‘I don’t know if I can do it, Gert.’
‘What?’
‘Gunter thinks I should write to his father. But I don’t know if I can.’
‘If that ain’t the daftest thing I ever heard you say…’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘What happened to the feisty woman who stole a staff car so I could
have a twenty-first birthday to remember?’
‘Borrowed,’ said Maddie. ‘Only borrowed.’ But she smiled all the same.
‘See?’ said Gertie. ‘I knew she was still in there. And that woman
would never let fear get in her way.’
Gertie went home. At heart, she was a big-city girl – ‘I can still be a
friend from London,’ she said. Maddie felt lost, but of course she couldn’t
keep her friend there forever. Gertie didn’t live there anymore, and it had
been selfish to keep her away from Arthur, the lovesick baker, for so long.
Besides, Christmas wasn’t far away – Gertie always came at Christmas, it
was a tradition, and she stayed over for New Year.
Maddie wrote the letter to Rudi. Maybe the most important letter of her
life. Said she would love to meet him again, that he’d never left her head, or
her heart. Told him that she’d finally met Gunter, the son they shared. And
she was happy to go to Bavaria if he would like her to. It seemed surprising
that Rudi was still single after all these years but there was no wife – and no
one else in his life. Gunter had told her so.
She posted the letter and waited for him to reply.
And while she waited, she spent time with her son. They gradually grew
closer, more used to each other’s ways. They worked together during the
day: he fed the animals and put a new roof on the chicken coop. And at
night, they talked. He told her about the orphanage, how he’d felt different
from the other boys, out of place, didn’t feel like an orphan. That’s why
he’d searched their files, found his birth certificate and left for Rosemundy,
clutching the one document that was proof of his being.
‘And no one tried to stop you,’ she asked. ‘Even though you were only
fourteen?’
‘No one cared. They were happy for me to leave, I think. When I ran
away, no one came after me.’
‘So, you made your way to Rosemundy House, and Ethel Ryder gave
you the photograph.’
‘I’m sorry I believed what they told me there,’ said Gunter. ‘That you
gave me away. It made me sad. But to find out who mein Vater was. To
have his face in a photograph – that made me happy.’
‘They tricked me, Gunter,’ she said, ‘told me you were dead. But it was
my fault. I should have read the paper that I signed.’
‘No, you were brave. To have a baby alone like that? There’s no fault.’
He told her about his journey to Germany. She’d called his trip a
fantasy, something his adolescent mind had conjured up, for how could he,
so young, travel across a foreign land when speaking no German? But it
was no delusion, it was real.
Maddie was amazed at her son’s enterprise. His strength of mind and
resilience. His courage.
‘In Falmouth, I found a ship to Hamburg. I worked at everything they
told me. All the bad jobs,’ he said and laughed, remembering.
‘It sounds awful,’ Maddie said.
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ said Gunter. ‘I found a friend. Someone who took
pity on me. A German sailor, from the engine room. An old man. He taught
me a little German and lots of things about the ship. Where all the different
pipes in the engine room went. One night we traced them all.’
‘A friend?’
‘He’d been a sailor in the Kriegsmarine, the German Navy, and was a
captured prisoner of war. His wife was killed in Dresden, so the sea was his
life. All he had. He knew I wanted to go to Ramsau, so he travelled with me
to Berchtesgaden, said he wanted to see Hitler’s home, the Berghof in the
Obersalzberg.’
‘And did you go there?’ asked Maddie.
‘There was nothing left but crumbling walls. He was disappointed. Then
he put me on a bus from Berchtesgaden to Ramsau – it wasn’t far.’
‘And you found your father?’
‘He was easy to find. Ramsau’s a very small place. And everybody
knew Herr Fischer.’
‘Your father.’
‘No, my grandfather, Gunter,’ he said, with pride. ‘The house was his.’
‘Your grandfather…’ said Maddie.
‘He died. In a camp,’ he told her, and allowed her to take his hand. To
console him for the loss of his family: his grandfather, his uncle Werner.
‘And Rudi?’ she asked him. ‘He lives there? In this house?’
‘With my grandmother. Now the miracle of finding you,’ said Gunter,
‘that was my grandmother.’
‘Your grandmother? But how…?’
‘She wanted me to find you. She told me a son should know his mother,
and a mother should know her son.’
‘That’s what you told me when we first met,’ said Maddie. ‘I
remember.’
‘Yes. And my grandmother got a friend to look for you. At least, the
daughter of her friend. Magda, a girl from München. She works in a
newspaper there. She wrote letters. Searched records in Cornwall,’ said
Gunter.
‘But Cornwall? Why? That was a leap in the dark. I could have been
anywhere,’ she said.
‘Vater – he said you liked it there. And Magda, she thought it would be
a place to begin.’
‘Magda, she sounds clever,’ said Maddie.
‘She is,’ he said, emphatically.
‘So, you lived with your father and grandmother. No one else?’
‘Just the three of us,’ he said.
And had Rudi talked much about her? she’d asked. And yes, it seems
that Rudi Fischer had told their son about her, but Gunter’s eyes had been
unable to meet hers when he spoke of it.
And that’s when she knew: the boy was hiding something from her.
Maybe trying to shield her from pain.
Now Maddie waited for a letter, not with the excitement that she’d
known, but with dread. Felt the chill of fear swamp her optimism. Tried to
ignore the curious premonition that sadness, not celebration waited for her.
The letter, when it came, was full of grief and blame. She’d betrayed him, it
claimed. Her hands shook as she read about the suffering he’d gone through
in the camp. And she was to blame, for she’d given him up, the letter
accused. An intelligence officer said that a lady soldier, a private in the
ATS, had been responsible for his capture.
She had read about the camp at Cultybraggan. It sounded grim. There
had been a prison riot and he’d been forced to take part.
And that was where he’d been hurt. Ribs broken, kidney ruptured,
injuries that healed eventually, but the knife wound on his face had taken
longer to mend. It had become infected, the swelling making him look like
a monster. Some of the other prisoners had called him Quasimodo, like the
hideous hunchback, repulsive and ugly.
Maddie tried to imagine him as ugly. And the dark moods that he spoke
of. How he’d become a bitter man, his only consolation hate. Hate for his
captors. For the German SS thugs, and for Hitler. He had tried to hate her as
well, it seemed. But he couldn’t do it. Still, he swore he could never love
her again. Never wanted to see her. So, no! She could not come to Ramsau,
to his home. She would not be welcome there.
The vicious letter made her cry.
When her son found her, he stayed beside her, helped her settle down.
‘Betrayal, Gunter,’ she said. ‘That’s what he accused me of. I would
never have betrayed him! I loved him.’
‘So why is Vater so sure?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Why does Father believe you gave him up?’
‘An intelligence officer told him,’ she said.
‘A British officer?’
‘I assume so.’ Maddie shrugged. ‘He was interrogated when they
recaptured him.’
‘So, this officer – he knew your name?’ asked Gunter.
Her brow furrowed into deep lines as she thought about it. ‘I’m not sure.
Your father didn’t say so, only that they’d been given information by a lady
soldier – a private in the ATS. And I was a private in the ATS, Gunter. And
I’d just spent two days with your father. The dots connect, except—’
‘—Except you didn’t do it. You’ve told me you didn’t, and I believe
you.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She had been beginning to doubt her own
mind.
‘So, we must find out,’ said Gunter. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Go where?’ asked Maddie.
‘I’ll go to mein Vater. We must know what happened after you left him
in Cornwall. Somewhere between then and the British taking him up again,
there must be an answer.’
‘Yes, but what?’ said Maddie. She shook her head in despair.
‘You were one woman soldier during this war, one private in this…’
‘ATS,’ she told him. ‘The Auxiliary Territorial Service,’ she added,
proudly. ‘The women’s branch of the army.’
‘And were there many women in it?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes. Over 250,000 of us.’ It was still incredible to think of it. All
those women, all doing their bit to help towards the final victory.
‘That’s a lot. You must be proud.’
‘I am,’ she said.
‘And many privates, you think? Were there many of those?’
‘Many thousands, I should think. Though I can’t be sure of the exact
number.’
‘So, if it wasn’t you – you think maybe he could have met one of these
thousands?’ Gunter asked, a smile rolling across his face. ‘It’s not
impossible.’
‘No, not impossible,’ she said, slowly. The thought had never crossed
her mind. But just how plausible was it? True, the ATS had a lot of women
just like her, scattered all over the country. But the idea seemed a little far
fetched. Like clutching onto a very thin straw and hoping it would hold you
up.
‘So – I shall go.’ He stood up.
‘You will?’
‘Of course. We’re family, yes?’ Her son reached for her hand and held
it.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We are family, Gunter. Thank you,’ she whispered.
She took him to the station. It was a sad goodbye, and she would miss him.
Miss their conversations and his company. But Gunter said it was
something he must do. His father needed to hear the truth: that his mother
was innocent. Face to face, it was the only way to make sure. To convince
him.
Maddie struggled with the jumbled, conflicted mess of emotions that the
letter brought out in her. Anger that Rudi could think her capable of
betrayal. Sadness that he seemed a bitter man. It made her heartsick that
she’d been rejected, but she would accept it with dignity. For pride was
Maddie’s most powerful emotion. Pride and self-esteem. She had her pride,
she would not beg for love.
