Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  “Why don’t they send in the planes and bomb them out?”

  Bobby pointed to the sky. “The cloud cover is too low. They wouldn’t be able to see if they were hitting the Germans or our own men, they’re too close together.”

  The young soldier nodded. “I guess so. We sure could use a wind to clear these clouds.”

  Bobby shrugged. “It doesn’t work that way, does it. God seems to leave the fighting to us. He doesn’t bother to get involved, even to the extent of sending a breeze.”

  The young soldier looked at Bobby.

  “Maybe that’s because he can’t bear to see the mess we’re making. After all, he created us and this world. All we can do is destroy it.”

  “But surely he’d help us? We didn’t start this war.”

  “Didn’t we? If the world had stood up to Hitler in the beginning, this war may never have started. We are just as responsible as him.”

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Zach Abramovitch.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Well, you sure know a lot for your age.”

  “I was born in Germany. My Pa didn’t like the way things were going over there, so he moved us all to America when I was six. Since then we’ve paid close attention to what’s been happening in Europe. We discuss it a lot at home.”

  “Well, Zach, your Pa should be proud of the way you’ve thought all this through. Most of the guys out here just blame Hitler for it all.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I blame Hitler too. But I think we could’ve done more to limit this war.”

  “Well, we’re sure doing our bit now.” Bobby grinned at the young soldier. “I’m glad to have you fighting by my side, Zach.”

  Zach was by his side, but there was no fighting that day. The rain continued to fall. The Americans continued to consolidate their positions, so that the Germans would be unable to advance further. During the following night the rain stopped. The sky began to clear at last, so Bobby woke to see patches of blue for the first time in a week. His face was grim as he looked down at the German forces. While the change in the weather was welcome, it meant that the assault on the enemy would soon begin. He had seen many of his comrades fall in the months since D-Day. He knew that by evening many more of his friends would be gone forever. He hoped he would not be amongst those who would not leave the battlefield alive.

  “Morning, Bobby.”

  Bobby turned to the young soldier. “Hi Zach.” He indicated the clearing sky. “The clouds are gone. Maybe God is helping after all. I suppose he thinks we can kick the Germans out today, so we can have a peaceful Christmas.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Sure. It’s Christmas Eve today. Had you forgotten?”

  Zach shrugged. “What’s to remember? Did you forget my name? Zach Abramovitch. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

  Bobby was sheepish. “Gee, I didn’t think. Sorry, pal.”

  Zach grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s good to be with someone who sees me as an American first and a Jew second. It wasn’t like that back in Germany, when I was a kid.”

  There was a heavy droning sound in the sky, growing louder as it came closer. Bobby pulled Zach down beside him into a muddy foxhole.

  “It looks like those planes you ordered are coming at last!”

  The two Americans tightened the chinstraps on their helmets. They crouched low as the bombers passed overhead, and dived down towards the massed German tanks surrounding Bastogne. The guns of the tanks began to swing round and fire on the approaching planes. Puffs of smoke surrounded their muzzles as the shells flew skywards. One of the planes was hit and fell spiralling from the sky, smoke trailing behind it. But the other planes flew on dropping their deadly cargo with unerring accuracy on the armoured behemoths which had sought to push back the might of the American army. The air was filled with screaming bombs as they fell to the earth, then the crash and roar as they reached their targets, blowing tanks apart and setting their wrecks alight. The air above the massed armour was black with smoke, lit from beneath by the flames of their destruction. The vibrations of the destruction radiated through the ground, until the Americans crouched low on the hillside could feel them. Somewhere behind them, a damaged plane which had tried to limp back to base failed in its struggle and fell into the trees with a resounding roar and crash. Those close by covered their ears as they raced forwards to help. But when they reached the burning wreck, it was obvious that no-one would be brought from it alive.

  The air battle raged for most of the morning. The Americans lost some planes, but it was nothing compared with the massive destruction they inflicted on the German tanks. When the planes finally withdrew, the signal for the infantry attack was given. Bobby found himself advancing down into the midst of the wreckage of the German armour. There were burning tanks all around. From some came no sound save for the roar of flames and the cracking of metal as it overheated. From others came the screams of men trapped inside the flaming hulks, burning to death. Bobby tried to close his ears to the sounds as he advanced, but it was hard. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils, and made him gag.

  The sound of a machine gun to his left caused Bobby to throw himself to the ground and seek shelter as the Germans on the far side of the tanks began to open fire on the advancing Americans. While most of their armour had been destroyed, the enemy were still there in massive numbers. Their withering fire brought the American advance to a halt. Swinging wide of the burning wreckage, they began to dig in. Bobby saw many Americans fall before they could reach cover. One man fell right beside him with half his face blown away, spraying Bobby with blood. Too busy to do more than push the corpse aside, Bobby and Zach dug frantically, until their position was secure and they were able to fire back on the Germans from comparative safety.

  The battle raged throughout that day and the night which followed. When Christmas Day dawned, it was upon a scene of carnage. No peace on earth, goodwill to men around Bastogne, instead the guns continued to fire and men continued to die as the Americans pushed relentlessly forwards. Gradually, inch by inch, they made progress and the Germans began to fall back, fighting every step of the way. So Christmas Day passed with few men acknowledging it any more than Zach Abramovitch. Battle left little time for men to pause and reflect on a God who became man to bring peace.

  As night fell, the attacking soldiers sought what little rest they could in infrequent periods of sleep while the battle raged around them. The Germans hung on tenaciously, but they were outnumbered and their position was hopeless. Dawn came. At last the Germans began to retreat as the Allies advanced on three sides. So Bastogne was relieved, and the besieged garrison celebrated Christmas a day late, a day which had seen the change from siege to freedom, and heralded the end of the German Reich.

  175

  While Bobby lay in his foxhole, cold, wet, tired and under fire from the enemy, Sarah sat in her room overlooking the grounds of Heronfield House, the room she had shared for so long with Jane and which she now shared with Ann. Ann was just nineteen. Although she was only six years younger than herself, Sarah felt immeasurably older than the new VAD. It was hard to imagine that she had been much the same age at the outbreak of the war. So much had happened to her during the intervening years that she felt poles apart from the girl. Sarah brushed her hair, and nervously checked her makeup. Sir Michael and Lady Kemshall had invited her down to the lodge for a drink when they returned from church. She desperately wanted to make a good impression. She had spoken to them briefly on two or three occasions since they had heard about Tony. Captain Dawson had told them how much Sarah had meant to their son, but this would be the first time she met them on a formal occasion. She took the golden heron from its box and pinned it to her blouse. Satisfied with her appearance, she made her way down the sweeping staircase and out into the cold crisp air of the morning of Christmas Day, 1944.

  Sarah walked down the drive, and soon found hersel
f knocking tentatively at the door, which was opened by Louise. She smiled at the young Englishwoman, instantly putting her at ease.

  “Merry Christmas, my dear! Please come in.”

  Sarah mumbled her thanks and entered the lodge. It was warm and comfortable, though it must have seemed crowded to the Kemshalls who were used to life up at the big house. Sarah thought it all rather grand. She was a little overawed by her surroundings as Louise took her coat and led her into the drawing room. Tony’s father and grandmother were waiting to greet her.

  Madame de Thierry smiled from her seat beside the fire.

  “Happy Christmas, child.”

  Sarah smiled. “Happy Christmas. I am so glad to meet you at last. Tony has told me so much about you.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Sarah turned to face Sir Michael. He was standing straight and tall, with a serious expression, yet Sarah felt that this was a mask which hid his true feelings. She found it hard to reconcile him with the image Tony had given of an unforgiving and domineering man. Perhaps he had changed over the last few months.

  “Happy Christmas, Sir Michael.”

  “Please sit down.” He indicated a chair, and made his way over to the drinks tray. “Would you like a sherry?”

  Sarah sat down. “Thank you. Yes.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Sir Michael poured the drink and handed it to Sarah. Then Louise spoke.

  “Dr Millard said you would not be going home for Christmas. We felt sure that if Tony were here he would have invited you. We do so want to do what he would have liked.”

  “I wonder where he will be spending Christmas.”

  Sir Michael turned to his guest, not quite able to hide the hope which flashed across his features.

  “Then you believe he is alive?”

  Sarah nodded. “I have to, Sir Michael. There were so many misunderstandings between us, I have to believe I will get the chance to put things right.”

  Sir Michael nodded, acknowledging her honesty.

  “I know what you mean. I pray daily that he's alive, and will come back to us. I just regret that we wasted so much time during this war. We didn’t even spend his last Christmas in England together.”

  “Tony was thinking of you last Christmas. He told me he wished he could come home and share it with you.”

  “You saw him last Christmas?”

  Sarah looked at Louise. Should she tell her the truth, or should she lie to save hurting them? But too many lies had already been told. She nodded.

  “Yes. I bumped into him in Coventry a few days before Christmas, while I was on leave. He shared an early Christmas dinner with Mum and me. He said he wished he could come home to see you and his grandmother. But there were too many … problems.” She cast a tentative glance at Sir Michael. His eyes were filled with pain and sadness.

  “You don’t need to be so tactful. He said he couldn’t come home because of me, didn’t he?”

  Sarah sat motionless for a moment, then nodded.

  “I was such a fool!” Sir Michael crossed the room and poured himself another drink. “I drove my own son from his home at Christmas time.”

  “Please don’t blame yourself.” Sarah’s voice was pleading. “He missed you. I think he understood what you were feeling. He wasn’t bitter and angry, so you mustn’t let the past spoil your future.” She touched the golden heron on her blouse. “I gave this to Tony last Christmas. He said it reminded him of home, and of the people he loved here. He left it with Captain Dawson when he went to France. I’m looking after it for him. You must always remember that he thought fondly of you, and talked about you often. I’m sure he’s looking forward to coming home to you at the end of this war.”

  Sir Michael smiled at his young guest.

  “I can see why Tony is so fond of you. You have a wise head on your young shoulders. I’m sure Tony would want us to be happy today. Let’s forget the past and think only of the future. I don’t care what Captain Dawson says, I’m sure Tony will be home soon. So let’s drink a toast.” He raised his glass high. “To Tony, wherever he is. May God grant him a happy Christmas, and keep him safe until he returns home to us.”

  Four glasses were raised by four people whose love reached out across the sea to the young man who would forever be in their thoughts and in their hearts.

  “To Tony.”

  176

  Tony knew only that it was winter. It was a long time since he had known what month, let alone what day, it was. He lived from day to day, hour to hour, in the hope that winter would soon be past and spring would bring forgotten warmth to the air. The only part of Buchenwald which showed any sign that this was the festive season was the SS compound. For the rest of the camp, life continued in the usual winter routine, collecting food and trying to keep warm while their bodies slowly diminished in strength and energy. The only break in the routine for Tony and Henri came on 26th December.

  Morning roll call was over and the prisoners stood in the cold waiting to be dismissed so that they could seek the comparative warmth of the hut. But today was different. The SS guard in charge cast a derisive look over the prisoners.

  “You are filthy dirty, and you smell!” The prisoners said nothing. They were fully aware of their condition, but it was not of their own choosing. “It is six months now since most of you arrived, and it is time for you to be cleaned up.”

  Tony frowned. Six months? Had it really only been that long? He felt as though his whole life had been spent within the electrified fences. The guard was still talking. As Tony focussed on his words, his body became rigid with fear.

  “You are to proceed to the shower blocks, where you will be disinfected and shaved. Move out.”

  As the column of prisoners shuffled across the compound towards the shower block, Tony looked across at Henri, whose pale haunted features echoed his own fears. Was this the end? Did the Germans intend to gas them, and burn their bodies so that they did not have to feed them during the winter months? He wished now that he had never spoken to the young man who had escaped from the death compound. Then he would be able to approach the showers oblivious to the terror-filled death, which might await him there.

  The column of prisoners shuffled along. As they halted at the shower block near the quarantine huts, Tony’s fear diminished slightly. Surely they would not use gas in the main compound? Most of the prisoners did not know what went on in the areas of the camp dedicated to death. To kill some of their members openly like this would be foolish, unless they intended to eradicate the whole camp. But Tony would not, could not believe that of them. There were too many prisoners. Surely they would not gas them all?

  The men made their way into the shower block. The Kapos were lined up, with their sticks ready to beat anyone who did not comply with their orders.

  “Strip off, and leave your clothes in the centre of the room.”

  Most of the prisoners were only too ready to comply, glad to be rid of their vermin infested clothes and with the prospect of a shower ahead. Henri, Tony and some of the others who had heard rumours of the gas chambers were more reluctant. There was nothing they could do to prevent or avoid what lay ahead. Fearfully, they stripped off their clothes. Tony carefully laid aside his shirt and trousers, the woollen gloves and scarf and the extra blanket which he wrapped around his upper body to keep him warm and make sure it was not stolen from his bunk. He put his acquired leather shoes and warm woollen socks on top of the pile, convinced that he would never see them again.

  “Take your bowls with you.”

  Tony looked around at the naked men who surrounded him. Their skin hung loosely over bones protruding sickeningly from bodies which looked as though they belonged to dead men. The skin was grey, the cheeks hollow and eyes sunken in blackened pits. Most of the eyes held no expression, as though their owners had given up all hope. As he studied them, Tony realised that he must look the same. He wondered if his family would recognise him.

  “Get moving!”
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  A stick came down heavily across his shoulders, and Tony fell to his knees beneath the blow. A foot caught him in the ribs.

  “Get up! Take your bowl and follow the others!”

  Tony picked up his bowl and dragged himself to his feet. As he held the precious object close to his chest, he wondered if it were a good omen. You needed your bowl to collect your food and water rations. If they were to take them with them, surely that meant that there would be life beyond the showers? Tony limped after his fellow prisoners into a room with shower heads set in the walls. The door closed with an ominous thud behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to meet Henri’s worried gaze.

  “Do you think this is the end, Tony?”

  The Englishman shrugged. “I don’t know, Henri.” His serious eyes held the Frenchman’s. “I want to thank you for keeping me alive on the train from Saint Nazaire. I would not have survived without you.”

  Henri shook his head. “No thanks are necessary, my friend. I would have died many times over in this place, if it had not been for you. The debt was more than repaid.” He held out his hand. “If this is to be goodbye, then I want you to know that I’m proud to have been your friend.”

  Tony reached out and clasped the hand in his own. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Suddenly the two men were caught by a deluge of barely warm water which flowed across their bodies, leaving them gasping for breath. They stared at each other in disbelief, then suddenly they were laughing and crying at the same time, arms around each other. It was a shower after all. Their relief was overwhelming, leaving them feeling light-headed and full of an up-surging joy. Life would continue, and where there was life there was hope. They lifted their heads to feel the water falling on their faces, and rubbed their filthy bodies to try to dislodge the accumulated dirt of six months. Almost before it had started the flow of water ceased, amidst cries of frustration from the men. Most of them were barely wet, let alone clean. But Tony and Henri did not complain. They were just glad to be alive.