by Iris Gower
‘Not a word—’ Hari’s voice was dull—‘I’m so afraid she’s been killed, she’s been leading a dangerous life, spying on the Germans, getting involved in goodness knows what. My independent Meryl was always up to something, was cheeky and lippy and so bloody courageous.’ Hari realized she was speaking about Meryl as though she were already dead.
As they neared the rows of sheds, Violet began to move away from Hari. ‘Shall I see you at break time? We could eat our spam sandwiches outside, it will give me a rest from that terrible stink of powder.’
‘OK. See you about five then, the sun will have cooled by then but it should still be nice to sit outside and get some air into our lungs.’
‘Aye, pity it’s not fresh air!’ Violet smiled. ‘Even if it’s gone misty by then I’ll still see you, will I?’
Hari looked round the site of the munitions factory; it was usually covered in mist and that helped conceal the buildings from the bombers but she hoped that at teatime it would still be fine and the skies clear of enemy aircraft.
‘I’ll see you,’ Hari said firmly.
The office was stuffy, the windows criss-crossed with tape. To one side hung a blackout curtain ready for the night workers to pull across when it grew dark. Hari longed to throw open the windows but even if she could the all-pervading dust would drift in and coat everything in malignant yellow powder.
She sat at her desk and listened for the Morse code to start chattering through her headphones but she couldn’t concentrate. Her heart was heavy, Michael was gone from her forever, killed at the hands of his own people. If it was Michael who had been shot down, how was the artillery to know that flying a German plane was a Welshman, brought up on a farm in Carmarthenshire, raised by a good Welsh woman who happened to have had a German husband?
Hari felt helpless tears run down her cheeks and she brushed them away as the familiar tip-tapping came through from her radio. Her heart lightened a little. There was important news: ‘Operation Overlord’ had been a success. The message from a careless, frightened German operator told of the rout, the bad news phrased as diplomatically as possible so as not to alarm his superiors, who would pass the message to Hitler.
Hitler would take no notice; it seemed he never took notice of what his intelligence told him unless it suited him. But what of Meryl—was she alive or dead? Somehow Hari had the premonition that ‘Overlord’ had involved Meryl in some way. But how could it? Meryl was probably tucked up safely in bed by now crying her eyes out for her lost husband. With that thought, Hari clenched her fists into a tight ball and cursed love and all it stood for.
Sixty-One
With the success of the Normandy landings I thought the end of the war was nigh—silly me. The battle continued through the summer: the Allies made some headway and then the Germans made some headway; it was like the crazy dance of scorpions or spiders—it got soldiers killed but nothing achieved. And through my lonely days was the terrible knowledge that my darling, my Michael, was dead. The one bright spot in my life right now was Eva. She was coming for the weekend and I could talk to her, tell her about my baby.
I made up her bed with fresh sheets; since my belly began gently to swell Herr Euler had hired a woman from the village to come and wash and clean for me. Frau Kleist was meticulous, a good, sensible woman. She was, inevitably, a war widow from the first time round and now she had white springy hair, a wry humour and an indomitable courage I admired very much.
We ate lunch together in the kitchen of the farmhouse. We ate the late vegetables from the garden, hers and mine, worked now by her disabled son with his one good arm, his weakened body hit by shrapnel, and the spirit inherited from his mother.
Eva arrived in a flurry, her boyfriend, a dazzling pilot, brought her in a car. In Wales we would have called him a ‘toff’ even a ‘show off’ but he was brave enough to risk his life fighting for what he believed was a worthy cause.
‘Eva, come in and have some tea with us, it’s all been done by my wonderful Frau Kleist, so no fear I’ll poison you.’
Eva laughed and hugged me. ‘I’ve missed your funny little ways,’ she said, and then shyly, ‘this is Erich, he can’t stay long, he’s got an operation tonight though he can’t tell me where of course, you know, security and all that.’
Erich hogged the conversation—his German cultured, his talk all about himself. I was reminded of Stephen, Kate’s boyfriend back home, before he was changed by war into a humble human being.
At last Erich rose and sauntered to the door. ‘I’ll have to go.’ He was reluctant to give up his audience but I sighed with relief. I tactfully stayed behind as Eva saw her pilot to the car and Frau Kleist and I exchanged briefly raised eyebrows, a gesture that drew me to her and made us both smile.
That evening, sitting round the fire, just Eva and me, with a glass of good German wine courtesy of Erich, we relaxed into our old easy friendship.
‘He’s a bit full of himself—’ Eva flashed her lovely smile—‘but he is generous with the goodies.’
‘No rose-coloured spectacles then?’ Strange how languages share clichés. Eva shook her head and her silky hair whispered across her cheeks.
‘He’s fun but that’s all he is. My men seem to get killed as soon as I get fond of them so the lesson is, don’t get fond.’
‘What happened after I left?’ I had changed the subject abruptly and Eva grimaced knowing she’d touched a raw spot.
‘Your desk was searched. The SS got very excited when they found your tin. You should have seen their faces when they realized it only held what it said on the lid, sanitary wear.’
She sobered, just a little because the wine was strong and taking its toll. ‘I heard you were arrested all the same.’
‘I was,’ I said slowly. ‘I was silly enough to go for a drive to the seaside just when the enemy landed.’ I bit my tongue. I’d nearly said ‘Allies’. And much as Eva liked me I couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes.
‘Well, you weren’t to know the enemy had the gall to attack the coast, were you?’ Her voice rose as if it was a question and I stared at her for a long moment.
‘I worked on the same job as you, I heard just what you heard, we took down the same messages, how could I know about the invasion when you didn’t?’
‘Oh, I know that, I didn’t mean to imply you did. It’s just the rumour swept through the office that the authorities were looking for a radio set, the sort the resistance uses. You are so good at the Morse, so quick at the codes I suppose you were just being checked out. You wouldn’t betray your own country, would you?’
‘Of course not—’ Eva would never understand the irony in my voice—‘and the SS had no evidence on me, that’s why they let me go at last, that and the fact my father-in-law is a respected army officer. He came to get me out, thank God.’
‘They didn’t… touch you, did they?’ Eva’s eyes were round. I knew what she meant.
‘No, nothing like that. My husband was a German pilot and I was already expecting his child; they showed me utmost respect in that way.’ At least I could say that with all truth. I didn’t tell Eva about the commandant and his threat to pull out my toe nails or about the screams of women during the night. She was a tender girl with belief in her country and the goodness of its leaders but I knew more than she did and I knew the truth would be unbearable to her once it all came out.
‘Tell me more about your love life,’ I invited. Eva’s face lit up, she loved talking about herself, she was so young in the head.
We talked until midnight. As I locked up for the night, I peered through the curtains. The farm was quiet, the moon shining brightly outside across the garden, making a silver pathway in the grass. The Bombers would be out tonight, nothing was surer.
Eva and I kissed goodnight. I put out the lamps and candles—the generator needed fixing again—and climbed the stairs wearily. This was the time when I was filled with sadness, with doubts about living without Michael. Sometimes I could
pretend he was on a mission but mostly there was this dreadful sense of emptiness and loss, of despair with no light for the future. I crept into my cold bed and rubbed my eyes, they were too dry for any more tears.
Sunday night a car came for Eva. There was an SS man driving it and as she left she fluttered her bright scarf at me. All I could see was Eva’s white face as the car drew away from the farm and with a sinking heart I knew she was going to betray me.
Sixty-Two
‘Your hair looks nice, Vi.’ Hari touched Violet’s bright curls. Violet had taken the only way out, saving her hair from the acid in the lead shells by dying her hair a proper blonde shade toned down from the garish yellow streaks made by the shell powder.
Vi’s smile was grateful. ‘I’ve put flour on my face mixed with a bit of the face powder my mam gave me, don’t look too bad at all now, do I?’
‘Very pretty, Vi, makes me feel like a frump in my low heels and thick stockings.’
Violet was wearing pretty shoes, second-hand shoes, shoes from a dead person. They were a perfect fit, and nice leather owned by someone much better off than Violet or herself. ‘Classy shoes’ Kate’s mother would have called them. In some ways Violet reminded Hari of Kate.
The thought brought a lump to Hari’s throat. There would be no more happy times round the table at Kate’s place, no children laughing, crying, no Hilda, no tangle of men, two men, both of them in love with Kate.
A pain like a knife thrust turned inside her; no more Michael, no more strong arms to hold her, no more loving until she thought she would melt, her passion incandescent like the sun, her love glowing bright throughout their intimacy. She had found love and she’d lost it again. Even before Michael had died over the fields of Wales, trying not to drop bombs on his people, shot down in his German plane mistaken for the enemy, she had lost him. Lost him to Meryl and that was the sharpest cut of all.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Vi said softly, ‘thinking of your man were you?’
‘I’ve got no man.’
‘You never know, he could be alive, he could be taken prisoner, your Michael could still be alive.’
‘I went to see where the plane crashed. It had landed on the common outside Swansea and buried itself in the ground and then it caught fire.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Michael is dead, there’s no point in hoping he’s alive.’
Hari noticed Violet stayed silent this time, there were no more protests. Hari felt tears in her eyes as she wondered why she wasn’t glad Michael was dead—if she couldn’t have him then no one would. And yet she knew that she’d rather Meryl had Michael than that he was gone from this world for ever.
‘Shall we go out for a drink tonight?’ she said at last. Violet agreed at once.
‘I think we could both do with a bit of relaxation.’ She shrugged her arm around Hari’s shoulder. ‘Look, love, there’s other men out there, lots of girls are like you, their men taken by the war. We’ll dance and sing and drink and let ourselves go.’
Hari shook her head. ‘I won’t be letting myself go, not in the way you mean, Vi.’
‘Why not, you’re not still… what do the posh folk say, “intacta” are you?’
‘I’m not a virgin, no.’ A thrill of joy went through Hari, she had given herself to Michael, he had made her a woman and she was fiercely glad she’d enjoyed his love if only once in her lifetime. She would never sully that memory by sleeping with another man.
‘Don’t sell yourself short, Violet,’ Hari said. ‘My dear friend Kate did that and I know she always regretted it.’
‘I won’t be selling anything—’ Vi laughed—‘I’ll be getting drinks and gifts and whatever I can from the Yanks but what they want I’ll be giving free and with gratitude for the attention.’
‘But you’ve never known a man, have you?’
‘Not intimately, not in the biblical sense, Hari, but perhaps I should snatch at the chance. Tomorrow I might be dead, who knows?’
Hari smiled. Violet was all talk. She’d been tempted by more than one soldier, sailor or airman; she was a good-looking girl with deep black hair and brown eyes and her figure was perfect, her legs long and curvaceous; even in the baggy skirt and overall she wore to work she looked gorgeous, and she’d kept her charms to herself up until now.
‘What I really want,’ Violet said, her features softening, ‘is the love of a good man. I want someone to care about me, me not my body; I want, just once in my life, some man to say he loves me. Am I asking too much, Hari?’
Hari kissed her cheek. ‘Of course not. You just hold on to that thought, he’ll come along you’ll see, and it’s a feeling worth waiting for.’
‘I believe you,’ Violet said, ‘thousands wouldn’t.’ Laughing, she hurried back to the sheds, her feet dancing along the acid-yellowed boards, her curls bobbing, her hips swaying.
‘You’re incorrigible,’ Hari called. Violet turned her head a little.
‘Oh, is that what I am? I always wondered.’
Later, tired and heavy-eyed, Hari walked to the roadway and met Violet at the gate of the factory. The evening was dull, the clouds rolling overhead pushing aside the sun. She heard booted feet, the sound of marching and felt Violet draw her back against the fence.
‘It’s those Germans from the prison camp,’ Violet whispered, ‘I’ll poke one in the eye if he dares to look at me.’
Hari stared, fascinated. The men were singing a German song; they looked well fed and well dressed in officers’ uniforms. One was wearing a flying jacket, although it was still warm, and she stared at him.
‘Oh, my God!’ She put her hand to her mouth; she couldn’t believe what she was seeing with her own eyes. ‘Michael,’ she said. The man looked at her but his eyes were dull. His expression didn’t change. ‘Michael? she said, more uncertainly. He looked to the front and marched passed her and then he was gone jackbooting his way down the street towards Island Farm prison camp.
Hari sagged against Violet not knowing if she could believe the evidence of her own eyes. ‘I think I’ve just seen a ghost.’ Her voice was a mere whisper.
Sixty-Three
‘Eva suspected me, father-in-law,’ I said. ‘She must have looked in my desk, found my tin box before I…’ My words trailed away, I could see he didn’t understand. I almost bit my tongue. I couldn’t tell this honourable German officer that I was betraying his country, sending coded messages to Britain on my radio.
‘I had secret papers in the tin,’ I said hastily. ‘They revealed that I was born in Wales not Ireland.’
‘Indeed? That was careless of you. And what about my son, were there secrets about him also?’
‘No, nothing about Michael,’ I said with conviction, ‘there was nothing to involve Michael in anything.’ It was the truth. ‘I think Eva searched my desk at some time.’
Herr Euler was leaning on the table, his brow furrowed. ‘Then we must get you out of the country,’ he said at last, his head rising from the palm of his hand. Now his eyes met mine. He looked so much like Michael that my heart lurched. ‘I will arrange it.’
I knew better than to ask him how. My father-in-law could be very kind but he was a formidable officer and it would pay me to remember that.
‘You are past the three-month danger period with the child?’
‘Yes, Father-in-law.’ I was almost five months gone but I was still slim, my muscles, hardened by cycling, held my stomach like a girdle.
‘Good, then you will be able to walk, to hide, to run if necessary, though I hope that will not be necessary. I will make your departure from Germany as comfortable as possible, trust me.’
‘I do, Herr Euler.’ I meant it.
‘At least I will have a grandson even if I have lost a son.’ He patted my arm. ‘After the war I will see you both and we will toast the new Herr Euler together.’
‘It could be a girl,’ I pointed out. He shook his head and tapped his finger to his nose.
‘I know it is a boy.’ He smiled his char
ming smile and I wondered how Jessie could ever have left him behind in Germany and gone home to Wales. He answered my unspoken question.
‘I was a young buck at Michael’s age,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘like most men I was eager for experience. I never realized what a good wife I had by my own fireside until she packed her case and left me.’
I made a wry face and he smiled again. ‘Michael is not like me, he is a faithful man, he loves you daughter-in-law. He would never stray.’ He sighed. ‘Now he is dead no woman will have him.’
We stood and looked at each other for a long, silent moment. ‘But you will have something no one else can ever have; you have his son growing inside your young belly. Take him back to the farmlands my little girl, bring him up to be a good Welshman but also to remember his German forefathers, promise me.’
Tears stung on my lashes, my lips trembled. ‘I promise but you will see him, you will hold him in your arms, one day, when all this silly war is over.’
‘I hope and pray so. Now I must go and set the wheels in motion. You put together a few things, only what is necessary, we will begin the journey to the Belgian border tonight.’
He went and I was alone in the farmhouse. I made some tea, the silence pressing round me. I wondered through the long lonely hours if the SS would come and find me. I felt sure that Eva, my once dear friend, would think it her duty to tell the guards where I was. If Herr Euler didn’t move quickly I would be back in Ravensbruck and this time there would be no mercy for me.
We were on the move before it was light in the morning. The fields around the farmhouse were dark, the trees made forbidding shapes and behind every one was a trooper waiting to shoot me.
Even though ‘Overlord’ had been a success there was still trouble, the Allies couldn’t penetrate into the German territory itself and I wondered how my father-in-law could take time off from the war to see me safely on my way out of the country. But he was there beside me in the staff car driving the vehicle himself, big and reassuring, my dear Michael’s father.
