The Secret Letter

by Debbie Rix

  Magda stumbled back down the lane towards the village school. The mob had dispersed, and the mayor’s house was firmly closed up for the night. Even the torches in the barn had been extinguished, leaving just the five nooses swinging from an overhead beam. Relieved they had not yet been used, Magda hoped the two remaining airmen might have survived. They had run off in the direction of the square. Might she find them huddled in a quiet corner somewhere? She set off, peering down the tiny lanes on either side of the road. Within minutes she spotted the body of a man wearing RAF uniform. He had been beaten so viciously around the head that he was unrecognisable. She sank to her knees, feeling in vain for a pulse. ‘I’m so sorry… I’m sorry,’ she wept.

  It seemed so terrible to leave his body lying there in darkness, but without help, she could do nothing else? As she walked briskly through the now-deserted village there was no sign of the fifth man. She prayed that somehow he had escaped – to the woods, perhaps, that surrounded the village.

  She could hear the baby crying as she walked up the track to the farm.

  ‘Magda, where on earth have you been? ’ Käthe shouted, jiggling Michaela frantically in her arms. ‘I’ve been so worried – and the baby is starving.’

  She handed the baby to Magda, who sat down at the kitchen table, unbuttoning her blouse. As the baby pawed frantically at her breast, gulping and gasping, the milk flowing out of her tiny mouth, Magda burst into tears.

  ‘Liebling, what is the matter?’ Käthe asked, kneeling beside her. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Oh Mutti. Something terrible has happened in the village.’

  ‘What? Is it the bombing?’

  ‘Partly – yes. The village was hit and poor Mr Wolfahrt and his wife and her mother are dead.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Käthe. ‘He was such a nice man.’

  ‘I know,’ said Magda, ‘And I’m sorry. But more terrible even than that… there were some British airmen – they’ve been murdered.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Their plane was shot down nearby, and they were taken captive. The mayor had them locked up in the cellar of the school – he was waiting for the Gestapo to come and take them away. But a group of Hitler Youth boys broke into the cellar and were threatening to lynch them – they had the nooses all ready in the village barn. Three of the Englishmen broke free and ran towards the churchyard, but they were shot. Another ran towards the village, but they chased him and beat him to death.’ Magda sobbed as her baby suckled.

  ‘You saw this? Why didn’t you come home straight away?’ Käthe demanded.

  ‘I wanted to help them.’

  ‘It’s always the same with you. Putting yourself in danger for others. What have they done for you, these men?’

  ‘They risk their lives for us,’ she said, drying her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Now they’ve lost their lives, in the worst way possible.’

  ‘Well… I have some sympathy with the villagers,’ said Käthe. ‘They come over here, bombing our towns – even our own barn. It’s terrible. Nice people like Mr Wolfahrt get killed. Why shouldn’t these Englishmen suffer too?’

  ‘Don’t you realise,’ Magda said calmly, ‘we are bombing their towns and villagers too? The British suffer as well, you know. Don’t you ever listen to Papa’s radio?’

  ‘It could all be propaganda,’ said Käthe.

  ‘Oh Mutti – don’t be so blind! Remember what Karl told us – about how he was treated in England, looked after on a farm, given work to do.’

  ‘Well he was on their side,’ Käthe protested.

  ‘They didn’t know that at first,’ said Magda. ‘Besides, it can never be right to take the law into your own hands – lynching people. Do you think the British would do that? I don’t think so. It’s completely immoral.’

  She swapped the baby over to her other breast. The child settled happily – pawing and sucking.

  ‘I don’t think we have any right to preach about morality, Mutti.’ Magda continued. ‘It is we who have murdered thousands of innocent people; we who have been complicit and allowed terrible sins to be done in our name. Do you have no shame – for our country and what we have done? If not, then I’m ashamed of you.’

  Magda stood up, the baby still suckling, and went upstairs, slamming her bedroom door.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Färsehof Farm

  April 1945

  Magda woke with the early morning sun streaming onto her face. She checked the baby was sleeping in her cot, then pulled on her trousers and a jumper and, grabbing her apron from behind the farmhouse door, went outside into the yard.

  The weather over the previous few days had been warm and dry, and she and Pieter had just turned the herd out into the fields. As she walked down the track to collect the cows, she picked a few primroses growing in the hedgerows and stuck them in her apron pocket. Since the murder of the four British airmen, she had been haunted by memories of their eyes staring into space, of their contorted features and bleeding bodies. Now as she listened to the birds singing, and felt the sun warming her back, it seemed incredible to imagine such horror taking place just a mile or so away. It could have been Michael left for dead in the churchyard.

  Back in the milking parlour, the cows lined up patiently, gazing at her with their orb-like dark eyes, eyelashes fluttering coquettishly. Settling herself on her stool to milk the first cow, she thought she heard a curious rustling sound. She peered around the barn but could see nothing unusual. Perhaps it was a crow, she thought, flapping around in the rafters. As she squeezed the cow’s udders, feeling them full and soft beneath her fingers, milk squirting into the pail, she thought she saw a sudden movement – a flash of something in the dark corner of the barn behind a pile of hay.

  Calmly and quietly, she moved her stool and her bucket along the line of cows, chatting to them as she did so.

  ‘There. That’s better isn’t it?’ she said, whilst keeping one eye on the dark corner.

  As she moved her stool and bucket one further time, she saw it again – a flash of dark grey.

  ‘Come out,’ she said. ‘I won’t hurt you, but you must show yourself.’

  A young man in RAF uniform emerged from the pile of hay. He smiled nervously.

  ‘Guten tag, Fräulein… ich bin ein Englischer flieger…’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Magda said, ‘I speak English. You’re in the RAF.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.’

  The young man looked at her with surprise, and sat back down heavily on the pile of hay, clearly exhausted.

  ‘Let me finish the milking,’ she said, ‘and then I’ll take you inside and give you something to eat.’

  With the herd back in the field, she led the young man towards the house.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, opening the door and kicking off her boots. Her mother was standing at the range, the baby lying wriggling in a cot next to her, her tiny arms and legs raised towards the light. Pieter was eating his breakfast at the table. He stood up, aggressively, as soon as he saw the young man.

  ‘It’s all right, Papa,’ said Magda, ‘he’s a British airman. I found him in the barn. He needs something to eat.’

  The young man looked around at the cosy kitchen and the baby in the basket. It seemed so utterly domestic and normal.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice filled with relief. ‘I’m so grateful.’

  He sank down on a kitchen chair and Magda put a plate of bread and butter in front of him. She watched him eat, while she sipped her coffee.

  ‘You were very hungry,’ she said, when he had finished. ‘More?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Mutti – give him more.’

  ‘No,’ said the young man. ‘No, I shouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s all right. We have enough.’ She pushed the bread towards him and he ate.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked pouring him a cup of coffee.

  ‘Freddie McMasters. Yours?’
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br />   ‘I’m Magda – Magda Maier. You look exhausted,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. I am rather.’ He ate his food and looked around nervously at the family, smiling occasionally.

  Magda sat down opposite him and poured them both another cup of coffee.

  ‘It’s all right. We won’t hurt you. We’re…’ she looked back at her parents, ‘… we’re sympathetic. Please… tell us your story – we want to help.’

  He began nervously, ‘Well… if you’re sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’ve been marching for a couple of weeks – me and thousand or so British airmen, soldiers… I reckon we’ve walked about two hundred kilometres. I was shot down over Stuttgart a few of weeks ago. I got everyone out of the plane and jumped myself. The plane blew up seconds later – I only just made it. I landed in a tree; my parachute got stuck.’ He smiled, laughing slightly at the memory. ‘It was the most ridiculous thing. I didn’t know what to do. It had been snowing heavily, so I reasoned if I just released the chute, I’d probably be OK. So that’s what I did – landed in several feet of snow.’

  ‘You were lucky,’ Magda said.

  ‘I suppose we were. About half of my crew were rounded up by soldiers. I’m not sure what happened to the others. I hope they got away all right. We were put in prison originally. It was quite rough, but eventually we were taken to a POW camp in Ludwigsburg.’

  ‘That’s a long way from here,’ said Magda. ‘How did you end up in our barn?’

  ‘Ah… well the Allies have taken all the territory west of the Rhine, so the Germans decided to move us south east – hence the long march – and we ended up near here. A few of us, including my crew, got a bit fed up and did a bunk, but we got separated somehow a day or two ago. I expect I’ll find them all somewhere around the place.’

  ‘You make it sound very easy,’ Magda said. ‘You could just leave like that? Weren’t you being guarded?’

  ‘Oh yes, well the guards are not very bright. I’m sorry,’ he said suddenly, looking around anxiously at Magda’s family, ‘I don’t mean to be rude.’

  Käthe was busying herself at the sink, but Pieter had sat down in the large armchair near the range and was listening intently to the young man

  ‘It’s all right,’ Magda said. ‘No one will take offence. My mother and father – they only speak a little English anyway. And – you should know my brother is fighting for the Allies, and I was part of the German resistance – so we’re not big fans of German soldiers, either.’

  ‘My goodness,’ said Freddie. ‘I had no idea there was a German resistance movement. Your brother – is he in England?’

  ‘He was, but he’s been back in Germany for a few months now. He works for American intelligence, sending information back about troop movements and so on. He lived with us for a while, but he had to leave us at Christmas and go on the run. I wish he was here with us now. He would be able to help you.’

  ‘I expect he’s got better things to do,’ said Freddie. ‘I’ll be OK. I just need to rest up for a few hours, get my strength back, you know? The Allies are very close now. It won’t be long until the whole show’s over.’

  Magda persuaded her parents to let him stay the night and she made up the bunk bed in the attic where Karl and Michael had both slept. Freddie collapsed on the bed fully clothed, and slept for over twenty-four hours. When he woke, it was late morning. Peering out of the tiny attic window he watched Magda chatting to her baby in the yard below. Downstairs, Käthe was in the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said politely.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said, gesturing to him to sit down. She put a plate of eggs on the table, and he fell on them, even wiping the plate with the piece of bread she had provided.

  ‘Vielen dank,’ he said, ‘Thank you so much.’

  She smiled faintly and nodded.

  Outside in the yard he found Magda sitting on a log, nursing her child.

  ‘Come,’ she said, ‘sit next to me.’

  ‘Thank you. Your mother just gave me some eggs for breakfast. They were the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m so grateful.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure.’

  ‘It’s a lovely place,’ he said, looking around. ‘You’re farmers?’

  ‘Yes… we have a dairy herd, and grow some cereals. Chickens and vegetables too, but mainly for own use. Tell me a little about yourself.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell, really. I’m an officer with the RAF.’

  ‘No, I mean when you’re not fighting a war – tell me about that.’

  Freddie blushed slightly. ‘We’re trained to say nothing but our name, rank and serial number.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But I’m not the enemy, I’m a friend.’

  He smiled and watched her feeding her baby. ‘I’m training to be an architect, or at least I was before I joined up.’

  ‘Are you married? Do you have children?’

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘I’d like to get married though, one day.’

  ‘You don’t have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I do love a girl – except she doesn’t know it yet. We’ve known each other all our lives. What about you?’

  ‘I’m nearly nineteen years old. I would like to go to university one day too. And my daughter is the child of a British airman, just like you. ‘

  ‘An Englishman?’ he said, startled.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He didn’t…’ He blushed uncertain how to say what he was thinking. ‘It wasn’t – something he shouldn’t have done?’

  ‘No! Not at all. He didn’t take me against my will – if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Freddie blushed.

  ‘He crashed his plane on our farm last year,’ she explained, ‘and I brought him home. He had a broken leg and arm, you see, and needed somewhere to get better. His name was Michael – Michael Stewart, and we fell in love.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He left me with this little person.’ She gazed lovingly at her daughter and tickled Michaela’s tummy.

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ said Freddie, putting his finger into Michaela’s tiny hand. The baby gripped it tightly. ‘Michael Stewart,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘I’m trying to work out if I know him. I don’t think I do, I’m afraid. What was he flying?’

  ‘A Lancaster bomber – that’s what my father said. There were several people in his crew. They were all dead, unfortunately. Only he survived.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Freddie. ‘What happened to him – if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘He stayed with us for a few weeks while his leg healed. But I knew he was desperate to get back to England. He was getting stronger each day, although he still had bad limp, and then one afternoon we were outside in the garden, and a German officer – someone I knew from childhood – came to the house. Michael had to escape in a hurry. I have no idea if he got home safely. I pray he did.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Freddie said.

  ‘So, tell me…’ she jiggled the baby on her lap. ‘What’s happening out there? You said when you arrived you thought the war was nearly over. How do you know? We see so little here on the farm. All I know is that our village was badly bombed the other day and…’ She trailed off, wondering if she should tell him about the murdered airmen. But her courage failed her – she felt so ashamed of the villagers.

  ‘Well the Americans are pushing in. I can’t see the Germans holding out much longer. The roads are filled with lines of people; the Germans are pushing prisoners farther east, but it’s madness. There’s nowhere to go. The guards have lost all control. They were as hungry as we were. We had no food on the march, just what we could all scrounge. We’ve eaten some terrible stuff. One night we were put in a barn. The guards of course had to stay outside to make sure we didn’t escape.’ Freddie began to smile at the memory. ‘During the night we had the most spectacular thunderstorm. And there we were snug inside and there they were outside in the po
uring rain.’ He laughed. ‘We ate raw turnips that night – not something I’d recommend. I had the most terrible gut ache – I thought I was going to die.’

  ‘Well you can stay here as long as you like,’ said Magda. ‘If things are as bad as you say, there’s no point in leaving, not yet anyway. Get your strength back. My father has a radio, we could listen to the BBC and find out what’s happening.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I really ought to go and look for my friends. And whilst I don’t have a plane any more, I am still in the forces. I need to fight.’

  ‘I understand – but give yourself twenty-four hours at least. OK?’

  Reluctantly, Freddie agreed, but the following day over breakfast, he told them he would be leaving.

  ‘You’ve been very kind, but I must go and see if I can find my crew. Then I intend to go into the village and see if I can take it for the Allies.’

  ‘What?’ asked Magda, aghast. ‘I don’t think you should go to the village.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the mayor,’ Freddie continued, ‘persuade him to fly the white flag. It’s the only sensible thing to do.’

  Käthe looked anxiously at Magda.

  ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Magda said.

  ‘Why not?’ Freddie glanced between Magda and her mother. ‘Is there something wrong? Something you haven’t told me?’

  Magda bit her lip.

  ‘Tell him,’ said Käthe.

  ‘A couple of weeks ago,’ Magda began. ‘Before you came, some other British airmen were murdered in the village. I hope they weren’t friends of yours.’

  Freddie blanched visibly.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said calmly.