The Star and the Shamrock

by Jean Grainger

  The sunny kitchen had windows overlooking the garden, which was totally overgrown with weeds and tall grass. The cream AGA stove looked exactly the same. It was run on timber or turf, and she remembered the sensation of coming in from school on cold afternoons to the heat of the kitchen. The floorboards were dusty but nothing a good scrub wouldn’t solve, and there were two wide dressers, one for crockery and cooking utensils and another for food. In the middle of the kitchen was the old pitch-pine table with six chairs.

  How many meals had she eaten there; how often had she done her homework at that very table?

  Memories came, unbidden, and Elizabeth felt a sting of regret. She remembered the day the Reverend Mother told Margaret that she was a very bright girl and would make a fine teaching assistant. She recalled the sheer exhilaration of someone recognising her hard work. Her mother took her excellent marks and achievements at school as if they were nothing less than she expected.

  Elizabeth went upstairs, and as she reached the landing, it was once again so familiar. Erich and Liesl were in the main bedroom, her mother’s old room, but Elizabeth went into hers. As she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.

  The cream eiderdown with the hand-embroidered butterflies covered the bed. She’d done the embroidery herself. The dressing table had her comb and brush and her china-faced doll called Mollie, which sat there, the frills of her pantaloons visible under her red velvet dress. Santa Claus had brought Mollie when Elizabeth was seven. There was a basket full of hairpins and, beside it, a bottle of lily of the valley talcum powder.

  Slowly, she went to the wardrobe, and there, to her astonishment, were all her old clothes. She skimmed through dresses, cardigans and sweaters. In the drawers were underwear and stockings, and on a rack, the toes stuffed with newspaper, were all her old shoes.

  There were other clothes too, those she’d worn as a child. She pulled some of them out; they would probably fit Liesl with a little alteration.

  As she took it all in, Liesl appeared. ‘This is such a lovely house, Elizabeth, and it’s perfect. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this…’ The child paused as she noticed the dark-green dress with the black velvet collar in Elizabeth’s hand.

  ‘I think this might fit you,’ Elizabeth said, trying to keep her voice normal. She smiled. Poor Liesl had one dress, and it was getting too small. ‘Here, try it on.’

  Liesl pulled off her dress enthusiastically and stood there in her vest and knickers. Elizabeth helped the girl pull the dress over her head and closed the buttons at the back. Liesl looked in the mirror; it was perfect.

  ‘It’s lovely, but maybe whoever owns it…’ the girl began.

  ‘She doesn’t mind,’ Elizabeth said with a grin, delighted to see Liesl happy.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Elizabeth caught her eye in the mirror and put her arms around her waist. ‘Because I own it, or at least I did when I was your age. There are lots of things, dresses, shoes – my mother must have kept everything.’

  Liesl went to the wardrobe. ‘There are adult clothes too. Were these yours as well?’

  ‘Yes, but I was just a girl when I last wore them.’ She smiled ruefully.

  ‘I bet they still fit,’ Liesl said, eyeing Elizabeth’s trim figure. Rationing had seen to any extra weight the years had put on her hips and belly.

  ‘Here, try this one.’ Liesl extracted a beautiful red dress with a V-neck, fitted bodice and flared skirt.

  ‘I don’t know, Liesl. It’s been twenty-one years…’ Elizabeth looked at the tiny waist of the dress.

  ‘Try it. I bet it fits, and even if it doesn’t, you are so good at sewing, you can alter it. We have nothing, and we can’t buy much because we don’t have coupons. It’s so wonderful your mother kept everything, isn’t it?’

  Despite her complicated feelings towards her mother and the confusion over why a woman who had turned her back on her only child had maintained her bedroom like a museum, Elizabeth had to agree. It was most fortuitous, and Elizabeth slipped off the skirt and blouse she had been given by a colleague in the days after the bomb attack. She stepped into the dress. To her surprised delight, the zip slid up effortlessly.

  ‘See? I told you!’ Liesl was smiling. They stood side by side, gazing into the mirror.

  Erich appeared and said they both looked nice, but she could see his sadness. The children had been through so much. First losing their father, their school and their friends, then leaving their mother, then having the house in Liverpool flattened… It was too much for them to bear.

  They had met a lady in the local solicitor’s office when they went to collect the key, and though she spoke English, Erich and Liesl had no idea what she said because of her strong accent. They were worried about this new start, she knew.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell you what. Let’s go up the street to Bridie’s sweetshop. When I was a little girl, my daddy would take me in there for sherbet lemons.’

  The children’s eyes lit up at the thought of sweets. It was a rare treat these days.

  They let themselves out, Liesl and Elizabeth in their dresses and Erich wearing the same grey pullover and flannel shorts he’d been wearing since they were donated to him by his friend Charlie’s mother after the bombing.

  ‘Will they hate us because we are German?’ Erich asked quietly as they walked in the sunshine up the main street of Ballycreggan.

  ‘Of course not. I’ll explain everything and people will be kind,’ Elizabeth reassured him, fervently hoping she was right.

  ‘But at least in England, we were not the only ones. I think here we might be,’ he said, looking doubtfully around at the small Irish village.

  ‘Well, even if you are, people know what Hitler is like and what he’s doing to the Jews. Once they know you’re Jews, they will understand, I promise.’ She kept her voice bright and willed her fellow countrymen and women to see them as the victims and not the perpetrators.

  Together, they pushed open the bright-pink door of Bridie’s sweetshop. It had been the same colour since she was a child.

  To their astonishment, the shop was full, and not of Irish children. There was a tall, very good-looking man and a pretty young woman, and they were surrounded by children of all ages speaking in German.

  Liesl and Erich looked to Elizabeth for an explanation, but she was as bewildered as they were.

  ‘Now then.’ Bridie Mac looked just the same. The shopkeeper must have been a young woman when Elizabeth was a child to say she was still there, but she looked exactly as Elizabeth remembered her – a sprightly, thin woman wearing a headscarf tied under her chin and a faded apron with what might have been balloons on it over a light-blue dress.

  ‘One at a time, please.’ The shopkeeper smiled.

  Each of the children asked for something – some in halted English, while others could merely point. The man assisted them by speaking in German and then translating in accented English.

  Liesl and Erich’s eyes were like saucers.

  Once each of the children had a few barley sugars or a lollipop, the man stood back and waved Elizabeth and her two to the counter.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Elizabeth said, unsure of how to proceed. Asking what they were doing there was too rude, but how could she phrase such a question politely?

  ‘Yes?’ The man turned to face her. He was tall, perhaps six feet, with olive skin, dark-brown hair and brown eyes. She judged him to be around her age. A light stubble covered his jaw, and he wore workman’s clothes – an open-necked shirt and dark-blue trousers. On his feet were heavy boots, and in his hand, he held a cap.

  ‘I, um… I’m sorry, but I was just wondering… My children here’ – she pointed at Erich and Liesl – ‘well, my adopted children – I’m taking care of them until their mother can join them – are German, German Jews, and they were worried… Well, we were all worried…’ She flushed, knowing she was being inarticulate, but the surprise of meeting a bunch of German children in a sweetshop in
Ballycreggan, and having them escorted by this man, had thrown her completely. ‘That they would be…’ she finished lamely.

  The man smiled and turned his attention to Liesl and Erich, addressing them in rapid German. Elizabeth was lost. The younger woman was helping the smaller children to unwrap their treats.

  Liesl and Erich both smiled, then laughed. He handed over two coins to Bridie, who presented them with a lollipop each.

  He then went around the group and introduced Liesl and Erich to each of the children. The group of German youngsters were a little shy initially, but within a moment or two, they were firing rapid questions at Elizabeth’s two young charges and Liesl and Erich were answering animatedly. Bridie and Elizabeth exchanged a smile as Elizabeth moved to the edge of the counter.

  ‘Welcome back,’ Bridie said. ‘And my sympathies on your mother’s passin’.’ Bridie’s accent was as sharp as a knife.

  ‘Thank you. It’s nice to be back. The place looks lovely, just as I remembered it.’

  ‘Och, sure, nothin’ much changes around here, you know yourself.’

  Once the introductions were over, the man turned to Elizabeth and stuck out his hand. ‘Daniel Lieber, and this is Talia Zimmermann.’

  Elizabeth took his hand. His fingers felt warm as he gently squeezed hers. She then shook the woman’s hand. Talia’s face was impassive; she neither smiled nor scowled. She held Elizabeth’s gaze a fraction longer than usual for such a casual introduction, though. Elizabeth noticed the woman moved a little closer to the man; the slight gesture seemed proprietorial.

  ‘Elizabeth Klein.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.’ His smile was warm. ‘These children are from the Kindertransport – Jews, we all are. We are staying at a property out of town.’ He motioned his head out towards the coast. ‘A farm, or at least it will be when we’ve finished working on it.’

  She found herself mesmerised by the deep rumble of his voice. ‘That’s wonderful.’ Elizabeth was happy. ‘I don’t mean it’s wonderful that you had to come here, of course. I just meant for Liesl and Erich to have people to play with, and people who understand. My late husband was Jewish, but I’m not, and so I want to do right by their parents…’ She was babbling again.

  ‘And you live here in Ballycreggan?’ Talia asked.

  ‘Yes. Well, I’m from here originally, though I have not been back for many years. My house was destroyed in Liverpool during a bombing raid, and the school I taught in took a direct hit as well, so Erich and Liesl and I came here. My mother passed away a while back.’

  ‘You’re a teacher?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Yes, for almost twenty years.’

  He grinned. ‘They need a teacher.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the children happily jabbering away in German outside. ‘I’m sure I will see you around, Elizabeth.’ He held the door open for her as they walked out into the sunshine.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Daniel and Talia. Goodbye, children, auf Wiedersehen.’

  ‘Auf Wiedersehen,’ they chorused in reply.

  Liesl and Erich stood beside her, much happier than they were half an hour earlier. They waved goodbye to their new friends as they went one way up the street to buy some groceries and Daniel and Talia took the children the other way where an ancient-looking bus was parked. As they walked away, Elizabeth noticed what an incredibly beautiful couple Daniel and Talia were.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Well, Mrs Klein, I think given the circumstances, if you could start on Monday, we would be delighted. The children from the refugee farm will arrive Monday morning, so if you feel that you could manage them in one class, my wife and I would continue to teach the local children, then we most certainly would be delighted to have you join our staff.’

  Principal Morris of Ballycreggan Primary School beamed. He was a rotund man with a kind smile and a bald head. He’d told her he and his wife had been teaching there since 1928.

  ‘While of course it is terrible what happened in Liverpool – and I offer you my deepest sympathy at the loss of your home and indeed your school – would it be terrible of me to say that you’re the answer to my prayers?’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘Of course not. And I’m just glad I had somewhere to go and could take my foster children with me. They’ve been through so much in their short lives. I just want some peace for them.’

  ‘I understand. It is simply horrific what is going on over there, and we’ll have to do our bit to make all of them feel welcome. I just know that you, with all your experience and knowledge, will be invaluable.’

  He stood and shook her hand, accompanying her to the door.

  As she walked back out onto the one street that made up the village of Ballycreggan, she was elated. Things were going to be all right after all. In the weeks after the bombing, when they were being put up by a colleague whose house wasn’t hit, Elizabeth wondered what would become of them. The school was condemned, and any evacuated children that had come home to the city were promptly dispatched back to Wales, so there was nobody to teach even if they had a school. It looked bleak.

  She was luckier than most, having a home in Ireland. The house was perfect, lovely in fact, and the way her mother kept all of her things… Well, she didn’t know what to make of that. Her bedroom was like a shrine. All of her schoolbooks, her exercise copies – everything – was as she left them. Did it mean that despite two decades of silence, her mother did care for her after all? And if so, why hadn’t she just written?

  With a spring in her step over her new job, she went home to tell Liesl and Erich the great news. The August sunshine was warm on her face as she surveyed the village through new, optimistic eyes.

  The Protestant church was up on the hill, at the end of an avenue lined with flowers on the approach, and the Catholic church was on the other end, with its imposing spire and ornately carved pillars. It always struck her that even the buildings were trying to outdo each other. The village school catered, unusually, to both the Protestant and Catholic communities, and while there was a mistrust and definitely a divide between both congregations, they managed to get along reasonably well.

  She passed the grocer’s, Ernie Davies’ tobacco shop, Mim’s bakery, Scott’s draper’s that sold everything from a needle to an anchor, and four pubs.

  There was a gentle, safe feeling to the place, and Bridie was right – nothing much changed there as the years progressed. It felt like just what they needed after all the upheaval.

  She picked up the newspaper as she shopped. More slamming of the South’s reaction to the war. They were being stubborn on their position of neutrality. The Irish prime minister, de Valera, insisted that while he was seeking to normalise relations with Britain after centuries of acrimony, that did not go so far as to take the Allied’s side in this war. They didn’t even call it a war; they called it ‘the Emergency’. There was palpable animosity now, and the refusal to even allow the British to use the ports in Ireland, or Éire as it was now called, known as the Treaty Ports, was the final straw. As a Catholic, she understood the Irish position. They were a newly independent state – a very hard-won freedom – and it would just not be acceptable to the electorate to immediately ally themselves to their centuries-long foe. But that wasn’t how Britain saw it, and they never would. She kept her mouth closed on the subject; it was safer that way.

  A stance she could never understand, however, was the Irish Free State’s attitude towards Jews. They were neutral but they refused to take refugees. Entering Southern Ireland with Liesl and Erich would have been impossible, but the North was part of the United Kingdom, so carrying one small bag between them all, which contained the few bits of clothes they’d managed to borrow or buy and not much else, they boarded a boat and sailed into Belfast harbour. Getting tickets was tricky as civilian travel had been curtailed to a trickle, but the principal of her old school knew someone who knew someone, and eventually, they were given passage.

  Having bought the groceries that were
available – they were on emergency ration cards as theirs had been destroyed – she walked back home.

  She had never anticipated this turn in events, but for now, whatever Ballycreggan held, at least she had a home and somewhere safe for Liesl and Erich to live. She put her key in the lock and called them.

  They came running downstairs, their faces the picture of anticipation. They were happy to go to school now, especially as there were going to be other German Jewish children there as well, but if Elizabeth were the teacher, then that would be just perfect.

  ‘So I start at the local primary school on Monday!’ She put her arms around their waists.

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth, that is wonderful!’ Liesl was so relieved, and Erich whooped.

  ‘You’ll probably be able to speak German for a lot of the day again with your new friends, but we’ll speak English in the classroom. Not everyone had a mutti who could speak English to them, you know.’

  Liesl and Erich exchanged a glance, and then Liesl said solemnly, ‘No, Elizabeth. Erich and I talked about this. I know the children on the farm speak German, but we will help them with English. We don’t like to speak German now – it’s not our language. Our mutti always spoke to us in English or French or Italian, we’ll speak German only if we have to and if we ever see Papa again.’

  Elizabeth paused. What should she say? Apart from the fact that Peter had been arrested, there was no further news.

  ‘Do you think we’ll see our papa again, Elizabeth?’ Erich asked, and her heart broke for this sweet little boy. His big, brown, trusting eyes pleaded with hers to give him the reassurance he craved. What should she do? Liesl too was waiting.

  ‘I don’t know, Erich, and that’s the truth. We know there are work camps they have taken people to, and your father was a big, strong man, right?’