The Invisible Hero (19 page)

This story has involved me in some fascinating research and in meeting, talking to and corresponding with people, world-wide. It has been a soul journey, but despite what I have learnt, when it comes to understanding conflict and peace, I know I will have L plates until my last breath. Whatever you have read in these pages continues to stimulate and challenge my own thinking as much as I hope it does yours.

I often look at dedications at the front of a book and wonder why on earth those names are there. The people to whom this book is dedicated really deserve some explaining. They are invisible heroes who mean a lot to me.

At some point in the early 1930s, Hans von Haeften was an acquaintance of my father, James Wilson Hogg, at Oxford University. During that time my father, (a football-loving New Zealander), who had warmed to von Haeften's friendly and gentlemanly character, invited von Haeften to join his rugby team. Von Haeften explained he was unable to play contact sports because he had delicate health, in part due to childhood dietary deprivations in post-First World War Germany.

At the close of World War Two, some fifteen years later, my father was horrified to learn that von Haeften had been executed (hanged by piano wire) because of his role in trying to kill Hitler in the July 1944 ‘bomb in the suitcase' plot. Even though my father only occasionally mentioned his friend's horrific fate, I was forevermore haunted by the irony of such a gentle person dying in that way. When it came to writing this novel, I wanted von Haeften to be remembered – but by then I had forgotten most of his name. My initial attempts to unearth something about him were unsuccessful.

I relied on a young friend in Germany to do my sleuthing. It turned out my father's understanding about Hans von Haeften's anti-Nazi activities was somewhat confused. This is because it was actually von Haeften's brother, an officer in the German army, who had been a key player in the Von Stauffenberg's July 1944 plot. This brother, too, had been brutally executed. As you will have read in this novel, Hans was a Pacifist; he refused to have anything to do with any sort of violence – even if it meant assisting in Hitler's demise. Nevertheless, his activities were seen by Hitler to have been equally traitorous. Hans was given an excruciating execution for the crime of dreaming and talking about a better, more just society. It gives me such pleasure to have been able to honour his name.

Kate Webb was an international journalist and war correspondent. There is much talk today about media manipulation, but the media also has remarkable heroes – people who will speak and write the truth at great risk to their lives. In the pursuit of ‘telling it as it is', Kate Webb was captured during the Vietnam War by the Vietcong – and lived to tell the tale. There were various attempts on her life at different stages of her career during the time she reported from places like Indonesia, Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan. I can name Kate as one of the heroes of speaking and writing truth, not just from what one can research about her life, but because I knew her. She was my cousin. Both in her public and private life, Kate was unswervingly, refreshingly and sometimes startlingly honest – and that takes courage. Kate is one of my heroes – not because of her swashbuckling lifestyle, but because of this honesty that was combined with a tender heart for humanity and an instinct for sensing injustice in all its forms.

You will not find Ago Cejvan's name in any History book. If you travelled to his homeland of Bosnia, you would not even be able to find his grave. His remains cannot be found, but he is probably lying in a pit somewhere. He was a loving family man, a high-spirited man who loved to sing and to be at peace with his fellow man, a highly skilled tradesman, who was just leading a normal life on the day that he and other men and boys from his village were murdered in the genocide of the 1990s. Ago's wife and children escaped. They now live in Australia. The Cejvan family has generously allowed me to use Ago's name (and details of his character) in the story as well as in the Dedication. As I listened to the stories about this big-hearted, constantly singing father and husband, his murder became all the more appalling. Ago represents the good, ordinary people who are trampled by hate-fuelled conflicts. It is with great respect that I give life to his name.

Bernice Hogg was my aunt and about as close to the archetypal saint as you could wish. Although as a young woman she was regarded as ‘the most beautiful girl in Wellington' (New Zealand), she never married. Instead, she became a nurse and spent the greater part of her life looking after frail, elderly people. Her love extended to everyone and everything – any animal and any plant. She had about her a beguiling charm and gentle humour. I was at her bedside as she lay dying and grabbed the chance to tell her how much I respected her love for all living creatures. She weakly responded, ‘Except cockroaches.' Bernice lived on her own and to visit her felt like you had tasted a slice of heaven. It was a joy-filled experience. Not a word of what I've written here does justice to Bernice or recreates the serenity which we all felt after spending time with her. She lies in an unremarkable grave and no internet site would have heard of her, but this is a reminder that graveyards are filled with the quiet, humble bones of people who have handed on a legacy of love.

Finally, there is Stella Reekie. I heard of this remarkable woman for the first time in 2009 when I was staying at the Jesuit House of Sacred Heart, Edinburgh. In conversation with Father Gerard Hughes (world-renowned author of a number of books that deal with peace issues) and later, in correspondence with the Superior, Father Chris Boles, I learnt about this humble peacemaker who had made a powerful impression on both these men when they had met her.

Stella was a Red Cross nurse during the Second World War who was in the very first group of allied aide workers to enter the Nazi extermination camp of Bergen-Belsen. Her first task was to separate the living from the dead. One of her most vivid experiences was coming upon a sack which contained what she thought were bones. Instead, from inside the sack came the sound of whimpering. When she opened it, she found a barely alive little Jewish boy. This heart-wrenching encounter sparked in Stella a life-long commitment to working towards inter-racial and inter-religious understanding.

Post World War Two, back in a Glasgow flat called the International Flat, Stella gave open-armed hospitality to university students from across all cultures. She was a gentle, shy person who wound a soothing peace throughout even the most tense confrontations between guests.

Phil Dugan's Nan already existed in my story – a story that had stopped and started a number of times. However, on hearing about Stella Reekie, I realised I had found a crucial element to Nan's character. In the final pages of my story, I have taken the liberty of adapting what a Sikh, Balwant Singh Saggu said at Stella Reekie's funeral; I have put elements of his speech into the mouth of Rajendra Singh Bajwa when he addresses Nan as she lies in her hospital bed. Balwant Singh Saggu's words have the honesty and beauty of the very best poetry – and I thank him for them.

Stella Reekie can be ‘googled', but she deserves to be more widely known – as do all of the people to whom this novel is dedicated. They encapsulate for me the invisible hero – a hero who is quite content to do the right and noble thing in life, without fanfare, but (because of this) is not as well known to us as they should be.

Yet again, the UQP team has given warm support. To Jo Hunt, I thank you for design work I could have only dreamt of. I am deeply grateful to my publisher, Kristina Schulz for giving
The Invisible Hero
such careful attention. And to my editor, Christina Pagliaro – I thank you for your Herculean efforts and for weeping as you read this novel.

Some wonderful individuals have helped me in the creation of the story. I am truly indebted to: Melisa Gulucoglu-Park for meticulous proofreading and for assisting me with some of both the Turkish and German aspects of this story. Her cultural understanding, insights about Islaam and her tri-lingual gifts have been invaluable; Alison Etheridge for additional and sensitive proofreading and for great encouragement; Damien Coluccio for manuscript assistance; Tim Fensham for extra research help; Hendrik Schlegel for uncovering Hans von Haeften's identity; Bawa Singh Jagadev for explaining the Sikh faith and patiently answering a myriad of questions; Rajendra Jeewooth for his exemplary tolerance and sharing his understandings; Clarissa Feio for support and vibrant discussions; Gulshan Yaqubi for graciously lending me her first name; Asher Berold and Elizabeth Levy for enlightening me about Judaism; Eve Addis for insights about the experiences of refugees and for wisdom about the pursuit of peace; Rev Dr Dean Spalding for theological information; Judy Wulf for information about Burma; Yvonne de Lacey for research assistance; Eddie and Edina Cejvan for the gift of their father's name and memory; Ray Simpson (of the Community of St Aiden and St Hilda on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne) for inspiration and example; and finally, but oh so importantly, for the open-hearted, loving hospitality, the deliciously stimulating and honest discussions, and the enthusiastic support of the Jesuit Community of Sacred Heart, Edinburgh – Chris Boles (Superior); Gerard Hughes; Jim Spence (and additional thanks for the daily porridge); James Crampsey; Peter Scally and Ted Coyle.

Also by Elizabeth Fensham

When Cassandra and her brothers climb the garden wall hoping to spot the ghost in the old hollow-eyed house, they have no idea what awaits within. Suddenly, and then seductively, they are drawn into a world long lost, a world preserved by a woman whose memories have kept her trapped in time and place.

But do the children really know the ghostly old lady as well as they think they do? Or is there something even more bizarre living under her roof?

From the author of the CBCA award-winning Helicopter Man comes a story of unexpected surprises that asks us to re-examine what we think we know of ugliness and beauty.

‘This story of three children who meet and befriend an ancient neighbour in her secluded house is told with great feeling, skill and charm ... This is a beautifully written book that uses Fensham's own family history to lend verisimilitude to its cleverly structured, morally challenging and absolutely satisfying story.'

‘Here is a book with a story that pulls you in from its very first line: “The day Wilf saw the ghost, our lives began to change.” And doesn't let go until the last. Echoes of
Jane Eyre, Great Expectation
s and
To Kill a Mockingbird
peek through Elizabeth Fensham's poignant novel about the power of family and how history can merge with the present in surprising ways.'