The Lifeline

by Deborah Swift

  CHAPTER 25

  In the gravel clearing in the woods, snow began to drift downwards in tiny spots as Astrid picked her way back up the track. Isaak followed, silently gripping Sara by the hand. Since the men had abandoned them, they decided they had to try to find a main road and get some bearings. Astrid was quiet. They had no skis and neither she nor Isaak had any idea where they were. All she knew, was that they were in the countryside, a long way from the nearest town. At least there’d be no danger of German checkpoints.

  No traffic, no noise of any human habitation. Even the birds were silent. But the gloom was ominous, with a sky so heavy and grey that after the initial flakes, she feared a full fall of snow. They trudged up the track, carrying their bags, their boots crunching the ice puddles. Isaak had to piggyback Sara after a while when she began to slow, so Astrid carried his pack a while as well as her own. She had no answers, no plan, other than to just walk, and hope they’d find a way to get their bearings. At length, the road bore hard right and a junction was ahead, flanked by pine trees.

  Isaak was forced to put Sara down, she was too heavy for carrying really, but the break had given her renewed energy. The sight of the junction cheered them all and she ran ahead to the road; a proper tarmacked road, so it must lead somewhere.

  ‘Which way, Pappa?’ Sara asked, face suddenly alive with hope.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Isaak said, ‘but I vote we go downhill.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Astrid said.

  Isaak gave a wary smile. ‘One good thing,’ he said, ‘we’re still alive. They could easily have killed us.’

  The first few flakes from the leaden sky began to fall as they walked downwards, slipping and sliding on the icy road. Twenty minutes later and they were caught in the sort of blizzard that means you can’t see a foot before your face.

  ‘Shall we shelter?’ Isaak called out.

  Astrid squinted, seeing nothing but the mountains looming behind, and the sparse pines to either side. ‘There’s nowhere. Let’s keep going. Maybe we’ll come to a village soon.’

  They laboured on, keeping the hard surface of the road under their feet, even though they could see little except a white swirl.

  ‘Look. There! Houses,’ Sara yelled.

  Astrid peered through the snow, until below, faint outlines of roofs were visible.

  They stopped. ‘What shall we do?’ Isaak asked.

  ‘We have to hope they’re supporters of King Haakon, and not quislings, and that they’ll help us. At least give us a place to shelter.’

  ‘Which house?’ Isaak asked.

  ‘That one.’ Sara pointed. The house had two dun horses in the paddock; hardy Norse ponies with striped legs and their backs to the wind. ‘It can’t be that bad if they’ve got horses.’ She began to skid and slide down the hill.

  Isaak shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s as good as any other,’ he said. ‘And it’s away from the rest of the village.’

  ‘Isaak, if this should go wrong … I’m sorry,’ Astrid said. ‘I thought Herman could be trusted.’

  ‘Maybe he knew nothing about it. And maybe we’re the only people left who can tell him what happens to the people he sends to Sweden.’

  ‘If he’s still alive,’ she said.

  The house had a light showing in the crack of the shutters.

  ‘Here goes,’ Isaak said, stamping snow off his shoes. ‘Fingers crossed.’ He knocked hard on the door.

  A voice came from behind it; a quavering woman’s voice. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You don’t know us, but we’re lost and we need your help.’

  Silence.

  ‘Please. We’ve got a little girl here and we’ve walked for miles,’ Astrid said. ‘She can’t go much further. We just need to know where we are, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not a little girl,’ Sara protested. ‘And I want to know the names of your ponies, please.’

  The door creaked open a little and a small, grey-haired woman in traditional black peered out at them. ‘Lost, you say?’

  ‘We were trying to get to Sweden, but…’ Astrid shook her head. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Sweden?’ The woman frowned. ‘Are you in a car?’

  ‘No. Well, we were, but the car abandoned us up the road there…’

  The woman’s face grew suspicious, and she began to close the door again.

  ‘Please,’ Isaak said, taking off his hat in a sort of gesture of politeness. ‘We don’t mean any harm. Just tell us where we are and how we can get to a railway station.’

  ‘I don’t want to get involved. I can see it’s some kind of trouble.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’re sorry we bothered you. We’ll go somewhere else. But is there some kind of shelter anywhere, a barn or a shed where we can stay until the morning?’

  ‘If there’s a stable, I can sleep with the ponies,’ Sara said. ‘Like Jesus in the Bible.’

  The woman hesitated. There was a long pause, as her expression shifted between fear and guilt. Finally she opened the door wider. ‘I can give you a map I suppose. You’d better come in out of the snow, anyway. We can’t talk out here. Take off your wet things. That’s right, hang them up there. Boots too.’ She fussed around Sara before leading her into a cosy sitting room with a wood fire blazing. ‘If you wait there a moment, I’ll be back.’

  They heard the whirring noise of the telephone being dialled and her urgent voice asking the operator for a number. Then, ‘Einar? It’s me. I’ve got a bit of a situation. Can you come?’

  Astrid caught Isaak’s eye.

  ‘Shall we leave?’ Isaak whispered.

  The woman continued on the telephone. ‘What? No. Now.’ A pause. ‘I don’t know. I just need you to come over right away.’ Then; ‘Yes, yes. See you soon.’

  Astrid’s heart sank. Whoever Einar was, would he be sympathetic, or would he hand them over to the quisling police?

  ‘My son’s coming over. He has a car. He’ll drive you to the station. Sit down all of you, and I’ll make some hot milk.’ She turned to Sara. ‘Goat milk. I have goats as well as ponies.’ She pulled a large flat book from the shelf. ‘Have a look at that, and then I’ll show you where we are in the Atlas in a moment. Where are you from?’

  She must have heard Sara had an accent. Isaak gave a warning shake of his head.

  ‘Oslo,’ Sara said.

  Astrid breathed a sigh of relief. The right answer.

  Sara settled herself on the rug before the hearth engrossed in the Atlas, and after a few minutes the woman brought hot milk and the traditional butter biscuits. Sara pounced on the biscuits and had devoured several before her father’s wagging finger persuaded her to stop.

  The woman introduced herself as Mrs Follestad. After a little deliberation Astrid decided to risk telling her the truth. She gave her a potted version of their journey, but leaving out the names of their contacts in Oslo.

  ‘And these were Norwegian men who took your money? Not Germans?’ Mrs Follestad was astounded.

  ‘The men had guns,’ Sara said. ‘But I don’t think they wanted to shoot children. At least that’s what they said.’

  Mrs Follestad’s eyes grew even wider. ‘This is all a bit out of my league. It’s so quiet here. But Einar’ll know what to do. My son. He’s a dentist in the next town, that’s why he’s allowed a car. And look.’ She picked up the map. ‘We’re here.’ She pointed to the village which was just a dot in the vast hinterland of fjords and mountains. ‘Sweden’s there. It’s too far to walk; I don’t know why you could even think of it, to walk that far with a child.’ She shook her head with disapproval.

  ‘We didn’t intend to walk,’ Isaak said tersely.

  Astrid wished he wasn’t quite so volatile. She gave him a helpless look. They’d no option after all; they’d have to trust Mrs Follestad and her son. They had no money and no other means of transport.

  Sara provided the distraction they all needed by asking about the ponies they’d seen by the gate.


  ‘Ah, they don’t do much now,’ Mrs Follestad said. ‘Used to carry the churns down to the village, and bring back the potatoes. But they’re old now, spend most of their time scratching the paint off my gate.’

  Sara continued to listen to Mrs Follestad talk of the ponies’ history until the unmistakeable growl of a car arriving sent a shiver of unease up Astrid’s spine. She gave Isaak what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. Isaak reached for Sara and drew her into a protective embrace.

  When the car engine died, and they heard the bang of the car door, Mrs Follestad rushed out and spoke to her son in urgent whispers in the hall. A draught, as a large man in a thick felted coat entered. He wore a fur cap with earflaps, and the snow had already settled in an icy layer on his shoulders. Despite the advance warning he still seemed surprised to see them huddled there in the steamy warmth.

  ‘Mother says somebody dumped you in the hills and you’ve no way of getting home.’

  ‘We were duped,’ Isaak said. ‘We were trying to get out of Norway. We just need directions. We won’t be any trouble, we just need you to turn a blind eye.’

  ‘Nobody’s handing anyone in.’ Einar held up his hands. ‘But it’s clear something odd has happened, and I need to know the truth before I can agree help you.’

  ‘Tell him,’ Astrid said. ‘We might as well. Tell him how we paid for passage and were robbed.’

  Mrs Follestad repeated the story, with Isaak adding the details. Einar listened, standing by the hearth, shoulders steaming, kneading his fur cap in his big hands.

  ‘I’ve heard of this route,’ he said. ‘Usually further south. But to cheat people like that; to cheat people who are fleeing for their lives? That’s disgusting. These are not the Norwegian people we know.’ He turned to his mother. ‘We have to help them.’

  ‘But how? Where can you take them? They’re Jews, aren’t they? You know we can’t; it will only bring trouble on your head.’ She took hold of him by the sleeve.

  ‘There’s already trouble on my head, Ma. There’s been trouble ever since the damn Nazis came.’ He turned to Isaak. ‘You’re in luck,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how this has happened, but you‘ve arrived at the one man in the whole of Vestland that can help. We can get you out of Norway. But if you want to avoid being picked up by the Germans or the quislings it won’t be through Sweden. That border’s impassable now since the Jewish order. Too many checkpoints and guards. Too many caught that way. But there’s another route; less well-known, but effective. I have friends who can help.’

  ‘Wait! Einar? What are you saying?’ Mrs Follestad’s expression was one of outrage.

  ‘Sorry Ma. I never wanted you to know. I wanted to keep you out of it all. But I’ve been in the Milorg for twelve months now. You must know I had to do something.’

  ‘But we discussed it! You said you wouldn’t do anything risky! They kill people who go against them.’

  ‘But Ma —’

  ‘You promised me. After Kristian Jepson was shot, you promised me you’d keep out of it.’

  He was sheepish. ‘Ma, it was because Kristian was shot that I had to do something. Don’t you see?’ He turned to Isaak. ‘I can telephone someone and they can get a message to the islands off Ålesund. There are boats that go from there to Shetland in Scotland. They call it the Shetland Bus. We can take you to close to the coast, and give you the name of a boatman who’ll take you to the pick-up point. He’s a doctor, a man called Moen. After that, you’ll have to wait until there’s an arms or agent drop.’

  ‘I understand,’ Astrid said. ‘Any help you can give us is more than we hoped.’

  ‘It’s for the girl,’ he said. ‘I’ve two of my own. They’re seven and four. Elise and Halle.’

  ‘And you’d put Elise and Halle at risk for some people you don’t even know?’ Mrs Follestad interrupted. ‘Does Lilli know?’

  ‘Of course she does. And yes, she worries. But imagine the boot on the other foot. Wouldn’t you want someone to do this for ours, in their situation?’

  Mrs Follestad was silent then, her arms folded across her chest, but her eyes were full of fear. ‘Be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘It’s all right, Ma. I know what I’m doing. I’m still here, aren’t I?’ He went and hugged her, a big bear of a man squashing her diminutive frame to his chest. After a few moments he released her. ‘I suggest we all get some sleep. I’ll stay here tonight. No-one will question a son staying with his mother. But we’ll need to get going before it’s light. Good job I’ve plenty of fuel.’ He turned to Astrid. ‘I’ll need to see your papers, please. And Ma, I need to use your phone.’

  In the frosty morning air, they piled into Einar’s car, a saloon that smelt of old leather and rubber gumboots. He was allowed to keep a car because he was on call to the Nazi barracks in the next town. When they were ready to go, Mrs Follestad, looking tired and fraught, stood at the window, the shutter half-open, to watch Isaak help Sara into the back seat.

  Astrid clapped Isaak on the shoulder as she passed. ‘Better luck this time, eh?’ she said.

  ‘At least we haven’t had to pay,’ he said, ruefully. He climbed in the back with Sara, whilst Astrid got in the front.

  As the engine sputtered into life, she waved to Mrs Follestad, but then fixed her eyes firmly on the road and the passing landscape. She had learnt her lesson — it was vital to know where you were, in case anything should go wrong.

  ‘I had two calls with the Milorg last night,’ Einar said, as they drove through the still-dark village. ‘From what I can understand, from our brief but coded messages, you must get to Ålesund, and from there a boat to a small island called Radøy. It has only one harbour where the pick-up and drop-off will happen. The only thing is; the boat won’t wait. If you’re not on time, they can’t wait for you, and then you’d be on your own. You’ve got five days to get there, and you’ll need to be on Radøy for the evening tide on November 8th. It’s risky, because it’s a lot of cross-country, and since the round-ups, the Germans will be looking out for straggling Jews. You don’t need me to tell you what will happen if they catch you.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Issak.

  Once out of the village Einar pulled up in a layby, and got out a map. He pointed out the route. ‘You must go to these safe houses, here and here. Your first night contact is a farmer called Thoresen. He will have further maps and instructions for you, and will supply you with skis for the onward journey.’

  Astrid tried to take it in, but her mind was too occupied with the fact they were going to Shetland. Jørgen would be there, and unwittingly, she had ended up following him. Would she be able to find him? And if she did, what would he make of it? He might think she’d done it on purpose. Would he be pleased, or would it make him uncomfortable? She was aware of a slight sense of guilt to be travelling with another man, and wondered what Jørgen would think.

  ‘Astrid,’ Einar said, tapping his thick forefinger on the map for emphasis, ‘just there, outside Ålesund, there is a checkpoint, so you will need to go around it. You must head for Sæbø out past the fjords. The boat cannot risk coming further inland. They are disguised as Norwegian fishermen, you see.’

  She could just picture Jørgen as a fisherman. His father had taken him fishing, she knew, and he had the same practical ease on the water as he did on skis.

  Einar paused, until he had her full attention. ‘Understand; they are risking their lives.’

  Men like Jørgen were risking their lives to get her and the Feinbergs out. She suddenly understood. She looked at the route with clearer eyes. Now the sight of the mountains and rivers, of the sheer expanse of countryside daunted her. ‘I’m not sure Sara can manage that distance,’ she said.

  ‘Let me see,’ Isaak said, reaching forward for the map. ‘I can piggyback her if I have to.’

  ‘That far?’ Astrid said, turning. ‘You struggled to do it just a few yards before. Maybe if we had a sledge, or a pony, we might manage. But not just walking or on skis
. I know the danger of our mountains. I’ve lived here all my life.’ She turned to Einar. ‘Mr Feinberg only arrived from Frankfurt a few years ago, when he saw how it was going with Hitler.’

  ‘Have you no mountain skills at all?’ he asked Isaak.

  A shake of the head. ‘I was a bookseller, in a city. I had no use for it. And now we have war, I wish I had learned to fight or handle a gun.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘But no, I can only repair spines and stack shelves.’

  ‘Can you ski?’

  ‘I’ve never tried, but it can’t be that hard, can it? I can learn.’

  Einar looked to Astrid. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s crazy,’ she said. ‘But these are crazy times.’

  ‘You don’t have to come with us, Astrid. But Sara and I have no choice,’ Isaak said. ‘We can die in a camp, or die trying for freedom. Which would you choose?’

  The car was suddenly icy. She shivered, rubbed her hands together.

  ‘Pappa?’ Sara said. ‘I can walk. I’m very strong.’

  ‘I know you are, darling,’ Isaak embraced Sara and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Are you sure you want to try this?’ Einar asked, fixing Astrid with a serious expression. ‘After all, unlike the others, he’s right, you do have a choice.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m a teacher. One who set the teacher’s strike in motion and organised Milorg leaflet drops, and the Nazis know. I didn’t turn up for my trial. They’ll arrest me if I stay in Norway.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Isaak said accusingly.

  ‘There wasn’t time to tell you.’

  Einar turned the key in the ignition and the car coughed into life. ‘On your own head be it; never say we didn’t try to dissuade you.’ He pressed his foot on the accelerator and revved up.

  ‘Will there be any Germans on the island we’re going to?’ Isaak asked.

  ‘No,’ Einar said, letting out the clutch. ‘But there are patrols up and down the coast all the time.’ He paused to round a bend, changed gear. ‘Ålesund is overrun with them; they know we are getting agents out from there, but they can’t catch us. We use Norwegians to run the boats to Shetland — men who speak Norwegian and who just look like regular fishermen. We sent a wireless telegraph to our man on the coast that you will be going there and will need a boat to get you to the rendezvous with Dr Moen. I gave him the names and details on the papers so they know who to expect, but you won’t know any of the rest of the passengers or the names of the crew who come to rescue you.’