Author's note: I confess I didn't exactly study up on the reality factor of this chapter either. My descriptions of London are based mainly off the images created in children's literature (When the Siren Wailed / by Noel Streatfeild, Goodnight Mister Tom / by Michelle Magorian, and A Tale of Time City / by Diana Wynne Jones). Plus a lot of private imagination of course.

The scene upon their arrival in New York is based on the final scenes of the original German-Austrian version of The Sound of Music: the movie Die Familie Trapp.

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Helga could cry when she saw London again. She had visited it at the time when she was helping with the summer camps, and had loved the beauty of the old city. Was it really only seven years ago?

Yet all she saw now were ruins and craters and rubble.

Her mother sensed her mood. "Come on. We've got to find out about passenger ships to America."

Helga swallowed. "Shouldn't we contact Geor... I mean, my father, too?"

"Maybe. How much money did the American officer give you?"

Helga dug it up and counted it quickly. "Fifty pounds. That's quite a lot. But should it be enough for passage to America, do you think?"

"I don't know. We'll have to go and ask."

After frequent inquiries, three times getting lost in the huge London maze of alleys and ruins, and two necessary visits to an air-raid shelter, they finally found the office they were looking for.

"To America?" The lady at the counter raised her eyebrows till they touched her hairline. "So where are you from? You're obviously not from here. I'd almost think your accent was bloody German."

"We are German," Irmgard said quietly, and the lady all but staggered back.

"Murderers!" she gasped. And then more loudly, "Murderers! You killed my daughter, you killed my husband...! And yet you dare to come here and...!"

Helga quickly pulled her mother out of the little office. "Maybe you shouldn't have said that," she chided softly.

Her mother gave her a look. "Well, we are German, aren't we? And they're killing our loved ones, too!" She sighed. "Oh well... Even if I hadn't said anything, she was bound to ask for our papers. Then she would have known anyway."

"Let's find another company and try again," Helga suggested.

It took them two days to track down the next office, but the reception there was much the same. And the third...

The old codger glared at them from over his reading glasses. "We don't do business with the Jerries."

"But all we want is to buy two tickets to America," Helga tried in her most persuasive tone. "There's nothing illegitimate about that, is there?"

"Perhaps not," the man scoffed. "But it's company policy: 'don't let the bloody Jerries escape what they're doing to us'. So you can stay right here where you are, and run the same chances as all of us of getting killed in the next bloody air-raid."

There was nothing left for them to do but to leave once again.

Dejectedly, they wandered around for a while without saying much. Was this to be their fate – to bear the curse of their people, even though neither of them had ever been involved with the Nazis, the killing, or the bombing raids on London?

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Irmgard observed at last. "London has been heavily damaged by the German bombers. They're still at it every day, with thousands and thousands of casualties. No wonder the people here don't want anything to do with us."

Helga looked up. "So where do you want to go?"

"Some other port town. One that's not so badly damaged from the war. Maybe the people there will be less hostile to us."

Some more asking around revealed that the city of Liverpool had two large companies of transatlantic passenger lines as well.

"Then on we go to Liverpool," Irmgard decided.

They found the right railway station, got their tickets, and embarked on the long train ride northbound.

"I really don't know how we're going to do this, mother," Helga remarked as she leaned forward for some resemblance of privacy on the packed train. "I know we slept for free in London because we had to hide out in the air-raid shelters every night. But I sincerely doubt this money is still sufficient to get us to America."

"Then we'll have to find a job in the mean time. With so many men out on the front, the demand for workers must be sky high, just like in Germany."

Helga gave her a skeptical look. "Do you think they'll let us do paid work any more than they'll let us buy tickets to America?"

Her mother patted her on the knee. "Stop worrying, sweetheart. We'll find a way."

But at the Liverpool office, they were made aware of yet another impediment for their going to America.

"You can forget it, ladies. Even if I sold you those tickets – which I won't – the Yanks would never let you get into the country."

"Why not?" Partly out of despair, Helga's curiosity was now firmly aroused. "We haven't done anything wrong, have we?"

The man leered. "Maybe. Maybe not. But the Yanks are absolutely flooded with refugees these days. You'll have to have a real strong case for them not to send you right back where you came from. As we should have done when you entered Britain in the first place! But perhaps," he added in jest, "If you have a lot of money, they might let you in. Them Yanks do like money, don't they."

"But we just want to visit a close relative of ours," Irmgard explained.

"That's what they all say." The guy grinned, showing all his yellow teeth. "But unless this 'close relative' of yours is willing to go bail for the two of you, it still won't get you into the country. And believe me – going bail is expensive. So I'm not selling you anything. You don't exactly look like you could afford a return ticket, which means we'd have to ship you back for free. And I'm not going to let this company suffer extra losses on a lost cause like the bloody German two of you."

"Thank you." Irmgard took her daughter's wrist and led her outside.

"It's obvious," she said when they were out on the sidewalk. "We're not going to get to America without your father's help. I would have preferred not to have to rely on his resources right away, but... Let's find a telegraph office."

And shortly after, a cable found its way across the Atlantic.

ARE IN LIVERPOOL UK stop IMPOSSIBLE FOR US TO GET PASSAGE TO USA stop NEED YOUR HELP AND MAYBE BAIL stop LOVE IRMGARD AND HELGA

It mopped up a major part of the funds they had left, but great was their joy after hanging around the telegraph office for an hour or two when a cable arrived for them in return – with reply paid as well.

TWO TICKETS SECURED IN YOUR NAMES WITH HARVEYS LPOOL stop SAILING THURSDAY stop MEET YOU IN NY HARBOUR stop LOVE GEORGE

They fell into each other's arms, and for a moment, Irmgard just couldn't hold back her tears. "Oh George..." She brushed futilely at her tears. "I can't believe I'll actually be seeing him again..."

Helga hugged her mother tight. "Well, you will. And soon. How long does it take to sail to New York? Ten days, fourteen days?"

They sent off a short reply expressing their thanks and hopes for a speedy reunion, found a cheap bed and breakfast hotel for the night, and returned to the ticket office in triumph the next morning.

The guy at the counter raised his eyebrows when he saw who his customers were. "You two again? Get out of here – I'm not selling you anything."

"You don't have to sell us anything," Irmgard stated with near regal dignity. "We are here merely to pick up our tickets for tomorrow's departure. Please check your list for the name of Lindner. Irmgard Lindner and Helga Lindner."

Spluttering, the man did as he was asked, and was forced to concede that two first class tickets had been booked and paid for under those names. So he asked for their papers, compared the names in the utmost detail, and could do nothing but take out his ticketbook and write out the tickets for them.

But nothing could stop him from cursing every living and breathing Jerry under his breath as he did so.

And, "Thank you," Irmgard said with far too much exaggerated gratitude to be taken seriously.

Even by a fool.


The camp truck jerked to a halt, and immediately, Langenscheidt jumped out of the back. And almost tripped over his own feet.

The young private inside chuckled inwardly. How this new camp he was sent to could function properly with a klutz like this corporal and that tub of lard that called itself a sergeant was a mystery to him. With such jailors, surely the prisoners would fly out of here like pigeons?

There was the tub of lard. "Raus! Raus mit dir!"

Wary as always around enemies with a fire-arm within reach, he got up and jumped out of the back of the truck. And was immediately addressed by someone coming from behind the car.

"Hello there. Welcome to Stalag 13!"

He spun around, noticed the U.S. colonel's insignia on the collar, and jumped to stiff attention. "Private Martin J. Hagley reporting, sir."

Hogan returned the salute. "At ease, Private. Had a good trip?"

A puzzled frown creased the young man's forehead. "Pardon?" That wasn't exactly standard officer's behaviour, was it? Not that he had come across many colonels so far...

Hogan smiled jovially. "Never mind. Schultz, can we take him to his barracks?"

"No, no, no, Colonel Hogan! You know that new prisoners must always go to the Kommandant first."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, to be told that they've now come to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, and that no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13, and if he tries anyway, he will suffer the consequences, ladeedah, ladeedah."

"Exactly. So, Colonel Hogan..."

"Don't worry, Schultz. We can tell him that. We needn't bother the Kommandant."

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz stomped his foot, and Hagley caught himself in looking back and forth between the two of them with his mouth open.

"I know you can tell him that. Believe me – I think you can tell him that much better than the Kommandant can. But regulations specifically state that new prisoners must be..."

Hogan waved the remainder of his words away. "Alright, Schultz, have it your way." He turned and gestured for Hammond to join them. "Hammond, this is Private Martin Hagley – Hagley, this is Sergeant Paul Hammond, one of our long term residents here."

Hagley began to salute this senior noncom officer, too, but Hammond gave him a fatherly grin and a firm handshake. "Hi."

"Once you've made the Kommandant's acquaintance, Hammond here will show you around our little country club and tell you everything you need to know."

Another salute. "Yes, sir."

Hogan returned it a lot less professionally this time. "And quit the saluting, will you? We've got several hundred men here. If I'd have to return the saluting of each and every one of them all the time, soon my arm would fall off!"

Hagley automatically started to salute again with his next, "Yes sir," caught himself, blushed with embarrassment and dropped his hand with an awkward grimace. "Sorry, sir."

"Alright, come along now," Schultz admonished him. "To the Kommandant with you. And don't forget to salute him now, or he will be very angry!"

But Hogan stopped them once more, taking the young man by the shoulder and telling him half under his breath, "By the way, a little bird told me that your father hasn't been updated on your fate since you got captured. An oversight from the War Office no doubt. So why don't you write him a long uncensored letter this afternoon, and I'll make sure it goes with tonight's airmail to England, okay? Hammond here can surely scrounge up some paper for you."

Private Martin J. Hagley had barely time to recover from his surprise before he was ushered into the Kommandant's office...


Apart from the remnants of a small spring storm, the trip across the Atlantic had been fairly uneventful. Just water – water and sky from one horizon to the other. Helga found it gave her an unprecedented sense of freedom, and she spent much of her days on deck, watching the endless dance of the waves around them.

But when finally the monotony of water and sky was interrupted by the first sight of the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the passengers all jostled each other for the best places along the guard rail.

Little by little, more of the New World came in sight. Aside from the imposing skyscrapers, there were factories, houses, a huge port, low, wooded lands further to the side – and the famous statue of Liberty, for which they seemed to be straightly headed.

As they came closer still, they were able to make out trees, cars and people. Waving people on the quay.

Irmgard grabbed her daughter's hand. "Do you think he's there? Among them?"

Helga smiled at her mother's eagerness. "I'm sure he is. He seems like the kind of man who'd never break a promise if he could help it."

Her mother's eyes beamed as they eagerly searched among the miniature human figures on the shore. And Helga reflected for the millionth time since she had shown her father's letter to her mother that she really ought to find a way to give her parents some time together. Without her. More and more had she become convinced these past few weeks that her mother was – finally! – rekindling the embers of her old feelings for her father. And if anyone wanted to see those two happily together, it was she – Helga Lindner. She'd just have to find a way to detach herself from them now and then to give them some much needed privacy – no matter how much she herself longed to get to know her father.

Now all she could pray was that meeting him after all these years wouldn't turn out to be a massive disappointment. Especially not for her mother...

The ship moored at the quayside, and the passengers were summoned by loudspeaker to gather their belongings and prepare to go ashore. Irmgard and Helga joined in the expectant hustle and bustle that followed, and twenty minutes later, they finally set foot on American soil.

Irmgard heaved a sigh. "We're there, Helga."

"Not yet." Her daughter nodded to the customs officers in their little cabins ahead. "Only when we're past them, then we'll really be in America."

The queue progressed slowly. Some of their fellow passengers were sent to the left, others to the right. From what she had learned during the voyage, Helga noticed that apparently all American citizens were sent to the right. Yet also some of those who had claimed other nationalities were sent that way, instead of to the left where most of the non-Americans were directed.

Strange... But then, perhaps if her father had already arranged bail for them (as he most probably would have to, as she had learned), then they'd let the two of them through right away, too?

No such luck though. When they showed their papers, their names were copied onto a list, but they were both inexorably sent off to the left, and found themselves in a large, crowded room with barred windows high up in the wall. Men in uniform patrolled up on the catwalk a few meters above the ground.

Helga put down her small suitcase and sat down on it – failing any other suitable place to sit. "We're in prison," she said wryly.

"Your father will get us out. Soon." Irmgard was the last to lose faith now that she'd come so close.

Helga looked around at the mix of nationalities in the room, and listened to the variety of foreign languages spoken. "I've always wondered what it's like," she mused.

"What?"

"Being a prisoner. You can't help thinking about that when you work in a prison camp yourself – and are free to leave every day at half past five in the afternoon."

Her mother looked amused. "That American officer we met didn't strike me as a typical prisoner."

Helga chuckled. "He's not. Believe me – he's anything but an ordinary prisoner."

Suddenly a speaker system blared to life. "Miss Karin Jarryd, report to the office, please. Miss Karin Jarryd, to the office."

"I suppose she got her bail paid," Helga remarked as they watched a young lady who'd been with them on the boat scrambling her belongings together.

A few minutes later, the loudspeaker crackled again. "Mr. Leonardo Brunamonti and family, to the office, please. Mr. Leonardo Brunamonti and family, to the office."

The obviously Italian family attracted everybody's attention as father, mother and five children under the age of ten erupted in chaos to gather up their belongings. There was even a second call for them before they made it to the office, chattering and all.

Shortly after that, there was a call for a Mr. Hans van Dieren and family, for a Mr. Czeslaw Kleszcz (a name that proved to be a real tongue twister for the speaker, causing some chuckles among the waiting), for a Mrs. Soetkin Liekens, a Mr. Flemming Nygaard and family, a Mr. David Rubinstein and family, a Miss Niav Callaghan...

"Miss Irmgard Lindner and Miss Helga Lindner, please report to the office. Miss Irmgard..."

Before the announcement was completely repeated, they were already at the door. The guard took a doorhandle from his pocket and opened the door for them. And Irmgard practically rushed in. "George!"

She stopped dead in her tracks. There was only one man in the room – behind the desk. And there was no way he could be the George B. Hagley she had met twenty-five years ago.

"You got yourselves a bailsman, ladies," he said not unfriendly. "Here are your visitor's permits. They are valid for three months, so you will have to leave the country again on August the 16th. Is that understood?"

"Yes – yes, of course."

Helga glanced at her mother. She seemed absolutely distraught. So just to be sure, she accepted both their permits from the officer herself. "Thank you, sir."

He gave her a smile. "Well, enjoy your stay then, ladies!" He opened another door for them that opened up into a brightly lit arrival hall.

There were about two dozen people gathered there, in eager anticipation of their loved ones coming through that forbidding door.

But there was only one man whose breath caught in his throat at the sight of her – bearing such a close resemblance to the army nurse he had met and fallen in love with all those years ago. Her father.

His eyes however immediately darted to her companion. And she watched as their eyes locked – and never seemed to want to let go of each other again.

And they just stood there, the two of them, taking in each other without a word. A faint smile began to play around her mother's lips. Her father's features – creased with worry and grief – seemed to soften. And when in the end his hand hesitantly reached out to hers, and her grasping it firmly, Helga, too, felt tears gathering in her eyes as she understood that all would be well – and all would be well.

They were snapped out of their spell when another large, loud and chaotic Mediterranean family emerged from the office and were greeted by their equally loud and chaotic relatives.

George gently ushered Irmgard aside a little – and suddenly remembered Helga again. "So this is my daughter," were his very first words.

They took each other in and smiled simultaneously. And he said, "Let me give you that hug that's so long overdue."

And suiting the action to the word, he proved that from now on, she truly, honestly would have a real father.