‘Yes, of course, but what’s the panic? A few businesses smashed up…’
‘Good God, it was more than that! Why do you think so many Jewish families abandoned their livelihoods here? They are being treated like shit, Jack, you really have no idea!’ Kurt paused as Clark wrestled with his conscience. He and Hunter had a car. It should not be too difficult, simply driving across the border into the Netherlands. What had he got to fear? They could pretend Magda was his girlfriend… Yes, that was it.
‘All right, I’ll do it.’
‘Thank God.’ Relief was plain on Kurt’s face. ‘Tell me where you will pick her up.’
‘At the tram stop.’
‘You’ll come out to Altona?’ Kurt’s delight was manifest. ‘You are a true friend, Jack. God bless you!’ Kurt paused a moment, tears filled his eyes and then, clapping Clark on the shoulders, he said, ‘I must go.’
A moment later Clark was walking back to the ship. The sun rode high in the blue sky but the glory had gone out of the day. It was then that he realised that to drive out to Altona took him in the wrong direction, away from the Elbe tunnel and the Reichsbahn to Bremen and the Dutch border beyond.
‘Bollocks!’ he swore in English.
Magda
August–September 1939
If Clark anticipated any difficulties with Gerry Hunter, he was surprised by the ease with which the second engineer accepted the course events had taken. It was clear, when he reached the steering flat, that he had been sent on a fool’s errand, but he was intelligent enough to realise at the same moment that Clark had had his motive. Having heard what Sanders had told Clark, the Irishman sat in silence for a moment or two staring at his colleague, then he shook his head.
‘Bugger me,’ he swore quietly, ‘we’ve done all this work for nothing, Jack; all this coming and going and now we’ve got to go home and leave the ship.’ Incredibly, Hunter’s eyes were bright with tears. Then he banged his fist down so heavily on the chart table that he made the half-unwrapped chronometer jump so that Clark, distracted for a moment, feared for the safety of its delicate mechanism. ‘Fuck it, Jack, I need a drink. Then I’ll pack and I’ll be ready for you. You say we’ve got a car?’
Clark hesitated a moment. ‘Yes. And we have to pretend that nothing is wrong until we leave the yard this evening.’
‘That’s going to be fucking difficult.’
‘And there’s something else.’
‘It never rains but it pours. What?’
‘We’re taking someone else with us.’
‘Who?’
‘A Jewish girl.’
‘A Jew? Oh, God Almighty, Jack, what are you, some kind of fucking hero? Have you been dolling a girlwhile I thought you were off taking tea with your Auntie?’
‘She’s a distant relative, Gerry, and we’re going to get her out of Germany.’
‘So that’s where you went,’ Hunter said, relieving Clark of explaining the awkward gap of half an hour, ‘to telephone.’
‘Yes,’ Clark lied.
‘Well that’s settled then. And how do you propose I spend the next few hours play-acting?’
‘As best you can. Go and give that bastard Kessler a difficult afternoon. Be ready to go at ten o’clock tonight.’
‘Ten? Why are we waiting that long?’
‘Because it won’t be safe to move the girl before then.’
‘This is crazy, Jack.’
‘We’re going home on leave. God knows we’ve earned it.’
‘Who goes home on leave at eleven o’clock at night?’
‘A couple of British sailors after a last spree in St Pauli. Now let’s get back to normal. Oh, and by the way Gerry – and you must forgive me for saying so – but I’d rather you had a decent meal before you go, rather than a lot to drink. You can act the drunk.’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll just have a stein. I’m in no mood for the German stuff now, anyway.’
* * *
The Volkswagen was not there when the two men sat down to dinner in the hotel; but it was when they looked afterwards. Regarding the beetle-shaped vehicle they exchanged glances and Hunter said in a low voice, ‘There’s fuck all room in that thing.’
‘Just an overnight bag, then, Gerry.’
‘Let’s hope the woman coming along understands the concept of travelling light,’ Hunter murmured disagreeably. With a wan smile Clark recalled Gerry was married.
They both retired to their rooms to complete their packing and put their feet up. They had left their working clothes in the little office, where, in, one final act, Clark had again attempted to get through to Liverpool. Once again the girl on the switchboard had been apologetic. Clark had affected disappointment and announced he would postpone the call until the following day. Now packing, Clark stared at the chronometer which he had brought back to the hotel with him, ostensibly to start on a radio time signal from Berlin. Taking it home was a foolish thing to do, he thought now, and he considered leaving it behind in the hotel room, along with the full sea kit both he and Hunter had arrived in Hamburg with.
At ten o’clock they quietly left the hotel and got into the Volkswagen.
‘It never occurred to me to ask if you can drive,’ Hunter said as he waited for Clark to start the ugly little car.
‘Oh yes, I think I can manage this,’ Clark said as the air-cooled engine fired and he switched the lights on.
‘I can too, if and when you want a relief,’ Hunter offered. ‘And I’ve got three small bottles of beer so that we can appear drunk at the border.’
‘Thoughtful of you,’ said Clark grimly as he let in the clutch and they began to move over the cobbles. ‘I was only intending to convey the impression of mild merriment, not get us arrested for inebriation.’
‘Tell me Jack, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, but why, with a father on the board, did you have to go to sea?’
‘Because my father wasn’t always on the board and he thinks a man should have a trade.’
‘Well, I hope you haven’t lost it,’ Hunter said, adding a mild blasphemy as Clark coped uncertainly with a corner and recalled which side of the road to drive on. He then fell silent as they headed west, catching intermittent glimpses of the river shining darkly on their left. The traffic was light, though they regularly passed trams, reminding them of their rendezvous.
They reached the tram stop nearest to Altona. There was no sign of a soul and Hunter swore. Clark felt a coldness about his heart and considered for a moment driving directly to the Petersen house, but reflected that Kurt was unlikely to have taken Magda there prior to spiriting her out of Germany. Nor did he have the slightest idea where Magda lived. For ten long minutes they sat in the car consumed by anxiety. Clark had switched the engine off and was telling himself that they were doing nothing in any way illegal, indeed he was about to comment on the fact to Hunter when the Irishman, staring over his shoulder, suddenly nudged him.
‘Is this them?’
Clark craned round in his seat and instantly recognised Kurt bareheaded in the fitful street lighting, his blond hair slicked down upon his head. The woman’s face was invisible, cast down under a broad-brimmed hat, but it was clear her advance was reluctant and Kurt was hastening her along.
Hunter had noticed the same thing. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest,’ he quipped.
‘Sit still,’ said Clark, realising that Hunter might recognise Kurt as his interlocutor of the morning. He felt suddenly protective of his cousin. He got out of the car and walked towards the approaching couple.
‘Good evening Fraulein Liepmann. Perhaps you remember me,’ he said in a low voice, raising his trilby hat and breaking into the hissed remonstration between the two lovers.
‘Please, please, please just go and trust me,’ he heard Kurt saying, bending over the girl as he came up to Clark.
‘Jack,’ he said, looking up. ‘Thank God.’ Then he slipped into English, explaining in a low voice that Magda had opposed his idea of her
escaping to England alone. ‘She wanted you to take her whole family, but I said that that was impossible. Only her mother and her father’s pleas persuaded her to come, but she is not at all happy.’
‘I understand,’ Clark said. Then reverting to German he said kindly, ‘Magda, we must go. I am sorry, but we have many kilometres to drive tonight.’ He held out his hand to Kurt for her bags. ‘Don’t come any closer, Kurt, I don’t want you recognised by my colleague.’
‘No, of course not. Thanks.’
Clark turned to the sobbing woman. ‘Say goodbye to Kurt, Magda.’ He turned and, opening the bonnet, squashed one of the bags in beside his own and Hunter’s, then placed the other on the back seat of the car, standing aside for her to get in behind the driver’s seat.
‘I’ll get in the back,’ volunteered Hunter.
‘Stay where you are for a bit, Gerry.’ Clark bent down to prevent Hunter getting out of the car. ‘We can change later. Let’s be on our way.’
‘Come, Magda,’ Clark pressed.
The two lovers were clasped in each other’s arms and the lights of a passing car caught them for a moment as it drove by. Further down the road a tram rumbled towards them. Suddenly Magda broke away and came towards Clark as he stood beside the car. Kurt watched her go, a forlorn creature, wracked by his own misery – an image that long remained in Clark’s memory.
Madga pushed past him and climbed into the car. Clark raised his hand to Kurt, let down the driver’s seat and got in beside Hunter. A moment later they were heading east for the Elbe tunnel.
* * *
They drove in silence until, beyond the tunnel, they turned west along the Reichsbahn to Bremen. In due course they were in open country, where the moonlight bathed the landscape in a pallid, almost surreal light. Occasionally a sob came from the back seat, but soon that was replaced by quiet until Magda coughed. Whether or not she had been asleep, neither man could tell, but Hunter broke the silence, turning in his seat and holding out his hand in an oddly distorted but formal gesture.
‘I’m Gerald Hunter, Fraulein,’ he introduced himself. ‘I don’t know if you speak English, miss, but may I say I’m glad of your company, though sorry you’ve had to leave home like this.’
‘Thank you,’ she said in English. ‘That is kind of you. I am sorry for not being, er…’ she faltered and spoke a word in German.
‘Grateful,’ Clark translated.
‘I remember you,’ she said in German. ‘You are John and were once a thin little boy. I remember looking for you when we played hide-and-seek in Kurt’s house, but that was a long time ago.’
It occurred to Clark that this benighted creature had had even less time to prepare for her unexpected departure than he and Hunter. Moreover, while he and the Irishman were going home, Magda had not the faintest notion of where she was going, nor with whom she would spend her future. He thought of his own family home on the Wirral peninsula. It was not huge, but a spacious family house which no longer contained a family. His father had lived there alone except for the married couple who provided him with a gardener-cum-driver and a housekeeper, his only companions since the death of Jack’s mother in 1933. Would he be glad of company? Clark could not tell, but he knew his father would not turn the destitute Magda away.
‘My mother died six years ago, but my father will make you welcome, Magda,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Kurt said you were kind…’
‘Don’t be silly, you are part of our family.’
‘Kurt says he thinks there is going to be a war.’
‘Yes. So do we. That is why we are going home.’
‘That is dreadful.’
‘Yes.’
Silence fell upon them again. It was past one when they drove into Bremen and picked up the signs for Delmenhorst and Oldenburg. A little light late-night traffic masked them as they continued west. Clark’s heart slowed as they pulled out of the second great German port, and he began to feel tired. He began to yawn compulsively and then he dozed off momentarily. The sensation of reawakening shook him. For a while he drove on but at half-past two, with Hunter snoring in the seat next to him and with no response at his enquiry after Magda’s wellbeing, Clark eased the little car off the main road and pulled into the side under some trees. Neither of his passengers protested or stirred as he switched off the engine. After he had relieved himself he tried to ease himself more comfortably into his seat. It was a warm night and he was sticky with perspiration, but he soon fell into a fitful and uneasy doze.
Hunter woke him. It was already light, though his watch showed it was still very early.
‘Here, I’ll drive.’
‘No. It’s better if I do, as I speak German.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Where… Oh, God…!’ Magda stirred in the back and both men turned round. The sight of her hit the jaded Clark like a blow, and even Hunter murmured in appreciation. She had removed her hat and even in the dishevelment of the moment she was strikingly beautiful. Her fine-drawn features were sculpted in the morning light, her dark eyes seemed to the overwrought Clark to be limitless in their depth, while her hair tumbled enchantingly down over one eye and fell about the shoulders of her navy blue jacket.
‘I am not surprised Kurt wants you taken care of,’ Clark said awkwardly as he recovered himself. ‘You have changed, Magda!’
Observing his surprise, she could not resist a smile. Strong white teeth showed between the parting of her wide lips.
‘God, she’s a dazzler to be sure,’ Hunter said in a low voice. Then he added, ‘Aren’t we supposed to be over the border by dawn?’
‘Yes,’ Clark responded, turning his back on Magda and starting the engine.
* * *
They passed through Oldenburg observed by a milkman and three labourers, heading for Leer – touching the outskirts of Emden at Hesel, where the road looped northwards. They were all feeling hungry and stiff but agreed not to stop and eat until they had crossed the border. By the time they had left Weener they had agreed that they should tell nothing but the truth, that Hunter and Clark were British merchant-marine officers going home for a spot of leave and that Magda was a distant cousin of Clark, who had met up with them in Hamburg and was going for a short holiday in England.
They crossed the border at Nieuwe-Schans. The German guards stopped them and they all got out, producing their passports.
‘How did you get this car?’ Clark was asked in halting English. ‘Oh, I speak German, Corporal. As for the car, I was lent it by a friend at the Howaldswerke shipyard. We, Mr Hunter and I, are standing-by a ship being built there and we are going home for some leave. Miss Liepmann is a distant relative of mine, my mother was German, you see…’ he smiled as he saw the border guard’s attention transfer to Magda as her passport was being examined by his junior colleague. ‘She is coming to England for a holiday.’
The corporal nodded in Magda’s direction and then stared at Clark. ‘If she’s as Jewish as I think she is,’ he said, ‘you had better get her out of the Reich as soon as possible, Herr Clark. She is breaking the law without her armband.’
He called across to his younger colleague. ‘Let them through, Helmut.’
‘I think this one’s a Jew.’
‘What? With legs and tits like that?’ the corporal called. ‘No, she’s pure, a relative of this nice Englishman here, who has a German mother.’
The corporal followed them back to the car and bent down to peer in past Clark. ‘Take a long holiday, Fraulein, as long as you can bear.’
As the barrier lifted Clark let the clutch in with a nervous jerk. The Volkswagen lurched and the border guards laughed. A moment later they were in the Netherlands and heading for Groningen.
‘Well, that went all right,’ said Hunter, while in the back Magda sobbed with humiliation.
* * *
They reached the Hook of Holland in time to board the night ferry to Harwich. Despite dozing on the train, they were exhausted after
their disturbed night. Clark secured first-class cabins after seeing the purser and, having wished Hunter a good night outside his cabin door, he carried Magda’s bags along the alleyway to her accommodation.
‘Come in,’ she said with a sudden intensity as he made to withdraw. ‘Wait.’
In the tiny single-berth cabin the proximity of the beautiful young woman had an unbalancing effect upon Clark. He had not slept with a woman for a long time and this sudden propinquity filled him with an overwhelming concupiscence. Magda was bent over her bag, in which she was rummaging for something, and Clark was on the point of touching her when she straightened up and swung round to face him. She was holding up a brown-paper envelope.
‘Kurt made me promise not to give you this before we were safely in England, but I cannot think of a better time than now.’
‘What is it?’
‘Something he said was of great importance to our families. I think he meant something else, but I don’t care much. D’you have a cigarette? Or a drink? I need a drink.’
Clark produced a cigarette, recalling the three bottles of beer Hunter had put in the car. They had forgotten all about pretending to be drunken seamen, and the three bottles were either in Hunter’s possession or still in the car parked near Groningen station, many miles away.
‘I don’t have a drink,’ he said, lighting the cigarette for her, ‘though we could get one from the ship’s bar.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to be sociable.’
‘No, I can understand that.’
‘No you can’t John. You’re a decent man, but you can’t understand what I feel at all; no Englishman could, and don’t be silly and say you’re half-German. That’s going to cause you enough trouble without claiming it to get on the right side of me.’ She must have seen the impact her words had upon him, because she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
‘What the hell are you and Kurt going to do?’ he asked, with a reciprocally brutal frankness.
Dead Man Talking Page 5
