It was abundantly clear to all that Dieter was now non-combatant and some months before the war ended, again with the help of the Red Cross, he was repatriated to his parents’ home outside Cologne. His family were devastated by the condition in which he arrived back and it was difficult to get him further treatment; hospital places seemed to be reserved for those who might be ‘repaired’ and returned to service. Dieter had lost one leg just below the knee, and the other was stiff and straight, the muscles wasted; but he was home and he would not have to go back into the air force. Secretly and unpatriotically, Hans and Klara rejoiced.
Years of treatment followed, but gradually, with determination, Dieter had overcome his injuries. At one time he’d thought he’d never walk again, let alone fly, but now he’d done both. After several long and painful operations, he was now fitted with a prosthetic leg that, though it still made his stump ache after prolonged wearing, he could manage very well. Only a strange and rolling gait demonstrated that his legs were not as they once had been.
Following in his father’s footsteps, Dieter had trained as a teacher and now taught maths in the Gymnasium where he had himself been educated. The school had closed for the summer holidays, and Dieter decided that it was time to carry out a plan that had been brewing in his mind for some months. He would go to England and find the people who had saved his life all those years ago. Eleven years. Was it really eleven years since he’d been shot down? It was time he went back to the place where he’d so nearly lost his life.
‘I want to thank the doctor who looked after me,’ he explained to his parents. ‘I want to meet that girl, Lieselotte, who contacted the Red Cross. She kept her promise and the message got through to you. And,’ he said, ‘I want to stand where my comrades died, and salute them.’
His parents were less than encouraging. They understood that he wanted to meet again the people who’d been responsible for saving his life, but they also felt he might meet with rejection.
‘You should think long and hard about this,’ his father told him. ‘You may not be welcome in that place. We are very grateful to those people who cared for you after the crash, but they may not be there any more. The wounds of the war are gradually healing, but is it wise to go back to reopen such a wound? You were bombing their homes. You were their enemy then, you may find they still think you are.’
‘I have thought of that,’ Dieter assured him. ‘But it’s a risk I have to take. They saved my life and I should thank them. Now I am fully recovered. I’m able to travel, I have the time and some money, it is something I ought to do; indeed it is something I know I have to do.’
So here he was in London, determined to find his way to the Somerset village of Wynsdown. He booked in to a small hotel near Paddington station, from where he would catch the train in the morning. The woman on the hotel reception desk looked at him fiercely as she saw his German passport and made a note of his name. She remained icily polite as she handed him a key and said, ‘Room eight, second floor.’
‘Thank you,’ Dieter replied. He had used much of his convalescent time learning to speak English and with the help of another of the teachers who worked at the same school as his father, he could now converse fluently enough, but his accent was strong and guttural and there was no hiding the fact that he was a German.
‘Will you be wanting breakfast and dinner?’ asked the woman.
‘Breakfast only,’ he replied, ‘thank you.’
‘We don’t do dinner,’ she said with a smirk, and it was clear she’d hoped that he would ask for dinner so she could turn him down. As he moved away she called after him, ‘Breakfast is served down here in the dining room,’ she pointed to a closed door, ‘seven thirty to nine a.m.’
Dieter thanked her again and headed up the stairs to find his room. He wasn’t really surprised at his cool reception. Even though the woman had no idea he’d been in the Luftwaffe, as a Londoner she’d probably seen enough of the Germans to last her a lifetime.
He arrived in Wynsdown the following afternoon. The taxi from the station dropped him on the village green. He asked the driver to wait while he went into the Magpie to see if they had a room. Mabel assured him that they had and she watched him with interest as he walked outside again to pay off the cab.
‘Though,’ as she said to Jack later on, ‘he doesn’t really walk at all, he sort of rolls from side to side.’
‘Come far, have you?’ she asked casually when Dieter came back into the bar. Clearly the man was a foreigner, he spoke with such a funny accent, and occasionally they did get foreigners in Wynsdown, people who wanted to explore the area but didn’t want to pay Cheddar prices.
‘From London,’ replied Dieter. He was not asked for his passport here, nor any form of identification, which surprised him. He simply had to sign his name in the register before she took him up a flight of stairs to a room that looked out over the village green.
‘Here we are,’ she said as she stood aside to let him in. ‘The bathroom’s just along the passage.’ She smiled at him. He was a good-looking man, of middle height, in his early thirties with smooth fair hair, a strand of which fell across his forehead. His pale blue eyes were set wide apart, giving him an open, honest expression, and a mobile mouth smiled above a strong and determined chin. Yes, thought Mabel appreciatively, a very attractive man.
‘Anything else you need?’ she asked, pausing by the door.
‘Yes,’ Dieter smiled, ‘I wonder if you can help me. I am looking for a doctor.’
‘A doctor?’ Mabel’s surprise showed. She was about to ask if he were ill, but then thought better of it. The poor man obviously had difficulty walking. Perhaps that was why he’d come to Wynsdown. To find a doctor? Dr Masters?
‘Dr Masters lives just across the green,’ she replied. ‘He’s the only doctor in the village. Would he do?’
‘I’m sure, yes,’ nodded Dieter, though he had no recollection of the doctor’s name.
‘Look, you can see his house from here,’ Mabel said, pointing out of the window. ‘There, that red-brick house. He has his surgery from five in the evening.’
Dieter thanked her and she left him to it. Back downstairs she found Jack, coming up from the cellar from changing a barrel.
‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she said. ‘And he’s foreign.’
‘What sort of foreign’s that then?’
‘I don’t know, do I? He just talks with a funny accent.’ She swung round the register and squinted down at the pointed writing. ‘Can’t really make it out,’ she said, ‘but looks like a very odd name.’
Jack peered at the register. ‘Looks German to me,’ he said.
‘German?’ Mabel sounded horrified. ‘Why would a German come here?’
‘How should I know?’ Jack walked back behind the bar. ‘I ’spect we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘He’s a cripple,’ Mabel said. ‘He walks very funny.’
‘Probably can’t do much harm then,’ Jack said and began to run the fresh beer through the pipes.
Mabel returned to the kitchen, but her mind was working overtime. A German! Come to Wynsdown! She wondered what people would make of that when she told them. She knew a moment of satisfaction as she realised that she knew more than the other gossips. Nancy Bright in the post office could listen to her for a change.
*
Dieter had decided that the person he could most easily find was the doctor. He knew the girl’s Christian name but not her surname and he thought he’d like to talk to the doctor first. Dr Masters, the woman had said. Would he be the man who’d cared for him eleven years ago? Only one way to find out.
When he came downstairs again he could hear Mabel in the kitchen talking to someone. He didn’t want to have to answer any more of her questions and so slipped quietly out of the door. He walked across the green to the house she’d pointed out and rang the bell. It was not yet five and he hoped to catch the doctor before he started surgery.
An attractive woman o
pened the door and looked at him enquiringly.
‘Good day,’ Dieter said. ‘I wish to see the doctor.’
‘I’m sorry, but surgery doesn’t start till five,’ replied the woman. ‘I can show you the waiting room.’
‘No,’ Dieter said. ‘I am not ill. I wish to speak with the doctor about a private thing.’
‘Oh.’ The woman looked surprised. ‘I see. Well, the doctor’s not back from his rounds yet. Can I be of help? I’m his wife.’
Dieter was disappointed. He gave a regretful smile. ‘I am sorry, but it is to the doctor I must speak.’
‘I will tell him you called,’ said Caroline. ‘If you can give me your name...’
At that moment a car pulled into the drive and Henry Masters got out. Seeing his wife and a strange man on the front doorstep he crossed the lawn quickly to see who had called. ‘This gentleman has come to see you,’ Caroline said, her relief at Henry’s arrival clear in her voice.
‘You are the doctor Masters?’ asked the stranger.
‘Yes?’ Henry answered. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Dieter Karhausen,’ said Dieter, and added as he saw his name meant nothing, ‘I was shot down here. I think you saved my life.’
‘You’re the German airman!’ Henry said with incredulity as recognition dawned. ‘It was you they cut down from the tree!’ His eyes flicked down to Dieter’s legs, and Dieter seeing the look nodded and said, ‘Yes. And I have my legs... or most of them.’
‘Look, we shouldn’t be standing here on the doorstep. You’d better come in.’ Henry led the way into the house and Caroline shut the door behind them.
Realising the two men needed a little time together, she said, ‘I’ll make some tea,’ and disappeared into the kitchen.
Henry led Dieter into the sitting room and waved him to an armchair. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the open windows, and from somewhere outside they could hear the push-pull drawl of a lawnmower, the humming of bees in the honeysuckle that clung to the back of the house. The sounds of summer; almost eleven years to the day since Dieter had made his first unscheduled arrival in Wynsdown. Henry sat down and the two men considered each other across the low, oak coffee table that stood between them.
‘Well,’ it was Henry who finally broke the silence, ‘you’ve come back. Why?’
‘The war is over,’ Dieter said. ‘We were on opposite sides, but even so, you saved my life... did your best to save my legs. Afterwards, I hear that you tell them that I must be put in the hospital and not the prisoner camp. If I had gone there I would have losed both my legs and not just one half.’ He cocked his head and looked over at Henry. ‘For this reason I come back; come back to say you, thank you.’
‘I did what any doctor would have done,’ Henry said. He dashed his hand awkwardly across his face. ‘It was all a long time ago.’ There was another silence and then he said, ‘But I am glad you’re well and I appreciate your coming. Thank you. However, the person you should be thanking is Charlotte.’
‘Charlotte?’ For a moment Dieter looked confused.
‘The girl who came and spoke to you at the farm. She wrote down your name and address so the Red Cross could inform your parents you were alive.’
‘Lieselotte?’
‘That was her name, yes,’ agreed Henry, ‘but when she came to live here she couldn’t remember it and was given the name Charlotte.’
‘And she is still here? This Charlotte?’ asked Dieter.
‘Yes, she’s still here.’
‘I remember waking, she standing beside me, speaking in German, and I thought I was dreaming. Perhaps hallucinating.’
‘Well, you could have been,’ said Henry, ‘the amount of morphine I’d pumped into you.’ He looked down again at Dieter’s legs, enclosed in grey flannel trousers, stretched out in front of him. ‘And they managed to save your other leg?’
‘It’s not perfect,’ said Dieter, ‘but I am able to walk.’
At that moment Caroline appeared with a tea tray and set it down on the table between them.
‘Caroline, my love, this is Dieter... I’m sorry I didn’t take in your surname.’
‘Karhausen,’ supplied Dieter.
‘Dieter Karhausen. He escaped from a blazing plane during the war.’
‘How do you do, Herr Karhausen?’ Caroline said politely.
‘Please, Dieter.’
‘Dieter. I wasn’t here at the time, but of course I’ve heard about you.’
‘Dieter wants to meet Charlotte, to thank her.’
‘And the men who cut me from the tree,’ added Dieter.
‘Ah, well, that’s more difficult,’ Henry said. ‘John Shepherd still lives here, but Major Bellinger and young Billy Shepherd I’m afraid are dead.’
‘Killed in the war?’ asked Dieter, softly.
‘No. Major Bellinger had a stroke about three years ago, and Billy was killed in a hunting accident after the war.’
‘Then I’m too late,’ said Dieter sadly. ‘But I would like to meet this Charlotte. Is this possible?’
‘I expect so,’ Henry said. ‘She still lives here. She’s Billy Shepherd’s widow.’
‘We can ask her if she would like to meet you,’ Caroline said, joining in the conversation for the first time, ‘but it will have to be her decision. She was a refugee from Germany, and may not want to...’ She searched for the right words.
‘Want to meet me,’ Dieter finished for her. ‘Please, if you know her, please will you ask her. My debt to her is much.’
‘We’ll certainly ask her,’ Henry said, looking at his watch and getting to his feet. ‘I must leave you. It’s time for my surgery. Do please finish your tea.’
Dieter also rose, tentatively holding out his hand and was pleased when Henry reached across and shook it. ‘Thank you, Dr Masters. For then and for now.’ He turned back to Caroline. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Masters. When you have spoken to Charlotte, please tell what she says. I have a room at the public house.’
Caroline and Henry saw Dieter to the front door and watched him crossing the green back to the pub, his ungainly walk marking him out as an injured man.
‘Fancy him coming back here,’ said Caroline as she shut the front door. ‘It’s taken him long enough.’
‘It probably took a long time to get him back on his feet,’ pointed out Henry. ‘And I doubt if he’d’ve been very welcome here much sooner. I doubt he’ll be welcome in some quarters as it is.’
‘Understandably,’ said Caroline. ‘Too many people lost too much during the war to be able to forgive and forget that quickly.’ She gave her husband a little push. ‘Go on, Henry,’ she said, ‘you’ll be late. The waiting room’s half full already. I’ll go over and have a word with Charlotte.’
Henry disappeared into his surgery and once she’d checked that the outside door to the waiting room was on the latch for any further patients, she locked the front door and set off up the road to Blackdown House.
Charlotte was in the process of giving the children their tea. They all cried out with delight when Auntie Caro put her head round the door and called, ‘Hallo. Can I come in?’
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ Charlotte said when the children had finished eating and gone out to play in the garden for half an hour before bedtime.
‘Will they be all right out there?’ asked Caroline anxiously.
‘We’ll drink our tea outside,’ said Charlotte. ‘We can watch them from the terrace.’
They settled themselves on two of the deckchairs Charlotte had put out on the little paved area overlooking the garden.
‘This is nice,’ said Charlotte, relaxing back into her chair. ‘Lovely surprise, haven’t seen you all week.’
‘No,’ agreed Caroline. ‘I don’t know where the time’s gone. Anyway, I’m here now and with some news.’
‘News?’ Charlotte’s eyes lit up. ‘What sort of news?’ She’d been desperately hoping to hear that Caroline was expecting. After all, she wa
s only in her late thirties, and many a man much older than Henry had fathered a child.
Caroline gave a rueful sigh. ‘No, Charlotte, not that!’
‘What then?’ demanded Charlotte. ‘Come on, Caro, do tell!’
‘We’ve had a visitor,’ began Caroline carefully. ‘Someone from years ago...’
‘Harry?’ breathed Charlotte.
‘No,’ replied Caroline firmly, aware of the flare of hope in Charlotte’s eyes. ‘Someone else.’
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense, who?’
‘Dieter Karhausen.’
‘Dieter Karhausen?’ For a moment Charlotte couldn’t place the name and then she remembered and her eyes widened. ‘You mean the German airman?’
‘The very one.’
‘And he’s here, in the village?’
‘He’s taken a room at the Magpie. He came to see Henry, to thank him for his help when he was shot down.’ She looked across at Charlotte, now sitting upright in her chair. ‘He wants to see you for the same reason. We told him that was up to you.’
34
That evening, Charlotte gave a lot of thought to the idea of meeting with Dieter Karhausen. At the time she’d come to his aid, he’d been young, hardly more than a boy, in desperate pain and about to be taken off to prison. Now, eleven years on, he was a grown man who’d fought for the country that had rejected her when she was only a child. She thought of Harry. What would he say if he was asked to meet up with someone, like Dieter Karhausen, turning up after years and expecting to be welcomed? She could only guess and knew it wouldn’t be polite. But then, perhaps Dieter wasn’t expecting to be welcomed, perhaps he’d come in trepidation, not knowing how, even after all these years, he’d be received. What would Billy have said? But Billy wasn’t there to ask, and though she loved him every bit as much as she always had, he had slipped into the recesses of her mind, always there, but no longer the almost physical presence she had felt him immediately after his death.
The Married Girls Page 35