Jan?"

The nurse held the mug to his lips and he sipped the deliciously sweet liquid. He had never known water to be so refreshing, so good. His body began to regulate itself and the sickening, hot feeling began to subside. He was able to focus better. He made a mental note of the uniform. Auxiliary Territorial Services, small white nurse's head-scarf. Very tidy. It really was Jan Turner standing there.

"I saw the list of the German wounded newly come in . . . and there was your name. Took some time to find you. You didn't seem to be in the large ward with the others." She saw his bandage. "Shoulder, is it?"

He did not answer. She stood close to his bed looking down at him. "Lucky for you, it missed your lung."

He nodded as he forced himself to speak but his words seemed hushed and far away.

"What a way to meet, Nurse."

"Yes," she answered, offering him another mug of water. "Can't seem to get away from each other, can we?" She laughed at the idea. He refused the second drink. "You're in an Allied military hospital. You've been brought here. We're way behind the lines. This part's normally reserved just for our ranks but we're rather full at the moment. We've had to squash men in where we could; pack them in as tightly as the beds would allow. Some are still outside on stretchers."

"What, your men or ours?"

"Yours, of course! Our men come first around here!"

Still the same Jan Turner, he thought. Always quick with her answers and always ready to get a dig in. But somehow it didn't bother him any more. It just felt so natural.

"What happens now?"

"As soon as you're well enough, they'll post you off. Just like a parcel. You will be sent you to one of our holding camps."

"I see."

The way he was feeling, he didn't really care what happened.

So, the tables have turned, he thought. Now I am the prisoner.

Jan's voice penetrated through his thoughts.

" . . . and now you're under my charge and I tell you what you can or can't do!"

He could not help noticing the look of triumph in the eyes behind the lenses. He was unable to fathom out whether it was because he was the captive or whether Jan Turner had entered his life again. Which ever it was, he felt too weak to discuss it in depth.

"Looks like it's all over for me," he commented. No more fighting. No more obligation in this battle."

Jan's eyes immediately softened. She leaned close over him and drew the sheet closer around his chest. "I'm glad, Hans. Really, I am."

A frown crossed his brow. He didn't know how to interpret her compassion.

"Glad? Why because I am hurt or because you have won and I'm under your control?"

"No, not at all. You've got it all wrong again, Hans Resmel. I'm glad . . . because . . . " She felt unsure of how to tell him. She could not divulge the truth about her feelings, not with the listening ears of the guard nearby. It was not safe to be seen fraternising too much with the enemy, whoever the enemy might be. She tucked in the sheet over and over, lowering her voice so that her words would only be audible to Hans. "I am glad you are alive. That's all."

"Are you sure? The way I feel, Jan, it won't be for long."

She stood up again and checked his bandage. She had already stayed too long with this patient.

"Nonsense! You lost quite a lot of blood and you're just feeling weak. But you'll be fine. Before you can say 'Jack Robinson,, you'll be on the mend."

For the next five minutes she checked the man in the next bed. He lay there without moving, his hands and most of his face under the white covering of bandages. Hans guessed that he had received burns. Maybe from an aircraft or tank. They were the ones who got badly burnt.

Jan returned. She popped a thermometer in his mouth.

"I will write and tell my Aunt you're fine. She'll be pleased. And I'm sure someone else will be, too." A puzzled look came over his face. "Andrea," she continued. "You know, your daughter. Or have you forgotten you have one?"

She paused to see what his reaction was but with a thermometer stuck under his tongue all he could do was look at her and gag. Jan was taking his pulse. He found himself enjoying the touch of her fingers.

He attempted to speak.

"I . . . I . . ." The rest stuck in the back of his throat and he thought he would vomit the thermometer out.

"You're safe now. Out of danger. I'm sure that's good news. At least for Aunty and Andrea."

He didn't think she sounded totally convincing, for as she had spoken those last words, she took out the thermometer and diverted her eyes away from him. It all seemed too contrived to him. He wondered what it was she was trying to hide. Knowing how tight-lipped Jan could be, he decided to lead the conversation back to his injury and capture.

"Will they have to operate?" he asked.

She removed her fingers from his wrist and wrote the information on the sheet.

"You'll live. The medics gave you a shot of morphine for the pain and our doctors have already managed to remove the shrapnel. Now that the morphine's wearing off, you feel worse but that's normal. In the meantime, we'll keep an eye on you to make sure sure the wound doesn't become infected. Looks good so far. You're not the only ones to have good doctors. We've also got excellent doctors and nurses, you know."

Hans smiled weakly. Jan patted his hand that was laying on top of the bed sheet. She gave him a quick smile and then turned away. He lay watching her wind her way slowly between the beds until she had moved so far away from him that her figure dissolved into a sea of blurred shapes and grey canvas walls.

The stitches in his shoulder began to bite into his flesh. His raw wound felt as if it had been through the mangle and had been squeezed and pulled in every conceivable direction. All he was capable of doing was to lie still on the narrow bed and let the days pass by. Slowly ticking off each boring hour after the other until he lost awareness of time and had no idea what day it was.

At the far end from where he had been put he noticed three other beds containing Wehrmacht officers but they were too far apart for any conversation. One of the officers had briefly acknowledged Hans with a subdued wave of the hand. A guard was never far away so that it was most evident that these captured men were regarded as being potentially dangerous.

As the healing began, all his energy focussed inwards so that for long periods all he was sleep. He had been given another dose of morphine for the pain and that kept him comatosed for most of the night and through the following day. His only awareness was at meal time when he struggled to eat or during the intermittent interruptions when someone opened his mouth and pushed a thermometer between his lips. Everything else passed in a blur.

As the morphine was reduced, the throbbing returned and even though it was not as bad as before, he still found there were periods when the pain was still strong. But things were improving and he began to realise that he would not be kept in the hospital for many more weeks.

His face brightened when Jan came near, for he could ask her things he dared not ask the other nurses. Jan had come to take the early morning temperatures. She always made sure that his was the last bed she visited so that there were a few snatched minutes during which they could talk.

"How much longer?" He pushed himself more upright. "Have you any idea when they'll move me?"

"I'm not sure." She checked his progress sheet that was hanging on the foot of his bed.

"Until then will you be my own personal nurse?" He was brighter and had asked the question in a cheeky way. He raised his right eyebrow and made some attempt to incline his head towards her. She did not take the bait but answered him with a volume that could easily be heard several metres away.

"Sorry, Major but I'm assigned to this section to cater for all the men on this ward. You'll have to just lie there and take what's dished out."

He noticed the interest of the guard. The man had walked a few paces closer towards the end of Hans' bed. Hans spoke so that the man could hear.

"No complaints so far with this nurse. Better looking than the medics who picked me up."

He tried to laugh a little but any movement aggravated the wound. He still found it painful to talk very much but he wanted desperately to keep the contact going between them. Jan replaced his note board and went round the side of his bed away from the guard. She smoothed her hands down over her uniform until, reaching the same height as his camp-bed, rested her hand on the edge. Hans slid his hand down until his hand made contact with hers. Instantly she drew away.

The guard remained watching. Hans could tell by his posture that he was unsure about what was going on. Hans gave the man a solemn look and then turned his attention back to Jan. He spoke so that the guard could hear.

"Nurse, before you do go, could you find out how the other wounded men from my unit are? Some were badly injured, far worse than I was. You see, I was responsible for them so I'd be really grateful for any information."

He reached his good arm as far as possible and managed to touch the side of her tunic.

"No promises, Major. Any sensitive information is off limits. There is a war on, you know." She faced away from the inquisitive guard and spoke little above a whisper. "I owe you one, Hans. Remember the time when you put your neck out to help me? I'll see what I can do.." She raised the level of her voice again and made sure the guard could see her face. "Get some rest, Major. And stop talking. You can practise your English another time. That's an order, sir!"

"Understood."

Hans was feeling much better. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and managed a cheeky wink. It made her feel warm and gratified that he had acknowledged her as more than a nurse who was serving on the opposite side. She walked swiftly away past the guard. She did not wish to betray her inner feelings she had for this wounded German officer.

Within a couple of weeks, the wound was beginning to heal and Hans was becoming more alert. He discovered that Nurse Jan Turner was a very efficient nurse. There was, however, little chance for them to talk together and words were hastily exchanged either during one of the painful dressing changes, or whenever she had some duty to perform in the vicinity of his bed. There was always the presence of the guard to consider, so when they wanted to exchange more than formalities, they spoke quietly and not much above a whisper. Hans had told her to take care, for he did not want her to be reprimanded on his account.

He was finding that he anticipated each appearance with a tingle of excitement. It made him feel special, as though he was the only one in the tent who could look forward to something resembling visiting time.

Jan did manage to find some information for him about the other wounded men. It grieved him to learn that one of the more seriously injured men had died several hours after arriving at the base. If only he could have pushed the clock back and acted sooner that man may be still alive. But then, retrospective things were so much clearer.

A new relationship was beginning to develop between Hans and his personal nurse. As Hans became stronger and the pain lessened, he found himself looking forward more and more to her visits. For the first time in his life, he was getting to know the grown up Jan. He found her a caring and efficient nurse, no longer the adverse, awkward teenager he had done battle with when he had stayed at her aunt's. She also noticed her attitude change towards him and their previous connection had somehow bound them together in this world of war and hate. The suffering they had witnessed and the senselessness of all the maiming and killing; the suffering that was being endured day after day, hour by hour was drawing them closer together.

As they responded to the world around them, their response to each other was beginning to change. He found himself listening to what she had to say. She found that he treated her with more respect and consideration than she had ever known before. They discovered the common ground they had: the school, Miss Turner, the English countryside ¨C all the early pre-war memories and, best of all, Andrea. He lay in his bed and dreamed that the war had ended and together with Jan they could walk with Andrea across the rolling grassy hills behind the school grounds and look down in the valley at the tiny houses huddled and clumped together among old oak and beech trees. His words were giving her hope for a better future, hope for reunification in which they could possibly be more than friends.

Jan was in this elated mood when the bombshell hit. It was when the senior doctor called his nurses together for the usual quick weekly briefing in which he had handed out their schedules. Jan noticed there was no longer any mention of Major Resmel.

"Major Resmel is not on the list, Doctor."

"No, Nurse. The Major is considered fit enough to be transported to a POW camp. Tomorrow morning, an interrogation unit will be speaking with him, and the following day he will be transported. Your job with that Jerry's done. There are others who came in at the same time who are also fit enough to be moved out. We need more space for our own chaps. They must come first. We need to concentrate on getting our own chaps up and running, especially with Monty's final drive to push these Nazis out of Africa."

"Yes, Doctor."

The choke in her voice betrayed her feelings. The Doctor asked her to remain a little longer after the other nurses had been dismissed, and then, after taking an inordinately long time to place his pencil in his top pocket, he turned his attention to the young woman beside him.

"Nurse Turner, you haven't made the mistake to become emotionally involved with your patient, have you?"

"Doctor, it's hard for you to understand." The army doctor raised an eyebrow as his cheek muscles tightened and his mouth profile hardened.

"Nurse Turner," he said firmly. "You know the rules. A soldier, any soldier, who is brought into this hospital, is here only as a patient. You have a duty to do and that is all. It goes for our chaps, too. Our job is to get our chaps back into their unit as soon as we can so that he can continue the fight against the enemy. That man . . . that German officer is the enemy. He has been fighting on the opposite side. Why, he'd probably have you shot and never blink an eye. Don't let him soften your emotions towards him. They're all Nazis."

"No, that's not true, Doctor. You see, he and I . . . "

"Do not bow down to flattery, nurse. He's just being over grateful. Realise, all men in this hospital never see a woman out in the field. It's only natural they would try to chat you up. Why, even a married man like him."

"He didn't marry. He was only engaged."

"There you are. Seems he's been lying to you, nurse. According to our records . . . "

She did not let him finish, such was her agitation. Jan pushed back her glasses, her eyes blazing and tearful.

"You're wrong! Caroline died!"

The Doctor was beginning to become exasperated with his nurse. She did not seem to be listening to him. He walked a few feet towards the filing cabinet, opened the file drawer and removed the patient's file.

"He is a married man. Look!" He handed it over for her to read. "There! I'm sorry." His voice was lower and quieter. "It says, his wife's name is Elisabeth. They have a son and they live in Neubrandenburg."

Jan read the intelligence report which was a requirement for every soldier taken prisoner by the 8th Army. She let out a stifled gasp and let the card slip out of her hands. She felt as if a bullet had found its mark and wounded her heart. She fought back her tears as she backed away from the doctor, infuriated that he had just destroyed her happiness and flushed with anger against Hans for having betrayed her. The next instant she ran blinded and disillusioned over to the tent that contained the Wehrmacht Major.

"Hans Resmel, how could you!" Jan did not care who heard her. "You're a liar and a damn cheat!"

Hans was taken aback by such an outburst. He sat upright, unsure of what to do next. The guard turned to intervene but the Major held out his hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry. I do not know what you mean."

"Shut up! You're all the same!"

Something had made her terribly upset but he had no idea why she should have called him a cheat. Again, the guard made a move towards the irate nurse. Again, the Major motioned him to remain at his post.

"Tell me what I am supposed to have done. Why are you so angry with me?"

Jan took off her glasses. She gave the lenses a deliberate wipe with the edge of her pinafore. Then she replaced them and adjusted them several times before screaming directly into his face.

"You didn't tell me you had a wife!"

She continued to glare at him, her eyes flashing like exploding flares.

"I assumed you knew." he was as calm as she was wild. "Besides, you never asked."

Jan's face contorted. She spat out a single word. It hissed like a snake.

"Elisabeth!"

"I thought you'd know that already from my admission file. I didn't give it a thought."

"You expect me to swallow that weak excuse, do you?" She clamped her hands on her hips and swivelled around. "You're all the same." She flicked her hands into the air. "Men! I wish I'd never met you again!"

With those words and with that tantrum, she threw him the letter he had written for her before, and stormed out of the ward. He sat there, his knees pulled up towards his chest, stunned by her outburst. The soldier who had remained on guard spoke for the first time.

"The nurse, tha' one don't 'alf take a fancy t' you . . . an' you bein' a Jerry 'n' all. I thought there was sumfin' goin' on between you but I never realised the lady was so crazy on you."

"Crazy on me? What on earth are you talking about, Private?"

"She's been lookin' after you all these weeks 'n' it looks plain as day she's in love wi' you. All against them rules but she bein' a woman 'n' you a man."

Hans was stunned for the second time. How could he have been so stupid, so blind? He had never thought of Jan Turner as having all the usual emotions of a young woman. He thought she was always reserved with a detached coolness towards all men. He had only ever thought of them only being friends. Their meetings together in these strange circumstances had only cemented their friendship, that was all. His mind was perplexed by the idea of Jan expecting anything other than friendship. He questioned the guard further.

"You heard her scream 'I hate you,' when she went out, didn't you?"

" 'ate, love . . . it's one 'n' the same, ain't it? Women love you one minute 'n' the next they're tellin' you they 'ate you. That's a women. She don't mean it . . . jus' upset, that's all."

"Damn this war!"

"So, sir. Was jus' saying. Take my misses . . . ."

Hans had given up listening to the soldier, He was angry with himself and frustrated with everything. If only he had known how she felt. Tomorrow would be too late for him to explain the circumstances of his marriage to Elisabeth, a woman he had not found the time to love but who, through duty, together with threats from those who held high office, had become his wife and a mother to his child. If only he had been able to have read the signs but then concerning the affairs and affections of women, he was still very naïve. He understood his men. He understood the decisions of command and he understood why his brother, Renard, had supported the Party but he did not understand women and he most certainly did not understand Jan Turner. And now there was no opportunity to explain. He may never see Jan again. Ever.

CHAPTER 20

Camp

Early the following morning, as soon as the sun exploded over the sandy landscape, those prisoners from the military hospital considered well enough to travel were herded together and loaded into army transport trucks. There was no room spare for anything or anyone else For the fitter prisoners who had been captured during the past three days, there was a long march ahead to the nearest holding camp. A long, straggling column of demoralised men, six hundred of them, set off across the unforgiving arid North African terrain together with several land rovers, supply trucks and twenty armed guards. Progress was slow and every few hours a rest period was called during which the men sank down to the ground, seeking what shade they could find behind a rock or under one of the few scraggy trees that grew out of rock crevices. Each man was given just enough water to quench his thirst or soothe his burning throat. The destination, they were told, was some eighty kilometres away, POW Holding Camp B638.

Orders were given, that if a man collapsed on the way and could not be helped on to one of the vehicles or was too weak to endure the journey by stretcher, then, rather than leave the prisoner to suffer a slow death by dehydration, he was to be swiftly put out of his misery. It was a cruel world they were living in and there could be no thoughts of sentimentality. Life was raw and living was close to the edge of death.

In the early morning, a bloated, burning yellow-orange sun slouched in the eastern sky and by mid-morning it's searing sphere shimmered in the heat haze which hang oppressively above them, the incessant desert wind drying their lips until they were sore, cracked and bleeding. The column of exhausted men was ordered to rest. These men were the battle-hardened soldiers of the desert, yet even now, the searing oppressive heat of the early afternoon fed hungrily on their strength and lapped up their energy like a ravenous wolf so that every shaking fatigued limb could no longer offer any support. One by one, they dropped; haggard and exhausted, collapsing like rags to lie in an untidy array on the hot desert sand.

"Get those bastards out of the sun, sergeant!" yelled one of the British officers. "We don't want the Convention on our backs if we let 'em die 'ere like flies!"

The guards pointed their machine guns at the prostrate bodies which began slowly rising out of the sand, like corpses out of their graves.

"Get up! Get up! Move!"

They crowded like over-heated sheep seeking the pitiful shade behind rocks or under what straggly trees that had managed to survive this parched place. There was no escape. The heat sucked the energy from a man like a spider sucks the life juices from its victims. Even the shadows here were dangerously hot.

Finally on the third day, the twenty Allied soldiers and their six hundred prisoners made it to the camp, a conglomeration of huts and tents within the confines of an ancient fort. The prisoners were ordered into rows of fifty to wait for the Camp Commander to make his appearance.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to POW Holding Camp B638. What officers are there in your ranks? Fall out and assemble over by the flag pole."

An American gave the translation and indicated to the guards that the separation of ranks should take place. Slowly, order was regained and the captured officers stood waiting some distance from the main body of men. The American addressed them in German.

"Who are the senior officers here? Hauptmanns . . . Captains?" Three moved forward and waited. "Majors?" Hans moved away from his fellow officers and stood with the three captains. "Have we got a General in our midst?" The heads turned round first to the right and then the left, but no senior officer came forward. "OK. So, it's one Major and three Captains. Good. Attention! Now, quick march and follow my sergeant."

They were led to one of the standing huts. One of the guards pushed Hans with the barrel point of his gun into the hut interior and indicated that he should remove his hat. The American followed. Inside, seated behind a table, was the Commander. He had not bothered to look at the man standing before him but shuffled several pages of a file, then dipped his pen into the inkwell ready for writing. He spoke to the American but still did not raise his eyes.

"Ask the prisoner what his name is."

The American turned to the prisoner.

"Ihr Name?"

"Erwin Hans Resmel."

The Commander ignored the prisoner and addressed the interpreter again.

"Ask him when and where he was born?"

"Wo und wann sind Sie geboren, Major?"

"Freilassing, Bavaria. Nineteen hundred and eight."

The Commander's head shot up in astonishment and his eyes immediately latched on to Hans. He stood and saluted. Hans put on his own hat and returned a military salute.

"Major."

"Commander."

"You speak some English, then?"

The Commander sat.

"Sufficient," answered Hans curtly.

He realised that that piece of information so far was lacking. He thought it best at this point not to divulge the exact extent of his knowledge. He knew the line of questioning that would now take place. He had done this, himself, on countless occasions and was well aware of how an innocent question would be used to trap the unwary into saying too much.

The Commander spoke directly to Hans.

"Where were you captured?"

"Near the Marath Line."

"And the nature of your capture?"

"For the welfare of those remaining, it was decided to surrender. We were low on supplies. Further resistance would have been futile."

"What unit were you in?"

"Light armoured division."

"How many men were in your division?"

"To begin with, two hundred. At the time of capture, fifty four."

"How many wanted to continue the fight?"

"I didn't ask them. The men had a duty. They did it until the order was given to stop."

"And what were the orders you had been given prior to the surrender, Major?"

"You will have to ask a General that, Commander. I have no comment."

The questioning went further as the Commander tried to assess the battle situation and obtain any information regarding troop movements and supplies of the remaining Afrika Korps. But Hans knew all the interrogation tricks and was on his guard not to divulge any information that may be of advantage to the enemy.

The Commander noted that the man standing before him was an Abwehr officer. There had been reports of several men from the Abwehr having arrived at night by a U-Boot. This man could have been one of them and had been responsible for leading one of the small groups which were known to play havoc behind their lines. He considered it his duty to ask why it was that his prisoner had been in North Africa.

"I fought because it was my duty. Like yours. My last duty is for my men. I only ask that they are treated correctly in accordance with the Geneva Convention."

"I understand, Major. But I need to know if you were one of those who arrived by submarine?"

"No. I came here through normal routes. By plane. And I have been in North Africa some time,"

"I see." The Commander appeared to be satisfied but Hans knew that he would not be completely satisfied until every little bit of information had been verified. The Commander leaned slightly forward as one does over the dinner table. "Your English is very good, Major. Where did you learn it?"

"At school."

Hans offered no further information. So far the interview had been very polite and had not caused any problems. Even though Hans had deliberately kept his sentences short, The Commander had heard enough for him to realise that this Major probably understood more than he was letting on. The British Commander decided to press his prisoner on several delicate tactical matters.

"I'm sorry, sir," answered Hans. "I'm not at liberty to tell you any more. The Geneva Convention states that . . . "

"Yes, Major. I am aware of the agreements in the Convention. And you Germans don't need to keep trying to quote it to us."

The Commander returned to the matter of filling in the forms. He was required to make a personal record for each prisoner, together with fingerprinting, serial numbers and information concerning the capture.

"Your identification number, Major?"

When the officialties had been completed, the Commander returned his pen to the inkwell and pressed a sheet of well-marked blotting paper over the ink-wet form.

"You will now be taken and fingerprinted, Major." He gave a short laugh. "But you would know that already and know that that will complete your processing. Your prisoner number is 81G/8624. You must understand that conditions will be difficult for some time as we have many prisoners to deal with."

The Commander addressed the American soldier again.

"Have you got those other officers ready for me?"

"Yes sir. They are waiting outside."

"Any from your division, Major?"

The Major shook his head.

"We were in a different area. My own men did not come here with me."

"Why was that?"

"I was wounded."

"Ah, yes." The Commander glanced at the file. "You spent several weeks in a military hospital."

"That is correct, Commander."

"Thank you, Major." He addressed the American who had been standing easy just behind Hans. "Take him away. I will speak with the Major again but later.

The Commander stood and returned the salute the Major had given. Resmel left the building under guard. He heard that on May 13 1943, the Axis forces surrendered totally to General Montgomery. The battle for North Africa was over.

On July 10th, the Anglo-American landings in Sicily took place and by the beginning of September, they had made footfall on the beaches of Southern Italy. It was the end of Italian resistance and within a week, it was announced that an armistice had been agreed between Italy and the Allied powers. With the Italians now out of the fighting, the way was open for a back-door invasion force into Austria and ultimately into Southern Germany. This news paralleled the news concerning the eastern front, where in July, Hitler had hurled his remaining army into a savage battle west of Kursk only to have his divisions splintered and pushed back towards the Polish and Rumanian frontiers.

At first, Hans was not sure whether this latest information had been told to the prisoners in order to break their moral or whether the tide had, in fact, started to turn.

Was the shine of Hitler's Third Reich beginning to tarnish and was his dream for world domination starting to crumble? It was beginning to look as though soon only ruins would be left, spreading across Europe from east to west and from south to north. The younger and lower ranked soldiers guarding the prisoners liked to taunt their captives with chants of 'Berlin or bust' and sing to them a rude ditty or two about Hitler and his cohorts but most of the time it went over the head of the normal German soldier who spoke only a few English words he had picked up during his time in the desert. There was a handful of short-tempered men who did understand the sentiment of the ditty and fought back, but they inevitably spent punishment time in confinement. Most of the prisoners, however, were subdued and quiet, making sure they followed camp discipline to the letter.

Hans often sat alone on one of the large stones which had toppled, during some earlier time, off one of the inner walls which had been built when the fort was much younger. He watched the others wander aimlessly about the small confines, noting the frequency in which several small groups of men gathered at a point not far from where he liked to sit. These men seemed angry and restless, especially after one of the news session moments when all prisoners were forced to stand in the heat and listen to tales of how the German fronts were being squeezed like a lemon on every side. These men were not ready to give up the fight and although they did not not understand what their captors were saying, they interpreted the messages through the actions and emotions of those whose job it was to guard them. Every few days or so tempers would erupt and fist fights would break out as frustration levels rose in men who had only known the action of war and the constant fight for survival.

On this account, the Commander had had a gutsful. He demanded audience with the Major in the hope that the problem could be sorted out quickly.

"Major, as a senior officer, it is your duty to order your officers to keep your ranks in order. This openness of disobedience cannot be allowed to continue."

"I will speak to the men. One problem is the crowding here. There are too many of us and stories spread like disease, infecting the idle minds of men. The other problem concerns a lack of news from home."

"How so? What is the problem there?"

"Mail has not been handed out for many months and with all the negative talk we hear of the European campaign, is it no wonder that some of my men are rather upset and liable to hit out? They have become frustrated with nothing else to think about. I will talk with my officers but you, in turn, must tell your own men to stop their harassment. We may have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war. Yet."

The Commander listened politely as such senior ranks were apt to do. He wrote a few notes and read back what he had written giving details about the lack of mail.

"Hopefully, that should see a distribution mail in time for Christmas. With Red Cross parcels. Remind your men: only good behaviour brings rewards. Thank you, Major."

The two officers saluted each other: one with his hand against the side of his head, the other with index finger touching the front.

Hans wondered how it was for Jan when she found herself in a similar situation. Strange, how things had turned out for her; being a prisoner one minute, and then as events had changed, being freed again to carry on as if nothing had happened in the interval. Yet he felt that much had happened during that interval which had been the catalyst to initiate change in both of them. And then, meeting up again like that, in a field hospital, both so far away from their homeland and to be thrust upon each other in the desert land, two people who were only now discovering that they had need of each other. And what was it, that soldier had said to him at the field hospital: 'it looks plain as day she's in love with you.' Why, why didn't he see that sooner?

The Commander was as good as his word, for as soon as he noticed that normal military discipline had been restored, he allowed the distribution of the long-awaited mail. Hans, too, was eager for news from home; he had heard nothing from either Elisabeth nor his uncle for more. than six months. His spirits rose as he was handed several letters and as he turned the envelopes over in his hands, he noticed that at least one had been opened, and then resealed. He smiled to himself, as it reminded him of the earlier times he, too, had looked into prisoners' mail for that little piece of information that might give some hint to a less innocent meaning.

He tore open Elisabeth's letter first, wishful to read the news of the small son he had never seen, positioning himself on the outside of the tent and standing in what shade it offered. There were several of them who had chosen this spot to read and although they had little room between them, each man became submerged in his own reading and thoughts just as if there had been a vast landscape separating them.

Elisabeth began:

Mein sehr lieber Erwin,

There has been so much happening . . .

She told him about a group for officers' wives she regularly went to and how busy her life was as the mother of their child. He skipped quickly through those sentences.

Little Siegfried has just had his first birthday and he was so lucky to have his so many nice presents. One would hardly think there was a war. Papa always finds plenty for us to eat so do not worry about us here. Just look after yourself, my dear, dear husband.

Renard came and called on us . . .

Hans had not heard anything about his older brother since he had offered to take Hans to France to show him where his submarine was docked. Renard was proud of the submarine pens that had been built and made the comment that with all the thick concrete overhead, they would offer absolute protection against any air-raid that may occur. Hans never did get to France. His superiors had other plans for him at the time and since he had been in North Africa there was little chance to see what excited his brother so.

He is serving on a new boat +++++++ with Oberleutnant Emde, their capitan.

I took our little with me when I went to the De+++++++ M++++++ and they thought him the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. Papa comments on his beautiful blue eyes and says that with such blue eyes he is certain Siege will become ++++++++++++++++++ like his own Papa.

I met Frau B. . . the other day. You remember. Her husband holds a very high position in +++++++++++++ and has even personally been invited to dine with +++++++++++ so I feel I should invite Frau B . . .

He re-read that part of Elizabeth's letter and wondered what they would have in common when the war did finally come to an end. His and Elisabeth's worlds were so far apart and now that he had been captured, things likely remain that way for some time yet. He was uneasy about how he would cope with those who had no knowledge outside the propaganda arena of Dr Goebbles and who, like Renard, remained supportive of the Führer and what he was doing to Germany.

Hans had been able to share his concerns with other officers who were also uneasy. The conversation usually began with a discussion concerning the suspicion and fear one neighbour had of the other, the shortages and rationing of food as well as supplies and the probability of Germany losing the war and falling back into the terrible anarchy of the early twenties. Surely this was not what they were fighting for? And yet there appeared to be no end to it, not while Hitler was in charge.

Hans was reminded of the horror he had seen on the battle field and of the cruel things that took place in war. He had witnessed the futility, the killing and the destruction that had been inflicted on soldier and civilian alike. There had been those quiet, waiting times when there had been a lull and during which he could begin weighing up the consequences of the driving forces that lay behind a war-driven economy. It was becoming more apparent to Hans that those men who had been responsible for taking Germany into the war, were either insane, or had been totally taken over by their own importance and their greed for power. But to do something to change the course was extremely dangerous.

Elisabeth made no reference to any withdrawals. She still wrote of Hitler being on a winning streak and how Germany would ultimately win the war. He guessed the propaganda output had increased and that the Nazi war machine was using every means it could conjure up to continue to deceive and hoodwink its population. What did she know about war? Elisabeth was protected from the evil truth of war, for her father had always been an ardent Nazi supporter. Hitler's rise to power was the reason why his business had done so well. Elisabeth's family had been able to live a life of privilege and new-found luxury, in an inner circle free from the hunger and cold experienced by the rest of the people as the rationing squeezed their empty bellies tighter and made their houses colder. Elizabeth's father had become one of the Reich's new rich and life under Nazi rule had made his, and his family's, life extremely comfortable.

Papa's been extremely busy and has had to attend a lot of meetings. We rarely see him now but I know it is a sacrifice I have to make. Our Führer expects +++++++++++++++++ bit for the++++++++++++++++ Fatherland.

Hans noted that various parts of Elizabeth's letter had been struck out. It must have contained some kind of sensitive information for it to have been censored. A wispy smile passed his lips. He had done the same sort of thing when letters arrived for the British or American prisoners. Sensitive information to be selected out. He continued with his reading:

I miss you very much, my dear husband but I know that your duty is to serve our Reich in distant lands. I hope that all is well with you when you receive this letter and that soon you will get leave again and be able to hold our son close to your heart.

Your most loving wife,

Elizabeth.

Hans felt sorry for his wife. What was in store for her when the reality of the war hit? What was worse was that he realised that he had neither missed her company, nor given her much thought. In a way, he wished that he had never met Ott. But Renard was to blame for that. Renard had brought Ott to his uncle's house and it was Ott who had connections to Elisabeth's family. Hans was annoyed with himself to think so easily manipulated by that group of ardent Nazi supporters. They really did believe in this war and Hitler's constant push to see the creation of a thousand-year Reich. Yes, even poor Elizabeth believed in that. What a shock it will be for them when the Allied net tightens and the Reich begins to crumble.

Commander Brownless decided to make use of Major Resmel's good knowledge of English. Facilities were stretched and translators were very few. It was necessary that prisoners were processed as soon as possible so that they could be sorted and transported to more permanent camps overseas. The job of separating officers from lower ranks and ordinary fighting men from ardent Nazis took many weeks and many hours of interrogation. The Major would have a job to do until the last man of the Afrika Korps had been questioned. As processed prisoners were trucked off to a port to be shipped across the Atlantic, Major Resmel, prisoner 81G-8624 remained behind.

One afternoon, after a busy morning, Commander Brownless made a special trip over to the interrogation tent to speak with prisoner 81G -8624.

"You may have time away from your task, Major. There is someone who has been making enquiries and wishes to speak with you. Report immediately to the main area."

Hans was puzzled. Still, he obeyed and made his way over to the main tent where he was told to wait until called.

"You can go in, now."

The puzzled look on the guard's face was enough to tell Hans that even this soldier was curious to know what was going on, and why this German prisoner should have been sent for. But the guard had to remain outside. As the Major entered the tent and let the side flap flop forwards behind him, the soldier placed his rifle over his shoulder and stood to attention.

Two figures were in the tent. The light inside was too dim for Hans to see exactly who they were. One, a sergeant, stepped forward. He saluted the senior officer. He spoke.

"Major Resmel. I 'ave 'ere, with me, a nurse who says she knows you. Nursed you when you were in our military 'ospital a few months ago."

"Would that be Nurse Turner?"

"Yes, Major."

Hans was bewildered and confused. Why had Jan taken the trouble to find him?

"She says it's taken some time to trace you after you left the 'ospital but this young woman, 'ere, 'as put in a formal request to speak with you." He turned slightly in the direction of the nurse and waved for her to join them. "I'll be outside, Corporal. Let me know when you're done."

He saluted again and left the tent. Hans remained standing, shaking his head with disbelief. Jan adjusted her glasses and straightened her skirt before speaking.

'Sorry for last time, Hans." She laughed a little nervous laugh. "We're always apologising to each each other, aren't we?" He nodded. "I felt awful about things, really. I just had to find you to straighten things out. Even Aunt would be angry with me if I left things as they were. Especially having bumped in to you a second time."

"I'll accept that." He indicated that they should move to the rear of the tent, away from any eavesdropping ears. "But, Jan, you must have had other reasons. You would not have gone to all these lengths, or travelled so far, just to say sorry, Hans."

"Well, no."

She cleared her throat and re-adjusted her glasses. He knew she felt uneasy, for that little habit of hers always betrayed her inner feelings. He broke the awkward silence for her.

"Why don't we sit? It's much more comfortable." He moved over to one of the light wooden chairs and handed it to her before picking up another for himself. "It's good to see you, Jan. Really. I'm just overwhelmed that you've gone to all this trouble. Just to say goodbye."

Jan shoved her glasses back again. He knew that she felt upset about something. He waited for her to gain control of herself.

"I . . . I didn't know you were married, again. I guess she's very attractive . . . or something." It sounded awkward and he was not too sure he heard her correctly.

"You're meaning Elisabeth?" Jan gave a small sniff and quickly nodded. Hans felt he had to explain. "Elisabeth and I really hardly know each other. We had a month together before I was sent out here. I've come to realise that I have little in common with her or with her family, for that matter. She is a good wife but I do not think she is the woman for me. Our views on politics and the war do not agree. Her father wanted her to marry someone with a good rank. Renard, and you know about that brother of mine, has an acquaintance who knows Elisabeth's father . . . and there not being many men who could fit the bill, as one might say, and I was singled out. Call it duty."

"You mean you didn't love her when you married?" He shrugged his shoulders. She flicked her head backwards. "And you still married her?" He nodded. Jan reeled almost with bated breadth at the thought but it was Hans' reaction that surprised her most. He threw back his head and laughed.

"Duty, Jan."

"Duty?" her voice was full of anger. "Is that all you can say?"

"The world has changed, Jan. Caroline was my sweetheart. I loved her and I still feel the hurt of losing her whenever I think of her. With Elizabeth it was a case of . . . ."

"Of what?" Her eyes blazed behind her lenses.

"A marriage of . . ." He took a deep breath. He did not know how she would react. "convenience."

"For whom?" He felt her pressure, her need for knowing and yet he hesitated to give her an answer which would satisfy. He was not surprised when she pressed him further. "How about me? I mean, what am I to you . . . if anything at all?"

He noticed there were small tears forming in the corners of her eyes and the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch.

"I'm not sure how I think of you. I became very fond of you when I was in the military hospital. I think we both felt there was a connection so in that way you've become special." He felt awkward, not knowing what to say for he realised that anything more between them could not be. He was married. He had a wife. He would remain married to Elisabeth until the end. That is how the marriage contract worked for him. And it was for a lifetime. His faith had taught him that. Jan could not be part of his life in the way she was hoping. Besides, this awful war would keep them apart on opposing sides until it ended, whenever that was to be. He reached out and touched her arm. "We've known each other for so long now, Jan. Been through so much, haven't we?"

"Yes, I realise that. We are definitely not enemies!"

"No." Hans shuffled his feet and sat looking at them scuffing the floorboards. "I don't think we've ever been real enemies, Jan. Even as teenagers. Just misunderstood each other, that's all."

"Like I am misunderstanding you now?"

"In the kind of relationship you are dreaming of, Jan, yes. It can only be a dream. We are serving on opposite sides and you may be in the English forces but you are still not my enemy."

"Then I suppose I'm a friend, then?"

"Exactly. A very good one."

"Is that all? Just a friend?"

"I said a very good one. A special friend. We come together in a hostile situation yet I like and respect you. I hope you feel that way, too."

"I do but I came here to say far more." She held out her hand towards him but he did not react. "I've got to tell you. It may be the last chance I have."

"Well?" His eyes narrowed and at the same time his brows came together. It was a puzzled expression for he had no inkling what Jan was wanting to say.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and then drew in a breath to clm herself.

"I have always thought of you as just Hans. Still do, in spite of that uniform you're wearing. You've always been just you." She drew in a soft breath and her breast heaved up, then down with a slow drawn-out sigh. "I've more than liked you for a very long time, Hans. Did you know that?" Her face flushed and she smoothed down her grey skirt in the hope of steadying her hands.

"Really?" The idea amused him. He an officer in the German army and she, a British nurse. But then, they weren't the crazy ones; just the world they were living in.

'I've heard from my aunt," she suddenly said throwing back her head as if shaking out all the memories.

"And?"

"A bomb landed near her house a week ago. At night. She wrote that it shook the whole house. Scared her and Andrea so much they could not sleep."

His interest keened when he heard the mention of his daughter's name. He had almost forgotten she was growing up to be an English girl; and in the same house as Miss Turner. He laughed again but this time it carried a tone of absurdity with it.

"Don't they have shelters, then?"

"Of course but it's too far away for poor aunty to get to with her walking stick. She is an old lady now. Andrea wouldn't leave without her. They never had an Anderson shelter put in the back garden. Aunt said she was not sleeping in a tin can. You know Aunt. She can be awfully stubborn at times. Says no-body, especially Hitler's bombs, is going to drive her out of her home."

Hans had to smile. He could picture the elderly Miss Turner shaking her stick in the air and scolding the Luftwaffe pilots for venturing in to her space. He saw the bomb fall and shuddered at the thought of them, alone in the middle of the air-raid. He had seen the utter destruction the bombs were capable of doing.

"Wahnsinn! Sheer madness! My daughter . . . being terrorised by bombs from the country her own father's fighting for. It's crazy! Are we also deranged, Jan?"

"No. I don't think so. We're caught up in it and what choice did either of us have once war began?"

"Very little. In Germany, it was call-up and obey. Obey or be shot. If you were somebody in the party, then you could get into an office or something similar. But not for the majority. I guess you could call me a coward but at the time I didn't fancy being stuck up against a brick wall in front of a firing squad."

"Couldn't you have been a conscientious objector? Ours have ended up behind bars but at least they stood by their convictions."

Hans laughed satirically as he remembered some of the things he had noticed when he was in Berlin.

"Not in the Reich. Absolutely not. Anyone even remotely against the Nazis are removed. They disappear. One does not dare to object or to criticise. Doing one's duty is expected. No, more than that. It is demanded!."

"I realise that, Hans. You're no coward, either. You wouldn't have been made a major if you had been."

He brushed the remark off with a flick of his hand and then looked earnestly at her.

"I think you are braver. Not many women would go nursing under the conditions you have had to put up with, especially not out in North Africa. That requires real toughness. But I still say, war and the front lines are no place for a woman. Fighting's a man's job!"

She looked quizzically at him. She held her torso upright and proud as she told him,

"Not if your country's in danger of invasion!"

That defiant utterance had flummoxed him. He found he was at a loss as how to answer her. It was looking as though Corporal Nurse Jan Turner had won this battle and before he could gather his thoughts, any further conversation was interrupted by the return of the Sergeant. He reminded Nurse Turner that it was time to wrap up the meeting. He reminded her that the Major needed to return to his duty as one of the camp translators. Jan stood and indicated to him that she was ready to move.

"I'll be outside there, Corporal."

The man indicated the flap entrance by pointing. As he walked away, Jan moved closer and pressed a small piece of paper into Hans' hand. He wrapped his fingers round the note and the hand that had offered it.

"Here is where you can reach me. Please keep me informed, Hans. I do care very much about what happens to you. I just wish circumstances were different." Her voice faltered and a tear trickled down the side of her cheek. "I would have liked to have hoped. . . ." She withdrew her hand and clenched her fingers together. "I wish you weren't married!"

"You'll find someone," he said. He had not realised Jan had desired to marry. She had always appeared to him to be someone who preferred to follow a career rather than have a family. But then he remembered what Miss Turner had told him about herself. "You still have time, Jan. When this is all over, someone will be there." He tried to sound encouraging.

"No, they won't!" She was very adamant. She looked him full in the face. Her bottom lip quivered. "I'll never marry, now. This bloody war's killing off too many of our young men. Besides . . ." She knew the moment had come when she had to divulge her true feelings for him. She moved close and, with tear-filled eyes, whispered into his ear. "It is you I love, Hans Resmel." She stepped back and looked at him like a chastised child. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have said that but it's true. Oh, Hans, I wasn't sure at first but . . . I have these feelings and I can't help myself. There, I've said it. It's not new. I do not want to marry anyone else. So, you see I was angry and hurt when I found out you had married."

"I'm so . . . s, sorry," he stammered, taken aback. "I . . . I never realised."

"Do you remember that song we all used to sing: 'Together'? You're gone from me but in my memory we will always be together. Remember, Anne played it on her gramophone?"

"That was a long time ago."

"In '28."

"Good days. No hint of war."

"Well, I want to feel young like that again. I feel as if I've mislaid my youth and missed out. I'd like to find it. I want it before I am too old. I do not want to be like my aunt. I have longed for love for a long time and when the war started and I knew I could no longer hope for you, I had hoped that one nice young man would love me. But he war kept taking them away. I am a woman, Hans, and I have the same desires as any."

He watched the tears trickle onto the inside lenses of her glasses and drop off the bottom of her rims. Her hands were trembling as she tried to wipe away the sorrowful drops that betrayed her deep feelings. Hans was taken aback by her genuineness.

"I never knew. Honestly, Jan, I never knew you felt like that!"

He could feel the intensity of her emotions. He did not know how to answer this woman who had opened her heart to him. He could not reject her, nor did he wish to give her false hope. Yet he felt a tenderness for her he had never felt before. He thought of Caroline and the short whirlwind romance they had; the lust and excitement of youth. Their love had been cut short the day Andrea was born. The hurt was still with him. Could he re-kindle such feelings or had any feelings of love for a woman been extinguished when Caroline died? The feelings he had for Elisabeth were not the same. He could never grow to love Elisabeth in the way he loved Caroline even though she had provided him with a son. Their son was a product of the Reich. He was a child for Hitler and everything that marriage stood for in his Reich. And now there was Jan. Yes, there was definitely something that had been trying to draw them together for a very long time. But could he love her?

He did not reply but cupped her hands in his, and then gently raised them to his lips, and kissed them.

"We always seemed to be quarrelling. I assumed you hated me and wanted nothing to do with me."

"No! I just wanted you to take notice. It was so lonely growing up in that old house with my aunt. No brothers or sisters. Friends, too scared to come round. You saw how it was with my aunt. She ruled my life as she ruled over the school."

Jan had never spoken to him before like this and especially never in her teenage years. How miserable she must have been. Alone. Afraid to go against her aunt's wishes.

"When this is all over, when things are normal again, when Germany's able to shake off this nightmare . . . " He did not know how to say such things. "Jan, you know I could never marry you. Not while Elisabeth lives. Marriage is for ever until death. That is the law of my church. We have to hope . . ."

"For what? For an end to this war? Or for Elisabeth to die? How long? How long do we have to wait?"

"We wait for as long as it takes." His words sounded empty and unconvincing even to himself. He knew he and Elisabeth had very little in common and that family life after the war would be a burden on both of them.

Jan squeezed a smile and her hand automatically reached upwards to her glasses but she did not ajust them. Instead, she caressed a lock of hair that had crept across her moist cheek. She breathed in slowly and deeply.

"When the war's over," she sighed, "I'll bring Andrea to see you. I know I sound like a silly schoolgirl but I can't help myself. I feel goosebumps every time you look at me."

He stepped forward and hugged her. He felt her arms around his own torso and for a moment they shared the embrace, sharing in the rhythmic movement of each shared breath, together with the shared realisation that they had both stepped through the curtain of hate into a chamber of love: their own Lebensraum. When they let their arms drop, they remained standing silently together.

"You do have feelings for me," she breathed. Can there be any hope?"

He kissed her lightly on her forehead as one would kiss a dear child.

"Hope is always good. It keeps us going. We will survive!"

He swung slowly around on the heel of his boot and walked away from her. She stood watching him until he disappeared through the entrance flap of the tent and she was alone once more.

CHAPTER 21

The Last Christmas

With the removal of all the Italian and German prisoners of war from North Africa, the campaign there was really at an end. Major Erwin Resmel was one of the last men of the Afrika Korps to leave. He had remained as an interpreter and having done so, he, too, was to be shipped out. It was only a matter of waiting for a vessel to leave.

While he had been at the camp, he had earned the respect of his captors. Hans was sitting for the last time in Commander Brownless's office. During the past month the two men had got to know each other more as human beings than as officers in opposing armies. Their conversations had been cordial yet each man had full knowledge of what could not be discussed. Hans had been on edge since he knew Jan was to return to England because even though the threat from U-boots was no longer as bad, there were still enough of them lurking in the Atlantic waters to pose a continuing threat to Allied shipping.

"You must be quite taken up with Nurse Turner to keep such close tabs on her whereabouts, Major," he commented. He picked up the phone and rang through to Headquarters to find out if the nurses had arrived. Hans waited patiently, his hopes rising with each nod of the Commander. "Yes, Nurse Turner's ship arrived safely in Southampton three days ago and that her tour of duty outside Britain is over. I shouldn't have told you that information, though. You never heard it, do you understand? But you can rest easy. She's safe."

"Thank you, Commander."

Hans was fully aware that the Commander could not divulge the date nor the ship that had transported her. He knew he could be told no more but he was relieved to hear that she was safe and that she would no longer be near any further front line action

"For a German officer to take such an interest, she must be quite special. A most capable woman. But then our British ones are!"

"Oh, we've got plenty of our own, Commander. Our German girls are something, too!"

"Then, why one of ours, Major?"

"The connection goes back a long way."

"Ah, yes. She nursed you while you were injured. Is that it?"

Hans shook his head. Commander Brownless continued.

"It is well known that the patient falls for the doctor, or nurse in your case. Never mind, you may find a Fräulein of your own."

"If you had looked at my file, Commander, you would have seen that I'm already married. My wife lives in Neubrandenburg in northern Germany. No, Nurse Turner and I have known each other since before the war when at school. We're very good friends, that's all."

"Well I never! Small world. So that's the connection between you two. And I thought it only started in the hospital out here."

"No." Hans gave a small laugh. "I, also, find it is most strange; us meeting like that, out here in a war zone."

Commander Brownless grinned and offered Hans a cigarette.

"Thank you, but no. I have managed to keep clear of the habit so far."

"Don't mind if I do?" Brownless waved the unlit cigarette in the air. Hans shook his head and waited while the Commander struck a match, lit the cigarette and then leaned back in his chair, drawing a breath of satisfaction as a thin wisp of smoke crept upwards from the glowing end. "Must be something in that," he continued. Taking the cigarette from his lips "Call it fate or whatever, don't you agree?"

"Possibly," answered Hans. "In a few days my war will be over and I gather I will be following most of the others to Canada or the states for the duration."

"Possibly, Major. One never quite knows."

Both men managed to laugh and Hans stood up for the last time and saluted a fellow officer.

The strangest thing about this war was that Erwin Hans Resmel was not taken across the Atlantic but his ship ended up docking in England. This time he arrived on British soil, not as some awkward, insecure foreign student, but now as a very self-assured Major of the Third Reich, albeit a Prisoner of War. The majority of those from the Afrika Korps who had been captured had ended up in one of the camps in America, but by the time Major Resmel was shipped out, so few men from the Afrika Korps remained in Africa that they were put on a British destroyer together with some of the British forces and Commander Brownless.

Upon arrival, the prisoners of war were immediately taken to Doncaster for further interrogation. Again questions were asked regarding name, rank, company and where each man was captured. The entire procedure was as thorough as any military questioning found in German quarters.

That having been completed, there was the usual procedure of delousing, together with a clean-up shower before each man received into his care the rations that were specific to him, alone: meat, bacon, bread and margarine together with a small pot of jam, a small packet of tea, a few slices of cheese and some cake wrapped up in plain brown paper. This was better than Hans had been living off since he was sent to North Africa.

Hans was given a white patch to attach to his uniform so that the guards realised he had no further interest in carrying on the fight for Hitler and Nazi Germany. After a few weeks he was informed that he would be spending the remainder of his war years behind wire in one of the POW camps located within the Oxfordshire countryside.

In June, 1944, news resounded around the camp that the Invasion had begun. British and American forces had made landfall in France and Hitler's armies were now having to fight on two fronts. Then, in September, a bombshell came. A letter arrived for Major Resmel and when he checked to see who the sender had been, Hans was most surprised to find it came from Commander Brownless.

1944

Dear Major Resmel,

There was a plot to remove Hitler in July. Unfortunately, it failed. Our information is that thousands have been arrested as the Gestapo and SS hunt out all those in connection with the attempt. Our sources have also discovered that your commanding officer in North Africa, Field-marshal Rommel was one of those implicated. It is our belief that he may have been silenced but no further information has surfaced.

May I say that, if this information is proven to be correct, I am sorry. Field-marshal Rommel was not only a worthy foe but also a reasonable man to deal with and many of our own POWs have nothing but admiration for that very professional soldier.

Yours respectfully,

Commander William Brownless.

The POW camp in England would often broadcast bulletins from the BBC, partly for propaganda purposes and partly in the hope of proving how futile the war was becoming for Germany. Hans was already aware that Hitler's entire regime was not to be trusted and that much of what the men of the Afrika Korps had been told by Dr Goebbles were only half-truths for the satisfaction of a war-driven philosophy. He felt anguish for those fighting men still out there in the front lines, the Alte Hasen, who were still giving up their lives for such an insane cause. He wondered how much longer the madness would, or could go on: all the senseless killing, before it could be stopped. And yet there were men who had tried to find an end: the Afrika Korps' commanding officer had been one of them.

As news came in about the failed plot, Hans was to learn that almost five thousand military and civilian personnel had been rounded up within Germany, including many of the officers from the Abwehr with whom he had spoken. He had heard nothing from Axel for many months, almost a year, and Uncle Karl had not said anything about his younger brother. He hoped that Axel had not been implicated in any way for Axel had confided in him that, when the need should arise, he would not hesitate to ally himself against their leader or his most devout followers. So far, the news was fragmented and certain facts could not yet be substantiated but there was an indication that the SS were dealing with the plotters in a most barbaric manner. Hans found it difficult to comprehend that the governing powers could do such things, if they were indeed true, especially to the officers and generals who had once proved their loyalty and it was shortly after that that he received Commander Brownless's letter telling him about Rommel. Was there a connection? The British broadcasts only announced that Fieldmarshal Rommel had succumbed to wounds he had received after a spitfire attacked his car on a quiet French road. Hans wondered whether there was a different truth.

A letter arrived. It had taken three months to reach him for the post dates told him it had not been posted recently but then he was not surprised as mail was handed out lately so infrequently.

The address was in aunt Laura's hand. He ran the edge of his thumb between the two sides of the envelope and wondered if there might also be another, this time from Elisabeth.

As he extracted the note paper, he saw that it came from uncle Karl. He was expecting to get news about his brother as he had heard rumours that the U-boat fleet had now virtually been destroyed.

Strange, that Elisabeth hasn't written, he thought and as he began reading, a shudder slithered between his shoulder blades and brought tiny beads of sweat onto his brow.

August 1944

Dear Erwin,

Renard has been appointed to a new position ++++++++++++++++ U-Boat +++++ which has joined our front-line service. Same boat but a different crew so all +++++++++++++++.

We're all thinking of you. Life is much the same here with certain items ++++++++++ get hold of. We are told ++++++++++ that our sacrifices will +++++ in the end and that ++++++ ++++++++++++++++ than it is today. +++++++.

There are several empty houses opposite us now. The elderly man who lived there seems to have moved. I haven't seen him lately. They went +++++++++++++ +++++++++++ He was a decent sort and I often met him in the pub and we chatted about so many things. He was good company and I miss him.

We're told that everyone's happy and healthy here. It must be true, for Dr Goebbles says so. +++++++++++++++++++++++++ I was able to read a book by its light. ++++++++++ evening, just as it was becoming dark, we heard rumblings. I know ++++++++++ are doing a good job. We are told that it won't be long ++++++++++++++++

Now, my boy, I've got some bad news to pass on. We believe Elisabeth's been killed in an air-raid but she couldn't have suffered for it all happened so quickly. Siege was not with her at the time. I believe he was with his grandmother on the other side of town and as far as we know, he is safe and well.

Look after yourself.

Your Uncle Karl.'

Much of the letter had been censored.

Poor Elisabeth, Hans thought. Herr and Frau Kohler did not write to tell me. It is possible they are still in shock.

He felt cold but he could not bring himself to feel an overwhelming sense of loss. It was as though Elisabeth was a stranger and he had just read about her death in a newspaper.

How dreadful I feel so little. In truth, they had hardly got to know each other. He wondered if his reaction would be similar if he had heard it had been Miss Turner or Jan killed in an air-raid. There was still the odd air attack over British soil but he had not heard of many. Not now.

Hans hoped that the end had been swift and that Elisabeth had not suffered. Then, his thoughts turned to Siege. His little son would be two years old by now. He had kept a small photo in his top pocket of the child but that was taken six months ago. He hoped the child was still alive. Uncle Karl had written that the child was safe but the date on the letter indicated that it had been written some time ago and with the daily air-raids over Germany, anything could have happened.

The reminder of his son brought back memories that he also had a daughter and she was here in England. What a father he had been to his two children! He had not meant to be an absent parent. It just happened that way. It upset him that Andrea would only know him by a name as she had been too young to remember him. Sure, he was her father but a father without a face. That is how he is for his little son: a father without a face. Hans cursed himself. He should have been there with Elisabeth, too. Isn't that what marriage and family is all about? To be together!. But he wasn't! He wasn't there to protect them. He was a prisoner. What a mess this war had created!

The camp comprised of several large brick blocks, probably once used as a mill. Within the barbed-wire enclosure were the army tents which accommodated the lower ranks. They were bitterly cold when temperatures dropped or when the cold winds whipped up around their flimsy sides. Hans was luckier as his bed, together with others of higher ranks, was in a small round corrugated-iron Nissan-hut but there was little space to be private or to get away from the other men. Private letters and pictures were hidden under pillows or poked between mattresses and bed boards. The only decently large building in the complex was the dining area; another Nissan-hut but far larger than the one he slept in. the men referred to it as the Hanger, for they reckoned they could fit several large Heinkel bombers inside.

Hans often visited the tent of Feldwebel Luttow, a man who had been captured not far from Liege six months ago. He also had family north of Berlin and he had heard that bombing had been extremely heavy in that part as the Allies sent wave after wave, a constant stream of bombers to Germany to destroy as much of the Führer's capital as they could, to lay to waste the German cities as Germany had done to so many other cities across Europe. Hans had had time to reflect and he wondered what madness had driven them all into this killing and destruction.

It was freezing cold trying to huddle under the few blankets Luttow had been given, for the sides of the tents offered little resistance for the raw English winter. Hans had received a small food parcel sent on to him by Jan. It had made a pleasant surprise. He decided to share with Luttow. It would make the cold more bearable. And Luttow had made himself a calendar, his Advents Calendar, he called it. Each day, he prayed, for Luttow was a religious man and never did want to do any harm to his fellow man. And day after day he crossed off the number, watching them get closer and closer to the birth of Christ.

"There's always hope at Christmas, Major. Life has to be blessed even just for one day. I've made an application for Christmas dinner. For both of us. Anything to get out beyond these walls."

"Application, Luttow?"

"Ja. Didn't you see the notice on the dining room wall?" Hans shook his head. Not that he'd taken much notice of the notice board lately. "It was there last night," Luttow informed him with pleasure. "Right in the centre."

Now that Luttow mentioned it, Hans did catch a glimpse of a new sheet of paper that had been pinned on the board just inside the mess Nissan hut but he'd been too occupied in his thoughts to have taken much notice of it. When he checked after his discussion with Luttow, he saw that it said that applications could be made by prisoners who wished to accept an invitation to enjoy Christmas dinner with an English family who lived in the area. How thoughtful.

Christmas carols could be heard coming out of the loud-speaker system in the room. Hans was reminded of the Christmases in England. There was one he could remember as if it were yesterday: the one where Gerald and Anne, Loppy, Robert, himself and Caroline had been invited round to an afternoon tea of carol singing with Jan and her aunt. It was the last time they had all been together and the flood of memories brought prickly tears into his eyes. He swallowed deeply. It was all he could do to stop the welling he could feel.

Life in the twenties was so much easier than now, he thought. We had our lives ahead of us and we all knew our place in the world. Where did we go wrong to get into such a mess? direction

To spend a Christmas with a family sounded too good to be true. But Luttow had seen it in black and white. To be allowed outside these barricades other than to work in the fields ¨C that was the stuff dreams were made of. But there it was an invitation to prisoners of war from British families who were willing to extend the hand of reconciliation and friendship.

He must thank Luttow for thinking of him. Then just before he found Luttow, he was handed a letter. He recognised Jan's handwriting and tore it open. Jan told him that she had made arrangements with the camp Commander for him to spend the day with her. She would be his 'English' family. How she had managed to get through all the red-tape, he couldn't even begin to know but she had written that everything was in order and the necessary papers had been stamped and signed. What she did not tell him was that she had booked herself into a small bed and breakfast for the holiday period and that would be the place she would be taking him.

The week and a half dragged by. It was worse than waiting for any order to come through from army headquarters. Life in the camp moved at such a slow pace and the pauses between each hour seemed endless.

Now was Christmas Eve and the weather had turned bitterly cold. Nurse Turner produced her identity credentials for the guard on the main gate and waited for a soldier to escort her to the Commander's office. One of his officers was on duty.

The small room was heated by an upright kerosene fire that stood in one of the corners. Even so, the tin-clad building was not particularly warm and the officer invited Jan over to the heater so that she could stand and warm her numb fingers. She had brought an extra thick army coat she had managed to borrow for Hans as she did not think the town locals would be pleased to see her accompanying a German uniform. People may think them spies and call for the military police or Home Guard and that would most certainly upset all her plans.

The officer sent a guard into the prisoners' quarters to find Major Resmel and bring him to the office. Then, everything would depend on Jan; her ability to make sure the day went smoothly together with the prompt return of the Major at 22.00 hours.

"It's good of you to offer one of the prisoners the chance to savour a little of Christmas," the officer said as soon as the guard left. He was stamping his feet on the cold floorboards, trying to fathom out why such a nurse would be making such an offer. "Awfully cold out there, today. Wouldn't be surprised if we didn't have a bit of snow." He looked out through the small window pane up into a mono-textured grey sky outside. "Later, I reckon. Cold enough for it."

"Might do."

Jan was not in the talking mood to say much more. She began to rub life and warmth back into her pale fingers. They started to tingle and ache.

"It's cold enough in here to freeze the balls off a brass monkey," he commented. "Bad enough in 'ere. Goodness knows what they must be feeling in those huts!"

"Or not feeling as the case may be," she answered in a dry tone.

The soldier smirked. As an active duty nurse, this woman would have heard it all; and seen it all. Nothing would shock her.

"Exactly!" He laughed a little. "Bloody cold, I should imagine."

"What about the ones in the tents?" She had made note that at least some of the POWs had to make do with erected army tents. Only this time, they were not in the desert of North Africa. "Must be absolutely freezing out there for them." She tucked her hands deep into her pockets.

"They've got a roof over their heads, haven't they?" There was no hint of empathy in his comment. "Lucky to have that. Most of our lads over there in France have nought but stars above them. They've got luxury here compared with our lads."

"Is it normal to put up tents?" she wanted to know.

"Not normal. Ran out of Nissan-hut accommodation for the last intake. Now it's a case of make do with what's offered."

"But the walls are so thin."

"They've got heaters in each tent and blankets. They're not too bad off. For Jerries. Should be grateful. After all, they started it so what do they expect!"

"Still, it can't be very pleasant in those tents."

She walked to the window and looked out. There was no sign of the guard or Hans. The officer reached for some papers on the Commander's desk. He picked up the top two pages and began reading.

"I see you're taking the Major out," he said still glancing through the print on the page. "He wouldn't be one of those under canvas. The lower ranks get that." The officer lowered his hand that was holding the papers. "Major, eh?" His eyes looked Jan in the face. "Hope this one appreciates what you are doing."

"He will. I know he will," she answered curtly.

"Hope you're right! Don't trust these Nazi sods. Can be quite tricky so be aware."

Jan ignored his last remark. She could hear footsteps approaching and then the NCO flung open the door.

"Major Resmel, sir."

"Thank you, Private." The English officer quickly placed his hat on his head and faced the prisoner who had just come in. He saluted. "Major."

The major came to attention and clicked his heels. He saluted first the officer and then the nurse.

"Lieutenant."

The Major removed his cap.

"Everything's in order, Major. Lucky man. Aren't our people good to make such an offer?" Hans nodded but said nothing, all the while keeping his eyes on Jan. The officer continued, "Good, then. We'll expect you back in barracks by 22.00 hours when your parole expires. I trust you to keep your word, one officer to another, and not let the lady down."

"Twenty two hundred hours." The major nodded. "I shall be here."

"Good. This lady's brought you a coat. I suggest to wear it. You can leave yours here."

"I'd prefer to keep it with me, thank you. But I will wear this one. Don't want to be taken for a spy. Might be shot, eh?" He laughed a little but his joke fell on deaf ears.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Jan put on her hat and gave him a quick salute. "I've got a driver waiting outside." She turned to Hans. "Are you ready, Major?"

Major Resmel replaced his cap, clicked his heels, saluted his fellow officer once more and followed his escort out of the building.

They were driven for five or six miles to the outskirts of town. Hans noticed several damaged buildings without roofs and guessed that they had been hit during one of the air raids. As they drove past, Jan mentioned that she, too, had heard about Elisabeth's death, and even though she knew that Hans had not been close to his wife, she did remember to express her regret.

"Thank you. I see your families suffer in the same way: your bombs, our bombs; what's the difference?"

She didn't answer but continued to look out of the small window by the back seat.

"Here we are!" she announced. "We've arrived. I think you'd better keep the army coat on that I brought for you, Hans."

The car had pulled up outside a very modest building. Its front windows had heavy dark curtains which had been pulled together. Hans noticed the glass was protected with criss-cross tape and guessed that it had been done to prevent the panes shattering should a bomb fall near by. He thought everything appeared secluded and drab as though each house was trying to camouflage itself and become one with the greyness of its surroundings.

He sat in the rear of the car and exchanged his own army coat for the English one. He pushed his cap through one of the shoulder straps of his uniform jacket. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he pulled up the coat collar and sank his head downwards into its protective fabric. Jan gave instructions to the driver and then, together, they walked up to the door and rang the bell.

"It's all right, Hans. The owner knows. He's made a small room available for us. We can sit and eat there without being disturbed. So, once inside, it's fine to remove the coat."

A servant led them through the dark, narrow corridors of the house until they came to a small room somewhere near the back of the building. They entered. The first thing he saw were the dark black-out curtains hanging loosely to one side of each window. It brought the reality of being on the receiving end of a bombing raid, even if the bombs were being dropped by pilots from his own side, very much closer to him. For a minute he felt foreign and uncomfortable but then Jan's familiar voice curtailed his thoughts.

"Give me your coat. It can go here." She indicated several coat hooks alongside the door. "You can take that army coat off as well and I will hang it on this hook. Then we can go inside."

The small room was cosy and warm, and smelt somewhat smoky from burning coal. It brought back memories of the Turner house and he half-expected the elderly lady to come walking through the door.

"Here, put your hat over there." Jan pointed to a small cupboard with a set of drawers. He laid his cap on the surface and walked across the room closer to the fire.

"Pleased?" she asked, joining him. They stood side by side looking at the pale blue and red flames flickering between the black, shiny coal lumps.

"Yes. I am." He held out his hands towards the fire to warm them. There was a homeliness about everything which he felt deep inside. He had not felt it for a long time.

"Like a drink?"Jan asked holding up a sealed bottle.

"Thanks." He was overwhelmed by the normality of everything. "What is it?"

"Sherry."

"Do you want me to open it for you?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I can manage."

She left his side and carried the bottle over to the table and picked up the bottle opener. There was a hissing sigh as the cork was loosened. He watched her intently and, for the first time, he noticed that the table had already been set but it had been set for three.

He was about to ask her who the other person might be but Jan got in first.

"Oh, I see you have noticed. Well, I'm not going to tell you. Not yet. How much sherry?"

She picked up one of the glasses.

"How much am I allowed?"

"As much as you want." The way she answered sounded as though there was a cellar full of the liquid. She laughed and poised the neck of the bottle over the rim of the glass.

"Fill it up then."

Jan poured his glass first and then her own. She brought them over to the fire.

"Prost!"

He clicked his heels together and held the filled glass above his head.

"Cheers!"

Each of them celebrated in their own secret way; neither of them divulged their innermost thoughts to the other. Jan bent down and stood her wine glass down on the edge of the hearth. She stood again and walked over to a small gramophone that had been placed on the sideboard top and turned it on. Vera Lynn's voice crooned liltingly from the speaker.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when but I know we'll meet again some sunny day . . .

He ignored its implication. As the song came to its end and the voice of the singer faded away, he stretched his shoulders and made the comment that the table was set and ready. He pointed in a way that indicated it was how he expected it to be: knife, fork, spoon, plate.

"But . . . three?" He paused and waited for an answer but she stood before him grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. And her felt as confused as Alice as his eyes sought her face for any hint. It was unbearable. He was beginning to feel tortured. "Who? Who else is coming, Jan?" he pleaded.

"You'll see."

He felt the smile sit on his shoulder. As he turned his head to check the fire, Jan disappeared just like the Cheshire cat. He did a complete one-hundred and eighty turn and there she was again. Still smiling at him. It was infuriating.

She reached backwards and pulled a crimson tasselled rope that was hanging from the ceiling.

"You'll see soon enough, Hans Resmel," she laughed. "Just wait and all will be revealed." She sided up to him and arched her back as she stood on tip-toe and whispered into his ear. "Curiosity killed the cat. Be patient and enjoy the moment. Want some more wine?"

"I haven't finished what's in my glass yet." He took another few sips as Jan bent down and retrieved hers from the hearth.

"To us!" she exclaimed.

They talked about the old days as they continued to sip their wine. Hans added a few extra coal lumps to the fire and then turned around so that he could more easily take in the entire room. He noted that it was larger than he had first thought, more like a small lounge or living room, for it had several mellow paintings and a grandmother pendulum clock on the far wall behind the table. He listened, soaking up the atmosphere of its quietness, the dull sound of the tick-tock and the occasional hiss and crack from the fire. A mellow yellow glow from the overhead light mingled with the patterns of dancing shapes over the wallpaper as the flames flickered behind the grating. The room was filled with a softness which even made the hard wooden surfaces of the sideboard and table appear welcoming. It was all very English and for once he appreciated its familiarity.

"I never knew how much I missed it," he said.

"Missed what?"

"English way of life," he answered. "It is so strange. I felt such an outsider when I first came to England. Now it's almost like returning home."

Jan laughed. It was a really happy laugh.

"And you say that standing here in that uniform!"

She touched the insignia on his uniform. He grinned.

"It is rather ironic, isn't it?"

"So much is these days."

"I think it was ironic before, too," he answered.

"Well, you were so anti-everything back then. Not at all English!"

"I am partly. Remember, my grandmother."

"I guess that gives you a foothold. Fancy aunt knowing her!" Jan took several large gulps from her wine glass. "Gosh, didn't we cross words when you were at my aunt's?"

"Doch! Yes! Funny, looking back on those times. We're not the same. We've changed. Seen both the bad and the good side of life."

"There's got to be more of the good to look forward to, don't you think?"

"I hope so. When this war's finished and we get back our lives . . . ."

He was about to continue when there was a knock at the door. Jan hurried across the room and opened it.

"Come in. Don't be shy. He's not going to eat you."

A girl, somewhere about fourteen or fifteen walked in. She wore a dark blue jacket and pleated skirt and had small, black leather shoes that buckled on one side. Her eyes caught Hans' attention. Blue and bright, bluer than even his own eyes. Her light brunette hair hung in soft waves to just below her earlobes so that the up swept ends seemed to frame her young face as if in a gentle embrace. She stood in the doorway, clutching a small black, leather handbag close to her breast.

Jan took the girl gently by the hand and escorted her into the room. Hans was most eager to know who she was.

"This is your daughter, Hans." Jan let go the girl's hand but did not move away from her side.

"Andrea?" He exclaimed, his voice going up several tones. Hans was astounded for he had forgotten how much the child would have grown since he last saw her. And now when he looked more closely, he could see the photograph likeness to Caroline when she had been a child. And yes, there was something there he recognised from his own mother: the two small dimples when she smiled. "Andrea."

He was too amazed to say anything more. Jan put her arm reassuringly around Andrea's shoulder.

"Say hello to your father, Andrea." She laughed. "See, he's quite real."

Politely, the girl held out her hand. It was a reserved gesture and it shook his insides up a little. He stood in disbelief, unsure of what to say for fear of how she would react. It took him several minutes to gather his thoughts together and take the girl's hand. It was cool and trembling.

"Andrea! Please . . . "

He could feel tears of joy welling up in his eyes and he really longed to wrap his arms around her slim youthful body. But both actions and words failed him. The lump stuck hard in his throat as his face muscles tightened around his jaw. He had never felt such a strong emotion as this before. No, never. He let her hand drop and they stood facing each other as if eternity had no span. Andrea moved only her eyes in Jan's direction.

"It's all right, Andrea."

"I'm so sorry!" Hans blurted out as a wave of remorse surged through him. "I didn't mean to leave you. Believe me, I would have been a good father to you had I been able to remain in England. Life just did not go the way I had planned."

"You did not completely abandoned Andrea," Jan added, indicating they move closer to the fireplace where they could sit down. "It was your father who paid for your education, Andrea and provided money for you to go on that holiday when you were eleven."

"I know. Aunty told me."

The girl kept her eyes on her father but she sat down very close to Jan on the small settee, seeking reassurance from the woman she had known all her life.

Hans sat opposite and noticed the way Andrea was observing him.

"Oh dear, I hope my uniform doesn't frighten you. Does it?"

Andrea shook her head. When she smiled, there were Great-grandmother's dimples.

"What uniform is that?" When she spoke she sounded so English.

"It's a German one," he answered. "Afrika Korps."

"Does that mean you're a Nazi?" she asked, as she raised her eyebrows and looked as if she were staring at him. Andrea faced Jan. "Mr Churchill says the Nazis are bad. They want to kill us." She turned her head back in her father's direction. "Are you like that?"

Hans laughed.

"No, I'm not a Nazi. I am just a soldier who was called up to fight for his country."

"Like Uncle Gerald?"

"Who?"

Jan leaned forward and spoke.

"Don't say you have forgotten your English friends already, Hans Gerald! Remember, Anne's husband."

"That Gerald," he answered.

"Andrea's known them all her life and calls him Uncle Gerald."

"I see. Yes, just like Uncle Gerald."

It felt as if he knew them in another world; not in the crazy one that had upturned the world that had been created now.

"That's all right, then! I like Uncle Gerald. He flies aeroplanes." Andrea laughed. She was more relaxed and sounded more perky than before. Jan said something quietly to Andrea and then got up and moved away.

Hans was relieved that his daughter accepted his uniform and was relaxed about their meeting. With the ice broken and the formalities over, they could sit and enjoy the warmth, taking time to get to know each other. There were so many missing years to fill in.

"When I knew I was going to meet you, Aunty has told me that you were from Germany." Andrea screwed up her nose and half closed her eyes so that she looked kitten-like.

"I grew up in Austria and in Germany," he answered leaning back comfortably into the softness of the well-padded armchair.

"Did you meet my real mother in Germany?" Andrea asked after she had had time to digest what he had just told her.

"No. Your mother was English. Her name was Caroline."

"Real English? From here?"

"Yes."

"And your surname is Resmel?"

"Correct."

A puzzled look crossed her face.

"But my name is Andrea Crawford-Turner. Was that my mother's name?"

"No. Crawford was your great-grandmother's name and Turner . . . "

"That's auntie's name. And Jan's." Andrea said it quite naturally as if she had quite accepted the situation. "But am I a Resmel as well?"

"You are, Andrea. One day, when the war has ended, I'll take you to Austria and show you where your grandmother and great-grandmother lived in Salzburg. It's so beautiful, there, Andrea. There are mountains and a river: the Salzach River. Have you heard of Mozart?" The girl looked a little puzzled."

"Mozart wrote that music I played the other day," Jan commented from the other side of the room.

"Oh." Andrea smiled. "On the piano?"

"Yes. And he was born in Salzburg, like your grandfather."

"Were you born in Mozart's house, too?" Andrea wanted to know.

Hans laughed. He loved her innocence.

"No. But I was born not that far away, Neither am I as famous as Mozart. Never-the-less, I'd still love to take you there."

"Can Jan come, too?" Andrea twisted the handle of her bag between her fingers. Hans looked over towards Jan who was putting things on to the table.

"Of course. I'll take you both. Look, I've got a photo in my jacket pocket of me when I was a boy." He walked over to where his uniform jacket had been placed and unclipped one of the pockets. He pulled out a small wallet and took out a photograph. "Would you like to see? I was a lot younger than you are now. I am standing outside my grandmother's house."

He returned to his chair and held out the photograph for her to take. She hesitated and looked towards Jan.

"Do you want to see, Jan?"

"It's all right, Andrea. I will look at it later."

Hans was beginning to realise how close Jan was to his daughter. But then, he remembered that Jan had told him her aunt had taken over the care of the child when it was school holiday time and so she and Jan were the only family she had known. Andrea handed the picture back and Hans was just about to lead his daughter over to his jacket, when Jan intercepted him and laid a hand on his arm.

"Give her time, Hans. We didn't tell her everything, you understand. With the war on, and all. We didn't want the others treating her any differently so we use to tell her that her father was fighting overseas and had no leave. Like others in the overseas forces. Many other children never see their fathers so for Andrea it was no different. She needs time to adjust to all the new information."

"Yes, I see. I can see the sense in telling her that. But now that she realises who I really am, do you think it will cause her a problem?"

"I don't think so. She's a bright girl. She'll be able to cope."

"You have no objection to me showing her other photographs, then?"

Jan shook her head and returned to the table. Hans walked back to Andrea. He asked for her permission to sit next to her on the couch and began to take out other old photographs from the wallet. He handed another to his daughter.

"That's me and that's my brother, Uncle Renard. That's your Uncle Axel when he was a baby and that's my mother, your grandmother. Father ah, your grandfather is the man standing at the back." He handed her yellowing photograph of the relatives she had no knowledge of. The photo was a smaller copy of one that had been taken in a studio when Papi was home on leave. He was in uniform at the time. It was the only one he had of his family and because he had carried it with him wherever he was, it was ragged and bent at the edges.

Andrea studied the photograph most carefully, turning it towards the light of the fire so that its surface was easier to see.

"That's you?" she asked pointing to the younger slight-built child.

"Correct."

She drew the photo closer to her face and inspected it as though she were looking at something through a microscope. After a while, she looked back up at her father again and giggled. Then, she dropped her head and returned to the the figures in the picture. They looked so strange and yet she felt a familiarity with them. She kept looking at her grandmother, the young mother in the photograph, until she raised her head again.

"Was she born here?" Andrea wanted to know.

"No. It was her mother. My grandmother."

Hans took another photo from his wallet. It was very faded. A woman in the middle of her age peered out at Andrea through a cracked eggshell veil. The shut doors behind her were made from timber and were so high they made the woman look small.

"Was she a tiny person?" Andrea looked from the photo to her father and back to the photo.

"Not especially," he replied. "That is grandmother Crawford and she was born in England."

"My name has Crawford in it," Andrea commented. As she handed back the picture, she screwed up her eyes and laughed. Her dimples reappeared and Hans immediately thought of his mother. Maybe Grandmother Crawford had dimples, too, when she was younger. He smiled at the girl and she allowed him to pat her on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Andrea."

She watched while he tucked all the photographs back into his wallet and then replaced the wallet in his pocket.

"What do those things mean?"

She pointed to the stripes on the collar of his uniform.

"That means I'm a Major."

"That sounds very important," she commented with an air of wonder."

"Not any more, for me at least. I now do as I'm told." He pulled a funny face and dropped his voice almost to a whisper as if it were a secret just between her and him. "Don't you have to do that, too?"

She giggled at the thought. The ice between them had been broken and she accepted him as if she had known him all her life.

"Now, my Little one" he said. "You've heard all about me. Let me hear everything about yourself."

Jan rejoined them and now with Jan's help, Andrea told her father about her school and friends, the things she liked doing and about the day when the large bomb landed and exploded near to the house. The chatter completely shattered any concerns he had and before long all three were laughing and enjoying the last few minutes of the morning, until, as the clock was chiming mid-day, there was a knock at the door. Three maids brought in the food for their Christmas dinner.

"Come on you two. Come and eat before it gets cold."

Hans was the first to get up. Hans' eyes must have betrayed his surprise, for as soon as they had all sat down, Andrea leaned across the table towards him.

Jan began dishing out the vegetables. She poured thick gravy over the piece of goose that had been previously cut off the bird and handed Hans the plate of food.

"Excuse me, father. Did they feed you real food in the army?"

"Of course. Not as good as this, though. This smells delicious and looks good, too. I can't wait to try it."

"What did you have to eat?"

"Dried potato. Cheese and biscuits. Tins of sauerkraut. Sardines. They were a treat. When we were lucky to get them. Oh, and tinned sausages on special days. You must try a real German one, Andrea."

She giggled a little and looked at Jan and wanted to know more.

"Was that all? It doesn't sound like much," Andrea commented screwing up her nose at the thought.

"Well, when we really wanted a feast, we'd raid the Tommies."

Jan picked up on his last comment by did not say anything. She knew full well that there were some serious raids made on their food depots, for as rations became scarcer, those in the Afrika Korps acted like rats and took what they could, when they could.

"Try some stuffing, Hans. It's English but this time, it's freely offered. Here's the spoon."

Jan passed over a bowl and he lifted out a small amount and put it on the side of his plate. Hans thought that it was no wonder Germany was losing the war if the British could afford to eat like this. Even when he was home on during his last leave, the rationing had been most severe and he did not like to think about the conditions this year. There were things now on his plate that he had not seen, let alone tasted for years.

All the food had been well prepared. It tasted wonderful. He realised that meat was heavily rationed in England so he was puzzled as to where the slices of goose had come from. Had they been bought on the black market? He didn't even know if there was such a thing here. Then, they even had crackers. Real home made ones. Jan told him they had been made by Miss Turner and Andrea. And so, here he was, sitting at a table with the two people he loved most in this world, with a funny paper hat perched on the top of his head and, in between mouthfuls of delicious food, blowing through a tiny tin whistle and laughing like a little boy. Plum pudding and custard. The last time he had eaten this, was . . . it must have been before Andrea was born. And when he found the small farthing pieces, he handed them over to Andrea with a hearty 'Merry Christmas.'

But this was not a usual festive time and before long, the pressures of war crept into the conversation again.

"Did you ever kill anyone when you were a soldier?" The pupils in the girl's eyes grew large with curiosity.

"Possibly, who knows. It's not that I wanted to. You must understand that where there are guns . . . "

The inquisitive girl did not wait for him to finish.

"Did you fly any aeroplanes or drop bombs on to the houses? I saw a bomb land one day and it was so scary."

He was reminded of the terrible devastation he had seen in Europe after the Luftwaffe had attacked the cities in Poland. One had a completely different perspective on the ground. He had been told of the bombing Andrea had witnessed and all he could think of was how relieved he was that she had not been hurt.

"No, Andrea. I didn't drop any bombs."

"What did you do?"

"Most of the time I rode round in vehicles. And, for a short time, I worked with the people my army had caught."

"Pee-oh-double-yous," Andrea said slowly. "Prisoners of war."

"That's how I met Jan. She was in a camp hospital."

"I know," she said without blinking an eye at the thought. "Jan has already told me. I'm glad you met her."

Andrea gave Jan a smile that told Hans the two were very close. He was pleased about that. It would make things easier for them when this war was over. It was a strange feeling for everyone, for their respective countries had put more of a division between them than they had done of their own making. Yet, in some way, it had brought them closer together, for he never would have thought he could feel for Jan Turner as he was feeling now.

It proved to be a memorable afternoon. They sat and played games; they talked and laughed. Jan poured out cups of tea and it was just like any pre-war family afternoon. Then, Jan delved into a large canvas bag she had brought with her and handed out the Christmas presents.

"It's not much, Hans. There's a war on, you know. But I managed to save my ration coupons and get you something from my heart."

"Jan, this really is too much. What can I say? This was not expected." Hans unrolled the paper from around the soft parcel. Inside, was a beautiful leather wallet with his name engraved on the front. "Thank you. I'll make sure I keep this with me, always."

He shuffled over to where she was sitting and kissed her on her cheek. There was a long pause while they remained looking into each others eyes. Andrea coughed loud enough to catch Jan's attention. Hans suspected there was some form of silent communication going on between the two. Jan rummaged around in her bag again, drew out a plain wrapped parcel and handed it to Andrea.

"For you . . . father." She walked over to her father and dropped her present into his lap. 'Father:' the word was gift enough. He turned it over and over, not wanting to break the magic of the moment. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Her eyes were wide with anticipation. He laughed easily.

"Yes, of course. Are you going to tell me what's inside?"

"No! Of course not! It's something I've made."

"And you made it for me?"

Andrea nodded and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees and watched him intently. She did not take her eyes off the soft, immobile bundle still lying in his lap. Slowly he began unwrapping it, turning it over, making funny little comments which made he laugh.

"Will it bite?"

"No."

"Will it jump out to escape?" He winked at Jan who was finding it difficult not to burst out laughing.

"No! It's not alive!"She giggled.

He enjoyed playing games like this. He remembered his own mother teasing them like this when he and his brothers were children.

As the last piece of wrapping paper fluttered on to the carpet, he began to unfold something very long and very colourful. It was soft and warm.

"Ah, it's a scarf! Just right for those cold nights. Many, many thanks, Andrea." He wound the colourful scarf around his neck covering the insignia on his shirt collar. "So many colours. And it will keep me warm."

His daughter found his behaviour amusing and she folded over in a convulsion of giggles.

"Wool's hard to get," she finally managed to say. "I had to unpick old jumpers and things to get enough to make it."

"It's still very good. Thank you. Who taught you to knit?"

"Aunty."

Hans remembered what Miss Turner had told him about the man she was to marry. She had been knitting for him when she heard of his death.

What a strange world. The thought brought back the connection he and Andrea had to the retired school mistress. Miss Turner could have easily been his aunt, so it was natural and proper that Andrea call her aunty.

As daylight faded during late afternoon, the darkness outside became impenetrable and it was more and more difficult to decipher any shapes the other side of the window, and turning one's focus inward. Hans began to realise how little he really knew about his own child: her experiences and memories, her friends and her life. The war had taken away so much: the joys of family and fatherhood. He and his daughter were strangers. He wondered whether he could bridge the huge gap that had yawed open between them. It pleased him that Andrea had found someone to love and care for her and during the afternoon, he had been lucky enough to see how well Andrea and Jan related to each other; not like friends, nor as sisters but more like mother and daughter. As he watched them together, his heart began to grow fonder for the English woman he had known for almost half his life.

"Come, Andrea, give your father a hug." Jan looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Time for a return to reality. Our car will be here in a few minutes. Your father is still a prisoner of war and I have to get him back on time."

Hans picked up his jacket and began buttoning up the front of it. Jan handed over the heavy British overcoat.

"Better put this one on over the top again. Just as well to be safe until we get you back inside." She turned to Andrea. "I shouldn't be long. You'll be fine on your own?"

The girl nodded.

"No planes will be over tonight, Jan. Too cloudy. I can always ring for room service."

Hans was lost for words. He'd only just found his daughter and the thought of any raid shook him up. His daughter was so precious. and he did not want to lose her.

The army driver arrived exactly to the minute. Army time. So punctual. Jan and Hans sat in the back. The car picked up speed as they got to the main road. There was still a blackout and the vehicle headlights had little hoods over them so that they would not be seen from the air. It made driving more difficult and dangerous but people managed. In wartime, you coped with anything.

"I still don't know how you managed it, Jan."

"You are not the only prisoner of war to be invited into a British home for Christmas," she explained. "It is the closest we can be to being a family. Did you enjoy it?"

Hans patted her on her knee. It was the most he dared do with the driver sitting directly in front of them.

"Wonderful day, many thanks."

They sat quiet for a few minutes peering into the pitch black outside the windows. It was impossible to tell whether one were still in town or driving along a country road. How the driver was able to stay on the road was beyond belief.

One thing that had been puzzling Hans was how Jan and her aunt had managed to be guardians for Andrea so long. He broached the subject with Jan as the car crawled along the roadway.

"When the Blitz hit London," she said. "many of the records were destroyed. Then, with things being topsy-turvy . . ."

"Topsy-turvy?" he asked. He had never come across that expression before.

"All mixed up," she explained. "It was easy to fill in forms I knew would never be checked on. I said Andrea was my love child and that's why aunt wanted to care for her. That's why her name is recorded as Crawford-Turner. Caroline's father never wanted anything to do with his grand-daughter. He never forgave Caroline for what she did. Anyway, I managed to get a pass for Andrea to share Christmas with us. And once we had that pass, the rest was easy."

"I do appreciate what you have done, Jan and don't know how to thank you. You realise you've made me very happy?"

"It's made me very happy, too, Hans, to see you two together."

The car rounded a corner and the vehicle's headlights lit up part of the high barbed-wire gates of the POW camp. Hans reached along the seat until he found Jan's hand. He squeezed it gently, urging her to shift a little closer towards him but not too much or their driver might become suspicious. The next moment, the car slowed and came to a halt. The duty guard checked the papers and then the gates yawned open and it was like being expelled from some giant mouth as they drove out of the civilian blackness and into the lit quadrangle of the British Army's prisoner of war camp.

"Jan, I wish . . . ." But he did not finish for the driver opened his door and got out.

Hans released Jan's hand but did not make an immediate effort to get out of the vehicle. The driver was occupied with handing over the travelling documents concerning the return of the prisoner and Hans knew he had only a short time left before the rear door would be opened and he would be told to exit. He wrapped his arm around Jan's shoulders and drew her closer until he could sense her breath. Her face was so close now, that to reach her glasses, she had to slide her fingers upwards, lightly brushing his cheek as she did so. As she gently pushed the frame, the memory of its familiarity touched his heart. Their lips touched and he could sense her willingness to respond. He kissed her deeply and passionately. He felt tingling pleasure pulse throughout his body. She returned his kiss and he knew at once by the intensity, that she really did love and care for him.

Quite a few families this year had opened up their homes during this Christmas. They had been willing to extend the goodwill of the festive season to those who were considered their enemy. The prisoner of war camps had allowed well-behaved prisoners to enjoy these few hours. Yet none had enjoyed themselves quite as much as Major Erwin Hans Resmel.

CHAPTER 22

Last Days

The fighting on the western front had not been going well for the Nazi war machine. Over half a million men had been lost, together with most of their tanks, artillery and transport and many thousands more were now being taken prisoner. Tired and disillusioned men had been prepared to lay down their weapons and give themselves up but their commanding officers had been given instructions to shoot anyone who looked like deserting. Even so, as British and American troops made their way across the fields of France, the fighting was as fierce as it had always been. A hardened core of foot soldiers and those too young to know a different life were still willing to believe the Nazi propaganda machine and fight on. Reports began to seep through lines of communication, that the Führer leader had grown pale and puffy, had become, when agitated like a twitching cockroach; calm and quiet one minute, screaming and raving like a demented spirit the next. The news percolated out like coffee, at first a pale trickle until it had become rich and coloured in detail and the enemy was quick to seize the opportunity.

Hans heard about Hitler's last major December offensive in France through a communication early in '45. Maybe the censors had missed it or maybe they had left it in as a deliberate act. He read that the Führer had thrown his remaining panzers into an attack on the Americans in the wooded hills of the Ardennes.

There is to be no withdrawal! No surrender! The Americans and their allies must be smashed!

Win or die! Had not enough men been slaughtered like cattle? The push into the Ardennes had been a terrible mistake which had been doomed to fail the minute the idea was hatched. Hans knew very little about anything for most information was closely guarded. Since November he had not received a single bit of news from Germany and as the New Year approached, he realised that Elisabeth would never share in Christmas celebrations ever again. Once more he had survived where his wife had died. The depression he felt had brought back memories of his loss for Caroline. But he had to struggle on for he was not the only one to have felt such loss. He was obliged to put the other men before his own needs and make an approach to the commanding British officer in the hope of releasing Christmas mail.

At the beginning of January, the Red Cross mail and parcels did arrive. Such arrival always lifted the prisoners' spirits and for several days afterwards there was a burst of activity within the camp as items were traded and snippets of homeland news were exchanged. Hans found he did well from his allocation of cigarettes, for there were always other men willing to exchange even the most rarest of 'goodies' for a packet or two of something they could smoke.

As soon as the trading had subsided and men slipped into some favourite place to savour the sweetness of smoke or the spiced flavour of home-produced sausage.

Now that the weather was improving, life as a POW in England was mainly spent in walking to and from the camp to spend hours hoeing and tending vegetable crops on one of the neighbouring farms. Food rations were quite adequate, often better than any that the Afrika Korps had received during their final year in North Africa and a lot better than the civilian population in Europe.

Prisoners were told that Allied tanks had now crossed the Rhine and that Hitler had taken to his underground bunker in Berlin where he was preparing for his and Germany's final stand. What they were not told was that their Führer's rantings were becoming more frequent as he screamed into the faces of those generals still loyal enough to risk the dangers of trying to get through battle lines already squeezing Berlin from every direction. If only they could have heard, they would have wondered why their demented leader was still in charge.

Traitors! All traitors! Can I trust none of you stupid, cowardly idiots? Nothing remains! Nothing is spared me! I've been stabbed in the back by idiotic imbeciles too soft to stand and fight! Bubbles of froth and spit seeped out between his quivering mouth as he raved. My orders were to stand firm! There was to be NO surrender! Why doesn't the Wehrmacht listen? I'll tell you: because you're all cowards, that's why. And traitors! All traitors! You are the ones destroying the Reich, not me. All fools! Find the SS! We have to make preparations! The SS know how to fight for Berlin! Prepare for complete victory or total destruction!"

Nature was making her own preparations. Spring was in the air. Everything was exploding; exuberantly bursting from her winter rest. Golden daffodil trumpets had heralded in sweeping masses of bluebells carpeting a grey woodland floor with its brilliance of blue. Soft, pale lime-green leaves began to stretch themselves like hatching butterflies and slowly, but surely, the dull woods of winter were being transformed into a waving mass of green. Calls of a solitary cuckoo spread out unseen; a dappled voice breathing life into the awakening forest.

Hans had spent much of this morning working in one of the fields. It was a wonderful warm spring morning and he had been pleased to have been outside. It was so peaceful. No sound of war had intruded. Fighters no longer whined overhead and these fields were away from any bomber flight path.

He was returning to camp with the working party when he saw Jan standing just inside the prison gates. The men had been singing the Afrika Korps favourite song, 'Lilli Marlene,' as they marched together under guard between farm and camp. Jan was his Lilli and, unlike the girl in the song, his girl was there to welcome him, not to say 'goodbye.'

As soon as they had walked through the gates and been dismissed, he left the others and made his way over to her. It always lightened his heart to see her, even if she and one of the doctors had been called in to attend to an ailing prisoner. This time she was unaccompanied.

"Jan, how wonderful to see you again."

She held up her hand towards him and spoke quickly,

Hans, I haven't got long. Can we talk somewhere?"

"I'll clean off this dirt and then we can go to the mess and talk. Wait here. I won't be long. Don't go away."

She laughed and patted her First Aid kit box she always carried with her when she came.

"No fear of that! Orders received, Major. We'll have about half an hour. I'm not going to let this opportunity go. I have to report for duty at 14.20 hours."

A moon-shaped grin dominated Hans' face and gave him the appearance of a cheeky schoolboy. Jan remembered the time when such a grin would have annoyed her. As a teenager she was annoyed with many things in her life and felt more a prisoner then, than many of these men did now. She watched him as he darted away in the direction of the curved Nissan-hut that had been his sleeping quarters since his return to England. He was nimble on his feet for the field work had made him fit again. He was as good as his word, for within four minutes, he returned tidy and clean, dressed in his military uniform.

"There's a quiet corner we can go to," he suggested quickly, indicating the area he had in mind. As they hurried over, he told her that some of the younger men had found themselves girlfriends when they had been out on the farms."

"Land-girls,"Jan added.

"Yes. They're very friendly towards the boys. And they all like it. They snatch a few minutes to practise their English when the guards take time to light up. The fraternising's not really allowed. But girls and boys . . . it doesn't matter where they're from . . . they always find a way. And who am I to stop them?"

"Well, you can't say much, can you? Here's a senior officer of theirs chatting up a girl, right now. Right under the noses of his captors. Really, Major! What is this camp coming to?"

"Do you think anyone notices this nurse is not here just on official business?"

Jan shrugged her shoulders.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. All anyone can see is that we are going over to the mess hall. Quite plausible."

Yet it must have looked a bit strange to anyone who took the time to observe them, to see the pair walking and talking at ease with each other: one in a Wehrmacht uniform; the other, a British ATS nurse. But then, this was a camp, so maybe not.

Music was playing over the sound system. It was American rag-time. Hans found a table at the far end of the hut and they sat facing each other, the tops of their heads almost touching.

"Hans?" Jan began, sliding her hand slowly towards him over the table top. He automatically placed his own hand over hers, enjoying the feeling of contact.

"What?"

"I wish this damn war would hurry up and end and then we can be together." She was silent for a while. Hans could feel her fingers moving under the palm of his hand. When she spoke next, the volume of her voice was low and guarded for she did not want anyone other than Hans to hear what she wanted to say. "I do love you, Hans, regardless of the uniform you are wearing."

"I have grown to love you too, Jan but it doesn't help while there is still a war."

"I have always felt there was something between us and I do not just mean the disagreements we've had in the past." She looked into deeply his eyes and into the past they had shared together. "I was terribly angry at first because you acted as if I did not exist. Then, when you came to aunt's to stay, I had to learn how to share. I had never done that before and then I got to used to it and thought of you as mine. Others had brothers or sisters, like Anne; someone with whom to share, to do things together. Like when we rode that bicycle together. That was fun and I really wanted you to like me."

"Really?" His voice raised in surprise. "You wanted a brother that much?"

"Yes. Then I became angry and jealous when you talked and laughed with other girls."

"Surely you weren't jealous of Anne, were you?" he asked raising an eyebrow and almost laughing off the question he had just asked. "You knew Anne was just a friend. She was in love with Gerald."

Jan nodded in rapid succession, then looked at him with serious intent.

"I didn't mean her." She clenched her hands and Hans noticed the tips of her knuckles were becoming quite white. "It was Heidi. I thought you were attracted to her."

Hans laughed loudly and reasuringly placed his hands over Jan's.

"I'd known Heidi when we were young children and was so pleased when I saw her again. I wanted to make things easier for her than it was for me. There was nothing else other than friendship between us."

"But you spoke to her in German and I didn't understand. I thought you were chatting her up. I was so jealous. You see, I was attracted to you, even back then."

"I never knew. You never gave any indication. I always thought you despised me because I wasn't English."

"I'd heard so many stories when I was little. You know how children only understand bits of adult conversations and I'm sorry about the photo. I didn't understand why my aunt had it on the wall in the first place. I did not want to hurt you. Really. I never knew how your family also suffered until Aunt explained everything. And then after the accident, I wanted to be nice to you but I didn't know how. I wanted you to take an interest in me but as my interest in you grew, you were taken further and further away."

"I'm sorry. I never guessed you felt like that."

"I had a real crush on you. Other girls fell in love with Valentino but I fell in love with you. You were real. You were different. You know how it is with girls."

"I'm learning."

Jan lifted her head and threw a quick glance around the Nissan-hut. They appeared to be alone now. Never-the-less she leant even closer towards him.

"I wished Andrea had been our daughter but I wouldn't have wanted to go through what Caroline went through. The idea of childbirth scared me. But since nursing, I have looked at things differently. Then, I don't think I really realised how much I cared for you until we met out in North Africa. Seeing you again brought back all those old feelings again, only stronger. When I found out you had married and . . . " She took in a noisy breath between her lips and looked across the table with an expression of a hurt child. "I was angry and hurt again, Hans. The old me just exploded. I'm sorry. By that time, I knew it was love I felt. And it hurt!"

Hans was speechless for a long time. He squeezed Jan's hands and felt them slide away from underneath.

"There are prying eyes are around here. We need to be careful. " She hid her hands under the table. "Did you have any feelings for me?" she asked.

"I don't know how I felt about you but I know I wasn't pleased when you were returned to England as I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. As for my marriage to Elisabeth, call it a political arrangement. I did my duty for the Führer and the expectations demanded of me." A mocking smirk played around the corners of his mouth. "As for Caroline, I could not help myself. But then I was young. I fell in love with Caroline the first time I saw her and from then on she was the only girl for me. Youth and love: we loved each other as young people do . . . passionately. I realise now we were impulsive but it was the moment that mattered to us."

"I wished it were me," Jan groaned like someone with a deep-seated stomach ache.

"Would we have been as happy years down the track?" Hans found himself doubting his earlier feelings. Then he answered himself. "I do not know. I think this war would have destroyed us one way or another. I'm not sure Caroline could have gone with me to Germany, especially to the Germany we have today. Would our marriage have been accepted by the authorities knowing that one of her grandparents had Jewish connections?"

"Probably not, Hans. Who can tell?"

"You know that Caroline's parents were angry when they found out Caroline was pregnant."

"I know," Jan groaned. "Caroline's mother had a lot to say to Aunt about it all after Caroline had died. It was such a scandal. It was bad enough that she should run away but when they learnt of the baby, the disgrace was more than they could bare. For a long time, Aunt thought you had married and when she learnt otherwise, even she said Caroline had disgraced the whole family. Do you think our love will cause further disgrace?"

"I hope not. Look at it this way, Jan. In spite of all the hate around us, we've learnt to find love. There's hope in that. In a strange way, the war years have brought us closer. We've had plenty of time to realise our feelings for each other."

"Maybe. Do you believe in destiny?"

"Why?"

"I think it was destiny that brought us together, Hans."

"It is ironic that it had to happen in a world of hate!" He laughed mockingly. "Is that how we had to find love, Jan?"

"I think so. Can the love we feel for each other really overcome all the bitterness and hate that has been around us?"

Jan adjusted her glasses. It was then, for a brief second, he noticed tears in the outer corners of her eyes.

"Jan, we can make it happen, if we want it to but only when all this killing stops."

"I suppose so." Her voice almost broke up. "Until then, there is little we can do."

She looked away for a moment. He could feel her desperation and share her anguish. He rubbed the back of his little finger back and forth as the two of them sat silently summing up the situation. Hans had learnt to wait. A life in a prisoner of war camp was a long wait . . . for the end of the war, whenever it was to be . . . .

Finally, Jan pulled herself together enough to be able to talk to him again.

"I wish we could love each other . . . openly. I wish we didn't have to snatch these secret moments when we can be together. Oh, how I long before I can let everyone know how I feel!"

He very much wanted to take her into his arms and hold her tightly so that their bodies could fuse together and so that nothing would dare to split them apart. Ever.

"Jan, dear Jan. I do love you."

His eyes penetrated deep into her body and sent tingles running all the way down her back. Her body silently pleaded for him to do more. Sounds around her dissolved as her own blood swished through her arteries and veins and swelled the nipples of her breasts until she could feel them pressing hard on the inside of her blouse. Her eyes followed him as he got up and moved around the table, edging closer to where she was sitting. She arched her back cat-like as he came closer and allowed herself to be wrapped into his strong, masculine arms.

Her entire body trembled. She could feel his breath down the back of her neck as he bent the top of his body over her head. She felt wanted and warm within his embrace.

"I love you."

The warmth of his breath tickled her inner ear. She lifted her face upwards and smiled a smooth, silky smile. He kissed her firmly on her lips. They were swollen, moist and warm. He had the desire to kiss her again and again, to hold and make love to her until every sinew and muscle in his body gave up from sheer exhaustion.

"We will be together, soon." His nostrils flared wide like a galloping horse. "It must be so."

"I'll hope," she breathlessly whispered, letting her flushed cheek softly rub against the unshaven stubble on the curve of his face.

Hans let his arms slide away. He regained his composure and quickly stepped back. It would not do for them to be seen in such closeness to each other. Not yet. They would have to control themselves and be patient a while longer, keeping their love for each other secret.

Early evening, Hans lay on his bunk and listened to the dull drone of low-rumbling engines roll across the sky. The world surrounding them was still at war. Night raids were common. Hundreds of Allied bombers rolled like thunder clouds,crossing the Channel and winging their way into the skies of northern Europe. The cities of Hitler's Reich were burning, turning into blackened twisted shapes clawing upwards towards a hostile sky. Broken bricks and ruins of rubble littered the streets as billowing black smoke clouds obliterated the blood-redness of a thousand incendiary fires.

Closer and closer the armies of America and Britain edged towards their target, army and air-force together, pushing eastwards across Germany until finally, the Americans and the Red Army met on the banks of the river Elbe. It had been a bitter fight.

In England, the last of the spring flowers were colouring the woods. A new stirring was taking place as blackbirds and thrushes began rebuilding their nests. Birds that had left the winter landscape behind them were returning to the mudflats and lakes and forest trees to feed and fatten on the abundance of food that an awakened land was ready to offer.

On May 1st, as Radio Hamburg was playing Bruckner's Seventh Symphony. Uncle Karl had come into the kitchen for his dinner and had turned on the wireless for a bit of background music. He had little else to do now as his factory lay in ruins, a burnt out shell with little possibility for repair. He knew the fighting was nearing its end for every day there were conflicting reports about the Allied advances. Sometimes, the news broadcasts let a little of the outside reality seep through the constant barrage of how impregnable the borders the Reich were for their enemies. Uncle Karl finally realised they had been fed a diet of lies. Now, he preferred to hear music. Suddenly, and without warning the music stopped. An unemotional announcement was made:

The Führer is dead!

Smouldering ruins covered much of Europe. The last hostile shot rang out and then all was silent. The madness of the last five and a half years had finally come to an end. At midnight between May 8th and 9th, the last bombs fell and Europe gave a sigh of shame. Her shocked and dazed population crawled out from the rubble and stood face to face with their truth.

Uncle Karl knew now that there could be no victors in war. Men, women and children, soldiers and those held captive, homes and churches, communication networks and countryside had all suffered. Innocence had been sucked from humanity as the world began to weep for all the evil it was now witness to.

In England, church bells rang out. Crowds of survivors danced in the streets, hugged and kissed strangers as they celebrated the rebirth of peace. There was a new hope, a new beginning; it was a time to begin healing the wounds of war. It was a time in which people could begin planning and hope for a better future.

The Commander needed to speak with the senior German officer. It was most important that the prisoners of war be prepared for the conditions that existed in a post-war Germany. There were so many broken families across the Channel, families that had been rent apart and were now desperately trying to locate one another. Broken souls who spent their waking days sifting through the ruins and grasping at any small scattered scrap of information that would give them hope; any hope. Sadly, many of those lost would remain lost to their familes forever. They were just some of the millions who had perished because of a lust for power and a cry of 'war.' Only now, the enormity and true horror of a war which had whipped an entire nation into blind fanaticism, was beginning to reveal its dark secrets.

Before each prisoner could be freed, they had to be made aware of the horrendous evil the Nazi regime had inflicted on the populations in Europe. Jan had been informed that it could take several months, even maybe a year before Hans would finally be released and she desperately wanted to be with him as soon as possible. She had not told Hans that she had put in an application through the ATS for his early release on compassion grounds. She knew the application had been favourably received, yet as no definite answer had yet been given, she had decided not to give Hans false hopes.

A quiet autumn evening when the men were still able to sit in the early evening air, the Commander requested the presence of Major Resmel in his office. Hans opened the office door and began to raise his right hand ready to salute, when the Commander shook his head and indicated that this meeting was an informal one. He reached behind him and plonked an unopened bottle of sherry on to the table between them. Two metal mugs appeared and joined the bottle.

"Been keeping this for the end," said the Commander. "Won't you join with me now it's all over?"

"Thank you, Commander."

It was a strange feeling to be sitting in this office opposite the man, who, until now had been his adversary. The Commander popped the cork and filled their mugs.

"Cheers!"

"Cheers!" It was the first time Hans had used it.

"Thank God it's all over," sighed the Commander as he first took a fairly large mouthful of sherry, and then leaning well back in his chair, ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. "Now we can talk as friends." He offered Hans a cigarette out of a small silver box. Hans politely held up his hand and the box was left lying on the table. "Mind if I do?" asked the Commander. Hans shook his head and waited for the other to light up. "I was called up early in the forties," said the Commander drawing lightly on the cigarette. "I'd been on the reserve list for ten years. I'd done some military service back in the twenties. You must've been in England about then. Were you here when we had the Great Strike?"

"Yes," answered Hans. He took a sip of wine and then continued, "I was. I couldn't get back to London that day."

"I was one of those called up to drive a train. London to Oxford. Many of the military were, you know. Gosh, Major, that seems a life-time ago. Quite a different world, back then."

"Exactly."

"Then I was out in Africa for a couple of years. Trouble with some of the locals so the Ministry asked for volunteers. After that stint I wasn't too keen continuing in active service, so I went on the reserves. Wanted to get married again, see. Army life's rather hell for a family being dragged around everywhere, nowhere to really call home. Have you been a military man all your working life?"

"No. I had a father who made the army his career so I do know what you're talking about. I know what it's like to be dragged around from one place to the next or not seeing your father for months and months. My mother found things very difficult."

"I'm sure she did. You have any children back in Germany?"

"A son. Somewhere. But exactly where, I have no idea. I must get back and try to find him."

"And your wife?"

"She was killed. In an air raid."

"Sorry. One of ours?"

"I expect so. That's war."

The Commander nodded and emptied his drink. All the while the two had been chatting, the Commander continually sipped at his drink. It was only now that he noticed the Major's mug was still half full.

"Come on, Major. Drink up. Can't leave it all to me to empty this." He held up the bottle at a slight tilt and waited. "You know, after the last go, I never thought we'd be at each others throats so soon. Terrible, how it all ended up."

"I can't believe how misguided we all were." Hans contemplated the liquid in the mug as he tried to think of what to say without causing offence. "I agreed that things needed to be done. I don't deny that. But to stop the slide into chaos, there needed to be quick action by a strong central government. Germany was in a bad way in the thirties and madness took centre place."

The Commander poured out the rest of the sherry into his own mug and continued to sip.

"I can understand that. After the twenty-nine crash, things weren't too rosy here, either. Fortunes were lost overnight. Ruined the family. Unemployment was rife and families sunk into poverty. You should have seen all those ill-fed children."

"I felt we'd been offered some sort of solution. All I wanted was a better country where people could live a better life. I never considered that such evil was shaping our future. Once we were at war, we were trapped into fighting for a tyrant no-one knew how to stop. We'd climbed into bed with a tiger and found out, too late, that we were its dinner."

The Commander gave a short grunt. He sat bolt upright, banging his mug hard on to the table so that several splashes shot out.

"Come, come, man, don't give me those excuses! Your top brass could have rebelled and put a stop to it. Your soldiers could have surrendered earlier, instead of slogging it out for months, weeks, even right down to days and hours in every building or ruin we came across. They just wouldn't give up!"

"Sorry, I disagree. Once a government gets us into uniform, we become their pawns. Ordinary decent people are changed into something else. They become like soldier ants, consigned to do battle and die without question. But there were some who did try to stop it. There were attempts to stop the Nazis but those attempts failed. Had we received outside help, there was a good chance one could have succeeded. Churchill could have helped."

"What, with a war raging? He wouldn't have known who to trust."

"I admit it wouldn't have been easy."

The Commander gave an ironic laugh and emptied his mug.

"You had too many fanatics. It would have been an impossible ask."

"Oh, I make no apologies for them. Nobody can deal with those sorts. Most of us were just soldiers. We did our duty and hoped to survive. This uniform . . . I would have been proud to wear it for my country but now I find out what the fanatics really did, I feel humiliated, unworthy and cheated."

"Any soldier, who does his duty and abides by international law, should never feel unworthy. Bravery should always be admired, no matter what the cloth."

"Even so. We will all be judged and convicted together."

"Not this time, Major. We recognise that there were good men as well as bad. It's those fanatics, the ones responsible for the genocide we're after. Nazis! Not the ordinary soldier. And remember when you return, things will be very unsettled in Germany. You'll need to be very aware of what is happening around you."

"I must go back as soon as I can, no matter what the situation. I must find out if my son's survived. And when that's sorted, I've another promise to keep. There's someone very special here, too."

The Commander gave a Cheshire-cat grin and inclined his head towards the main gate.

"That Nurse who's made several visits, eh? For a while I've had the thought that there's been something going on between you. Am I correct? " Hans nodded. The Commander laughed. "I'm not surprised. Pops up quite a bit around here. Half the time I can't fathom what her reason is for doing another health check. She was always asking about you. Very good at her job, though, so I've heard."

"We've known each other for a long time,' added Hans in a mater-of-fact way.

'Yes, someone did mention you'd met out in Africa. I know she was in the Territorial Services and did a stint of duty out there. She was head nurse in one of the camps, I believe.'

"Correct. But we knew each other before then, even before the war began."

"Aha, that explains a lot," the Commander decided, nodding his head as he was beginning to understand the connection. He considered it opportune now to clear up the other matter which had puzzled him. "I believe you've got a daughter here in England," he remarked quite suddenly.

Hans was taken aback. No mention of Andrea had been made on either his military or POW record. As far as he was concerned, only he and Jan knew of his connection with the girl.

"Andrea? Yes." Hans could see no reason to keep the fact secret any longer. "But how do you know? No-one knew; not even my last wife, Elisabeth."

"That helps explain the visits you've been having. That nurse you said you'd previously met. Then I did some checking. Discovered there was a child living with the nurse's elderly aunt. Had the same address as your nurse. And when I dug deeper, I found out from an acquaintance that the child's father was a soldier fighting on the opposite side. So, when Nurse Turner let it slip that you had a daughter, I put two and two together. You see, it all makes sense now. You, in England before the war and your friendship with the nurse now. A love child?"

Hans nodded. After all, he wasn't exactly telling a lie, for Andrea had been a child of love; but not between himself and Jan.

"Yes, I admit I do have an English daughter."

It made him think about that terrible day when Caroline had died. He was a young, inexperienced office lad, the father of a tiny, fragile baby. He remembered. The memory of that loss had become softer over the passing years and no longer suffocated him with sorrow.

The Commander smiled in satisfaction.

"So, you've both decided to get together again now that the war's over?"

"Well, yes but there is still my son. I must find him first."

"Of course." It was a gesture, nothing more. The Commander leaned forward. "This son of yours . . . he's somewhere in Germany?" Hans nodded and the Commander asked, "Do you know where?"

"No. Not exactly. Not until I get to Germany will I be able to trace him. That's why I need to go now. To find him, if he's still alive."

"There is a family who would have looked after him?"

Hans shrugged his shoulders and finished his drink.

"Who knows? My wife's family would not be the sort one would be happy to be associated with right now."

"Nazi sympathisers?" Hans nodded. He was unwilling to elaborate further. The Commander's face was grim and serious as he looked directly at the man who had been his prisoner for over twelve months. "That makes things difficult. You must also realise that your country's in an awful mess."

"I'm expecting it so. I know it won't be easy. I've got to try. If I find the child, I'll look at our options. Jan and I want to make a fresh start and put the war behind us. Hopefully, we can become a family."

"I do know what it's been like . . . families split up, relatives missing. Awful messy business, war."

"Exactly."

Jan pulled every known string to get back to see Hans. She requested to be assigned to the medical unit responsible for prisoners' health. It was a busy schedule for the unit travelled many miles from one camp to another but every few weeks, the unit returned to the one where Major Resmel had been taken to. These official visits, with the doctor and two other nurses gave her the opportunity to meet with him, if only for brief moments. Hans' mood had lightened considerably since peace had been declared and the repatriation of military personnel had begun. Now they could begin to plan their new life together.

Prisoner 81G-8624, Major Erwin Hans Resmel was finally given permission to leave the camp. He had waited almost six months for the paper work to be sent through and attributed his early release to the intervention of Jan as he had told her that before they could finalise their own life together, he wished to return to Germany to find his son. He had no idea whether the child was still alive or whether he had been taken into care by one of Elisabeth's relatives. As soon as he found Siegmund, he would bring the child to England.

Hans had another meeting with the Commander. As Hans sat down, the Commander leaned down to his left and pulled a form out from his drawer. It had already been filled in and Hans was close enough to see that it had his number on the top: prisoner 81G-2624. The Commander picked up an official stamp and, after rolling it around on the ink pad, pressed it hard down onto a paper page from the file and handed the completed document over to Hans.

"Well, there we are, Major. Lucky you. You've been give an internal pass for four days. That's to give you time to see your sweetheart. Here's a small amount of money to help you on your way, together with a ration book. Courtesy of the Occupation Forces." He handed these across the table and then produced a large parcel which was wrapped in the official British army wrapping. "Call these your de-mob clothes, if you like. Back to civvy-street now." He took note of the look of puzzlement that had come over Hans' face and realised the man did not understand. "Courtesy of the Red Cross. Plain clothes for you. Can't have you wandering the country dressed like that." The Commander indicated the well-worn Wehrmacht uniform Hans was still wearing. "Here's all the information you need. Date of departure, where the port is and where you need to report for your journey out of the country. We're shipping you out on one of the earlier boats. Make sure you report on time. Don't want to come hunting for you." He gave a wide, friendly smile, handed over the documents, and stood. "Good luck for your search. Also, good luck with that lady friend of yours."

The Commander offered his hand and it was taken in a firm friendship clasp.

"Thank you. Thank you." Hans replied with sincerity. He pushed the parcel under his arm and with a last salute, he walked out of the door for the last time. A free man. And with a quick change of clothing, he once more became plain Mr Erwin Hans Resmel.

CHAPTER 23

Jan

The autumn day was wonderful. It crept in under a thin layer of white mist which dissolved to expose a brilliant, clear, blue sky. It was a welcoming day for several reasons: firstly, it was Hans' first day as a normal civilian; and secondly, it was he who would be travelling to meet Jan. He hadn't done anything like this since . . . well, since he had been going out with Caroline. The world had changed so much since then, but so had they. Jan had been living together with Andrea and Miss Turner since Armistice Day. She had told Hans that her aunt did not get out much and used a walking stick to help her balance. The days she most enjoyed were those times when she was able to sit out in the garden and watch Andrea with her friends.

The train pulled into the familiar station. Hans was relieved to find the familiar things were still there: the coal smelling smoke, the shrill whistles of the train guards and the background calls and clatter as luggage was deposited on the edge of the platform. The variation and percussion of banging carriage doors as passengers threw them wide open or slammed them shut sounded all along the platform from one end of the carriages to the other, mixed with a familiar babble of voices as passengers lined up in front of the exit gate where the station master checked and punched each ticket. The station had not changed, or had it? The once colourful billboard signs had been covered with dull grey war-paint or carried warnings such as 'idle gossip wastes lives' and 'remember to keep the home counties safe' and window panes still carried their protective black criss-cross lattice patterns against the shattering of glass during air-raids. The ticket office looked stark and blank and Hans became aware that there were no train timetables or advertising notices pinned to the walls. Then he noticed there was no station name either, for all those had been taken down during the war when the threat of invasion had seemed so real. Hans did notice a single sandwich billboard that had been propped up against the wall. A platform official stood with his back facing the hurrying crowd as he chalked up the time and destination for the next train to depart. That, alone, lent an air of normality to the place.

Hans had not sent word to Jan about the exact time and date he would be arriving. He wanted it to be a surprise. With a suitcase in one hand and his coat over the other arm, he walked briskly up to the platform ticket collector, handed over his ticket for punching and then made his way through the station entrance and out on to the street. He felt like a free man again.

Jan lived in a house not far from the station. She had sent him a hand-drawn map and marked the house with a red cross. It would be easy to find. Rather than hail a taxi, Hans decided to walk. It was the first enjoyable walk he'd had for many, many years and although he had felt like a stranger in the station, as he walked along the road, the surroundings became familiar and the people he passed seemed friendlier and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could consider this place as home. The thought brought a lump to his throat. The emotion he felt began to overwhelm him and he could feel the prick of a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

As he continued, he became aware of how gradually the low surrounding hills rose above the valley and much of the land was an earthly-golden mass of corn shooks that stood interspersed across the harvested fields. The land still had plenty to offer its people. And along one side of the road edge he caught glimpses of well-grazed grass fields hidden behind thick hedges and tangles of tall willowy weeds. On the other, he saw brick and stone buildings, restful and sleepy as if they had never been witness to the hectic and dangerous last five years. Such normality of the countryside contrasted with the noticeable damage he had seen closer to London where silent rows of houses stood witness to gaping gaps and great piles of rubble where once complete houses had stood. He wondered whether the little flat where he and Caroline had spent a happy time together still remained or had it succumbed to nightly bombing raids and now lay in a heap of broken bricks on the road.

Finally, Hans arrived at the front door. Number 58. He checked his notes. Number 58: the open letter-slit proudly proclaimed its ownership. Behind this door would be Jan. He lowered his suitcase down on to the doorstep and lifted the door-knocker and knocked. He waited, the closed door only a little in front of his face. The latch and bolt were moved. Slowly, the door opened; cracked just a little, just enough to allow the puzzled face of a grey-haired elderly lady peer round its edge. She wore a pair of plain rimmed spectacles which had two long loops of black cord dangling like wiry threads from either side of her spectacle arms. She tilted her head as far as she could and examined him from behind the gap between frame and door.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

"I hope so," he answered. "I'm sure I have the right number . . . 58. Miss Turner?"

Suddenly, the old lady's face broke out in a smile of recognition as she picked up the accent in his voice.

"Hans Resmel!" she exclaimed. "Why, it's Hans Resmel." She noticed his suitcase. "You've arrived. Do come in. Just a moment. I'll unchain the door." She pushed the door to and he could hear the clinking of metal as she undid the latch. He stepped through the doorway with his suitcase in front and she moved back to give him enough room. "Jan and Andrea are not in at the moment. But they shouldn't be too long. Come through into the front room." She motioned him to put his luggage down. "Leave your case in the hall. It'll be fine there. Jan will come in through the back."

She led him into a small room, where he noticed several photographs, two hanging on the wall and another smaller one sitting on a shelf.

No, he thought at once. The offending one's not there.

Instead, there were photographs of Jan and Andrea, and to his amazement, one he saw was of a group of well-dressed young people, happy and smiling back at him.

"When was that taken, Miss Turner?" he asked pointing to the photograph within a dark wooden frame.

"Now you are asking me! Let me see. It must have been, oh yes, '26 or '7. I think someone took a photograph when you were all at the ball. Don't you remember having to sit so still for it to be taken?"

"Now I do." He took the frame in his hands and peered at the young black and white faces. He laughed as he found himself in the back row, standing next to Bertie Williams. "That's me beside Bertie. I hardly recognise myself. Oh, and there's Lofty and Robert. Haven't seen Robert since Caroline and I were together. Alastair. He could bat a ball right over to the back fence. Then Anne and . . . I can't think of that girl's name beside her . . . and then Jan at the end. Almost twenty years. I wonder where they all are today. Do you know anything about them?"

"I'm not sure of Alastair Montgrove. He went into the navy. On convoys. Ship was torpedoed, I think. He was one of the lucky ones. Last I heard, he was on one of the ships doing the Russian route. Did you know that Anne's husband went down in the Channel?"

"Gerald?" Hans' voice rose an octave as the realisation that his friend from before the war had not made it through. "Flew hurricanes. Did Gerald survive, do you know?"

The elderly lady shook her head. Hans could feel her pain for Anne and Gerald had remained in touch with Jan ever since they all left school.

"His plane went down sometime in March. He was posted missing until a month ago."

Poor Anne! Hans thought of his old friend and found the news was shaking him up. "How did Anne take it?" he asked, having cleared his throat but it still came out rather husky and shaky.

Miss Turner took the photograph from him and began placing it back on the shelf in the exact position it was before.

"Anne looked as if she were taking it well but we who really knew her, could see she was under great strain and was missing him deeply. The children helped. She's got four, you realise. Having them around was a godsend but not the same as Gerald. Jan went over as soon as we read his death notice in the paper." Miss Turner sighed deeply and looked away. "Too many of the boys died young. Anne is a widow and her children have no father. Who would have thought it would happen again?"

"I'm surprised you agreed to let me come here, considering. In a way, I'm responsible for Gerald's death."

"No, the war did that,Hans. You, Gerald, all of you boys had no choice. You all had a duty to do. All of my boys. I followed you all in the hope to understand what sacrifices you were prepared to make. And I mean all of you."

The elderly lady looked directly at Hans and nodded to herself. She stood looking at the photograph for a while longer, giving time for her memory to recall those feelings and remembrances of those who had been her boys, no matter on which side they had been thrown. Just as an old photograph fades, so does the sharpness of memory mellow until all the faces become the same. Faces she once knew well but now found hard to recall.

Hans did not know what to say. He felt as awkward as he did when he first stepped into Miss Turner's life. Those young men he had grown up with had been forced to take opposite sides, just as their own fathers had done when they, too, were young.

Miss Turner smiled sadly as she let the happy, laughing family in the photograph go back beyond the war years. Her stick guided her to her favourite chair and she lowered herself slowly down.

"My boys: Alistair, Peter, Eddie, Robert, Richard, Gerald . . . " She looked straight at Hans again and smiled. "Even you." Hans didn't know what to say. "Jan kept me well informed of everyone, including you. I know far more about you than you think."

Hans wondered what information this ex-matron had about himself: his war service, perhaps, or about his time in England shortly before the war or during his time in the camp.

"I don't think I understand," he mumbled, his brow knitted together in puzzlement. He took a seat opposite.

Miss Turner smiled to herself, knowingly, just as he remembered her doing from his schoolboy days. She had caught his interest and she held all the trump cards.

"You never did understand why I took you into my home, did you?" she asked.

"No. I thought it was because of what I'd done and it was a way of keeping me under control."

"Not exactly. Your grandmother, Julia Crawford, and I were very close friends. Of course you already know she was from these parts."

"Yes."

"We grew up together. We'd been through the same schools, shared holidays together. It was a surprise when she said she was going to Europe by herself. Maybe, she had a feeling she was not coming back for when she left, she promised that if she did not return, she'd make sure one of her children or grandchildren did. When Lester was killed . . ."

"You told me that you had only been married a short time," Hans added, remembering the day when he had learnt of their connection to each other.

"Yes," the elderly lady answered. Miss Turner had travelled back to the time she was known as the young Mrs Crawford. "My Leister was killed only two days before he was due to come home. The Crawfords were so kind to me. Julia and I wrote letters and exchanged photographs right up until nineteen fourteen. I was treated like one in the family and I was so grateful for that. So that's why I took an interest in you. I owed Julia that much."

"Really?" His eyebrows shot up in amazement.

Miss Turner nodded but her gaze went far beyond him into a time before he was born. Minutes elapsed. Neither broke the silence until she was ready to return to the present.

"Andrea's very much like Julia," she commented. "I see Julia in her more and more. Yes, very much alike, those two. And it's so nice that Jan's taken a liking to the girl."

Hans was quite speechless and sat looking her, his mouth agape in disbelief. That was his Andrea she was talking about. His Andrea; Caroline's Andrea. He had assumed that Andrea would be like her mother. He never gave a thought that she could be like her great-grandmother. The shock of that realisation made him momentarily lose the thread of what Miss Turner was saying and when her words began to get through again, he found she had changed topic.

". . . so it was terrible we had to have another war, wasn't it?" He nodded vaguely. Her eyes suddenly seemed to twinkle behind her severe black-rimmed spectacles. "It's all over. I'm pleased you and Jan have found each other. She's told me all about everything."

Hans accepted the fact that Jan would have informed her aunt about the development between them but until this point he had no idea how she would have taken it. It was a relief to know that she approved.

"Jan is an excellent nurse," he said. He had the feeling that Miss Turner had heard that before. Hans became aware that he was rubbing the side of his little finger just like he used to do when waiting outside the Matron's door. How different things were now that he was grown up. He pushed the thoughts of his school days into the back of his mind. "Jan was so good to me when I was in the Field Hospital with my wound. I couldn't believe it when I saw her. I am lucky that love was a far stronger thing than the hate that surrounded us. Don't you English have a saying, 'love conquers all'?"

Miss Turner smiled slightly, if not a little stiffly.

"I suppose it does but Jan's had a soft spot for you for a long time."

"You knew?"

"Yes. When you've had dealings with so many young people as I have had, I think one gets to read them quite accurately." Her manner towards him had warmed but he still perceived an air of cool courtesy in her. Reservation that he had come across in quite a number of well educated or people known for their class. Before it had keened his perception of them but now he found he was able to forget that façade and let it not bother him. "I had many, many years of experience reading the minds of teenagers and dealing with their mixed up passions and unpredictable behaviour. I knew what was going through your minds. I recognised the signs that told me Jan had a crush on you. She was terribly jealous at times. Did you know that?" She keenly watched for any reaction on his part but he this time he controlled himself gave her no hint. "I remember when she came running home the day you told her you wanted to marry Caroline. Jan burst into the house. I knew something was wrong. Then I heard her in her room, crying." She paused to clarify the memory. "No weeping. I'd never heard her cry like that before."

"That was because of me?" His voice rose and he realised he had betrayed his ignorance.

"Yes, you." She held out her stick and waved it at him to emphasise her point.

Hans shook his head and gave a quizzical smile as he remembered the hot-tempered teenager she was.

"I had no idea. I thought she hated me. We were always arguing. I took it as arguing but now I think those outbursts did always revolve around others, like Anne and Heidi and Caroline . . . and, Jan has already told me about Elisabeth."

"It was difficult when you and Caroline became interested in each other, especially with Caroline being her cousin. Jan was angry with me. She blamed me. But when Jan went away for her nursing training, she changed. She grew up. That training taught her so much. She could now understand why I was so strict with her. I didn't want her to get hurt. But she was. Not through what she did but by what I had stopped her doing. I had put up a fence around her and I held the key. Then, when the war came, I had to unlock that door and let Jan go. Strange, really. The time when she was under the most strict orders, she felt free. She wrote many letters to me, especially after she'd met you again in North Africa. She was so happy about that. But, at the same time, she was upset over the circumstances." Miss Turner's voice softened again and the severity in her face faded, as she relaxed her taut muscles. She leaned back in her chair and let her head rest on the armchair doily. "Everything's working out well for you two, now that . . . "

Miss Turner's talking suddenly broke in mid-sentence as they heard the click of the back-door latch, followed by the excited voices of Jan and Andrea.

"Do you really think it looked good on me?"

"Of course I do, Andrea."

The footsteps come closer. The door opened.

"Aunty, I'd like to show you . . . Ooh!" shrieked the girl, letting her parcel fall on the floor. "Father's here!" She looked accusingly at Miss Turner. "Aunty, you never told me!"

"Say hello to your father, Andrea." Miss Turner sat upright again.

"Hello, father. Jan and I have been shopping! We saved up our coupons for ages."

"Hello, Andrea. Tell me, what did you find to buy?"

"A two-piece. All the rage. Shall I show you?"

"If you like, poppet."

Jan had entered, quietly and with far less enthusiasm. She withdrew her hat pin and unobtrusively placed her hat on the sideboard near the door. She waited for the girl's excited exclamations to subside before moving further into the room.

"Hello Hans."

He stood, then approached Jan. There was no need not to show their affections, for hadn't her aunt just told him she endorsed their affection for each other? He gave Jan a hug and kissed her affectionately. Their embrace was longer than first intended and when it finally ended, Hans took Jan's hand and led her to the settee where they could sit. He placed his arm behind her back and cuddled her close towards him.

"I think some tea is on order," commented Miss Turner pulling herself upright with her walking cane. "Come on, Andrea. You can come and help. Shall we have some of those biscuits you made the other day?"

Hans and Jan were left to enjoy each other's company in private.

"I wasn't expecting you quite so soon."

"Surprised, then?"

"Yes, and it's a lovely surprise."

Jan readjusted her glasses first before looking deeply into his eyes and smiling at him with a mixture of happiness and adoration.

"I thought we've had so little time together, that every second must count." His whispering voice was soft and soothing. He kissed her deeply as their mouths became as one. "I've only got ten days. Then I must leave England."

Jan sighed deeply. It was a groan from deep within her body.

"Orders, still orders yet they must be obeyed. I knew the day would come when you would be told to go. If only they'd let you stay."

"A few men have asked to remain here. There is nothing in Germany for them."

Jan pulled away from him and sat bolt upright.

"Why don't you put in for it?"

"I'm not sure they'd let me. Remain permanently, I mean. Anyway, I have to go. I must try to find Siege. I must know if my son is still alive. You understand, don't you,my sweet?"

Jan's heartbeat hesitated as the mention of the lost child. It reminded her that, once again, she would be lose Hans for some time. The parting would bring back all the fears she had carried with her since first meeting him during the war. Yet she convinced herself that, this time, she need not fear shells, or bombs, or the call to battle as all hostilities around all the world had finally ended. Even the war with Japan had finished: the world had been left reeling from the shock of sixty-one million deaths. Surely, there could be no more killing: peace had to be welcomed into the hearts of all the people. Lives had to be rebuilt.

"I can wait. For two or three months more. Will it take longer, do you think?"

"Maybe a little longer than that but. I promise it won't be too long. I want us to be together just as much as you do."

Over dinner, Jan and Hans made a decision to re-visit the old school and see how things had changed since her aunt had retired. Jan suggested she make a tentative visit herself as she had heard that the college had been restaffed by men recently returned from the war and she wanted to judge the mood of things, first. She knew that some of the old masters had remained, for the younger ones had received their call-up papers and had gone off to war. The new staff were men who and had gone through almost six years of war and after such experiences, had hoped to return to their teaching jobs.

The newest master to join the staff was a Mr Grassfield who had been employed to teach history and classics. Mr Grassfield had spent time fighting in Greece, then through Italy, and finally in Germany during the last few gruelling weeks. He returned home, loud to declare his distaste for both the Nazi and Fascist regimes, or with anyone who had anything to do with either of them. Jan would have to be vigilant when she brought Hans. Mr Grassfield was one master to avoid.

"Young Miss Turner, isn't it?"

Everyone referred to her like that to distinguish her from her aunt. She heard the voice before she caught sight of him, a broad northern accent with a loud, booming voice. He was a well-built man with the build of a boxer rather than the more usual slighter frame of a man of learning. Mr Grassfield, a pile of books in his arms, had been following her for some time before he spoke. Jan stopped, and turned around.

"Mr Grassfield."

"Ah, Miss Turner. The young Miss Turner, isn't it?" He waited until he had come up beside her so that their shoulders were in line. He inclined his bulky body towards her. "If I may say, and I'm sure there are others who feel the same." He sniffed loudly. "I do not think ex-Nazis should be allowed to . . . ."

Jan's eyes burned with anger behind those glasses of hers. She clenched her hands so that the whites of her knuckles glowed like torchlights in the afternoon greyness.

"They're not all Nazis!" She snapped her words out in indignation. She pushed back her glasses and stood glaring at him.

"I beg your pardon but that's not how I see it and I have not heard otherwise ." He stood with his legs a shoe length apart and rocked backwards and forwards on his heels.

"I have no idea what you may have heard, Mr Grassfield but it's none of your business."

Jan moved away from him and quickened her step, hoping he would drop one of his books and be forced to pick it up. But he did not. He followed her movement exactly, flicking his tongue like a hungry snake, sizing her up for another attack. Jan walked even faster, breathing heavily, trying to get away from him but her follower kept up the pace, edging closer and closer, gradually herding her against the solid, brick wall.

"It's common knowledge round here. You and that Hun. We didn't fight this war to have his kind . . . " His eyes narrowed and a sneer formed on his face. He held out the books to block her escape as he pressed his threatening body closer. "enjoying the fruits of our victory, if you get my drift."

Jan shuddered but stood her ground.

"Come much closer and you'll regret it, Mr Grassfield. You are not the only one to have done basic military training."

She held up her arms in defence as she had been shown to do during her own military training. How dare this man threaten her!

"Hun lover!" His eyes narrowed. "There is no place for the likes of you."

Jan looked directly at him with her head to one side. She slowly adjusted her glasses several times to give herself time to think.

"I've dealt with men like you before, Mr Grassfield. If you don't want to end up on a hospital bed ¨C and I know exactly where to strike where it hurts most ¨C then I suggest you back off! Broken ribs and pulverised spleen are not the only things I can offer. So, back away!"

She glared at the man behind his stack of books.

"Oops! Oops!" He took a step back away from her seemingly apologetic. "Quite the little vixen." His stiff, menacing posture relaxed a little as he considered his position. The books in his hands were a handicap and for a while he did not know how to deal with them. He took a deep breath and decided to say what was on his mind. "Do you know what they are doing with little French whores who bedded their Nazi masters?Well, let me tell you." He snarled at her like a wild walrus. "Spies and traitors who fraternised with those Nazi pigs . . . " Mr Grassfield jostled with his books, finally managing to free his right hand so that he could demonstrate the scissors he would have conjured up if he could "Snip! Snip! Snip!" It made him bolder and he pushed so close towards her that she could taste the smell of his last smoked cigarette. "All of their hair! All of it! Gone! Bald!" His eyes narrowed. "And, that's what should happen to you!"

"You understand nothing. You shouldn't judge until you know all the facts!"

The whites of his eyes gleamed as he pulled back his moustached top lip to reveal a row of crooked yellowing top teeth.

"Renounce the man. Tell me you hate the Hun!"

"Why should I? The threats you're now making are no different from those made by Hitler's henchmen. I thought I had served my country to rid the world of people like them. Hasn't the war taught you anything at all, Mr Grassfield?"

With his free arm, Mr Grassfield was about to make a grab for her but at the moment he raised his hand, another far stronger hand gripped his from behind and held it firm.

"What do you think you are doing? Hit a woman, would you? Schweinhund is what I call such men as you!"

On the other end of the hand was Hans. Deep anger burnt in his eyes and his the muscles of his face were taught.

"Stand to attention when I'm talking to you! I'm used to being obeyed!"

Jan's attacker was so taken aback that he dropped almost every book and they clattered and tumbled like loose coins around their feet. Mr Grassfield turned his head and saw the face beside him. It had the presence of a man who was used to giving orders and expected them to be obeyed. Grassfield had only been a private and he had only taken orders from others. His opponent stood squarely before him, looking Grassfield firmly in the eye.

"Well, soldier? What have you to say for yourself?"

"I, I was j . . . just making a p . . . point," he stammered in subdued embarrassment.

"Major! When you address me. 'Major.' Do you understand?"

"Private Grassfield 2933456. Major!" The poor man had been so conditioned, he snapped immediately to attention and was completely submissive towards the officer.

"Well, Private, what have you to say for yourself?"

"Sorry, Major. I was only just going to say . . . "

"That it was all a mistake?"

"Yes, Major. J . . . just a mistake. No harm meant, sir."

Hans indicated with his head for Jan to move away. She adjusted her glasses and ducked behind her hero.

The ex-private clutched his remaining few books hard against his chest. His bottom lip began to quiver as he lowered his eyes. In his mind he had returned to the strict discipline of the army and in his head he could still hear the rattle of gunfire and the crashing boom of the big guns. He grabbed at his ears to block out the din and his books clattered on to the hard ground. It was enough to bring him back into the present.

"I don't know what came over me. It must be delayed shock, or something. I've been through some bloody awful situations. I wish I knew how to forget. But I can't. You know what I mean?"

"I know. But I can't tolerate those threats you've made towards Miss Turner and should you even begin to carry out those threats of yours, I have the knowledge and the ability to silence you ¨C permanently. And nobody'd find your body. Know what I mean, soldier?"

By this time the poor man was visibly shaking. Private Grassfield was well aware of men who were used to being obeyed. He had served under officers like this in his own regiment and experience had taught him servility. The private mumbled something incoherently and bent down to retrieve his scattered books. Hans turned, grabbed Jan a little roughly and conducted her well away from the scene.

"Oh, Hans. I'm so sorry."

He smoothed her ruffled hair, stroking her head as though she were a favourite cat.

"My poor kitten. Are you sure you're all right?"

"No harm done, thank you." She looked determinedly at him and adjusted her glasses. "I could have coped, you know."

" I am sure you can." he inclined his head in the direction of the crouched figure still gathering books. "Who was that man, anyhow?"

"Mr Grassfield. He's only been here a week or two. Had a very hard time in the war. Was captured in Italy and taken to a POW camp in Poland. He was not treated well and he has been badly affected by it. When he was released, he saw terrible things. Concentration Camps, Hans. Do you know how horrific they were?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It was one of the things we were told about in the camp when the war ended." Hans had been deeply shocked at first and then distressed when the horrific pictures of the labour and death camps had been shown to him. He never knew there had been so many scattered throughout Hitler's Third Reich. "I felt sick to my stomach when I saw what had happened."

"Mr Grassfield could not cope. The army had to invalid him home. He's still very disturbed by the experience. I can understand his problems to some extent. I have seen shell shocked soldiers, the mentally fatigued and men who have cried like babies because of what had happened."

"Likewise, Jan. But if Private Grassfield has battle related problems, he shouldn't be teaching."

"I agree but we've lost so many good teachers because of the war so we are grateful for those who can or still want to teach." Jan took hold of Hans's arm. "I don't think coming here was such a good idea, after all," she said. "What if there are others who feel just like he does?"

"Undoubtedly, there will be some. People will be angry for some time. I saw the damage our bombs did when the train travelled through London. I wonder if my old flat is still standing. I have been made aware of the damage done to your buildings. I'm so sorry it came to that."

"I can't blame you for that, Hans. I know you did not vote for that madman who got us into this mess."

"Thank you, Jan. As long as we love each other, we'll get through. Together, we will manage."

He kissed her gently on her cheek, then took her arm and escorted her away from the school grounds.

The next few days they had together were wonderful. It was like being young again and all the feelings he had had with Caroline returned. Yet, this was not exactly the same. This time he felt a blossoming love that came from a long and deep incubation and it was emerging like the butterfly from its cocoon. There was also a deep admiration for Jan and for what she had had to endure in her conviction to love him in return. She had been prepared to carry out her duty and show her loyalty to her country and at the same time be willing to express her love for a man who had had the misfortune to be on the opposite side. He thought she was a very brave young woman, indeed.

They walked hand in hand over the hilltop trails and drove to the beach, wandering over the wide stretch of smooth, wet sand between the sloping pebble beach and the ebbing tide. Gentle wavelets rippled around their ankles, the shallow water warmed by the rays of the summer sun. Out to sea, beyond the countless shimmering waves lay the continent. The Channel separated the land just as it had themselves Now that Hans must leave England again, this stretch of water would separate them again and test their love further until the moment they could wrap their arms around each other again and enjoy the final fulfilment of their affections.

"I'm sorry," Hans said as the final minutes of his leave arrived. "It's regulations. I'm not the free man I thought I was. I'm still under military supervision until I return to Germany. But I will return. I promise."

"If you can't, then I'll come to you," Jan added. "I'd come to the ends of the earth, if that's what it takes."

"I will be back. Give me until the end of the year. If I've found nothing by then, I'll come back. We'll marry . . . somewhere. Hopefully, in England. I promise we will be together."

He hugged her, feeling her body melt into his, her breath becoming one breath with his as their world enveloped them in a timeless embrace. But, for these two lovers, nothing could be timeless, for the outside world encroached upon them, wrenching them apart like a shuddering 'quake.

CHAPTER 24

Germany

Later that year, Erwin Hans Resmel returned for the last and final time to the country he had been prepared to lay down his life for. His heart was heavy at having to leave Jan behind him but he knew that the separation would only be for four months. He stared out of the train window as the carriage rocked side to side, mesmerising him so that his eyelids drooped and he fell into into a drowsy sleep. Outside, the landscape rushed by, fields quietly preparing themselves for the long winter rest, trying to forget the commotion of war. Hans reopened his eyes. The train puffed towards the coast before turning back on itself, snaking across the land on those lines that were open. A sign: 'No Time to Die!' gave warning of a mine-field, reminding people of the constant danger that still lay hidden beneath the soil. His head rested on the back of the swaying seat, broken buildings and mountains of bricks scattered in anger, as village and small town passed before his eyes. No-one on the train spoke. Each sat in their own personal space: staring, thinking, numbed by what each saw beyond the dust-covered pane.

The train slowed to a snail-like crawl as the engine and carriages clicked and clanged over damaged points as they changed from one set of lines to another. Hans noticed that large chunks of rail on the other line were missing or twisted in contortive shapes. Slowly the wheels squealed to a halt as the engine sighed, its breath of steam hissing and whistling from jets near its wheels. Doors banged and four armed American soldiers walked slowly from one end of the carriage to the other, scanning each passenger in silence. Hans heard the end door of the carriage shut. The waiting went on. Then, ever so slowly, he felt the carriage shudder and felt the pull of the locomotive once more. The train rattled on further only to come once more to a shuddering halt with another squeal and hiss. More doors banged. This time, five armed Soviet troops marched through the carriage. The same as before, giving only a secondary glance to its silent occupants. Fifteen minutes later the carriages began to move again and as the train picked up speed, Hans could hear the 'tatty-tat' of the wheels as they ran over countless rail joints. He guessed that they had just passed over some sort of border and yet the landscape told him that they were still well within Germany. They began to head due east.

As the train came closer to Berlin, the increase in damage became more exaggerated: ugly, gaping holes and mute, burnt out husks of houses that had once been cared for and lived in. The city had been bombed and pounded, burnt and pounded, and bombed again until there was nothing more to burn. Only bricks, rubble and dust were left.

The train crept into the city centre, past the destroyed park of the Tiergarten and stopped just short of where a railway station should have been. Before the war, all trains stopped at Friedrichstrasse but now that the city was in ruins and many of the bridges destroyed or damaged, the train stopped short of crossing the river. Hans heard the guard bark out the order to vacate the train:

"Alle aussteigen! Alle aussteigen!"

Hans pulled his suitcase from the high shelf behind his head and made his way to one of the exit doors where he stepped down onto the burnt, blackened ground. Dust covered roads and footpaths, deadened footsteps of survivors made them more like ghosts than the vibrant, busy people he had remembered from his previous visits to Berlin. At this point he had no idea where to begin searching for any clue for the whereabouts or fate of little Siege. All the familiar things had disappeared or been turned into grotesque, hideous shapes of their former selves. The Kaiser-Wilhelm church with its interesting, almost fairy-tale spires had been smashed yet those sorry remains still stood higher than the few remaining damaged buildings and within a short distance, the part of the Zoo which edged the canal remained untouched, as unblemished as it had been the day he could remember it as a child.

He walked, hoping to find a tram that might be travelling in one of the directions he had been familiar with, but such transport could not run within the streets, so extensive was the city damage. The centre he had known, just east of the Brandenburg Gate was almost unrecognisable as building after building, palace after palace of what had been Berlin's Mitte lay smashed and ugly, silently standing in shocked witness to what war could do. Yet, Hans realised that Berlin was not alone: most of the major cities in Europe had suffered a similar fate from one side or another. Warsaw had been flattened, Stalingrad smashed, Hamburg and Dresden fire-bombed. All had suffered. War chose no sides; everyone ended being a victims of its ravenous appetite.

Hans managed to pick up a tram in the direction of Grünewald where he found lodgings with the mother of one of Elizabeth's friends near the palace at Charlottenburg. Most of the houses in this district were still standing, although many had been badly damaged. Elizabeth had given her husband Frau Mohr's address during his last leave and told him to contact the lady should anything go wrong. When Hans spoke to Frau Mohr, he discovered that her husband had not yet come home from the war. She told him that her husband had been drafted during the last six months of the war and now was one of the thousands captured in the east and the last she heard was that he had probably been sent to Siberia. Hans said nothing but he didn't hold out much hope that she would ever see her husband again.

Frau Mohr was still the plump and homely woman he remembered, although some of her plumpness had diminished during the last eighteen months. She had always been one of those women who easily put weight on which had been quite a problem for her whenever she made some of her filling dumplings or large chocolate cream cakes she was well-known for. A cheerful woman who always had a kind word or a helpful pair of hands whenever such was needed. She put her own concerns aside as she tried to suggest things that Hans could try.

"So many people are missing, Herr Resmel. Have you found the lists, yet?"

"Which lists?" he asked as they ate their first meal together in the fading daylight.

"They're all over the city. Try some of them. You never know what may turn up. Also, I suggest you register at one of the posts and fill in the official forms for lost persons. Everything helps."

Early next morning, Hans left the house and began the long task of trying to find his son. He said nothing to Frau Mohr for almost a week until a further outburst of despair escaped his lips.

"I've spent hours, days and days reading hundreds of the long lists put up on walls of those missing! Hours and hours of my time hoping to find a Resmel, but nothing. It's too difficult! I'll never find him! So much of the city's in ruins."

"Dreadful. Dreadful," Frau Mohr agreed. "All those bombs and fires. Dreadful." She shook her head as if to shake the nightmare away. After a minute or two, she continued. "I never liked Herr Hitler at the time," she said. "Didn't say anything, not even to Gustav. Well, the papers kept saying he would save us; that he would lead us into prosperity. And people believed him. Oh dear, what fools we were!"

"I'm sorry that any of it happened." It was said with a sigh. Hans had seen what evil things war had done, how it had turned good, reasonable men into bullies and murderers. He held his head between his hands, his elbows resting on the edge of Frau Mohr's dining table.

"Have you tried some of the authorities in the British sector? They may have come across something."

"Not yet. I'm not sure Siege was even in the city. He could have been taken north of here."

"Oh dear," sighed Frau Mohr. "That makes things more difficult. All that sector's under Russian control. Very tight security I've heard, far worse than any of the others. The Americans seem to be the easiest to deal with."

"I could try the British sector, I guess. I've already found that moving from one sector to another's difficult. The occupation forces want to keep a tight rein on any movement in the city. My papers don't allow me to move easily around the city."

"You'll find a way. A soldier can always find a way. Coffee?" She wanted him to feel that someone cared. "I've still got some Ersatz. It's better than just boiling up tree leaves and things."

"No, keep it for yourself."

"Have some of this."

Frau Mohr handed him a thick slice of bread and a thin strip of pink ham. She had managed to cook a small cake for them both, just sufficient for two days' supper.

"I don't know how you manage," he commented.

"Black market. Prices are so, so high. After six years of rationing, we've learnt to get by. People in the occupying forces are not permitted to trade with any of us Berliners. Luckily, I've a contact who is able to get a little fresh food. Works in the Tiergarten growing vegetables and he has been able to push some in my direction." She ate the slice of bread and began carefully cutting the cake, making sure she would have some left for the following evening. The conscious act of doing this visibly upset her and she bit her lip as she tried to put on a brave face. But it did no good and her inner emotions welled out and spilt over. "I don't know what'll happen during this winter. We had so little coal before. Now we don't even get that! I dread to think how many of us will freeze. Ach, Herr Resmel, everything's so dreadful! People living in shelters and cellars. There's nowhere else. You shouldn't have come. Really, you shouldn't have bothered. I'm so sorry!"

Hans wondered how many people were struggling in exactly the same way, all over Europe. There was suffering everywhere and people like him had to take the blame. When the Reich was strong and the war was going well, very few complained. Now, it was different and the faces of the people had become sour or dejected as they struggled to survive. He wondered what kind of child Siege would be. That's if he was even able to find him. Yet he had to find the child and with each passing day the trail became more difficult to follow.

Hans wrote many letters to Jan, for by writing them he was able to feel closer to her. He had only managed to post a few of them and any reply from her took many weeks in getting to him. Each time she wrote, she told him how much she was missing him and reminded him of his promise to both Andrea and herself that he would try and return to England by the years' end. By the time winter had set in and the first flakes of snow had begun to drift down from the low grey sky, Hans was almost ready to return to England. He had discovered from a man who had served with the Kriegsmarine that his brother Renard had not returned from one of his stints at sea. U-248 on which he was serving had been reported missing in early January 1945, somewhere in the mid-Atlantic and it was six months before the authorities were able to confirm its sinking with the loss of all her forty-seven sailors on board.

Maybe, it's just as well, thought Hans, for he knew that Renard had been very much involved with all the hype that surrounded Hitler and his regime, although he was saddened for all the families who had lost their loved-ones on the boat.

His thoughts turned to his younger brother and although It was strange he had heard nothing from his younger brother, he could have gone underground. He pinned his hopes on finding Axel alive although deep down he had his concerns as he knew that Nazi sympathisers had scoured the country routing out those who had shown their disapproval to the regime or it could be possible that, like so many others who had avoided the call-ups, that during the last days when the regime struggled in its final death throws, Axel had been forced to fight. The entire population was in turmoil and no-one seemed to know what had happened as the Russian front reached into the streets of Berlin.

Hans had walked round to the street where Aunt Laura and Uncle Karl lived. Only a few houses were still occupied but most in the street stood as black burnt out hulks or as one lonely brick wall that gave an indication that a house had been there at all. The house Hans had remembered spending his teenage years in was now just a pile of bricks. At least Uncle Karl did not live to see its destruction for he had died during the winter of forty-four and the house had been unoccupied since then. Aunt Laura had gone back to Austria where most of the family still lived.

Hans spoke to one of the survivors in the street, and was told that one evening a huge wave of bombers had appeared overhead and had first dropped incendiaries to light up their target, followed by a thunderstorm of bombs which rained down from one end of the street to the other. As there were a number of factories a few kilometres away, people guessed the planes were hoping to destroy those but inaccuracies were commonplace and one entire section of town was flattened. The irony of it was that the ammunition factory down the road was left completely unscathed that evening. That is the way war mocks its participants.

Hans was beginning to come to the conclusion that his future did most likely lay in England with Jan and Andrea. There was nothing so far for him to remain where he was. He was in the middle of brooding over these thoughts, when there was a buzz from the entrance bell to tell Frau Mohr that someone needed to speak to her.

Hans had been close to the downstairs door when the caller had just pressed the bell. Hans opened the door.

"Hello. Frau Mohr is not at home at the moment. Can I be of help?"

A young man, more smartly dressed than usual, was standing on the step. He had a black attaché case under his arm and as Hans spoke to him he raised his newly brushed black cadet cap.

"It is not Frau Mohr I have come to see. Can I find Herr Resmel here?"

"I am Herr Resmel," Hans answered.

"A delivery for you. From the Red Cross office for missing people."

Hans felt a surge of adrenalin. Even though he was surprised, he didn't dare allow himself the privilege of hope. And yet, he desired hope as much as a dying man in the desert desires water. He signed for the envelope and thanked the messenger for bringing it.

He held the door ajar with the toe of his shoe and tore the brown envelope open so that he was able to extract the paper inside. There were two printed pages, each one headed by the Red Cross logo and headquarter address in Zurich.

Siegmund Erwin Falko Resmel born 20 October, 1942. Mother: Elisabeth Resmel (nee Kohler) Father: Erwin Resmel POW England. Last known report of Siegmund Resmel was with his grandmother. The pair were walking with other refugees who were heading for Schwerin. Mrs Kohler's body was found by roadside near Altentreptow. Siegmund Resmel not found. Possible survivor of air attack. Soviets hold all records for known survivors in their Berlin headquarters.

It gave some faint hope in the overwhelming chaos as vast numbers of people were still on the move in all directions. The child had not been brought to Berlin and neither did he seem to be in Neubrandenburg. It could be possible that the Americans or British had some information. A river of refugees had made their way westwards in the hope of reaching Schwerin and the western Allies before the town was handed over to the Soviets but the child could be anywhere and Hans was coming to the conclusion that the path to finding his son was not going to be an easy one. He leaned against the door frame as he considered his options. The first thing to do would be to move away from his present lodgings and find somewhere that was nearer to the address he had been given. He knew he hadn't much time left before he had promised Jan he would try to get back to England. He must tell her of this new development and he re-entered the building and shut the door behind him. He climbed the stairs back up to Frau Mohr's flat and immediately sat down at the table and began writing another letter to Jan. Tomorrow morning, he'd post it on his way and then apply for a visa to be able to cross the internal border into the Russian sector.

CHAPTER 25

Hunting

Jan stepped off the train at the Zoo Hauptbahnhof in the western part of Berlin. Together with two other nurses, Jan would be stationed at one of the army hospitals in the city. She had made application to travel to Berlin with the Auxiliary Nurses and had forwarded a letter from Commander Brownless recommending her for post-war service within the British zone. Her term of duty would be brief. She had been given the necessary papers to enter the divided city but they were only valid for a three month stay. Security was strict and getting into the city had been difficult for all personnel had to be flown in through the narrow corridor which linked the western part of the country with the inner city.

Once they arrived, the nurses found that any movement outside the hospital confines was arduous and restrictive. Jan found she had to wait patiently for her leave to turn up before she could snatch a few days off and begin looking for the man she was to marry. The widespread destruction of the buildings, together with the hopelessness and resignation on the faces of the people was most upsetting and Jan wondered whether they would ever be able to find her way around the ruined city. She thought it would be wise to go to the British Army Occupation Headquarters and speak with someone there to see whether they could help. Normally they didn't make any personal efforts to locate ordinary people unless the armed forces had some interest in them, but as Jan had gone to the trouble to obtain special documents and had arrived on their doorstep and was determined to stay there until she got answers, she was sent through to the general's office. She told the general that the last she had heard of Hans, he had been in the American sector, staying with a Frau Mohr. The general listened in silence but as he did so he weighed up everything he was being told and decided that as she was a very determined lady, he would phone through to the American headquarters to see if they could be of assistance.

"They want to know if you'll be going alone or not, nurse." The general lowered the phone away from his ear.

"There'll be two of us, general," she answered immediately. She had already asked Rosie Dawson to accompany her. Rosie was one of the nurses who arrived in Berlin with Jan a few weeks earlier.

"There will be two," repeated the general into the mouth piece.

After some extra formalities down the phone line, the general finally replaced the receiver and addressed Jan once more.

"How to you intend getting over there, may I ask?"

"Haven't figured it out, yet, sir. First, I thought it was important to obtain permission and the necessary documentation."

"Well, you're in luck. We've got an army vehicle going that way this afternoon." He began stamping the documents which would allow the two women to cross from one zone to the other. Within the hour both Jan and Rosie were being escorted into the American sector.

"We were so lucky to have been driven here," she told the American behind the counter. "I think it would have taken us days to find our way here. Everything's been so destroyed. It's almost impossible to get around."

"Yep. Shouldn't have started it. Do you speak any German, ma'am?" asked the sergeant in a slow, low southern drawl.

"No, I don't. Only a word or two. Why, does it matter?"

"How do you two . . . " He beamed at Rosie who was much younger than Jan, raising his bushy eyebrows with interest. "think you're goin' to get around? No one in this God-damn city speaks much English."

Jan thought for a while, before answering.

"Oh. I'm not sure. I . . . we . . . " Jan indicated Rosie. "really never gave it much thought. We came because I haven't heard from Mr Resmel since . . ."

"Just before Christmas, wasn't it?"" Rosie had found her voice and had decided to be included in this conversation.

"Well, ain't that bad," the American said shaking his head. He turned slightly to his his right and called to someone in the rear room. "Hey, Donut, come out here a sec. Maybe you could give these two gals a hand."

A slightly older man, closer to Jan in age, poked his shaved head around the doorway. the sergeant spoke again.

"You gotta day or two free?" The other nodded. "Great! How'd ya like to help these two English ladies? They've come here to find a Kraut."

"Shucks, there's tons of them around!"

"They only want one! Missin', or gone west."

The soldier came through the door and joined his sergeant at the desk.

"Hi. My name's Private Alan Mannings but my mates call me Donut." He grinned and pointed to the top of his head. " 'Cos of the shaved part. See? Bit like a hole in the donut."

Jan warmed towards Private Donut. He came over as out-going and friendly.

"Would you really help us, Private . . . er, Donut?" She took a step closer towards the bench.

"Yea, sure. Cripes, why not? Glad to take you around. Now, where do you think this guy of yours was last?" He pulled out a drawer and extracted a large folded piece of paper. "City map." Donut indicated to Jan and her friend to go with him into the adjacent room where there was a flat surface large enough to accommodate the opened map. "It's a bit hard gettin' through all the road blockages and rubbish, Ma'am," the soldier commented as he slid his hand across the map surface and smoothed out the deep folds.

"We've already discovered that much, haven't we Janine?"

Rosie came closer to where the map lay. She nodded as she tried to sort out the areas she had been but on the map everything looked a jumble of strange-looking streets that criss-crossed a cityscape which was no longer recognisable. The street names, she could not read. They were in a script she had never seen before, similar to old writings but somehow different. The man must have noticed the puzzlement on her face, for he said,

"Don't worry about trying to read those names. It's the old way of writing. It's the only map we've got at present. Found it in one of the government buildings." He looked up and grinned. "Aw, gosh. Didn't catch your names." He grinned again, so widely that Jan noticed he had a gold crown on one of his top molars. He stared at Rosie who was nearest to him.

"I'm Nurse Rosie Dawson." She waited for a second or so. "That's Staff-Sister Janine Turner."

"Hi!" He smoothed the map out flatter with his arm. "Now, who's this ya lookin' for?"

"Janine's fiancé," said Rosie in a matter-of-fact tone.

Donut was confused. He looked at Jan and then back at Rosie.

"Her guy? Don't get it. Your both English, aren't you?"

"Yes." It was Rosie who answered.

Donut shook his head.

"Sorry. Thought he was a Kraut. Didn't get that he's English. Is he with the British forces in their zone, then?"

"No. He is a Kraut as you say but he's my Kraut!" Jan was brusk and to the point.

"An' he's here in Berlin?"

"That's right. Any problem with that?" Jan was showing her annoyance.

Donut's eyebrows raised so high they almost met his hairline.

"OK. OK. Well, is he living here?"

Jan's lips tightened to a firm red line. She adjusted her glasses before she spoke to him again.

"No. He came here to find his son. A young child. He's missing."

Donut thought this was becoming very involved and confusing. He turned to Rosie.

"Is this for real? She really wants to find this guy? And he's not one of us?"

"No. He was in the German army and yes, she does want to find him."Rosie was pleased with herself for backing up her friend but Jan was becoming rather impatient.

"Look, Private Donut, can we get on with it? I do not have that much time."

"He was really in the German forces?"

Donut ran his fingers over the top of his short-cropped hair and stared intently at both Rosie and Jan.

"Yes." Jan answered firmly and curtly. She was itching to get out of here and to begin her search.

"What, during the war?"

"Look if it's going to make it easier for you. Yes, he was in the Afrika Korps. A major. Major Resmel. That's who I'm looking for."

"Jeez!" exclaimed Donut with a slight whistle between his teeth. "But you're English. You're a nurse. Did you treat him in one of your hospitals? Is that where you met this guy?"

"No. I knew him before the war." Jan was becoming rather fed up with all this questioning. This was worse than the questioning when she had found herself a prisoner near Tobruk. "It's complicated. He's got a daughter in England who'd love to get to know her father now the war's over and now he's somewhere in Berlin." She instinctively reached up and adjusted her glasses. "I haven't heard from him for over a month. And he always writes."

"Jeez," whistled Donut. "An' he's got an English daughter?"

"Yes, he has. It's all very complicated." She drew in a deep, slow breath that allowed herself just enough time to re-focus. "I've come here to find him. And that'll be with, or without your help."

Donut stroked his the top of his dark brown hair and shook his head.

Some woman, he thought. She's taken on quite a task.

"I suggest I drive you over to the French sector. You've checked with the British, I fathom?" Jan nodded. Donut relaxed. "If there's nothin' there, then it's the Soviet sector. Could be awkward."

"Why?"

"We're not exactly on buddy terms with them Reds now. Things have gone sour over the last few months. Commies. Can't be trusted."

Never mind all that, Jan thought as she turned her head in Rosie's direction and threw her eyes in the direction of the ceiling. Rosie understood.

"Staff-sister will have to trust them, sir. Her options are that limited."

Rosie emphasised her point by bringing her hands close together before Donut's nose. Jan shot an acknowledging nod in her friend's direction before she addressed Donut again.

"Will I be able to get into that sector?"

"Not sure. You'll have to apply through your own authorities. As you're not an American citizen, there's little I do. Sorry." Donut folded up the map and popped it into a briefcase. He took note of the great disappointment that had fallen over Jan's face. "But I can help. Not as an American soldier but as an individual. I know a few things, or two." He picked up the briefcase and shoved it under his arm. "Coming? Let's go!"

They searched throughout the French sector, but in vain. There was a long list of missing people but Hans' name was not among them. Jan felt dispirited and frustrated. It was good that she had Rosie for support. She was going to have to find something soon or she would have to return to England empty-handed. Before Hans had come to the divided city, life for he and Jan had been filled with hope and love. Now there were only memories of the happiest days of her life, together with a burning ache within her body for the man she had fallen deeply in love with. He had promised not to do anything stupid and to return to her by the end of the year but it was now 1946, almost twenty years to the month when Erwin Hans Resmel had walked into her life. Surely, this couldn't be the end? Jan had to push her feelings to the back of her mind, for Andrea's sake she had to remain strong but the pretence was beginning to tear her apart. She could not sleep, tossing throughout most of the night, waking fitfully and shedding silent tears into her pillow. Her frustration, together with the destruction of the surroundings, weighed heavily on her, affecting her far worse than her wartime experiences in the desert campaign. There, she'd been able to cope even with the dreadful wounds, death and destruction but at least she'd been occupied and had the knowledge that she could make a difference between life and death. In her present situation, she felt trapped and helpless. If only there had been a clue, even a trivial clue, anything.

Donut was as true to his word as anyone she had known. When Jan told him of her continuing plight, he threw everything he could into helping her and three days later he arrived at the hospital with a pass for her into the Russian sector.

"It's better that you go alone," he told her as he handed it over. "Only got it by the skin of my teeth. I know it's forbidden to fraternise with any of the locals but I did manage to find you a contact."

Jan glanced down at the pass card that could be her lifeline.

"Thanks."

"Sorry, but I could only get it for four days."

"Doesn't give me much time."

He could feel her desperation.

"He must be quite a guy, this Kraut of yours."

"He is. Very special. You'd never understand."

Her eyes were moist and Donut noticed she was beginning to tremble. He decided not to press the subject further.

"Look, I'll take you to the crossing point in the morning. It'll take near on twenty minutes to get there. Then, I'm afraid, you'll be on your own."

"I've prepared myself for that. And thank you so much, Donut."

Jan offered him her hand. Her handshake was warm and sincere. He felt sorry for the lady and wished he could have helped her more.

"Good luck. See you at ten hundred hours."

Crossing through the barrier in Friedrichstrasse with a large package of brown paper wrapping which she had been told to take with her was nerve-racking. There was a narrow stretch where Jan was neither in one sector, nor quite in the other and for those footsteps she felt vulnerable and alone. She reached the Russian guard house and stood in silence as the Red Army soldier closely examined her passport and authority pass and then stamped them both in stony silence. She walked on through.

This central part of Berlin had been hit far harder than the west where she had just come from. Almost all of the buildings had been burnt out and they stood blackened, like gasping goldfish, gasping their last breath, their wide, gaping mouths turned silently upwards towards the sky. The enormity of it made her shudder as she turned a full circle unable to find a complete building for as far as her eyes could see.

She had been given instructions to wear her nurse's uniform and follow the marks on her map that would lead her across Leipzigerstrasse and over to where the cathedral, Der deutsche Dom, had once stood as a symbol to the city. Today it looked like a sandcastle that had been stamped on by some giant foot. Jan had been told to stand exactly at its eastern corner and wait until she was approached by a young woman wearing a small brown felt hat which would be tilted just off centre to the left. It all felt like the meeting between spies she had read about and she felt uneasy. What if her contact refused to come? How would she get the large food parcel back across the border? She would have no option but to abandon the whole lot, leave it for others to find, and return to the American sector in the west. The few people who passed near by glanced only briefly at the solitary figure wrapped up against the cold. She continued to wait.

It had been just over an hour when a figure from the distance made a definite pathway towards her. It was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She wore a brown felt hat slightly tilted to the left. As she got nearer, Jan smiled a little uneasily and picked up her large parcel. The woman spoke to her in very good English.

"Guten Tag. Staff-sister nurse Turner?"

"Yes."

"I'm Ilke Horsch."

They shook hands.

Very formal, thought Jan.

"Sorry I'm late. Come with me. You can stay with my family. But we have to be very careful. There are so many spying eyes and talking tongues. It's dangerous. There are soldiers and guns everywhere." Ilke handed over a grey coat for Jan to put on over her British nurse's jacket. "This makes you look like one of us. It makes you a lot warmer. Hopefully, we won't be stopped and checked."

"What do we do with this?" Jan indicated the parcel.

"I hold it. See, very close."

"It's food for you and your family. I hope I did the right thing."

"Danke schön! It is most kind. We have not much food. Thank you."

They walked through the damaged streets, making their way down Unter den Linden where, Ilke told her, they could help from another contact who would help them to get to one of the suburbs where Ilke and her family lived. Jan noted that many people walked so wearily, dragging sorry little wooden carts behind them. They picked their way between the narrow pathways of cleared rubble, making their way past damaged buildings and tortured wall remains shrouded in a thousand pitiful notices together with the mute, staring faces of the missing and dead.

"We are at our next meeting place . . . almost there." Ilke pointed ahead. "My brother has made already inquiries for you."

'Has he found out anything? Anything at all?"

"Not yet. We will try still."

A young man, guarding three precious bikes, was seen leaning against one of the street lampposts. He waved to them as they approached. After a short introduction, the young man led them through Mitte and on to Berliner Strasse where Ilke and her family were living.

There were tanks and soldiers everywhere but luck was on their side, for they were able to make the journey without the customary checks. Ike's brother, Odo, spoke hastily with his sister for several minutes. Ilke reported that Odo had stressed that Jan should take great care moving around anywhere within the ruined city, for every day there were more stories of people disappearing, never to be heard of again. Jan's English papers might help but, on the other hand, she should not have risked crossing the border into the Russian sector at all.

Early next morning, Ilke took Jan to one of the damaged office buildings which had become a headquarters of sorts for information regarding lost people. As this was not an official site, Ilke felt that they would receive more sympathy for Jan's plight. The woman behind the desk wrote down details, shook her head and pinned yet another name on the crowded wall. One more missing person among the hundreds, even thousands. One extra person trying to achieve the impossible: to find a friend, relative or loved one; the same drama taking place throughout any of the big cities of Europe as people try to repair their shattered lives. Jan had not realised the enormity of the problem: almost a half of the city's population trying to find friends or relations. It was worse than trying to find that needle hidden in the haystack.

Every day was the same. Bread with some sort of warm drink for breakfast and then out, Ilke asking, asking, asking until utterly exhausted and cold, the pair returned home to the warmth and safety of the little ground-floor apartment. The top of the building had been damaged and nobody was able to occupy most of the rooms that were there. Ilka had spoken to the others in the building and each one had promised to mention anything that may prove of help.

On the last day Ilka took Jan back to the streets around Unter den Linden, so that she was close enough to make the return border crossing that afternoon. They had decided to take shelter inside the museum, when they were approached by an elderly man in a thick, black woollen overcoat. He had been studying them for some time, listening to their hushed conversation. He spoke softly to them in very slow English, taking great pains to find the foreign words.

"Excuse, lady . . . you English?"

Ilke motioned to Jan to remain quiet. It could be a trap. The man switched to German.

"Are you looking for a man who came here from the west?"

Ilke spoke in a low, quiet voice.

"Why? Do you know something?"

The man continued. He did not speak loudly and kept glancing over his shoulder as he spoke to them.

"A man ¨C had the mannerisms of a military man, an officer. He told me he'd come from the west. He was trying to find his child."

"We are looking for a man who is looking for a child. His name's Herr Resmel. Did he give you a name?"

"Maybe. I think he did." The man rubbed his chin. He looked around for a minute or two before facing Ilke again. "Sorry, I can't be sure. But he did say he'd come here from the west. Been a prisoner of war. His wife and child lived around here for a time. His child's missing."

Ilke translated for Jan, then questioned the man further.

"When did he speak with you?"

The man looked beyond both of them as he tried to recall the moment.

"It was . . . it was . . . er, just before Christmas. Yes, then. Not so long ago."

"What did he say? Can you remember?"

"We met here. Near the bridge. Like this. He said he was looking for a little boy . . . three or four years old. He showed me a photo of a child not more than two. Said his name was Siege . . . "

Jan interrupted. She did not wait for a translation. There was excitement and urgency in her voice.

"Siege. Siegmund Resmel. It must have been Hans!"

The man in the dark coat looked at her in surprise. He spoke directly to Jan in English once more.

"Yes. Siegmund. Yes. I . . . "

The man tapped his forehead and nodded. Jan implored Ilke to ask him more.

Was he staying in Berlin?"

"No."

"Did he say where he was going?"

Again, Ilke translated. The man made some wild gesturing movements and pointed northwards. Then, he spoke quickly so quickly, Ilke had trouble keeping the translation going.

"He said he'd heard a rumour that a child of that name had been seen on a notice board somewhere, north of the city. Angermunde, I recall. He said he was heading off in that direction." Ilke frowned as she looked directly at Jan. "You said that when he was a baby he and his mother lived in Neubrandenburg?"

"Yes," Jan replied. ""Her parents lived in Ang-mung, or something. I sort of know the name as there's an Angmering in Sussex and the names are quite similar."

"That could be it!" Ilke was finding that Jan's building excitement was contagious. She threw her arms into the air with enthusiasm and then took the stranger's hands and began to shake them most violently. "Danke schön! Thank you! Thank you so much." She let his hands go but did not notice how the bemused man shook and rubbed his fingers to get some sort of normality back into them. Ilke turned to Jan. "What extraordinary luck bumping into someone like this."

The man smiled and had relaxed somewhat again. He was prepared to practise his English some more.

"I walk here often. Before the war I work in the university." He pointed to a building across the road. "There it was I worked. I like here stand to think over the good days. I visit since then the museums. A great pastime of mine, er, before the war. Now, it is much difficult. We are watched." His eyes swept past the two women again before he continued the conversation. " I wish you both luck."

"Thank you." Jan smiled and nodded slightly.

The man reached into the depths of one of his deep pockets and pulled out pen and paper and began writing. This time he reverted to German and spoke only to Ilke.

"Here is my name and address. Tell the lady I can be contacted at this address. I'd like to know what happens, especially if she finds them." He faced Jan and touched her gently on her arm as he dropped into English again. "You are careful. Watch all the time. Things are here yet very, very danger."

He glanced furtively around in all directions before handing his note to Ilke, wished them both a fruitful search again and scuttled away to merge into the greyness of the cold, winter city street.

In a couple of hours Jan would have to return to the west. The two women wandered for a while along the banks of the river. Ilke took Jan to one of the few remaining places where they could buy a hot soup. As they stood sipping the hot liquid, Ilke promised Jan that she would head north of the city and find out what she could. Meanwhile, with east-west relations deteriorating further, Jan's only hope of hearing any more news, was to apply for a second pass into the eastern sector a few weeks before her service in Germany came to an end.

"If you're intending returning to the eastern sector," the Commander of the British Occupying forces told Jan, "we'd better make sure the Russians understand that you're one of our personnel and that we expect you back in one piece. There have been really nasty stories floating about regarding their treatment of some of the civilians. The way their lot treated the Ruskies, I'm not really surprised but, all the same, we don't want you getting messed with any of that. We'll make things very official. It'll be safer that way."

The paperwork increased as permission was sought for the second excursion. This time Jan had asked for six days in the hope of making a journey deeper into the Soviet zone. She was briefed on the risks and also given papers which would enable her to bring either Hans or Siegmund out from behind the Iron Curtain. Everyone hoped the papers would be honoured and that her mission would prove fruitful.

Jan, in her nurse's military uniform, stood at the border anxiously waiting for her papers to be verified and stamped. This time, things would be more official and her time the other side would be constantly monitored by the Russian authorities. She had agreed to meet with Ilke at the damaged museum and catch up with any extra information Ilke had managed to find. But there had been a few weak leads and Ilke apologised for her failure. This time the two would not be left alone, for the Russians had demanded a military escort. All arrangements had been made.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't get to Angermunde. People are still disappearing. But, I've been told that a major was making inquiries around the town. Sounds like your Herr Resmel."

"Thank you, Ilke, for trying. I could ask to be taken there. I just hope he's still around."

"I hope so, for your sake." Ilke removed her gloves and held out her arms. The two women hugged each other as though they had been friends for many years "Good luck with your search, Nurse Janine." Ilke smiled deeply. "Do call for me, if I can again help you."

Jan handed over another food parcel and the two parted. Jan stood watching as her new friend hurried down the steps, and with a wave of her hand, merged into the moving backdrop of Berlin's survivors. Her Russian escort, a military man in his thirties, opened the back door of the car which had been commandeered for the journey, and immediately settled himself down into the driver's seat. It was an official journey. The small red flag above the bonnet fluttering gently in the light breeze indicated that this was an official vehicle with the authority to travel unheeded throughout the occupied zone.

"It take little time," he commented as he turned his body slightly in her direction. "But, I get you there."

Jan settled back into her seat and gazed, submerged in her own private thoughts, as the car wound its way through the streets and headed north-bound away from the city centre. They were forced to stop several times to make way for troop convoys or small groups of manoeuvring tanks. The entire countryside had the feeling of one huge armed camp and even though Jan was under escort, she still felt apprehension. Her driver had not spoken since she had entered the vehicle and without some form of communication, she felt vulnerable and alone.

After three hours, they arrived at Angermunde. Everywhere there were Russian troops. The inhabitants watched them in suspicious silence. The car pulled up outside the old Rathaus, draped with a large Russian flag and guarded by four Russian soldiers.

"You come." Her driver opened the door and indicated for her to follow him through the large wooden doors of the building. "Room for you stay. I find official form and names. You look through."

Jan spent the next hour flipping over pages in the missing people file, a long list of names, ages together with photographs when available. Nothing was turning up. She handed the large folder back. Nothing was said. She was handed another, this time much smaller. She returned to the bench top and began going through the files. She ceased hunting, stretched back her aching shoulders and massaged the back of her neck. She turned the next page. With great difficulty she was able to recognise a name. She had seen the same on Hans's identity card during the war.

'XXXX: Resmel. XXXX: Siegmund Erwin Falko . . .XXXX: 20/10/1942'

Someone had wanted to find the child. She struggled on with trying to decipher the official writing. She made a guess that the last known whereabouts was at an address in Angermunde.

"Excuse me," she called to her driver. "Can you read German writing?"

"Sorry, no."

"Blast!" Her frustration made her angry and she found herself shouting. "How am I supposed to read this stuff? I can't even make out the damn letters!"

An official came over and looked at the entry. He shrugged his shoulders, muttered something unintelligible and returned to his former place. She had not bargained on this difficulty.

By the end of that first day, Jan knew she was in the right area but she was still no closer to finding Hans' trail. Somehow she would need to change her tactics if she was to have any luck. She tried her driver again.

"Can the officer find someone who can speak English? A little English?"

"Da. Little English. He find person tomorrow."

"Tell him to make it early. Very early."

The Russian was as good as his word. When she returned the following morning, an elderly man was sitting on a bench already waiting. She introduced herself. He nodded.

"I need your help to understand this." She pointed to the entry in the file.

"Name says is Siegmund Erwin Falko Resmel. Little boy." He held his arm out to show how small the child was. "Little young."

"I know. Where was he last recorded?"

The man read out the address for her. Then he wrote it down very carefully so that she could read it.

"This is the place?"

"The house address. But . . . Haus kaputt!"

The man made destruction signs to tell her that the house was no longer standing.

"Oh dear. Do you know if the child was there then?" The man shrugged. Jan questioned him further. "Does it say here if anyone was looking for the child?"

The man read further.

"Father come. No child here. He go on to Altentreptow."

"Altentreptow? Where's that?" Jan felt a sudden lump in her throat as she felt everything beginning to slip away from her. He voice rose into an emotional squeak.

"Not far away from Neubrandenburg. Little north. Many people walk after to Malchin. Then follow road to Schwerin."

"Oh, yes," nodded Jan. "That would make sense. The papers said they were trying to get to Schwerin. I was told many people were heading that way." She remembered someone telling her that many refugees had hoped to reach the castle there and turn themselves in to the Americans. So, there was hope. She turned to her escort. "Can we go there today?" she asked.

"Da. First, I get papers stamped. Then we go to Altentreptow."

Her driver had received orders to do everything possible to help this British nurse find a Major Resmel and he had been made to understand that the order had originated from the British Military Occupation Forces.

The road to Neubrandenburg was not in good condition. The surface had been damaged so that they had to steer around shell and bomb holes. After almost two and a half hours they arrived at the outskirts of the medieval walled town. Everywhere still carried deep scars from the last few months of vicious fighting but finally they drove into the remains of the town centre. Jan climbed out of the vehicle and stood before an ugly, dull-grey stone remnant of wall. The rest of the building had fallen into jumbled heaps of twisted rubble and rubbish, strewn around like a scattered jigsaw. If Altentreptow was like this, finding either Hans or Siege would take a long time.

Jan spent the morning searching for clues. After an hour in Neubrandenburg, they drove the short distance to Altentreptow. She showed everybody she met the piece of paper with Hans' and Siegmund's name and every time, the people shook their heads or stared at her with a blank, incomprehensible stare. After a bite to eat, she continued her search around the vicinity of another possible address she had been given.

Have you seen these people? Do you know where this person is? There was no need to translate, for everyone with names or photos was asking similar questions. Sometimes people just stared dazed by hidden memories, their blank staring eyes focussed on another time. As the next hour ticked by, Jan became more and more frustrated and saddened until, like the locals, she would walk up to strangers and plaintively hold up the two small photographs, hoping for someone to say they had seen them.

"Do you know where this person is?" She pushed the paper under the gaze of yet another stranger. The woman, her head wrapped within a heavy woollen scarf, examined the two names for almost a minute. It was as if a spring in her body had wound down and she had come to a stop like a toy doll. Jan let her hand drop like the disappointed tail of a dog and was just about to walk away when the woman reached out and grabbed her sleeve. The smile was unexpected and Jan almost missed its significance.

"Jawohl. Jawohl."

Suddenly the doll-like creature came to life and the woman began to nod repeatedly as if her head were on some sort of spring. She said something but Jan did not understand. The woman fumbled around until she found the picture she wanted, stabbing over it several times as she repeated the word Kind, Kind over and over.

"Him? This one? You've seen him?" No translation was necessary. The woman nodded even more vigorously as Jan's excitement transferred to her. "Where? Where? Can you show me?"

But the woman failed to understand. It was all so frustrating.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak German. Oh, blast it!"

Jan tried once more to make the woman understand by pointing to the name again and holding both hands up in a questioning way. The woman replied with a torrent of language. Jan did not even catch one word. Then, it was as if the woman suddenly grasped the situation for she touched Jan's arm, pointed to a destroyed house, pointed to the name on the paper and shook her head. She made a sad face. She gestured something falling and then everything being flattened.

"Oh, God!" Jan exclaimed. "The house where he was taken must have been bombed. Siegie must have been killed! So, where's Hans?"

"We go Soviet Office in centre," said her driver. "I speak to officer there."

It did not take long to find the place for it was the only building flying the Russian flag. The building was most likely the old Rathaus but had been taken over by the occupying forces. Jan's driver spoke to the officer inside who demanded to see her identity papers and authority to enter the Soviet-held territory before they would allow her to enter. When he had satisfied himself that all was in order, he indicated that she could step inside but he also made it clear that she must wait while further checks were made. After twenty minutes, a senior officer in the Soviet army approached them. He asked to see her papers.

"You are looking for two people?"

Jan was so relieved when he spoke to her in English that her smile was one of surprise mixed with pleasure.

"Thank goodness you speak English." The relief in her voice was obvious. "I'm trying to find either of these two people."

She handed over the missing person's document.

"One wait. Moment." The officer spent ten minutes hunting through a pile of documents. Finally he extracted a paper from one of the files with an officious swastika stamped over the centre of the page. "Nazi records up to last day of war. Very thorough." He read the main points of the document to her. "Siegmund Erwin Falko Resmel. Young child. Killed: May 2nd 1945. Air-raid." He looked up with a resigned expression. "I see, only child name on paper."

"Are you sure?"

Jan felt sorry for the child she had never met. The officer nodded.

"Everyone in building killed. No survivors. Sorry."

"Did anyone else make inquiries?"

"When?"

"Recently."

The officer consulted the document again.

"Yes. It says here child's father come February this year."

"Hans! It must be Hans. He was here?"

"Name on record says Major Erwin Resmel. It is written here."

The Russian officer showed her the document.

"Yes! Yes! That's him!" Jan could feel her heart pounding as her hands began to tingle and tremble. She adjusted her glasses several times, trying to calm herself so that she could deal with this new situation. "Do you know anything else? Does it say where he is? Where he went? When was he last in the area?"

Jan could not stop the questions from tumbling down like the gush of water in a waterfall. Her anxiety did not affect the officer. He calmly stood before her reading further down the page. He looked up again and spoke in a flat monotone.

"Sorry. Nothing."

The words slammed into Jan with the force of a train. She removed her glasses, wiped them and put them on again. Any excitement she had shown earlier had now evaporated.

"Nothing?" she asked weakly.

"One moment. Maybe." The officer briefly held up his hand before disappearing through a doorway into another room. A few tense minutes passed before he reappeared. "We do have information for you. This man you look for is in hospital. This is hospital's address."

"Hospital? Why is he in hospital?"

"Reason unknown. No information on report. Sorry. But you go there. Wait, please." The officer picked up a phone and made a quick call. Jan stood there wondering what it was all about and whether she would be removed from the sector or even taken away for questioning. She'd heard so many stories that she was not even sure of her own safety. However, the officers face lit up and it was obvious that he had heard good news. "I am informed you will find him there. I show you on map." They looked at an old map and the officer drew a line from his office block to the hospital. It was a round-about route. "Much damage in city. These roads are open." He gathered his papers and handed her the map. "You keep that. That is all I can say. So now you go and find major."

"Thank you so much for your help."

The Russian brushed aside with his hand.

"No problem. I understand. We also help find these Nazis. Now you can report to your authorities that military man is found. I have also heard Americans take Nazis for trials."

"Trials?"

Jan was thrown into a feeling of uncertainty again.

"Military authorities are hunting down monsters responsible for all war atrocities. Too many dreadful, dreadful things they have done. Not human. Soviet Republic work together with United States and Great Britain to find Nazis. You are sent here to find this man? He will answer for bad things done."

Jan did not give him his answer.

The following day Jan's escort drove her to the town's hospital and after more papers had been stamped and signed, she was finally informed that Major Erwin Hans Resmel was, indeed, a patient there. She was conducted to his room, led along the bare, twisting corridors by one of the hospital orderlies. Jan followed on automatic pilot, her heart beating faster and faster as the orderly led her deep into the body of the hospital until they arrived at a small room.

"Hans!"

He lay pale and unresponsive between sheets as white as his face. Jan had seen this many times before during the war but this time it was Hans and it surprised her when she felt her stomach begin to tingle.

"Hans, it's Jan." his eyelids fluttered but he did not open his eyes. She picked up his file notes and began reading, hoping to recognise any of the familiar figures or graphs. She satisfied herself that his bodily signs were normal. She was still reading when a doctor and an Intelligence Officer from the Red Army entered the room.

"Good morning. I read on your papers you are a nurse, Staff-sister Turner." It was the Russian who spoke to her. "Doctor says he's given him morphine for the pain and a sedative. He will be sleepy for a few more days."

"I don't have a few days!"

"Sorry. His injury is too bad. We must have to wait for nature to work. Injuries are still bad."

"Injuries?" There was alarm in her expression. "What injuries?"

There was a brief exchange between the Intelligence Officer and the doctor. The the officer explained that Hans had received bullet wounds to his lung and back. It had happened when a group of young Russian soldiers had become excited and trigger-happy during a skirmish with ex-Hitler Youth teenagers who had come across a few weapons that had been discarded among some rubble. They were so excited by their find that they had attracted the attention of the soldiers who were patrolling the streets. When the youths began making Heil Hitler signs, the soldiers had taken deep offence. Hans had intervened and tried to calm the situation but when bullets were fired in the direction of the youths, several had hit Hans. The officer told Jan that it was unfortunate but there were still some of their own soldiers who were still so shaken up that they were known to be taking revenge for what had happened to their own friends and families when Hitler's armies crossed Poland and spilled into the Soviet Union.

"You see, war makes murderers of us all," he commented. "Doctors and nurses, like you, have to repair injuries. Even those responsible for the terrible things these Nazi thugs did to populations."

"But this man's not responsible."

"The authorities know he was a major. His file says he was fighting on Eastern Front. He was sent to my home country. So far as I am concerned, he was responsible."

Jan was shaken yet again. Hans had said nothing of being in the eastern campaign.

"He was in North Africa. So was I. Then he was captured. Does your file say that?"

"He was still in Hitler's army."

"That doesn't make him responsible for everything that happened."

"As officer he must have done something." The Russian was becoming suspicious and wanted answers. "Otherwise, why are you British so keen to get your hands on him?"

Jan knew she couldn't answer this. She had to force herself to remain silent. To divulge any sort of information could blow her cover and then she may never see Hans again.

"I am just following orders," she said hastily, hoping that such an answer would suffice. "How soon will it be before he can be moved? It is important that he be taken into the British sector."

"Ah. Maybe two or three weeks."

"No sooner?"

"No. Not if you people want him back alive to answer questions."

Jan knew she had no option but to leave Hans where he was and return to West Berlin. But at least she now knew he was safe and was being well cared for. Even during the Desert war, she had been impressed by how well the army doctors and nurses looked after their sick and wounded. She also knew that she would have to wait and hope.

On a cold, early Spring morning, under a grey, sombre sky, a man on a stretcher was passed over the border from one world to the other. On the eastern side stood a young woman and her brother, pleased that they had helped in some small way to mend the hate that had overwhelmed the world during the past seven years. In the west, an English nurse was waiting to accept the man she had grown to love, and for whom she had made this journey. Together, they could begin a new life in a world without war.

Major Erwin Hans Resmel of the Afrika Korps and Staff-Sister Janine Turner of the British Auxiliary Territorial Services were just two ordinary people who became caught up in the dangerous desires of dictatorship. Let us all hope that, never again will the world come to know such grief or where two people who only wished for love would ever be thrown into a world of hate on opposite sides.

THE END

Thank you for reading my book. If you found it interesting and enjoyable, I would like to invite you to leave a review at your favourite retailer or at Smashwords. Many thanks for that.

Susan Firman

Discover other books by Susan Firman.

Time to Remember

This is a science-fiction story set in Norway in the times of the Vikings.

