Through My Eyes. Again
Copyright© 2019 by Iskander
Chapter 16
Early March - late March 1964
On Monday morning as we walked down the aisle of the bus towards Lili, she stood up and waved a newspaper. Before we even sat down, she blurted out, “Willi, you’re in the local paper.”
What now?
Lili handed me the paper, folded to an inside page. I saw that photo of me again. It accompanied a brief article repeating what the Polish newspaper had said, adding that I was the son of Dr Johnstone, a local doctor in Herne Bay. It felt like everyone was conspiring to force me to take the trip.
I sighed. “I have to reply to the letter tomorrow, telling them if I will accept the award.”
Neither Col nor Lili said a word, but Col squeezed my hand.
At school, Mr. Sturr was on my case about it. The feeling that I was being hemmed in grew ever stronger.
On the bus home, my impending decision stifled most normal conversation. It got worse at Lili’s house as Mrs. Wiśniewski was home early and pushed her view until I insisted we needed to get on with our homework.
Mutti Frida was later than usual in meeting us at Lili’s house.
She apologised to Mrs. Wiśniewski, “I’m sorry I’m late, Daria. I was delayed at the shop for a while.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
Col searched her mother’s face.
“No, a mix-up in the stock list that took a while to sort out.” She turned to Col and me, keeping her face blank. “Come on children, we need to let these people have their supper.”
We bustled out of the house and once we were a few yards along the road, Col grabbed her mother’s hand. “What’s going on, Mutti?”
“When we get home, Col.”
Col frowned, but we walked home in silence, my sword of Damocles suspended above us all.
Col pounced as the front door closed behind us. “What’s going on?”
Mutti Frida hung up her coat. “Come and sit down, you two.”
Col grabbed my hand and pulled me into a seat.
“Well?”
Mutti Frida pulled out a chair and sat down. “Herr Watling was waiting for me when we closed up the shop.” She paused, glancing sideways at me, before continuing. “The Polish community has tentacles that reach even into MI6 – and then there’s the article in the local newspaper today.” Another pause ... Mutti Frida’s face was apologetic when she turned to me. “Willi, they now think it would be suspicious if you did not go.”
Col sat bolt upright in her chair. “What?”
I stared at her, stunned.
“You have become a cause célèbre for the awarding committee. They see your tardiness in replying as reluctance to go; yet there is a cheer squad pushing for you to ‘see through’ the front the DDR will put up for you.” She sighed. “All of this has made you rather ... visible.”
“If it was you ... I mean, if it were not for your fears about our safety, would you go?” Col asked.
“Um ... I don’t know. That’s something I haven’t considered. Your safety is the most important thing to me.”
“Herr Watling doesn’t think there is any risk to us if you go. In fact, they think you must go. That if you don’t, the Stasi, my husband, will wonder why and they may send someone to investigate you, which would be dangerous for us.”
Even Mutti Frida was pushing for me to go.
All of this ran through my head as we ate supper and sat there reading afterwards.
My mother and sister were in the lounge room when I arrived home. My sister raised her head and then returned to her book, but my mother put down her newspaper and patted the settee, inviting me to sit beside her. “Hello, Will. You’re becoming a bit of a local star.” She smiled as I sat down beside her. “Are you any closer to deciding what to do?”
My sister frowned. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It can’t matter what some random boy does?”
My mother ignored the remark. “Well?”
“I don’t have to decide until tomorrow.”
“That’s true. So...?”
“So, I want to sleep on it tonight.”
“Okay, Will.” My mother paused. “I want you to know that it is your decision. You know my views...” she paused and gave a humourless laugh. “ ... and those of lots of other people, too. But it’s your life and you should decide.”
I nodded. If only it were that easy. My problem was that it wasn’t just my life that would be affected, whichever way I decided. “I’m going to bed. Perhaps it will be clearer for me in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Will. Sleep well.”
When I woke in the morning, confusing shards of dreams afflicted me. I lay there, pushing them aside for a while. I had to take up the offer. It seemed too problematic if I did not go. That everyone else and their dogs wanted me to go for their own reason did not carry any weight.
I dressed and headed down to breakfast, where I told my mother of my decision.
“Okay, Will. I’ll pick up a passport application for you and make an appointment for you to get a photo taken late one afternoon this week.”
Of course – no photo booths or even Polaroid cameras.
“Thank you.”
I wandered down to our front gate. Col arrived and we set off for the bus and joined Lili in the back seat.
I gazed at the two girls. “I’ve decided I have to go.”
“But you don’t want to?”
I sighed in frustration. “It’s like I’ve been pushed into deciding this way.”
Col frowned.
“Not by you and Mutti Frida, Col, but everyone else. All this stuff in the newspapers has made it difficult and it now seems that you will be safer if I go.” I released a frustrated breath. “Even though that’s hard to believe.”
“Oh, Willi. I’m sorry things have turned out this way.”
I snorted. “It’s not your fault, Col. I should never have entered this wretched competition.” As I spoke, shame flooded me.
I had been showing off and entered without thinking through the implications.
Col’s sensitivity showed again as she squeezed my hand. Lili had been silent through this and I could see she was upset about her mother’s part.
“It’s all right, Lili. What’s happened is not your fault. Please don’t let it worry you.”
“But I do, Willi. If Mama had not interfered and got that article published, none of this pressure on you would have happened.” Lili was almost in tears.
I reached across and clasped her hand until she glanced up. “It’s not your fault, Lili.” I held her gaze until she gave me a tentative smile.
“It’s all water under the bridge now. My mother is arranging my passport application and a photo, and I’ll tell my German teacher, Mr. Sturr, that I’m going. Things are moving along and now I must make the best of them.”
“Do you know where you are going?” Col asked.
“Not yet. I suppose they’ll tell me that once I accept the prize.”
As usual, I got off the bus a couple of stops before the girls and walked into school. I had time before morning assembly to write my letter of acceptance. I could pick up an envelope and stamp in Herne Bay as the post office was almost on our route to Lili’s house.
After my German class, I told Mr. Sturr that I was accepting the prize.
“Excellent, excellent. It’s a significant honour for the school and I’m sure your parents are proud of you.” He tipped his glasses forward and peered at me over them. “Hmm ... I expect you to write a report of your visit to East Germany for the school magazine.”
“Yes, sir.” I escaped to avoid him from loading me with anything else. He was a good teacher, but could be quite pompous.
As planned on the way to Lili’s house, we diverted via the post office and I posted my acceptance letter. I was now committed, like Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon: Alea iacta est.
The next few days were strange: there had been so much tension building up to the decision; so many threads woven into a knot of Gordian proportions. The decision left me lost and empty. This put a strain on things with Col and Lili, who tried, without success, to lift me out of my grey mood. My depression worried Col and several times over the following days, I noticed her thoughtful assessment of me. Despite her care for me and Lili’s cheerful outlook, I found the emptiness hard to shake.
I had my passport photo taken and my mother and I completed the passport application and took it to the post office.
On Friday evening, we checked on the old suitcases stored in the loft. They were all rather tatty. We shopped on Saturday afternoon, acquiring a new suitcase. It was eye-opening to see the primitive and heavy suitcases compared to the strong, light, wheeled ones from my old life. I would have to carry the one we selected: none of the suitcases we saw had wheels. We also bought a couple of shirts and pairs of slacks. My school uniform was a black suit and my mother decided it, dry cleaned and pressed, would do for formal occasions in the DDR.
A few days later, a thick envelope arrived in the mail. I looked through it that evening with my mother and took it with me the following day on the bus, but did not bring it out until we arrived at Lili’s house in the afternoon.
Col and Lili pored over it, asking questions which I could not answer: the documents were all the information I had. The winners were to meet at the Victoria Station Hotel in London by noon on the Tuesday after Easter. There we would get to meet everyone else, staying for the night. On Wednesday morning, we would go by bus to Heathrow Airport to catch a BEA flight to West Berlin. Spending one night in West Berlin, we would travel by bus to East Berlin. We would stay there for four days, visiting the Staatsoper for a performance and several museums and art galleries. They had programmed a school visit – to a Polytechnische Oberschule. Col explained this was a combined primary and grammar school. We’d also spend time with members of the Freie Deutsche Jugend.
“What’s that? Were you a member?” Lili asked, a sharp edge to her voice.
“No, Lili. You must be fourteen before you can join.” She paused, raising an eyebrow at Lili. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s nothing like the Hitler Jugend.” Then her voice softened. “I was a member of Pionierorganisation Ernst Thälmann, but all children were. That’s like the Cubs and Brownies here in England.”
We would travel to Dresden for more of the same and then on to Leipzig before returning to Berlin. There, we would visit the Volkskammer, the East German Parliament, before returning via West Berlin to England.
When Lili asked questions, I sensed Col holding back. We both knew she was from the DDR and Leipzig, so I didn’t understand her reticence.
Mutti Frida arrived and we walked back to their house. After tea, I gave Mutti Frida the documents. She slid the papers out of what was becoming a well-worn envelope. After a while, she glanced up from the papers. “You’ll have a busy time on this trip, Willi.”
“It doesn’t seem we’ll have much time to ourselves.”
Mutti Frida folded the papers and slid them back into the envelope.
“Can you tell me more about what to expect?” I asked.
Col shook her head. “I don’t think we can, Willi.”
“Why not – you know all about Leipzig and you must have visited East Berlin and Dresden.”
“Col’s right, Willi. We can’t tell you anything. They would be suspicious. After all, how would an English boy know much about East Germany?”
They were right. “Perhaps the library has some information. We can stop there on the way home tomorrow. Oh – and I’ll ask my German teacher, too.”
I told Mr. Sturr I was trying to find information about East Germany and the cities we were visiting.
“Hm ... I was in East Berlin a few years ago.” He paused, casting his mind back to his visit. “It’s not as well developed as West Berlin – but then it’s not seeking to develop a capitalist society, but one of cooperation.” His eyes drifted away from mine as he thought. “Perhaps I can find you some information.” His gaze returned to my face. “When are you leaving, boy?” He knew my name well enough. His refusal to use it was an unconscious indicator of his old-fashioned attitudes. I didn’t like it, but showing that would not get me what I wanted.
“Immediately after Easter, sir.”
He nodded. “Excellent, excellent. That gives us a couple of weeks. Leave it with me.”
That afternoon, Mrs. Price was at the library desk when we arrived and gave me her usual evil eye. I found the older librarian and asked for help. Unfortunately, I could find precious little information in the library about post-war East Germany; a few almost disapproving paragraphs in the Encyclopedia Britannica covered basic information.
Col continued in her refusal to answer questions, insisting that I could only use the information that I found out myself. But then help arrived from an unexpected source: Mrs. Wiśniewski. Lili must have told her about my search for information. Through her contacts, she turned up some copies of Neues Deutschland – the newspaper of the government of the DDR.
She sat at the table where we were doing our homework. “Now Willi, I have acquired some information for you.” She laid the four newspapers on the table but kept her hand on them. “Understand this newspaper is run by and for the government of the DDR. It is propaganda aimed in part at the people of East Germany but also at the west.”
I reached for the papers, eager for any insight into the society I was to visit, but Mrs. Wiśniewski had more to say.
“Willi, read them with care – read between the lines and behind the words, knowing that many of them are lies.” Her voice was emphatic. “Do not be deceived by their lies.” She then pushed them across the table towards me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wiśniewski.”
The papers were from the last week in February, about a week old, but I was not seeking current news from them but a feeling for the society and its culture. As today was a Polish day, I folded the papers and slid them into my school bag for later.
At Col’s house, I pulled them out.
Mutti Frida’s eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you get those, Willi?”
“Mrs. Wiśniewski got them for me. I don’t know how.”
Mutti Frida picked up the one on top and started skimming over it. I grabbed the next one. After watching her mother and me disappear into their pages, Col picked one up and flicked through it in a desultory fashion, turning pages.
I was deep in an article lauding the education system when Col gasped, “Mutti, Mutti. Er ist es.” She pushed the paper across the table to her mother.
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