Time for Silence

by Philippa Carr

  Dorabella relied on me. When we were very young and first went to school, she would be disturbed if we did not sit together. She liked to sidle up to me lovingly while she copied my sums. And later, when we went away to school, we were closer than ever. There was no doubt that there was a deep affinity between us.

  Immediately after the war had ended, my father had come back from France; that was in 1918. He and my mother were married and in the October of the following year Dorabella and I were born.

  At the time my mother had been fascinated by the opera. It must have been exciting when they came to London after four years of restrictions and privations and constant fear for their loved ones, and used my grandparents’ house in Westminster as their home. During that time they wanted to relish all that they had missed. My mother had always loved the opera; it became a passion of hers during this time, and she had the romantic notion of naming us after characters in two of their favorites. So I became Violetta from La Traviata and my sister, Dorabella from Così fan tutte.

  My grandmother had once laughingly said that she would have protested at Turandot.

  Our brother, who was born about three years after us, had to be Robert, because there was always a Robert in the family, which did make it a little difficult at times to know which one was being referred to. But tradition had to be obeyed.

  True to our expectations, Edward came to visit us, bringing Kurt Brandt with him.

  It was a lovely summer’s day in mid-August when they arrived. We were all waiting for him and when we heard the car come into the courtyard my mother, with Dorabella, Robert, and myself, ran down to greet him.

  Edward leaped out of the car and I saw his eyes go to my mother. They embraced. I guessed that when he met her after an absence he thought of how she had brought him out of danger when he was a helpless baby. It had made a special bond between them, and I believe my mother thought of him as one of her children.

  A young man of about Edward’s age got out of the car and came toward us.

  “This is Kurt…Kurt Brandt,” said Edward. “I have told him about you all.”

  He looked slight beside Edward and very dark because Edward was so tall and fair. He stood very straight before my mother, clicked his heels, took her hand, and kissed it. Then he turned to Dorabella and me and did the same. He shook Robert’s hand, which rather disappointed my brother who would have liked the clicking of heels, if not the hand kissing.

  My mother said how delighted she was to see Edward and his friend and she led them into the house, for which Kurt Brandt expressed his admiration in good but accented English. The house was very ancient and dated back to the fifteenth century, and people were often impressed by it when they first saw it—so there was nothing unusual about that.

  My father joined us for luncheon. Usually he was busy on the estate, but this was a special occasion and my mother had asked him to make an effort to be there.

  Kurt Brandt told us that his home was in Bavaria. There was an old schloss which had been in the family for years.

  “Not so big…not so grand as this house,” he said modestly. “Schloss sounds grand, but there are many such in Germany. Castles…but very small. Ours is an inn now—and has been for some years. Then there were bad times…the war…and after…it was not easy…”

  I thought of my father, who had been decorated for bravery during that war, and remembered that he would have been fighting against Kurt’s father. But it was all over now.

  “Tell us about the forest,” said my mother.

  How glowingly he spoke of his homeland! I could see how much he loved it. We listened entranced and, seen through his eyes, the forest seemed an enchanted place. He told us how, during the autumn, the mists arose suddenly—bluish mists which shrouded the pine trees suddenly without warning so that even those who were familiar with the place could lose their way. About the necks of the cows which belonged to the few farms scattered on the wooded slopes were bells which tinkled as the cows moved, and so the sound gave their owners an idea of where they were.

  He was a fascinating talker, and Edward sat back smiling because his guest was a success. It was an excellent beginning, not that the rest was disappointing.

  Edward was eager to show him something of our country and, as one of his passions at the moment was his new motorcar, he insisted on driving us somewhere each day.

  We went to Portsmouth so that Kurt might see Admiral Nelson’s battleship; we explored far beyond our neighborhood; then Kurt must see the New Forest, where William the Conqueror had hunted; and after that to Stonehenge, which was of an even earlier period.

  We would return each day and chatter over dinner of what we had seen.

  During that time we had come to know Kurt very well. We used to sit for a long time over dinner because the talk was too interesting to be cut short. If the weather was hot, we ate out of doors. We had a courtyard shut in by red brick walls with creeper climbing over them and a pear tree in one corner. It was an ideal place for an alfresco meal.

  I think Kurt enjoyed that visit as much as we did. He told us a great deal about the difficulties of life in his country after the war. There had been great struggles. The inn had had to be closed for a time and it was not very long since it had been reopened.

  “Visitors come now,” he said. “They did not come during the bad years immediately after the war.”

  “It is the people who have no say in making wars who suffer most from the consequences of them,” commented my father.

  We were solemn for a while and then were laughing again.

  We made Kurt tell us more about the forest, his home, and his family.

  He had a brother Helmut and a sister Gretchen. They helped his parents manage the inn.

  “Helmut will have the inn in due course,” he added. “For he is my elder brother.”

  “And you will be with him?” asked my mother.

  “I think perhaps it may be necessary.”

  No more was said on the subject. My mother probably thought it would be prying to ask too many questions.

  It was the last night. Dorabella, Robert, and I would be going back to school in two days’ time. Dorabella and I were in our last year.

  We were in the garden and there was that air of sadness among us as there can be when something which has been enjoyable is coming to an end.

  “Alas,” Kurt said at length. “Tomorrow I must say goodbye. It has been delightful. Sir Robert and Lady Denver, how can I thank you?”

  “Please don’t,” said my mother. “It has been an enormous pleasure for us to have you here. I should thank Edward for bringing you.”

  “And you will come to the Böhmerwald one day?”

  “Oh, yes please,” cried Dorabella.

  “I’ll come,” said Robert. “The trouble is there is this beastly school.”

  “There will be holidays,” Edward reminded him.

  “I wish you could come back with me,” said Kurt. “This is the best time of the year.”

  “I’d like to see that blue mist,” said Dorabella.

  “And the cows with bells,” added Robert.

  “It would be wonderful,” I added.

  “Next year…you must come…all of you.”

  “We shall look forward to it all through the year, shan’t we, Violetta?” said Dorabella.

  Kurt looked at me and said: “She speaks for you both?”

  “She usually does,” I said. “And on this occasion…certainly.”

  “Then it shall be,” said Kurt. He lifted his glass. “To next year in the Böhmerwald.”

  It was an exciting year for Dorabella and me because it was our last at boarding school. We should be seventeen in the coming October and that was certainly something to set us thinking, so that we forgot about our proposed visit to Germany until at mid-term. Edward was at Caddington and one of the first things he said was that Kurt hadn’t forgotten that we had promised to visit him in the summer. Then, of course, we remembered
and it seemed an excellent idea.

  We said goodbye to our friends at school, and looked round the tennis courts and the assembly hall for the last time without too many regrets; after all, we had become adults and ahead of us was the prospect of going to Germany.

  Robert had been invited to spend the holidays with a friend in Devon, so that disposed of him. This was a relief to my mother who had felt that it would be quite enough for Edward to look after us without having to watch over a high-spirited boy.

  My parents drove us down to the coast, and in due course we embarked on the Channel steamer and arrived at the port of Ostend. Dorabella and I were in a state of excitement during the long train journey through Belgium and Germany. Edward, who had done it before, pointed out places of interest as we passed along. We wanted to miss nothing. It grew dark and we slept then, but fitfully, waking now and then to be aware of the movement of the train.

  When we finally reached Munich, we were to stay a night, as the train to the small town of Regenshaven would not leave until the next day.

  “Then,” the knowledgeable Edward informed us, “we have another long journey, but not, of course, like the one we have just experienced. We should get to Regenshaven before dark and there Kurt will be waiting to take us to the schloss.”

  “I can’t wait to get there,” said Dorabella.

  “That is something you will have to do,” Edward retorted. “So don’t say you can’t.”

  “I mean, I’m just longing to be there.”

  “I know,” he replied soothingly. “So are we all.”

  It was exciting arriving in the great City. We were taken to the hotel where two rooms had been reserved for us—Dorabella and I sharing.

  “Perhaps you would like a rest first,” suggested Edward.

  We looked at him in amazement. Rest! When we had come to Munich—a town which had been but printed letters on a map until now!

  “All right,” he said. “We’ll have a look round. Just a quick one…because I shall be hungry and looking for sustenance.”

  The middle-aged woman at the desk was very affable. She smiled benignly on us and said in deeply accented English that she hoped we should enjoy our stay in Munich.

  Edward, who spoke some German and liked to make use of it, told her that we were leaving the next day for Regenshaven.

  “Ah,” she cried. “In the forest. That is good…” She pronounced it “goot.” “Wunderbar…wunderbar. You have friends there?”

  “Yes, someone I knew at college.”

  “That is goot…goot…this friendship. But you must see something of München…only a little, alas…but the goot things. First it is the Cathedral…the Frauenkirche…then the Peterskirche…”

  We asked directions, which she gave, smiling benevolently while we thanked her.

  It was certainly a fine city and very busy. There were several museums, I noticed, but there was no time to explore them. Edward said we had the afternoon and referred once more to that necessary sustenance.

  Everywhere we were met with friendliness. It was fun to ask the way and receive instructions, and in high spirits we returned to the hotel for lunch.

  The dining room was full and there was only one table available; this was for six and we were given that.

  Hot soup was put before us and, while we were consuming it, the waiter appeared with two young men. He asked our pardon. Edward was concentrating hard to understand him and, with the help of a little miming, we discovered that the young men wanted a meal; there was no place for them, so should we mind if they shared our table? So it was amicably arranged that they should sit with us.

  They were tall and blond and we prepared ourselves to enjoy their company and they ours, it seemed. They were interested when they heard we came from England.

  They lived on the outskirts of Munich, which was a very big city—they added proudly, in Germany second only to Berlin.

  We looked suitably impressed.

  They were in the town on business. Things were different now. They had changed since the Führer came to power.

  We listened attentively. There were questions I wanted to ask, but it was a little difficult because of the language problem, though they spoke some English and, with Edward’s German, we could reach some understanding.

  “We like the English,” they told us.

  “We have found the people here very helpful to us,” Edward said.

  “But of course.”

  I put in: “And we like all we have seen.”

  Dorabella was a little silent. She was hurt, I thought, because they did not pay her the attention she was accustomed to receiving from young men. These two seemed to me too earnest for frivolity.

  “It is good that you come here,” said one of the young men whose name we discovered was Franz. The other was Ludwig.

  “It is good that you see we are now a prosperous people.”

  We waited for him to go on.

  “We have suffered much. After the war…there was a harsh treaty. Oh, we suffered. But no more. We shall be great again.”

  “But you are,” said Dorabella, giving one of her most appealing smiles.

  Both young men then regarded her with interest. “You have seen this?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dorabella.

  “And you will go home and tell your people Germany is great again?”

  Dorabella said: “Oh, yes.” Although I knew she had no intention of doing so and certainly no one would have been interested if she had.

  “We are proud,” said Ludwig, “because it was here in Munich that our Führer made his great attempt to lead our nation.”

  “What year was that?” asked Edward.

  “1923,” answered Franz. “It was the Putsch in the beer cellar.”

  “Beer cellar!” cried Dorabella. “Can we go to a beer cellar?”

  Neither of the young men seemed to hear that. They were staring silently ahead, their faces flushed with zeal.

  “It failed and he went to prison,” said Franz.

  “But that time was not wasted,” added his friend. “For out of it came Mein Kampf.”

  “And then when Hindenburg died he became Chancellor. And then Dictator…and everything was different,” said the other.

  “Oh, good,” murmured Dorabella. “That must have been nice.” There was a touch of asperity in her voice. She was a little bored by these too earnest young men. However, there was a very friendly atmosphere at the table and the food was good.

  We felt distinctly refreshed and spent a pleasant afternoon exploring the Peterskirche—one of the oldest churches I had ever seen. After that we sat outside a restaurant, drank coffee, and ate some delicious cakes. It was interesting to watch the people strolling by. Edward said we must not stay out too long. We had to think of the journey tomorrow, for we should have to rise early.

  We went back to our hotel. Franz and Ludwig were no longer there. We dined and returned to our rooms where Dorabella and I talked of the day’s events until we dropped off to sleep.

  We were greatly looking forward to arriving in Regenshaven.

  As we stepped from the train, I felt I was in an enchanted land. We had traveled through mountainous country of pine-covered slopes with waterfalls and little rivulets which glittered in the sunshine. We had seen the occasional little village with tall brick buildings and cobbled streets, which reminded me of illustrations in Grimm’s Fairy Tales from my childhood.

  Kurt was waiting to greet us which he did with such joy and made us all feel like honored guests.

  “How glad I am that you have come!” he said. “Ach, but it is a long journey and so good of you to make it to see us.”

  “We thought it was worth it,” replied Edward lightly. “Kurt. It is good to see you.”

  “And the young ladies are here…Violetta…Dorabella.”

  “We are here,” cried Dorabella. “You don’t think we should have let Edward come without us, surely?”

  “They are all eager
to meet you. My family…I mean,” said Kurt. “Come. We will waste no time. They are impatient. Is this the luggage?”

  Kurt took our bags and we went out of the station and settled into his waiting car. Then we drove through the pine-scented air.

  “It is beautiful!” I cried. “Everything I thought it would be.”

  And so it was. We were soon in the forest.

  “The schloss is five miles from the station,” Kurt told us.

  We looked about us eagerly and soon came to a small town, with its church and old belltower, its cobbled streets, and the square in which were the post office and a few shops. The small houses had clearly stood there for hundreds of years. One almost expected the Pied Piper to appear.

  The schloss was about a quarter of a mile out of the town, which I discovered was called Waldenburg. The road to it was slightly uphill. I gasped when I saw the schloss. In the afternoon light it was like another illustration from the fairytale books.

  It was a castle, yes, but a miniature one. There was a circular turret at each end and it was built of pale gray stone. I thought of a princess at one of the turret windows letting down her long fair hair to enable her lover to climb up to her. I could hear Dorabella’s voice: “It’s silly. He would have pulled it all out, and think how it would hurt!” But I was more romantically minded than she was, and I thought it was an example of true love to suffer for the joy of receiving one’s lover in the turret.

  I would have reminded her of this but there was no time, for standing at the door of this fascinating edifice was a group of people.

  Kurt shouted in German: “We’re here,” and they all clapped their hands.

  We got out of the car and were introduced to them. Edward they knew already, and greeted him with great pleasure. And Kurt presented them to us with that dignity with which I was beginning to become accustomed. There were his parents, his grandfather and grandmother, his brother Helmut and his sister Gretchen. Standing to one side were the servants—a man, two women, and a girl who, I guessed, would be much the same age as Dorabella and me.