Chapter 2

Excerpts fromCol’s
Diary

Monday 10th September 1962

As expected, they took my diary, but I didn’t expect them to keep it for several days. When ‘my interrogator’ arrived in my room after breakfast today, she had it with her. There were two sessions with her – the first of which gave me quite a shock and made me stop and look at myself. The second was more normal – that is, normal for a person being interrogated by British Intelligence. I’ll try to write them honestly, as they happened...

My interrogator placed my diary on the table next to her. Jennifer (as she’s told me to call her, but it could be a false name) is a probably in her early thirties and has a sense of humour along with perfectly accented German. She read back my jibes at ‘British Security’ with a wry smile. But then her voice hardened. “Why are you deliberately annoying the people who will decide your future?”

There was a flutter of alarm at her words, but I folded my arms and stared back at her. “I’m not.”

We glared at each other across the table, but the flutter became a churn and my eyes slipped away from hers, a touch of shame blushing my cheeks. “Alright, yes I am ... was.” My eyes locked back on hers. “But I’m bored and you’re not letting me speak with Mutti.” I felt the blush return when I heard the petulance in my voice.

Jennifer watched, her demeanour giving nothing away. “Col, what do you think we are trying to do here?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer this. “What do you mean?”

Jennifer’s smile was thin as she paused before going on. “Why do you think we are asking you to tell your story without reference to your mother?”

Of course, I’d seen teachers in school do this. “You want to see if our stories match?”

Jennifer nodded. “And what do you think will happen if we don’t think you are telling the truth?”

Her expression held no sympathy and her eyes bored into mine. My skin prickled with fear. They couldn’t send us back ... could they? An instant geyser of panic pulsed to the surface. “No. You can’t send us back.” It was almost a shout.

Jennifer watched, unmoving, impassive.

I struggled, trying not to succumb to the fear threatening to engulf me. “Father would do terrible things to Mutti.” I felt tears in my eyes and my voice was cracking. “Please, please don’t send us back.”

Jennifer’s face remained stony.

“Please...”

An impassive Jennifer watched me and the surging wave of fear crashed over me.

My head sank onto my arms and sobs wracked me. “No, no...”

Distantly, I heard Jennifer stir. “I’ll come back later.” Then I heard the door close.

I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in increasingly horrific scenarios around my father. I was doubled over the table and, eventually, cramps in my stomach roused me and I moved, curling into myself on my bed.

We must stay here ... we couldn’t go back...

Lying there, contemplating this dark future, things became clear: no more of these games I’d played with my teachers, pushing them against their fear of my father. I felt shame heat my cheeks again as I realised that beyond the games’ current danger was cruel abuse.

That’s not who I am.

Right now, Mutti needed me to grow up and help her convince British Intelligence that we were real defectors.

I had no way of measuring time; it was perhaps an hour or so later that the door opened. I rolled over at the sound and watched Jennifer sit, once more carefully placing my diary beside her and holding a file open propped against the table’s edge. Her eyes found mine across the room, but I could read nothing there.

We continued looking at one another for perhaps a minute. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was trying to find a way to show her I was being honest. Eventually I pulled myself off my bed and sat across the table from her.

From somewhere inside me came a wavering voice. “I’m sorry I was being annoying.” It was the only thing I could think of saying.

Jennifer’s head nodded very slowly. “Thank you. Apology accepted.” Her gaze quested across me, searching.

I swallowed. “Plgh...” I cleared my throat, but my voice still came out as thin as water. “Please don’t send us back. I think he would kill Mutti.”

Jennifer surveyed me before replying. “We can help you – indeed we want to. But we have to be sure.” She glanced down at the file. “Tell me about your father.”

I gave her a confused look: we’d been here before.

Jennifer sighed slightly. “I know – you’ve told us before. But let’s go over it again.”

Remember ... no games. I wearily regurgitated information about my father... Major in the Stasi ... Mutti had found out something terrible in his past ... no, I don’t know what ... we had fled through Czechoslovakia into west Germany ... blah, blah, blah.

Jennifer stopped me occasionally, asking for more details ... where had we lived ... where did I go to school ... where was father’s office ... had I ever visited him there ... what had Mutti discovered ... don’t know ... who was father’s boss...?

I dredged my memory trying to be as detailed as I could, but I found I knew very little about my father – at least the sort of detail Jennifer sought.

And on we went ... who were my friends?

The hurt pushed my head down. “I don’t have any.” It was more a mutter.

It was Jennifer’s turn to look confused – a twelve-year-old without friends? “You must have.”

I could see her thinking and after a moment she gave me a strange look. “Do you think we’re going to send people to cause trouble for your friends?”

I looked up, surprised, and shook my head. “No ... but I suppose you could.” I looked her in the eyes, bitterness in my voice. “So, it’s just as well I don’t have any.”