‘Darling, you look wonderful.’
Anna pulled a face. ‘Thank you, Rosemary.’
The taxi was already outside, the luggage being loaded by the porters. As the girls walked towards it they promised to write to each other as soon as they got home.
Konrad appeared, immaculate in a double-breasted tweed suit, an overcoat over his arm, a feathered Tyrol-style hat on his head. He and Biff followed the girls out and stood for a moment, everybody looking silently at the others, then the girls hugged, and Anna turned to Biff and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her hand lightly touching his, as Rosemary did the same with Konrad.
Then it all happened so quickly. Biff shook Konrad’s hand; next thing the German couple were in the car, doors slammed and it was on the move, turning, then heading up the drive.
They could see Anna waving through the small back window, then they were gone.
Disconsolately they made their way into breakfast, hardly speaking. As if in sympathy with their mood the morning was grey, with a hint of rain in the air.
‘It is late now,’ said the waiter apologetically. ‘The season is almost over.’
It matched their mood.
And, like their mood, in the remaining few days it never was as bright and sunny again.
Chapter Nine
The little thatched cottage stood a mile from the airfield. Having obtained permission to live out of mess, he bicycled to it every day. On most mess dining-in nights he stayed on station, having once gone arse over tip into a ditch on the way home. Fortunately, he fell with all the naturalness of the drunk and only suffered scratches from the brambles.
After their arrival Rosemary did nothing for a week, except for sending a postcard of the village to Anna and Konrad; then boredom drove her to get a job as a secretary with a local estate agency – the one that had found the cottage for them.
Every night, after supper, they sat in front of a log fire, talking. When the photographs were developed Rosemary was delighted and put one showing them all in a frame on the stone mantelpiece.
She wrote again to them, this time a letter on her office typewriter, calculating that it would be easier for them to read, conscious that it was in English.
She put some photographs in the envelope as well, got it weighed and bought stamps at the local post offiice, The woman gave her a funny look, especially when Rosemary took the letter back again, deciding that Biff ought to read it before it was sent.
He did, as Rosemary in her apron bustled around the kitchen. She put the pot of stew and dumplings on to the table.
‘That’s fine.’ He folded it up and sealed it down.
‘I’ll send it in the morning.’
As they ate he told her of his day and of the excitement because tomorrow he was at last going to fly the 280 mph Blenheim.
‘You will be careful, won’t you, darling?’ Rosemary drawled, without looking up from her work. Obviously she had complete faith in his abilities.
In the event, on the next day he found that the training on the Anson had paid off. Under the watchful eye of his instructor he eased the throttles forward, and taxied the Blenheim to the end of the runway, turning into the wind when the control tower gave permission.
After running up the engines and checking the magnetos he finally let her go, and climbed into the bright autumn sky.
At last, he was a pilot on a front-line squadron.
His elation was short-lived. As he walked back across the grass pulling off his helmet an aircraftsman ran up and saluted.
‘Sir. The adjutant would like to see you as soon as possible.’
Puzzled and a little apprehensive Biff hurried to the adjutant’s office. The tall, elegant old Etonian who sported a monocle had been a pilot in the Great War, and was nearing the end of his service. On certain days – days that obviously meant something to him he – he dressed in the khaki uniform of the old Royal Flying Corps, with breeches and Sam Browne. Biff saluted.
‘Ah Biff, come in, come in, take a pew.’
It all seemed friendly enough.
‘Sir?’
It was then that he saw the letter to Konrad and Anna lying on the desk.
He frowned, what was it doing there?
The adjutant saw that he had seen it, and picked it up.
‘Yes. You left this in the squadron post office this morning?’
Biff nodded. ‘Yes sir. My wife typed it at work but brought it home for me to read before we posted it. Is there a problem?’
The adjutant offered his cigarette case. Biff took a Passing Cloud and accepted a light. He was getting uneasy but the older man took a long pull on his cigarette, holding it affectedly in the gap between his second and third fingers, exhaling the smoke before he answered.
‘There could be.’
He leant back in his chair.
‘Biff, we might be at war with the Hun again sometime soon.’ It was strange hearing the term ‘Hun’ – so old fashioned, ‘and here you are, a serving officer sending letters to Germany. Can you not see that it could be misconstrued?’
Biff felt the floor dropping out beneath him.
He spluttered. ‘Sir, I’d never pass on any information – surely you believe me?’
When nothing was said he reached for the letter.
‘You want me to open it?’
Before he could do so the adjutant barked: ‘No.’
He relented, said gently: ‘No, Biff, that will not be necessary, but you can see the difficulty, can’t you? Others might not be so trusting.’
Miserably Biff shrugged.
‘It was on holiday. They were very good people, sir – became great friends. It will break my wife’s heart if we can’t keep in touch.’
‘Hmm.’
The adjutant tapped the ash into his tray made from a piece of gearing.
‘Nobody is suggesting that you can’t keep on writing to them, but you should be apprised of a couple of points.’
He held up the fingers of his free hand and grasped the first. ‘One – we will have to inform higher up – and you may get a censure, or,’ he looked expectantly at Biff, ‘other people might be interested, who will perhaps want you to include various bits of information, or should I say misinformation.’
Biff got the implication, but before he could explode with indignation and say he would do no such thing to Konrad the adjutant moved to his next finger.
‘Two: your friend may be a great fellow, but he is the servant of a totalitarian state, and may well be subject to greater strictures – and pressures – than you.’
Helplessly Biff said: ‘So, what do you want me to do?’
The adjutant shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. I just thought you ought to know.’
He realized then that the old boy was taking care of him, making sure he didn’t get into trouble: his squadron – his family.
He looked at the letter for a moment, then pushed it with one finger towards the adjutant.
‘As I said, they’re good people. I’ll risk it.’
He told Rosemary who was suitably outraged.
‘My God, if I’d posted it they would never have known.’
Biff had been thinking about it.
‘I’m not so sure.’
She looked up sharply from the floor, where she had been kneeling, using the poker, raking the ash in the grate with a vengeance.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think there’s a strong possibility that all correspondence with Germany is being monitored – and vice versa.’
‘Oh.’ Rosemary sagged back on to her heels. ‘Is it that bad?’
He didn’t reply. They stayed numbly silent for some time.
At last she said: ‘I can’t help worrying about Konrad and Anna.’
He nodded slowly. ‘And for all of us.’
They had a great Guy Fawkes night, scuffling through the mounds of dead leaves to reach the village green. As the bonfire blazed, and Guy Fawkes’s head rolled off, potatoes
were placed at the edges to be raked out later.
Fireworks screamed and banged, jumped, spun and whooshed into the night sky. Children ran everywhere, faces alive with excitement caught in the light from the flames. Biff held Rosemary in front of him, arms wrapped protectively around her.
Two days later the papers were full of the smashing of hundreds of Jewish shop windows all across Germany – an event the leader columns called the Kristallnacht. The Jews were also forced to wear a yellow star of David on their clothes.
It was mid December before a letter was on the mat when Rosemary came down the tightly turning wooden staircase, still half-asleep. She picked it up, turned it over. In her befuddled state it was a second before she took in the fact that it was from Germany.
Feverishly she rushed to the kitchen, used a knife to slit it neatly open.
The first things that she saw were the photographs: one of her and Konrad that the big German had taken, then one of all four of them at Amalfi taken by a waiter, and lastly another of Anna and Biff.
Fumbling she opened out the letter and began reading.
It was from their address in Hamburg.
Dear Rosemary and Biff,
Thank you so much for your letter and the great photographs – it was wonderful to hear from you again.
I’m so sorry it has taken this long to write to you, but my mother was taken ill on the day we got back to Hamburg – sadly she died two weeks ago. It is only now that I have managed to get back to normal, having nursed her all this time.
I do so miss you both, and the wonderful time we had together in sunny Italy. The weather is so cold and wet here – is it the same for you?
Konrad has got a sea appointment now, so I have been on my own – with my mother that is – these past weeks.
Is Biff well? Doing a lot of flying I expect with his squadron? Do you live near the airfield?
There was lots more. Rosemary sank into a chair, a finger curling the hair on her forehead as she read on.
But the last paragraph was the best.
I’m sure we shall be able to meet again soon. Maybe in Spain this coming summer? We could rent a house and enjoy wine and sun together, like before. Let us know how you feel, and we’ll start planning.
I look forward to hearing from you – please write again soon.
We love you both.
Anna and Konrad.
Stupidly Rosemary’s eyes started to well up with tears. She knew it was probably her condition; they’d only just found out she was expecting, but she did so miss them.
It was not long afterwards that Biff was called to the CO’s office, to be confronted by a man in a pinstripe suit, called Mr Chandler, and the CO who told him to take a seat.
Biff did so, conscious of their eyes on him. The man called Chandler spoke first.
‘Flying Officer Banks, you received a letter from Germany about a week ago?’
He nodded. ‘Yes sir – from friends we met on holiday.’
So that was it.
His jaw dropped at what was said next.
The man in the pinstripe suit suddenly said:
‘In it you were asked, did you live near the airfield, were you flying a lot with your squadron? About the weather, and tentative plans to meet in Spain, presumably near Gibraltar? Is that so?’
Biff was both amazed and angry. He appealed to his CO.
‘Sir, that’s outrageous. This man must have opened our private mail.’
Obviously embarrassed the CO brushed the back of his hand over his moustache.
‘I’m sorry, Banks, but these are troubled times. Mr Chandler here is …’ he shot him a glance and the man nodded, ‘from MI5.’
Chandler murmured. ‘Don’t take it personally, Banks. You are a serving officer. You must see that you could well be targeted – compromised?’
‘Sir, with great respect, I give you my word, Konrad and Anna von Riegner are tremendous people, they are not Nazis. I would trust them with my life.’
Chandler sat down on the corner of the CO’s desk, swinging one leg. ‘I’m sure they are. But you must realize that the Germany they live in, Herr Hitler’s Third Reich, is not a pleasant place. They may be under some …’ he paused, ‘shall we say guidance, when it comes to writing to you.’
Miserably Biff made no reply. The adjutant had tried to warn him.
Chandler said:
‘All that is required of you is that when you write again, you provide, casually of course, some photos and information … about your squadron. We could help you there, say it’s larger than it is, something on that line, nothing special. Would you do that? You can carry on your friendship. Heaven,’ he gave an oily grin, ‘my mother’s grandfather was a Jerry, so that makes me a bit of one too, eh?’
Chandler’s face tried to smile, but there was no warmth in his eyes.
‘You don’t mind do you?’
Biff pulled his chin into his chest and looked back defiantly.
‘And if I do?’
‘Come now, Flying Officer, that’s hardly the attitude to take by one holding His Majesty’s commission.’
Biff shot an angry glare at the CO and back to Chandler.
‘And I would remind you – Sir – that His Majesty is also of German descent. They are not all Nazis.’
There was an awful silence. Perhaps he’d gone too far. He finally shook his head resignedly.
‘I tell you again, you’ve got it wrong. They are good people.’
The CO came to his aid.
‘I’m sure they are, Banks, it’s just that there are greater issues at stake. We’ve all got to do our bit for the country – however distasteful.’
Chandler’s smooth voice continued as if there had been no interruption.
‘You’ve only known them since your honeymoon, is that correct; a chance meeting, I gather.’
He made ‘chance’ sound highly suspicious, highly unlikely.
Biff just glared back at him and made no attempt to answer.
When he told Rosemary she went off her head, shouting and crashing around the kitchen, finally banging the plates of liver and onions on to the table.
‘It’s outrageous – opening people’s mail. What sort of a country have we become? And they have the nerve to carry on about Germany.’
She sat down again and pulled her chair violently up to the table, its legs screeching on the floor.
‘Biff, I absolutely refuse to play along with this. You do what you like, but I shall write back myself, and the letter won’t go anywhere near your damned airfield.’
He swallowed, guessing that they would know about it one way or the other. If they thought he was deliberately trying to avoid them, would it affect his career in the air force? To hell with it. He got up, went to her and put his arm around her.
‘You do that, darling. Konrad and Anna mean more to us – deserve more from us than any of them.’
Out of character, she suddenly burst into tears.
Biff was taken by surprise. He found a handkerchief so that she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
‘I’m so sorry, Biff. It’s the pregnancy I expect. I get so worked up about things lately – and this is the last straw. Who are they to spoil our friendship by making all these horrible assertions?’
He crouched down before her, knowing it was not the time to say they were only doing their job – protecting the country and all that. Instead he kissed her temple and ran a soothing hand over her hair, which she was growing longer.
‘Only we know how close we are to them, darling, and we shall be close for the rest of our lives – long after any of the present difficulties are over and long forgotten. Young Biff here,’ he ran a hand gently over her tummy, ‘will stay with them every summer, become bilingual, and their sprogs will come over here.’
This cheered her up.
‘Young Biff? Who says so? I think she’s another Rosemary or … perhaps we should call her Anna?’
Glad that she seemed
better, he laughed.
‘Why not indeed?’
Immediately, Rosemary wrote a letter back. He read it, relieved to see that there was no mention of his flying duties, or the weather, or, thank God, any mention of Spain other than: yes – meeting next year would be wonderful.
Most of it was about the time they’d had together, reminiscing about silly things like when Konrad had been showing off on a diving board and had fallen in with a huge belly-flop, soaking a passing waiter, or Biff, finding himself surrounded by irate traders when he’d accidentally knocked over a wickerwork tray of lemons that had rolled down the stone-flagged street with amazing speed. She enclosed another photograph, not from the holiday, but from their wedding. It showed only them and their parents, whom she detailed on the back, standing under a large cedar tree with the church beyond.
Biff could hardly see how they could make out that it was in any way a security leak.
Aweek passed. There was great excitement in the squadron as they learned that they were to be re-equipped early in the New Year with the greatly improved and more powerful Mark IV version with the redesigned longer nose.
And still there was no letter from Germany on the mat in the morning, or the afternoon.
Biff was conscious of the CO looking at him one day, and wondered whether he knew something that he didn’t, but nothing was ever said.
She had sent a Christmas Card but 25 December came and went without any word. Biff had to be orderly officer over the holiday period. He waited on the men, serving their Christmas lunch, together with the CO and senior non-commissioned officers. It was a service tradition.
In the end Rosemary, as she sat on the floor one evening before the fire, stockinged toes wriggling as she tried to warm them, her back resting against their chintzy sofa, murmured sadly:
‘I think something has happened, don’t you? Konrad and Anna, especially Anna, would not have stopped like that. She would have sent a card, I’m sure.’
Biff was reading the paper. Bradman had scored 225 in a match between Queensland and South Australia, and in the England v. South Africa test match Tom Goddard had taken a hat trick and Paul Gibb had scored 93 and 106 on his debut.
Tears of Autumn, The Page 11
