by Peter Rimmer
“When I went back to Bavaria after the war the family estate was bankrupt. No one had tilled the ground and when we did, there was no money in Germany to buy the crops we produced. You’re a farmer, Harry, you’d know all about that. The tenants couldn’t pay rent, and I couldn’t pay the servants and tradesmen, and Germany was broke with France shouting for more reparations. Everyone who came back from the war was unable to find good jobs. Money became worthless. You needed a wheelbarrow full of Marks to buy a newspaper.
“It was about then I first heard of Adolf Hitler and his National Socialist Party. He was promising to put Germans back to work if the people put him in power; seductive words for a man with no job and no money to feed his family. The Allies were grinding Germany into the dust. I had thought when I came back from the war we would be all right in the country, but taxes had to be paid as well as salaries and tradesmen. No German bank would lend me money however crazy the interest rate, the inflation was so rampant; when the bank got back their Marks they would be worthless.
“My only hope was to borrow from an American bank in American dollars. I borrowed from a Jewish bank, Rosenzweigs if you have ever heard of them. By the time I had exhausted my dollar loan, Rosenzweigs owned the estate by default. Germany was worse off then than before and I went to see Uncle Werner, my dead father’s younger brother who had been in the German army most of his life. After that visit I never again heard from Rosenzweigs. By way of thanks, my uncle, a staunch member of the Party, intimated I join the Nazi Party, what he called the only salvation for Germany. Well, we Germans hadn’t been going anywhere under von Hindenburg.
“At that point you just hope the new is better than the old and turn a blind eye when the new government does things you don’t like. The Nazis say the Jews were to blame, and any of them who could were getting out of Germany, despite being Germans for centuries. Young boys like my son Erwin have been taught the Jews are evil money lenders, and a blight on society that needs eradicating. There’s a Nazi Youth Party that puts the young boys in uniform and makes them part of the pack. Erwin’s summer camp is Hitler Youth. Erwin thinks more of the Party than his parents, and will do exactly what they say. Any boy who behaves otherwise is ostracised or sent to the camp at Dachau where they threatened to send me and my family if I did not come to England. I was to listen. To pick up information for the German Secret Service… Harry, what does a man do when he loses his honour? If you mention any of this we are all dead.”
“Has Cousin Henning a stammer?”
“As a matter of fact, he has. Go to Africa, Harry.”
“Come with us.”
“I can’t. They’ll kill Erwin. Anyway, they’ll never let us all out of the country now they’ve made me work for the Party.”
“Does Bergit know why you are here in England?”
“Of course not. It’s the only piece of my pride I have left.”
“And you are going to tell them about RAF Poling?”
“You knew on Friday why I came?”
“I work for the British Air Ministry, Klaus. It’s why they sent you.”
“What do we do?”
“Nothing. This conversation never happened and you forget that radar mast near Poling. And if you do manage to reach Rhodesia, where you will always be welcome, you will meet Sir Jacob Rosenzweig’s estranged daughter, Rebecca. So yes, I have heard of Rosenzweigs. She’s married to my farm manager, Ralph Madgwick. Why did Sir Jacob forgive your loan?”
“He’s been getting Jews out of Germany to America. When I asked Uncle Werner point blank he said the transaction was quite fair. The cancellation of my mortgage in exchange for travel papers. The estate was worth one hundred and sixteen Jews to Sir Jacob Rosenzweig.”
“They say he’s quite a man. My bet is the write-off of your mortgage will look small against what he makes out of those Jews. Maybe Rosenzweig and your Uncle Werner are shrewder than you think.”
“My God, do you think so, Harry? Somehow I’m going to pay back Rosenzweigs. After the war, if it happens. Growing up, Uncle Werner never struck me as anything but a gentleman from the old school.”
“You think we’re going to fight each other again?”
“I’m afraid we are.”
“You are still a gentleman, Klaus. Whatever happens now I will never forget that. Let’s go to the Running Horses. It may be the last time we can enjoy each other’s company, old friend, before our two nations go again at each other’s throats in a new frenzy of destruction.”
“All that wasted energy.”
For five more minutes they sat in silence on the old bench deep in their own thoughts, their minds roaming back over their lives, avoiding the present. Harry could hear a pigeon calling somewhere in the woods to be answered from far away, the birds calling to each other intermittently, neither flying to the other. Small white butterflies flitted in the blossoms of the wild flowers growing away from the shade of the big oak under which only the thick, green moss thrived.
“My mother came here when she brought her father back from Rhodesia to Hastings Court for burial: once she brought me with her. It was the strangest conversation I ever had with my mother.”
Again they lapsed into a comfortable silence as his mother’s words played again through Harry’s mind.
“Don’t you feel something special, Harry?”
“I feel at peace with the world.”
“This is where it all began. The long journey of my life through Africa, something neither of us knew anything about at the time. I was sixteen, your father seventeen. We had loved each other in a different way most of our lives, only here knowing it was the love of a man for a woman, a woman for a man. So small a deed at the time. So beautiful. So vast in the consequence. Now father is back in his ancient home, beneath the same earth as his ancestors. That much I owed him for all the pain of exile.”
“Grandfather loved Rhodesia!”
“He loved me, you and Madge and all your children. But this was his home and losing it was all the fault of me and your father loving each other too much; thinking only of ourselves, being selfish… Anyway, he’s home and buried. I hope at peace. Your grandfather was a very lovely man. He built the windmills to bring water from the Mazoe River and give us all constant running water in the houses.”
“He fulfilled his life on Elephant Walk.”
“It was here he loved my mother. Here were his memories of love… Right here at this very spot were my first memories of love.”
“What are you saying, Mother?”
“That under this old spreading oak your father and I declared our love for each other, my darling, and because of that our family odyssey began through Africa. Don’t blush, Harry. You’re too old to blush. You are a child of pure love. Be thankful. I always think it is why you have always been a good person.”
“Mothers and sons don’t talk about such things.”
“Then they should.”
When they reached the Running Horses the Morgan was parked outside and Anthony was sitting on a bench with his back to the wall looking pleased with himself.
“The price I paid for the ride home. They’re inside. Something about a new barmaid. What is it about barmaids, Dad?”
“I suppose it won’t be long before you find out, Son. I hope that’s lemonade in your glass. How was your flight?”
“Brilliant, Dad. And so much fun at Redhill.”
“Indeed, I’m sure. How long have they been inside?”
“Ten minutes. Can I have a shandy?”
“You can have another glass of lemonade. How did you all fit in the car?”
“I sat on the back of the seat with my legs between Andre and Tinus, holding on for dear life.”
“Don’t let your mother hear about it, or Frank for that matter. He’ll tell her just to get you into trouble.”
“Did you two walk?”
“All the way. Your mother and Mrs von Lieberman are having a natter. You all right out here?”
; “They won’t let me inside until I’m eighteen.”
“I should think not. Just don’t fall off the back of the Morgan on the last leg of the journey home.”
“Andre was hanging onto my left foot.”
“He always was a practical soul.”
Both Andre and Tinus were leaning over the bar to be as near to the barmaid as possible, or so it seemed to Harry; the girl was very young, her complexion in full bloom. As usual on a Sunday, in the bar were middle-aged men having a pint before going back for their Sunday lunch and an afternoon nap after eating too much of the roast at the family lunch table.
“She is pretty,” whispered Klaus who had not broached the subject of his conscience again after getting up from the bench under the tree; both knew neither was going to talk about the subject again.
“Nothing ever changes in this bar,” said Harry smiling. “Sunday tradition. The wives let them out for a couple of pints while they cook the Sunday lunch. We then all stuff ourselves and complain of overeating… As to be expected. Look at them. They’re talking cricket and ogling the girl… What’s her name, Tinus?”
“Uncle Harry! Didn’t see the car when I looked to make sure Anthony was sitting on the bench.”
“We walked. Order me two pints of bitter.”
“Millicent,” said Andre.
“That’s a nice name. Millicent, give me two pints of bitter and whatever these lads are drinking and a lemonade for my son outside.”
“On a week day I’d let him in the bar.”
“Not until he’s eighteen, Millicent, and that’s a long time to go.”
When the girl had gone to the middle of the bar to pull the new pints of beer, Harry leaned close to Tinus who was now standing with his back to the bar, one foot up on the brass rail as if he owned the place.
“Wasn’t the first one’s name Minnie?” asked Harry sweetly.
“You have too good a memory, Uncle Harry.”
“What happened to Minnie, Tinus?”
“She married some chap. Like they all do. A chap who came down from Liverpool for the races.”
“Lucky girl. Hope she’s happy.”
“Went back with him to Liverpool.”
“Don’t put your nose in the air about the foreigners up north. Fact is, we Brigandshaws came from Liverpool. Where the Pirate first learnt his trade. Inside of you is a small part of Liverpool… Drive slowly when you come back after the beers.”
“How can I find out the cost of building a concrete dam?”
“I have the measurements of the gorge at home. The height and distance. There’s a civil engineer in Birmingham and another in Coventry who can give you a rough estimate. I’ll hand you all the correspondence I’ve had so far.”
“I’m driving up to Oxford at first light tomorrow.”
“Then we have plenty of time. Now you can turn round again and smile at Millicent, or has Andre got the edge this time?”
5
Their conversation had gone on for an hour before either of them missed their husbands. It was easier for Tina to feel comfortable with a foreigner. Aristocratic wives who came to Hastings Court to enjoy the free hospitality always had their noses in the air when they talked to her, as if there was a small joke in the back of their heads as they condescended to talk to a woman, seemingly as an equal, whose mother and father were at the bottom rung of the working class living in a railway cottage, the father carrying suitcases for the rich. To Bergit von Lieberman she was Harry Brigandshaw’s wife and that was good enough to let them become friends.
Complaining to each other about the problems with servants had made the time fly and temporarily removed some of the worry from Bergit’s mind. She had been the first to realise Klaus and Harry had gone missing. Now it felt again like the lull before the storm, that something bad was about to happen even before they returned home to Germany. Though she gave the impression her English was fluent she had to concentrate all the time, translating sentences from German into good English. The tension deep in her body was back on the surface, jangling her nerves.
“It’s all so peaceful,” she said. “There are terrible things about to happen in the world and here it is all so peaceful.”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” asked Tina, who never read the newspapers, saying they just made her worry about events she could do nothing about.
“You don’t live in the new Germany under a Fuehrer,” said Bergit bitterly. “Why don’t you go and live in Africa? Far away from trouble.”
“There’s no trouble at Hastings Court. I prefer living surrounded by my own people. You forget Harry was a prisoner to a tribe of black savages. We nearly lost everything. Then I would have had to go and live in Africa. Now we have our money back from the government, I don’t. I was going to be a poor widow living off the charity of my mother-in-law who is an aristocrat. Maybe I should have told you, my own family are working class. Here I am Lady of the Manor and that’s how it’s going to stay. Have you any idea what it’s like to be poor? Some of them may look down their noses at me, but few of them have our money. Money is power, Bergit. I like it. It makes me feel safe. I have the children’s future to think about. There’s more to life than growing tobacco or running around the African bush with an elephant gun wearing a big hat. Tinus understands.
“He’s getting himself a degree in economics. Going into business to make real money, not own an African farm. How long do you think those blacks are going to want us English running their country? A handful of Englishmen running a country the size of the British Isles. It’s a fool’s paradise where the sun shines too much and shrivels up the skin. Harry’s family have been in these parts for nine hundred years. Harry wasn’t even born in Africa, let alone his father; Harry was born right here at Hastings Court. They call themselves Rhodesians. They’re Englishmen hiding under those big hats playing big white hunters. If our countries are going to war again for some obscene reason, so be it. We’ve done it all before, though usually we English fight beside you Germans against the French, if that makes any difference to war. You never know, maybe one day we Europeans will come to our senses and support each other instead of killing each other; and when we do, I want my children part of it, not part of some tin-pot country in Africa. Don’t you miss your children, Bergit?”
“All the time.”
They looked away from each other, both remembering what their lives were really all about.
“I hear a car,” said Tina, breaking the momentary silence. “Sounds like the Morgan. I’ll bet they’ve all been to the pub. If Anthony has been perched on the back of the car seat I’ll skin him alive. Why do we never stop worrying about our children?”
“Because they are all we have to leave behind in the world. They are our immortality. The only way we survive, unless you believe in going to heaven. Klaus says heaven, if it exists, is a lonely place. That inside all of us is too much evil just waiting to get out.”
“Don’t you believe in the Bible? God’s creation of man?”
“Darwin’s theory of evolution knocked that into a cocked hat, if that is the right British expression. If God created the world six thousand years ago, how come the dinosaurs became extinct sixty-five million years earlier? I’m agnostic: I don’t know. If there is a god in heaven he doesn’t much care what we do to each other, quite often in his name. You only have to live through a war and its aftermath to have little faith. Look at the Russians after the war and their own civil war. Communism threw religion out the window. Maybe one day they’ll believe again, when communism proves worse than what they had before. No one has found the perfect way to run society and no one ever will; too many conflicting interests.”
“Come and have a cup of tea. I’ll bet Harry thinks we’ve been talking trivia.”
Avoiding his mother and the inevitable inquisition, Anthony went to see Mrs Craddock and find out how near it was to lunch; he was starving, having eaten his breakfast what seemed to him hours ago.
“In the c
onservatory today, Anthony. Among the plants and flowers. In my opinion it is going to rain at half past two when your lunch will be ready. And keep your paws off that trifle or I’ll have more to say than words.”
“What are you roasting in the oven?”
“Chicken.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Will that be enough? I’m starving.”
“Out you go, Anthony. Now!”
“Smells absolutely delicious. Did I ever tell you, you are the best cook in the whole wide world.”
“Every time when you are hungry.”
Half an hour later Harry came across his wife as they all ran into the conservatory out of the rain. He and Klaus were laughing, having bolted the last fifty yards back from the Running Horses to keep from getting wet.
“You two have a good natter? Thought we’d leave you alone. Do you know, if they didn’t close the pub at two o’clock none of those people would eat their Sunday lunch? Best law we ever made. The men get a good lunch, a good sleep and no hangover. The whole family sitting round the lunch table is the most important gathering in the world… So, what were you two talking about? Servants and children?”
“Actually religion and the terrible state of the world,” said Tina. “Something you men would not understand further than what you were taught at school.”
“Bishops was a very good school. Run by the church.”
“That’s exactly my point. Do you know Mrs Craddock laid lunch in here knowing it was going to rain? How does she always know?”
“What’s for lunch?”
“Roast chicken, Dad,” said Anthony, taking his place at the improvised lunch table, fork and knife in his hands on the table held vertical. “Only two of them. I hope there’ll be enough for you.”
“They are big birds, darling,” said his mother. “Very big. Now put down the knife and fork and wait for lunch like the rest of us.”