Chapter 17

Easter – early April 1964

School ended for the three of us on the Wednesday before Easter and we made plans to spend time together over the Easter period. I had to travel up to London on the Tuesday after Easter and my mother insisted that I came home on the Monday evening. I negotiated to be home by eight o’clock that evening. Col and Mutti Frida wanted to give me a farewell dinner.

When I arrived, I found the girls dressed up in the finery they had worn at Christmas, which made me feel underdressed in slacks and a pullover. As we finished the delicious Strudel mit Schlagsahne Col and Lili had prepared under Mutti Frida’s supervision, Col slid her hand into mine. “What time’s your train?”

“I’m catching the twenty-five to ten train, which gets me to Victoria before eleven o’clock. It gives me plenty of time to get to the Victoria Hotel, where I’m meeting the rest of the group at noon.”

I knew Col was going to miss me, but I also knew lurking underneath was the fear, despite all the advice, my trip would reveal her location to her father.

I slipped my hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Please don’t come to the station to see me off. You never know who may be watching.”

Col frowned at me and she was about to argue.

Mutti Frida leaned across. “Col, Willi is right,” she said. “We shouldn’t go.”

“I’ll come and see you off, Willi.” Lili said.

I watched Col stiffen.

Was she jealous?

Since the Christmas party, our three-way friendship had experienced few problems. I saw Mutti Frida glance between Col and Lili.

“If that’s all right, Col?”

Lili’s gentle question drew a small, self-deprecating sigh from Col. “I’m sorry, Lili. Yes, of course that’s all right.” Wistful sadness coloured her eyes. “I wish I could be there too.”

After we cleared the supper table and washed up, Mutti Frida retrieved her bottle of Schnapps and filled a tiny glass.

“Willi. We wish you a safe and happy journey to the east.” She raised the glass to me and tasted it.

Then she passed the drink to our friend. “Just a sip, Lili.”

“Yes, Will, have a safe trip to East Germany.” Lili touched the glass to her lips and made a bit of a face. She shuddered at the taste, passing the glass across to Col.

Col picked up the glass, holding my eyes over the rim. ”Two weeks is such a long time. Come back to me, darling.” She sipped, almost suppressing a shudder. She reached across the table to hand me the glass.

I took it, glancing at Mutti Frida and Lili but returning to hold Col’s gaze. I spoke in French. “You are my entire life. Stay here in safety, knowing I will think of you all the time”.

Col’s eyes closed for a moment. French was our secret language and Lili’s weakest, but she had understood what I had said. When Col’s eyes opened, I saw the moisture gathering at the corners.

I took a sip from the glass. Alcohol exploded the taste of schnapps across my tongue and I suppressed a cough. I placed the glass down in front of Mutti Frida, whose eyes lingered on me. She may not have understood the French, but she understood the emotional content of what had passed between her daughter and me. She gave me an understanding smile, picked up the glass and drained the remaining mouthful.

Col jumped up and retrieved a package from the dresser drawer. It was wrapped in blue tissue paper, tied with a delicate bow of thin white ribbon. She sat down and slid it across to me.

I smiled at Col, recognising the preserved paper, and opened the package: a leather wallet.

“Something to take with you to remind you of all of us during your travels.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at all three of them.

“And now, Willi, you must leave to be home on time.”

We all rose from the table. Col hung back, whilst Lili and Mutti Frida gave me intense hugs.

Mutti Frida’s sensitivity showed again. “Col will say goodbye to you in the hall, Willi.”

I put the wallet in my trouser pocket and slipped out into the hall with Col, who shut the door behind us. We shared several lingering kisses before Col pushed me away. “You must go, Willi.” Her voice trembled before it firmed. “And when you return, we will talk about our promise with Mutti.” Her eyes held mine.

I saw trust, fear and desire in them. A frisson ran through me, lifting the hairs down my back and arms. I leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose and caressed her cheek.

“Take care of you.” I turned and walked out of the door. I paused at the gate, turning to receive and return a blown kiss before the door closed. Moisture on my cheeks was cold in the night air.

My mother sensed my dark mood when I walked into the kitchen. She gathered me into her arms, staying silent for a while. Eventually, she relaxed the hug.

“I know you’re worried about this trip. Everything will be fine, but be careful over there, Will.” Her voice firmed. “Don’t make life difficult for yourself or anyone else.”

I nodded.

“Hot chocolate?”

“Thank you.”

I hung about in the kitchen and then took the mug up to my room and checked my suitcase again. I transferred the money I had taken out of my Post Office account into my new wallet, putting it on my desk with my passport and the information about the trip. It would go in my duffel bag, along with a jumper and a few other things I might want with me all the time. I had pondered what books to take and had settled on Thomas Mann’s Der Tod in Venedig and Shakespeare’s Sonnets, both of which were set texts. After a moment, I added my pure Maths textbook to leaven the mixture and slipped the picture of Herr Schmidt I had cut from the newspaper into it. I wanted to make sure I recognised him if I saw him. After a moment’s thought, I slipped in the copy of my essay.

Despite my worries over the trip’s potential consequences, the emotions of the last few days had drained me; my mother had to wake me when she checked on me at half-past seven. I hustled through my morning ablutions, packed my wash bag and did one last check on the suitcase before closing it up.

My mother treated me to a lovely breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, causing me to raise my eyebrows.

“You need to start with a full stomach, Will. Today’s going to be all over the place and heaven knows when you’ll eat – or tomorrow, travelling to Berlin.”

As I tucked away my breakfast, my mother sat opposite me, sipping her coffee and glancing at the paper.

“Try to send us a postcard from West Berlin when you get there before you go into East Germany, Will.”

I smiled at her.

“Allow me to have a mother’s concerns over her chicks, Will.” There was a self-deprecating smile on her lips.

“Okay – I’ll try to send a postcard from West Berlin. I’m not sure about from inside East Germany though.”

My mother nodded in understanding.

When it was time to go, I took my bags out to the car and my mother drove to the station. She insisted on paying for the return ticket to London and, as we turned away from the ticket office, Lili walked into the station.

“Have a safe journey, Willi,” Lili said, in Polish, leaning forward to give me a brief kiss on the cheek.

Mustering my Polish, I took her hand. “Thank you for coming to see me off. Please take care of Col.”

Lili gave me another shy smile and nodded.

“Your Polish is coming along then, Will?” My mother remarked.

“Yes, he and Col are learning fast,” Lili explained.

“Col’s not coming to see you off?” My mother asked.

Before Lili could answer, I turned to my mother. “I asked him not to come. He told me he’s not good at goodbyes.”

My mother was a bit surprised and then gave a small shrug.

“Dr Johnstone?” We turned around to find a photographer. “I’m from the newspaper. I’d like to take a photograph of you and your son as he heads off on his prize trip. Perhaps the three of you could stand together.” He shepherded us against a British Rail cream wall. “Young Mr. Johnstone in the middle, please.” Lili moved from beside my mother to beside me. “Excellent.” The camera flashed. “One more.”

He changed the flashbulb and the camera flashed again. As it did, I saw a man in a trilby hat staring at us from across the station foyer. I expect he was wondering what made us special.

“I’m sorry, but we must be going. My son has a train to catch.” My mother used her doctor’s voice and moved us towards the platform ticket machine.

The photographer doffed his hat. “Thank you for your time, Dr Johnstone.”

My mother inserted two thruppenny bits into the platform ticket machine, handing one to Lili. We moved out on to the platform as my train was announced. It rolled in with an electric hum: none of the hissing clouds of steam and smoke I had enjoyed as a young child.

My mother watched the coaches slow to a halt and made sure I was entering one with open seating, not compartments. The train was almost empty, and I had no trouble finding a seat on the platform side. I stowed my case, plonking my duffel bag on the seat and waved to Lili and my mother.

The train glided into motion as if the station was bearing Lili and my mother away as they waved farewell; then the carriage jerked and reality returned: I was leaving them. My stomach fluttering at what the next two weeks would hold. The train moved down the platform, past a few people, including the trilby hat man. They watched our accelerating departure, waiting for a different train.

As we picked up speed, I sat down and pulled the Thomas Mann novella from my duffel bag as distraction from my worries. I’d been finding Gustav’s obsession with Tadzio uncomfortable. Col’s initial reaction to the revelation of my strange circumstances and the confusion of her gender for Lili and myself was perhaps behind this.

We clattered through the Kentish countryside, which drew my attention from Gustav’s obsessions. Exuberant green leaves were replacing the blossom in the orchards. I was still coming to terms with the startling verdancy of the countryside after decades of sparser, greyish Australian greens. I sighed; so much of my previous life must remain hidden except with Col. For the next two weeks, I would need to be careful. The fields and orchards gave way to London’s expanding suburban sprawl and we rolled into Victoria Station.

I checked my wallet and repacked my duffel bag, making sure for the umpteenth time my paperwork and passport were safe in the internal pocket. My first time through as a teen, I had been absentminded, prone to leaving a trail of abandoned possessions. Decades of life had trained me to be more careful, but I was concerned my young brain might betray me – so I checked.

With my duffel bag over my shoulder and my suitcase bumping against my legs, I set off to find the Station Hotel. A porter gave me directions and, swapping my case between tired hands, I found the hotel and walked into reception.

“Yes?” The bored man behind the desk asked, staring down his nose rather like Mr. Sturr.

“I’m part of the UNESCO group, travelling to Germany.”

He waved at a sign pointing down a corridor. “In the Mallard Room.” He dismissed me by dropping his eyes back to his desk. I walked past a couple of rooms, also named after famous locomotives of the steam age.

The small Mallard room was empty and I put my case on the floor beside a sofa. With nothing to distract me but my still fluttering stomach, I continued reading Der Tod in Venedig.

The clock was showing half-past eleven when a harried man poked his head in and then stood out of the way for a young man. “Well, that’s two, anyway,” he muttered and disappeared.

The young man glanced at me, noting my young age. “You must be the runner-up,” he said. “Do you speak German?” He sneered.

He was trying to establish some sort of pecking order; I smiled and returned to my book, making sure the cover was visible to him. After a moment, he dropped his case beside an armchair and sat down, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

Almost immediately, a girl in her late teens stepped into the room. “Is this the UNESCO trip to Germany?” she asked in a timid voice, her eyes on the floor rather than us.

The young man leapt to his feet. “Indeed it is. I am Peter Farquar.” His hand came out ready to shake the girl’s, but she shuffled back and did not put out her hand.

“Oh, I am Virginia Dawson.” Her voice held a trace of west country in it.

“Come and sit over here with me.” Peter grabbed for her suitcase, but Virginia pulled it away, searching for a safe refuge in the room. She saw an armchair beside my sofa and retreated, her pale, freckled skin blushing beneath her red hair.

Peter frowned, trying to hide his embarrassment. We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. I thought about returning to my book, but decided I should introduce myself to Miss Virginia Dawson.

I turned towards her. “Hello, Miss Dawson. I’m Will Johnstone.”

The freckled face turned towards me and there was a pause as she looked me over. “Hello, Will.” She glanced across the room at our companion and turned back to me. “I’m pleased to meet you. Please call me Ginnie. Are you going to East Germany too?”

Peter Farquar’s voice cut across the room. “Little William is our runner-up.”

A sneer coloured his tone again. It seemed we had someone in our midst who needed to shore up his self-image by putting other people down.

I watched Ginnie stiffen and make as if to respond. Instead, she held my gaze. “Is that Thomas Mann you are reading?” She nodded towards my book.

“Yes, it’s one of my set books.”

“You’re reading it for O Level?”

I gave her an embarrassed smile. “No, for A level.”

“Goodness.” She leaned in for a closer inspection, blushing again when she realised this was rude. “How old are you, Will?”

“Umm...” I was worried this would intensify Peter’s unwanted attention. “I’m fourteen.”

“Goodness,” she repeated.

The rather harried man returned, followed by two other boys, both in their late teens.

“Right ho,” the man said, putting a bunch of room keys on the coffee table. “I’m Mr. Stock and Miss Turner will be here soon. We are your guides and chaperones for this visit to East Germany.” He paused, identifying us. “We’ll get you settled into your rooms and conduct introductions over lunch.”

He pulled a sheet of paper out of the clipboard he was carrying. “Here are your room assignments. Peter Farquar and William Johnstone.” He picked a key and tossed it to Peter. “Henry Ruthven and Timothy Charles.” He tossed another key. “Virginia Dawson, you are with Miss Turner.” He picked up the remaining key and handed it to her.

“Okay, off you go.” He waved at the door. “Be back down in the dining room by one o’clock.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s about fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.” He bustled out without waiting for us, followed by Henry and Timothy.

I packed my book into my duffel bag and stood up, but there was no movement from Peter. As he had the key and knew our room number, I had to wait. As Ginnie gathered her gear, Peter stood up. “I’m stuck with the baby of the group,” he said in disgust. “Listen, you little oik. Stay out of my way or there will be dire consequences for you.” He leaned down and picked up his case. “The room is mine. It’s enough you sleep there. Stay away, apart from that. D’you understand?”

His attitude was not unexpected given his initial reaction to me, but I had not been expecting to share a room with him. I was unsure what to do, so I stood there.

He dropped his case, took several steps and towered over me. “Did you hear what I said, oik?”

He was built like a rugby scrum player and would have no trouble flattening me. Before I could summon up a safe reply, he grabbed my shirtfront and pulled me up onto my toes. “Cause me any trouble on this trip, oik, and...”

“What,” asked a commanding female voice, “is going on here?” Miss Turner standing in the doorway, bristling.

Peter dropped me back on to my feet and pretended to be brushing down my chest. “We were discussing arrangements about our shared room.” The glib response slipped from him with practised ease.

“No, you weren’t,” Ginnie’s angry voice appeared from the corner where she had been fiddling, unnoticed, with her case. “You were bullying Will.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“Miss Dawson, is it?” Miss Turner asked.

Ginnie nodded, controlling her outrage. “Peter Farquar was ... intimidating William.”

Miss Turner saw the room key in Ginnie’s hand. “You have our room key. I suggest you take your bags there.”

Ginnie gave me a sympathetic look and sidled past Miss Turner.

Peter turned and picked up his case.

“Where do you think you are going, Mr. Farquar?”

Peter answered in a tone that assumed unassailable superiority. “To my room,” and he attempted to push past Miss Turner, who had moved back into the doorway after Ginnie left.

“I think not, Mr. Farquar.” Her tone was icy. “Please give me the room key.”

Peter stayed there, unused to being commanded by a woman and yet concerned a confrontation could see him in trouble. After a few long seconds, he tossed the key at Miss Turner, who caught it.

“Wait at reception for Mr. Stock. We’ll decide what to do with you.”

Trying not to seem like he was following her instructions, he sauntered out past Miss Turner.

She tapped the key on her palm several times. “I thought putting the two of you together might cause problems, William, but...” She paused, surveying me. “As I understand it, you are used to being a bit out of place. Hm?”

What had Mr. Sturr told them?

I was grateful for Miss Turner’s intervention, but I did not want her mothering me for the next two weeks.

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70 year old Will wakes in 1962 crouched beside a railway track about to suicide...

Through my Eyes. Again.

Robert Hart

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Robert Hart

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