Opposite Sides (67 page)

Andrea studied the
photograph most carefully, turning it towards the light of the fire
so that its surface was easier to see.

“
That’s you?”
she asked pointing to the younger slight-built child.

“
Correct.”

She drew the photo closer
to her face and inspected it as though she were looking at
something through a microscope. After a while, she looked back up
at her father again and giggled. Then, she dropped her head and
returned to the the figures in the picture. They looked so strange
and yet she felt a familiarity with them. She kept looking at her
grandmother, the young mother in the photograph, until she raised
her head again.

“
Was she born
here?” Andrea wanted to know.

“
No. It was
her mother. My grandmother.”

Hans took another photo
from his wallet. It was very faded. A woman in the middle of her
age peered out at Andrea through a cracked eggshell veil. The shut
doors behind her were made from timber and were so high they made
the woman look small.

“
Was she a
tiny person?” Andrea looked from the photo to her father and back
to the photo.

“
Not
especially,” he replied. “That is grandmother Crawford and she was
born in England.”

“
My name has
Crawford in it,” Andrea commented. As she handed back the picture,
she screwed up her eyes and laughed. Her dimples reappeared and
Hans immediately thought of his mother. Maybe Grandmother Crawford
had dimples, too, when she was younger. He smiled at the girl and
she allowed him to pat her on the shoulder.

“
Thank you,
Andrea.”

She watched while he
tucked all the photographs back into his wallet and then replaced
the wallet in his pocket.

“
What do
those things mean?”

She pointed to the
stripes on the collar of his uniform.

“
That means
I’m a Major.”

“
That sounds
very important,” she commented with an air of wonder.”

“
Not any
more, for me at least. I now do as I’m told.” He pulled a funny
face and dropped his voice almost to a whisper as if it were a
secret just between her and him. “Don’t you have to do that,
too?”

She giggled at the
thought. The ice between them had been broken and she accepted him
as if she had known him all her life.

“
Now, my
Little one” he said. “You’ve heard all about me. Let me hear
everything about yourself.”

Jan rejoined them and now
with Jan’s help, Andrea told her father about her school and
friends, the things she liked doing and about the day when the
large bomb landed and exploded near to the house. The chatter
completely shattered any concerns he had and before long all three
were laughing and enjoying the last few minutes of the morning,
until, as the clock was chiming mid-day, there was a knock at the
door. Three maids brought in the food for their Christmas
dinner.

“
Come on you
two. Come and eat before it gets cold.”

Hans was the first to get
up. Hans’ eyes must have betrayed his surprise, for as soon as they
had all sat down, Andrea leaned across the table towards
him.

Jan began dishing out the
vegetables. She poured thick gravy over the piece of goose that had
been previously cut off the bird and handed Hans the plate of
food.

“
Excuse me,
father. Did they feed you real food in the army?”

“
Of course.
Not as good as this, though. This smells delicious and looks good,
too. I can’t wait to try it.”

“
What
did
you have to
eat?”

“
Dried
potato. Cheese and biscuits. Tins of sauerkraut. Sardines. They
were a treat. When we were lucky to get them. Oh, and tinned
sausages on special days. You must try a real German one,
Andrea.”

She giggled a little and
looked at Jan and wanted to know more.

“
Was that
all? It doesn’t sound like much,” Andrea commented screwing up her
nose at the thought.

“
Well, when
we really wanted a feast, we’d raid the Tommies.”

Jan picked up on his last
comment by did not say anything. She knew full well that there were
some serious raids made on their food depots, for as rations became
scarcer, those in the Afrika Korps acted like rats and took what
they could, when they could.

“
Try some
stuffing, Hans. It’s English but this time, it’s freely offered.
Here’s the spoon.”

Jan passed over a bowl
and he lifted out a small amount and put it on the side of his
plate. Hans thought that it was no wonder Germany was losing the
war if the British could afford to eat like this. Even when he was
home on during his last leave, the rationing had been most severe
and he did not like to think about the conditions this year. There
were things now on his plate that he had not seen, let alone tasted
for years.

All the food had been
well prepared. It tasted wonderful. He realised that meat was
heavily rationed in England so he was puzzled as to where the
slices of goose had come from. Had they been bought on the black
market? He didn’t even know if there was such a thing here. Then,
they even had crackers. Real home made ones. Jan told him they had
been made by Miss Turner and Andrea. And so, here he was, sitting
at a table with the two people he loved most in this world, with a
funny paper hat perched on the top of his head and, in between
mouthfuls of delicious food, blowing through a tiny tin whistle and
laughing like a little boy. Plum pudding and custard. The last time
he had eaten this, was . . . it must have been before Andrea was
born. And when he found the small farthing pieces, he handed them
over to Andrea with a hearty ‘Merry Christmas.’

But this was not a usual
festive time and before long, the pressures of war crept into the
conversation again.

“
Did you ever
kill anyone when you were a soldier?” The pupils in the girl’s eyes
grew large with curiosity.

“
Possibly,
who knows. It’s not that I wanted to. You must understand that
where there are guns . . . ”

The inquisitive girl did
not wait for him to finish.

“Did you fly any
aeroplanes or drop bombs on to the houses? I saw a bomb land one
day and it was so scary.”

He was reminded of the
terrible devastation he had seen in Europe after the Luftwaffe had
attacked the cities in Poland. One had a completely different
perspective on the ground. He had been told of the bombing Andrea
had witnessed and all he could think of was how relieved he was
that she had not been hurt.

“
No, Andrea.
I didn’t drop any bombs.”

“
What did you
do?”

“
Most of the
time I rode round in vehicles. And, for a short time, I worked with
the people my army had caught.”

“
Pee-oh-double-yous,” Andrea said slowly. “Prisoners of
war.”

“
That’s how I
met Jan. She was in a camp hospital.”

“
I know,” she
said without blinking an eye at the thought. “Jan has already told
me. I’m glad you met her.”

Andrea gave Jan a smile
that told Hans the two were very close. He was pleased about that.
It would make things easier for them when this war was over. It was
a strange feeling for everyone, for their respective countries had
put more of a division between them than they had done of their own
making. Yet, in some way, it had brought them closer together, for
he never would have thought he could feel for Jan Turner as he was
feeling now.

It proved to be a
memorable afternoon. They sat and played games; they talked and
laughed. Jan poured out cups of tea and it was just like any
pre-war family afternoon. Then, Jan delved into a large canvas bag
she had brought with her and handed out the Christmas
presents.

“
It’s not
much, Hans. There’s a war on, you know. But I managed to save my
ration coupons and get you something from my heart.”

“
Jan, this
really is too much. What can I say? This was not expected.” Hans
unrolled the paper from around the soft parcel. Inside, was a
beautiful leather wallet with his name engraved on the front.
“Thank you. I’ll make sure I keep this with me, always.”

He shuffled over to where
she was sitting and kissed her on her cheek. There was a long pause
while they remained looking into each others eyes. Andrea coughed
loud enough to catch Jan’s attention. Hans suspected there was some
form of silent communication going on between the two. Jan rummaged
around in her bag again, drew out a plain wrapped parcel and handed
it to Andrea.

“
For you . .
. father.” She walked over to her father and dropped her present
into his lap. ‘Father:’ the word was gift enough. He turned it over
and over, not wanting to break the magic of the moment. “Aren’t you
going to open it?”

Her eyes were wide with
anticipation. He laughed easily.

“
Yes, of
course. Are you going to tell me what’s inside?”

“
No! Of
course not! It’s something I’ve made.”

“
And you made
it for me?”

Andrea nodded and leaned
forward, elbows resting on her knees and watched him intently. She
did not take her eyes off the soft, immobile bundle still lying in
his lap. Slowly he began unwrapping it, turning it over, making
funny little comments which made he laugh.

“
Will it
bite?”

“
No.”

“
Will it jump
out to escape?” He winked at Jan who was finding it difficult not
to burst out laughing.

“
No! It’s not
alive!”She giggled.

He enjoyed playing games
like this. He remembered his own mother teasing them like this when
he and his brothers were children.

As the last piece of
wrapping paper fluttered on to the carpet, he began to unfold
something very long and very colourful. It was soft and
warm.

“
Ah, it’s a
scarf! Just right for those cold nights. Many, many thanks,
Andrea.” He wound the colourful scarf around his neck covering the
insignia on his shirt collar. “So many colours. And it will keep me
warm.”

His daughter found his
behaviour amusing and she folded over in a convulsion of
giggles.

“
Wool’s hard
to get,” she finally managed to say. “I had to unpick old jumpers
and things to get enough to make it.”

“
It’s still
very good. Thank you. Who taught you to knit?”

“
Aunty.”

Hans remembered what Miss
Turner had told him about the man she was to marry. She had been
knitting for him when she heard of his death.

What a
strange
world. The thought brought back
the connection he and Andrea had to the retired school
mistress.
Miss Turner could
have easily been his aunt
,
so it was natural and proper that
Andrea call her aunty.

As daylight faded during
late afternoon, the darkness outside became impenetrable and it was
more and more difficult to decipher any shapes the other side of
the window, and turning one’s focus inward. Hans began to realise
how little he really knew about his own child: her experiences and
memories, her friends and her life. The war had taken away so much:
the joys of family and fatherhood. He and his daughter were
strangers. He wondered whether he could bridge the huge gap that
had yawed open between them. It pleased him that Andrea had found
someone to love and care for her and during the afternoon, he had
been lucky enough to see how well Andrea and Jan related to each
other; not like friends, nor as sisters but more like mother and
daughter. As he watched them together, his heart began to grow
fonder for the English woman he had known for almost half his
life.

“
Come,
Andrea, give your father a hug.” Jan looked at the clock on the
mantelpiece. “Time for a return to reality. Our car will be here in
a few minutes. Your father is still a prisoner of war and I have to
get him back on time.”

Hans picked up his jacket
and began buttoning up the front of it. Jan handed over the heavy
British overcoat.

“
Better put
this one on over the top again. Just as well to be safe until we
get you back inside.” She turned to Andrea. “I shouldn’t be long.
You’ll be fine on your own?”

The girl
nodded.

“
No planes
will be over tonight, Jan. Too cloudy. I can always ring for room
service.”

Hans was lost for words.
He’d only just found his daughter and the thought of any raid shook
him up. His daughter was so precious. and he did not want to lose
her.

The army driver arrived
exactly to the minute. Army time. So punctual. Jan and Hans sat in
the back. The car picked up speed as they got to the main road.
There was still a blackout and the vehicle headlights had little
hoods over them so that they would not be seen from the air. It
made driving more difficult and dangerous but people managed. In
wartime, you coped with anything.