Forbidden Liaison: They lived and loved for the here and now (16 page)

Life on a farm meant there were no holidays: no days of rest: work had to be done no matter what day it was, or who was governing the islands. With the milking done at the Marshall farm, Sydney was ready to drive the lorry down to the dairy, until he suddenly stopped as he was about to walk from the kitchen to the waiting lorry which was ticking over in the yard.

‘Hannah,’ he said thoughtfully as he turned around. ‘Would you like to come with me?’

‘What for?’ Hannah asked amazed. He’d never asked for company, ever. Was he softening up she thought?

Sydney didn’t answer and Hannah decided, instead of making things more difficult for him, she agreed. ‘Yes, I will come with you, but only if you drop me off at Margaret’s afterwards so I can see Izzy.’

‘Okay,’ Sydney replied, still looking sheepish as if he wanted to say things, but couldn’t.

‘And will you come in, too, to see your daughter?’ Hannah asked.

Sydney hesitated for a while.

‘Well, will you Sydney? She’s your daughter too. That fact will never alter.’

Sydney stood hesitating as if mulling things over in his head.

‘Well, will you?’ Hannah asked again.

‘Yes,’ he eventually said.

‘And if the Oberleutnant is there, you will not make a fuss?’ Hannah said.

Sydney took in a deep breath.

‘He didn’t force her, you know, she went willingly to his bed,’ Hannah informed. ‘If you want to blame anyone, blame us.’

‘Why? We didn’t force her either.’

‘We should have been more understanding of her situation. So will you come in to see her?’

‘Yes,’ Sydney said closing his eyes.

‘Yes, what?’ Hannah asked.

‘Yes: I will go in to see her and, no, I will not make a fuss,’ Sydney stated, getting frustrated.

‘And if you behave yourself, and be civil down at Margaret’s, would you like me to come back into your bed?’ Hannah asked.

‘Yes, I would,’ Sydney breathed.

‘One word out of place: one foul look, and you’ll be on your own again,’ Hannah threatened. ‘Promise me,’ she added.

‘For God’s sake woman, do you want blood?’

Hannah just glared at him.

‘I promise,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Because I might, Sydney, only might mind, be back in your bed tonight, but that doesn’t mean I will allow you your conjugal rights,’ Hannah said haughtily.

‘Just come back, Hannah, I can’t get warm at night,’ Sydney said.

Hannah shook her head thinking it was still all about him, no-one else. As she put on her hat and coat before picking up her handbag, she felt, though, she had actually won a war this time, and not just a battle.  

The milk delivered and cross-checked at the dairy, Sydney parked the lorry outside the billet to see no movement of the odd soldier in or out of the house. Hannah rang the doorbell: Margaret answered it with a look of sheer astonishment on her face when she saw Sydney standing behind his wife.

‘Well, well, well,’ Margaret gloated. ‘You’ve finally come down to see your daughter.’

‘And a good morning to you, too,’ Sydney remarked.

Hannah shot him a glance as if daggers were looks they would suddenly shoot out from her eyeballs to embed themselves into the flesh of Sydney’s cheeks, which had turned red.

‘You know she’s been here for over eight weeks?’ Margaret reminded.

Hannah butted in. ‘Margaret, Sydney’s eaten more than his fair share of humble pie, so don’t make it more difficult for any of us,’ Hannah said, her forthright reproach hitting where it was supposed to hit. 

‘Sorry, Sydney, good morning to you both, come on in, Harry’s just got a fire going and I’ve made a pot of tea,’ then she kissed them both on the cheek.

It had been a long time since Sydney had visited Margaret. Things hadn’t changed much though. The same furniture was still placed in the same position, the same wallpaper, and the same colour paint, everything was as it had been before. Sydney took of his hat and hung it on the hall stand alongside the other hats and coats that hung there, as Hannah took off her hat she looked up the stairs.

‘They’ve all gone,’ Margaret informed. ‘And Izzy is still upstairs in the room they shared,’ she added. 

Hannah and Sidney stood aghast. ‘Did you say all the soldiers have gone?’ Hannah asked.

‘Yes,’ this morning.

‘And the….’ Hannah asked.

‘Him, too,’ Margaret replied.

‘And Izzy?’ Hannah asked after her daughter.

‘I saw her first thing. She seemed stunned at his sudden departure.’

Hannah began to walk up the stairs, quickly followed by Margaret. They walked along the landing to knock on the bedroom door. Margaret knocked lightly at first but Izzy ignored it until her aunt knocked again.

‘What is it?’ Izzy eventually asked.

‘We have visitors,’ Margaret shouted. ‘Your mother’s here with me, and your father’s downstairs,’ she added. ‘Can we come in?’

‘No, leave me alone,’ Izzy responded.

‘Izzy,’ Hannah shouted. ‘Your father’s downstairs he’s come to see you. Don’t disappoint him.’

‘Just go away,’ Izzy asked. ‘Please, just go away.’ 

‘No, we won’t,’ Margaret replied. ‘Izzy, we’re coming in whether you like it or not.’

Izzy was still in bed. Her eyes were red and swollen, and as she quickly sat up she gagged, but there was nothing left in her stomach to vomit.

‘Izzy,’ Hannah breathed as she sat down on the edge of the bed to take her daughter in her arms. ‘You know he had to go at some time, he couldn’t stay here indefinitely.’

‘I know that,’ Izzy cried.

‘But you’ll make yourself ill crying like this.’

Izzy bawled, still clutching the unopened letter Heinrich had given her that morning. And not only did Heinrich leave behind the letter, but an emptiness in the pit of Izzy’s stomach which seemed too deep to ever fill again, and a heart, too broken to ever recover. He also left behind that little fluttering embryo she could now feel growing in her womb.

‘Izzy, Izzy, what has he done to you?’ Hannah cried, tears filling her eyes.

Margaret stepped towards the bed and took hold of Hannah’s arm to encourage her to leave the bed and her daughter. Couldn’t Hannah see the hurt Izzy was feeling was not through some kind of callous or abusive treatment? It was love, and the cruel conclusion to a love affair they both knew would have to end.

‘Izzy?’ Margaret smiled as she held out her hand.

Izzy took hold of her aunt’s hand and slowly folded back the covers. Then one by one, she lifted her legs from the bed to put them on the floor. She was naked, and Margaret immediately grabbed the dressing gown which hung on a hook screwed into the wooden door, and threw it around her shoulders.

‘There,’ Margaret smiled, and all three women just stood silent for a while until she said, ‘I know how it hurts: I felt it too when Harry had to go away to fight during the Great War.’

‘Yes, I know, because you were pregnant, too,’ Izzy replied.

Hannah gasped and started to uncontrollably cry. Margaret took Izzy in her arms to hold her for a while before she said, ‘For God’s sake Hannah control yourself. You are just making matters worse.’

Hannah immediately stopped.

‘Thank you,’ Margaret said to her sister. ‘Now is about Izzy; not about how you are feeling.’ She paused. ‘How far gone are you?’ Margaret asked looking at her niece.

‘I’ve missed three periods.’

‘And does Heinrich know?’ Margaret asked.

‘No,’ Izzy replied shaking her head.

‘And why not?’ Hannah interjected.

‘I didn’t want to tell him,’ Izzy replied. ‘I couldn’t tell him.’

‘You’ve been sleeping with him all these months and he never noticed anything untoward?’ Hannah asked.

‘No,’ Izzy replied. She didn’t feel the need to tell her mother they sometimes went for days without seeing each other. He did have duties to perform.

‘Does it matter anyway,’ Margaret interrupted. ‘What’s done is done.’ Then she sighed. ‘Izzy, have a wash and get dressed, then come downstairs. We have to face this; all of us; but I will not let you face it alone, like I had to.’

It was early October, 1943 when Heinrich had first arrived on the Channel Islands, and April 1944, when he had left. He had been removed from one killing field, for several months respite, only to arrive at another, the killing fields of Normandy. After the D Day landings in June, the battles had been bloody, and he had lost over half of his men. He wondered at the small-mindedness of the chain of command, and Hitler’s damaging interference by insisting on counter-offensives which proved totally ineffectual. He knew the generals and field-marshals would have difficulty going against the order of not to withdraw, even though they knew their army was being annihilated. Heinrich had been ordered, along with the rest of the 7
th
Army, to plug the gap to stop the Allied armies reaching the Rhine, but he knew it was a fruitless exercise. This, he thought, was the battle for Stalingrad all over again, and he began to get angry. The only thing that calmed him down these days, was the drawing of Izzy he would take out of his inside pocket when no-one was looking. Then after tormenting himself with thoughts of touching her; kissing her, loving her again, he would put her away to then look at the photograph of his daughters. Even if his children made it through this nightmare, what would life be like for them afterwards, and once again he set his mind to the here and now, after all, it proved to be the most pragmatic thing to do considering the situation he found himself in.

Dawn had not yet broke that morning in mid-August as Heinrich sat laagered in a dense wood with his men dozing around him. They were not far from the small town of Falaise. Heinrich looked around at the motley crew of so-called soldiers. They were hungry, tired, in need of ammunition and support, as well as a bath and a change of clothing. They all knew their last breath could be taken very soon as they could hear the advancing Allied armies approaching from all sides. Busch was still alive, and so was Steiner, who was their radio-man and protected that radio as if it was a new-born infant. It made Heinrich smile sometimes; the boy’s attachment to a cold piece of metal. But Heinrich knew how they all depended on those pieces of metal they humped around every day.

Heinrich sat studying his map, he pointed out to Busch where their next meal might be coming from; a small-holding, about a mile away, at the north-east edge of the wood. Busch foraged for food anywhere he could get it, and farmhouses proved to be a good supply. So just before the sun came up Busch was sent off in search of sustenance.

When Busch was out of sight, Heinrich got up to walk over to Steiner who was snoozing. He jolted when he felt Heinrich touch his arm to arouse him. ‘What’s happening, Sir,’ the boy asked.

‘Nothing: absolutely fuck-all,’ Heinrich responded.

Steiner sat up. ‘Shall I try headquarters again?’

‘Yes,’ Heinrich snapped. ‘And ask them where those fucking Panzers are, and what the fuck happened to the air cover we requested yesterday.’

Steiner fiddled with the radio as Heinrich crouched down at his side. It bleeped and blipped and crackled with static, but no sign of any human contact could be heard coming from the other end. Steiner just looked up at Heinrich who was now on his feet.

‘We’re caught, Sir, aren’t we. We’re caught in a trap,’ Steiner said.

‘Looks that way to me, Steiner,’ Heinrich replied before he walked back to his own little spot by a tree.

Heinrich sat on the damp ground, his back against the trunk of the tree and his head in his hands. He had two options, both of which were unpalatable. One, he thought, would be to carry on fighting: two, would be to capitulate. He didn’t fancy either especially when he’d heard, whether true or not, the Americans didn’t take prisoners. So if he did decide to surrender his men, he hoped it would be the British he could cede to, at least they might all be given a cup of tea and something to eat.

Busch seemed to be taking an age at finding food that morning and Heinrich had still not decided what to do as he stood relieving himself. As he began buttoning up his trousers he heard a rustling coming from the trees to his left. He immediately picked up his Schmeisser and as he turned he saw Busch walking towards him, he had some bread and cheese in his hands and a big smile on his face.

‘You took your time,’ Heinrich grunted.

‘Well, I’m back now, so stop grumbling, Sir.’

‘Share that out amongst the men and tell them to be ready to move out in fifteen minutes.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ and Busch walked off to quietly arouse the men.

With Busch doing what he was best at, feeding the men, Heinrich sat staring at his map again. If all his information and co-ordinates were correct he was trapped in a pocket with the US 1
st
Army behind him. The US 3
rd
Army to the east. The Canadian 1
st
Army directly to the west, and north, and the British 2
nd
Army to the south-west. He’d had no communications from his Generals since being ordered to plug the enormous trap they were being forced into and he knew they would never make it to the Rhine, let alone back to Germany. 

As Busch approached, Heinrich looked up at him. ‘Here,’ Busch said. ‘Not a lot left but it might fill a gap.’

Heinrich began to grin.

‘What’s so funny?’ Busch asked.

‘It’s going to take more than a piece of bread and lump of chee… ’ and suddenly the whir of a mortar shell could be heard heading their way before the loud explosion as it made contact with the ground to the left of their camp. Heinrich yelled to his men, ‘Take cover,’ but before he could take cover himself he was up-ended by the force of the blast which flung him against a tree trunk. His body bounced off the trunk and in a brief moment of consciousness he found himself lying prostrate on the ground, on his back. His ears hurt and his head was spinning, and when he tried to open his eyes, which had automatically closed, in order to right himself, he found he couldn’t move. Then with a numb feeling creeping over his whole body, everything suddenly went black.

*****