Episode #2

#2

Through one of its windows, Erna could see a large pear tree standing defiantly in the rear garden, and many hens, busily searching for worms. The lady pointed to herself and said 'Nancy' and then, finally, she removed her hat and smiled. Nancy pointed at Erna and repeated her name, confirming that this was indeed her name and then gestured with her hands, as though driving the car, to suggest that the man who drove, was her husband, she showed Erna her wedding ring. 'Tom' she said. Erna was fascinated by the array of diamonds and precious stones in Nancy's rings. Nancy then showed Erna the rich mahogany wardrobe with matching chest of drawers and adjustable mirror top. The drawer knobs were ebony, inlaid with ivory motifs,’ Erna's' she said, gently stroking the smooth polished exterior, and presenting it in a manner as to affirm that it was now her’s to use. She then took Erna by the hand and led her along the galleried balcony to the bathroom. It was breathtaking and larger than the entire apartment where she had lived in Germany. A stout Victorian roll-top enamelled bath, complete with clawed feet and gleaming brass taps, stood like some Greek statue dominating the room. An enormous pedestal wash basin with built in mirror, shone like porcelain. Its smooth, ornate lines begging to be caressed, while its companion, a large gentleman's rosewood compactum, presented itself with an air of superiority, reflecting your own image back at you. Nancy tapped the wardrobe and said 'Tom's'. Erna nodded and smiled. Nancy then gestured a drinking motion and said 'tea, coffee'? Erna understood and replied, ‘Kaffee bitte’. As they ambled down the stairs, Erna pointed to all the hand coloured photo portraits hanging on the walls. Nancy explained saying... 'mother, father, grandfather, grandmother'. Erna thought how they looked a little spooky, because their eyes followed you as you moved around. The farmhouse had been in the family for generations.

Coffee and cakes seemed such a luxury to Erna, and there was an abundance of various fancies. Nancy was indeed an avid baker, and “cake”, was a staple carbohydrate around Parkside farm, with iced cherry slab-cake (Tom’s favourite), Victoria sponge cake, glued together with homemade strawberry jam and thick whipped cream. There were of course a variety of others fancies and the house kitchen, always gifted the welcoming aroma of baked goods, scented by rich butter and heaped spoonfuls of cascading sugar. A smell that hung in the air like a comforting blanket of decadence. Erna eagerly sampled several slices, which sat precariously balanced upon her small willow-patterned side plate. She didn’t hang about and wolfed them down with immediate effect. Hopeful mutts sat expectantly poised to grab midair, anything which might fall… not a chance! The image of her Aunt’s broth was now quickly fading and although just a few short days ago, it seemed like she had woken up from a dream, or perhaps, was in a dream; either way, she was happy being where she was.

After thoroughly enjoying the cake experience, Nancy cleared the dishes and Erna rubbed her tummy, accompanied by a huge grin. Nancy then proceeded to “officially” introduce all the rooms of the house to Erna and for improved orientation, they began outside. Walking around the house perimeter, through the white picket fence gate and into the front garden, Nancy pointed out several graves, which were ancestors of the current dogs, going back over many generations. Each baring their name, that they may not be forgotten. Nancy also pointed out the Beautiful heavy oak front door with stained glass panels and a brass door handle that seemed too large for one hand. A majestic slate roofed porch embraced the doorway, supported by its ornate and heavily carved exterior. There was a summer house too, which housed the petrol lawn mower, deck chairs, and obligatory lawn games, for that time… croquet, tennis rackets, and so on. They doubled back and re-entered through the “working” entrance, Erna stopping momentarily to breathe in the wonderful Lonicera, still gifting its splendid perfume. The working entrance was the primary inlet to the house, from the main drive and where visitors were received (except on very special occasions, or during the summer evenings).

It opened immediately into the “back kitchen”, which housed a huge Belfast sink, complete with pink carbolic soap. A large marble topped drawer set and an enormous black cast-iron range, which was lit during the winter months, so naturally, it was already throwing out a generous supply of warmth, comparable to the sun during June and July. Erna picked up the soap to smell it, a smell that would become a frequent aroma as it was used extensively throughout lambing season, to sterilise hands, and equipment needed to aid difficult births. Erna’s small hands would be put to great use very soon! To the far end of this red and black quarry floor tiled room, a heavily painted blue door led into the back garden, where Erna had previously seen the large pear tree through her bedroom window. Nancy opened the door briefly and a few dozen hens ran towards it. Sadly, no scraps this time. There was an internal panelled staircase built into the wall, with its own door leading to a separate large “bed-sit” above the back kitchen. The bare pine staircase made it impossible to tread quietly which seemed to hit Erna’s funny bone as she couldn’t stop giggling while clomping up the hollow staircase. The “back stairs room” currently housed the best riding tack reserved for Fox hound meets, all gleaming and lavishly infused by years of saddle soap, giving off that unmistakable smell. This particular room and stairs looked like they had never actually been used as a bedsit, the original bare plaster walls showed no signs of paint and the pine floorboards were completely unblemished. There was an unused fireplace in there also, again, no signs of usage. Erna gently stroked the gleaming leather saddles, which felt like satin to the touch and had developed the most attractive patina. Clomping back downstairs, the third door off the back kitchen, led into the day room. This is where the family would sit during rest periods and would often witness fireside ‘teas’ during busy harvesting times, along with impromptu visits from friends.

You were too young to remember this time.

Too young to remember how the world looked when you first arrived and then, how that world rearranged itself around you.

You will though, remember my voice, it will live inside of you and when you listen, when you hear me... for those few moments, I will be alive, I will be with you... I am much older than most fathers of children your age. By the time you are ready for long conversations, the kind that wander, challenge, circle back, and then linger in the mind, I may not always be there to share them with you. That thought followed me closely after you were born. It still does. So I began to write. Not as instruction, not as explanation, but as presence...

These pages are meant to be a place where you can come to, when you want to hear me thinking. When you want to know what mattered to me, to understand how love, circumstance, and a long line of random, yet purposeful decisions, brought you into my life and made you...

unmistakably, you!

This is where that story begins.

Chapter 1 Episode #1

The beginning

The beginning, is where we stamp a footprint and speak into the night... 'right here, right now'!

Epi

Screeching, like an old tired Banshee, the train ground to a gentle halt. A young German girl, still a teenager, took hold of the pitted brass handle, opened the door and stepped down from a time faded maroon carriage and was immediately engulfed by smoke and steam. The exhausted black locomotive sighed in voluminous clouds... doors began slamming and gleaming pistons groaned to the shrill of the guard's whistle, as it signalled, all was clear. It was a cold foggy morning in late November 1947. The little station nestled quaintly in the tiny country village of Whitegate, in England. It had an 'other world' serenity to it, almost lost in the mists of time, like Brigadoon! Whitegate, seemed to have totally escaped the devastation Erna had left behind in Essen.

Jostled along the platform by purposeful passengers, all hurrying to avoid the cold damp air, Erna suddenly realised, she was now in what was previously enemy territory. Wearing black clothes, from head to foot, a coat several sizes too large, dragging ceremoniously on the floor behind her, Erna nervously negotiated the platform towards the station office. Her meagre world carried beside her, in an old brown suitcase, which weighed heavier than its contents. Erna’s stomach, growling with hunger, made her feel even more conspicuous, adding to the discomfort of an already long, sleep deprived and food absent journey. She had no real idea of whom she was to meet, except for an official crumpled document, gripped tightly in her white knuckled hand with the names of the people waiting there to collect her.

Life in Germany had not been that great for Erna; her mother's relationship with a young Hungarian resulted in Erna, as an unwanted illegitimate baby, forced to live with her Aunt and Uncle in Essen, disguising her mother's infidelity. Life had been tough from its inception. Her Aunt and Uncle were a hard working class couple, with rigid rules that were supported by a leather strap, for daring to bend any of them. A small scar on Erna's left eyebrow, was now a keepsake from her Aunt, who having nothing else to hand at the time, but a large bone, (which was being prepared for a broth) unleashed it at Erna, whereupon it became a weapon of resentment, landing squarely upon her forehead and creating the 'distinguishing mark' as described on her travel documents.

It is unclear as to how Erna was funded, and indeed permitted to make such an arduous journey, with so many restrictions in place regarding travel at this time in history. Post war Europe was not an easy route by land, sea or air. And then to end up in a tiny rural English village, as a minor, and eligible to work in service? There is another complete story here to research, but with little information and no one alive that could corroborate such an undertaking, it remains an intriguing mystery. However, it is clear that for whatever reasons, legal papers were generated to connect Erna to someone in Great Britain and permit her travel across Europe alone, or perhaps with a chaperone, at least until she landed upon UK soil.

A very smartly dressed lady in her 30s, walked towards Erna with purposeful steps and spoke in English. Erna recognised her own name and said 'ja'. She had never seen anyone wearing fur before, or indeed make-up. The hat this lady was wearing, had a small piece of decorative netting attached to the front, which gently obscured her face. The lady seemed a little stiff and not so welcoming. As they negotiated the route from the platform Erna caught a glimpse of her reflection in a station office window, and the little scar upon her eyebrow reminded her of the broth. Despite the remembered pain, she wished she could have a bowl of her Aunt's broth, as her stomach growled once again. Through the short exit tunnel, the smell of burning coal was exchanged for the heady aroma of this lady's perfume. Striding into the carpark, they approached a large highly polished car, to which the lady opened the boot for Erna to place her suitcase inside it. A jolly, smiling gentleman got out from the driver's seat to assist. He was tall and dressed in clothes, unknown to Erna. Cavalry twill trousers, a checked shirt with paisley cravat and a moleskin waistcoat.

His shoes were handmade oxblood brogues and an elegant Cashmere overcoat, completed the ensemble. These people were old school and old money. Raised in an environment of first name terms with titled gentry... they were wealthy, and well connected farmers. The farm land itself had originally belonged to a titled family, who owned estates and a mansion house, which now bordered the farm fields. As the car trundled down a tree lined country lane, Erna was impressed by the shiny chrome handles inside the passenger compartment, she ran her fingers over the smooth cold surface, which then left small fingerprints in the frigid metal. Erna quickly polished these out with her coat sleeve. There was a wonderful smell of rich leather coming from the rear bench seat, and she could feel the warm air from the heater gently caressing her flushing red cheeks, as they adjusted from the cold. Erna's senses must have been electrified, with so many new experiences in such a short space of time.

A very grand looking house suddenly emerged through the gloom, a majestic red bricked construction, with maroon and white wooden gable ends, topped by a handsome dark slate roof. There were fruit trees in the front garden, currently covered in crystal frosting. Laurel leaf hedge rows adorned the main driveway, trimmed and all standing to attention. A mixed collection of dogs greeted the car, all barking excitedly and wagging their tails expectantly. As Erna opened the car door, her nose was hit by a cocktail of smells. Cow muck, damp dogs and winter Lonicera honeysuckle, which was growing in splendour along the house wall.

Erna was quickly ushered into the house accompanied by the lady to a bedroom upstairs. It wasn't a servant's room, but rather a guest room within the main house. There was a fire lit in the room and together with the aroma of lavender polish from the parquet flooring, it felt very homely and welcoming.