This Shining Land

by Rosalind Laker

  “I’m Delia Richmond.” The Englishwoman’s Norwegian was flawless, any trace of a foreign accent virtually indiscernible. “I see you’ve suffered some bomb damage.”

  “Neither Steffen nor I were hurt,” Johanna replied, standing aside for her to enter. A mass of chestnut hair framed Delia’s triangular face with its English rose complexion, well-shaped nose and firm, full-lipped mouth. She was, Johanna decided, extremely good-looking. “He’s in the kitchen. Come through.”

  “No, I’ll wait here.” Delia’s voice was choked. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  Johanna found that Steffen had begun washing up. “Delia’s here,” she announced.

  His face tightened as if he knew the reason already and he went out into the hall, leaving the door wide open. It was impossible for Johanna not to hear what passed between them, or to avoid seeing that Delia darted to meet him.

  “We’re packing up at the embassy and getting out, Steffen! Those able to leave at once have been told to get into Sweden and make our way home from there. We’re hoping for a ship. I’ve colleagues waiting outside and I can’t stop a minute.”

  He was holding her close to him, his hands on her arms. To Johanna’s eyes it was a clasp of comfortable familiarity, Delia leaning slightly towards him at the hips. “Have you heard anything at the embassy that we haven’t received on the news bulletins yet?” he asked keenly.

  “You’ll be glad to know that the German ambassador’s demand for Norway’s surrender to the Third Reich was thrown back at him, much to his annoyance.” Delia’s lips eased in a fleeting smile before her expression tautened again, matching the seriousness of her eyes. “The King, Crown Prince Olav and the government ministers left Oslo by train a while ago to travel inland to Hamar. The Crown Princess and the royal children are already on their way into Sweden. The nation’s gold has been removed from the state vaults to be secured in a secret place.”

  “Sensible precaution. What of the fighting?”

  “All bad news, I’m sorry to say. There have been fjord battles along the west coast with the Norwegian Navy suffering a heavy toll. Bergen, Stavanger, Trondheim and Narvik are all in enemy hands. Wehrmacht soldiers were smuggled into target harbours a week or more ago in the holds of German merchant ships. In many places people woke up to find the enemy in full control of their town before anyone knew what was happening. It’s thanks to the sinking of the cruiser Blücher in the Narrows that troops didn’t land in Oslo at dawn. Thank God that splendid piece of defensive action gave the King and Crown Prince the time needed to get away.” Outside there sounded a tooting of a car horn and she frowned impatiently at the interruption. “I have to go.” Her voice dropped a note. “It isn’t easy to leave in this way.”

  “I’ll come with you to the car.” He slipped his arm about her shoulder and they went side by side from the house.

  Johanna finished clearing the table. She was thinking that her absent landlady had chosen to leave out one vital factor in her summing up of the Englishwoman. There was a definite vulnerability as far as Steffen was concerned.

  When the car was gone, Steffen returned to the house and made a business telephone call, catching up with developments as if today were a day like any other, giving his apologies and reasons for being unable to attend the meeting that morning, which had been concerned with his own promotion within the company. Then he went upstairs to change out of his suit into the sturdy sportswear that was his customary clothing when he was on work sites in difficult terrain, including the stout boots he wore for cross-country skiing. He did not know where the army would send him and wanted to be prepared. Lastly he donned a warm weatherproof jacket and stuck his ski cap into his pocket. Shouldering his rucksack, he came downstairs to discover Johanna in outdoor clothes waiting for him in the hall. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To work. I gave the fur shop a phone call to say I’d been unavoidably delayed and I’ve arranged with a neighbour that she let the glazier into the house. I’d like a lift into town with you.”

  “I’ve decided to leave the car here and catch a tram. You drive, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, I won’t be needing my car in the army. Naturally I hope that an emergency doesn’t arrive, but if one should happen you’d be able to get away. I filled the tank up yesterday.”

  “Thanks. Now we’ll catch the tram together into town.” She glanced at the hall clock. “There’ll be one in a few minutes.”

  “Not so fast!” He reached over to hold the front door closed when she would have opened it. “You would be safer at home today.”

  “Everything is quiet now and I have to get to work.” She was adamant. “I was told it’s business as usual in the city and everything is calm. There’s a basement that’s safe enough if any more bombs should fall. My boss said that others would be getting in late today, too.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he commented dryly.

  He donned his peaked cap as he left the house with her. They had to run for the tram and leaped aboard just in time. There were plenty of spare seats and they were able to sit together, he swinging his rucksack into a space beside him.

  “This is a crazy way to go to war,” he remarked with a grin. “On a tram!”

  She grinned back at him. “Let’s hope you come home the same way. There’s something cheerful and almost comical about trams. I like them.”

  “Think of me every morning when you travel on this one.” His tone was joking.

  “I will.” For a second behind the cheerful bantering each glimpsed something deeper and more serious as if the catastrophic events of the day were bearing down on them again all too quickly. With a swift tilt of her chin she looked out the window, trying to sustain their lighter mood. “See! All the shops are open and the banks are in operation. I told you it was business as usual.”

  There were also sombre signs in the grave faces of pedestrians, particularly when they paused in anxious discussion with someone they knew. Several schools were closing their doors again, sending children back home to await events.

  He took his cue from her. There would be plenty of time ahead for grave thoughts and anxious moments. He had no doubt about that. With ease he began to talk of the west coast district they both knew so well. “I’d like to be told how many times I’ve passed by your home. I know the mountains of Ryendal as well as the back of my own hand. I’ve walked them many times. As for the fishing in Saeter Lake, well, that’s unsurpassed anywhere.”

  She exclaimed in agreement. “That’s my most favourite place.” She had fished in that high mountain lake many times with her father and brothers. On her own she had spent countless hours on the mossy banks in which the lake was set like a pale aquamarine, the speckled trout darting in its transparent depths, its pebbles showing like a floor of pearls.

  “Then when the Germans have been booted out again we’ll meet there next time you’re at home and I’m at Ålesund, Jo.”

  She smiled at his calling her “Jo.” Nobody had ever shortened her name before. That was not the custom. It came from his being “the Englishman.”

  “That’s a date,” she promised.

  “Not to fish,” he insisted, smiling at her. “We can do that another time. To talk.”

  She laughed softly. “Whatever you say.”

  Almost imperceptibly his hand moved to tighten on hers. Their eyes held in the knowledge that present circumstances were too much with them. “Tell me why you left Ryendal for Oslo,” he invited casually, his gaze on her full of interest. “Anna often spoke to me about you. I’d like to know more about you from what you have to say.”

  She told him of the restlessness that had made her want to leave home and talked of her work and why it interested her. Before their ride ended he made a request. “There’s something I would like to ask you. A favour. It’s impossible to guess at this stage how long it’s going to take to clear Norway of the Nazi invaders. Th
at means it could be quite a while before I can see my aunt in Ålesund again. I’m her only relative. I’d appreciate it very much if you would call on her whenever you’re at home. Astrid is my late father’s sister and a very fine person. I think the two of you should get on well together.”

  “Of course I’ll visit her. Give me her address.” She opened her purse to take out a diary and pencil. As she wrote down the address she understood what lay behind the favour he had asked of her. There was always the possibility that he would not come back from this war, however short its duration, and he wanted to ensure that Astrid Larsen would never be quite alone. As she put the diary away she felt his request had drawn them still closer together. An overwhelming sadness filled her at the imminence of their parting.

  They stood to say goodbye in the market square by the statue of Christian IV with the wide hat and the Vandyke beard. The rumble of gunfire could be heard in the distance whenever there was a lull in the traffic. He looked down into her face as if they were alone instead of in a busy market place.

  “This is it then, Jo,” he said quietly. “I wish we had had longer to get to know each other.”

  “I think this strange and extraordinary and dreadful day has condensed many weeks into a few hours.” It was no time for subterfuge; only frankness would suffice. She had always heard that war increased the pace and urgency of life as if it awakened in everyone a higher pitch of emotion and the need to capture briefly what might never come again. Now she knew it was true. The whole expression on his face endorsed the truth of it as did hers.

  “Those are my feelings, too.” He enfolded her in his arms and lowered his head to kiss her fully and fervently as if it hurt him physically to leave her. She clung to him, her own mouth quick and responsive, nothing held back in this poignant moment of farewell. His embrace tightened about her.

  As they drew apart he stroked the side of her face lightly with his fingertips, a gesture of immense tenderness. His eyes were deep and full of promise. “I’ll find you again, Jo.”

  Her voice was a choked whisper. “I hope it’s soon. Take good care.”

  Classic phrases of parting in wartime. In their case everything might be ending before it had begun. She watched him dodge the traffic across the square. At the corner, by a store selling crystal and fine glass, he turned and waved before going from her sight.

  When she reached the fur shop she went straight to her office and shut the door. Plenty of work awaited her and she was thankful for it. At midmorning she managed to get a telephone call through to her west country home. She spoke to her mother who assured her that all was well there and that no German forces had reached the district, the invasion ships for Molde and Romsdal fjords having been sunk in one of the battles at sea.

  “Don’t try to come home,” her mother insisted. “Your father has heard that fighting has spread inland in some places and you might get caught up in it.”

  The call was a short one, cut off by some interference on the line. Johanna replaced the receiver much easier in her mind now that she knew from personal contact that her parents and her brothers were not in any immediate danger. Her thoughts returned to Steffen. Never before had someone gained such importance for her in so short a time. No use to tell herself that many other women must have been similarly attracted to him, including Delia. She was convinced that something special had occurred when he first threw wide her bedroom door as if the magnetism between them had already brought them together, sparked off by the violence of the crisis that had overtaken their country.

  It did not take Steffen long to discover that joining up with the military was going to be less easy than he had supposed. He had expected to find mobilisation centres set up at army offices and headquarters for the immediate direction of volunteers and trained men like himself reporting to the colours. But he drew a blank everywhere. The top brass and other officers alike had dispersed to battle areas and there was no one in command. When a clerk informed him that he would get his mobilisation papers in the mail, he realised exactly what a century and a quarter of peace had done to his country. Valuable time was slipping away and his temper with it. He met other men in the same dilemma as himself and eventually he and two others joined up with a fourth who had a car. The decision was made to drive to Hamar where they should find the King and a strategic centre of military command. Inwardly Steffen fumed at having to leave the city, convinced that precious time was being wasted in having to go elsewhere to join a line of defence. His hope was that they would meet advancing Norwegian troops and turn back to Oslo with them.

  The journey went without incident. They drove through the gently undulating countryside where village life was normal and the farms lay peacefully, the animals still in their winter quarters, the fields patchy with snow, the slopes white. There was no sign of the troops he had hoped to see. Then suddenly, not far from Hamar, they spotted ahead sentries of a Norwegian regiment waiting at a roadblock to challenge them. Spontaneously they gave a cheer.

  “Some action at last!” Steffen exclaimed forcibly. “Now we’ll be able to get going.”

  They were taken a few kilometres eastwards to the military academy at the village of Elverum where the King and the Crown Prince and the ministers were being accommodated. After being questioned by an officer, Steffen and his companions were kitted out with uniforms, fed and armed. They were under the command of Colonel Ruge, a straight-backed man no longer young, a highly intelligent and dedicated officer who had resolved to protect the King and defeat the Germans from the moment he had been informed of the enemy approaching by sea, since when he had taken no rest. The men under his command at Elverum numbered barely a hundred, but their morale was high and their attitude fierce. The four new arrivals were welcomed by a small but determined force.

  At the fur shop Johanna closed her ledgers and put them away. It was not yet lunchtime, but Leif Moen had told her and the saleswomen to finish for the day and go home. He had heard rumours that nearby Fornebu aerodrome had fallen to the enemy and whether it was true or not, he felt he should close the shop, half expecting further air raids.

  Leaving the premises, Johanna stopped in Karl Johans Gate to buy a newspaper and turned when she caught the distant strains of a military band. There was something odd about the jaunty sound, instruments included that were unfamiliar to her. People were beginning to move in its direction and she followed, trying to identify the high-pitched bell-like chimes that came dancing above the drums and cornets and the rest of the booming brass. The solution came to her in the very second before she reached the edge of the pavement and looked up Karl Johans Gate towards the palace. It was a German glockenspiel!

  The sight that met her shocked gaze made her stand immobile with horror. Coming down the wide avenue, headed by the German military band making up in boisterous volume for what it lacked in numbers, was a contingent of enemy soldiers in full marching procession that proclaimed occupation of the city.

  “Dear God!” she breathed, clutching the folded newspaper to her breast like a shield.

  Behind the band came three high-ranking officers of the Wehrmacht, leading the long line of troops marching three abreast. Their jackbooted feet thudded in rhythm, the skirts of their greatcoats swung in unison and in spite of the overcast sky, the light caught the barrels of their shouldered rifles and glanced across the crowns of their brow-deep helmets. They were alert and in good spirits, their quick glances taking in their new surroundings. The officers actually smiled for a grim-faced photographer who stepped into the avenue to record their arrival as they approached.

  Watching them pass in their orderly ranks, Johanna could see that these were not men who had marched a long distance, but troops newly landed at Fornebu aerodrome, confirming the rumour that a battle for it had been lost. With their polished insignia and shining leather, the soldiers could have been on parade at a festive occasion. And they had cause for their jubilant expressions. Oslo had fallen to them without a shot being fired in its
streets.

  On the pavement people were mute. Everyone was completely stunned. A postman, coming round the corner on his bicycle, dismounted to stare in helpless incredulity. Nearby a well-dressed elderly man had tears of grief running unashamedly down his cheeks. He was not alone in an open display of sorrow at the catastrophe that had befallen an erstwhile peaceful city.

  On and on the soldiers came. When a groan was uttered by several by-standers, Johanna followed the direction of a pointing finger. She was in time to see the national flag with its dark blue cross of St. Olav bordered by white on a scarlet field hauled down from a building’s projecting flagpole to be replaced by the symbol of Nazi occupation. The swastika had been unfurled over Oslo.

  She hardly remembered getting home on the tram. It was overtaken several times by local buses full of German troops who had commandeered them to take over every section of the city, leaving many home-going Oslo folk without transport. Wearily she walked up the lane and entered the house, not noticing until she was assailed by the smell of putty that the glazier had kept his word and replaced the window glass.

  That evening she heard on the Oslo broadcasting station, now under German control, that Denmark had surrendered. The Danish king and government had acquiesced to the German demands. Then came a fresh shock. It was announced that Vidkun Quisling was to address the nation.

  Johanna rose from the armchair where she was sitting to turn up the volume, which she had kept subdued during the earlier programme. She was filled with misgivings. Everybody knew Quisling as the leader of Norway’s small and insignificant Nazi party. In the past, its abortive attempts to gain power at election time had been something of a national joke. It would seem to be a joke no longer. From the sunray panel of the radio Quisling’s bullying voice boomed forth into the quiet sitting-room.

  “Men and women of Norway! The German Government has come forward with its assistance to prevent the neutrality of our country being violated by England. This protection has been rejected irresponsibly by our Norwegian Government, who took flight after calling upon you to take up arms.”