Uncommon Enemy (7 page)

“A letter from Carol, Fred.”

Her husband looked up from
The Dominion
. “You read it Ruth and then I’ll have a look through it.”

“I’ve already read it while you were listening to the midday news.”

“How’s she getting on? Seeing plenty of Hamish I hope.”

Ruth sat down in the opposite chair and leaned closer to the fire.

“She only mentioned him once – sort of in passing. Seems to be enjoying the position at the Northern Club. Also said she’d made some new friends at the local church.”

“Female, I hope.”

“I’m sure they are, Fred. We both know she went to Auckland to be with Hamish.”

“I should think so, too. We’re deeply indebted to David Beavis and his son for saving us from the poor house. Furthermore, when Hamish said he’d stand by Carol he was as good as his word. Saved my good name from being dragged through the mud. She ought to be damned grateful to him. He’s offered to marry her so why doesn’t she get on with it?”

He thrust his paper in front of his face to signal an end to the matter. Used to her husband taking extreme positions on issues great and small, Ruth maintained her position by his chair.

“I’m sure she’ll eventually accept Hamish’s offer of marriage.” She paused. “Doesn’t have any choice really.” There was no response from her husband so she pressed on. “Anyway when Ian comes home I’m sure he’ll be a great support for her and for us. A surrender to the Germans is not what we expected Fred, but with Ian back in the family, I’m sure we’ll manage in the difficult times ahead. Once Carol has settled down we’ll be able to give Ian our full support in making something of himself.” She sighed. “I just wish we’d heard from him.”

Her husband looked over the top of his paper and his expression softened. “I know, Ruth. But there’s bound to be a foul up in the mail system with the surrender and all that. Don’t worry, the fighting’s only just stopped and I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”

Soft words from her husband, even under difficult circumstances, were always welcome, and she smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She stood up. “I’ll go and make us both a nice cuppa.”

Walking into the kitchen she began to prepare the tea. Putting the teapot and cups on a tray, she carried them through the dining room towards the lounge. On hearing the familiar opening click of the front gate she looked out of the window and gasped. Mr. Roberts, the Postmaster was walking slowly down the winding front path. Everyone knew that the Postmaster only came to the front door for one reason – to hand over a telegram from the War Office.

With a splintering crash the teapot, cups, milk jug and sugar bowl cascaded onto the carpet as, trembling she hurried down the hallway. She managed to call, “Fred!” but she needn’t have bothered. Her husband was already reaching for the doorknob as Mr. Roberts walked up the front steps onto the veranda.

“Telegram. I am very sorry, Mr. Peterson.”

Ruth, who had instinctively stood behind her husband, reached out for him as he slowly crumpled.

“Stuart. Hullo. It’s me.”

“Are you telephoning me from the Northern Club? You wicked girl! You’ll get into-----.”

“No, Stuart, I’m phoning from the railway station. Mum phoned. A toll call from Wellington. It’s Ian.”

“Ian? He can’t be home already. The fighting’s only just stopped.”

“No, he’s not home. He’ll never come home.” Her voice faltered. “He’s dead. Mum and Dad got a telegram.”

An involuntary shiver traversed his upper body.

“Dead? But, the war’s over, Carol!”

“I know. But it must have happened a few days before the end, before the, you know----.”

She began to cry.

“Before we surrendered. God, Carol, that’s appalling! Are you sure?”

“The telegram came today. It said he’d been killed in action in the desert somewhere in North Africa. I’m catching the train in a few minutes. Hamish is coming with me.”

“Hamish!”

“Sorry, Stuart, but Mum rang him and he caught a taxi and came straight over. I have to go home. Mum and Dad are traumatized. I don’t think they’ll ever get over this------.”

“But, Carol, you can’t just leave like this, with Hamish. I have to see you before------.”

“Stuart, don’t you understand?” He heard her voice catch. “My brother’s dead! I have to go home.”

There was the sound of a guard’s whistle and the muffled shout of a male voice.

“Sorry, Stuart, I have to go. I’ll let you know------.”

The line went dead.

Stuart hung up the phone and sat at his desk staring out the window. Her brother was dead and she was travelling to Wellington on the train - with Hamish. The sound of a small crack and a brief sharp pain made him realise that he’d snapped in half the pencil he’d been holding. Dropping the broken pieces on the floor he left his office and strode along the corridor to Professor Sterling’s. Without knocking he opened the door.

The professor looked up annoyed but when he saw the expression on Stuart’s face he asked, “Stuart is there anything wrong?”

Stuart immediately noticed the young woman seated in front of Sterling’s desk. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had a visitor. Should have knocked.”

“It’s alright, my boy. Come in. Meet my niece Susan. I’ve probably mentioned her to you. She’s reading English. Is anything wrong?”

Stuart managed to smile briefly at the young woman. “It’s Carol’s brother Ian, sir. They’ve just heard that he’s been killed. It was only a few days before the bloody war ended.” Glancing at Susan he added, “Sorry, for swearing.”

“Good God. Are you sure?”

“A telegram came. Killed in action. There seems to be no doubt about it. She just phoned from the station. Was about to catch the train to Wellington.”

“Sit down, Stuart.”

Stuart sat down in the chair next to Susan.

“Carol? Your girlfriend?” she asked.

“Yes, sort of. Her brother was fighting with the Eighth Army in North Africa. They hadn’t heard from him for several weeks but as soon as the surrender was signed they assumed he’d be OK.” He sighed heavily. “Bloody war. Bloody Germans.” He glanced awkwardly at Susan. “Sorry.”

She smiled reassuringly. “That’s alright.”

“You say she caught the Wellington train a few minutes ago?” asked Sterling.

“Yes, sir.”

“Understandable of course. Her parents must be devastated.”

“Yes, sir, of course. Unfortunately he went with her.”

“‘He’?” asked Susan.

“Hamish Beavis. Her, er, other boyfriend. His parents also live in Wellington. They’re family friends.”

“Hmm,” growled the professor. “No wonder you’re angry as well as upset. Nothing much I can suggest except to say that these are difficult times and that for the foreseeable future at least I doubt if it’s going to get much better. But, I am sorry, Stuart. This really is dreadful news.”

“I know, sir. And I feel so helpless.” He clenched his fists in frustration. “There’s nothing I can do.”

There was an awkward pause and then Susan reached out and briefly touched him on the arm.

“Are you helping Uncle David on the research project?”

Stuart looked up and stared at her for a moment. “What? Oh, yes, I am.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds silly, but I’m off to the 2 o’clock pictures at the Civic to give myself a break. Maybe you’d like to be alone, but maybe, if it’s OK with Uncle David, you could have the afternoon off and come to the pictures. There’s nothing you can do about the bad news. So?”

A little embarrassed at her forwardness and the probable inappropriateness of the invitation, she shrugged and looked at her uncle. He smiled encouragingly.

“It’s a little unusual but maybe Susan’s right,” smiled her uncle. “Always been an impulsive young woman. Of course you can have the afternoon off, Stuart. If you want to go to the pictures, well, that’s up to you.”

Stuart looked at the girl for the first time. Her brown hair was pulled back off a round but pleasant face and her eyes, behind rimmed glasses, looked sympathetic. He sighed.

“What’s on?”

“A musical, ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Do you like musicals?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “They’re OK I suppose.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” she replied with a touch of irritation. “If you’d rather not, I quite understand.” She began to stand, smoothing down her dark skirt over her knees.

“Apologies,” he replied hastily. “I’ve had a shock, but I do appreciate the thought. I’d like to come. The Civic, you said?”

“Yes,” interrupted Sterling, taking his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “You’ve got 20 minutes. Off you go the pair of you. In any case, I don’t quite approve of young ladies going to the pictures unaccompanied.”

“Oh, Uncle David, don’t be so old fashioned.”

“Can’t be too careful nowadays, my dear. Now, off you go.”

As they crossed Princes Street and cut towards downtown through Albert Park, Stuart felt a jolt as he caught a glimpse of the statues of the Boer War soldier and Sir George Grey.

“You all right?” asked Susan, seeing him check his stride. He shook his head like a boxer after a heavy blow. “Yes, I’m OK. Just a twitch of memory.”

“Oh.”

Deciding that silence was the best alternative, Susan continued walking beside him. As they approached the Art Gallery he turned to her.

“You’re taking English?”

“Yes, second year. I’m loving it. Dad didn’t want me to go to university and mum, of course, wanted me to get a job, save some money and fill up------.”

“Your hope chest.”

She chuckled. “Have you got a sister?”

“Yes, but she’s too young for hope chests.” With an effort he asked, “Why did your parents finally let you go to university?”

“Uncle David. Told them I’d love it. And he said that even if I did get married, I could pass my education on to my children.”

“Is that your intention?”

She laughed. “Not straight away, of course not. I love the subject and I would like to pass it on as a teacher, not as a mother.”

“Hmm.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No. It’s a splendid idea. Sorry, I’m not really myself.”

“Quite understandable. Never mind, we’re here. Have you got enough money for the tickets?” she asked as they joined the queue of patrons seeking escape in the ornate picture palace from the realities of rationing. “I’ll buy the ice creams.”

“No, it’s OK. I’ll buy them. Just wait while I get the tickets.”

“My idea. My treat. Now, you stay in the queue and buy the tickets.” She held up her hand as he began to protest. “I’m buying the ice creams.”

He held up both palms in a surrender gesture.

“Is vanilla OK?”

“Vanilla. Yes. My favourite.”

“Mine too. Anyway, it’s the only one they’ve got.”

She smiled warmly and, after a moment’s hesitation he smiled back.

“Stuart, is Brendan with you?” asked the professor.

“Yes, sir. We’re just going through some---.”

“Good. Come to my office immediately, please.”

The phone went dead.

“Who was that?” asked Brendan.

“The Prof. Wants us in his office immediately.”

“Do we have to bring anything?”

“Didn’t say so. Just ourselves, I suppose. Come on.”

After knocking they entered Sterling’s office and sat down in front of his desk. He greeted them with a perfunctory nod and then sat with his chin resting on his clasped hands, gazing at the back wall. Stuart and Brendan exchanged glances but continued to sit in silence.

Abruptly Sterling lowered his hands. “The German government has commanded each of the main British Empire and Commonwealth countries to attend peace talks in Berlin,” he began slowly.

“‘Peace talks’?” said Brendan. “That’s a bloody laugh.”

“A euphemism, of course,” replied Sterling. “Each country has been instructed to send a delegation, led by their head of state, to meet with German government representatives to discuss peace terms.”

Seeing Brendan was about to speak, Sterling held up his hand. “Yes, we’re all aware that ‘peace terms’ mean terms of surrender. However, there may be some room for discussion regarding the implementation and administration of the terms.”

“One point, if I may, sir?” said Stuart. Sterling nodded and he continued. “You said that each delegation was to be lead by its head of state. King George VI is our head of state.”

“True. I don’t think the Germans quite understand that. The assumption is that our new Prime Minister Peter Fraser will head the delegation.”

“What sort of delegation?” asked Stuart.

“Good question, and one which leads me to the main point of this meeting,” responded Sterling. Picking up a small paperweight from his desk he began twisting it around in both hands.

“The Germans have specified that no military personnel are to be included in the delegation. We have been told that we are to bring Peter Fraser the Prime Minister, his Deputy Walter Nash, Frederick Jones the Minister of Defence and five civil servants from specified ministries. We are also being allowed to include three advisors, provided that they have no connection with the military. The government has invited me, due to the work that this office has been doing regarding German foreign policy.”

“Wow,” breathed Stuart. “Go to Berlin. Could be a bit dicey, sir.”

“Possibly,” replied Sterling. Abruptly he placed the paperweight back on his desk and looked directly at the two young men.

“I have also been asked to recommend any other personnel who could be useful. If you’re agreeable, I would like to forward both your names to Wellington.”

“Us, sir?” gasped Stuart.

“Stuart and me, sir?” echoed Brendan. “Why?”

“Sound, logical reasons,” replied the professor. “In Stuart’s case, he has acquired an in-depth knowledge of German policy and actions regarding the occupation of recently conquered territories. Obviously there is much that we don’t know, but what knowledge he has could prove invaluable in briefing the other members of the delegation prior to departure. Furthermore, his knowledge will also be useful if there is the opportunity for input from the delegation regarding the coming German occupation of this country.”

“And me, sir?” asked Brendan.

“Self evident,” was the reply. “You have a considerable fluency in spoken and written German. You’ve proven your expertise in both translating and interpreting and, like Stuart, you’ve gained considerable knowledge of current German thinking through the documents to which you’ve had access.”

For a long moment the three men sat looking at each other.

“You’re under no obligation, of course,” said Sterling. “They are our conquerors and it could be dangerous. I won’t put your names forward if you have any doubts.”

The younger men exchanged glances and nodded simultaneously.

“No doubts, sir!” Stuart leaned forward in his chair. “I suppose it is a bit intimidating but it’s also a unique opportunity.”

“Agreed. I’d be delighted to come.” Abruptly Brendan stood up and thrust his hand towards the professor. “Thank you, sir.”

Sterling half rose, shook Brendan’s then Stuart’s hand briefly and then resumed his seat. “Gentlemen, your enthusiasm is commendable and gratifying. This is unknown territory for all of us but, in my view, we may be able to use our knowledge and experience to help our country at this difficult time. Now let’s go through the trip in more detail.”

The ensuing days flew by. Within a few days the German government approved the list of names submitted by the New Zealand authorities. The three Auckland delegates were informed that in two days they were to take a train to Wellington for a briefing with other members of the delegation. All would then be returning to Auckland for the first stage of a long journey by air to Germany.

Stuart’s family was appalled at the prospect. Berlin loomed large in the minds of all New Zealanders as the enemy stronghold, the source of all the woes that had befallen the nation and perhaps above all, the source of all that was repugnant in Nazi ideology.

“You’re too young, dear,” pleaded his mother.

“Men with more experience should be sent,” growled his father.

“Berlin,” intoned his brother Stephen, “is on the other side of the world. You might not ever make it home.”

His sister Claire simply clung to him, quietly crying.

In spite of his family, and his own disquiet at entering the enemy’s lair, he was determined to go. Yes, of course it would be dangerous. Yes, he could be locked up as a hostage or shot as a traitor. He’d read enough reports on Nazi reprisals against those who opposed them in the occupied countries to have some inkling of the possible consequences. However, the Berlin visit was a significant event in his country’s history and whatever the risks, he wanted to be part of it. Could his presence make any significant difference, he asked himself. Probably not, but he felt increasingly that surrender should not be synonymous with a complete capitulation. Whatever the realities of the pending occupation he at least would be able to gain some sort of insight into the nation’s and his own uncertain future.

And Carol? Since her phone call from the railway station he had heard nothing. He thought of writing or making a toll call to her parents’ house in Wellington but then worried that this would make trouble for her in an already emotionally charged household.

Feeling that he had to do something, he phoned her Aunt Catherine in Milford. Explaining that he was a friend of hers from church he asked her to let Carol know that he was going to Berlin with the New Zealand delegation and would probably be returning in about two to three weeks. Carol’s aunt was initially somewhat bemused by the phone call, but at the mention of the Berlin delegation she immediately became businesslike and said that she would inform Carol when she made her weekly phone call to Wellington.

“Miss Mason, it’s important that you give the message directly to Carol herself and no-one else,” requested Stuart, trying to sound both official and pleasant.

“No-one else. Of course, I will, Mr. Johnson,” she assured him.

Feeling a little more reassured Stuart thanked her and hung up the phone. Clearly he’d just have to live with the uncertainty
and concentrate on the major challenge ahead of him.

The initial briefing was held at Parliament House. The delegates were introduced to each other and to Prime Minister Peter Fraser, who had taken over in March 1940 after the death of the revered Michael Joseph Savage. Although Fraser was an enthusiastic supporter of the New Zealand war effort, Professor Sterling had reminded both young men on the trip south that the new Prime Minister had served twelve months in jail during World War I for opposing conscription. “A complex individual,” was his final comment.

The delegates assembled in a large room within parliament house where they were introduced to Fraser. On his right hand sat his deputy Walter Nash. Like Fraser he was bespectacled but unlike his leader he had a full head of hair, which, Stuart noted, couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether it was parted in the middle or to the right.

Fraser rose and addressed the delegates in a low voice emphasizing the delegation’s responsibility to the nation and his own determination to obtain the best possible terms from the Germans. Occasionally during the speech he referred to written notes. Suffering from poor eyesight he disconcertingly had to lift the papers up close to his face where, with a frown of concentration, he read them through thick-lensed spectacles. Although his voice was flat and calm, Stuart felt that the monotony of the delivery was masking a nervous uncertainty. This was confirmed when, at the end of a thirty-minute speech Fraser put down his notes, ran his right hand over his receding hairline, and asked if there were any questions.

The first to speak was Professor Sterling.

“Prime Minister,” he began. “You spoke of the restrictions that the German occupation force is likely to impose on our population.”

“Professor Sterling, isn’t it?” interrupted the Prime Minister peering through his spectacles.

“Yes, Prime Minister. What type of restrictions do you envisage?”

“The one’s typical of a Fascist regime, of course,” responded Fraser with ill-disguised condescension. “Widespread censorship of the press and radio, the use of other forms of communication such as our Film Unit for propaganda purposes, and a general curtailment of freedoms using the predictable excuses about the good of the nation.”

Some of the delegates had just begun to nod or grunt their agreement when Brendan spoke.

“Um, with respect, Prime Minister, those conditions are already in place. Your government introduced them last year as wartime emergency regulations.”

“Your name?” Fraser asked icily.

Each of the delegates turned to look at Brendan, who was seated at the end of the table.

“Brendan Ritter, sir. I am----.”

Fraser interrupted him with a raised palm. He turned slightly in his chair towards his deputy Walter Nash who murmured in his right ear.

“‘Ritter’. Ah, yes,” said Fraser slowly. “The German speaker from the Auckland University College.” Pointing his finger at Brendan he asked, “You are New Zealand born, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” replied Brendan with a touch of indignation.

Fraser’s eyes blinked rapidly and then engaged Brendan’s in a long cold stare. “My censorship legislation, for your information Mr. Ritter, was enacted by me as the democratically elected prime minister, for the good of the people of New Zealand.”

He continued staring at Brendan as if challenging him to offer a contradiction. Wisely, Brendan kept his council.

In a voice that gradually rose, the Prime Minister continued.

“Your job, young man, is to observe all that you can while we are in Germany and to pass this information directly to,” he paused, “me.” His eyes narrowed. “It is not, I repeat, not your role to question any of my decisions.”

Stuart saw Sterling’s hand reach under the table and grip Brendan’s arm tightly resulting in the young man’s muted response of, “Yes sir”.

After a ministerial official had clarified the final details of transport and accommodation, the meeting concluded. At the professor’s suggestion the three of them walked together back to their hotel. As they left the grounds of Parliament House and crossed Bowen Street, Sterling turned to Brendan.

“I should have warned you, Brendan. The Prime Minister has two key characteristics.”

“Two, sir?”

“Two that were germane to today’s meeting. The first is that he does not handle criticism well. He has to be in control and as such requires others to fall into line with his thinking.”

Brendan grimaced. “That was certainly obvious today.”

“And the second, sir?” asked Stuart.

“As you know, he was born in the Scottish Highlands. His parents were not well off and he had to leave school at twelve and go to work. He immigrated to New Zealand and educated himself by reading extensively and involving himself in local politics. Eventually he gained the highest position in the land. Unfortunately somewhere along the way, he acquired a deep suspicion of academics.”

The Germans had agreed to allow the New Zealand delegation to begin their Berlin journey by flying across the Tasman
on board the Awarua - one of the new Empire Class S 30 flying boats that had begun flights between Auckland and Sydney in 1939. The first stage had taken them nine hours during which time they had been served several light meals cooked in the aeroplane’s galley. At Sydney they landed smoothly on the waters of the inner harbour and the pilot guided the plane towards the refuelling wharf. The delegates had been given an hour to stretch their legs before re-embarking and heading towards Melbourne, Adelaide and Perth.

At Sydney and each of the Australian stops, conversation with the handful of Australian officials who had met the aircraft was at best perfunctory. The Australian delegation had departed for Berlin three days earlier leaving behind a climate of uncertainty. Clearly the rapid capitulation had been as great a shock to the Australians as it had been to their southern neighbours. Although the conversations veered between foreboding and bravado, there was little information on which to base any real predictions as to the nature of either the peace talks or the pending German occupation of Australia and New Zealand.

The western city of Perth was the final Australian stop before the flying boat headed across the Indian Ocean to South Africa. When the plane completed its noisy ascent from nearby Fremantle harbour and levelled off into its flight path the co-pilot came through from the flight deck to announce that they were en route to Durban on South Africa’s west coast. There would be one refuelling stop, at the small island of Mauritius.

“What will await us in Durban, gentlemen?” pondered Professor Sterling as they settled back into their seats. “It’s bound to be different.”

“Because it’s Africa, sir?” asked Brendan.