At sixty-six, Ketti Stein Berners was a most handsome woman, who did not look her age. Perhaps this was because she had led a good life in England, a sheltered life, wrapped in a cocoon of love and tender care and comfort by her late husband. Snow-white though her hair was, her face was plump, pink-complexioned and almost without a wrinkle. Certainly it belied her age, as did her trim figure, her considerable vigour and vitality. She had sympathetic brown eyes, a warm, outgoing nature and a cheerful disposition. Her only regret in life was that her beloved Harry had died of a heart attack long before his time. Harry Berners, the only man she had ever loved, had left her comfortably off; his two brothers, his partners in the clothing manufacturing business he had founded, continued to pay her his full salary and his share of the profits, and they would do so until the day she died. After that, her daughter Rachel would receive a share of the profits for as long as the Berners brothers remained in business.
Abruptly, Ketti stopped knitting, lifted her head, listened alertly.
So did Teddy and the boys.
A loud roaring noise drew closer, became deafening. It alarmed them considerably since it was immediately above their heads, and they exchanged apprehensive glances. They knew it was a flying bomb, and their fear showed on their faces. The roar of the engine reached a crescendo, then cut out, and there was a sudden deathly silence for a second or two, followed by a crash and the most shattering explosion.
‘Oh my God, the house!’ Ketti shrieked, panic registering, her eyes widening. ‘We’ve been hit! The house has suffered a direct hit!’
‘No, it hasn’t, Aunt Ketti! maxim said The explosion would have been ten times louder if the doodlebug had dropped on our house. I think it fell a few streets away.’
‘Maxim’s right, Mrs Bemers,’ Stubby asserted, as always agreeing with Maxim. ‘I bet there’s a big crater, too, wherever it fell. There always is.’
‘Poor souls. Poor, poor souls,’ Ketti murmured, shaking her head with the greatest of sadness and compassion. ‘Every night… nothing but death and destruction. And grief for so many…’ Her voice trailed off miserably, and her expression became more dolorous than ever.
She thought of her daughter Rachel and her little granddaughter Harriet in Brighton, and she prayed to God that they were safe in their own air-raid shelter. She also prayed for her son-in-law Gerald, who was somewhere in Italy with General Alexander and the British army. Keep them safe, dear God, she said in the silence of her heart. Keep my family safe… and keep all of our brave fighting men safe, wherever they might be.
‘A flying bomb is the size of a Spitfire,’ Maxim suddenly remarked, startling Ketti, making her sit up with a jerk.
She looked across at him, frowning slightly, as he went on to tell her, ‘It’s a pilotless aircraft, Aunt Ketti, and very large. That’s why it makes such a gigantic crater when it crashes.’
Stubby nodded, his pale blue eyes and his little freckled face growing very serious. ‘My father says we’ll beat ’em yet though, beat the Jerries and the Eyeties. Our fighter planes and anti-aircraft guns are shooting down a lot of flying bombs, and we’re building new anti-aircraft sites all along the coast of the English Channel.’
This was said with such authority, Ketti glanced at Stubby in surprise. ‘Such knowledge for children to have!’ she cried, genuine horror reverberating in her voice. ‘Such a terrible knowledge… of guns and fighter planes and death… Ach!… I can’t stand it! I cannot wait for this horrendous war to be over, so that our children can forget about aeroplanes and bombs and tanks and guns and bullets, and go back to being children, playing children’s games.’
Teddy nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Aunt.’
‘My father says the war will be over soon,’ Stubby now announced. ‘He says we’ll be having victory celebrations next summer.’
‘And let’s hope your father is right, Alan,’ Teddy murmured succinctly. She rose and went over to the storage cupboard. ‘How about a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves, Aunt Ketti?’
‘My nerves don’t need calming Theodora. On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind a rosy lea. You know I rarely say no to that.’
‘I could do with one myself.’ Teddy picked up the Tizer bottle, poured water from it into the kettle, lit the primus stove, and placed the kettle on it to boil.
‘A rosy lea, a cup of tea. A twist and a twirl, a girl. Apples and pears, stairs. Whistle and flute, suit,’ Stubby recited in a gleeful voice, grinning at Maxim.
Maxim burst out laughing. ‘I love the Cockney rhyming slang. You promised to teach me more of it, so go on, let’s hear it.’
‘Trouble and strife, wife,’ Stubby began, and stopped, his repertoire instantly petering out.
‘And?’ Maxim pressed, staring hard at his dearest friend, raising a brow questioningly.
Stubby made a face, shrugged, and admitted, ‘That’s all I know, Duke.’ His smile was a bit rueful, as he added, ‘I’ll try and rustle up some more next week, before we go back to school. I’ll ask Mrs Threscoe, you know, our char lady. She’s a real Cockney, born in the sound of Bow bells… that’s where you have to be born to be a Cockney, in case you didn’t know.’
‘I did know, because you keep telling me. Listen, Mrs Threscoe promised to take us to see the costermongers, to meet the Pearly King and Queen. But she never did, did she?’
‘That’s because the Pearly King of the costermongers is in the Royal Navy, off fighting the war. She’ll take us though, when the ferries have surrendered and he comes home to the East End. That’s where the costermongers live, down the Mile End Road, Duke. But come on, let’s keep going with the jigsaw, it’s great fun.’
‘All right,’ Maxim agreed, searching through the pieces on the cot, looking for one which might complete the dragon’s head.
‘Would you boys like something to drink?’ Teddy asked as she poured hot water over the tea leaves she had just measured into the large brown teapot, the one Aunt Ketti insisted produced the best cup of tea in the world.
‘Yes, please,’ Maxim said and glanced at his friend. ‘How about you, Stubby? Would you like a dandelion and burdock?’
‘Whiz-O! That’s smashing!’ Stubby burst out, and then instantly remembered his manners, added swiftly, in his most polite voice, ‘If I may, Teddy, please.’
She nodded. ‘Very well, but only one glass each, I don’t like you drinking too much of this bottled pop. It’s not good for you.’
TWENTY-TWO
Teddy sat sipping her tea, endeavouring to ignore the air-raid which was still raging outside.
This was difficult to do, however, for the continuing bombardment and explosions, the anti-aircraft guns, the high-pitched whine of the ambulances and the loudly-clanging bells of the fire engines created a cacophony of sound that easily penetrated the corrugated-iron walls of the shelter, and it was nerve-racking.
She dreaded to think of the havoc in the streets, of those who were dead or dying or injured, or who had lost loved—ones or their homes. Every night it was the same, lives torn asunder by this foul and senseless war.
At one moment she glanced around, thinking how well this shelter had served them so far. All through the Battle of Britain, during those long and dreadful months of 1940 when England had stood alone after the fall of France. London and most of the big provincial cities had been turned into piles of rubble by the thousands of bombs which had been dropped on them, and thousands of people had been killed or maimed. Everyone had suffered terribly through those days and nights of relentless pounding by the Dornier and Heinkel bombers of the Luftwaffe, never knowing whether or not they would live to see another day.
But eventually those brave boys of the Royal Air Force, heroes all, had finally beaten back the Luftwaffe, described by journalists as ‘the greatest air fleet ever assembled by any nation’. Summer had turned to autumn, winter had come and gone, and at the start of the new year, 1941, the British were still surviving, and they had continued to survive for three mo
re years.
How lucky they had been, not to suffer so much as a single scratch. Now their Anderson shelter was protecting them once again, this time against the lethal flying bombs which had started to rain down in a never-ending torrent in June, taking the whole country by surprise and filling them all with perpetual fear.
Teddy prayed constantly that Maxim, Aunt Ketti and she would live to see the end of this war. The danger was not over for them and the rest of England yet; on the other hand, she was inclined to agree with Stubby’s father’s prediction that the Allies would be victorious by next summer. The defeat of the Third Reich, which she had once believed to be an impossibility, miraculously now seemed imminent. Much had happened lately to send their hopes soaring, lift their spirits high, and gladden their weary hearts.
Two months ago, on the sixth of June, a great Armada of ships had sailed from England to France, and British and American troops had stormed the beaches of Normandy. D-Day had been an outstanding success for the Allies. ‘And just a week ago, at noon last Friday the twenty-fifth of August, the Free French army, led by General Leclerc, and backed up by American infantry, had poured across the bridges of the Seine in an endless stream. French tanks had rumbled into the city, the foot soldiers taking possession of the streets, and within hours General Leclerc had liberated Paris from German occupation and domination. Later that same evening, the commanding German General Dietrich von Choltitz was captured, and the last of the German troops finally surrendered.
General von Choltitz had then handed the French capital back to the French.
The following morning, General Charles de Gaulle had marched down the Champs-Elysees from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde, leading a triumphal parade amidst the tumultuous cheers and rejoicing of the exultant, flag-waving French citizens.
She, Maxim, Aunt Ketti and Stubby had seen these joyous and memorable events on the Movietone News at the local cinema on Tuesday night, and the liberation of Paris had also been much reported in the British newspapers. Teddy kept herself well-informed about the progress of the war by reading the Daily Express, and several other papers every day, and she and Aunt Ketti listened to the daily news bulletins on the wireless, most particularly when Winston Churchill broadcast to the nation.
Teddy revered Winnie, as he was affectionately called by the British people, and she had ever since he had become Prime Minister on May tenth 1940. She remembered that date very well indeed, for it happened to have been the day following her twenty-first birthday.
To Teddy, Churchill was a man of honour and bravery, and the pure embodiment of all that was best in this island race of Britons… robust, stoical, strong, determined, and just. He was an inspiration to her and every other ordinary person in England, and to those in the fighting forces, and he gave each and every one of them a bit of his tremendous courage, imbued in them his own strength of will to keep on going against all odds.
In part, he did this through his extraordinary rhetoric and magnificent oratory, which never failed to touch and move her. In fact, his words captivated her, and they forever reverberated in her head. Much of what he had said at different times she knew by heart, and she frequently found herself drawing strength from his words. And repeatedly she garnered hope from them when things looked bleak, or when she was filled with despair.
Her mind slid back to the time she had first heard him speak, in the summer of 1940, just after Dunkirk, when he had said, ‘We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.’ And as she had listened to the radio that day, her own courage had been fortified and renewed because of him.
In that same month of June, not long before France fell, when the world had wondered out loud what England would do, Winston Churchill had vowed that the English would battle on alone. And he had told his countrymen and women, in that majestic and sonorous voice of his, ‘Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour.”’
And she, German Jewish refugee that she was, had wept as she had listened to him. For her deepest emotions had been stirred, and she was filled with pride and love for this man who was setting such an awesome and valiant example for them, and for the rest of the world. She had taken great heart after hearing this speech, for she had come to understand fully that, with a leader like Churchill, Britain could not fail to win the war. However long it took, they would inevitably succeed, because he was determined to lead them to victory.
And in this summer of 1944 they were winning.
It will soon be over, Teddy thought. The hostilities will end finally, and we will be able to start leading normal lives again… and we will be able to pick up the threads of the past…
The sound of the All Clear signal going off roused her at once, brought her instantly to her feet, as it did Aunt Ketti, who pushed her knitting into its bag and off-handedly threw this onto the chair she had just vacated.
But the boys remained glued to their jigsaw puzzle, not bothering to lift their heads as Teddy flew across the floor to the door. She jerked it open, peered out, and turned back to her aunt. ‘There it goes again, Aunt Ketti! The All Clear at last, thank God! We can go back to the house. Come along, Maxim, Stubby.’
‘May we bring the jigsaw puzzle with us, Teddy?’ Maxim asked, looking up at last.
She nodded before stepping outside into the garden.
Lifting her head, Teddy stared up into the heavens from which the murderous bombs had so recently fallen. The ink-black velvety sky was incredibly beautiful, glittering with brilliant stars and swept by searchlights which continued to crisscross the dark clouds with giant beams of blazing white light. Here and there, the sky glowed scarlet from the many fires burning where bombs had fallen in different areas. Tonight, as on so many other nights, London was aflame.
Casualties and pain, grief, despair and devastation, Teddy said to herself, that’s all we live with on a daily basis. She felt a sudden heaviness settle on her when she realised that they would have much, much more to live through before peace came to this turbulent world so riven by fighting.
She began to walk up the garden path at a rapid pace. The muggy August air was acrid with the smell of smoke, high explosives, burning wood and metal. Despite the warmth of the evening, she could not help shivering when she envisioned the damage which must have been done only a few streets away from where they lived. The sound of ambulances and fire engines only reinforced this assumption, led her to believe that there were obviously many losses on every level. And she knew that the Red Cross, the St John Ambulance Brigade, and other emergency units would be at work throughout the night.
Climbing the front steps, she pushed open the door to the back parlour, and paused on the threshold of the darkened room. Earlier, when the air-raid siren had sounded, Aunt Ketti had run out and left the wireless on in the kitchen. Now, along the corridor floated the familiar voice of the Forces Sweetheart, as Vera Lynn had come to be known through her radio show Sincerely Yours.
Teddy leaned her head against the door frame, listening to Vera’s rendition of one of the most popular songs of the war years. ‘There’ll always be an England, while there’s a country lane, wherever there’s a cottage small beside a field of grain. There’ll always be an England, while there’s a busy street, wherever there’s a turning wheel, a million marching feet.’
Teddy’s throat tightened as she continued to stand there for a moment longer, listening to Vera finishing the song. And she found herself unexpectedly confronting an inescapable fact: she did not want to live anywhere else but England.
Almost immediately her thoughts swung to Willy Herzog, and her heart sank. He wanted to go to America more desperately than ever, at least so it seemed to her from his letters these days. Perhaps there was a way to persuade him to change his
mind, to convince him to settle here in London. Certainly she must try. It struck her that this was imperative, and then with a rush of genuine insight into herself she realised how much this country had come to mean to her. She felt safe here, secure; she had become very anglicised in the last five years, as had Maxim. She knew this was partially because of Ursula Westheim, who had wanted them to love this country, and who had never stopped talking about England when they were in Paris in 1939. Ursula had forever extolled its virtues, telling them it was the best, the fairest, the most democratic and civilised place in the world, and she had discovered this to be true. Then again, there was her Aunt Ketti, who in the forty years she had lived here had become a true Londoner.
Teddy had to admit that becoming so English herself was her way of denying Nazi Germany, of negating the country of her birth in her mind because its anti-semitism was so painful to her. And as far as Maxim was concerned, he wanted to be like the other boys at school. She was well aware how much children hated to be singled out as being ‘different’ from their peers. They wanted to conform.
She heard her aunt behind her on the stone steps, and crossed the parlour, hurried down the corridor to the kitchen. After checking that the blackout curtain was properly drawn, she turned on the kitchen lights, pushed aside her worrisome thoughts about Willy and the future, and set about the task of preparing supper.
***
It had become the custom for Ketti and Teddy to sit down together in the back parlour at the end of the day, to share a pot of tea and chat for a while before retiring.
Tonight was no exception to this rule.
After Maxim and Stubby had gone upstairs to bed, Teddy and Ketti washed the dishes and put everything away, and then Ketti retreated to the other room to wait for her niece, who always made the tea.
‘It’s such a warm night,’ Teddy said a few minutes later, coming into the parlour carrying the silver tray of tea things. She placed this on the antique butler’s tray table near the fireplace, and went on, ‘Shall I turn off the lamps and open the French windows?’