They did as she asked, delighted with the distraction. They gazed expectantly at both the rabbi and Daniel.
‘Today, my little ones, I have some very good news.’ The rabbi smiled, a rare enough occurrence to pique their interest even more. ‘It is not the Jewish way to delight in the demise of another, but in this one case only, I think it is justified.’
Twenty-seven pairs of eyes focused wordlessly.
‘Today we have heard on the news from the BBC in London that Adolf Hitler is dead.’
The spontaneous cheering, the tears, the hugging of each other was both heart-warming and so sad. They’d lost so much. For the vast majority, that man and his horrific ideology had destroyed all they held dear.
Daniel walked to Elizabeth and put his arm around her. ‘It’s true, he’s dead. The Germans announced it on the radio. Sombre music, fallen fighting Bolshevism or some rubbish like that. Who cares? The most important thing is he is dead.’
Relief. The war was surely over now. They would not keep going. The Russians were in Berlin, the news full of how the Germans were making one last pitched effort but that Berlin was falling to the Soviets. And now that malicious beast was dead. Surely it was just a matter of announcing it was all over?
The news over the last few days said that several high-ranking German officers were anxious to make a deal but the Allies were adamant that no such deal would be made. Unconditional surrender, with no provisos, was the only acceptable outcome. But the death of Hitler must mean that.
Liesl and Erich rose from their seats and walked into her and Daniel’s embrace, tears running down both of their faces. The children had gathered around the rabbi, and now Ruth and Levi appeared too. The sounds of whooping and applause brought Mr and Mrs Morris, the principal and his wife, to the room, followed by their charges. Elizabeth and Daniel welcomed them in, and soon the room was packed to capacity. Voices of children and adults melded together in a cacophony of sound and emotion. Locals and refugees alike comforted each other and cried. The Jews were not the only ones who had suffered; so many of the young men of Ballycreggan would never come home again. After a while, the rabbi called for silence and everyone did as he asked.
‘Now, little ones, this is the end. Welcome to our friends.’ He held his hand up in a gesture of welcome to the Morrises and the other children. ‘That terrible man is dead, he will be dealt with by Almighty God, and he will have to answer for his crimes. Soon the war will be over. Now let us pray for all those who did not live to see this day.’
He stood before them and intoned El Maleh Rachamim, the prayer for the dead. It was less well known than the Kaddish, but Elizabeth found the words deeply moving. The rabbi said it first in Hebrew and then in English, and his congregation either stood silently or allowed the tears to fall.
‘God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heaven’s heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of your Shechinah, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest. May You, who are the source of mercy, shelter them beneath your wings eternally, and bind their souls among the living, that they may rest in peace, and let us say…’
The crowd responded, ‘Amen,’ in unison.
Elizabeth squeezed Daniel’s hand, thinking of her parents, Rudi, Peter, his parents, his brother and so many more. She liked the imagery of their souls illuminating the skies.
Mr Morris then spoke up. ‘Now then, boys and girls, this is such a happy day. There has been much sadness, but for now let’s celebrate. The dark days of war are almost over, and we survived. And what better way to do that than by taking the rest of the day off!’
He beamed as the children whooped with delight. The solemnity wasn’t gone and the reality of their uncertain futures was never far from their minds, but for today, they wanted just to be children in a world where good had won over evil in the end.
Within seconds, the classroom was vacated and only the adults remained. Father O’Toole and Reverend Parkes had driven up to the school upon hearing the news. Just last month, they’d had news that Reverend Parkes’s son had been killed. He had been a captain in the Royal Navy, serving aboard the HMS Royal Beech. The vicar’s wife had not been seen in public since.
Mrs Morris managed to produce a fruit cake she’d been saving for her niece’s wedding. They moved out into the sunshine, sitting on the benches the children normally used to have their lunch, and watched the endless Europeans versus Ballycreggan football game that had begun in 1939 and was currently standing at 3,015 goals to 3,075 to the locals. The five-year score was a matter of continuous contention and argument that any sensible person would steer well clear of. With the late spring sun on their faces, the Catholics and Protestants, and Jews and Irish, English, Germans and Austrians, sat together, discussing the future, drinking tea and eating cake.
‘Let’s have a party tonight,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘The farm looks so lovely now, and I know the children would love to show it off to everyone who donated things. What do you think, Ruth? Can we cobble together a bit of a spread?’
‘Of course we can.’ Ruth smiled, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder. ‘I’ll put the word out that it’s a bring-whatever-you-have, and we’ll manage something.’
‘Mr Morris, you’ll bring your fiddle, I hope,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘And would you believe Major Kilroy donated a piano to the farm? I don’t know how in tune it is, but Mrs Morris might lead us in a sing-song?’
‘We’d love to.’ The Morrises grinned.
The day was spent in industry in Ballycreggan as word of the party spread. Baking was done, sandwiches made, and everyone was in high spirits. The death of Hitler was the first real reason to celebrate in years, and they were embracing the opportunity as a community.
Later that evening, as Mrs Morris was leading a rousing version of ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ on the only slightly out-of-tune Brinsmead piano and the boys were playing football on the new pitch in the last of the late spring daylight, Elizabeth found Daniel on the porch, sipping a cup of coffee.
‘Hiding out here so you don’t have to share your secret coffee stash, are you?’ she teased as she sat beside him.
‘You caught me.’ He grinned. Daniel was the world’s most generous man – he would give anyone the shirt off his back – but he’d managed to keep a small trickle of real coffee coming throughout the war. He did regular work in Belfast for a man who was an importer, and while for almost everyone coffee was impossible to get, he kept Daniel in a small supply in return for maintenance work. It was his secret, and he only drank it alone.
‘Imagine – soon we’ll be able to buy it in the shops! And sugar and flour and all sorts. I’ll get fat and I can’t wait.’ She laughed.
‘I’d love you anyway. Maybe we’ll both get fat and lazy when this is all over.’
‘Oh no,’ she joked. ‘You better stay fit and handsome or I might run off with a Yank.’
He chuckled. The local girls were very much enamoured with the American soldiers stationed in Northern Ireland. The soldiers had made a headquarters at an old stately home called Langford Lodge, and the comings and goings of the Yanks were a source of tremendous interest to everyone. The local lads’ noses were well out of joint when the girls seemed much more enamoured of the exotic Americans with their supplies of nylon stockings and chocolates than the home-grown variety of boyfriend.
‘I’d better lay off the cake so. Mrs Forde’s fruit cake was so good,’ he said, patting his flat belly.
She cuddled up to him, not caring if some of the children or even the rabbi saw them. It was a special day, and they listened to the sound of happy voices all around them. ‘That’s because every single thing Mrs Forde makes is laced with poitín, including her cakes, and including herself if I’m honest.’
‘Really?’ Daniel was surprised. ‘But isn’t she the priest’s housekeeper?’
‘She is
, with unlimited access to altar wine.’ Elizabeth winked and Daniel laughed.
‘Ballycreggan never ceases to surprise me.’
Chapter 21
Willi and Ariella knew they would have to convince his mother of the plan, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Mutti, please listen. The Russians are here, and it’s not safe. You and Ariella must go into hiding, just until this is all sorted out. They are running amok, and women are the targets. Their officers aren’t stopping them.’ Willi was pleading now.
‘Her maybe.’ Frau Braun nodded in Ariella’s direction. ‘But I have nothing to fear. They won’t have any interest in a dried-up old woman.’
‘I wish that were true, Mutti, but it’s not. There are stories all over the city of rapes, attacks, on all women. Old, young, they don’t care. It’s about hurting the German men, paying us back. We need to get you both out of sight, just for now.’
‘But where can we go? Even if I agreed to go, there is nowhere.’ Frau Braun sighed. She was so fatalistic anyway, and this news would just drive her further into her dark depression.
Ariella and Willi shared a covert glance; she gave him an encouraging nod.
‘Look, I know you won’t want to, but I went back to our old place. Hubert’s body is gone, and we could use the attic again, where you hid Ariella all that time.’
Frau Braun snorted in derision. ‘Absolutely not, that’s insane. How would we get there, for a start, and there isn’t room up there for one person, let alone two. No. Let her go up there if she wants, but I’m not going.’
Willi placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I’ve never asked you for anything, have I?’
She averted her eyes from his, but he gently took her chin, moving her head so their eyes met again.
‘Have I?’
She sighed and shook her head.
‘So I’m asking you now. Will you do this for me?’
It was his trump card, he knew. She could refuse him nothing.
‘Fine,’ she huffed, and he winked at Ariella over her head.
The journey across the city was terrifying. There was even more carnage now, and the Russians were everywhere. They kept to the back streets and ducked into doorways and down alleyways when they saw soldiers. Eventually, they reached the Brauns’ old house. The back door was no longer hanging, having been kicked in, probably by looters, and there was a large brown stain on the tiles in the hallway where Hubert had lain. But they had no time to dwell on that. Willi helped as best he could, but it was Ariella who managed to manoeuvre Frau Braun and herself into the attic’s small space.
The sight of the makeshift bed, her home for four long years, made her shudder. Not long now, she told herself. She would be free, but they had to wait for the Americans.
Willi would sleep in his old room, and he’d managed to clean it up a bit. Someone, or possibly several someones, had used it. The sheets and blankets were gone, and there were empty bottles and cigarette butts all over the floor. Luckily, they’d brought a little bedding from Walther’s place, and Willi said he would go back and get more now that they were safely in the attic.
Once she and Frau Braun had managed to scramble up, in lots of ways it was as if she’d never left. Ariella felt so sad about her letters that Herman Braun had found. She’d kept them, her last physical link to Liesl and Erich, under the pillow for so long.
Each day, Willi gave them whatever food he’d managed to find – usually not much – and they drank the water from the tank. It would have been nice to keep the trapdoor open, as they could feel close to him that way, but it was too risky.
Frau Braun lay beside her, day and night, getting ever more listless. Ariella tried to encourage her to exercise, but she refused. The noise outside was never-ending. The bombing had stopped thankfully, but there were gunshots, tanks rolling by, loudspeakers with rough Russian voices, screaming…constant screaming. Willi told them what he saw when he went out, and it was blood-chilling. Apparently, the rumours were true; Russian soldiers were raping all women and girls, dragging them from their homes, attacking them right in the street. It was hard to comprehend, but it was happening. Ariella wept for her city. How much more could it endure? Surely it had been through enough?
Willi made them promise to stay where they were. He would take care of them, but they must not come out under any circumstances. She wasn’t sure he was right. She wanted to approach them, tell them she was a Jew, that they all were, but he said she was being stupid and naïve. It was the only argument she and Willi ever had. He’d been unusually cranky, but she knew his leg was extremely painful and thought she smelled something putrid around him. She’d asked him if the wound looked different or if it was any worse, but he’d snapped that he was fine and hobbled downstairs. She had no choice but to close the trapdoor.
Father Dominic stood across the street from the church, his heart sinking. His fellow priest, Father Alphonse, was being manhandled into the back of a Russian army truck. He knew enough Russian to know they suspected him of being a Nazi collaborator. They were wrong actually. There were some of his brother priests who had not been as vocal as they should have been, but Alphonse wasn’t one of them. He was a soft-spoken man, but he’d stood up to the Nazi bullies more than once. He was a pious man from Frankfurt, but that wouldn’t matter now.
Father Dominic wanted to intervene but knew it would be pointless. He would just get himself thrown in the back of that truck too. Communists hadn’t much sympathy for clerics anyway, and now that the city was in their grasp, he wasn’t hopeful for his future.
He was bone-weary. Maybe his life coming to an end now would be a blessing. He could go home to God and leave this hell. Every day, he’d faced a new horror, and he was so very tired.
One of his parishioners, a man called Gerhardt Richter, had been shot by the Russians two days ago. The Reds had come into his house and attacked his youngest daughter, Hilde. His older girl, Anya, had been killed in a raid two months ago. Dominic had given both girls their first communions and confirmations.
Once several of the soldiers had had their way with her, the poor girl dragged her wounded father to the church, both of them bleeding, but it was too late for Gerhardt.
The loss of her father, the only one of her family left, proved too much. Poor Hilde had walked outside and approached a very drunk Russian in the street. He went to grab her, thinking his luck was in presumably, but in the melee, she took his pistol from his holster, calmly put it in her mouth and pulled the trigger. She was only nineteen.
Dominic found himself envying her, her father, her sister – all those who were gone.
The war was over. There had been an unconditional surrender. Germany was beaten. The sense of relief, or even happiness that it was all over, was notably absent because those who remained in Berlin were so terrified.
Of the purveyors of the lies, those who boasted of the glorious 1,000-year Reich, there was no sign, and all that remained of Adolf Hitler’s dream was a broken people, being further brutalised by those who saw themselves as having the right to exact revenge. It was impossible to ever imagine normal life again. Perhaps if it had been the Americans or the British who’d marched on Berlin, then there might have been some chance, but now, the damage that was being done, it was beyond endurance.
His leg ached. He’d been hit repeatedly with an iron bar the last time he was taken in for questioning, and he doubted he’d ever walk again without a limp, but that was nothing compared to the others.
The priest let himself into the parochial house, and for once, it was deserted. He went to his room and then to his bookshelf and extracted the letters Ariella had written.
He felt nothing but gratitude for her bravery, and he thought of her daily. She knew he was helping others and that Stella Kübler was aware of her presence. She could have availed of his offer to hide her but took her chances instead. He prayed nightly that she survived, though he had to admit it was u
nlikely. He could be picked up any day himself, anything could happen, so he decided what he should do.
He grabbed a notepad and began to write. Once he was finished, he took her letters, put them all in an envelope and went to meet the British agent operating deep undercover in the city. He and the priest had exchanged information, money and even Allied servicemen over the years, so Dominic knew he could trust him to get the letters out and posted. At least he could do that much for her.
Chapter 22
Elizabeth looked at the sincere young man who’d called to see her and Daniel in such a formal way. Daniel saw Ben every day at the farm, but tonight he was dressed in smart trousers and an ironed shirt. Elizabeth knew he’d asked Ruth to show him how to iron it properly in honour of the occasion.
He cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed. ‘So, Mrs Lieber and Daniel, I wanted to call to ask you both formally if I could take Liesl to the dance in the village hall to celebrate the end of the war? I promise you I would behave like a perfect gentleman, and we would be chaperoned at all times, and I –’
Daniel raised his hand to stop him. His face was stern, an emotion Elizabeth knew he didn’t really feel, but he was very protective of Liesl and would have to be completely sure that this young man had no dishonourable intentions. She knew her husband liked Ben actually, but he explained to Elizabeth that he didn’t want the young man to feel anything but complete terror for Liesl’s surrogate father.
She thought he was being a little hard on Ben. He was a sweet boy and really smitten with Liesl, who had grown up to be a beautiful girl with an equally lovely temperament. She was serene and gentle and highly intelligent. Elizabeth thought Daniel should give her more credit, and told him so. She’d met Rudi when she was sixteen and had fallen in love, so she knew how Liesl felt.
‘You’re forgetting, my darling wife, that I was once a boy like Ben, and however it looked on the outside, I can assure you that when it came to pretty girls, my intentions were far from pure,’ he’d said wryly as she cuddled up to him in bed.
The Emerald Horizon (The Star and the Shamrock Book 2) Page 15