The Farmer's Daughter (18 page)

‘If we have far to walk we'll never manage it,' Gordon said, wondering what to discard.

The next day, they stood about after roll call, dressed in every vestige of clothing they had, carrying their pathetic bundles. They were each issued with a Red Cross parcel. ‘Where the hell have these come from?' Gordon demanded. ‘The devils have been
holding back on us.' There was no sign of transport. Nor would there be. They were expected to march in batches of a hundred. Gordon, Alex, Jeremy and Stanislaw stuck close together and were counted off to go with the second batch.

A farm wagon pulled by a skinny carthorse arrived suddenly and those too disabled to walk were loaded onto it. Anyone too ill, even for that, was left behind in the sick bay. Gordon started off walking, hobbling along on his peg leg, helped by his single crutch. They were going west, away from the oncoming Russians, a fact that pleased Stanislaw.

‘Where are we going?' Gordon asked one of the guards who walked beside them. The man's boots were full of holes, Gordon noticed, and he did not have a greatcoat. No wonder he was looking miserable.

The German shrugged but did not reply. In fact he did not seem at all interested in his charges and kept looking behind him and up at the sky. The boom of cannon was certainly coming nearer.

They were watched by the population of the villages through which they passed. Some spat, some threw stones, but some came out and offered a drink of water or a cup of thin soup to those in the wagon. At midday, they stopped beside the road for something to eat, but not knowing how long the Red Cross parcels were expected to last, they did not consume everything. When they were ready to start again, those on the cart who could manage to walk a little way were exchanged with others who were flagging. Gordon, whose stump was giving him hell, enjoyed a few miles' respite.

No one had much inclination to chat, but when they did it was speculation about what the Germans intended to do with them. ‘They are going to march us until we all fall dead from starvation and exhaustion,' Jeremy said.

‘More likely we're all going to be shot,' Stan said. ‘In revenge for the bombing.'

‘We are fighter pilots, not bombers,' Gordon said.

‘Makes no difference. To them we are all
Terrorfliegers
.'

‘I don't think they'd dare do that,' Alex put in. ‘Think of the repercussions when the Allies find out.'

‘What do you suggest they are going to do, meekly hand us over to the British or Americans? There's the whole of Germany between us and them. We'd never make it like this.'

That was patently obvious. They had not covered many miles when the weakest began to drop out. Some were left where they were, others were loaded onto the already overloaded wagon. At dusk, cold, exhausted and hungry, they were herded into a barn for the night.

‘I'm going to try and find out what's what,' Alex said, and went off to speak to the sergeant, the most senior of their guards, who were sharing the same conditions as the prisoners. Except for the colour of the uniform and the fact the guards carried rifles, it was hard to tell one from the other. The commandant and his officers had passed them long before in a staff car.

Gordon collapsed into a corner and took off the peg leg to give his stump some relief. He took his shoe off and wrung the water out of his sock, then tucked it between his overcoat and tunic in the hope what little heat he had in his body might dry it, or at least warm it. Because he had only one leg, he had spare socks in his bundle and he put one of these on. It was bliss.

‘He doesn't know any more than we do,' Alex said, returning to the little group. ‘All I could get out of him was Moosburg.'

‘Where the hell's that?' Jeremy asked, but no one seemed to know.

‘Better eat what we can and get our heads down,' Alex said. They huddled close to each other in order to keep warm and were soon sound asleep in spite of the bitter cold.

Gordon was roused at dawn to the sound of banging and wondered, for a moment, if the Red Army had caught up with them, but then he realised it was Stanislaw. His friend had ripped a shutter from the barn and was busy working on it with some strips of wood and some bent nails which he was endeavouring to straighten with a hammer he had found in the back of the barn. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Making a sledge to pull our stuff on. Anyone got any rope?'

No one had, but Alex had a leather belt, Jeremy had a tie and Gordon had a scarf his mother had knitted for him and they were handed over and joined together so they had something with which to pull the sled.

When the guard came in to hand out the ration of bread and barley soup that served for breakfast, they had already forced their frozen feet back into their footwear and tied their belongings on the sled. Half an hour later they set off again.

When the horse, which had not been fed, stumbled and could not rise, the guards unhitched it and one of them put a bullet in its head. There was talk of butchering it and eating it, but as none had the means nor the strength to do it, this source of sustenance was left to the local population. From then on the prisoners formed gangs who took it in turns to pull the wagon. Gordon was back to walking. He could only take his mind off the pain in his stump by dreaming of home.

It was warm in the farmhouse kitchen. His mother was baking cakes, his father was in his rocking chair, smoking his pipe and reading
Farmers Weekly
. He was in his stockinged feet;
his boots stood on the mat by the kitchen door where he had left them, Donald was playing with the cat, teasing it with a feather on the end of a piece of string. Jean was looking very pretty in a flowered skirt and blue blouse. She was off to a dance with Bill. Goodness, she must be twenty-one now. Had they married? And Don was fifteen. They had grown up while he had been away. Rosie was there, too. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, funny little Rosie. What would they all make of the man he had become, a man with only one leg? Would this long march ever be done? Would he ever see them again?

The noose was closing in on Nazi Germany but still Hitler made his troops fight on; he was still sending rockets to terrify Londoners, but all the talk was of peace and rebuilding and jobs and houses for the demobilised servicemen. Terry, who had turned fourteen, left school at Easter and Mrs Jackson had come down to take both her children home. Lily didn't want to go, which upset her mother, but Terry was looking forward to following in his father's footsteps and becoming a warehouseman on the docks.

He was not the only one looking forward to the end of his schooldays; Donald was due to leave school in July after he had sat his school certificate exams, and there was much discussion about what he should do. ‘He'll work on the farm with Gordon,' his father said. ‘Stands to reason.' Arthur had been talking of retiring and handing the farm over, lock, stock and barrel, to Gordon when he came home and moving into a smaller home with Doris, if they could find one. The housing shortage was acute.

‘I don't want to work for Gordon,' Donald said. ‘Farming is boring and you never get any time off and, besides, it doesn't pay enough.'

‘What do you want to do then?'

‘I don't know yet.'

‘You could go to agricultural college,' Doris said. ‘I think we could find the money for that. You'd learn new ways of farming, specialise in something, machinery or something that interests you.'

‘I'll think about it.'

‘In the meantime you will work on the farm in the school holidays,' his father said. ‘There's plenty for you to do.'

With everyone talking about what they would do when the war ended, Jean felt cut off, in a kind of limbo, unable to make plans, unable even to think straight. She could not brush aside her feelings for Karl as if they were a temporary aberration she would get over. He was the love of her life. Without him, her life would be barren. Surely he would not go back to Germany at the end of the war without ever seeing her again? The thought was tormenting her.

‘What's on your mind, Jean?' Gran asked her one day when she was at the farm, helping to clean the eggs ready to be sent to the packing station. The snow had gone, the pit was once again a sheet of water and there were snowdrops in flower in the woods surrounding Sir Edward's estate.

‘Nothing.'

‘I know there is. I suppose it's Karl.' Her grandmother always sensed her moods quicker than anyone.

‘I keep wondering how he is.'

‘Have you written to him?'

‘No, I can't. Colonel Williamson warned me it would be construed as fraternising.'

‘And you are eating your heart out for him.'

Startled, she turned towards her grandmother. ‘What makes you say that?'

‘I've got eyes, child. And ears. I can see your expression when you look at him and hear the softness in your voice when you speak of him.'

‘Oh.' Did she really wear her heart on her sleeve? ‘Have you discussed this with Mum?'

‘Certainly not.'

‘What am I to do, Gran? Everything is going round and round in my head until I'm dizzy with it.'

‘There is nothing you can do. You can't help who you fall in love with. Have you talked to Sergeant Muller about it?'

‘He feels the same as I do, but he will go back to his family. He talked about coming back, but …' she shrugged.

‘Are you afraid he will go and forget you?'

‘I don't know. I hope not.'

‘I'd say it depends how strong your feelings are for each other. Have patience. Love will find a way, no matter what.'

‘You don't condemn me?'

‘Lord no, but others might. It is a rocky road you have chosen to travel, my child.'

She sighed. ‘And I can't see the end of it.'

‘How are you managing the farm without him?' her grandmother asked, changing tack suddenly.

‘All right, I suppose. This time of the year I can get by doing just the essential jobs, but I suppose it will all catch up with me in the end. Don does what he's asked to do when he has time but he's studying for his school certificate and I don't want to jeopardise that.'

‘Couldn't you ask Colonel Williamson to let Karl come back to work?'

‘Perhaps he doesn't want to.'

‘You won't know unless you ask, will you?'

A week later, Jean was feeding the noisy, hungry pigs when she heard a vehicle draw up at the gate, but assuming it was the milk lorry come to collect the churn, carried on with what she was doing and took the empty swill buckets back to the shed. Karl was waiting by the door. She dropped the buckets and flung herself into his arms. He held her tight and pulled her into the building out of sight of the house and kissed her over and over again.

‘Oh, Karl, I've missed you so much.'

‘And I you.'

‘What's been happening?' She leant back to look into his face. He was a lot thinner and his cheeks had a grey tinge. His nose was crooked and there was a long scar down one side of his face. She traced it with her finger. ‘You were beaten again, weren't you?'

‘It was nothing. They blamed me for the failure of the escape plot.'

‘My fault.'

‘Of course not. It was doomed to fail from the start.'

It had taken a long time to recover from the beating inflicted by his compatriots. He had sustained a broken arm which he had raised to protect his head, and several broken ribs from the boots of his attackers. As for his face, that had been a mess with black eyes, broken cheeks and jaw, not to mention bruising around his neck from the noose. Even when he recovered, Colonel Williamson asked the doctor to keep him in the infirmary longer than he needed until all his attackers had been dealt with and sent to more secure prisons. Hartmann had been tried in a civilian court for the murder of Corporal Donnington and hanged at Pentonville with
ringleaders from other camps. February was well-advanced before he returned to his hut.

‘Karl, what are we going to do?'

‘What about?'

‘Us. Do we tell them or not? I do so hate the deceit.'

‘You must decide that,
Liebling
, but remember that fraternisation is forbidden. Your parents might tell the colonel and I will not be allowed to come here again …'

‘Mum would not do that. I know she wouldn't, and neither would Pa.'

‘But others might learn of it, a thoughtless word from your mother or brother to a friend, the way we look at each other, anything. People are naturally suspicious. Some are revengeful.'

‘I couldn't bear that.'

‘Our secret, then. We can live with it, can't we?'

‘Yes, if you think it best.'

‘Then we carry on as we always have done. I am your prisoner.' He chuckled. ‘In more ways than one. You hold my heart fast.' He picked up her hand and put it over his heart. ‘Feel it?'

‘Yes. And you have mine. Always. The war will soon be over and then we can tell the world.'

‘I will have to go home first.'

‘Have you had news?'

‘No. The Russians are advancing rapidly. If they reach Hartsveld it will not be good there.'

‘Perhaps your family will leave before that.'

‘I don't know. There is the farm, you see. They won't want to leave it …'

‘I understand. I am sure my parents would feel the same if it happened here.'

‘But it never will. I wish the Führer would sue for peace, then the Russians will stop their advance.'

‘Perhaps he will.'

He gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘Not he. And there are still people in the camp who are convinced he will come up with some grand plan to turn the tide. They talk of it all the time and what they will do when it happens.'

‘What can they do? They tried before and failed.'

‘I know. It's – what do you say? – all hot air.'

‘I hope, for your sake, you hear soon.' She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Now we must do some work before Mum wonders what we are up to.'

‘What would you like me to do?'

‘I was planning to give the stables a good going over. I've got some whitewash for the walls and creosote for the door. We'll soon have it spick and span.'

They took the horses out to the pasture before raking out the old bedding, loading it on a wheelbarrow and taking it to the muck heap across the yard. Then they hosed the floor down, before beginning on the whitewashing. Arthur insisted on being wheeled out to watch progress, but when Doris brought tea and sandwiches out to them, he complained of being cold and she took him back indoors.

‘He never used to feel cold,' Jean told Karl. ‘He'd be out in all weathers working all day and he wouldn't come in until it was too dark to see.'

‘I expect it is the inactivity that makes him notice it more.'

‘Yes. I feel so sorry for him, brought so low. He's only fifty-three. It isn't fair.'

‘Nothing is fair in the world today.'

‘No, or we would not have to pretend to be indifferent to each other. It's ludicrous.'

‘It is,' he agreed. ‘Instead, I would be taking you to the cinema or dancing, or for a long walk holding your hand. I might even sing you a love song.' He began to sing very softly.

‘What does it mean?'

‘“You, you are in my heart. You, you are in my mind. You, you cause me much pain, you do not know how good I am for you”.'

‘It sounds better in German.'

‘It goes on: “So as I love you so, so love me too. The most tender desires I alone feel only for you …”'

‘Oh, Karl, please stop or you will make me cry.'

‘Make you cry? I would rather make you laugh.'

‘You do, often. You make me happy.'

They went back to work and finished as the last of the light faded.

‘Better get the cows in and milked,' she said. They cleared away the buckets of whitewash and cleaned their brushes, brought the horses back and then went to fetch the cows who were already bunched up at the field gate waiting for them.

They herded the animals into the cowshed and set to work. Apart from the occasional swish of a cow's tail and a soft lowing, it was peaceful and quiet. They did not need to talk.

‘Oh, I forgot, I've got something for you,' she said as they finished. ‘Wait here.'

She dashed back into the house and came back with his Christmas parcel. ‘I was going to give this to you on Christmas
Eve when you gave the children their toys. Better late than never.'

She watched as he undid it to reveal a pullover in dark green wool. It had long sleeves and a V-neck. ‘You made this for me?'

‘Yes. It's only pulled out wool, I'm afraid, but it's thick and warm. I hope it fits.'

‘I am sure it does.' He took off his jacket and pulled it on over his shirt. ‘Perfect,' he said, reaching across to kiss her. ‘Did the children like their presents?'

‘They were over the moon. Lily hugged me. She should have been hugging you.' She paused, wondering whether to tell him but he would find out anyway. ‘Terry took his toboggan out when it snowed and some boys pinched it. They let it go into the pit. It's lost, I'm afraid. He was really down about it.'

‘I'll make him another.'

‘He's gone home, Karl. So has Lily.'

‘Do you miss them?'

‘Yes. After five years, the house seems strangely quiet without them. Did you know you would not be coming on Christmas Eve?'

‘I had an idea I might not.'

‘That was a terrible time, really terrible. I was so worried about you and angry with Colonel Williamson for not protecting you. He knew what would happen when they took you back. And he told me not to write to you because that would be fraternising.'

‘He was right. I worried about you, too. I thought you would be in trouble …'

‘Only mild threats. I took no notice.'

‘Did you get your pickup truck back?'

‘Yes. Bill took me to fetch it. It had no petrol in it but was otherwise undamaged.'

‘You still see Mr Howson, then?'

‘Occasionally. I can't tell him, can I? About us, I mean.'

‘No.'

‘We don't have a lot to say to each other and I don't encourage him. Still, the war is all but over …'

‘Not quite, my love. There has been no surrender, no armistice. Some of my fellow prisoners are simply waiting for that to happen, but others are convinced the Führer will turn things around. A few are even talking of escape, but as the ringleader of the December breakout, a man I had known in Germany, has been moved to another camp, few are enthusiastic enough to do anything about it.'

‘You are not in any danger from them now, are you?'

‘No, I do not think so.'

‘You will take care, though, won't you? Don't do anything to rile them.'

‘Rile?'

‘Annoy.'

‘I will try not to.'

‘I wish you didn't have to go back every night.'

‘I wish it, too. Please God, one day I will not have to. Remember that when you are feeling low.' They heard the lorry stop at the gate. ‘I must go.' He kissed her and strode away. She noticed there was a spring in his step that had not been there when he arrived. And she felt a hundred times more cheerful. He was right; they were good for each other.

After a cold January and wet February, March was unusually mild. There were cowslips in the meadow and celandines in the hedgerows, daffodils and wallflowers in the garden and new lambs in the field and others being born. Jean had her hands full looking after them.

‘There's a dead one over there,' she told Karl when he arrived to join her. She nodded in its direction; the ewe was standing over it as if expecting it to get to its feet. ‘It happened before I got here. I've been too busy to see to it.'