by Deborah Carr
By the sound of their footsteps on the wooden floor, they had left the room and were now in the hallway.
Estelle thought back to her grandmother saying that the captain had carried her down the ladder. It was a thin flimsy one and she found it difficult to imagine anyone being able to do such a thing. Despite the pain thudding in her head, Estelle needed to know how he had done it. She winced as she opened her eyes again and saw that he was still hovering outside her bedroom. His air of authority, that of a German officer, their occupier, had completely disappeared.
‘May I ask how you managed to carry me down the ladder without breaking both of our necks?’
He stepped back into the room and smiled. ‘It was not a problem, you are not very heavy.’
That didn’t answer her question. ‘But it still can’t have been easy to do.’
He shrugged. ‘Before I joined the military, I was a…’ he thought for a moment for the English word. ‘I worked as a fireman.’
Estelle wondered if it was the bang to her head that had confused her as he remembered the captain had briefly mentioned before that he himself grew up on a farm. ‘But I thought you were a farmer?’
‘No. My father is a farmer. I must correct myself. He was a farmer. I grew up on the farm. But the farm will…’ he hesitated. ‘Was going to be passed to my older brother. My younger brother is helping my mother with the farm now.’
Estelle noticed the change of tenses and suddenly felt a pang of pity for him. But also something else. Recognition. His presence in their home might have been forced on them but hearing him talk about his life before the war with his own family loss helped her see him as a man rather than simply the enemy. They were in similar situations. Dealing with grief and the loss of loved ones. Living in a new world unrecognisable from their lives before the war.
Her grandmother called him to follow her downstairs and Estelle couldn’t help thinking of Gerard. He was an only child and if anything happened to him his father would have no one to leave his farm to. What would happen to their family? She prayed every night that he was safe in the camp in Europe where he had now been interred for almost five months. Although she looked out for the post, there had been no word of him.
Early the next morning, Estelle woke to find that although her head still ached, it wasn’t nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. It was just after four thirty am. Christmas morning. It was dark outside and cold in her bedroom but she was very thirsty and desperately wanted a drink of water. Pulling on her dressing gown and slippers and not expecting either the captain or her grandmother to be awake yet, she crept downstairs. The house was quiet, so unlike the previous year when Rosie’s delighted shouts, calling for her, Gran, and her father to get out of bed and go see what Father Christmas had bought, woke them all. Her whole body seemed to ache with sadness at the memory. Today was just going to be a day to endure and get through.
Estelle quietly turned the door handle to the kitchen and pushed it open, looking forward to being in the warmest room in the house. She stepped in and gasped to find a man reaching down scruffling Rebel’s head. He stood up abruptly and spun round to grab her with both hands. ‘Estelle, hush. It is me, Hans.’
Estelle was mortified for him to catch her in her old dressing gown. ‘I thought I would be the only one awake. Why don’t you sit down and I can put the kettle on?’
He looked down at his hands on her arms before letting go and lowering them to his sides. ‘My apologies.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘Please sit.’
He pulled a chair out carefully for her and motioned for her to sit down. ‘I will make you a drink. Would you like a tea?’
Surprised, Estelle couldn’t think of what to say apart from, ‘Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.’
Estelle watched as he lifted the kettle from the range and shook it gently to see how much water was left in it. Then taking it over to the tap under the window, he took off the lid and partly filled the kettle, before replacing the lid and putting it on to the range for the water to boil.
He took two cups and saucers down from the rack and leant against the work top. ‘You are up very early? Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I’m not the only one,’ she pointed out. He was probably missing his family at a time like this. ‘It’s a strange time of year,’ she explained when he didn’t say anything further. ‘I’m missing my little sister Rosie and my father more than ever today. To be honest, I was probably thinking about them when I should have been concentrating on what I was doing in the loft.’
He looked confused. ‘Loft?’
‘Attic.’
‘Ah, your head.’ He raised his hand to touch the back of his own head. ‘How is it this morning? I checked on you last night, with your grandmother, of course. We wanted to be certain you were well.’
‘Thank you.’ It still surprised her how thoughtful he was. ‘It’s sore, but I’m sure it’ll be fine after a couple of days.’
‘I hope so.’
He picked up the kettle and poured a small amount of the hot water into the blue teapot her grandmother liked to use and swilled it around to heat the pot. Then pouring it out, spooned a couple of teaspoons of tea leaves in and poured on the boiled water.
‘You didn’t say why you were down here so early. Is it because it’s Christmas?’ she asked. ‘It is a difficult time when you’re separated from those you love.’
His face showed a flicker of emotion. ‘That is true. Christmas is not a time to be away from family.’
His voice sounded so gentle that if she had known him better, or maybe if he wasn’t German, she would have felt compelled to offer comfort to him for his pain. But he was. And she couldn’t lose sight of who he was and what he represented. Rebel stepped out of his bed in front of the range and stretched languidly before making his way to sit next to the captain. Even the dog liked him!
Hans poured their tea and carried their cups over to the table, placing hers in front of her and then sitting at the other. They sat in companionable silence and Estelle wished she had at least brushed her hair before coming downstairs. What a mess she must look.
Eventually, Hans finished his drink and pushed away his cup. ‘You wish to know what I have been doing down here so early?’
He was smiling, so Estelle didn’t imagine it was something untoward, or he wouldn’t be sharing it with her. ‘Yes, I do?’
‘Follow me,’ he said, standing and walking to the kitchen door.
He crossed the hall and nodded to the living-room door. ‘Please, go on.’
Was he teasing her? She wasn’t sure. He stepped back to let her pass and once she was in the room, he closed the door quietly. They were in almost complete darkness, but before she managed to say anything, Hans switched on the light.
Estelle gasped. It was magical. There was holly on the top of the pictures and all their Christmas decorations from the box in the attic had been strung across from one side of the room to the other. The mantelpiece had been decorated with their small Christmas ornaments and instead of a tree, delicate glass baubles were hanging from what looked like the small branch of a little tree in one of her grandmother’s stoneware pots.
‘You did this? For us?’ She looked behind her to smile at him questioningly.
‘It is Christmas. And I wanted to show my gratitude to you and your grandmother. I know what you must think of me but you have both been very kind.’ Estelle opened her mouth to argue, but realising he was right, closed it again.
Estelle turned to face him. She hated to think that all his hard work for this surprise might be ruined by something she said. ‘I can see you’re a decent man and I really am touched with your thoughtfulness. It’s the best present you could have given us. Thank you.’ Without thinking, she took his hands in hers and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Realising what she’d done, she dropped his hands and stepped back. Horrified. What was wrong with her? And what was she doing kissing a German, and in her nigh
tclothes, too? ‘I… I shouldn’t have done that. I only meant to say thank you.’
‘Please do not concern yourself,’ he said, his face reddening with embarrassment. ‘I am happy that you like what I’ve done.’
‘I know my grandmother will be delighted, too. Rosie and I usually put up the decorations. It’s one of our traditions, but this year, without Rosie…’
‘I understand.’ He seemed thoughtful. ‘In Germany, we open gifts on Christmas Eve.’
‘You must miss your family very much right now?’
‘I do. It helped to decorate this room for you and made me feel closer to my mother.’ He smiled. ‘I always take her to the local market for a glass of Glühwein. I am hoping that I will be able to do so again next year.’
‘I miss my family, too.’ Their eyes met and they stood in silence. Both thinking of lives that felt a million years ago and far away from the horrors they were living now.
This was not the Christmas Estelle had ever imagined while laughing and joking with her sister, grandmother and father as they took down the decorations the previous year. The captain had done a fine job decorating their home for them and she appreciated his efforts but there was one particular decoration he hadn’t included and it wouldn’t feel like Christmas to her or her gran if it wasn’t on display.
Later that morning, she quietly made her way into the living room and closed the door behind her.
She crouched down next to a box of baubles and delved into the tissue paper until her hand found what she was looking for. Estelle smiled as she held up the tatty papier-mâché star that Rosie had painted in her first term at Kindergarten soon after starting at St Ouen’s Parish School. Each year, Estelle would lift it from the tissue paper she had wrapped it in the previous year and hold the yellow ribbon threaded through the hole at the top in front of Rosie. ‘Look, Rosie,’ she’d say. ‘I’ve found your masterpiece.’
Rosie always pulled a face and complained when Estelle hung the tatty-looking object on the Christmas tree, but Estelle knew that her sister was only hiding her enjoyment that something she had made was loved so much by the rest of the family and brought out each year. Estelle’s heart ached. She missed her sister every day but taking out this treasured bauble made the pain even more acute. This would be the first year in over a decade without Rosie’s excitement echoing through the farmhouse and, she thought as tears constricted her throat, the first year ever without her father to hug her on Christmas morning and tell her how proud of Estelle her mother would be.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She needed to keep strong for Gran. As if thoughts of her grandmother had materialised her, a second later, the living-room door opened and in she walked, holding a small sheet of paper. She looked, Estelle noticed, as if she were in some sort of trance. Estelle’s stomach did a flip and she braced herself for yet more bad news.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked quietly, going to stand in front of her grandmother, whose hands were trembling terribly. It was then that Estelle realised Gran was holding a telegram! Rosie? ‘Gran, please, your frightening me.’
Her grandmother blinked a couple of times as if bringing herself back to the present and Estelle suddenly relaxed as her thin lips drew back in a wide grin. She handed the sheet to Estelle. ‘Read it. It’s from Rosie and Muriel.’
Estelle took the telegram from her grandmother and read all twenty-five words several times before allowing the tears that she’d been holding back to run freely. ‘They’re well.’ The relief was almost too much for her and Estelle had to sit down. ‘They’ve wished us Happy Christmas. Oh, Gran.’
Her grandmother grinned, giving Estelle’s cheek a gentle pinch between her right thumb and forefinger. ‘Read it out loud to me, dear.’
Received Oct Message. Missing you all. Keeping well. Thinking of you always. Wishing you Merry Christmas and Happy Birthdays. Keep safe. Love, Rosie and Muriel.
The telegram Hans had sent for them had got through!
‘This is the very best present either of us could have hoped for, isn’t it?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her grandmother sat on the arm of Estelle’s chair and put her arm around her. ‘It is, sweet girl, it truly is.’
Estelle rested her head against her grandmother’s chest and closed her eyes. Her grandmother’s arms tightened around her in a hug and she kissed the top of her granddaughter’s head.
‘You know, Estelle,’ Gran said, thoughtfully, ‘our captain, Hans, he’s just a young lad who was called up, like Gerard and the rest. He can’t help who he is, no more than we can.’
They both stared in silence at the telegram in Estelle’s hands as if it was a precious treasure.
‘I know. I can see that now.’
Eighteen
Rosie
26 December 1940
Well, Essie, I’ve just experienced my first Christmas without you, Daddy and Gran. Aunt Muriel did her best to make it fun and we even went to Queenie’s flat for a sing-song on Christmas Eve. You’d love Queenie, she’s always the loudest at any gathering, but I have to admit that she is a lovely person and I pretend sometimes that she’s my gran. She gives perfect hugs and even gave me a present, which I thought was unnecessary but very kind of her. It’s a knitted scarf, in bright red, and I love it.
It was strange not waking up and coming downstairs to find you in front of the Christmas tree waiting for Gran to finish her breakfast and Daddy to feed the animals so that we could all open our presents together in front of the fire. Did you put up my ugly papier-mâché star on the tree again this year? I bet you did! I hope you did, despite me moaning each year.
I hope you received our telegram. Aunt Muriel and I wanted to send you Christmas cards but she thought that there was more chance of you receiving a telegram.
She wanted to take me to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve but a bomb had exploded near there a few days before and she was worried the church might not be safe enough for us to be there. You wouldn’t believe how many damaged buildings there are, Essie. It frightens Aunt Muriel when I’m gone for too long in case an air raid begins and we might be separated and not find each other in time to go to the shelter together, so she likes me to stay nearby the flat.
I was worried about her, Essie. We have a lot less food here than I’m used to back home, less bacon and butter, tea, that sort of thing. Aunt Muriel says she’s fine but she’s ever so thin. But, Pierre seems to have cheered her up. I can hear you thinking, ‘Who is Pierre?’ He’s a Canadian soldier, Estelle! Strangely enough, he’s one of those rescued from St Malo when Daddy went over with Gerard and his father last year! I asked him to describe the men who rescued him or the name of the boat but it wasn’t Daddy. Still, it made me proud to think that Daddy and your Gerard helped save these brave men, and now they’re stationed here. He’s in the 1st Canadian Division and he’s got the funniest accent. He can speak French, don’t you think that’s funny? He’s very nice and I know Aunt Muriel goes pink every time she sees him. I’ve pointed this out to her but she scolds me and tells me to shush. I hope he isn’t sent away anywhere, I’d hate for her to be unhappy again. I know she likes to pretend she’s tough, and I think she is, mostly, but London has been so badly battered, and it doesn’t look like there’ll be any end to this horrible war right now.
I hope you and Gran are coping with those horrid Nazis marching all over the island. They say here that you’re being treated all right, but I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so close to… to… them. We’ve seen a few dog fights in the skies and it’s so scary, Estelle, but when one of our boys gets one of theirs the streets are filled with cheers.
I suppose you have rationing, too. I’m longing for a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, but Aunt Muriel said that by having to wait for one will make it taste all the better when we do get to enjoy one again.
I’d better go, I can hear Aunt Muriel in the kitchen preparing our breakfast and I need to go and help her. I hope w
e never have another Christmas apart as long as I live.
Nineteen
Estelle
17 March 1941
Christmas was more pleasant than Estelle had expected it to be. Even her grandmother and the captain commented that they had enjoyed it, too. They toasted absent friends over cocoa before retiring to their bedrooms at the end of the day and Estelle couldn’t help wondering how different Gerard’s Christmas must have been to hers.
Gerard… there were times when she lay awake all night turning over everything in her mind. How she was here, living with Hans, the enemy, sharing meals with him and even laughing with him now, occasionally. All the while, Gerard, her sweetheart, was locked up in a camp in Europe – a prisoner of war! Was she being disloyal? Or was she just trying to get by in the best way she could?
Christmas had also brought a relaxation in the rules of listening to the wireless. The BBC reports were still forbidden, so Estelle and her grandmother secretly listened on the evenings when Hans was out of the house. It seemed that, although London was still being bombed by the Luftwaffe, their focus since November had diverted to other cities, with Coventry, Liverpool and Clydebank being the most recent targets. Estelle was relieved for her sister and aunt but she couldn’t help thinking about how many other families were still losing loved ones and their homes. What was worse – live side by side with the Nazis or face the sheer terror of daily air raids and the thought that you or your family might be next?
Everyone’s mood locally seemed to shift up or down depending on what was discovered through the news. British and Australian forces had captured somewhere called Tobruk in North Africa in January but it had come with heavy fighting in the Western Desert. Then they’d heard that Plymouth had been blitzed by the Luftwaffe, killing hundreds of innocent souls, and Estelle hadn’t been able to stop herself from running into her room and burying her head in her pillow to stop herself from crying aloud. Tears wouldn’t help anyone and they certainly didn’t bring back the dead.