The plane arrived and they were quickly ushered to embark. He thought of Elsa as his feet left German soil and stepped into the plane. They landed shortly afterwards at Ostend, Belgium, to transfer to a Stirling bomber to take them on their last leg of the journey. Each minute took him further away from Elsa and Klara, and as the distance grew between them, the fear that Elsa’s beautiful face might fade in his memory scared him.
Only as they crossed the Channel did Sam finally feel that some twist of fate would not stop him from leaving and send him back to the front line to die. The enormity of what he had endured and survived suddenly hit him in the chest. Like a physical blow, it stole his breath and left him numb. He had lived among the enemy, fearing to speak or raise suspicions, and had come out the other side. But most of all, he had fallen in love with a woman he had no right to love and, to his shame, he had left her behind. They, like so many, had been caught up in a tyrannical man’s quest for world domination, yet amid it all they had still found the human need to love and be loved.
Silent tears brimmed in his eyes as he sat in the belly of the bomber. He felt alone again. Though surrounded by men in the same uniform as he was, he realized he had more in common with the old German man who had given him shelter in the wood, or the war-weary soldier who was half-drunk and tired of having to return to the front line. Or the young man he had killed, whose blood still soaked a bedroom floor in Germany. He hurriedly brushed his rising tears away with his arm, hating himself for feeling so conflicted. His only saving grace was that many eyes were glazed with tears on that flight.
He thought of Tubs again, and others he had known less well who wouldn’t have a chance to go home. Their ghosts brought the threatening tears back ... and this time he let them fall freely, burning with grief, for that was what his friends deserved.
The plane’s engine continued to rumble, providing a comforting vibration beneath his feet. Finally, there was a change in speed and altitude as the bomber came in to land. From Clacton, they were driven in trucks to Aylesbury, where a reception and tea hosted by the WAAFs was given.
He feigned happiness and relief to be home — both emotions he felt but could not truthfully convey, so he pasted on a smile and ate and drank gratefully before being loaded onto anotherlorry to a reception camp in Amersham. It was not the home of his childhood, Cornwall, which he so longed to see, breathe and touch again, but it would do for now.
The military hospital took care of his leg wound and physically he improved at a good speed. Mentally, he realized, his recovery would take far longer. The pain of leaving Elsa felt too raw.
The first tentative steps on a journey that would, in truth, take years to complete came the morning he was to be discharged. A ray of sunshine spilled in through the hospital windows, bathing the ward in a holy light. He blinked at its brightness and marvelled at its warmth. He did not at first recognize the two women walking towards him. They were his visitors. They had come to accompany him home. Friends from his childhood. Relatives. Walking towards him were Charlotte and Anne, his cousins, the sight of them instantly reminding him of fun-filled summer days on the sandy beaches of the Cornish coast. In that moment he knew it might just be possible to live again.
* * *
Three weeks later Sam heard Bremen had fallen. The southeastern suburbs had suffered an air bombardment in readiness for an assault, but the final attack was delayed by floods. The British finally entered Bremen after a heavy battle on 26 April. By the time they entered the centre of Bremen the German army had collapsed and surrendered. There had been many deaths, and the town was said to be a wasteland.
Days later, news came that Hitler had killed himself and by May the war was officially over in Europe. As family and friends celebrated, all Sam could think about was what had happened to Elsa and Klara.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bremen’s infrastructure was largely destroyed, its once thriving community scattered, its imposing buildings fractured and burnt like fragments of bone. Yet when the news filtered through that the war had finally ended in Europe on 8 May 1945, it was greeted with collective shock and emerging relief by all who heard it. To many ordinary Germans, it no longer mattered that their once proud country had lost the war. Pride could be regained. You could not bring back the dead.
Once the sounds of attacking artillery and the bombing onslaught ceased, those who had miraculously survived in Bremen had to learn to live with another invasion. The occupier had become the occupied, a daily reminder as American and British forces walked their streets. Fear of retribution was on everyone’s minds. It was a new era of peace, with a hierarchy that no one really wanted to last.
They were dark uncertain days, but a flicker of hope came with the arrival of Red Cross vehicles bearing practical help and hope. Feeding stations were hastily erected, providing nourishment to a starving population. Charitable donations of clothing and shoes arrived soon after, confirming that someone outside Germany wanted to help them, despite all that had happened. The generous gifts by strangers they had been taught to despise and fear helped grow faith that there was a way out of the hell of the last six years.
Fraternization between the occupied forces and the German people was not allowed in those early months, but after a while Elsa noticed a thaw of sorts. Whether it was caused by a change of heart or of policy passed down from above she did not know, but it helped make living under occupation a little more bearable. However, underneath it all was still a lingering sullenness. The occupiers wanted to go home to their familiesand the occupied wanted them to leave, yet to withdraw too early would leave a void in a broken country. A void that may be filled by the wrong leader who was hellbent on revenge. It had happened in 1918. Post-war poverty, desperation and a belief in a new saviour had ultimately propelled a resentful and vengeful Hitler to power. It had been a costly mistake.
As the soldiers returned home, special units arrived to help bring organization to the chaos that the war had caused. Despite the British having responsibility for much of the northwest of Germany, Bremen and Bremerhaven, the largest ports in the north, were allocated to the US Army, whose zones were otherwise landlocked, allowing them to import food and other supplies.
Food remained a priority, so parties of able-bodied people were put to work gathering and transporting food to where it was so desperately needed. Agriculture and transport routes had suffered the same damage as the armed forces and buildings, their roles badly affected if not made impossible without support.
New ration cards were introduced and meagre rations could be collected at set times of the week. Those early days were desperate times for those recovering from the shock of losing a war they had been told that they would always win. And where there is desperation, crime flourishes. Curfews were put in place. The fragile link between occupier and German citizen was naturally threaded with fear and suspicion. Even the simplest of commands ran the risk of being misunderstood or igniting frustration.
Since the declaration of war, Elsa had been wary of admitting her linguistic skills to anyone outside the teaching profession, but when she saw a young woman with a baby trying to explain to a soldier she had lost her ration card, she felt compelled to help by translating. Within days she was beingsought out for her ability to translate orders or obtain help such as medicine, food or shelter. Yet despite her skill and good intentions, she couldn’t help seeing the wariness in both German and American eyes, as if she was tainted in some way. Both sides had to place a great deal of trust in her to translate accurately — how could she be a link between them and still remain patriotic to her country? she saw them silently ask.
Shelter was another problem. Many who had remained in Bremen slept in bomb shelters or cellars, but the population was slowly increasing as the people who had fled the bombing began to return on foot, by bike or by cart. Temporary wooden barracks were hastily erected for those who had lost their homes. Elsa and Klara were allocated a bed in one. It was basic, but it would do and she counted herself luckier than most. She might not have a family, but they had shelter, ration cards, a spare set of clothes, sturdy shoes and warm coats.
Makeshift schools gave the children somewhere to go and, for the first time in her life, Klara went to school. Elsa found work as an interpreter between local leaders and the Allies. One of their many concerns was the health of the population: there was a real threat of disease running rampant, as the water and sewage infrastructure had been badly damaged. Typhoid, diphtheria and other contagious diseases were life-threatening for a population short on food, rest and medicines. Something had to be done. Health monitoring stations were set up by the Allied military medical units and the Red Cross to screen the health of the population. Elsa found herself in the midst of this, as a translator between the Allies, local leaders and the public who arrived to be monitored. It kept her busy and stopped her from grieving all that she had lost. To stop working would mean providing oxygen to all the pain she held deep inside.
Yet she still found herself searching for a familiar face in the crowds that lined up for food, charity or the goods on saleat the clandestine black markets. Every day she inspected the names pinned to the noticeboard outside the town hall, all of them seeking missing loved ones. The anxious messages, her own among them, fluttered wildly whenever the door of the building opened, like damaged butterflies caught on thorns and desperate to be free. Every day she hoped to find a scribbled message from her mother or sister beneath her own with details of where they could meet. Every day she was disappointed. Her aunt, mother and sister had vanished.
At night she checked on Klara’s sleeping form before giving up to her own exhaustion and crawling into the rudimentary wooden bed beside her. Only then she could retreat into her cherished memories of Sam. Silently, she welcomed thoughts and memories that she dared not even share with Klara. The soft timbre of his voice, the curve of his smile and the gentle touch of his fingers as he caressed her. And in those moments, despite the post-war chaos around her, she once more felt like the woman only he had seen and loved.
* * *
‘They will see you as soon as they can. The wait won’t be long.’ Elsa noticed a woman in the queue at the military clinic who looked particularly anxious. She gently touched her arm. ‘There is nothing to fear. They just want to ask some questions about your health. Perhaps give an injection.’ She noticed the baby in her arms. She touched the bundle of dusty blankets. Even through the layers she could feel the soft heat of the baby swaddled inside. ‘How old is this little one?’
‘Eight weeks.’
‘A boy or a girl?’
‘A boy.’
‘He feels hot. Is he still feeding?’
