But Bart and Deborah were not to find happiness, despite the birth of two children. Bart found out that his wife was deceiving him and divorced her. He then suspected his son James was a bastard, returned him to his mother and claimed instead his son by Sophie Turner whom he had scarcely ever seen and didn’t know at all. This was Sam, who now stood in front of his father his eyes shining with happiness.
“It is so good to have you back, Dad. I feared ...”
“I feared myself several times I can tell you, son,” Bart said, looking at Sam with gratitude. For a man with so few friends and whose relationships with women had been disastrous, it was wonderful to find the love of a son he had neglected through no fault of his own.
“You’ve finished now for good on the continent?”
“Well,” Bart screwed up his eyes. “I won’t say for good, but certainly for the time being. I still have my contacts in Germany, though our government has forbidden any trade between our nations. Nor does it give a fig about the Jews, poor devils, or what happens to them.
“There are still plenty of Jews desperate to get out. They are being rounded up all the time. But for me, helping the Jews was just a side-line. I am neither for them nor against them. I just don’t like to see people persecuted for their beliefs. A lot of people don’t like the Jews, but I have always got on with them. They have a keen nose for business and so have I. Some of the best German businessmen were Jews and the country will feel their loss if they persecute them. Lawyers, doctors ... they are very talented, which is what so many people don’t like. What I shall miss is the profit from my exports of whisky and arms. Countries on the continent faced with the prospect of war are now more in need of arms than ever. But, of course, such trade is far too dangerous, and whisky will become scarce.” Bart lit a cigarette and ensconced himself in a comfortable armchair. “It just seems we shall have to sit tight until hostilities are over.”
“I have received my call-up papers, Dad.”
“Have you?” Bart waved a hand dismissively. “I can soon get you out of that.”
“But I don’t want to be got out of it. I want to join up, as soon as possible.”
“You must be mad.” Bart laughed uneasily and flicked ash into a ashtray by his side. “Have you thought how I will manage without you? You are my right hand. Let other people go to war if they wish.”
“Dad, I have to play my part. I cannot and do not want to get out of the war. I shall be sent to Blandford Camp for training any day now and then, hopefully, overseas.”
Bart rose and walked to the window from which he looked over the acres of peaceful countryside. Even to a practical man with little imagination he could imagine it scarred with the massed tanks and armoured cars he had seen rolling over the border into luckless Poland.
“I don’t think you realise what you’re in for, Sam.”
“I can’t help it, Dad. Everyone seems to think the war will soon be over and Hitler will cave in.”
“I don’t think that.” Looking grim, Bart turned to face his son. “I have seen what he has done in Germany. He is very determined. In Poland he has driven everything before him. It will soon fall. I hate to think of you being in danger. I had the sense in the last war to miss it and remain safe in South America. I never regretted it, I can assure you. Sam, I’m sure there’s some vital war work you can do at home. I can easily pull some strings ...”
“Dad, if you pulled strings I would never be able to face my friends who are joining up, or live with myself again.”
“So be it.” Bart’s hands fell to his side. “I only fear that one day this great business I have built up will be rudderless. I am not a young man and you are my only hope for the future.”
There was a tap on the door and Bart’s butler Harold put his head round the door.
“Mr Alexander is here to see you, sir.”
“Alexander!” Bart exclaimed jovially. “Tell him to come right in.” He glanced across at his son. “Did you know he was coming?”
Sam shook his head. “No, but I think I know what he wants. It is about what I explained to you.”
Bart nodded and stood up as Alexander was shown in and came over. They shook hands warmly.
“Bart it is so good to see you safely back. Sam was worried about you.”
“I was worried about myself.” Bart smiled for the first time. “I felt caught up in the crossfire.”
“It’s as bad as that already?”
Bart nodded. “Very bad. I was too near the Polish border when the German troops swept in and too near the German when the French decided to cross it and make a brief sortie. But then they stopped. No one really wants to be the first to start fighting.”
“They say Hitler will sue for peace once he has Poland.”
“No.” Bart shook his head. “He will want more. He has Austria and Czechoslovakia. He will soon have Poland. Then he will go for the Baltic States, after that he will want the Netherlands, France ...”
“But France has the biggest army in the world, over a million men.”
“If they know how to use them, which I doubt. The French high command is too full of old men. The German army is highly trained, fully mechanised. The Polish cavalry still used horses. They imagined they were fighting a war in another age. There was terrible carnage. Now, Alexander, to what do we owe the pleasure?” He pointed to a chair. “What will you drink – sherry, whisky? I’m having a whisky.”
“A coffee would be nice. I am on my way back to London.”
“And so you’re in the air force?”
Alexander nodded. “I’m training to fly Spitfires. It’s a most exciting aircraft, light and manoeuvrable. I hope to get my wings by the spring.”
“And my son,” Bart turned towards Sam, “he says nothing will keep him out of the army.”
“The Dorsets?”
Sam nodded. “Blandford Camp. We hope soon to be sent overseas to help defend France if Hitler attacks.”
“And you, Bart?” Alexander looked searchingly at the older man. “Is there any chance you will be going abroad again? Or has the recent experience been enough for you?”
“Oh, for the time being I shall go if and when I can. I don’t think I can get any more Jews out. There are few of them left in their homes, poor devils. But while the rest of Europe is still free I must trade where I can. I have contacts all over the continent. All your company’s ships are now commandeered for the war effort. It will have to be lorries and they may also be in short supply. Petrol will be scarce. But people still want to drink whisky and wear warm clothes and sometimes there is the odd surplus of armaments.”
“Oh surely you can’t export armaments?” Alexander looked horrified and Bart put a finger to his lips and smiled. “Only a few obsolete weapons that no one really wants.Surplus to requirements, you understand. Don’t worry Alexander,” he put an avuncular hand on his shoulder, “I am a patriot too. Now why do you want to know if I’m going abroad? Is it Irene?”
“You know about Irene?” Alexander sat down and crossed his legs.
“Sam filled me in about everything and told me briefly that Irene has got herself stuck in Berlin without a passport.” Bart shook his head. “That was a very foolish thing to do.”
“She said the authorities took it. I don’t know the details. She only managed to get through to me once. I have no idea where she is.”
Bart put his head on one side. “I hate to say it, but maybe a concentration camp?”
Alexander shook his head. “Oh no. She said she was safe ... well, that was when I last heard from her which was some time ago. Bart is there any possibility – without risk to yourself – is there anyone you know in Berlin ... ?”
“My dear man,” Bart airily waved a hand, “there are a lot of people I know in Berlin and most of them are not friends of Hitler. They would like to go on doing business and getting rich and living comfortably and in peace with their wives and children, perhaps their mistresses too. It is a madness that h
as happened to Germany.”
“Are there any people you could contact, is there any way –” A feeling of helplessness overcame Alexander and, to his dismay, his eyes filled with tears. “Any way at all they can help me to find Irene?”
Bart leaned forward in his chair as Harold returned with coffee on a tray which he poured for Alexander who thanked him.
“I’ll see to the whisky,” Bart told the butler waving him away. But Sam was already at the drinks table putting ice into two glasses followed by generous measures of whisky. One of them he handed to his father and then joined him on the sofa. It was a cold day and a cheerful fire burned briskly in the grate.
“If you have no idea where she is it looks hopeless.” Bart shook his head. “Berlin is a large place. No Jew is safe. Those who are not in concentration camps are all in hiding.”
“I told Alexander it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.” Sam glanced at his father.
“Exactly.”
“I’m hoping that she would know about your apartment and try and find it. It is still there isn’t it?”
“Oh yes. It is a nice property near the Tiergarten, but I have no hope of seeing it while hostilities last. And even if she does find it, it is useless to her.” Bart suddenly paused and looked thoughtfully at the grate. “But there may be a way. I have, of course, a number of passports – Swiss, Dutch. But you’ve given me an idea. It may not be too difficult to get a Spanish one. Hitler and Franco are friends and my Spanish isn’t too bad from spending a lot of time once in South America. I can slip back into Germany, maybe through Italy which is a friendly nation, and Switzerland which remains neutral.” He stroked his jaw. “Yes, you have given me an idea Alexander. That way I can protect my business interests and maybe help find your wife, or find out what has happened to her.”
“Oh, Father it’s much too dangerous.” Sam looked at him in alarm, but Bart returned his gaze with equanimity.
“My dear son, if you persist in doing dangerous things how can you expect me to be any different? Maybe it’s in the blood.”
Chuckling he got up and rubbed his hands together almost gleefully.
“These are dangerous times, eh Alexander? We are all in it together. If I can help you I will. I’d like to. You helped me in the past when your company lent me ships and lorries. I’d like to repay the favour, regard it as a debt of honour.”
“But you have repaid it. You got my father-in-law out of Germany. I don’t want to be responsible for deliberately sending you into danger.”
“No, you have done me a good turn. I can’t sit out the war here worrying about my son. Action suits me and I am too old to fight. One or two more continental trips will pep me up. I shall go cautiously, I assure you. France is still free and I have much business in Paris. We businessmen have a common bond, you know, to keep going. Besides, if I put you even further in my debt by restoring your wife to you, after the war you will do me many favours and I shall be even richer. Now, have you time to stay for luncheon? I think there is partridge on the menu today.”
Chapter Four
Spring 1940
The ‘phoney war’ came abruptly to an end in April 1940 when German forces invaded Norway and Denmark. After his conquest of Poland, Hitler had sued for peace and continued to try and persuade Britain to withdraw from hostilities as long as he could keep his conquests, but all his attempts had failed.
In February, Private Sam Turner sailed with his battalion to join the British Expeditionary Force in France while his father, having obtained a false Spanish passport, had lingered on the continent eager to pursue his business interests before the war threatened to engulf everyone’.
Alexander, having had experience of flying a private plane in peace time, easily gained his wings and was posted to a Spitfire squadron flying out of Middle Wallop in Wiltshire, so he was not too far from home and was able to see his daughter and Lally frequently.
Rather to his surprise, Alexander was enjoying life in uniform. He liked the camaraderie of the mess, the excitement and élan of being part of a squadron and, although he had yet to confront the enemy, he made daily sorties across the Channel and along the coast of France.
At Pelham’s Oak little changed, though Carson vigorously adapted his farming methods to aid the war effort and fretted at not being able to join up. However, the war was still a far-off thing despite the grim news from Scandinavia, that is until May when Holland and Belgium fell to the German blitzkrieg and suddenly it seemed that war was for real, and not too far away.
Returning to his squadron after a weekend leave at Forest House, Alexander was having a drink in the bar when he noticed a new mess member a few paces away smoking a cigarette and evidently alone. He moved along the bar to join him holding out a hand.
“New here are you? I’m Alexander Martyn.”
“How do you do?” The man immediately shook hands. “Douglas Fisher. I’m usually called Dougie. I’ve just been posted from ... oh better not say had I? Careless talk and all that.”
“I think you’re safe here.” Alexander glanced at his companion’s glass. “Same again?”
“Gin and tonic, please.”
Alexander ordered two gins and a fresh packet of cigarettes and then, as a few of his companions sauntered in, introduced Douglas Fisher who, it appeared, had enlisted before the war and was already a Flight Lieutenant.
Alexander and Douglas were billeted near to each other. Douglas soon became a member of Alexander’s particular group of friends who were all rather younger than Alexander, whereas Dougie was about the same age.
He was an instantly likeable, friendly man of medium height with brown hair, a thick brown moustache and the sort of disposition that immediately fitted in with the men of the squadron, among whom he soon became a popular member. His wife, he said, was at operational WAAF HQ in London.
Dougie and Alexander were frequently posted on flying exercises together, that is flying in pairs or ‘finger four’ detached sections as they were called, which were now seen as preferable to flying in a fixed V formation.
On his next leave Alexander invited Dougie to join him at Forest House but Dougie said his wife was coming down, so Alexander suggested that she should join them too.
“That’s awfully decent of you,” Dougie said. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”
On the appointed day they drove to Salisbury station to meet Dougie’s wife and stood idly on the platform chatting and smoking, waiting for the train to arrive. It was a balmy spring day and, looking up at the cloudless sky, Dougie said, “You’d never think there was a war on would you? Oh, here’s the train,” and they stood back as it puffed into the station. Dougie anxiously studied the passengers getting out and, with a cry of, “There she is,” ran towards an attractive young woman swinging towards them, her coat over her arm and carrying a small suitcase.
Alexander stared at her hard and as she came up he saw that she was looking equally intently at him.
“Alexander!” she cried. “Fancy, after all these years.” Confused, Alexander continued to look at her, frantically searching the recesses of his memory.
“Your face is terribly familiar,” he said apologetically, “but I can’t put a name to it.”
“Minnie. Minnie Beckett. It must be all of six or seven years since we last met.”
“Good Lord, Minnie Beckett!”
Alexander grasped her hand while a bemused Dougie said at last,
“I gather you two know each other?”
“From years ago, darling,” Minnie said kissing him full on the lips and hugging him briefly. “How are you, old thing?”
“Missing you,” Dougie said gazing at her tenderly.
“You’ve become even more beautiful.” Alexander looked at her admiringly.
“Go on, you tease.” Minnie, her hand entwined with Dougie’s, blushed. She did indeed look lovely with her thick black hair in a fashionable pageboy bob, high cheekbones and sparkling brown eyes. She used lit
tle make-up. She wore a grey skirt and a pale-blue twinset with a single row of pearls round her neck. She looked like everybody’s idea of a good sort, an English rose, and Alexander remembered that Lally had once tried very hard to marry them off.
“Seriously Minnie, I think my mother was always trying to pair us off.”
“I fancied you then, Alexander,” Minnie said with a merry laugh. “But you never seemed to notice because you were in love with someone else. I hear you married her. How is she? Are we to see her this weekend?”
Alexander swallowed and lowered his eyes. “My wife Mary died in childbirth in 1934. I have married again and unfortunately Irene my wife, who is German, is missing, we believe somewhere in Berlin. She is Jewish.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Minnie’s face fell. “How awful for you Alexander.” She put a hand to her mouth. “What a catalogue of disaster, isn’t it Dougie?’’
“Awful.” Dougie nodded his head. “I’d no idea. You never told me.”
“And you never told me you were married to Minnie,” Alexander said lightly, opening the door of the car and throwing his passenger’s luggage into the boot.
They sat round the dinner table on the last night of their short leave smoking and drinking, the last course having been cleared away. It had been a blissful few days, the weather had been perfect and, by common consent everyone had tried hard to avoid referring to the war, though it was impossible to avoid it altogether as aircraft flew overhead all the time and Dougie and Alexander tried to work out which squadrons they were from.
A net was put across the tennis court and they played energetic games. Deborah came over to make up a four and Carson, Sally and the children came one day for lunch, after which Eliza arrived for dinner.
Lally was in her element as hostess. She loved nothing better than to entertain and every meal was like a banquet, despite rationing having been introduced in January. Butter, bacon, sugar and ham could be bought only on the production of ration books in the towns, but there was no shortage of these items in the countryside.
In Time of War (Part Six of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 5
