Gracie's Sin

by Freda Lightfoot

  Would Karl and Erich survive? Would they come soon, or was she already too late? She desperately hoped not. Gracie dreaded the prospect of being robbed of those few precious moments of farewell with Karl.

  She’d brought a couple of sweaters, scarves, gloves and hats she’d managed to unearth from Irma’s collection of salvage; the thermos flask of tea and a large packet of sandwiches. Gracie hoped it would be sufficient to keep both men going and give them the strength to reach the coast. It would not be an easy journey. Just thinking of the stretch of mountains they had to traverse made her feel ill.

  Carron Fell was bad enough, so often swathed in mist, but that was nothing compared to what they must face later. They must somehow circumnavigate Coniston Water and head west over Dunnerdale, Thwaites and Bootle Fell. All desperately remote, high and dangerous places with precious little in the way of shelter to provide cover. Two scurrying figures could easily be spotted on an exposed mountain top. And what if the authorities called out the dogs? How far could they follow a scent? Gracie didn’t care to think.

  Even if they safely reached the coast, where would they find a boat? Whitehaven? Maryport? Both were busy towns occupied by troops, dangerous ground for two German PoWs to be on the loose. But, she argued, perhaps it was easier to lose oneself in a crowd.

  Then again, she decided, more likely they would seek to be picked up by a fishing boat on that empty stretch of coastline, though it would have to be by someone who asked no questions. Was such a thing possible? Questions were burning into her own brain, searing her with fear. She really must stop this endless worrying, breathe deeply and calmly. Be patient.

  The minutes crawled by like hours and the hands on her watch never seemed to move. The wind changed and a cold night breeze sprang up, the shadows seeming to close in with threatening malevolence. Gracie felt frighteningly alone, vulnerable and afraid. Nevertheless, perhaps because of expending so much emotional energy with worrying, she must have drifted off to sleep for she woke with a jolt, knowing she’d heard a sound, strangely familiar and yet alien in the peace of the forest. Gracie couldn’t at first decide what it might have been and then she heard it again. The siren. Surely not an air raid, not now? And then her heart seemed to cease in its beating as she recognised its significance.

  ‘My godfathers, their absence must have been noticed.’ Her own voice seemed to bounce back to her with a terrifying loudness in the dread silence of the forest.

  Jumping to her feet Gracie peered through the trees, desperately hoping and praying for a sight of their hurrying figures. She saw nothing, was barely able to penetrate the gloom. The sky seemed to light up and she whirled about, letting out a small cry of alarm. Someone had switched on the searchlights. Not simply the normal floodlights which illuminated the entire compound and surrounding area but the twin swivelling lights with which each sentry box in the valley was equipped. These now raked the sky with their long probing beams. Gracie even imagined that she heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance, growing ever louder as if they were drawing ever nearer. Where in God’s name were they?

  ‘Please come to me Karl. Please!’ And then she heard the shot.

  Epilogue

  1957

  Lou walked slowly along the weed covered drive, her gaze taking in the overgrown grounds, the cracked terraces with their broken masonry and collapsed walls where the prisoners had exercised, the once lovely green lawns a tangle of docks and thistles, the broken remnants of former huts a sad testament to a war long gone if never forgotten. Gone too were the rolls of barbed wire, the high perimeter fence, the sentry boxes. In her mind she could still hear the cry: ‘Advance and be recognised.’

  She smiled at the host of memories this recollection provoked. She loved to remember the old days because memories never let you down. They never died but triumphed victorious over all problems and difficulties; lived with you into eternity.

  Her gaze moved on to the startling contrast supplied by the expensive cars, farm tractors, battered old vans and even bicycles that were driving up, lining the drive and filling the stable yard which had served as barracks for the guards. Dealers with bulging wallets, farmers with an eye to a bargain, treasure seekers and just the plain curious were crowding into Grizedale Hall this day. They’d all come to investigate this prestigious monument to the success of a Victorian businessman, to witness the demise of this once famous mansion which stood at the head of one of Lakeland’s loveliest and most tranquil valleys, and whose location had awarded it a unique place in history.

  Most poignant of all were the former prisoners themselves who came: middle aged men bringing their families to see where they had spent so many years of their youth during a seemingly endless war; to show their loved ones the messages of hope and faith they had carved into the oak panelling which today were to go under the hammer as the hall was taken apart, stripped of its glory and sold, piece by piece, before being demolished and razed to the ground.

  As, for the first time, Lou walked into this building which had played such a part, albeit in the background, of her own youth, she felt overwhelmed by sorrow and the waste of it all. For the loss of young lives who had once fought so bravely; the destruction of what had once been the architectural beauty of a fine mansion, degraded and despoiled by the passing of years. Stained glass windows broken and open to the weather, priceless gold damask wall coverings ripped to shreds, fine oak floorboards and panelling filthy and scarred. What hadn’t been broken or smashed had been ruined by damp and neglect. Rather like friendship, came the sudden, chilling thought.

  The auction was already under way and Lou searched the crowd of eager faces for any she might recognise. A bright smile, a frantic wave of a gloved hand. ‘Over here. We’re over here.’

  Lou joined Rose, nodded a greeting to Adam. ‘I couldn’t see you in the crush.’

  ‘We’ve just bought some tongue and groove flooring at fourpence a foot. Adam is thrilled.’

  ‘Aye, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get them window frames an’ all, for a knockdown price.’

  Lou glanced over to the windows, many still boasting the mottoes put there by their once proud owner. ‘God sends grace.’ She read it twice, a sense of deep sadness fluttering like a shadow over her heart. ‘I wish He would send Grace,’ she murmured, half to herself.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Lou stifled a sigh and smiled brightly at Rose. ‘I said it’s such a tragedy, this place. Such an utter loss. They’re doing more damage to the house than the Germans did. But don’t tell my boss I said so. The Forestry Commission wants no one else to own freehold property in the middle of their forest.’

  The fifteen foot high stone chimneypiece of the great hall, complete with arched stone fireplace, metal canopy and dogs, ornamental pillasters and carved overmantel depicting the four seasons went for only seven pounds. It was the best that the disappointed auctioneer could squeeze out of his buyers. It wasn’t so much that money was tight, as that they disapproved strongly of the sale in the first place, and had no intention of putting money into the pockets of those responsible. Not that anyone could be entirely sure who exactly was responsible, whether it be the local authorities or the Forestry Commission. The debate had raged for months and would no doubt continue to do so. The only good thing to come out of it would be that so many of its treasure would turn up later in other proud Lakeland homes and hotels.

  Lou had seen enough and quickly made her excuses to Rose and Adam. ‘Meet you in the Eagle’s Head later.’

  Outside, the bright sunlight half blinded her, bouncing off flashy cars where once had stood armoured vehicles with windows blacked out, bearing prisoners to some unknown destination for interrogation.

  ‘Lou? It is you, isn’t it?’

  Lou swung about, shading her eyes and then, suddenly, there she was. Dear Gracie, neat as a new pin and slender as ever, pale blonde hair swept up beneath a smart, fashionable hat. The sweet, oval face no longer bore the imprint of youth but had
matured to one of serene loveliness, presenting a picture of calm contentment. Her big grey eyes were, as ever, fiercely challenging, daring anyone who crossed her path to be anything but entirely scrupulous and fair. She greeted Lou with a happy smile, just as if she had last seen her only yesterday and not twelve years ago. ‘It’s so good to see you again. When I read about the sale I had to come, rather hoping you’d be here.’

  Lou said nothing, finding herself quite at a loss for words. Gracie laughed at her confusion, then gathered her close in a warm hug. Unable to help herself, Lou hugged her just as fiercely in return, holding her lost friend tight for several long moments before disengaging herself and quickly wiping away a tear. ‘I was thinking about you in there, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Happy thoughts, I trust_’

  ‘I was remembering you and me on our bikes riding up this lane, chopping down our first tree - or not - as the case may be.’ She grinned. As one they turned and began to walk away from the house, arm in arm, as they had used to do. ‘I was thinking of matron and those dratted biscuits you hated so much.’

  Gracie put back her head and laughed, a musical, joyous sound. ‘Heavens, yes, and the lorry, and the mud. Do you remember the lorry? And that awful kipper complete with bones. Sneaking out for lunch to the local pub, and the cheese rolls.’ They spoke these last two words in unison and both burst out laughing now, holding on to each other with joy as the memories flooded back.

  Wiping away a tear, Lou said. ‘Rose is inside. Adam farms in quite a big way these days, so has an eye for a bargain. We’re meeting up at the Eagle’s Head later.’

  ‘It’ll be good to see her again. Do you think she’ll wish to speak to me?’ For a moment the big grey eyes looked troubled but Lou only chuckled.

  ‘Oh, yes, that business is all the past now, isn’t it? Says she owes you her life for calling the ambulance that day. She and Adam never did have any children, but they’re happy and, in the end, that’s all that matters, eh?’

  ‘What about Irma? Is she still with them?’

  ‘Sadly Irma died, in that bad winter of 1947. She must have gone outside for something, kindling perhaps and was found frozen to death in the farm yard the next morning, in a huge drift of snow. It’s believed she was suffering from confusion or some sort of senile dementia, or perhaps had a stroke, fell and banged her head. No one is quite sure. The sad part was that Adam wasn’t home at the time, or he could have gone and looked for her. He’d been moving his stock on to lower, safer ground. Rose was asleep upstairs, so didn’t realise there was a problem until too late. That was a bad time for them both.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Poor Irma.’

  ‘Yes, poor Irma. And you?’ Lou looked directly into Gracie’s eyes and found something there which prompted her to say, ‘Oh, I’ve missed you. So much. I was thinking of the waste. All these years gone by and not a word. What happened to us, to you? For God’s sake, tell me. Where did you go after - after that night? I need to know everything.’

  They sat facing each other across a small table in a dim corner of the Eagle’s Head, a cosy fire burning in the old grate, and Gracie told her story. It didn’t take long.

  ‘After Erich was shot and Karl moved to another camp, I thought I would be in huge trouble too. But since the two men never reached me in the clearing, and no one in authority was aware that I’d planned to help them, I met with no difficulties; save for losing you, and all my friends among the squad.’ She gave a half smile. ‘I went back home for a while, needing to recuperate, I suppose. That was a mistake I quickly recognised. Mum and Dad were as bad as ever. Nothing had changed, and I missed you all so much.’

  ‘We missed you.’

  They exchanged a telling glance, like an unspoken apology, given and accepted. Lou said, ‘I hear from the others occasionally. Jeannie went back to her beloved Scotland and married a widower. Lena and Tess set up in business together, running a market garden.’

  ‘Good for them.’

  ‘Lena swore she’d never go back to working inside again. But you were telling me your story. What happened next?’

  ‘Fortunately, the Timber Corps were happy for me to stay on and sent me to Scotland. I worked there for a couple of years and then moved back down to Cornwall. Ended up pretty well where we began, would you believe? Which reminds me. Remember Eddie, Rose’s brother?’

  ‘Once seen never forgotten.’ Lou pretended to tidy her bangs, though her chestnut hair had been cut years ago and she now wore it in a short, fifties style bob. ‘What a randy bugger he was. Creepy-crawly eyes.’

  ‘They found his body in the cellar of Clovellan House. Must have got trapped in there when he was drunk one night. Nobody found him for years as Lord Clovellan was away. Didn’t even knew he was missing. Apparently Matron assumed he’d gone off with Rose. Makes you shudder, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No wonder she never heard from him. Oh, poor Rose. I don’t think she knows. We must tell her carefully, with tact.’

  ‘Yes, of course. She was never very fond of him though, was she? I mean, there was far more to that story than she ever told us, don’t you think? Anyway, as I was saying, there I was working back in Cornwall by the end of the war. Restrictions were lifted, at least in the respect that Karl and I were allowed to see each other, although in theory fraternisation was still not allowed. We got married in September 1946 and had a marvellous celebration with a wedding cake and everything. Even Mum and Dad came. Amazing! Not that they were speaking to each other, of course.’ She laughed, but the sound faded as a shadow flickered across her face.

  ‘There were huge difficulties, of course, even after we married. Karl was still held in a camp for one thing, as were most PoWs, so we spent our wedding night, every night in fact, apart. And, as expected, I was no longer considered to be British. Is it such a sin to fall in love?’

  ‘There must be plenty worse,’ Lou agreed, with some sympathy.

  ‘Exactly. When I had my first child a year later - oh yes,’ she added with a smile, ‘we did manage to get together sometimes. As I said, restrictions were easing but every night he always had to go back to the camp at dusk. Well, when I went into labour, no hospital would take me. They told me that since I had married a German I should go to Germany to have the baby. Can you believe it? Crazy! I complained bitterly. Loud and long.’

  Lou grinned. ‘As only you know how.’

  ‘Fortunately I had my baby, a daughter, safe and well. They even allowed Karl to pay us a visit. Eventually, by the spring of that year, 1947, Karl was repatriated but he wanted to stay here in England and, after a flurry of letters to various MPs, courts and goodness knows who else, he got his wish. We now have two more children, both boys, and have been as happy as Larry ever since.’

  She smiled at her friend, and Lou grabbed her in a fierce hug. ‘I’m so pleased. And so sorry for - for how I reacted. It was just...’

  ‘…there was a war on, I know. Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge now. Forget it. So what about you?’ Gracie’s face was suddenly serious. ‘What about Gordon?’ At that instant, a movement outside the pub window caught her eye. ‘Oh, here comes Karl now. Don’t you think he’s as handsome as ever? Still got those lovely thick blonde lashes, and those adorable pale blue eyes. Oh, and Rose and Adam are with him, and another chap, walking with a stick. Who…?’

  ‘That’s my Gordon.’ Lou said proudly, her grin seeming to stretch from ear to ear. ‘Stick thin after years in a PoW camp himself, a bit frayed around the edges, and wounded when his ship went down in the campaign off Italy. But he still limps along, if not with quite his old sailor swagger.’

  ‘Oh Lou, how lucky we are. All together again, after all these years.’ Then Rose was flying in through the door straight into her arms and they were all weeping together, making no attempt to stop the tears. It was some long moments before any of them could speak again.

  ‘Did you see that notice, ‘The Forest Code’ on the board where the side entrance to the compou
nd used to be?’ Gracie asked. ‘It says, “Leave nothing but footprints.” Do you think we’ve left ours in this forest?’

  Lou smiled. ‘I’m sure we have. Footprints in time. Some of them rather muddy ones. But I like the last line best, “take away nothing... except memories.” For me, a memory is the most precious part of friendship, the greatest treasure of all.’

  The Forgotten Army

  When in 1942 an emergency appeal was made to recruit members for the Women’s Timber Corps, a branch of the Women’s Land Army that is now barely remembered, critics didn’t believe it possible for young girls, many of them typists, hairdressers and shop assistants, to tolerate the cold and mud of winter, the long hours and heavy work involved in the vital task of timber production. Timber was needed for pitprops and telegraph poles but with young foresters having been called up, there was insufficient manpower available.

  Training centres were set up to which volunteers came at a rate of 250 a month, and after a general introduction to crosscutting, sawing and felling, clearing and measuring, as well as haulage with tractors and horses, the girls specialised in the branch for which they were found to be most suited. They could not be expected to learn all the tricks of the trade in a month but were taught the basic skills, a respect for their tools, and an understanding of the importance of sound timber to the extent of being taken down a mine to view it in situ.

  The two women I interviewed: Elsie Taylor and Betty Kirkland, joined as young girls, Betty only 17, because she was too young to get in the WRNS, while Elsie simply fell for the uniform. This comprised corduroy breeches with a green sweater to work in, and alpaca for best. ‘The overcoat was lovely and warm,’ Elsie remembers, ‘in a reddish brown with a fleece lining.’ Both women felt proud to wear the crossed brass axes stitched on to it, and the Timber Corps hat which was later changed to a green beret. They wore halfway boots which laced up over wool socks, turning these down when it was fine, up when it was wet. Of those first days in training, Elsie remembers huts of corrugated iron, accommodating up to thirty girls in each. She was provided with a blanket and a pair of sheets and matron insisted on hospital corners which she didn’t know how to do, so was made to do them over and over until she got it right. Every morning they would be woken by a loud bell followed by a bellowing voice telling them to, ‘Stand by your beds’. It made Elsie feel as if she truly had joined the army.