An Orphan's War

by Molly Green

  Goosepimples crawled up Maxine’s arms. Peter’s father. So he wasn’t the Jew they’d all assumed. He was a Nazi.

  Bile formed in the back of her throat as she tried to take it in. Dear God, this was much worse than simple spite. Hilda was bright enough to know a swastika when she saw one, but not bright enough to understand the enormity of what she’d done by letting such a dangerous photograph out of her sight. Well, at least she’d had the sense to get it back from whomever she’d given it to and slide it under Maxine’s bedroom door. Thank goodness Kathleen hadn’t found it. The fewer people who knew this the better.

  Maxine lay on the bed, her fingers laced at the back of her neck to support her head, trying to take it all in. After a while she raised herself up and took hold of the photograph again, staring at it for several long minutes. Peter’s father was an extremely handsome man. Blond-haired with deep-set eyes that indicated no sign of cruelty but only appeared contemplative, and even concerned.

  She shook herself. She mustn’t form opinions of his characteristics which clearly didn’t exist. She looked closer but couldn’t get it out of her head that it was a good face, not that of a monster. He had a straight nose and well-shaped lips. Not brutal as his mouth ought to be, but sensitive-looking, somehow.

  Stop this. You’re making him into somebody nice. Someone he’s not. He’s a Nazi. And Hilda’s right on one thing: he’s the enemy.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Maxine left her room, the photograph in an envelope tucked into her bag, desperate to see June. This was serious and she wanted June’s opinion on how to handle Peter now this bombshell had emerged. Unusually, the door to June’s office was shut. She heard voices but decided it was too important to leave, so she knocked.

  June poked her head round the door, saw it who it was and said, ‘Oh, thank heavens it’s you. Come on in.’

  Someone turned round, immediately stood up and grinned. Crofton! She hadn’t imagined he would actually show up this evening.

  ‘Hello, Maxine.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ she blurted.

  ‘I’ve come to ask June—’ He broke off and Maxine threw June a look of apology on his behalf. ‘Don’t think I’m being too familiar,’ Crofton said, ‘but you were there when Matron invited me to call her “June”.’ June smiled her agreement. ‘I stopped by to ask if I might see you for a couple of hours.’

  ‘I’ve told him he’s always welcome here,’ June said, ‘and that of course you can have tomorrow evening off.’

  Crofton caught Maxine’s eye and grinned. She pretended to ignore it.

  ‘Sit down, both of you,’ June said, ‘and I’ll order tea. You look as though you’ve got something on your mind, Maxine.’

  ‘Something important has come to light where Peter is concerned,’ Maxine said, ‘but I believe it should be kept private.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you needed a private conversation.’ Crofton half rose, but June waved him back down again.

  ‘Let me ask Bertie if she would make us all some tea.’ As June opened her door to the hall, she said, ‘Please stay, Crofton. We’re very isolated here at the home and sometimes it’s hard to know what’s going on in the outside world. You might be able to throw some light on whatever Maxine’s found out, or whatever questions come up, so chat about the weather until I come back.’

  Crofton, Maxine knew, was trying hard to be friendly and make small talk, but the photograph of Peter’s father with his swastika armband was weighing so heavily on her mind that she could barely mumble any reply. Thankfully, June appeared after a couple of minutes.

  ‘Tea’s coming,’ she said. ‘But we’ll probably need something stronger if Maxine’s serious face is anything to go by.’ She turned to Maxine. ‘So what have you found out?’

  There was nothing for it but to show June the photograph in front of Crofton. And as June held out her hand for the photograph, Maxine understood what Peter had meant when he’d said he trusted Crofton. The man sitting next to her didn’t crane his neck to see the picture she handed to June, didn’t try to take over in any way, and his calm demeanour invited trust.

  June studied the photograph for as long as Maxine had, then silently handed it to Crofton. He stared at it for a long minute, then turned it over.

  ‘Well, it was never going to be a straightforward case, trying to blend him in with the other children,’ he said, handing the photograph back to Maxine, who slid it back into the envelope.

  ‘I admit there was nothing in the paperwork mentioning Judaism,’ June ventured. ‘I suppose I should have realised.’

  ‘I find it so hard to believe that Peter’s father is a Nazi,’ Maxine said somberly. ‘And of a high rank, going by all those medals. So how do I explain to Peter that his father is the enemy? It will seem like the end of the world for him. I don’t think I can do it.’

  Two pairs of eyes gazed at her.

  Crofton spoke first. ‘Poor little chap. I feel sorry for him. Especially with his mother and grandmother gone.’

  ‘Do you suppose he knows?’ Maxine said.

  ‘I’m sure he does.’ Crofton held her eye for some seconds, and for the first time, Maxine wished she was alone with him. ‘He would have seen his father in uniform many times, and couldn’t fail to recognise the swastika.’

  ‘Although he was three years younger then,’ Maxine said, her voice a little shaky from his gaze. ‘He’d only be five. That’s pretty young to understand what the swastika means.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ June said. ‘The children here know what it stands for. Peter’s bound to know and has been trying to keep it secret. What a burden for him.’

  ‘How does he act with everyone here?’ Crofton asked the two women. ‘Not just the other kids but the staff as well.’

  ‘He hardly joins in with the others,’ June said. ‘He feels very much an outsider, but whether he thinks everyone English is the enemy, I don’t know. We’re just not his family and the children aren’t the friends he’s left behind.’

  ‘I agree with June,’ Maxine said, ‘but he seems to have given me his trust – grudgingly, I admit. It happened when I promised I’d find his father’s photograph and give it back to him. We seemed to turn a corner that afternoon.’

  There was a knock at the door and Bertie came in with a tray, smiling at them.

  ‘I’ve made some toast in case you haven’t had any supper.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ Crofton smiled at her.

  ‘It’s imperative no one else finds out about Peter’s father,’ June said when Bertie disappeared, ‘but Hilda refuses to tell us who she showed the photograph to.’

  ‘Could be someone not even in the home,’ Crofton suggested. ‘The postman, milkman, coal boy …’

  ‘You could be right.’ June frowned as she stirred her tea. ‘I often hear Hilda and the maids talking to the boys when they come to the tradesmen’s entrance – they’re usually giggling about the latest gossip or planning to go to the next dance.’

  ‘Has Hilda got a boyfriend?’ Crofton asked. ‘If she has, she might be gossiping – feeling important that she knows something they don’t.’

  ‘She’s a bit young at sixteen,’ June said.

  ‘That’s not too young from what I see going on.’ Crofton picked up his cup and gulped the contents.

  ‘Whatever happens, the children mustn’t find out,’ June said firmly. ‘Peter’s English is practically flawless. We don’t need to worry about the young ones, but if the older ones discover he’s German they’ll make his life a misery, not understanding that whatever his father is, it’s not Peter’s fault.’ She paused. ‘As far as I can see, we need to let the teachers and the rest of the staff go on thinking the boy is Jewish.’

  ‘Do we know anything about Peter, other than he and his mother left Germany?’ Maxine asked. ‘It’s not as though they weren’t safe with the father working for Hitler.’ She shuddered at the mention of the dictator’s name.

&nbs
p; ‘We know the boy’s grandmother was recovering from major surgery, so I imagine the mother was given compassionate leave to see her.’ June went over to the filing cabinet and removed a file. She sat at her desk again and flipped through it. ‘Naturally she took Peter with her as his father wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to look after him.’ She looked up. ‘I’m guessing that bit, of course.’

  ‘But instead of Peter’s grandmother dying, the boy’s own mother died,’ Maxine said.

  ‘I wonder why his father didn’t immediately send for Peter to return to Germany, but left him to live with his English grandmother – someone Peter barely knew – in a foreign country,’ June contemplated.

  ‘From what Peter told me, I don’t think his father even knows his wife is dead,’ Maxine said. ‘He hasn’t heard from him since he was sent to his grandmother’s. He might not even be alive.’

  ‘Where did Peter go after his grandmother died?’ Crofton asked.

  ‘To foster parents,’ June answered. ‘They had him for a while but they couldn’t keep him.’

  ‘Do we know why?’

  June glanced at Crofton. ‘From what I gather, he was a bit of a handful. They couldn’t cope. And he would barely speak. The agency was desperate and asked us if we’d have him. Of course I said yes.’

  ‘Is there anything else in the file that might help you to understand his background?’ Crofton said.

  ‘There’s a bit in German I can’t make out, though it’s mostly family information, I think.’ June looked at Maxine and smiled. ‘How’s your German?’

  ‘Non-existent, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I understand German,’ Crofton said, ‘but I’m far from fluent. Would you trust me to translate it?’

  For some ridiculous reason, Maxine felt proud that Crofton knew German. She looked across the desk at June, hoping the young matron wouldn’t feel he was going too far in his offer to help.

  ‘I’d be most grateful.’ June smiled as she handed him the file. She stood up and Maxine and Crofton followed suit. ‘Why don’t you both take it to the library and see what you make of it.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s all right for me to help,’ Crofton said. ‘I’m very aware of the confidentiality of the children’s files.’

  ‘It’s either that or ask Peter,’ June said seriously. ‘If anyone had known German at Barnardo’s Headquarters, they surely would have translated it. I’d feel a lot better knowing everything we can so we know how to talk to the boy.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about him a lot and how he’ll cope,’ Maxine said. ‘Could your little Freddie help? He’s such a happy dog. He might be just the ticket for helping Peter. Maybe Peter could take Freddie for a walk. Give the boy something to be responsible for who’s no threat but who might become a friend.’

  ‘Of course.’ June beamed. ‘Why on earth didn’t we think of it before? We’ll introduce them. Let’s hope he likes dogs.’

  In the library, Maxine led Crofton into a small room off the side. There was a round table and several chairs pushed under. Crofton pulled out two of them and when they were seated he opened Peter Best’s file.

  ‘Shall I read it out as I’m translating?’

  She nodded, and Crofton cleared his throat.

  ‘It’s dated 20th August 1939.’

  Maxine gasped. ‘Goodness, only ten days before Germany invaded Poland. His wife and Peter only just made it.’

  ‘Quite.’ Crofton bent his head.

  ‘Christine Susan Nichols born in England to English parents in 1907 in Liverpool, England. Married on 2nd October 1932 to Carl Heinrich Best in Berlin and resided there since that date.

  ‘Peter Carl Best, born 10th August 1934 in Berlin to parents Carl Heinrich Best and Christine Susan Best.’

  Crofton looked up. ‘Either his father or Dr Barnardo’s has pinned Peter’s birth certificate to the report, so all self-explanatory so far.

  ‘Carl Heinrich Best—’ Crofton stopped reading aloud and Maxine watched as his eyes skimmed the rest of the page, nodding once to himself. When he looked up she noticed how his lips had tightened and a tiny muscle flicked back and forth under his left eye. She wondered how much sleep he’d managed to get lately.

  ‘It’s not what you’ll want to hear, Maxine, but it’s what we suspected. It says here that he joined the Wehrmacht in ’36 and was promoted to Major in July ’39 – hmm, just before he sent them to England. For obvious reasons it doesn’t say anything about his actual position or his work in the German army. It goes on …

  ‘Frau Best has been granted permission to travel to England on compassionate grounds as her mother has had a serious operation. Peter, her son, will be travelling with her.’

  Frowning, Crofton raised his eyes to her. ‘I’m slightly surprised she’d need permission as the war still hadn’t actually started, even though they would have known the date by that time.’ He looked at the sheet of paper again. ‘There’s very little else. Some bureaucratic instructions – not exactly sure what they are.’ He gave Maxine a rueful smile. ‘But I’m still puzzled about the whole set-up.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, there’s nothing more we can do for the moment, so I’ll just make a few translation notes – then June has it on file. It won’t take long.’

  The library clock ticked another ten minutes away until Crofton put the top on his pen and clipped it back into his tunic pocket, then tucked the translated report in the file.

  ‘That’s it.’ He handed it to Maxine. ‘So now that’s done, can we please spend an evening together tomorrow? Your nice matron has agreed, so there’s no excuse – unless you’d rather not, of course.’

  Maxine hesitated. She wanted to see Crofton away from the orphanage more than anything in the world, but it seemed that every time she began to feel close to him she had to back further away so he had no possibility of finding out her past.

  ‘You look so worried, Maxine, but it’s just an outing. To have some fun. I’ve got tickets for a concert at the Philharmonic Hall. They’re playing Chopin – one of his piano concertos. But if you say no, I promise I’ll go and not bother you anymore. But I hope you won’t.’

  He was right. It was just an outing. So why was she getting so upset. She wasn’t some naïve young girl. She could take care of herself. There was no need to worry about what he might ask her – how she should reply. They were simply going to listen to some beautiful music. Enjoy themselves. She drew in a breath.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been since they rebuilt it, though I’ve been meaning to. It’s such a magnificent building. I always admire it when I walk by.’

  Crofton got to his feet and put his cap on. ‘We can have something to eat first.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she answered, as her heart did a little flip. ‘Shall I catch the five o’clock bus and meet you outside the Philharmonic at half past? Would that be all right?’

  ‘It would be perfect.’

  His beaming smile banished all her worries – for the time being, anyway.

  After returning the file to June, Maxine walked back to the library. June had said she’d send Peter in to see her so she could have her chat with him and return the photograph. There was a knock at the door and he appeared.

  ‘Come in, Peter.’ She took him into the recess where she and Crofton had sat just ten minutes before. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Did you find my photograph?’ Peter’s intense blue eyes met hers accusingly.

  ‘Yes, Peter, I have it. But first I must talk to you about it.’ She hesitated. Did he know what his father represented?

  ‘Why can’t you give me my photograph?’

  ‘I promise I will in a minute.’ She hesitated. She must pick her next words with care. ‘Peter, I’ve seen the photograph of your father and I understand why it’s important to you, but we must be very careful with it. If the children find out your father is German they will do their best to make you miserable and angry. So you must always speak in English. We’ve talked a
bout this before. But if they find out, you must pretend you’re Jewish, just like Joachim, and then they’ll accept you and be friends with you.’

  She feared an outburst that he hated Jews and they should all be punished, but he sat quietly, his eyes not leaving her face.

  The silence was unnerving. Then suddenly he shot up from his chair.

  ‘I’m a Catholic, so I won’t pretend,’ Peter shouted, his face going bright red with anger.

  ‘Peter,’ Maxine said very gently, ‘he’s your father and I know you love him, but terrible things are happening in Germany and we want to keep you safe.’

  ‘I want to go home. I want Papa.’ Peter burst into sobs.

  Maxine offered him a handkerchief. He snatched it and held it to his eyes, then crumpled it into a tight wet ball and handed it back to her, his bottom lip quivering.

  All of a sudden he looked up with red-rimmed eyes and rounded on her.

  ‘You don’t know Papa,’ he stormed, his eyes blazing, his voice choked with tears. ‘You’ve never met him. He’s the best father in the world. And the bravest.’

  Oh, if only …

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter, of course it’s right that you should be loyal to him. But we must keep it a secret about your father being in the German army. You mustn’t say anything to the other children. Your English is excellent, so don’t even mention you were born and lived in Germany.’ She put her hand on his arm, surprised that for once he didn’t snatch it away. ‘It will be hard, I know, but do you think you can do that?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Peter, I will help you keep your secret. But you must make that promise too.’

  It wouldn’t be fair to threaten the child. She handed over the envelope. He grabbed it as though she might change her mind, and half pulled the photograph out to reassure himself it was there, then slid it back.

  ‘Peter – tell me you promise.’