Through My Eyes. Again
Copyright© 2019 by Iskander
Chapter 5
26th December 1962 - early April 1963
The weather after Christmas continued to be wet, cold, and miserable. There wasn’t even a decent storm we could watch from the cliffs while rollers crashed onto the shore as we listened to the roar and such of the pebbles. It stayed dark until about eight o’clock in the morning and was dark again by four o’clock in the afternoon.
Col and I read to each other from the same book, snuggled under blankets. Mutti Frida had somehow acquired a copy of a slim book of short stories by Heinrich Böll – the stories of a soldier’s knapsack in the first and second World Wars. Acquiring books in German was difficult, beyond what I had found in the library. Col was loving The Hobbit and I had Narnia and my otter books to follow.
In my world, the weather had changed on New Year’s Eve and we had started the coldest winter for decades.
Would that happen here?
On New Year’s Eve, it rained in the morning, but in the afternoon the temperature dropped. As dusk fell, the rain became snow with a driving wind. I loved snow and the weather matching my memories reassured me about this world. Mutti Frida refused to let me go home in such appalling weather, so I spent the night on the sofa after phoning my mother.
Come morning, the storm had blown itself out, leaving a transformed world. After an early breakfast, Col and I rugged up and walked round to my house. My mother helped us get the toboggan out of the garage from underneath a pile of old potato sacks. We took turns pulling each other along the road to the top of the Downs. Already, quite a few toboggans raced down the hill. We piled on to ours, with me in front after Col’s insistence it was my toboggan, and set off down the slope, feet splayed out either side. By the time we reached the bottom, we were laughing from pure joy. As we came to a stop, Col pulled me and we both fell off into the snow. We lay there, still laughing, until we realised people were hurtling down the hill at us and we needed to get out of the way. We walked back up the hill and worked out how to get the best speed out of our wooden steed. Half a dozen trips down and back and we’d had enough.
Col pointed to the beach, covered in what I first thought was snow, but it turned out to be green-tinged ice crystals, formed when spume blew off the waves in the storm. The sea surface was grainy, covered by more ice crystals. On the breakwaters perched a few confused and dejected seagulls, wondering what was happening to their world. I picked up a pebble from the beach and tossed it into the water – its splash was subdued as it splatted through the half-frozen surface. In my world, the sea had soon frozen, which had been amazing. After tossing a few more stones, we headed back to Col’s house for some lunch.
We took it in turns to pull the toboggan up the hill and then pulled each other along the snow-covered pavement. The council had gritter trucks out, putting a mix of salt and grit on the roads, but the few cars we saw were still sliding around. We helped push a couple that were spinning their wheels and arrived back at the house quite warm from our exertions.
Mutti Frida had cooked a delicious beef and vegetable stew. We enjoyed it with homemade German noodles instead of the usual English mashed potatoes or dumplings. Both Col and I came back for seconds, prompting another “Wachsende Kinder” chuckle from Mutti Frida. As we were eating, the day grew greyer and it started snowing again, so we stayed inside and played cards. I taught them ‘Hearts’, which they did not know. We spent a laughter-filled afternoon trying to dodge or offload the Queen of Spades – Mutti Frida lost.
It grew dark early because of the falling snow, so with candles ready in case of power cuts, Col and I snuggled under a blanket to continue reading.
“Do you think the public library can order books in German, Willi?”
I shrugged. “Perhaps. Maybe when Col starts at school in a week, they will have some.”
“That’s a good idea. Both of you must read in German – Col so he does not forget how to, and you, to strengthen your language skills.” Mutti Frida seemed to consider this for a moment, then turned to me. “When you go to senior school, will you study German, Willi?”
That seemed a lifetime away for my ‘young brain’ but also close for my ‘old brain’. These two different perspectives somewhat bemused me.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. I don’t even know if the school offers German.”
“You should find out what you can study,” Mutti Frida said with a smile. “You seem good at most things. Do you know what you want to do after you leave school?”
“I want to fly,” I said without having to think – and then squeezed my eyes closed. My old brain knew it would not be possible because of my eyesight, but that was all my young brain wanted. There would be tears before bedtime, in this life as in the last, over this problem.
I did not want to talk about it. “What about you, Col, when you leave school?” deflecting the conversation.
“I have no idea. I’ll have to wait and see where we are, I suppose.”
My young brain assumed the way things were today was the way they would be. My old brain knew change was the only constant in life. That Col might not be here, that I might lose my friend, sent a shiver down my spine. He was the best thing that had happened to me, as his namesake had been in my other life. But that Col had slipped away during our teens as we both moved around the country. I had never found him again later in life. I made a silent promise to myself it would not happen with this Col in this life.
“ ... Willi? Willi?” Col play-punched me on the biceps.
I turned to face him.
“Oh, so there is someone in there. Where did you go?” he said, smiling.
“Sorry – I was thinking.”
“Right – your turn to read out loud.” We settled back into The Hobbit, chuckling at Bilbo rushing out of the door without even a pocket-handkerchief. Later, Mutti Frida pushed me out of the house to go home.
The following days before we started at school were similar. One day, we walked through the snow along the cliff top as a storm built in the Channel. The wind whipped around us, growing stronger after we turned for home. Ice was forming; the waves surged but did not break, because of the layer of ice crystals on top. We also saw huge billows of grey-green ice crystals filling the beaches below the sea wall, piled there by the wind and waves. By the time we arrived back at Col’s house, the snowfall was heavy: we were having another blizzard. I hoped Mutti Frida would let me stay the night rather than have me walk home in such bad weather – and that did indeed happen.
Mutti Frida decided it was time we cooked her a meal. She sat on the sofa and gave cooking instructions through the open door. Fortunately, it was a simple meal of toasted ham, cheese and Gürkchen, pickled baby cucumbers, on slices of the thick rye bread Mutti Frida loved. She had been delighted to find a Polish bakery in town that produced something like the Schwarzbrot she so loved.
After we finished eating, we again played Hearts. This time, I crashed out. I spent the night sleeping on the sofa as before, swaddled in blankets. That night the sea froze – according to the news up to a mile out from the shore – and there were worries the ice could damage the pier.
A few days later, the holidays ended. After school on the first day, I hurried to Col’s house, eager to find out how he was doing.
Col was there in his school uniform, deep gloom apparent in his stance.
“How was school?” I asked.
“I hate it.” His face screwed up with emotion. “Apparently, I am a Nazi, a hun, a kraut and various other terrible names used by you English during the war.” He paused, eyes rolling. “Some of them are calling me Adolf. I hate England. I hate you English.”
His eyes showed his hurt and anger.
“There is one Polish girl who insists on calling me Szkop. I expect this is something rude in Polish.”
“Col, I’m so sorry. Have you told them you are not a Nazi – that your mother was in a concentration camp? That would help.”
“I can’t tell them. I can’t tell them anything because we need to stay hidden.” Col shouted, then turned and ran into his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him.
I was unsure of what to do. I had never been inside Col’s bedroom and entering now felt like a violation of his space, but I still knocked.
“Col? Col? Can I come in?”
Col’s faint sobs came through the door. I stood, trying to decide what to do ... Col was hurting and I needed to comfort him. I opened the door. Col was lying face down, his head buried under a pillow. I walked towards the bed and reached out, touching his shoulder.
“Col?”
There was no reaction. I sat down beside him on his bed. “Col, I’m sorry about what they said to you. Please don’t hate the English – at least not all of us.”
Col stirred and he tugged the pillow off his head before gusting out a stuttering sigh. “Willi, nein, ich hasse dich nicht. I could not hate you.” He turned to me, eyes red but with a hint of a smile on his face. “Even if you are English.”
He got up and we went into the kitchen. I stood there watching as he filled a glass with water and sipped it.
Could my old brain help Col?
“Col, part of my problem is being bullied at school. I’ve discovered that ignoring it seems to be the best way. It doesn’t stop but it fades over time. I’m hoping this term that it will go away.”
Col joined me at the table, gave me a grimace and sighed. “I’ve always been alone at school. In Leipzig, all the other children knew my father was Stasi, so even the children of party members were careful around me.”
“Stasi?”
“Staatssicherheitsdienst – the State Security Ministry has its tentacles everywhere. The rulers of the DDR do not trust the population. After all, the people gave their loyalty to the Nazis – and some leaders, like my father, were Nazis too. At least that’s what Mutti thinks. No-one trusts anyone very much and no trust at all is given to those with connections to the Stasi.”
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