Opposite Sides (11 page)

“
Come now,
Hans. We heard you’d copped it. We’re really sorry. Wasn’t all your
fault. Everyone knows old Moose-head’s rather touchy. It’s said
he’s been that way since a shell splinter hit him in the head.
We’re both on your side. Anne was worried you might do something
you’d regret. We’ve skipped our last classes.”

“
I’ve been
handed this for you, Hans,” Anne said in a quiet voice. She took a
step back down onto the lower step. Hans now towered above
her.

“
What?” His
fingers squeezed the edge of the door.

“
I was
supposed to give it to you after school. It’s a . . . a letter.”
She fumbled inside her deep dress pocket and pulled out a typed
addressed envelope. “from . . . “ She held it out close to his
right hand. “Miss Turner.”

“
Sow!”

He snatched up the
offending letter, glared at it, mumbled something under his breath
and then, triumphantly, ripped it into two. Not satisfied, he
repeated the performance several times, until, with satisfaction,
stuffed the pieces back into Anne’s hands and slammed the door. He
stood, head leaning against the hall wall, hands clenched trying to
understand why his emotions were so out of kilter. Anne stood, eyes
filling with tears, humiliated and hurt and wondering what on earth
she had done to deserve such a reception.

“
He needs
time to cool down,” said Robert quietly. “Life’s always stressful
when anyone gets on the wrong side of Moore-head.” Robert placed a
comforting hand on Anne’s arm. “Come, I’ll walk you
back.”

The reminder of Miss
Turner brought back thoughts of injustice and feelings of hate.
Hans changed out of his uniform and put on his favourite black
mountain jacket, velvet trousers and lace-up hiking boots. He began
to feel better. The churning of his stomach began to settle and the
aching he felt for his homeland began to subside although he was
still angry and upset with everyone and everything.

He opened the door
again.

They must
have given up and left
, he thought for he
could see no sign of either Robert or Anne.
Even they’ve given up on me.

He closed the door and
decided to go out through the back and along the narrow, weedy
pathway that separated the houses from the countryside. After a few
minutes, he came out on to the large expanse of mowed grass known
as the Green. It was late afternoon and people were out walking
their dogs. They paused to stare at the strangely dressed figure
hurrying by. Noticing the scowl on his face, they decided to be
polite and not break out into laughter, for even though the day was
still warm, the young figure appeared to be wrapped up like an
Eskimo.

It was surprising how
quickly and deliberately a sixteen-year old could stride out when
he wanted. With long, determined strides he made his way quickly up
the hillside which ran partly parallel to the Turner’s large
garden. When he reached the top, he was breathing heavily and
sweating over his chest and back so that his shirt stuck to his
skin. He let his body slide down against the knarred trunk of an
old oak while he surveyed the landscape below.

To his left was the small
town and as his gaze moved right, he only saw quiet farms and
further beyond were other low grassed hills, clad in clumps of
trees and low hedgerows. Everything appeared so neat and tidy, the
patchwork vegetation making orderly patterns across the fields. The
hills rolled gently, one hill hugging the other until the land
became flat, spreading itself in a wide expanse until it kissed the
sea. This was England, peaceful in one way yet so frustrating in
another.

Life was so complicated.
He compared his present location to his memory he had of his
homeland: the Alps, their summits forever white, their grey, rocky
upper slopes reaching upwards towards the sky as they commanded and
dominated the the green prostrated land at their feet. On some
days, the peaks and sky seemed one, an icy-grey merging of land and
sky. But when the evenings were fine and warm, then the sun’s rays
would brush the snowy tops and with a sweeping stroke turn the
mountains into splashes of gold.

He remembered clambering
over the lower grassy slopes of the mountain meadows with his
friends, rolling and laughing among the wild flowers until
exhaustion rendered them speechless and quiet. Then, they’d wait,
looking down at the Salzach, as it twisted between the town and the
high cliff opposite. On the top of the Mönchsberg they could see
the imposing fortress of Hohensalzburg with its white walls and far
below lay churches and palaces. He could remember listening to the
ringing bells calling people to Mass and he could remember watching
the miniature figures of people and horses criss-crossing their way
around the centre square.

Whenever he returned to
his grandmother’s, which the boys did every spring holiday, they
would hear the first calls of the cuckoo echoing high above the
trees around the Hellbrunn Palace. People knew, then, that the
winter days had finally ended. And, strangely, he remembered one of
the children he used to play with: Heidi, several years his junior
with long fair hair which one of her older sister’s had always
plaited so neatly. He could hear her voice calling to
him,

Hänschen!
Komm! Lass’ uns den Berg hinuntergehen
!

If only, if only his
father had not taken that promotion. If only war had not come to
take his father away.

“
Good
evening, Mister Resmel.”

The intruding voice
shattered his dream. He jumped to his feet.

“
M . . . M .
. . Miss Turner!”

“
I was told
I’d find you up here,” she said.

“
Who?”

“
Never mind
that. You need to know about the Brymer arrangements.”

“
The
what?”

He didn’t know of any
special arrangements. But there was that strange note that had
unnerved him.

“
You heard
me. I’ve telegraphed your uncle and I’ve written to your
grandmother in Austria. Not quite the sort of news I wished to
send. But there we are. It’s done. Did you read the letter I asked
Anne to give you?”

“
Letter?” He
shrugged his shoulders.

“
Well, never
mind for the moment. Your uncle has wired me back and agreed that
from now on you will be completely under my control. You will be my
responsibility, at least for the next six months. You’ll board with
me . . . in my house, not with others in the dorms. I will see that
you finish your education.” Her lips drew a pencil thin line as she
waited for him to grasp what she had said. Then, she continued,
“You’re not mature enough to make your own decisions. Not yet. You
obviously need some guidance before you make a total fool of
yourself. I also realise that you are not totally to blame for
what’s been happening. Believe me, I do know. I have ears as well
as eyes and I do know what has been going on and I will be speaking
to the boys concerned.” Miss Turner actually smiled at him. Those
thin lips that spoke with such authority actually softened and
relaxed at the edges to the extent that he thought of her as human
in some ways. Then, no sooner had the smile formed and taken away
some of her mouth wrinkles, it dissolved and the mistress continued
in as serious a tone as before. “I’ve got a job to do on you, my
lad. And I am not going to fail! I can be just as stubborn as you.”
She smiled slightly again and pointed the way back down towards the
small town. “Now, walk with me back to the house.”

Hans was lost for words.
His mind was trying to fathom out why the woman was taking such an
interest in his welfare or why she had even bothered to consult his
aunt and uncle. What was it he didn’t know? As she walked alongside
him, back down the flint-covered pathway towards the school, Miss
Turner began to sound more like a parent rather than the severe
school matron he had known her to be.

“
As soon as
we get back to the Brymer’s cottage, you had better get changed
into more appropriate clothing. Wearing things like those in
summer! Honestly!”

She drove him in her
little black car round to the cottage where he had been staying and
waited in the kitchen while he packed up his belongings into the
two brown suitcases that had been stored under his bed. He locked
the back door for the last time and handed over the key. As he
pulled the gate shut and heard the click of the latch fall, he
wondered what had become of the Brymers, really the only ones who
understood him since arriving in this country.

CHAPTER
4

The
Turners

Hans stepped over the
Miss Turner’s front door sill and felt as if a monstrous jaw was
snapping shut, and he would be in its bowels forever. There would
be no escape. What a summer holiday he would have!

“
There is no
point in trying to go back to the other house, young man, because
there is no way in, now. The place has been locked up and will
remain empty until the college find new people to move in. You
can’t run away from here, either, because there is nowhere for you
to run to. The police would catch you in an instant. Our people
help the police and you would be handed over before you could get
very far. Put your bags down there and stay here a minute. One of
my maids will show you up to your room.”

Hans gulped. He knew she
was right. He felt as though he were her prisoner and yet, at the
same time he was slightly relieved by her protection. Many students
still had not accepted him, especially when they had found out that
he had come from the country of their former enemy.

We don’t want
any Fritzies, like you
! they would
shout.
Why don’t you go back to where you
belong
!

Boys could be very cruel,
especially teenage ones. It was not only the bantering and
name-calling that had made him lash out but also the readiness for
some boys to take him on. He had been involved in fist fights even
though he knew he could not win for it was many against one.
However, he still managed to get in some good nose shots, sending
several of his opponents away holding their heads back so that they
had to be led home. All he had to do was to keep them at bay and
put in a good hard punch when one of them made a mistake and got
too close. Several times Robert had tried to pull him away but that
only seemed to escalate things and if the skirmish happened
anywhere in or near the school grounds, as it inevitably did, the
fight dissolved as soon as the lookouts caught sight of a master.
The bullies always knew when to run so that it was Hans, and
sometimes Robert as well, who found themselves standing outside one
of the senior master’s door.

While he was standing in
the corridor a few weeks before the end of the school year, Hans
thought he heard two staff members discussing Miss Turner and
saying that Miss Turner would be a bit short staffed as her younger
maid, Ellen, would be leaving next month. As to the reason why
Ellen had to go, Hans didn’t hear.

Maybe, she’s
a bit broke
, Hans thought.
Maybe, that’s why she’s got me a a boarder. I bet
Uncle Karl is paying her sufficient, though
.

Robert Brinkwater was one
who wanted to put the past war differences behind him. A cousin,
eight years older than Robert, who had been one of the last young
men to have been drafted and sent over to France, had talked quite
frankly to Robert about his experiences in the trenches. He did not
blame any of the young men who were thrown on to the Front to be
slaughtered in the madness but, instead, laid the blame at the feet
of the elderly generals and politicians who had been itching for a
fight for some years before. Robert was beginning to see that it
was now the responsibility of the younger generation to make a far
better world than their own parents and grandparents had
done.

“
You know,
Hansie old boy . . .” Robert and Hans had been semi-lying on the
grass together. “If you really want to be accepted by the lads, why
not try your hand at cricket? Remember when Moose-head gave you the
ball to bowl? Well, you did. And you were really good at it. I’ve
never seen anyone bowl like that. Not on his first try.”

“
Mr Moore
didn’t seem to be impressed!” Hans made the comment with haste but
Robert could sense that there was genuine disappointment in his
voice.

“
Don’t think
of him. He had it in for you that day. You
were
good, damned good! Look, you
don’t have to play for the team, or anything serious like that.
Just the odd game or so. It’d go down a treat with the boys. It’s a
spiffin’ good game, really.”

“
Really?”

Hans brightened up. He
had always thought of cricket as being a strange game but he was
now interested enough to ask Robert whether the idea could
work.

“
I think it
would. It’s worth having a go. It’ll give you something to do and
keep you fit at the same time. Our games are never as slow as those
during sports lessons. So, what about it?”

“
All right,
then. But when?”

“
I’ll
introduce you to my captain and we’ll see what he thinks. I’ll tell
him you’ve got the makings of being a top-notch bowler. That’ll get
him interested.” Robert spoke with excitement in his voice. “And
with the summer holidays coming up, we often play in the evenings
and eat sandwiches on the lawn. You’ll get to meet more of the
locals and be part of our group.”