Fighting with Shadows

by Beryl Matthews

  He nodded vigorously. ‘Could I have a swing on that big tree?’

  John peered through the grubby window. ‘I expect we can fix one up for you.’

  Angie became serious. These plans were all very well, but was she going to be able to live here? ‘How much will the rent be, John?’

  ‘Eight shillings a week, but you’ll be responsible for the rates and services.’

  That didn’t sound too bad. If she rented her house out as well, that would be money coming in from two houses; and if they really liked it here, she could sell her house and just keep Danny’s …

  ‘I’ve already spoken to the owner and it’s yours if you want it.’ John shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at Danny. ‘If you live here, you’ll still be able to help me with the animals, won’t you?’

  Danny pulled in Angie’s hand. ‘Can we, Auntie?’

  ‘Yes, I think we would like it here.’

  ‘Yippee!’ Danny danced over to Hetty and John.

  ‘We’re gonna stay here. When can you make the swing, Mr Sawyer?’

  ‘As soon as I can get the rope. And why don’t you call us Grandpa and Grandma?’

  Danny thought about this for a moment, then said, ‘Auntie said all my grandparents died in the war.’

  ‘They did, darling.’ Hetty held out her arms and Danny walked into them. ‘But your mummy and auntie came to live with us, so we’re like family.’

  He glanced at Angie, seeking approval, and when she smiled and nodded, he hugged Hetty first, then John, calling them Grandma and Grandpa.

  ‘Hello, anyone there?’ someone called up the stairs.

  Hetty was quite overcome but quickly recovered.

  ‘We’ll be right down, Sally.’

  Standing in the front room was a girl of about Angie’s age, rather plump and homely-looking, with dark hair and nice green eyes. She held out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Sally Tenant and I live next door. Hetty told me you might be moving in.’

  Angie shook her hand, liking her at once. ‘Yes, we will be.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Sally bent down. ‘And you must be Danny.’

  He nodded shyly and pushed close to Angie.

  ‘Well, you’re going to love it here. I’ve got a little girl around your age. You’ll be able to play together.’

  This suggestion produced a dimpled smile.

  Sally stood up again. ‘What a lovely boy. Emma will be so excited to have someone to play with. This cottage has been empty for far too long.’

  ‘My grandpa’s gonna build me a swing,’ Danny told her with some pride.

  ‘Won’t that be fun?’ Being rewarded with another smile, Sally chuckled and turned to Angie. ‘We run a Mothers’ Relief group in the church hall on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and Danny would be very welcome.’ Sally grinned at Angie’s puzzled expression. ‘We call it that because it gives the mothers a chance to go out on their own for a while, and on Thursdays we even give the children a meal. That gives the mothers even more time to go shopping or whatever. We run a rota system and could do with a bit of help, if you felt you could.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Wonderful! As soon as you move in, come and see me.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t suppose you can type, can you?’

  ‘Well, yes, I can. Why?’

  ‘The Rector needs help with parish notices and his sermons.’ Sally chortled. ‘He’s typing with two fingers and it takes him ages, and for a man of God the air turns an unpleasant blue around him. If you could help on the days Danny’s with the group, he’d happily pay you. It won’t be much, mind you.’

  Angie couldn’t believe this. She was being offered a job as well! ‘I’d be pleased to do his typing.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. He’ll be so delighted.’ Sally headed for the door and looked back. ‘I must dash. Mum’s looking after Emma for me and she’ll wreck the place if I leave her there too long.’ She tore out of the door and up the road.

  ‘You’ll like Sally and Emma,’ Hetty said.

  John gave an amused laugh. ‘You’ll have to watch Emma, though. She’s a real whirlwind.’

  ‘Sounds fun.’

  ‘You could say that.’ John was laughing harder now. ‘She looks docile enough, but I’m sure Danny can cope with her.’

  ‘Meaning other children can’t?’ Angie was intrigued.

  ‘She’s too much for the girls, but fits in with the boys okay.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet her,’ Angie said drily.

  ‘Talking of meeting people,’ Hetty said, standing up, ‘while we’re here we might as well take Danny to meet Mrs Poulton and fix up his piano lessons. She’s just across the road.’

  They locked up behind them and knocked on the door of the cottage directly opposite. Mrs Poulton was a tall, spare woman of around sixty, with grey hair and a gleam of amusement in her eyes, as if she viewed the world with a good deal of tolerance.

  ‘Ah, come in, my dears. I’m just finishing off a lesson with young Frank Burrows.’ She led them into the kitchen. ‘Wait here and we’ll soon be done.’

  She strode back to the front room leaving the door slightly open. The laborious efforts of Frank could be heard quite clearly and Angie was sure Danny winced when a discordant note was thumped.

  Ten minutes later the student was shown out and Mrs Poulton came back to them, a broad smile on her face as she studied Danny. ‘So you want to play the piano, young man?’

  Danny nodded, but didn’t look too sure about this imposing woman.

  ‘Good.’ Mrs Poulton glanced at Angie. ‘Hetty tells me he’s three and he might have some musical talent.’

  ‘Er, he might.’

  ‘Let’s see, shall we? You and Danny come with me.’

  In the front room was a beautiful grand piano and little else, apart from a few small chairs.

  ‘Sit yourself over there, my dear, while I see what your boy can do.’

  It gave Angie a thrill to hear someone call him her boy. He was now, of course, but she still thought of him as Jane’s son, and always would. She straightened her shoulders. But he was her son as well.

  The teacher put two cushions on the stool so Danny could reach the keys; then, after making sure he was comfortable, she glanced back at Angie. ‘Hetty tells me he can play a tune. You taught him that?’

  ‘No, he did it on his own.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Mrs Poulton’s eyes gleamed even brighter. ‘Will you play it for me, Danny?’

  Angie could see that he couldn’t wait to touch the keys. He began to pick out the tune of ‘Ba, Ba, Black Sheep’. When he played a wrong note, he started again and corrected it.

  Mrs Poulton listened, head on one side, studying the face of her new pupil as he concentrated. When he finished, she turned to Angie again. ‘You say no one showed him how to do that?’

  ‘No one. He was messing about with the piano and just played it.’

  ‘Well, Angie …I may call you that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I think this boy of yours has a good ear for music and I would like to teach him to play. I charge two shillings for an hour, if you can manage that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Poulton, that will be fine.’ Perhaps the money from the Rector for doing his typing would cover that.

  ‘Good.’ She smiled at Danny, who was sitting patiently on the stool. ‘We shall have fun together, you and I.’ When she helped him off the seat, he whispered something to her. ‘You’d like me to play you something?’

  Danny nodded and smiled shyly.

  ‘What does he like?’ she asked Angie.

  ‘He seems to enjoy classical music on the wireless, but anything will do.’

  Mrs Poulton sat at the piano and started to play the Moonlight Sonata. The wonderful music brought John and Hetty to the door. Danny stood close to the piano, watching every move of her hands. The expression on his face brought a lump to Angie’s throat. Oh, yes, he was musical, and she must give him every chance to develop
the talent.

  With all the business of the day finished they returned to the farm, and over dinner that evening they made plans.

  ‘It will only take a few days to clean up and decorate the cottage,’ John said, ‘so why don’t you pop back to London and sort out what you’re going to bring down here? Have you got someone who’ll take care of the renting of your house?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Simpson, he’s a solicitor. Some of my furniture will fit into the cottage, so I’ll choose what we need and have it delivered here. I haven’t got a piano, though, and we’ll need one.’

  ‘I’ll find you one.’ Hetty couldn’t stop smiling.

  ‘Not too expensive.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, Angie.’ She gazed at Danny. ‘My grandson must have a decent piano because he’s going to be a wonderful pianist. Just like –’ She stopped abruptly as John glared at his wife. ‘Just like Mrs Poulton.’

  Hetty hadn’t been going to say that, Angie was sure, but before she could question her about the hesitation, Danny claimed their attention. The feeling that they were being secretive again was very strong.

  ‘She played smashing.’ Danny’s smile was dreamy. ‘I want to do that, Grandma.’

  Angie couldn’t believe how quickly Danny had accepted the Sawyers as his grandparents. He obviously liked having a family.

  ‘And you shall, my angel.’

  Danny giggled. ‘That’s not my name, it’s Auntie’s. I’ve got another name as well. Haven’t I, Auntie? What is it? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Your full name is Daniel Cramer Harris.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ He ginned proudly at everyone. ‘Great, isn’t it!’

  ‘Very nice, darling.’ Hetty stood up quickly and held out her hand. ‘Want to help me get the chickens in?’

  Danny leapt to his feet. ‘Mustn’t let the foxes get them.’

  ‘I’ll check that the gates are all closed.’ John followed them out.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Angie stopped them before they could leave the room, suspicious of their hasty exit. ‘Does the name mean something to you?’

  Hetty kept walking, but John turned and faced her, his expression bland. ‘No, should it?’ Then he left the room.

  Finding herself on her own, Angie closed her eyes. Had John just lied to her? Was Cramer the name of Danny’s father? How dumb she had been not to think of that sooner. She had just assumed it was some fancy name Jane had heard somewhere and liked. And, from the hurried disappearance of John and Hetty, she was sure they knew as well, and yet they still denied it. Their reluctance to tell her anything about him was frustrating, but she was damned well going to get to the bottom of this once she’d sorted out everything in London. But for the moment she wasn’t going to fight with shadows any more! Danny now had a family, and was happy. But she had a growing need to find out who this elusive man was, and why on earth no one would talk about him.

  Surging to her feet, she went upstairs and packed her bag. She would leave for London tomorrow, see Mr Simpson about renting out her house, then make arrangements to have some of the furniture delivered to the cottage. It shouldn’t take more than two days, and Danny could probably stay with Hetty and John – his new grandparents. They loved him and would take good care of him.

  7

  Schnell! Schnell! Dieter Cramer was half out of bed when he awoke with sweat pouring off him. Cursing, he settled back on the bed, pulled up his knees and rested his head on them, the pilot’s frantic shouting still ringing in his ears. Dear God, it was some time since he’d been plagued with that nightmare. It brought back that moment so vividly.

  Their target had again been London, with orders to destroy the docks this time. He had plotted their course, as he had done many times, but before they reached their target they were caught in a searchlight. Then the anti-aircraft guns opened up. The plane shuddered and lurched, and fire broke out on the starboard wing, licking its way towards the main fuselage with frightening speed. They still had a full load of bombs, yet the plane was out of control and losing height rapidly. The pilot yelled for them to get out as he wrestled with the stricken aircraft. Dieter saw that two of the crew were already dead as he hurled himself out.

  As his parachute opened, he saw another member of the crew shoot past him; he watched in horror as the man sped downwards with no sign of a chute opening. Later he found out that it had been his friend Kurt, like him just twenty years old. The plane exploded in the air, killing the pilot and everyone else left on board. Dieter had been the only one to survive.

  He landed in someone’s back garden, and the owner, a man of around fifty, came out brandishing a kitchen knife and shouting to his wife to get the Home Guard.

  Dieter was so badly shaken by what had happened and the death of his friends that he stood on trembling legs, holding his hands in the air. ‘I’m not going to try to escape,’ he said in English. ‘May I unhook my parachute?’

  The man nodded and waved the knife menacingly. ‘Don’t try anything.’

  Dieter released the harness just as a young boy of about fourteen sidled up to the man. ‘Is he German, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Jimmy. Speaks passable English. Looks a bit rough, though. Go and get him a drop of that brandy I’ve got in the cupboard.’

  The boy sped off and was back almost at once with a glass in his hand. Dieter took it from him and gave a slight bow, struggling to keep his hand from shaking. The fiery liquid burnt its way to his stomach, making him gasp. He had been close to losing consciousness, but that had certainly brought him back to life.

  ‘Good drop of stuff, that,’ the man said, seeing his reaction.

  Dieter couldn’t argue with that, but it had settled his insides a little. Probably with shock, he’d thought wryly.

  Two soldiers arrived with HOME GUARD on their uniforms. ‘What you got there, Harry?’

  ‘Fell out of the sky. Made a bleedin’ mess of my spuds,’ he complained. ‘Speaks English, but he looks real bad so I gave him a drop of the ’ard stuff.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ the Sergeant asked, as he searched him for weapons.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Hmm. Any more of you around for us to collect up?’

  ‘I think they’re all dead. The plane blew up. You’ll find a body somewhere. His parachute didn’t open.’

  ‘You a pilot?’ the boy asked.

  Dieter shook his head – carefully, as the drink on an empty stomach was making him feel light-headed. He almost laughed. What a way to treat an enemy – giving him brandy. The raid was over, but the place was lit up like day by the raging fires. They ought to be lynching him! ‘No, I’m a navigator.’

  Young Jimmy still looked impressed.

  The other soldier took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, and then handed it to Dieter. He took a deep draw on it and blew the smoke out on a sigh of relief. He had some in his jacket pocket but hadn’t wanted to make any unusual moves. These people appeared to be extraordinarily friendly – not at all what they had been told to expect – but he was sure that at the first indication of a threat they wouldn’t hesitate to deal with him.

  Much to his surprise he was taken first to a military doctor, who gave him a thorough examination. It was only then he realized that his hands were burnt, but not badly, and that there was a cut on his forehead, probably done as he’d fought his way out of the plane. The Doctor had been brisk but not unkind. Dieter was confused, but he wasn’t sure if this was due to the bump on his head or to his utter amazement at the treatment he was receiving. The Luftwaffe had been coming over night after night and unloading their bombs, giving them no rest. Even now London was ablaze, with untold numbers dead or injured.

  He remembered sitting on the edge of the examination table, shaking his head in disbelief as he thought about the brandy and cigarette he’d been given in the garden. The whole thing was surreal.

  ‘The military police are here for you.’ The Doctor shone a light in his eyes again. ‘Do you feel
well enough to walk?’

  ‘I’m all right. Thank you, Doctor.’ Dieter had hauled himself to his feet. Military police! Now things would change. He wouldn’t be shown any mercy.

  But he was wrong. They took him in a lorry to somewhere else in London for interrogation. On the way he’d seen the terrible damage caused by the raid. Flames were leaping in the air as buildings burnt and came crashing down. Firemen were tackling the hopeless task of trying to contain the fires; people were digging in the rubble, looking for survivors. And it wasn’t only men: there were women out there, side by side with the men. Everyone was going about their job with urgency, but there was no sign of panic. They had all been told that the systematic bombing of cities would make the British capitulate. From what he could see, Dieter doubted that very much.

  ‘Looks a bit different from down here, don’t it, mate?’ His guard lit a cigarette and handed it to him. ‘If your Hitler thinks he’s gonna break us like this, he’s very wrong. All you’re doing is making us bloody mad, and that’s not a good thing to do. We won’t stop now until we’ve won this damned war.’ He stared long and hard at his prisoner.

  Dieter didn’t say anything. The man sounded so sure, but, sitting in that truck with London in flames around him, he didn’t see how this beleaguered country could possibly survive. After their losses at Dunkirk, they were completely alone, with the might of the German Army just across the Channel. The odds were stacked against them.

  They arrived at their destination, and he was marched into a room containing a simple table: two army officers sat on one side and an empty chair was on the other side for him. His heart was thumping. Now he expected some brutality.

  But he was wrong again! They asked, politely, for his name, number and rank, which he supplied. When he refused to name his airfield and denied knowing what the future plans were, they left it at that. They even gave him a cup of tea, for heavens sake!

  Being a prisoner had come as a nasty shock, and he’d prowled the barbed-wire perimeter, struggling with despair and a longing to be free. He eventually came to accept it, but the desire for his home and family was a constant ache in his heart. Over the next three years he went from camp to camp. Some weren’t too bad; others he was glad to get away from if there were hardened Nazis there. They really made life unpleasant for the more moderate Germans like himself, and he learnt very quickly to keep his mouth shut. He ended up in Somerset at Goathurst Camp. It was around March 1945 when he heard about the bombing of Dresden – his home town – and he was frantic with worry for his parents and sister. All news from them stopped, and by the time the war ended he was convinced that they were dead.