Times of War Collection

by Michael Morpurgo

  When I looked up I saw that Hans had caught the compass and was holding it in his cupped hands. I was just relieved it was not broken. The children were all clapping and cheering. I had noticed before that Hans never smiled. And he was not smiling now either, despite all the applause. He was turning the compass over in his hands, examining it carefully. He flicked it open, and then looked up at Karli.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded. “It is not German. This looks to me like a British compass, or American. A German compass would have O for Ost, and this has an E. Ost in English is East. And there is English writing on it too. Where did you get it?”

  A sudden silence had descended on the stable yard. Karli for once had nothing to say. His eyes met mine. He was begging for help. But I couldn’t think of anything to say either.

  “I asked you where you got it from?” Hans said again.

  “From me.” It was Mutti’s voice from behind me. She had Peter with her as she came through the crowd towards me. She put her arm around my shoulder. “My husband gave it to me. A gift. He is fighting the Russians now, but at the beginning of the war he was in France, in Normandy. He told me he got it off a British pilot who had been shot down. It was his, and now it is mine,” she said. I admired her so much at that moment. I knew she was brave, but had no idea she could be this inventive.

  Hans hesitated for a long time. I could see he had his doubts, that he still was not sure he believed her.

  “Thank you,” Mutti went on, “for catching it, I mean. I would hate to have seen it lying there smashed on the ground. It was the last gift I had from my husband. It has brought us all the way from Dresden, you know. So, for lots of reasons, you can see it is very precious to me, to my whole family. Thank you.”

  Hans seemed more satisfied now. He thought for a while, then nodded slowly, before handing it over to her at last. “It is not a toy,” he said. “I do not think little children should be playing with such a thing.”

  “I quite agree,” Mutti replied, with a shrug and a smile. “But you know how children are. Don’t you worry. I will see to it that he does not do it again, I promise you.”

  She looked up at Karli. She did not have to pretend to be angry with him. Karli knew it. He was looking quite shamefaced and sheepish.

  “Karli, you will get down off that elephant this minute, and come with me.”

  Peter went to help him down, and once we had seen Marlene safely back in her stable, we all walked away. But I could feel Hans’s eyes on us all the time.

  After supper that same evening the countess got up and clapped her hands to quieten everyone down. “What many of you do not know,” she began, “is that the school children we have with us are from a chapel choir in Dresden. I have asked them if they would sing something for us. In these terrible times I think it is only music that can bring us some joy and peace of mind. Only last Christmas, they told me, they sang ‘The Christmas Oratorio’ by Johann Sebastian Bach, who is for me the greatest German who ever lived. They have very kindly agreed to sing some of it for us now.”

  As they were singing, I found I could lose myself completely in the music, that I could forget all the dreadful things that were going on in the world. I felt cocooned in this heavenly music. It seemed to warm me all through. It was a glow that lingered long after the singing had finished. I was still hearing it again in my head when we were back upstairs in our attic room that night, huddled under our blankets. The music had affected us all just as deeply, I think. We could talk about nothing else. Even Mutti had stopped being angry with Karli about the compass incident.

  “I only wish Papi could have been there with us to hear his beloved Bach,” she said. “He would have loved it so much.”

  We were almost asleep when the door opened, and the light of a lantern danced into the room. It was the countess. She crouched down to speak to us, talking in a hushed voice.

  “I am afraid there is trouble,” she said. “Hans is a good man. He has been with me for over forty years now. He was in the last war and is a loyal German, as I am. But he and I, we have different loyalties, different ideas. I have learned that he intends to go to the police, about the compass – yes, he has told me everything that happened. I tried to persuade him not to, but he insisted that it was his patriotic duty. I am afraid he did not believe your story, and I have to say, neither do I. But I have another reason to doubt you. Your son.” She was looking directly at Peter now. “How you speak, this has been troubling me for quite a while now. When you talk, you sound to me like an American. You see, I have relatives in America, and when they speak German, they speak just like you. My American nephew would have been about your age. It is so sad, so ironic, so stupid. He was my sister’s son, half American, half German. He joined the American army, and now lies dead in Normandy, killed by a German bullet.”

  She turned to Mutti. “There is something else I do not quite believe about this son of yours. I hear that he has asthma, and that is why he has been excused military service. But I have been watching him, and I have seen no sign of this asthma. In fact he looks to me to be strong as an ox. Hans believes he may be an enemy pilot, a bomber pilot, and I think he may be right. If he is, and you are caught, then we all know what will happen, not just to him, but to you also, all of you. I would not want to see that happen.”

  Mutti tried to interrupt, but the countess would not let her. “I think it is best that you should leave, and right away. You will have your reasons for doing what you are doing, and I am sure they are good reasons. But I do not want to know them. The less I know, the better. Your little boy looks to me as if he is quite well enough to travel now. Once Hans has alerted the police, they will not take long to get here, that is for sure. So I think you should go tonight, now, before it is too late. I shall of course tell the police that I am sure Hans’s suspicions are quite groundless. But when you go, if you do not mind, I should like you to do something for me, something that is very important. I want you to take those children with you, the choir. They have no one to look after them any more. Their choirmaster was killed, and several of the children too, on their way here. I want you to let them travel with you, to look after them. Would you do that? I know it is a lot to ask. But I have seen how much they love that elephant of yours. They will go willingly with you. They will go where she goes. I cannot keep them here for ever. I should like to, but I just do not have the room. As you can see, I am overcrowded as it is, and more come every day. I will give you enough food, for you and for them, to get you on your way.”

  She spoke in English now, to Peter, and looking him in the eye. “Tell me the truth now, young man. Am I right? Are you what I think you are? American?”

  “Canadian,” Peter replied. “RAF.”

  “I was close enough then,” she said, in German again. “This war is coming to an end very soon. I think the Americans must be very close now. It will all be over, but too late for my husband, sadly. And since I know your truth, I will tell you mine. A few months ago my husband took part in a plot to assassinate Hitler. My husband was a good German, a good officer who believed we had been led down the wrong road, a terrible road into this war, and he just wanted it to stop. The only way to do it, he thought, was to kill Hitler. So he and his friends tried to do it, tried to end the suffering. They failed, and he died for what he believed in. I believe what he believed, that the suffering must end. This is why I am doing what I do now. This is why your secret will be my secret. So gather your things and come downstairs, but hurry. I have already assembled the children, and have given each one of them enough food for a few days. It is all I can spare. Be quick now. The further you are gone from here before dawn the better.”

  She left us then, before Mutti or any of us could say a word of thanks.

  We dressed quickly, gathered our things, and made our way downstairs. The children were all waiting in the hall, the countess too. We were saying our goodbyes when the front door opened, and Hans came in. He was not alone. He had an
army officer with him, and several soldiers, their rifles pointing right at us.

  HE OFFICER SALUTED. “COUNTESS, PLEASE FORGIVE this intrusion, but I have come—”

  “Major Klug,” the countess said, advancing towards him and proffering her hand. “How good to see you again. I know why you have come. I think perhaps we should talk privately, don’t you? But first, perhaps…your soldiers, their rifles, they are frightening the children.”

  The major hesitated. He seemed at a loss for a moment as to how to deal with the situation. But he recovered quickly enough. “Very well, Countess, if you insist.” He ordered the soldiers to lower their weapons, told us all to stay right where we were, then followed the countess into her study.

  I do not know how long we stood there in the hallway, waiting, but it seemed like a lifetime. No one spoke. All the while I held Peter’s hand, knowing these might be the last moments we would have together. Karli kept looking up at Mutti, his eyes filled with tears. But Mutti did not notice. Like all of us, she was straining to listen, to make some sense out of the murmur of voices we could all hear on the other side of that door.

  When at last the door opened the major came out on his own. Without a glance at any of us, without a word, he strode swiftly across the hall towards the front door. He waited for a moment for a bewildered Hans to open it for him, and then left, his soldiers following him. The countess came out moments later, a glass in her hand. She was breathing quite heavily. “I am afraid I had to have a little drink,” she said, “to stop myself shaking.” She smiled at us then. “Do not look so worried. Actually I think it all went quite well, better than I could have hoped for. It was lucky for us that it was Major Klug who came. He served with my husband in the same regiment. They knew each other quite well. Anyway, it is all over now. In the sense in which we needed him to be, he is, I am sure, an honourable man. He will keep his word. You are safe to go.”

  “What do you mean?” Mutti asked her. “What did he say? What did you tell him?”

  “You have heard of the stick and the carrot?” the countess went on. “When you want to persuade someone to do something they do not wish to do, you need both, don’t you? Stick and carrot. First, I used the stick. I reminded him that the Americans are maybe no more than a week or two away, that if anything happened to any of you, I personally would see to it that when they come the Americans would know Major Klug was responsible, and that I would make quite sure he was shot. As for the carrot, I keep some money in my safe, not much, but it helped. And just to be sure, I read him a few words from my husband’s last letter from prison before they executed him – Major Klug had great respect for my husband. My husband wrote – and I know the words by heart –

  It makes me happy to know that out of the ashes of this horror, a new Germany must grow, and that you, and our friends and family will be a part of it. Remember always the words of Goethe that I love: ‘Whatever you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic. Begin it now.’ So, begin the new Germany, my darling, help it grow. I know you will. I am sad I will not be there to see it in person, but I shall always be with you in spirit.

  Major Klug seemed to take this very much to heart, as I hoped he would.”

  When the time came to leave later that same night, the countess kissed Karli and told him to behave himself, and then we were walking away from the house. By the time I turned to look she had gone inside. Following along behind us were the choir-school children, in pairs, a sack on every back, and as silent as we were, Mutti walking with them. Peter went on ahead, our pathfinder as usual, while I led Marlene, with Karli riding up on her, all of us knowing we owed our lives to that extraordinary and wonderful lady.

  It was hard to leave the warmth and comfort of the house behind us, and be out there again, walking through the cold of the night. It took me a while to get used to the discomfort, and the tiredness. In a way, the school children must have helped. They were a diversion, I suppose. I had little time now to worry about myself. Travelling was slower with them, of course.

  But we managed somehow to keep going. For the most part it was Mutti and I who did our best to look after the choir-school children, strictly rationing the food the countess had given us, keeping them cheerful, encouraging and comforting them through their exhaustion and their fear and sorrow. But I am sure it was Marlene who was the saving of them because Marlene made them laugh. They loved to watch her splashing in the streams, loved to feed her by hand whenever they could, and, like Karli, loved to have a good giggle whenever they heard her…how can I say this politely?…letting off – which was often, and it was very smelly too!

  Karli grew up fast during those days and nights of hardship. There was no more showing off. I think maybe the compass incident, the disaster he had so nearly brought upon us that day, had changed him, made him more aware of other people. It was Karli’s idea, for instance, that two of the choir-school children should take it in turns to ride up with him on Marlene, one in front of him, one behind. It was the best of ideas because it gave them all something to look forward to, and that was so important. It kept their spirits up, and ours too, come to that because it was so heartening to see the children enjoying themselves.

  It was not long, of course, before our supply of food ran out. For Peter, after that, it was like the feeding of the five thousand, only he was no miracle worker. Whatever food he would bring back from his scavenging missions into the countryside, from his dawn raids on farmsteads, had to be divided up between us all, and all too often there was very little to divide up. He told me he was having to take ever greater risks when it came to stealing food for us, and that dogs were his worst enemy. Once, he was even shot at from an upstairs window. He had broken into some isolated farmhouse, and was grabbing what he could from the kitchen, when the farmer’s dog attacked him, baying and barking like a wild thing. He had to drop everything and run. Luckily, the farmer did not shoot straight, but the dog managed to sink his teeth into Peter’s ankle, and that pained him for days afterwards.

  With the snow gone, early signs of spring were all around us by now, the trees budding, the meadows and hedgerows dotted with flowers. And the birds sang. But there was rain, and often at night too. We trudged on, through fields and forests, fording streams where we had to, following Peter, following his compass. But from those last weeks of our long journey into the night, I do not remember so much the tiredness, nor the cold and the wet, nor the aching hunger we were all living with the whole time now. What I remember best was the children singing. I think it probably started as one of Mutti’s ideas to keep them happy, to keep their minds occupied. And once they began singing they did not seem to want to stop. They sang, as we marched along, lightening the darkness for all of us. They sang, crammed together in some shepherd’s hut, in some forester’s shed, huddling together for warmth. And when they sang, sooner or later we joined in. We loved that, loved being part of their music-making. We were singing away our fears, and doing it together.

  We must have been a strange sight for those who caught sight of us: Peter and I, stomping along together ahead, an elephant behind us with two or three children aboard, and, following them, Mutti and her cavalcade of singing children. Karli was getting on so well with the other children by now, that often he would get down off Marlene and walk along with them, singing with them. I think he did not want to be left out, he wanted to feel he was one of them. It would not be true to say that all this singing meant we could entirely forget our discomforts, our hunger and our anxieties, but it most certainly helped us to put one foot in front of the other.

  As the days and nights passed, there was something else that lifted our spirits, and gave us new hope. We were no longer hearing the sound of guns behind us. They were ahead of us now, lighting the western horizon every night – American artillery, Peter told us. That put a real spring in our step, but at the same time we knew that no guns were friendly guns, even if they were American. We were still in grave danger.

 
More often than not now, we found ourselves sharing whatever shelter we could find with other refugees, and often with dozens of retreating German soldiers too, which made us all very nervous. But we need not have worried. They were all far too exhausted, and too depressed, to ask questions. They all loved to make a fuss of Marlene, and I think it helped also to have the children with us. Even the soldiers seemed happy to share what little food they had. It is true also that once or twice, someone did steal our food whilst we were sleeping – but then it would be fair to say that Peter had stolen it in the first place, I suppose.

  Peter made himself very popular with everyone because whenever he came back from one of his successful scrounging quests, he would share out all he could. The soldiers we encountered came with their stories like everyone else, and all their stories told one tale, that Americans were very close now, that they were breaking through everywhere, that their armies could be just over the next hill.

  But it still came as a surprise to us on that day we first met up with the Americans. We were late finding our shelter that morning, but Peter was not too worried because there was a thick mist all around us, and we were well enough hidden. But of course that made it all the more difficult to spot a likely barn or shed where we could lie up for the day.

  I remember we were making our way up a hillside, the early morning mists thinner now and wispier than before. All the children were singing, Karli too, walking along with them. I was leading Marlene by the ear, talking to her, as I often did, when she suddenly stopped, and lifted her head. Ahead of us, Peter had stopped too, and was holding up his hand. For just a moment or two, I thought he had found us a shelter, but I couldn’t see it. There was no barn, no shed, only trunkless trees rising strangely out of the mist. The children had fallen silent. We all stood there, bewildered at the terrifying crescendo of sound we were now hearing. It seemed to be coming from all around us, roaring, rattling, creaking, clanking, and it was coming closer all the time. The ground itself was shaking under our feet.