The Girl With No Name (40 page)

The door opened and one of his room-mates came in, Rolf Heffer. He looked at Harry suspiciously.

‘What you doing in here?’ he growled. ‘You been touching my things?’

‘No.’ Harry’s tone was sullen. A few weeks ago he’d been caught by another of his room-mates, Bernd Bauer, going through Bernd’s locker and a fight had ensued. Bernd was much older and broader than Harry, but Harry had given a good account of himself. They’d been dragged apart before any real damage had been done and they’d both ended up in the camp cooler for a week. When they came out Bernd, though still in the same house, had been moved into a different room, his place taken by Rolf Heffer.

Rolf had been picked up from a drifting German fishing boat in the North Sea and brought ashore, but despite his rescue he hated the English and resented being locked up. He’d a vicious temper that flared in a moment and he was fast with his fists. Harry knew, like everyone else in the house, that you didn’t mess with Rolf Heffer. Once, only, he had dared peek into Rolf’s locker and there he’d seen it, a kitchen knife, pointed, its blade honed to razor sharpness. Harry had swiftly closed the locker door, his heart thumping. Never again would he touch anything that belonged to Rolf Heffer.

‘Alfred says to tell you you’re on kitchen duty and to get back downstairs,’ Rolf said now.

Harry was about to protest, but thought better of it. He got to his feet and slouched out of the room.

I can’t stay in this hellhole till the end of the war, he thought as he stumped back downstairs. There must be
some
way I can get out of here.

As Harry helped prepare some vegetables for the midday broth, he turned various possibilities over in his mind. The obvious problem was that they were incarcerated on an island. Even if he managed to escape from the camp, where was he to go? There were boats enough in the harbour, but he knew nothing about boats, nothing about navigation. It meant, he had to accept, that he couldn’t go it alone. He’d have to have a co-conspirator, someone who did know these things. It made it twice as dangerous; two people in a secret were, Harry knew, one too many.

‘You’re deep in thought,’ remarked Hans Bruch, who had taken charge of the kitchen and was making the soup. ‘Planning your escape?’

Harry looked up sharply and Hans saw, for a second, the truth in Harry’s expression. His eyes widened and he laughed. ‘You were, weren’t you?’ He cuffed Harry gently on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be silly, lad,’ he said. ‘There’s no way out of this camp and there’s no way off this island. If you want to get away from here, your best bet is to volunteer for the army.’

‘The army?’ Harry looked stunned.

‘That way,’ Hans explained, ‘you get the two things you want most just now. You get off the island and you get to take a swipe at Hitler.’

‘And you?’ demanded Harry. ‘Are you going to volunteer for the army?’

Hans shook his head. ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘I’m no Nazi, I hate all they stand for, but I’m a German, born and brought up in Heidelberg. I was in London training as a chef when war was declared, but I won’t willingly fight against my own country. No, I’ll have to stay here until it’s over. But you? When you left Germany it was to escape persecution and Germany ceased to be your home.’

‘And that’s different?’ asked Harry, interested.

‘It is in my eyes,’ Hans replied. Then, changing the subject, he waved at the table. ‘Come on, Harry,’ he cried, ‘put the things on the table. The rest’ll be in in a minute.’

Harry did as he was told, but he thought about what Hans had said. He hadn’t discarded his escape ideas completely, but volunteering for the army might indeed be another way out.

After the meal of broth and bread and cheese, Alfred called Harry over and taking a book out of his pocket, handed it to him.

‘Thought this might interest you,’ he said.

Harry looked at it. It was a book about Australia. He knew it was a book about Australia because there was a map of Australia on the front cover. He wouldn’t have known otherwise because he couldn’t read. He wasn’t going to admit that, though, and so he said, ‘About Australia! That’ll be interesting.’

Alfred watched him glance through the pages, pausing at the set of photographs in the middle. The text was in German, but Harry didn’t register that. All printing looked alike to him. Alfred saw at once that Harry couldn’t read and was not surprised. A boy who’d been running from the Nazis all his childhood had not spent time learning his letters. He waited until the other inmates had left the room and then he said quietly, ‘I could teach you to read, Harry. You’d get on far better in Australia if you could read and write.’

‘I can read and write,’ Harry said hotly.

‘Of course you can,’ Alfred agreed mildly, ‘but I was thinking of teaching you to read and write in English. Far more use to you after the war, especially if you do decide to go to Australia.’

Harry handed him the book back. ‘No, thanks,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ Alfred said. ‘I just thought you might like to improve your spoken English as well. It’s my first language.’

‘But you speak German.’

‘Yes, I do. My mother was German, but I was born in England.’

‘If you was born here, what you doing in the camp?’ demanded Harry. ‘You ever been to Germany?’

Alfred shook his head. ‘No, never. But because my mother was German I still have relatives over there, so, I’m suspect.’

‘Can’t you volunteer to join the army and fight?’ Harry asked. ‘That’d prove which side you was on.’

‘Too old,’ Alfred sighed. ‘The army wouldn’t want an old schoolmaster like me.’ He smiled across at Harry. ‘Whereas you might be very useful to them, especially if you spoke good English.’ He switched to English and said, ‘Why don’t you and I talk in English? You speak it well enough to be understood, but we can improve on that.’

Harry looked at him suspiciously but answered in English. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why you want help me?’

‘Why not? It’d give us both something to do. To keep us occupied.’

‘I don’t want to be “occupied”,’ replied Harry, lapsing back into German. ‘I just want to get out of here.’

‘Don’t we all?’ agreed Alfred, still speaking English, ‘but until we can, we need to pass the time and we might as well do it usefully, not simply wandering about in the rain and getting wet.’

Harry put the book on Australia down on the table. ‘I don’t want to read that,’ he said and stalked out of the room.

Later that evening Alfred called all the inmates of the house together. ‘I was a headmaster of a big school before I was interned,’ he began. ‘And I’ve decided that I’ll start teaching again here. Is there anyone who’d like to learn something new or different? Is there anyone else who can teach us all something new or different?’

There was a general murmur among the inmates and then Bernd Bauer said, ‘I’m not very good at maths. I never got the hang of it at school, but maybe you could make me understand.’

‘I’ll certainly try,’ promised Alfred. ‘Anyone else?’

‘I’m an artist,’ said another man, Richard Scholz. ‘I can teach drawing if anyone’s interested.’

‘I thought English conversation might be helpful,’ Alfred said. ‘I know some of you are refugees and you may want to stay in England after the war or go to the States or Australia.’ He directed his gaze at Harry. ‘What about you, Heinrich?’

‘My name is Harry,’ Harry snarled.

‘Precisely,’ smiled Alfred, completely unfazed by his rudeness. ‘You came to live in England and changed your name to an English one, so I’d have thought you’d want to speak good idiomatic English.’ He regarded Harry through quizzical eyes. Harry looked away.

There was a general discussion about what lessons might be offered, but though several people thought the whole idea stupid, others saw that they could benefit from learning something new.

Several days later Rolf cornered Harry in the corridor. He pushed him against the wall, stretching out his arms and trapping Harry with his body.

‘You’re a lad with some guts,’ he said, his voice surprisingly soft. ‘I’m getting out of here. You coming with me?’

Harry stared at the big man, looming over him. ‘Getting out?’ he croaked.

‘Getting out of this camp and off this island.’ Rolf looked at him with fierce eyes. ‘You do
want
to get out of this fucking place, don’t you?’

Harry nodded.

‘Right, well, that’s what we’re going to do. You and me.’

Harry couldn’t believe he was hearing this. ‘How?’ he whispered.

‘Never mind how,’ snapped Rolf. ‘I’ll tell you when you need to know. Got a plan, but it needs the two of us.’

‘Why me?’ faltered Harry.

‘You’re a survivor because you got the guts to look after yourself. I need a survivor and I need someone who speaks English. You.’

‘I speak some English,’ Harry said cautiously.

‘Yeah, well you’d better go an’ have a few lessons with old Alfred, hadn’t you? Make sure you know how to get us about.’

‘About where?’ Harry still didn’t believe what he was hearing.

Rolf grasped him by the arm and led him to their room. None of the others was there and he closed the door behind them.

‘If we get away from here,’ he said, ‘we shall land either in England or Ireland. In either case one of us needs to speak English. I don’t know a word, but you do.’ He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him. ‘I got things to do before we can go,’ he said. ‘Your job is to practise your English, right? And remember,’ he went on speaking softly, ‘if anyone else hears of our idea, if you so much as hint at what we’re planning to anyone, I’ll kill you.’ He lowered his face to Harry’s, so close that Harry could feel his foul breath on his cheeks. ‘You believe me, boy?’

Harry believed him. He nodded, unable to speak.

‘Good,’ said Rolf, letting him go so suddenly that Harry fell on to his bed. ‘Just remember, it’s just you and me. Don’t come near me. I’ll come to you when we need to talk. You, you just learn your English.’ With that Rolf stalked out of the room leaving Harry sitting on his bed, excited by the idea but very afraid.

Thinking about escaping was one thing, actually going through with it quite another. Harry didn’t know how Rolf intended to get them out of the camp, but if they were going to England or Ireland, they must be going to steal a boat. At least Rolf was a seaman. He’d know how to sail the boat and he’d know how to navigate, but though part of him still liked the idea of escape, the more Harry went over the idea in his mind, the more frightened it made him. They’d never get out of the camp, they’d never make it to the harbour and if they did, how could just the two of them steal a boat big enough to take them across the sea? Harry remembered the dreadful crossing they’d had coming from Liverpool and that was in a much bigger boat than the two of them would be able to manage. Suppose he told Alfred about the plan? But if he did, Rolf would know and would kill him. He shuddered as he thought of the sharpened blade in the big man’s locker. What if he simply said he wouldn’t go? Would Rolf kill him anyway, to ensure his silence?

The various classes started and every morning Alfred gathered his five students together in the common room and the English conversation lessons began. Richard Scholz taught drawing in the latter part of the morning and then Alfred taught maths in the afternoon.

Alfred made no comment when Harry turned up to his next class. The five who had been coming simply accepted that Harry had changed his mind, but Alfred was aware that Harry himself had changed. He had lost some of his cockiness. He stopped giving smart answers and answering back. Alfred’s long experience with boys of his age knew at once that something was the matter. After the class a few days later, he called Harry back.

‘Are you all right, Harry?’ he asked. ‘Is something troubling you?’

Harry looked up and answered sharply, ‘No! Why should there be?’

Alfred shrugged. ‘You look a bit down, that’s all.’

‘Well, who wouldn’t be, stuck in this hellhole?’ demanded Harry.

‘Fair enough.’ Alfred knew when to back off. ‘Just thought there might be something I could help you with, that’s all.’

‘Who d’you think you are? My father?’

‘I’m old enough to be,’ admitted Alfred with a rueful smile. ‘But if you’re all right, then that’s fine.’

Alfred thought about the change in Harry. He noticed that the boy had been giving Rolf Heffer a wide berth, moving away from him if they met in the communal rooms. Rolf seemed to be keeping clear of Harry, too. Was something going on there? Alfred wondered. Was there something between them? Rolf was a big man and there was no doubt that he could have his way with a skinny urchin like Harry. Despite his bravado, Harry was only a lad and no match physically for a man like Rolf. Was Rolf abusing the boy? Things like that happened, especially when men were confined together with no female company. Alfred decided to watch the two more carefully. If it was what he feared, he would definitely intervene and get Rolf moved to a different part of the camp.

*

Harry thought about what Alfred had said. He wished he could tell him about Rolf and his plans. They were getting more scary every day. But the thought of the sharpened kitchen knife in Rolf’s locker kept him silent. He didn’t doubt for one moment that Rolf would use it if he thought Harry was going to betray him.

The previous day Rolf had followed him on his walk round the camp. As they walked along the path that followed the promenade behind the wire, Rolf outlined his plan. He had got hold of some wire-cutters from one of the camp workshops. Volunteering to go on a work party outside the camp he had managed to secrete the wire-cutters down the leg of his trousers. The guard who marched them back from the fence-mending they’d been doing for a local farmer had not counted the tools in and out properly.

‘So, next morning there’s a fog, boy, we go out into the camp and along by the beach, away from the gate. We simply cut our way through the wire and we’re out. I saw a place we can hide if need be until it’s dark and then we get along to the harbour and take a boat.’

‘What about evening roll-call?’ asked Harry.

‘What about it? We’ll be long gone by then. The fog’s the thing, you see.’