‘You’re supposed to be keeping a watch out, Matt,’ Guy said sharply. ‘I don’t want us going aground.’
With the water so murky it was hard to gauge the depth at all. Sometimes, if it turned a lighter colour, there was a bit of warning, but mostly it was impossible to tell until it was too late. They were on port tack, rounding a bend, when the Rose lurched to a halt. Anna turned her head. ‘Why have we stopped, Guy?’
‘Because we’re on a mud-bank, that’s why. Matt, I said to keep a lookout.’
‘It is not Matt’s fault. You cannot see anything under the water. How could he tell? You look so cross, Guy. What does it matter?’
‘It matters because we could be stuck here for ages.’
She started to laugh. ‘We look so funny, sitting here in the middle of the river, not moving at all.’
‘There’s nothing funny about it. Unless you find the prospect of sitting here for hours until the tide comes in amusing.’
‘I don’t mind. Lizzie doesn’t mind, either, do you? She’s not feeling sick any more.’ Lizzie was giggling and then stopped when she saw Guy’s face.
Another sailing-boat came fast up the river with two aboard and Matt recognized the Chilver brothers, Tom and Harry, who lived upstream from Tideways. They were in their brand-new Grey Heron – a sleek twenty-foot thoroughbred from Pettigrews that Matt knew Guy would have given his eye-teeth for. The elder one, Tom, cupped a hand round his mouth and shouted across. ‘I say, awfully bad luck, Guy! Anything we can do?’
Guy flushed and yelled back. ‘No, thanks, Tom. We’re fine. We’ll be off in a jiffy.’
‘They are laughing,’ Anna said. ‘They think it is funny too.’ She waved at the brothers who waved back, grinning.
Guy looked even crosser. ‘If you don’t mind being some help for a change, Anna, you and Lizzie can come back aft, out of our way, and keep your heads down. We’ll try and push her off at the bow with the oars, Matt.’ The patched red sail flapped loosely and the boom swung free as they wielded the heavy oars like punt poles against the mud. The wind had blown Rose side-on to the bank and she was clinging to it affectionately. The wet oar kept slipping in Matt’s grasp. He couldn’t get a good grip on it with his wonky hand to put enough pressure on the shove.
‘Come on, Matt. Harder!’
‘He is trying his hardest, Guy. You are very unkind.’
‘Shut up, Anna.’
‘I can help Matt.’
‘You’re to stay where you are,’ Guy yelled at her. ‘You’ll only get in the way. And keep your head down unless you want the boom to catch it. OK, Matt, let’s try again.’
‘I think she’s moving,’ Lizzie said. ‘Yes, she is.’
Rose’s bows swung slowly out into the river and Matt scrambled down to the stern to push off there with his oar while Guy took the helm.
‘We were not there for long,’ Anna remarked. ‘You need not have worried so much, Guy.’
Further upstream they overtook Grey Heron aground on another mud-bank. Guy cupped his hand.
‘Bad luck, Tom! Need any help?’
‘We’re perfectly all right, thanks.’
Anna waved at them graciously as the Rose ploughed by. ‘They are not laughing this time,’ she said.
‘I have come to say goodbye, Guy.’
He put down the balsa-wood wing that he was sanding. ‘Didn’t realize you were off already.’
‘Oh yes, your mother is taking us to the station very soon to catch the train to London. Lizzie is just finishing her packing.’ Anna nodded at the table. ‘What is it that you are making?’
‘A plane.’
‘I can see that it is a plane. I meant what kind?’
‘You wouldn’t know it.’
She looked round the room and up at the ceiling. ‘So many aeroplanes. You must like them very much.’
‘I do, as a matter of fact.’
‘Matt says you want to be a pilot one day. To join – what is it called – the air army?’
‘The Royal Air Force. Possibly.’
‘At least there are no mud-banks in the sky.’
He picked up the wing and started sanding again. ‘We got off all right, anyway.’
‘I meant to joke, Guy. I know that you are a very good sailor. And I am sure you will be a very good pilot.’ She watched him working for a moment. ‘Why do you want so much to be one?’
He frowned. ‘No idea, really. I had an uncle who flew with the Royal Flying Corps in the Great War but I never met him. He was killed before I was born. Some of these models are ones he made. He left them to Father and Father gave them to me. I suppose it started then.’
‘How sad that he was killed.’
He blew on the wing. ‘He was shot down by von Richthofen.’
‘Who?’
‘The German ace. Haven’t you heard of him?’
‘I do not think so.’
‘Surely you’ve heard of him? He was on your side?’
‘My side?’
‘Well Austria fought with Germany against us, didn’t they?’
‘I was not alive. It is not my fault.’
‘I didn’t say it was. Von Richthofen was one of their highest-scoring pilots. He had eighty kills. That’s a model of his plane up above your head. The red one with three wings.’
‘Such a funny-looking thing.’
‘The men he shot down didn’t think so.’
‘Why could they not shoot him?’
‘One did, in the end.’
‘So he was not lucky any more.’ She stopped looking at the triplane. ‘I came to thank you, too, as well as to say goodbye.’
He glanced up suspiciously but she looked quite serious. ‘What for?’
‘For taking me to the North Sea.’
‘Oh. That’s OK.’
‘I wanted very much to go.’
‘Yes, Lizzie told me. You could have asked me yourself.’
‘I was afraid.’
‘Afraid? You?’
‘I was afraid that you would say no. You like Lizzie, but you do not like me.’
‘I’d’ve said the feeling was pretty mutual, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I wouldn’t have done. I’m not that mean, whatever you think.’ He carried on sanding busily, smoothing the wood. She’d spent the whole visit putting his back up and now she expected him to be all sweetness and light.
‘So … I wish you a good term at school. You will be the schulsprecher, Matt says. The chief boy.’
‘Head boy.’
‘I can imagine you as that. Giving the orders.’
He ignored her, blowing hard, and went on sanding. When he looked up again, she had gone.
Chapter Six
‘Anna Stein, will you see me after class, please.’
The girl sitting in front of her turned round with a smirk on her face. ‘You’re for it.’
What could she have done wrong? Her marks were always either A plus or A and her spoken French easily the best in class. When the bell rang for the end of the lesson she went to the desk where Mademoiselle Gilbert was gathering her books together. The teacher spoke to her in French.
‘You have been helping Elizabeth Ellis with her homework, isn’t that so? No use denying it, Anna. The French language is not Elizabeth’s strong subject and suddenly she is giving me perfect translations and a composition that I know very well she could not have written by herself. I wonder how this can be and then I remember that you live with Monsieur and Madame Ellis and, voilà, I have my answer.’
‘I may have helped a little.’
‘More than a little, that is certain. And it does not help Elizabeth. No doubt you meant well, but she will not learn if she does not need to do the work. You must not do it all for her. Do you understand?’
‘Oui, mademoiselle.’
Mademoiselle Gilbert picked up her books. ‘Good, then we need talk of it no more. Instead, I want to speak of a different matter. My mother is visiting me from Lille in France for a few weeks. She
speaks no English and is extremely bored with only myself for company. It would be a great kindness if you would come to visit one day and she could converse with you in French.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Anna. Shall we say tomorrow, immediately after school? You need not stay long.’
Guy knocked on the door of the Head’s study. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘Ah yes, Ransome. Come in and sit down. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.’
What bee had old Simpkins got in his bonnet now? Guy sat down in the chair in front of the desk and waited warily while the headmaster searched around in one of the drawers.
‘I have received this letter from a Herr von Reichenau in Berlin.’ Throat-clearing went on, spectacles readjusted. ‘It seems that he is to take up some special post at the German Embassy in London. He expects to remain in this country for some time.’
‘Really, sir?’ Guy looked suitably interested.
‘Herr von Reichenau has a son of approximately your age, Ransome, and he would like him to attend this school. He has been told, quite correctly, that it is one of the best schools in the country. As head boy, I’d appreciate hearing your views.’
‘My views, sir? On what, exactly?’
‘On how the other boys would take to having a German in their midst.’
‘I’m not sure, sir. Of course, the war’s been over a long time, hasn’t it?’ There was a sharp intake of breath. He’d obviously said the wrong thing.
‘It may seem so to your generation, Ransome, but for some of us the memories remain very clear. Indelible, I might say.’
Any moment now I’m going to hear about the trenches, Guy thought. The thousands dead, the mud, the wire, the gas, the rats, all the grisly horrors. The Head’s history classes frequently had a way of winding up on the Somme and refighting the battle. He said cautiously, ‘Some of the boys’ fathers were killed in the war, sir. I don’t know how they’d feel about it.’
‘I appreciate that. I lost two brothers myself.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that, sir.’
‘However, it is part of our Christian teaching that we should forgive our enemies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Only savages hold grudges for ever.’
‘Oh, absolutely, sir.’
‘Nothing against the German nation yourself, I take it?’
‘Not specially, sir. My father fought against them in the war, of course, but he doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘Naval man, isn’t he? Not quite like the trenches.’ Father had actually been sunk by a German U-boat and spent two days on a life-raft in the Atlantic before being picked up, but there was no sense in mentioning the fact. ‘A generation virtually wiped out,’ Simpkins was saying. ‘My generation. Hard to forgive and forget sometimes, I must admit.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Even so, I am of a mind to accept this boy. Show to the world that this school is capable of magnanimity. Set an example to others.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Provided, naturally, that he passes an entrance examination satisfactorily. He would be joining us next term. I understand that his English is already excellent. According to his father he is of well above average intelligence. He may even contribute something to the school. A better understanding between our two countries. We must try to look forward, not back. Put the past behind us.’
‘Yes, indeed, sir.’
‘I should expect you, as head boy, to keep an eye on him and make sure that there are no unpleasant incidents which might reach the ears of the press. Nothing that would reflect badly on the school. We pride ourselves on being English gentlemen, isn’t that so, Ransome? Tolerance, decency, decorum.’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
‘Very well. You may pass the word round. It’s probably as well to give everyone plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea.’
Guy left the study, groaning inwardly. He’d been wrong: there was something to worry about: having to play wet-nurse to some Hun and stop him getting punched up. Damn silly idea of the Head’s. He would have told him so outright only it would have been a waste of breath. The old boy had already made up his mind. He was determined to show what a good, forgiving Christian he was and never mind the consequences.
Mademoiselle Gilbert’s apartment was in the basement of a house in South Kensington with the entrance door at the bottom of an iron staircase leading down from the pavement. The sitting-room, with windows below the level of the street and a fireplace big enough to take a range, had once been the kitchen. It was the same as the kitchen in the house in Wimpole Street, only much smaller. The woman sitting in the gloom was old, like Grandmama, but ugly not beautiful, and her hair was grey, not white, and coiled tightly in the pattern of a snail’s shell. Anna greeted her in her best French.
The woman nodded. ‘Very good. You have been well taught by my daughter.’
‘Not by me,’ Mademoiselle Gilbert corrected. ‘Anna already spoke excellent French before she came to the school. She had been taught in Vienna. By a Frenchwoman, isn’t that so, Anna?’
‘What is she doing in England?’
‘She has been sent here.’
‘Whatever for? What is wrong with the schools in Austria?’
Anna said, ‘It is because my family are Jewish, madame. There is trouble for the Jews in Austria.’
The mother stared at her with eyes as dark as coal. ‘There is always trouble for the Jews … So, they sent you away to be safe.’
‘Also to learn English.’
‘I have never desired to learn English, and I never shall. I do not know how you can live in this country, Janine. You should return to Lille and France where you belong.’
‘For what, Maman? I have a very good post here and I enjoy my teaching. What should I do in Lille?’
The old woman lifted her hands in exaggerated supplication, mouth pursed. ‘She has deserted me – my only daughter. Abandoned her mother. But she does not care. Not the smallest bit.’ She was still staring at Anna with those coal eyes. ‘I can see that you are a Jewess, mademoiselle. It always shows in the nose, and the skin colour and the way the hair grows … The Jews can never hide themselves.’
‘We do not wish to, madame.’
‘Oh, yes, sometimes you do. Sometimes it is very politic not to be Jewish. To flee. To disappear. History is full of such times. Like now, in Germany. And in your country, too, it seems. The Austrians have never liked the Jews. Do you play cards?’
‘I play bezique sometimes with my grandmother. And patience.’
‘You have a grandmother in Vienna?’
‘Yes, madame.’
‘Does she live with your mother?’
‘No, but not far away.’
‘Then she is more fortunate than I. Her daughter has not deserted her. Janine, fetch the cards.’
She sat and played bezique with the old woman, but it was nothing like the fun it was with Grandmama. For one thing, Madame Gilbert did not like to lose and for another, she cheated. At the end of the game Anna escaped. Mademoiselle came to the basement door with her.
‘Thank you, Anna, for entertaining her.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘I am sorry for some of the things she says. She has been a widow for ten years and finds it hard to be on her own. It has made her bitter and often very tactless.’
‘I understand.’ But Anna didn’t understand at all. Grandmama had been a widow for even longer and it hadn’t turned her sour like bad milk.
‘Perhaps you will come again? It would help infinitely.’
‘If you wish.’ She didn’t want to in the least, but she liked Mademoiselle Gilbert and she had been kind to her at school from the very beginning when the other teachers had not. As Grandmama repeatedly insisted, debts must always be repaid and obligations met.
* * *
‘It is all arranged, Otto. You are to start at the school in January, immediately
after we arrive in England.’
‘Very well, Father.’
‘It will be a valuable experience for you. You will perfect your English and make advantageous contacts among the sons of prominent families. See that you use the opportunity well.’
‘Naturally, Father.’ He would have much preferred to remain in Berlin and finish his education there, but it was pointless to argue. He was not looking forward to living in a country that had been the enemy of his own and a party to its humiliation at Versailles. From all that he knew of the British they were a degenerate, disorderly race, as well as slightly crazed. He despised them. They had not deserved their victory, nor the power it had given them to destroy the dignity and glory of the Fatherland; a glory that was only now being restored, thanks to the Führer.
His father gave him a thin smile, as though he could read his thoughts. ‘You are very intelligent, Otto. You should have no difficulty in running rings round them.’
Mr Potter frowns. ‘I wouldn’t have had a German in the place. Arrogant lot. Nothing but trouble. We never learn, though, do we? Never. What year are you talking about?’
‘Otto started at the school at the beginning of 1936.’
‘Huh. The King died that January – I remember it well. Molly was all upset; cried for days, she did. Then we had that good-for-nothing Edward and his fancy American piece thinking she could be Queen of England. Good riddance to him, I said at the time, though Molly was upset about that too. She thought he was Prince Charming before it all happened. His brother did a much better job and gave us a proper Queen.’ He fingers his unshaven chin. ‘Let’s see, now. 1936 … A lot happened that year. I used to keep news cuttings in those days – pasted them all into a scrapbook. Must have it still, somewhere. Mr Baldwin was Prime Minister, as I recall. There was that civil war in Spain going on and Hitler walked into the Rhineland, cool as you please and never mind the Versailles Treaty. They showed it on the Pathé news at the pictures: all those German troops strutting along and the people cheering and waving and swastikas everywhere. Of course we didn’t do a blessed thing about it. Missed the only chance we had of getting rid of him. I remember how he lorded it over everybody at the Olympic Games in Berlin just afterwards, like he was some sort of god. Didn’t like it when that black man won the gold medal, though, did he? A real poke in the eye for him. What else? The Crystal Palace burned down and the Queen Mary did her maiden voyage and won the Blue Riband. And, if I’m not mistaken, the first Spitfire flew. Yes, it was quite a year.’ The pipe has gone out but he doesn’t seem to notice. He is lost in the past again. ‘We weren’t thinking about war then. It was unthinkable after the last lot. We were living in a fool’s paradise, while the Jerries were getting ready on the sly. Right up to the last. No wonder they took us for a pushover.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, we were none of us expecting another war then. Not in 1936.’
The Little Ship Page 11