The Reunion

by Geoff Pridmore

  There were already roses climbing the front walls of the cottage and it was clear that the previous residents had loved the place and treated it well.

  ‘It could be home – not much,’ said Hugo. Rene assumed “not much” meant no amenities.

  ‘It’ll do fine,’ she said.

  ‘Water no, electricity no. Needs paint and paper, but rent no.’

  ‘We’ll manage, Hugo.’

  ‘The garden will make a fortune.’

  ‘Fortune?’ exclaimed Rene.

  ‘Flowers – anemones, hyacinths.’

  It took a moment for the penny to drop, Rene had become so used to trying to interpret Hugo’s true intentions. ‘People around here won’t buy flowers because—’

  Hugo interrupted her, ‘No. The flowers we put on the train for London. Up the road is the station, a walk of twenty minutes. The farmer makes a living – we make a fortune, nah?’

  ‘It’ll take a lot of time and effort.’

  ‘Time and effort we will find!’ Hugo assured her.

  ‘Yes, we’ll find effort all right!’

  *

  Now strolling in Oberwinkel, Roseveare Cottage seemed such a long way away in both time and place. Rene felt that they’d come such a distance in little more than thirteen years when full of hope they’d taken on the little cottage with its damp walls. Despite having no water or electricity, by the time Hanne was born in the autumn of ’53 they had at least got some wallpaper up, and between them they’d made a success of the garden having banished every weed.

  Working on the garden every spare moment they had, their first crop of flowers sold to a London agent for £150 net, and the following year their net income increased to £350 – more than a year’s wages earned as a farm labourer.

  Reinvesting the money in poultry, Hugo and Rene added eggs to their produce; and not just enough chickens to produce an omelette, but a feathered battalion of 120 hybrid layers that would give them an additional source of income with profit.

  By the time Hanne’s younger brother Marco was born, Hugo and Rene had secured a loan for their own property – a five-acre smallholding. Proudly running his own business from his own premises, Hugo was at long last master of his own destiny.

  *

  Samstag 29th Juni 1963, 11.24 pm

  Oberwinkel

  The morning of the reunion found Hanne in her favourite place: the deer lookout. She’d been there since just after nine o’clock, convincing her mother that the reunion wasn’t due to take place until midday and so there was plenty of time because deer and other Bavarian wildlife prefer the cooler mornings to being out in the midday sun. She promised faithfully to be back in good time.

  ‘No later than a quarter to eleven!’ Rene warned her.

  ‘But the school’s only a minute’s walk away.’

  Rene would not be swayed and insisted on the curfew, although she preferred to keep Hugo oblivious of his daughter’s absence. He was already in the school and had been since just after breakfast seeing to last-minute arrangements together with his brother and sisters. This would be an historic occasion to begin all family reunions, creating a tradition that would cement Anglo-German relations for centuries to come. Vital if another world war was to be avoided.

  The siblings speculated that the tradition of a family reunion would continue well into the next century and beyond, and that it was imperative that the young cousins got along, as they were the post-war generation on whose shoulders so much was expected.

  It was good to converse in his native tongue again with those he had known all his life – Lennart, Martha and Kirsten. This newfound ability seemed strange indeed: he could translate in his head every word spoken, though his German vocabulary was far greater than his English and he didn’t sound silly speaking German. He felt a fool when speaking English in front of native English speakers. Sometimes they would smile at something he’d uttered incorrectly or inappropriately, and he really hadn’t meant them to smile if he was being very serious, and often he was serious in his comments. And those moments where he’d meant to be funny, people remained resolutely unmoved. So, speaking English, he felt he couldn’t win; his inherent shyness would get the better of him. He didn’t want that either.

  Wally put him at ease and had done from the moment he’d first greeted Hugo off the truck in 1944. Rene, more than anyone, had helped him with the language, whilst Wally had wanted to learn German and considered Hugo to be his teacher.

  Now Hugo was bi-lingual, his linguistic ability confused him to the point of near madness. Lennart, who had also been a POW, had picked up a few words of Italian because he’d fought alongside the Italians at Monte Cassino, but he’d never been exposed to a foreign culture in the way Hugo had.

  If they were at all impressed by Hugo’s ability or by his business success as a British entrepreneur, they didn’t show it or say as much. There were no questions; in fact, no inquisitiveness on their part at all concerning the past ten years, and not a word was said by way of approbation. To listen to them, or to watch their progress that morning as they arranged chairs, tables, flowers and decorations, it was as if nothing had happened in the past twenty years; as if no war had taken place, no Führer, no battles, no imprisonment, no waiting for news. Maybe in the years to come it would all come spilling out. Someday, someone just might ask: what happened to you when the Allies overran your lines? Did they treat you well? Did you have to bury your friends? How did Mother cope? How did you cope when he didn’t come home? How did you sustain yourself when the Russians came? Did they hurt you? What about the Americans? Do ghosts haunt you when you sleep?

  For now it was all locked away to be held deep inside where the sun didn’t shine. The colours of the flowers were more important today, the length of the table. Would there be enough room for everyone? Were there enough chairs? Would they be comfortable? Would there be enough food and drink? Shall we take pictures afterwards?

  Hanne had taken a sketchbook, a pencil, some coloured crayons and an I-Spy book of European flora and fauna. By eleven o’clock she was busy sketching and making detailed notes of everything she saw from the deer lookout; it could all be part of her school project, which she would present to the envious class upon her return in September.

  On her wish list to see: an eagle, a capercaillie, a marmot and an ibex. Seeing a wolf or a wild boar would be the greatest achievement of all, though the prospect of seeing such wild beasts also scared her somewhat. In windy old Cornwall she’d be lucky to spot barn owls, foxes and badgers, though there were plenty of rooks, wood pigeon and jackdaws, but there was certainly nothing dangerous.

  A doe grazing in the near meadow was at least something. If she were to remain quiet and still then it might come a little closer, but she was already quite stiff and sore having been sitting patiently on the wooden slats for almost two hours. She would have brought a cushion from the van had she thought about it. Not a cushion from Oma’s, of course. Oma’s cushions were not for removal. Not that Oma had ever stated the rule, nor was it written down as a notice, it was just understood that Oma’s cushions were not for removal in 1963.

  Maybe, in the years to come, long after Oma’s departure, children would be able to take cushions from the houses of their grandparents, but for now – certainly not.

  Hanne could see herself clearly in the role of “Oma” one day. She would be a kind and helpful Oma to her grandchildren and would most certainly approve of cushions being taken for use in deer hides such as this one – provided it wasn’t raining. No grandchild of hers was likely to want to go out in the rain anyway.

  In Hanne’s vision as “Oma-to-be”, this would be her home – Oma’s house in Oberwinkel. It would pass to her quite naturally so that she could continue the “family role” in its rightful place. She would preside over future family reunions, she would be matriarch of the Mauer family and her tenure would tak
e them all well into the next century!

  For now, she would wait and bide her time until being called to take over the role of matriarchal Oma – as it might be some years away. There was, however, a call to be heard – a call that disturbed the doe from grazing, lifting its head to get a direction on the sound – a human sound. It wasn’t her imagination working overtime, the doe’s reaction confirmed it; someone was calling – someone English.

  Oh, no! Mother! Of course! It’s time to get out of here and get ready!

  Descending the timber-framed lookout as quickly as she could possibly descend anything so awkward, a German word filled her thoughts – schnell, schnell, schnell, schnell!

  She loved the word and the sound it made, and now it had entered her head to the exclusion of all other words. Every day of the holiday she had learned a German word and today this word was the word to use.

  She ran full pelt down the grassy slope of the meadow, full pelt into the village, her heels clopping loudly along the cobbled road to Oma’s whilst repeating over and over, ‘schnell, schnell, schnell’, under her laboured breath.

  Rene was feeling vulnerable. She was in a foreign place and her guard was down – one of her children was seriously overdue.

  ‘Hanne’s on her way,’ she assured Hugo despite not being able to base her assurance on fact.

  ‘Time is difficult for that girl!’ Hugo growled. ‘You should not have let her wander off.’

  ‘Well, the reunion is only across the road in your old school, and Hanne does love it up in the wood looking out from the tower. Isn’t that where you and your brother and sisters used to play?’

  ‘Yes, but my mother would have beaten me if I kept people waiting. She still might beat me if we are late. This is very important for Hanne and Marco and their cousins – a tradition is begun that they must continue. People would not go to war if they know one another. Only strangers fight wars.’

  No sooner did he utter the words, much to Rene’s relief, and not unlike a diva arriving late for her curtain call, Hanne breezed into the room certain of what she had to do. ‘I’m back!’ she triumphantly proclaimed between wheezes.

  ‘Just in time, young lady! Your little brother is ready to go, nah. We went almost without you.’

  Reaching out, Rene ran her fingers through her child’s thick, auburn hair. ‘Oh, Hanne, you’re in a state! Just look at you!’

  ‘Yes, I’m in a German state – called Bavaria.’

  ‘Come here, we’d better tidy you up.’

  Rene had laid out a pretty floral-patterned frock ready for Hanne – also a hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. Utter relief. Glancing up at a rather infuriated Hugo, his eyes focussed on the wardrobe mirror, tying his best Windsor knot, cufflinks glinting, white cotton shirt lovingly ironed, his trousers immaculately pressed, she hadn’t seen him look so well turned out or as handsome since their wedding day twelve years ago. His black leather shoes were so polished as to almost reflect the bedroom ceiling, and she wondered just when he did all this preparation. Or was it Oma at work in the background? Of course, it didn’t matter.

  Once out in the bright sunshine of that afternoon, away from the steps of the house, Oma, standing in her doorway, bid them make their way the short distance along the road to the school. She promised she would follow soon, but for now she wanted them to walk together as a family hand in hand in order that she could take a photo of them walking and looking back at her. For the first time, Rene, and Hanne, too, glanced back to see a woman they had not seen before – a proud and loving matriarch.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  The Reunion

  Climbing the newly installed pine stairs to the classroom, yet opening the same old familiar door that must have been in place when Hugo was a boy, there they all were inside: milling, chatting, catching-up, waiting patiently for the moment when they would all sit down together. The long tables – each neatly covered in taught scarlet tablecloths – placed end-to-end spanned the length of the hall. The cutlery shone in the midday light and was so precisely laid out as if carefully measured by an English butler’s rule; the red napkins, the decor – it was wonderful!

  Just as Hanne had envisioned.

  Emmi – tiny, three-year-old Emmi resplendent in purple track shoes with Velcro straps and flashing lights – was the first to run across the floor with arms outstretched to hug her cousin. Hanne eagerly swept her up in her long arms, hugged her and kissed her on the forehead whilst adjusting the child’s pink, plastic hair clip with a free hand.

  ‘You’ve made a friend already!’ smiled Sandy, keen to remain out of his wife’s limelight for this was her family day and all eyes would be on her and Marco – the English family.

  Hanne spoke to Emmi in hushed German tones, stroking her fine dark hair, which caused the child to relax and beam a smile that melted Hanne’s heart.

  ‘Oma’s great-great-granddaughter. What do you think, Hanne?’

  ‘She’s an absolute sweetheart! You must be so proud.’ Hanne handed Emmi back to Heike who was waiting patiently to greet her cousin with a hug and a kiss.

  ‘Yes! I am a very proud Oma! That is true. What about you, Hanne? Are your children married?’

  ‘Well, Freddie was with a lovely young woman, but they separated last year. And Christof is working hard as a systems engineer and doing extremely well. He’s so well thought of by his employers, but I don’t think he has any time to… lead a life – you know? These youngsters have to work so hard to get anywhere these days.’

  It had been such a long time. She had made a few visits over the decades, but the reunion had remained a diary entry for so long and now today it was real once more. Sandy had never been, though he’d met some of the cousins when they had visited Cornwall and liked them a great deal.

  Hanne had been lax in keeping her father’s wishes. Marco was the true keeper of the reunion and without his effort then maybe the dream of unity between the two family branches might well have been lost.

  Once the baby of the family, Marco had been about the same age and size as Emmi on that first visit – that very first reunion in 1963. Hanne had been too old then to confide in him or have him as a playmate, and he didn’t remember a great deal about that first time other than feeling dreadfully sick when travelling and then upon arrival at Oma’s.

  He remembered Oma fondly – apparently. Well, perhaps that’s because he was a toddler, thought Hanne, a toddler whose language was neither English nor German and was therefore neutral in the eyes of his German grandmother. Hanne never enjoyed such a relationship with her namesake despite having returned on occasions in order to try and cultivate a relationship with Oma and the German cousins.

  On a visit in 1973, Heidemarie had been rather disdainful of her “idiot” English cousin, especially as Hanne was then struggling with the language, so Heidemarie made her pay for it, thinking maybe that her remarks would not be understood by such a “gawky, spotty, self-obsessed English dummkopf!”

  As Hanne glanced along the table to see Heidemarie deep in animated conversation with her grown-up children and their spouses, she inadvertently caught her cousin’s attention. Heidemarie immediately beamed a smile that was reciprocated by Hanne, but even after the passage of some thirty-seven years such an expression was not likely to mend the damage of that earlier visit.

  That was the year she had thought to surprise Oma with her presence; the year that she stayed to find work and learn German properly by working as an assistant in a small hotel where she could interact with native speakers; but the awful truth had been that she was not welcome in either the family or the hotel.

  Hugo’s idea of creating a regular family reunion did not – initially – survive the ’60s. Hanne’s post-war generation saw no value in maintaining links in a stuffy get-together organised by the older generation. How much better it was to simply turn up and say, �
�Hello!’ rather than wait for an occasional family gathering.

  By 1973, the drag of the years was doing nothing for Oma’s well-being. She didn’t appreciate the modern permissive age nor did she appreciate the untimely arrival of an overly tall, sexually mature young woman covered in barely enough dress material to make an adequate dusting rag. Gone was the ten-year-old inquisitive child in jeans and ponytails. Oma was shocked at her demise, especially as the replacement bore little resemblance to her innocent predecessor.

  To make matters worse, upon her departure from home Hugo had given Hanne a large denomination Reichsmark for spending that had last been in circulation in Hitler’s Germany. Trying to cash it in almost landed her in severe trouble with the authorities in the form of two Polizei officers flagged down by an irate shop assistant. Hanne had been trying to exchange the note for a new electric toaster that Oma just didn’t possess. Hanne needed her English breakfast.

  Mixing a combination of very basic English with a spattering of O-level German and French, Hanne did her level best to assure the monolingual officers and shop assistant that her father was a devoted German citizen living in England and that he would have given her the note in good faith not realising how things had changed as he had been a prisoner of war and deprived of any news by the British authorities. In fact, he’d always used the term “Reichsmark” and never referred to the Deutschmark.

  She later wrote home on a postcard: “Oh, by the way, Dad, Oma sends her love and that Reichsmark you gave me almost landed me in a cell overnight.” On receipt, this simply caused Hugo to smile very broadly, particularly when she related the story in person some months later.

  The only positive outcome from that summer of 1973 was that Hanne eventually got a handle on the German language, enabling her to become reasonably fluent in the basics at least. She could now communicate with her father’s family, but it was always so much easier speaking English to her favourite cousin Heike – the daughter of another wartime liaison.