‘The front of this monastery is in Germany, you see?’ He waited for a reply and I nodded none too patiently.
‘But…’ He grinned and suddenly I wanted Michael.
‘God, you’re like your son.’
‘Anyway, as I was saying—’ he looked pleased—‘the back door is in Belgium, do you realize what I’m telling you?’
I beamed. ‘Father-in-law, you are a genius.’
Inside the monastery it was not as gloomy as I expected; soft early light slanted through the arched windows giving a rosy tint to the hallowed halls and the stone floor.
Quietly, a monk appeared as if from nowhere and greeted us warmly. Herr Euler rapidly explained that I needed to leave the country. The Father smiled and nodded to me. ‘I speak a little German,’ he said. ‘God and I will be making you comfortable while you stay with us.’
‘Stay?’ I looked at Father-in-law in dismay. He put his arm around my shoulder.
‘Arrangements have to be made,’ he said gently, ‘it will be a matter of one night, two at the most, we can not afford to have you here any longer. The Belgian resistance, they will come for you, don’t you worry your pretty head.’
I knew then the enormity of what Father-in-law was doing for me. I turned into his chest and began to cry. ‘Go back now, please go back. I don’t want you to get in any trouble, Father-in-law.’
‘Give me a fine healthy grandson.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘At least he will be good Aryan stock as the Herr Hitler desires all people to be.’
The monk showed me to my bed, in a small cell; it was spartan but it was quiet and cosy, and to my relief a lavatory was adjoining it. The bricks, warmed through the day by soft sunlight, were almost glowing. The cell was lit by a single candle and, in the distance, I could hear the chanting sing-song of monks at their worship.
Inside me, the baby moved as if in response to the singing. I wrapped my arms around my growing stomach and hugged my child as best I could. And I prayed. Then, at last, I slept.
The early morning chanting woke me. I washed in the cold water from the little tin bowl and dressed quickly. It was cold now, the sun was not yet showing its face and from the look of the sky it was only about four or five in the morning. Still night-time to my mind.
I was brought a breakfast of bread with a slight scraping of margarine and a grizzled piece of bacon and in its glory, topping the bread, was a precious egg. I felt tears well in my eyes; the good men of the monastery had given their all to look after me.
Herr Euler was ready to leave. He clicked his heels and bowed and then I hugged him and he laughed.
‘Don’t suffocate me child!’ He stepped away from me and made for the car. Soon he would be back in his heartland, his Germany, where with mixed feelings he would fight Herr Hitler’s war.
I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure among the trees outside the gates of the monastery. I saw the gleam of a rifle barrel. I shouted a warning as my father-in-law climbed into the car. A shot rang out and Herr Euler fell to the ground.
I ran to him and knelt beside him and the good Father knelt beside me.
‘He has been shot by one of the resistance or maybe he was followed by his own soldiers, we will never know.’
I cradled Father-in-law’s head in my arms, holding him to my more than ample bosom. His eyes were open but he was dead and I couldn’t even say goodbye. I looked at the monk for help.
‘Father-in-law gave his life for me, how can I ever bear the guilt?’
‘Dear little girl, be proud, Herr Euler saved you and his grandchild. Now come away into the safety he wanted for you and, remember, this good man gave his life for freedom and for the future of the human race.’
Carefully, I took off my coat and padded it behind dear Herr Euler’s head. Then I closed his eyes. In repose, he was so like his son, and I touched my father-in-law’s still-warm hand to my rounded stomach.
‘I will tell your grandson about his father and his grandfather, I’ll teach him to be proud of his heritage, I promise you that. And then I left him to the monks and, dry-eyed with grief, I went back into the monastery.
Sixty-Six
Hari tugged Violet’s arm. ‘You’re getting very friendly with Georgie Porgy.’ They were on their way home from work and Hari noticed that Violet had taken to putting cream on her face to prevent the yellow powder sinking into her skin. Just like Kate used to do. Hari felt a sudden pain squeeze her heart.
Violet grimaced. ‘Don’t call him that, he’s a grown man now, not a little kid.’ Her tone was even but Hari could see Violet was rattled.
‘Sorry!’ she said, ‘it’s just that I’ve known George since he was a little boy. He used to bully Meryl unmercifully.’
‘Well, from what I hear of Meryl she could well look after herself.’ Violet’s good humour reasserted itself. ‘Sounds as if your sister could take on the whole German army and beat them to death.’
Hari closed her eyes for a moment. ‘She might have to.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘It’s my turn to say sorry now, I didn’t mean it nastily,’ Violet said, ‘but don’t worry, your Meryl will be all right. Anyway, changing the subject, what were you doing up at the German camp?’
Hari was startled. She wasn’t aware that she’d been seen near the camp. ‘I just went to look at the men— the Germans—to see if they were the monsters the papers make them out to be.’
‘And?’
‘And they were ordinary men, like ours, but foreign. I felt quite sorry for them really.’
‘And did you see that special one, the one who made your face turn pale when they all marched past us that day? Handsome bloke he was too, looked more Welsh than German.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Hari said. ‘Yes, I looked, I’ve got blood in my veins and with no men of our own around of course I looked.’
‘All right, all right, don’t get so heated about it, I’m only teasing. You can dish it out about George but you can’t take it, Hari, where’s your sense of humour gone these days?’
‘I think I lost it somewhere in the war,’ Hari murmured.
‘Ta-ta for now then, I’m making tea for George.’ Violet smiled happily. ‘See you tomorrow.’
That night Georgie didn’t come back at all. Hari didn’t mind, let him make Violet happy while he could. George would always be the fat little boy who teased Meryl but Hari recognized he was much changed. Discharged from the army because of wounds he sustained in the last battle at the front, he worked in Swansea now, in the munitions factory making the shell cases that were sent to Bridgend for filling; his job was dangerous if only because the German bombers saw Richard Thomas and Baldwins as a factory in need of blowing up.
It was a relief to settle to a new day of work in the quietness of her office; to listen to the messages being sent across the airwaves and try to decipher them. By now she could tell the difference between various German signallers: they all seemed to have their own ‘signature’ their own hesitancies, their own rapidity, all different and identifiable. Some Germans were careless, believing no one would be listening or at least understanding the messages they sent. At Bletchley they had been just as careless, not realizing that their codes could be broken.
Once she thought she recognized a woman’s hand, the staccato beat of the Morse seemed to be handled less forcefully, but there was no message from Meryl, no Welsh language words mixed in with the coded message.
When she returned home that night, it was to find Violet and George sitting snugly together on the sofa. There was no sound from the kitchen, no boiling kettle on the stove.
‘Where’s Jessie?’
Violet giggled. Your dad’s taken her to the pictures. They’ve gone to the Plaza to see some sentimental picture or something.’
I didn’t know Jessie was sentimental, or Father either.’ Hari sank into the armchair. ‘How about a cuppa for a working girl then, Vi, you’ve had the day off remember?’
Violet obligingly made tea but she treated herself and George to some home-made wine. It looked and
