Excerpt from Harvest
Chapter 1
While waiting for the rich Arabica to brew, Richard finished the last of his fried egg ensuring no trace of the yellow yolk remained on the plate. He knew he was repeating a ritual his father had started and he smiled as he remembered the old man and his sometimes odd ways. Only now, since Hamburg, was Richard beginning to understand some of what had gone on in his mind.
A lot of things had happened ever since Richard first heard about Billy’s bible and then meeting up with Sorrel from America. Richard realised Sorrel and her ideas had been the perfect catalyst in starting the healing process over his dead wife, Connie. Sorrel was so full of life herself it was impossible to stay morose in her company for long. He wished he’d arranged another get together with her before they’d parted at Hamburg because he’d felt a definite attraction between them. There again he couldn’t appear too eager. If he left it a short while and then contacted her in about a week’s time he felt sure he could come up with a good solution for a meeting.
Feeling relaxed and pleased with his idea, Richard poured another cup of coffee and thought about this morning’s task and the events leading up to it. He felt he’d discovered so much about his father and his life and yet, Richard still got the feeling there was a lot more which was hidden, but not forgotten. Despite all he now knew, Richard wanted to delve deeper into his father’s past.
Pushing back his chair and after loading the dishwasher with his breakfast things, he left the kitchen and wandered along to his study. There, lying on the rug was his father’s old sea chest. Easing back the lid Richard removed the smaller of the two albums. The first time he’d opened the trunk, Richard had only given this volume a quick glance through. He now wanted to see if he’d missed anything important.
Opening the cheap, thin cardboard cover he noticed with a spurt of pleasure that the album contained wedding photographs of his mother and father. He noticed how his father had changed through his lifetime and especially during his younger years. Billy had aged prematurely it seemed. Throughout his time on HMS Warspite, the photos told a story of a young physically fit and dark-haired young man in his prime. Even though the photos were in black and white, Billy looked tanned and lean. He was shown often propped up against the ship’s bulwark with friends gathered around him. Turning the stiff pages, Richard discovered more of Billy’s life history. He obviously enjoyed a drink, a smoke, the occasional fistfight and especially time spent ogling the girls.
Turning to his wedding photos there was a different story. Although Billy was captured smiling on film and in each picture, the man standing there could have been an older brother. He stood awkwardly posed, thin and gaunt, and wearing a suit which hung from rather than fitted him. That was not all. The most startling feature was his hair. After his time spent in the camps Billy emerged completely white-haired. And yet, he was no old man. This photographic record was only a few years later. His mother on the other hand was slight and pretty; her face looked alive and she was smiling a deep smile of complete happiness. In her arms she held a little girl with dark curly hair and solemn blue eyes which were most definitely her father’s. It could only have been his older sister Megan.
Richard’s face softened as he remembered funny little Megan. It was a dreadful day when she died, as she’d been far too young. Richard knew Billy mourned her deeply and never really came to terms over her premature death. Her passing was a wretched, long phase which left a void in his life and especially after Penny’s death.
Richard turned another page of the album and smiled at the expressions on his grandparents’ faces. For him they had always been there, especially his grandmother. She had been swift to wipe away a tear when he fell and cut himself. She always gave him a quick consoling hug when he lost the obstacle race at infant school. And – he gave a laugh at the memory, a short sharp whack on the backside when he was caught stealing fairy cakes straight from the hot oven. Richard never did discover whether the whack was for stealing or because he was stupid enough to nearly burn himself. There were other mysterious faces on the page of which Richard hadn’t a clue as to who they were. Maybe they were local friends of the family or distant relatives? It didn’t matter now anyway, as they were all long gone. Even his grandparents’ cottage in Bishop’s Waltham where they had farmed the surrounding land was no longer in the family. Everything had all been sold and the acres parcelled off. It was a different era.
Richard paused and looked up; he stared at the wall, while thinking. The album was a book holding smiles and remembered pleasures. It possessed a pleasant richness of its own. Richard allowed himself a small sigh. His father found love during the war. Penny waited faithfully and patiently for him to return to her as she had promised. It was exactly the same as with so many other wartime couples. Richard’s parents love had been deep, there was no doubt about that; his sister Megan was the proof.
Richard was sure they had loved him too. But he was born much later and in peacetime, when everything was different and more stable. When there was no longer a fear of nothing being permanent or even long lasting. The true sense of urgency threatened them no longer. It was more benign and planned.
Richard replaced the book back into the chest. He understood much more now and although he didn’t have an answer to all his questions, many were resolved. He could imagine how his father had felt. In the beginning, when he’d left the battleship life with its company of many hundreds of crew and then was thrust into a life which was much riskier aboard the small and infinitely more fragile motor torpedo boat. The death of his mates on-board and then the long incarceration in the POW camps, with their own uncertainties and special terrors. Richard couldn’t possible know all that the old man had put up with and suffered. Richard had struggled to understand his father in the past. But now he thought he could at last feel sympathy for an old sailor’s reticence to the telling of his own war stories and why he was so dedicated to his wife and daughter. They had needed him so much more than Richard had himself. As a son and man he was always much more independent. The image of Connie passed through his mind and how she died. For the first time in years he felt really close to his father. Sorrel was right. His visit to Germany and going through his father’s things was therapeutic. He crossed over to his desk which was placed in front of the study window and with a reverence he hadn’t felt before, picked up Billy’s bible. It was amazing. A few months ago Richard had no idea of its existence, let alone that it had been kept in the States for almost sixty years. Now after meeting up with Sorrel and crossing over to Germany he’d unearthed a wealth of past history which he’d never dreamt of. The Bible brought it all together. A feeling of warmth spread through Richard, making him feel good and whole again. And it was all down to this one small book. His father may not have been a staunch Christian, but the book had somehow looked after and shown the family the way.
Returning to the old sea-trunk, he rifled through the items for one last nostalgic look. He believed he’d given everything at least a cursory look the first time he’d opened the lid but he thought he’d take another look at the correspondence between his parents; there might even be a letter or two he’d missed. After a few minutes he gave up and stood next to the trunk, stretching the stiffness from his cramped legs. Time had flown and he hadn’t realised how long he’d been crouching on the carpet. More coffee would be a good idea he thought as he moved towards the kitchen. Still thinking about the morning’s discoveries he automatically refilled the espresso machine reservoir and then waited for the familiar smell to fill his nostrils. The view from the kitchen window was particularly beautiful this morning but Richard gazed at it with unseeing eyes, lost in thought.
The peeling of the front-door bell startled him out of his reverie. He hadn’t heard a car come up the drive nor the scrunch of footsteps over the gravel. On retracing his footsteps back into the hall, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall above a small oak occasional table. He realised he was looking well; much fitter and healthier than he’d been a few months ago and he reckoned he hardly looked his age. He was thankful he was finally coming to terms with Connie’s death and able to see a new life ahead of him, despite the sadness he still felt.
Glancing through the small panel of glass in the front door he could see a woman standing with her back to him as she looked at the garden. Long hair hung around her shoulders in pretty soft curls; Richard always had a weakness for long hair. He opened the door and when she turned towards him, he gave a gasp of astonishment. Richard was momentarily stunned and he felt the blood drain from his face before he recovered and gave her a half-hearted smile.
Chapter 2 Miranda
“Richard!” was all she said.
“My God, Miranda! I didn’t expect...! What on earth are you doing here?” Richard exclaimed in astonishment. He hadn’t seen his cousin’s ex-wife, Miranda, for years but of course he recognised her immediately.
“Sorry, I know it must be a bit of a shock after all this time. Are you going to invite me in or shall we stay out here?”
“Yes of course. Come in.”
He stepped aside as she crossed over the threshold and into the hall. After closing the door he turned to her with a dozen questions on his lips. She forestalled him as she walked further into the house exclaiming. “This is beautiful. I have often wondered about you and where you lived. You certainly have good taste.” Miranda looked around her with interest. She stood in front of an evocative landscape which could only have been executed from local composition.
“How long have you been here for now?”
Richard told her, and then with some impatience as he couldn’t abide small talk he asked in a brusque tone.
“But you tell me something. Why the sudden interest? When we spoke on the phone a month ago concerning my father’s bible you gave no indication you might pleasure me with a visit.”
Miranda gave him a dazzling smile which he recognised as dangerous.
“Richard please don’t act so cross. Knowing you of old, I recognise your terseness is an attempt to cover up your confusion.”
He opened his mouth to say more when she pre-empted him with a pretty little pout. “Look I wasn’t at all certain of a warm welcome as it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and then we parted on not exactly the best of terms. And I’m sorry, but neither did I feel confident enough to go to Connie’s memorial service. But now that I’m here and you’ve invited me in and we’re talking it’s all to the good. Of course it could just be your impeccable manners that I remember from old but just the same …Dear Richard, say something then! You haven’t changed a bit you know. I would have recognised you anywhere. Which way shall I go, through here?”
As she was already heading in the direction of the kitchen Richard nodded mutely in agreement. She hadn’t changed one bit either! She still possessed the ability to rob him of words. Richard felt his blood rising. He would be civil but he’d see her out as soon as possible.
“Yes through here.”
He gestured her into the room where sunlight was spilling in through the open back door. The contented murmur of honeybees from the nearby herb garden instilled a peaceful, serene scene compared to the tense awkwardness inside.
“Would you like a drink? A cup of coffee or would you prefer tea?”
It was too early to offer wine and he certainly didn’t feel that friendly.
“Oh coffee please, darling, yours smells delicious. What a fabulous kitchen, a cooks dream. And that view is pure heaven.”
Walking over to the door, Miranda let her gaze take in the garden and linger on the fields and wood beyond. The garden was still in full heady bloom. Tall spires of pink and yellow hollyhocks interspersed with varying shades of delphiniums, vied for space and colour with clumps of lupins, red-hot pokers and aquilegia. Further flowerbeds were crammed with fuchsia, geranium and rampant lobelia. Only the rose garden was formally planted with specimen bushes of heavily scented blooms. The overall picture was a perfect delight.
“Mmm. So gorgeous it’s almost chocolate box perfect.”
She sighed as she turned back to watch Richard. “You are lucky to have such a place.”
Whilst she was exclaiming over his garden he busied himself with the coffee paraphernalia. To himself he asked the question. Why are you here, Miranda? And he couldn’t come up with an answer. And what was more, although they hadn’t had anything to do with each other since they’d spilt up, he still could remember how she rarely did anything without an ulterior motive. Another thing bothering him was she had always been able to twist him around her little finger without seemingly trying to. All in all it boded no good - for him. Don’t be ridiculous he told himself. That was when you were still an impressionable twenty something year old. Being nearly fifty meant you should at least be able to keep one female under control. The little devil in him said; “are you sure?” His hands acting clumsy, he spilt the coffee as he was pouring it from the machine. Damn her. He was doing all right up until now. He hurriedly reached over for the cloth and wiped away the mess.
Richard remembered exactly how she took her coffee, but he certainly wasn’t giving her that satisfaction, besides knowing Miranda she would probably read something in it.
“How do you take your coffee? Is it still white with two sugars?”
Miranda hung her handbag over the back of a chair and then perched herself down at the table.
“Please!” She stressed the word with a faint frown. “Black and without, thank you.”
She placed her manicured hands onto the scrubbed table top, palms down and tapped one long fingernail absentmindedly. Surreptitiously, she watched as Richard finished pouring the dark brew into their cups, a small smile playing around her mouth. He looked good. Much better than she had anticipated and still lean and fit.
Richard elected to remain standing and leant against the black granite worktop, the splendid garden view framing him from behind. He raised his cup to his lips and took a large mouthful of coffee. The scalding liquid invaded his mouth and he winced as he burnt his tongue. God that hurt! Her sudden appearance and nearness startled and unnerved him. She had always managed this compelling hold over him. When they were younger his infatuation was so great it had threatened to take over his whole life and it nearly did. When she married his cousin, Richard was devastated. For ages he hated her and what she had done to him. He also hated himself for being what in his eyes he thought was so weak. Now her sudden appearance was a total shock to his system. He made himself a promise. If there was one thing he was certain of, she was not going to get under his skin again in any way possible. Not this time.
“So, Miranda. You still haven’t answered my question,” he said giving her a cold stare.
Miranda appeared unfazed. She lifted her grey-green eyes to him, opening them wide. Her gaze was frank and open as she replied. “I’m sorry. I know I should have contacted you first, Richard. But, I was simply passing nearby.”
Richard’s short snort of disbelief seemed to put her off balance. She coloured slightly and hesitated a second before she continued.
“It’s true. I have been staying with a friend, down in Wickham. I knew Bishop’s Waltham was only about ten minutes’ drive away and so, I couldn’t resist looking you up. I-I thought it was about time anyway.”
She finished, flushed and embarrassed as Richard continued studying her. She knew he was having trouble with her sudden unexpected arrival.
As the pause lengthened, Richard looked closer at the woman across the room from him.
The past years had been kind to Miranda. From where he stood her face was remarkably unlined; her beautiful eyes still sparkling and clear. Her hair was exactly as he remembered. It was long, thick and lustrous and almost the same colour of deep golden honey. He noted the absence of any telling grey and deduced she must follow the current trend of having her hair fashionably coloured and streaked to suit herself. Her figure was as luscious as when she was his. Apart from being tall, she remained slim and full-breasted and probably only one size larger, if at all. She was dressed in a simple white linen dress which emphasised her figure and wore light filigree jewellery for adornment. The dress was cut to the level of her knees and as she crossed her legs, Richard noticed her calves still had fine muscle-tone and her ankles remained as slim as a girl’s.
Richard idly wondered if she was still as enthusiastic in bed as he recalled, then collected himself before his daydreaming took over. For goodness sake! The last thing he wanted was to give her the wrong idea and more importantly he didn’t want her to have any sway over him. Think about the way she treated you instead he told himself. In a flood he remembered how smitten he’d been and how cruelly she cast him aside when she received a better offer.
“Okay. So you found me.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less and waited for her answer.
“I was also fascinated over the matter of your father’s bible. It was such an interesting story and such a coincidence that I made the first contact with the American family. I was intrigued to find out if you had bothered to follow it up. I also wanted to make sure that you were all right,” she finished softly with a shy smile.
Despite his good intentions, Richard let himself unwind a little. No possible harm could come of telling her what he’d done and later discovered. She might even know something herself as Billy had always kept a glad eye for a pretty face and Richard knew he had cared for Miranda.
They finished their coffee and Richard asked her if she would like another. He joined her at the table with refilled cups and a plate of biscuits.
“Mmm. These are very good. Not shop bought shortbread I’m sure”.
He noticed her full lips as she wiped the rich crumbs away from the corner of her mouth with a paper serviette.
“My aunt Mavis makes them. She is always popping in with biscuits and cakes and the odd fruit pie or two. I think she’s afraid that now I’m on my own I’m going to starve,” he said drily and gave a short mirthless laugh before carrying on. “She doesn’t understand about the modern man and how we’re quite capable of cooking reasonable and decent meals. Also more to the point, that some of us actually enjoy it. But you remember Mavis. She is of a different era.”
“I do remember her, and I also know what you mean. Most of that age group grew up running around after their husband and children. The majority didn’t have real careers; as they didn’t feel they needed anything other than bringing up their family. That was their whole life. Not that there’s anything fundamentally wrong with that. It’s just that nowadays what with most women working and bringing up a family often the husband has to play his part in the domestic role. You know like cooking, food shopping and helping with the kids. Family life now has a totally different meaning. Going back to your auntie Mavis, wasn’t she on your mother’s side of the family?”
“Yes. She’s my mum’s sister. Mavis is a good old stick really, just a bit bossy. One thing though, she’d never let you down.”
As he finished speaking and reached for another sip of coffee he felt himself growing hot under his collar as he realised what he had said. The implication was plainly there. Her silence made him take a quick glance at her face. She had the grace to look as guilty as hell. Good he thought. He let the silence grow as he took another biscuit and bit into its rich buttery flavour. Then after considering he had made his point he continued.
“Anyway back to the bible. Yes, in answer to your query I did indeed contact the American flier. Well I got in touch with his granddaughter really as he wasn’t up to it because he’s ill and old, and the Internet just isn’t part of his everyday life. She filled me in with his side of things. It really is an amazing story.”
And then, Richard found himself telling Miranda about his trip to Germany and the subsequent visit to the POW camp and museum. He described the city, with its proud squares of new buildings, bridges, canals and the old Rathaus or town hall. Richard explained how he had turned south and driven through the isolated villages and crop fields, along straight roads with poplar trees swaying overhead in perfect straight aisles.
He recalled the memories in a soft voice. “There was a stark memorial stone set back in the grass before the prison perimeter fence; its inscription I read out loud but it had already dulled inside my mind as I contemplated the edifice before me. A second sign directed visitors to a museum and exhibition centre. It was isolated, desolate, and eerily silent. There were few other visitors that day, and I remember asking myself, who would visit it and why? Could we still learn lessons from there?” He paused for a moment, his eyes dark and brooding.
“I remember feeling like I was being watched over by silent men in ragged clothing hung over fleshless bodies. I swear I could hear the shrill orders and the rattle of shots, and feel the presence of ghosts. They were spirits of men who had starved and died, exhausted from their pitiless ordeal.” He hung his head in awkwardness as tears threatened in the corner of his eyes. “It all felt so real.”
Miranda sat next to him listening in silence and then shivered as his telling came to an end.
Absentmindedly Richard stirred his coffee and then told Miranda everything he was able to piece together including the American’s story. He spoke of what might have happened to Billy during those lost years and of what he knew with certainty.
Miranda sat engrossed throughout. Towards the end, she briefly interrupted him to ask a question or two. When he finally came to a halt she then amazed him.
“You know, Billy kept lots of secrets stored away in his mind.”
Richard sat up open-mouthed as he listened to her.
“I did know about Nat, and how Billy tried to get him away to safety. He was quite a man your father.” As she expounded further, lots of little things were explained, filled in and embellished. Most of which Richard had only been able to guess at so far. As she talked, expressions and feelings began to fill Richard’s mind…
Chapter 3
…Billy could almost feel the pulse of the tension and anxiety rushing throughout the prison camp. It was now 1945 and rumours were running rife. The favourite gossip of the moment was that the Russians and the Allies were fast closing in and all prisoners of war were going to be marched elsewhere. The Russians were nearing Berlin and the Allies were making a hard push from the west.
There were many talks held among the senior camp men among them and they all agreed and advised everyone to regularly tramp around the camp, in order to get their bodies in some kind of fitness state and most importantly, become used to walking again. They put it to the men in a simple order; if they were evacuated then everyone needed to be fit to be able to walk. For some men at the end of their mental tether, the last dregs of their physical capacity would be too drained if this were to happen. Billy knew there would be some who wouldn’t be capable of long marches.
A few grumbled at the advice and looked around them unsure at what was best to do. They were scared too because of the uncertainty with all the rumours flying around the camp.
As for Billy he was bubbling over with expectation. His keen hearing picked up the distant rumble of artillery and he rushed to inform his hut officer. His mates gathered around in anxiety and alarm and it was ironic that in the middle of all this uproar the Germans unloaded a long overdue consignment of Red Cross parcels and distributed them around the camp.
“If and when it comes to it, it’s best to take everything you can wear or carry.” Was Billy’s own advice to those who would listen. “Who knows when we’ll reach Blighty or what stuff we’ll be given once we’ve left here?”
Billy possessed two ‘ratty’ sets of everything; underwear, woollen socks and shirts. Recently, he purloined an old Navy coat, shabby, patched but warm and he also managed to “rescue” a pair of almost new American army boots from the camp stores.
Billy collected his ‘treasures’ together and laid them at the end of his ramshackle bunk in hut nineteen. Looking down he saw here wasn’t a lot to account for over three years’ incarceration at the hands of the sometimes-brutal Germans. But to Billy they represented his life and more importantly his soul. He thought about the refugees who had filed past the gates of his camp. He remembered old people, women with children, and babes in arms, the injured, burned, terrified, and deranged. He saw people who were all fleeing from the horrors. Billy thought about the Christians among them. How each and every one was struggling to believe and reconcile their Christian beliefs against the Nazi cold-blooded excesses and mass murder.
Billy considered his pitiful little pile; his Christmas cards from Penny, her heavily censored letters and her simple but evocative poetry, the hand-made playing cards, two cigarettes, a German soldier’s - Dieter’s - belt buckle and Nathaniel’s penny whistle. Oh! Nathaniel. Billy shook his head in regret and fought back the familiar choking feeling in his throat whenever he thought about him. Swallowing hard, Billy thrust his dark thoughts aside and continued picking over his possessions. He would take as many clothes as he could carry. He owned nothing heavy; he’d given his bible away in the cells, and hopefully it was to someone who would put it to better use than he. He wanted to believe in something but somehow he couldn’t yet bring himself to forgive or forget any of the past years’ horrors. Gathering the articles up together, Billy tied them into a bundle with his faded and well-darned pullover, and slung it over his shoulder. He straightened his back, lifted his head and stood as erect as his gammy leg allowed. I’ll march out of here proudly he thought. Together with his comrades they formed into ranks and marched as smartly as they could manage up to the barbed wire fencing. The weak and sick were supported by their stronger colleagues, and everyone felt their spirits rising, as they watched the heavy gates swing open. They were leaving this God-forsaken place. They didn’t know where they were going but surely nowhere else could be as bad as here.
KOBO BARNES & NOBLE APPLE iTUNES SMASHWORDS
Chapter 1
While waiting for the rich Arabica to brew, Richard finished the last of his fried egg ensuring no trace of the yellow yolk remained on the plate. He knew he was repeating a ritual his father had started and he smiled as he remembered the old man and his sometimes odd ways. Only now, since Hamburg, was Richard beginning to understand some of what had gone on in his mind.
A lot of things had happened ever since Richard first heard about Billy’s bible and then meeting up with Sorrel from America. Richard realised Sorrel and her ideas had been the perfect catalyst in starting the healing process over his dead wife, Connie. Sorrel was so full of life herself it was impossible to stay morose in her company for long. He wished he’d arranged another get together with her before they’d parted at Hamburg because he’d felt a definite attraction between them. There again he couldn’t appear too eager. If he left it a short while and then contacted her in about a week’s time he felt sure he could come up with a good solution for a meeting.
Feeling relaxed and pleased with his idea, Richard poured another cup of coffee and thought about this morning’s task and the events leading up to it. He felt he’d discovered so much about his father and his life and yet, Richard still got the feeling there was a lot more which was hidden, but not forgotten. Despite all he now knew, Richard wanted to delve deeper into his father’s past.
Pushing back his chair and after loading the dishwasher with his breakfast things, he left the kitchen and wandered along to his study. There, lying on the rug was his father’s old sea chest. Easing back the lid Richard removed the smaller of the two albums. The first time he’d opened the trunk, Richard had only given this volume a quick glance through. He now wanted to see if he’d missed anything important.
Opening the cheap, thin cardboard cover he noticed with a spurt of pleasure that the album contained wedding photographs of his mother and father. He noticed how his father had changed through his lifetime and especially during his younger years. Billy had aged prematurely it seemed. Throughout his time on HMS Warspite, the photos told a story of a young physically fit and dark-haired young man in his prime. Even though the photos were in black and white, Billy looked tanned and lean. He was shown often propped up against the ship’s bulwark with friends gathered around him. Turning the stiff pages, Richard discovered more of Billy’s life history. He obviously enjoyed a drink, a smoke, the occasional fistfight and especially time spent ogling the girls.
Turning to his wedding photos there was a different story. Although Billy was captured smiling on film and in each picture, the man standing there could have been an older brother. He stood awkwardly posed, thin and gaunt, and wearing a suit which hung from rather than fitted him. That was not all. The most startling feature was his hair. After his time spent in the camps Billy emerged completely white-haired. And yet, he was no old man. This photographic record was only a few years later. His mother on the other hand was slight and pretty; her face looked alive and she was smiling a deep smile of complete happiness. In her arms she held a little girl with dark curly hair and solemn blue eyes which were most definitely her father’s. It could only have been his older sister Megan.
Richard’s face softened as he remembered funny little Megan. It was a dreadful day when she died, as she’d been far too young. Richard knew Billy mourned her deeply and never really came to terms over her premature death. Her passing was a wretched, long phase which left a void in his life and especially after Penny’s death.
Richard turned another page of the album and smiled at the expressions on his grandparents’ faces. For him they had always been there, especially his grandmother. She had been swift to wipe away a tear when he fell and cut himself. She always gave him a quick consoling hug when he lost the obstacle race at infant school. And – he gave a laugh at the memory, a short sharp whack on the backside when he was caught stealing fairy cakes straight from the hot oven. Richard never did discover whether the whack was for stealing or because he was stupid enough to nearly burn himself. There were other mysterious faces on the page of which Richard hadn’t a clue as to who they were. Maybe they were local friends of the family or distant relatives? It didn’t matter now anyway, as they were all long gone. Even his grandparents’ cottage in Bishop’s Waltham where they had farmed the surrounding land was no longer in the family. Everything had all been sold and the acres parcelled off. It was a different era.
Richard paused and looked up; he stared at the wall, while thinking. The album was a book holding smiles and remembered pleasures. It possessed a pleasant richness of its own. Richard allowed himself a small sigh. His father found love during the war. Penny waited faithfully and patiently for him to return to her as she had promised. It was exactly the same as with so many other wartime couples. Richard’s parents love had been deep, there was no doubt about that; his sister Megan was the proof.
Richard was sure they had loved him too. But he was born much later and in peacetime, when everything was different and more stable. When there was no longer a fear of nothing being permanent or even long lasting. The true sense of urgency threatened them no longer. It was more benign and planned.
Richard replaced the book back into the chest. He understood much more now and although he didn’t have an answer to all his questions, many were resolved. He could imagine how his father had felt. In the beginning, when he’d left the battleship life with its company of many hundreds of crew and then was thrust into a life which was much riskier aboard the small and infinitely more fragile motor torpedo boat. The death of his mates on-board and then the long incarceration in the POW camps, with their own uncertainties and special terrors. Richard couldn’t possible know all that the old man had put up with and suffered. Richard had struggled to understand his father in the past. But now he thought he could at last feel sympathy for an old sailor’s reticence to the telling of his own war stories and why he was so dedicated to his wife and daughter. They had needed him so much more than Richard had himself. As a son and man he was always much more independent. The image of Connie passed through his mind and how she died. For the first time in years he felt really close to his father. Sorrel was right. His visit to Germany and going through his father’s things was therapeutic. He crossed over to his desk which was placed in front of the study window and with a reverence he hadn’t felt before, picked up Billy’s bible. It was amazing. A few months ago Richard had no idea of its existence, let alone that it had been kept in the States for almost sixty years. Now after meeting up with Sorrel and crossing over to Germany he’d unearthed a wealth of past history which he’d never dreamt of. The Bible brought it all together. A feeling of warmth spread through Richard, making him feel good and whole again. And it was all down to this one small book. His father may not have been a staunch Christian, but the book had somehow looked after and shown the family the way.
Returning to the old sea-trunk, he rifled through the items for one last nostalgic look. He believed he’d given everything at least a cursory look the first time he’d opened the lid but he thought he’d take another look at the correspondence between his parents; there might even be a letter or two he’d missed. After a few minutes he gave up and stood next to the trunk, stretching the stiffness from his cramped legs. Time had flown and he hadn’t realised how long he’d been crouching on the carpet. More coffee would be a good idea he thought as he moved towards the kitchen. Still thinking about the morning’s discoveries he automatically refilled the espresso machine reservoir and then waited for the familiar smell to fill his nostrils. The view from the kitchen window was particularly beautiful this morning but Richard gazed at it with unseeing eyes, lost in thought.
The peeling of the front-door bell startled him out of his reverie. He hadn’t heard a car come up the drive nor the scrunch of footsteps over the gravel. On retracing his footsteps back into the hall, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall above a small oak occasional table. He realised he was looking well; much fitter and healthier than he’d been a few months ago and he reckoned he hardly looked his age. He was thankful he was finally coming to terms with Connie’s death and able to see a new life ahead of him, despite the sadness he still felt.
Glancing through the small panel of glass in the front door he could see a woman standing with her back to him as she looked at the garden. Long hair hung around her shoulders in pretty soft curls; Richard always had a weakness for long hair. He opened the door and when she turned towards him, he gave a gasp of astonishment. Richard was momentarily stunned and he felt the blood drain from his face before he recovered and gave her a half-hearted smile.
Chapter 2 Miranda
“Richard!” was all she said.
“My God, Miranda! I didn’t expect...! What on earth are you doing here?” Richard exclaimed in astonishment. He hadn’t seen his cousin’s ex-wife, Miranda, for years but of course he recognised her immediately.
“Sorry, I know it must be a bit of a shock after all this time. Are you going to invite me in or shall we stay out here?”
“Yes of course. Come in.”
He stepped aside as she crossed over the threshold and into the hall. After closing the door he turned to her with a dozen questions on his lips. She forestalled him as she walked further into the house exclaiming. “This is beautiful. I have often wondered about you and where you lived. You certainly have good taste.” Miranda looked around her with interest. She stood in front of an evocative landscape which could only have been executed from local composition.
“How long have you been here for now?”
Richard told her, and then with some impatience as he couldn’t abide small talk he asked in a brusque tone.
“But you tell me something. Why the sudden interest? When we spoke on the phone a month ago concerning my father’s bible you gave no indication you might pleasure me with a visit.”
Miranda gave him a dazzling smile which he recognised as dangerous.
“Richard please don’t act so cross. Knowing you of old, I recognise your terseness is an attempt to cover up your confusion.”
He opened his mouth to say more when she pre-empted him with a pretty little pout. “Look I wasn’t at all certain of a warm welcome as it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and then we parted on not exactly the best of terms. And I’m sorry, but neither did I feel confident enough to go to Connie’s memorial service. But now that I’m here and you’ve invited me in and we’re talking it’s all to the good. Of course it could just be your impeccable manners that I remember from old but just the same …Dear Richard, say something then! You haven’t changed a bit you know. I would have recognised you anywhere. Which way shall I go, through here?”
As she was already heading in the direction of the kitchen Richard nodded mutely in agreement. She hadn’t changed one bit either! She still possessed the ability to rob him of words. Richard felt his blood rising. He would be civil but he’d see her out as soon as possible.
“Yes through here.”
He gestured her into the room where sunlight was spilling in through the open back door. The contented murmur of honeybees from the nearby herb garden instilled a peaceful, serene scene compared to the tense awkwardness inside.
“Would you like a drink? A cup of coffee or would you prefer tea?”
It was too early to offer wine and he certainly didn’t feel that friendly.
“Oh coffee please, darling, yours smells delicious. What a fabulous kitchen, a cooks dream. And that view is pure heaven.”
Walking over to the door, Miranda let her gaze take in the garden and linger on the fields and wood beyond. The garden was still in full heady bloom. Tall spires of pink and yellow hollyhocks interspersed with varying shades of delphiniums, vied for space and colour with clumps of lupins, red-hot pokers and aquilegia. Further flowerbeds were crammed with fuchsia, geranium and rampant lobelia. Only the rose garden was formally planted with specimen bushes of heavily scented blooms. The overall picture was a perfect delight.
“Mmm. So gorgeous it’s almost chocolate box perfect.”
She sighed as she turned back to watch Richard. “You are lucky to have such a place.”
Whilst she was exclaiming over his garden he busied himself with the coffee paraphernalia. To himself he asked the question. Why are you here, Miranda? And he couldn’t come up with an answer. And what was more, although they hadn’t had anything to do with each other since they’d spilt up, he still could remember how she rarely did anything without an ulterior motive. Another thing bothering him was she had always been able to twist him around her little finger without seemingly trying to. All in all it boded no good - for him. Don’t be ridiculous he told himself. That was when you were still an impressionable twenty something year old. Being nearly fifty meant you should at least be able to keep one female under control. The little devil in him said; “are you sure?” His hands acting clumsy, he spilt the coffee as he was pouring it from the machine. Damn her. He was doing all right up until now. He hurriedly reached over for the cloth and wiped away the mess.
Richard remembered exactly how she took her coffee, but he certainly wasn’t giving her that satisfaction, besides knowing Miranda she would probably read something in it.
“How do you take your coffee? Is it still white with two sugars?”
Miranda hung her handbag over the back of a chair and then perched herself down at the table.
“Please!” She stressed the word with a faint frown. “Black and without, thank you.”
She placed her manicured hands onto the scrubbed table top, palms down and tapped one long fingernail absentmindedly. Surreptitiously, she watched as Richard finished pouring the dark brew into their cups, a small smile playing around her mouth. He looked good. Much better than she had anticipated and still lean and fit.
Richard elected to remain standing and leant against the black granite worktop, the splendid garden view framing him from behind. He raised his cup to his lips and took a large mouthful of coffee. The scalding liquid invaded his mouth and he winced as he burnt his tongue. God that hurt! Her sudden appearance and nearness startled and unnerved him. She had always managed this compelling hold over him. When they were younger his infatuation was so great it had threatened to take over his whole life and it nearly did. When she married his cousin, Richard was devastated. For ages he hated her and what she had done to him. He also hated himself for being what in his eyes he thought was so weak. Now her sudden appearance was a total shock to his system. He made himself a promise. If there was one thing he was certain of, she was not going to get under his skin again in any way possible. Not this time.
“So, Miranda. You still haven’t answered my question,” he said giving her a cold stare.
Miranda appeared unfazed. She lifted her grey-green eyes to him, opening them wide. Her gaze was frank and open as she replied. “I’m sorry. I know I should have contacted you first, Richard. But, I was simply passing nearby.”
Richard’s short snort of disbelief seemed to put her off balance. She coloured slightly and hesitated a second before she continued.
“It’s true. I have been staying with a friend, down in Wickham. I knew Bishop’s Waltham was only about ten minutes’ drive away and so, I couldn’t resist looking you up. I-I thought it was about time anyway.”
She finished, flushed and embarrassed as Richard continued studying her. She knew he was having trouble with her sudden unexpected arrival.
As the pause lengthened, Richard looked closer at the woman across the room from him.
The past years had been kind to Miranda. From where he stood her face was remarkably unlined; her beautiful eyes still sparkling and clear. Her hair was exactly as he remembered. It was long, thick and lustrous and almost the same colour of deep golden honey. He noted the absence of any telling grey and deduced she must follow the current trend of having her hair fashionably coloured and streaked to suit herself. Her figure was as luscious as when she was his. Apart from being tall, she remained slim and full-breasted and probably only one size larger, if at all. She was dressed in a simple white linen dress which emphasised her figure and wore light filigree jewellery for adornment. The dress was cut to the level of her knees and as she crossed her legs, Richard noticed her calves still had fine muscle-tone and her ankles remained as slim as a girl’s.
Richard idly wondered if she was still as enthusiastic in bed as he recalled, then collected himself before his daydreaming took over. For goodness sake! The last thing he wanted was to give her the wrong idea and more importantly he didn’t want her to have any sway over him. Think about the way she treated you instead he told himself. In a flood he remembered how smitten he’d been and how cruelly she cast him aside when she received a better offer.
“Okay. So you found me.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less and waited for her answer.
“I was also fascinated over the matter of your father’s bible. It was such an interesting story and such a coincidence that I made the first contact with the American family. I was intrigued to find out if you had bothered to follow it up. I also wanted to make sure that you were all right,” she finished softly with a shy smile.
Despite his good intentions, Richard let himself unwind a little. No possible harm could come of telling her what he’d done and later discovered. She might even know something herself as Billy had always kept a glad eye for a pretty face and Richard knew he had cared for Miranda.
They finished their coffee and Richard asked her if she would like another. He joined her at the table with refilled cups and a plate of biscuits.
“Mmm. These are very good. Not shop bought shortbread I’m sure”.
He noticed her full lips as she wiped the rich crumbs away from the corner of her mouth with a paper serviette.
“My aunt Mavis makes them. She is always popping in with biscuits and cakes and the odd fruit pie or two. I think she’s afraid that now I’m on my own I’m going to starve,” he said drily and gave a short mirthless laugh before carrying on. “She doesn’t understand about the modern man and how we’re quite capable of cooking reasonable and decent meals. Also more to the point, that some of us actually enjoy it. But you remember Mavis. She is of a different era.”
“I do remember her, and I also know what you mean. Most of that age group grew up running around after their husband and children. The majority didn’t have real careers; as they didn’t feel they needed anything other than bringing up their family. That was their whole life. Not that there’s anything fundamentally wrong with that. It’s just that nowadays what with most women working and bringing up a family often the husband has to play his part in the domestic role. You know like cooking, food shopping and helping with the kids. Family life now has a totally different meaning. Going back to your auntie Mavis, wasn’t she on your mother’s side of the family?”
“Yes. She’s my mum’s sister. Mavis is a good old stick really, just a bit bossy. One thing though, she’d never let you down.”
As he finished speaking and reached for another sip of coffee he felt himself growing hot under his collar as he realised what he had said. The implication was plainly there. Her silence made him take a quick glance at her face. She had the grace to look as guilty as hell. Good he thought. He let the silence grow as he took another biscuit and bit into its rich buttery flavour. Then after considering he had made his point he continued.
“Anyway back to the bible. Yes, in answer to your query I did indeed contact the American flier. Well I got in touch with his granddaughter really as he wasn’t up to it because he’s ill and old, and the Internet just isn’t part of his everyday life. She filled me in with his side of things. It really is an amazing story.”
And then, Richard found himself telling Miranda about his trip to Germany and the subsequent visit to the POW camp and museum. He described the city, with its proud squares of new buildings, bridges, canals and the old Rathaus or town hall. Richard explained how he had turned south and driven through the isolated villages and crop fields, along straight roads with poplar trees swaying overhead in perfect straight aisles.
He recalled the memories in a soft voice. “There was a stark memorial stone set back in the grass before the prison perimeter fence; its inscription I read out loud but it had already dulled inside my mind as I contemplated the edifice before me. A second sign directed visitors to a museum and exhibition centre. It was isolated, desolate, and eerily silent. There were few other visitors that day, and I remember asking myself, who would visit it and why? Could we still learn lessons from there?” He paused for a moment, his eyes dark and brooding.
“I remember feeling like I was being watched over by silent men in ragged clothing hung over fleshless bodies. I swear I could hear the shrill orders and the rattle of shots, and feel the presence of ghosts. They were spirits of men who had starved and died, exhausted from their pitiless ordeal.” He hung his head in awkwardness as tears threatened in the corner of his eyes. “It all felt so real.”
Miranda sat next to him listening in silence and then shivered as his telling came to an end.
Absentmindedly Richard stirred his coffee and then told Miranda everything he was able to piece together including the American’s story. He spoke of what might have happened to Billy during those lost years and of what he knew with certainty.
Miranda sat engrossed throughout. Towards the end, she briefly interrupted him to ask a question or two. When he finally came to a halt she then amazed him.
“You know, Billy kept lots of secrets stored away in his mind.”
Richard sat up open-mouthed as he listened to her.
“I did know about Nat, and how Billy tried to get him away to safety. He was quite a man your father.” As she expounded further, lots of little things were explained, filled in and embellished. Most of which Richard had only been able to guess at so far. As she talked, expressions and feelings began to fill Richard’s mind…
Chapter 3
…Billy could almost feel the pulse of the tension and anxiety rushing throughout the prison camp. It was now 1945 and rumours were running rife. The favourite gossip of the moment was that the Russians and the Allies were fast closing in and all prisoners of war were going to be marched elsewhere. The Russians were nearing Berlin and the Allies were making a hard push from the west.
There were many talks held among the senior camp men among them and they all agreed and advised everyone to regularly tramp around the camp, in order to get their bodies in some kind of fitness state and most importantly, become used to walking again. They put it to the men in a simple order; if they were evacuated then everyone needed to be fit to be able to walk. For some men at the end of their mental tether, the last dregs of their physical capacity would be too drained if this were to happen. Billy knew there would be some who wouldn’t be capable of long marches.
A few grumbled at the advice and looked around them unsure at what was best to do. They were scared too because of the uncertainty with all the rumours flying around the camp.
As for Billy he was bubbling over with expectation. His keen hearing picked up the distant rumble of artillery and he rushed to inform his hut officer. His mates gathered around in anxiety and alarm and it was ironic that in the middle of all this uproar the Germans unloaded a long overdue consignment of Red Cross parcels and distributed them around the camp.
“If and when it comes to it, it’s best to take everything you can wear or carry.” Was Billy’s own advice to those who would listen. “Who knows when we’ll reach Blighty or what stuff we’ll be given once we’ve left here?”
Billy possessed two ‘ratty’ sets of everything; underwear, woollen socks and shirts. Recently, he purloined an old Navy coat, shabby, patched but warm and he also managed to “rescue” a pair of almost new American army boots from the camp stores.
Billy collected his ‘treasures’ together and laid them at the end of his ramshackle bunk in hut nineteen. Looking down he saw here wasn’t a lot to account for over three years’ incarceration at the hands of the sometimes-brutal Germans. But to Billy they represented his life and more importantly his soul. He thought about the refugees who had filed past the gates of his camp. He remembered old people, women with children, and babes in arms, the injured, burned, terrified, and deranged. He saw people who were all fleeing from the horrors. Billy thought about the Christians among them. How each and every one was struggling to believe and reconcile their Christian beliefs against the Nazi cold-blooded excesses and mass murder.
Billy considered his pitiful little pile; his Christmas cards from Penny, her heavily censored letters and her simple but evocative poetry, the hand-made playing cards, two cigarettes, a German soldier’s - Dieter’s - belt buckle and Nathaniel’s penny whistle. Oh! Nathaniel. Billy shook his head in regret and fought back the familiar choking feeling in his throat whenever he thought about him. Swallowing hard, Billy thrust his dark thoughts aside and continued picking over his possessions. He would take as many clothes as he could carry. He owned nothing heavy; he’d given his bible away in the cells, and hopefully it was to someone who would put it to better use than he. He wanted to believe in something but somehow he couldn’t yet bring himself to forgive or forget any of the past years’ horrors. Gathering the articles up together, Billy tied them into a bundle with his faded and well-darned pullover, and slung it over his shoulder. He straightened his back, lifted his head and stood as erect as his gammy leg allowed. I’ll march out of here proudly he thought. Together with his comrades they formed into ranks and marched as smartly as they could manage up to the barbed wire fencing. The weak and sick were supported by their stronger colleagues, and everyone felt their spirits rising, as they watched the heavy gates swing open. They were leaving this God-forsaken place. They didn’t know where they were going but surely nowhere else could be as bad as here.
KOBO BARNES & NOBLE APPLE iTUNES SMASHWORDS
