I may have committed all sorts of EBD-isms with the main protagonist as I can't remember whether she re-appears in later books. But hey, if Santa can't take literary liberties at Christmas, who can??? Second (and final) part tomorrow.
Frau Habermann hurried to the door. Who on earth could that be, outside on this terrible night? It had been snowing for hours, and the wind was still howling. Her home, deep in the woods of the Black Forest, lay nestled in the snow. She hadn’t even tried to get to church, though it was Christmas Eve and she hadn’t relished the prospect of spending the evening alone. Who could be knocking so late? Whoever it was, they evidently meant to be let in. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her, she opened the door just a crack, trying to keep the warmth in. To her surprise three young men in the Allied uniform of British soldiers stood huddled in the doorway. The enemy! Only fear and cold could have brought them to her door, for they had no way of knowing what their reception would be. Frau Habermann’s thoughts went to her young husband, far away on the Russian front. She owed it to the Fatherland and to all the brave soldiers of the Third Reich to turn these enemy combatants from her door. Who cared whether they lived, or perished in the snow? As a good German she could hardly sabotage the war effort by helping them. Quite apart from anything else, her punishment would be severe if she were caught helping the enemy: people had been executed for less. And yet, looking at these men, the same age as her husband, she could not help wondering whether some other woman, deep in the heart of some Russian forest, was at this very moment considering whether or not to give shelter to her beloved Hans.
The words were out of her mouth before she even registered them. Frau Haberman’s English was careful and halting, but no former pupil of the Chalet School could ever completely forget her languages. ‘Please, come in, come in, do not stand in the doorway. I beg you, come and sit by the stove and close the door that we may be warm.’ If George, Tom and Lucas were surprised to hear their own language, they did not show it. Indeed, their wits were so close to being addled by cold and hunger that they were almost past noticing anything. George and Tom, half-carrying Lucas between them, made their way to the stove. Tom thought wistfully of his family back in Warwickshire, and imagined them sitting by the fire, getting ready for the Christmas festivities. Mother would be preparing vegetables for tomorrow’s meal and they would all be looking forward to Midnight Mass. Tom was so homesick it hurt. But he pulled himself together. Such thoughts did no-one any good. The minutes ticked by. Good Frau Haberman gave them hot chicory coffee – the taste was on the bitter side, but the drink was warming, and gradually the three young men came back to life. They told Frau Haberman of all that had chanced. Four days ago, they had been part of a daring raid on the Ruhr valley. They had become disoriented in the moonless night, their planes had been shot down, and only the three of them were left alive. They were hoping to make it to the Swiss border, but the weather was against them, and they had wandered, cold and fearful, until desperation had brought them to Frau Hoffman’s door. George brought a picture out of his pocket. It was his best girl, Fran, from Colchester in Essex. Frau Habermann showed the picture of her dearest Hans, proudly displayed on the mantelpiece. She was just about to tell the story of how they had met, and what had taken them to the pretty house in the Black Forest, when more knocking came at the door. The four looked at each other in horror. Who could that be, and what, oh what, would happen to Frau Habermann if she were found to be helping the enemy?
Offering up a swift prayer, Frau Habermann went again to the door. With an agonised look at the three Tommies, she indicated the loft. They would be safe there, she hoped. As she opened the door again, Frau Habermann’s worst fears were realised. Two tall, blond-haired young men, also in uniform, but this time in the garb of the Gestapo. Her countrymen, also lost in the depths of the forest. They looked frozen to the core. If she had closed the door, Frau Habermann doubted whether the two of them could have forced it open in their weakened state. So she invited them in, as she had done the British soldiers. They too came and warmed themselves by the stove, and began to share tales of home and family. Johan was from Silesia. His father had been killed in that other war, the war to end all wars. Ulrich, the superior officer of the two, was Bavarian by birth. He lived with his wife and twin baby daughters in Freiburg. He worked in the Gestapo offices there, and had been sent with Johan to this remote district in search of fugitive enemy officers, believed to have been shot down in a raid. The going had been hard, and they had been making for the village some two miles distant, in search of a bed for the night. But they had become lost in the snow. Frau Habermann had undoubtedly saved their lives, for they would not have survived the night unsheltered in the forest. And so the evening passed in quiet chatter between the three Germans, whilst upstairs the three British men scarcely dared to breathe, let alone move. It was cold in the loft. How they longed for the cheerful warmth of the stove.
Edited to correct spelling of Freiburg. Hope it's right this time!
