Chapter Twenty Five
When The War Is Over
Somewhere over Schweinfurt, Bavaria, Germany, 14th October 1943.
The first burst of flak had hit number four engine, while the second destroyed number three, also located on the starboard wing; others hit the radio room and the ball turret, before a final shell exploded in the nose of the Flying Fortress, shattering the plaxiglas.
With the emergency door kicked out, of the three of the crew who were left alive in the waist on board the blazing B17, with his hair singed and his flying suit beginning to smoulder, having discarded his steel helmet and clipped on his parachute, James was the last to bail out. And as he did so, and the white silk folds of his chute deployed, above him, the crippled Flying Fortress exploded in a fiery ball of flame.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1943.
"Thank you again, for letting me know, captain". Watched by Robert, Saiorse, whom he had called to the telephone when the call had come through from Captain Draper of the USAAF down in Norfolk, walked to the foot of the main staircase, where she promptly burst into tears. Robert was there in an instant, holding her close. He had seen this sort of thing so many times before. The news that in all likelihood, someone one knew, had been killed in action.
1944.
For the Allies, 1944 began promisingly enough, with the Red Army entering Poland, then sweeping westwards towards the Baltic states; in Italy the British attacked Monte Cassino at the western end of the Gustav Line, while in the skies over Germany, as Squadron Leader Robert Crawley might have told you, the RAF continued with its bombing of Berlin, and then of Leipzig, and far away in the Pacific, the Americans landed in the MarshalI Islands and began air attacks on Japanese held Saipan, Guam, and Tinian, better known as the Mariana Islands.
For others, the new year did not begin nearly so well.
Stalag Luft I, Barth, Western Pomerania, Germany, January 1944.
Despite the supplies furnished them by the YMCA, such as books for the library, musical instruments, phonographs, records, and sports equipment - softball, football and volleyball proved the most popular - for most of the inmates, nothing could overcome the mind numbing boredom of being incarcerated in a German POW camp. Added to which, in the wintertime, there was incessant cold, as well as the continual lack of adequate washing facilities, the lice, and the unpredictable nature of the Goons, the camp guards. And, in terms of unpleasantness, not necessarily in that order.
As to the food, or rather what passed for it: three pieces of black bread with cheese or jam for breakfast, two pieces of bread with meat, fish, or jam for lunch, perhaps a thin, watery soup, quite what it was made of, it was best not to enquire too closely, and potatoes, vegetables, meat, and pie for dinner. Meagre fare indeed when it arrived, which sometimes it did not. And with it now being winter and the German guards' own rations having been cut, so too were those of the POWs. Had it not been for food parcels from both the American and the British Red Cross, things would have been even worse, while the arrival of mail from home was infrequent.
Here, on a bleak strip of land, jutting into the cold waters of the Baltic Sea, with the sound of the waves breaking against the walls of Barth Harbour clearly audible, awaiting roll call on this cold January morning, Lieutenant James A. Curtis stood looking disconsolately at the forest of snow clad pine trees beyond the barbed wire. With the sea to the north and to the east, the pine forest to the west, and with the camp surrounded by miles of barbed wire, watched over by guards in wooden towers equipped with both machine guns and search lights, any chance of escape looked to be a forlorn hope.
Police Court, Clifford Street, York, February 1944.
"How do you plead?"
Here in court in the building on Clifford Street, the silence within the panelled room was absolute; so utterly complete, that one could have heard the dropping of the proverbial pin.
Alec raised his head and then looked straight ahead of him, seemingly directly at the Royal coat-of arms, with its boastful motto: Dieu Et Mon Droit - "God and My Right": the visual symbol of an institution which he wished to see abolished, invoking the munificence of a deity in the existence of whom he did not believe.
Parish Church, Downton, January 1944.
It was cold, and outside, there was thick snow upon the ground.
Save for old Mr. Charles, now practising with gusto on the organ up in the chancel, busy readying himself for the hymns to be sung at Matins on Sunday morning, and who was presently playing the tune Repton which, ever since his days at school in Ripon, had been one of Simon's favourites, Alec and Simon were alone. Seated here together, in the glacial chill and the deep cold of the Crawley Chapel, and thankfully unobserved by the elderly organist, it seemed to Simon that from the surrounding multitude of monuments there now gazed silently down upon him the disapproving eyes of countless past generations of his aristocratic ancestors. Glancing towards the altar, he saw the modest incised granite plaque commemorating Grandpapa and beside it that for Grandmama; although he knew well enough that while somewhere below his feet, his grandfather lay entombed in the Crawley vault, there was no such resting place for his grandmother. For when, back in the summer of 1941, that German bomber had crashed onto the Dower House, such had been the intensity of the fire which had ensued, no bodies had ever been recovered.
Despite the organ playing, both Alec and Simon still spoke softly, their voices hushed almost to little more than whispers.
"You do believe me, don't you?" That I didn't ... didn't do anything. When that soldier suggested that ... I told him to get lost".
Simon nodded his head.
"Of course I do. Why would I think otherwise?" As if to reinforce the truth of what he had just said, he enfolded Alec's hand in his own, both for warmth and also by way of reassurance.
A moment later and Alec shook his head in disbelief.
"What?"
"The more I think about it all, the more I'm certain there's something about that night that doesn't add up. It was as if ..."
"As if what?"
"As if, he 'd been waiting in there for me ... I remember there was another man in the gents but he paid him no attention. None whatsoever. Waited for him to leave before he ..."
"And you'd never seen him before?"
"Never, and yet he knew my name".
"Perhaps he overheard me make use of it ... when we were in the snug".
"I don't see how. There was no-one else in there, except for the two of us. But now you come to mention it, I do seem to remember seeing him at the bar when I went to order those last couple of pints, although to be honest I didn't pay him that much attention. I was more intent on getting back to the snug so we could carry on making plans. And those two police officers ..."
"What about them?"
"Well, think about it, Si'. There wasn't time for that soldier to have been to the police station to make a complaint, which suggests that they were in on it too. Perhaps waiting somewhere in the shadows, close at hand".
"In on it?"
"A setup".
"Setup?"
"All arranged beforehand".
"But why?"
"Search me!" Alec shrugged.
Police Court, Clifford Street, York, February 1944.
"Guilty," Alec said in a firm and loud voice.
The magistrate duly entered Alec's plea.
"Be seated". The magistrate nodded to the police inspector who duly produced his notebook and read out a verbatim account of what it was said had transpired in the gentlemen's' toilets in the yard of the the public house here in the city the month before last.
Alec was ordered to stand.
"Have you anything to say?"
"No, sir".
"Then, sentenced to fourteen months with hard labour. Take him down".
Watching Alec from the public gallery, Simon's eyes were brim full of tears. He wanted to scream the place down. But he didn't do it! He didn't do anything at all! I know he didn't!"
Armley Gaol, Leeds, March 1944.
"But why, Alec? Why in God's Name plead guilty to something you haven't done?"
"Because it was me they were after, Si', and because ... the police made it perfectly clear that if I pleaded guilty, then you'd be kept out of it".
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Who else?"
"I don't understand".
"And there's something else too, which concerns ... your mother".
"Mama?"
"A few days ago, someone in here for a similar ... matter, told me something about a firm of solicitors in Manchester. Apparently ..."
Drawing Room, Downton Abbey, March 1944.
Of course, he had known this day would have to come; when he had to explain himself to his parents, how he felt, his feelings towards Alec, what he intended to do, but now that it had arrived, following what Alec had told him over there in Armley, he felt strangely elated. That being so, Simon now stood his ground.
"Alec's decent, kind, and honourable. And I know I want to spend my life with him!"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"I'm not being ridiculous. That's how it is. That's how I feel. And besides, it's not your decision to make, Mama!"
"Really? I will not have you drag this family's name into the gutter by such a common, lewd association, let alone such disgusting conduct".
"Common, lewd association? Just what disgusting conduct did you have in mind, Mama?"
Choosing to ignore her son, Mary spun on her heel, and instead rounded on Matthew, who so far had said very little on the matter.
"Well, your his father, say something, damn' it!"
"What on earth can I say?"
Mary shook her head in utter disbelief.
"Oh, for God's sake, Matthew! All your life you've been the same. You don't like confrontation. You never have. You just drift away".
"Mary, that's hardly fair. In any case, I've told you before, I prefer to win my battles ..."
"By diplomacy. Yes, yes. I've heard it before. We all have. But in practice what does that mean? You tell me that!"
"Mary, I ..."
"I tell you what it means it means, Matthew Crawley! When something needs to be addressed, it's me that has to deal with it. It always has been. This ... this threatens all of us, our family, our good name, our position here in this county. I won't have it!"
"If Simon's made up his mind about this, we can hardly ..."
Now choosing to ignore Matthew, Mary swung back to Simon.
"As for you, young man, you will take the position which was offered to you out there in Canada".
"I will do no such thing!"
Mary chose to ignore Simon's outburst.
"And while the necessary arrangements are put in place, your allowance will be stopped, and you will remain here in this house ..."
"Mama ! Don't be bloody ridiculous! I don't want your money. In any case, what are you going to do? Lock me up?"
For Mary, memory now stirred. The sudden remembrance of the confrontation, all those years ago, between dear, darling Papa and dearest Sybil.
I don't want any money and you can hardly lock me up.
"You are never to see this man again. Is that understood? And by the time he is released from prison ..."
Mary stopped what she was saying; but it was too late. Having let her temper get the better of her, she had already said far more than she had intended.
"I said nothing about Alec being in prison".
"Yes, you did".
"No, Mama, I didn't".
"You must have!"
Now, with a sudden reality dawning, the scales dropped from Simon's eyes.
"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked quietly.
"Me?"
"Alec said that none of it made any sense. That he had been ... setup. When I went to see him, in prison, he said someone in there had told him that ..."
"I don't know what you're talking ..."
"Don't lie to me, Mama!"
"How dare you! What I did, it was for your own good ..."
Simon shook his head.
"How could you? And out of good still to find means of evil," said Simon softly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Something Alec once said. It's from Milton's Paradise Lost".
"Simon, please ..."
"I will never forgive you for this Mama. Never".
Simon turned abruptly on his heel and quitted the room, leaving his parents to stand speechless, looking helplessly, the one to the other.
Drawing Room, Crawley House, Downton, later that same day.
"So, he is here then?"
For the moment, Edith said nothing. Like Simon, somewhat earlier in the day, she simply stood her ground
"Well?" demanded Mary peremptorily.
"If he is, and I'm not saying he is, the truth is, Simon doesn't want to see you".
Mary's nostrils flared and colour flooded across her cheeks.
"How would you know that if he wasn't ... After all I've done for Kurt ... what I did for darling Max ... you'd deny me the right to speak with my own son?"
At the mention of darling Max, Edith's eyes glistened. She looked down at little Josef, seated in her lap, contentedly blowing bubbles; spared a thought too for young Kurt who thankfully was at school and so not at home to hear anything of what now was taking place.
"Mary, darling, I'm not denying you anything. Friedrich, darling, tell her, please!" In desperation, Edith looked helplessly from her elder sister and to her husband who was standing over by the door leading to the hall.
"Mary, Edith has the right in this. After all, Simon's a man grown, a war hero decorated by the King ... If he doesn't want to see you, then ..."
Mary rose to her feet.
"Very well then. Be it on your own heads!"
"Whatever do you mean by that?" asked Edith nervously.
Mary glanced round the elegantly furnished, panelled room.
"This house is estate property, is only leased to you, let to you on a peppercorn rent, the furnishings too ..."
"Mary, you can't mean that you would ..." Friedrich sounded appalled.
Mary said nothing further, but swept out of the room. A moment later, and they heard the front door slam shut behind her.
Friedrich came to stand beside Edith. Resting his hand gently on her shoulder, he looked fondly down at their grandson.
"Sie verärgert ... she doesn't mean it, you know ... She's upset".
"I know. But could she ..."
"Nein natürlich nicht. All the same, I'll speak to Matthew. Ask him to try and make Mary see some kind of sense in all of this ..."
Crawley House, Downton, that evening.
"So, where exactly is it that you intend to go?"
"Alec has a half-sister; living over in Keighley. That's near Leeds. She's offered me a roof over my head; until all the furore dies down. Here's the address. You can write to me there, care of her. Her husband works on the canals. Lost his arm in the Great War and needs someone to help him with the locks. A pair of crocks together! So at least I won't either starve or else freeze to death".
Edith nodded. Her eyes glistened. This was not the way it should be. While she would not condone the nature of the relationship between Simon and this man Foster, Simon was her nephew. Had it been either of her two sons, darling Max, or dearest little Kurt who, when they were men grown had entered into such a relationship, while not approving of it, knowing too how matters stood as regards the law, whether in Austria or over here in England, Edith knew she would not have reacted in the way Mary had done. But then that was the difference between them. Mary always had been so concerned about both position and society. Even if it had taken darling Tom and dearest Sybil to show her the way, long ago, Edith had realised that such things were ephemeral and of little account, especially now, given the way society had changed in the aftermath of the Great War. And now, given this second world war, how it was changing further still.
"Then take this". Edith enfolded Simon's hands within her own. "It's not much but it's all I have at the moment. And, if you want me to do so, then I'll also write and tell your Uncle Tom and Aunt Sybil, what it is that's happened ... and why".
"Write by all means, but I can't take money from you, Aunt Edith!" Simon sounded utterly appalled.
"It's the very least I can do. Especially after I failed to make your mother see sense. That not everyone chooses to live their lives …"
"I know, but Mama won't listen. Nonetheless, I'm truly grateful for all that you tried to do earlier".
The clock on the mantle piece chimed the half hour.
"Well, my train's at seven. Time I was off".
"Simon, darling, won't you reconsider ..."
"Aunt Edith, you did your very best, to try and smooth things over. But, like Danny, like Rob, like ... Max, I want my own chance at happiness; even if that now has to wait until Alec is released next year".
He bent down to kiss her and then shouldered his pack from off the floor.
The sun was off the fields when Edith stood at the front door to see Simon go; watched him as he set off, limping down the path, through the gate, and then turned the corner, where he disappeared out of sight.
When the seven o'clock train pulled out of the station, Simon was on it.
And was gone from the village.
Skerries House, County Cork, Ireland, April 1944.
"And does Aunt Edith say where it is that Simon's gone, Ma?" asked Danny.
"No, although apparently he told her, but then swore her to secrecy".
"I'm not surprised Matthew's feckin' angry with Mary. I know I would be if yous did something like that but then yous never would".
Sybil permitted herself the briefest of smiles.
"I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Branson!"
"Take it how yous will, darlin'! If what Matthew told me on the telephone is true, then what Mary did was unforgivable. After all these years, I would have thought that she would have ..."
"Tom, darling, you know as well as I do that Mary's always been her own worst enemy".
"From what Edith goes on to say here, now that tempers have cooled and the dust's settled somewhat, it sounds as though she thought she was acting in Simon's best interests. I don't think even she intended it would lead to ..."
"Well, she bloody well ought to! So now she and Matthew are at loggerheads, Mary, Friedrich and Edith are daggers drawn after her threat to evict them from Crawley House, and Simon's disappeared! Jaysus! As if what with the Emergency and the war we didn't have enough feckin' trouble for sure!"
"Rob and Saiorse are very upset about Simon too, Da".
"Of course they are, son. That's only to be expected, for sure".
"Well thank God at least those two have come to their senses" exclaimed Sybil.
"Yous mean about ..."
"That damned American, yes!" Sybil looked over to where Danny lounged in the doorway. "Curtis, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Ma. Yous know it was".
"While I'm glad he isn't dead, I can't say that I'm at all sorry he's now a POW. If you ask me, over there in Germany, he's out of harm's way and can't cause any more mischief. But for this damned war, none of this would ever have happened. That's not to say I didn't give your sister a piece of my mind when she told me what had been going on". The look of amusement on the faces of both Tom and Danny did not go unnoticed, or unchallenged, by Sybil.
"And woe betide either of you, if you dare to suggest that I haven't enough of a mind to be giving a piece of it to Saiorse ..."
"Perish the thought!" laughed Tom. Then he grew serious. "What about the girl in the Resistance, the one Rob met over there in France?"
"From what Max said, her brother told Rob she'd been shot by the Germans, Da".
Tom nodded.
"Yes, of course".
"Max said that Rob intended to make some provision for the baby, something which Saiorse agrees with, even though there's no actual proof the child is his. Of course, until the war ends, there's nothing he can do," said Danny.
"Changing the subject, have you heard from Claire again?"
"Yes, Ma," said Danny, through gritted teeth. "I had a letter from her just last month".
"I meant more recently than that".
"No, Ma. I don't expect to. She's got exams, remember?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Sybil, applying herself to wiping Rober's runny nose. The little boy snuffled, then giggled. Of Danny and Carmen's three boys he was the only one to have fair hair. With his infectious grin and sunny temperament, he reminded Sybil so much of darling Bobby who, if he had lived, would have been eighteen this very year.
From the window, Tom and Sybil watched as Danny, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overalls, headed off down towards the old stables where he had set up his motor repair workshop, kicking disconsolately at the gravel of the forecourt as he went.
"He used to do that when he was a boy and upset. Remember?" asked Tom.
Sybil nodded.
"Yes, he did. I wonder if he's asked her?"
"I'll lay you ten to one that he has," said Tom with a grin.
"There's no denying he's head over heels," agreed Sybil.
"But whether she feels the same way about him ..."
"Good looking, charming, personable ..."
"That's me you're describing darlin'!"
"Tom, be serious!"
Tom laughed.
"I was! Very well then, as you said, good looking, charming, personable, fit and healthy, a change after all those wounded chaps Claire sees in the hospital, single ..."
"Single? Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. But there's the rub, darling. Each of them is single, but in name only. Caught by the past: that's their trouble. The both of them".
"For sure," agreed Tom.
As in so many things, Sybil had the right of it.
Beside the old stables, well away from prying eyes, Danny pulled out the latest letter, now creased and oil stained, which he had received from Claire and which, despite what he had said to Ma, had arrived here but a couple of days since. Claire had told him that he never said what he meant but now that he had, declared his hand so to speak, all he seemed to have done was to make matters worse. Of course, it was true enough that she had examinations to pass; that it made sense that Claire concentrate on those, while the rest of her time was occupied with trips either up to Downton to see Josef and his grandparents or else, and far less often, down to Devonshire to see her own family.
"Well I'm not Max, for sure ..." he had written.
"And I'm not Carmen ..." she had replied.
And there, so to speak, at least for the present, the matter rested.
Drawing Room, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1944.
"Well, at least that's some good news," said Matthew now standing up, at the same time watching the retreating forms of both Robert and Saiorse as, hand in hand, they left the Drawing Room.
"Another grandchild to look forward to". Mary looked up. "I can scarcely believe it".
Matthew nodded.
"Neither can I. Now, as to what we were discussing before Robert and Saiorse came in to tell us both their happy news. As I was saying, it's called entrapment".
"Entrapment?"
"Exactly so. Where someone is induced to commit a crime when, all other things being equal, they would not have committed it. Generally speaking, the law does not look favourably upon such actions - as Tomlinson would have known". Matthew's facial expression said it all; it registered total disgust. "And while I, like you, do not approve of the relationship between Simon and this man Foster, you had no business doing what you did. The main thing now is to have Simon come home to us. Then we can take stock and decide what to do. In his letter, the one Edith told us she prevailed upon him to write, he said that he was fine, not to worry ... All the same I ..." Matthew shook his head in obvious disbelief. "Mary, darling, I can understand why you did what you did, even if it was misguided. If only you'd come to me first". Matthew sighed. "But what's done is done. That Percy Tomlinson should have stooped so low as to use such tactics, to employ such creatures in the first place ... I told you before ... that I didn't approve of some of his methods". Matthew glanced over at the clock. "Anyway, I've a meeting with the Trustees of the hospital, and I'm late as it is already. We'll talk about this again when I return".
"Do you hate me very much?" Her face ashen, Mary looked up at him from the sofa.
"Hate you? Mary, that's an appalling word to use, about anyone, whatever the circumstances. After all we've shared together down the years, the children, Downton? Do you really think I could ever do that?" Matthew shook his head vehemently. "Never. Never anything remotely like that. We've made our fair share of mistakes, you and I. And sometimes, you're like a bull in a china shop! Admittedly this is one of your more spectacular blunders but, given time, hopefully matters may yet be put to rights".
"So ... you're not angry with me?"
"No. Not angry. Disappointed? Yes. Very. And that, my darling, is because I know that what you've said is true enough. That you thought you were acting in Simon's best interests". Matthew jabbed at the letter that had arrived from Ireland this very morning. "But as Tom says here, as Edith tried to tell you too, we have to accept that some people want to live their lives differently to the way we live ours. And while neither of us may approve of the choice Simon's made, as Tom says, it isn't our decision to make. It's up to Simon. He's a man grown. And in the end, the matter rests with him. All that apart, you had no business to threaten Friedrich and Edith with eviction. I know you were upset, but really! After all they've been through. I'm so very glad you took my advice and apologised. I know that can't have been easy for you".
"No, it wasn't," admitted Mary. Eating humble pie was not an experience she cared to repeat.
Matthew nodded. Then he did something which, in all the circumstances, Mary had not expected. He bent down and kissed her.
"Now, I must be off".
Remaining seated where she was, Mary watched him go. It seemed that darling Tom had the right of it; but for all that, Mary could not help but wonder if it had been one of Tom and Sybil's own children, would he still have been so sanguine about such a turn of events. She thought not. As for Friedrich and Edith, well, she had apologised, and the two sisters had come to an accommodation of sorts and an uneasy truce now prevailed between the abbey and Crawley House. But for all this, things were not as they had once been before the business of Simon, even though Mary resumed her Saturday morning rides out round the estate with young Kurt on Festus.
More to the point, despite the best entreaties Matthew could muster, Simon remained resolute.
He would not come back to Downton.
Autumn, 1944.
Following the Allied landings on the beaches of Normandy, along with those in the south of France, with the invasion of Europe well underway, the Americans capturing Rome, the large scale and repeated bombing of Germany, including Berlin, and with the Russians advancing steadily ever westwards, the war in Europe with all its attendant horrors, let alone what was unfolding in the Far East, began to seem increasingly far removed, indeed very remote, from Downton, where life went on much as before. The masters and boys from St. Dominic's School finally returned to Sussex - even Mary had to admit that the abbey seemed very empty without them in residence - and with some building materials at last having been sourced, the National Trust commenced a comprehensive scheme of repairs to the north side of the house.
With Robert now having been posted to RAF Elvington, south east of York, to act as liaison officer with the two squadrons of the Free French Air Force stationed there, among whose numbers was Captain Perrault, Marie's brother, the only member of the extended Crawley family who was now genuinely at risk, was Claire, still up in London, and continuing to pursue her medical studies.
Understandably, Claire's own father, along with Friedrich, Edith, and Danny all worried about her incessantly. Nonetheless, despite the large number of people who did choose to leave the capital in the face of what came to be known as the Baby Blitz, in which Robert, before his latest posting, had played a part, by shooting down a Junkers 88 over London back in March, followed by the unleashing by Germany of the V1s and V2s, Claire took all of the ensuing destruction and mayhem in her stride. In her letters written to her family down in Devonshire, to Friedrich and Edith up in Downton, and across the sea to Danny over in Ireland, she said that, given what both she and darling Max had been through when the East End had been bombed, what they had endured together in the destruction of Exeter, she was not going to be deterred from completing her medical studies by a fresh round of bombing of the capital by the Luftwaffe. Had he been alive, Max would not have turned tail and run; he would have stayed put. And so would she, which she now proceeded to do, cocking a snook at the Germans, remaining defiant in Bloomsbury, enduring both the buzz bombs and the doodlebugs.
The war went on: France was liberated, de Gaulle arrived in Paris, the Germans were retreating on all fronts, and everyone hoped that in Europe, if not in the Far East, it would all soon be over, hopefully before Christmas, but as Matthew observed wryly to Tom, he had heard this said before, back in 1914. And in December, shortly before Christmas, the sixth of the war, Tom wrote to Matthew, asking if he had Second Sight, when the Germans counter attacked on the Western Front, in heavy snow, through the thickly forested hills of the Ardennes, in what came to be know as the Battle of the Bulge, where the Americans bore the brunt of the unexpected thrust against the Allied lines. Thankfully, eventually, the German attack faltered, then stalled, and, in the new year, as the weather improved, the Allies pressed onwards, eastwards, and into Germany.
Zähringerstrasse, Heidelberg, Baden, Germany, 31st March 1945.
Given what was presently happening elsewhere in Germany, Margarethe Branson knew that, here in Heidelberg, they had been far luckier than most. Unlike other places such as neighbouring Mannheim and Ludwigshaven, both of which lay just to the north west, Heidelberg itself had escaped the relentless bombing by the British and Americans. And when, only yesterday, the town here had surrendered, thankfully, it had been to the Americans ... and not the Russians.
Of her and Fergal's three sons, Ronan, an Oberleutnant in the Luftwaffe, had been shot down over London in May 1944 and was now a POW in England. Of Aidan, who had joined the SS, and was a Hauptsturmführer, she had heard nothing, not since the camp where he was serving, a place called Auschwitz, somewhere far to the east, had been evacuated, shortly before it was over run by the Russians. That had been back in January. There were vague reports, of terrible things having happened there, but Margarethe didn't believe them, any more than she believed the stories that, after the burning of the two synagogues in the town, the Jewish population of Heidelberg, rounded up and deported to France in 1940, had been sent to their deaths somewhere also in the east. As Fergal, who knew about such things, had told her, it was all lies and propaganda, being spread by the Allies to try and discredit the Nazi regime here in Germany.
Late last autumn, their youngest boy, another Josef, just sixteen last month, in order to join the Volkssturm, and do his bit like his brothers, had lied about his age; was presently upstairs, bedridden, recovering from a wound to his left leg, sustained last December, fighting against the Americans, over in the Ardennes.
Of Fergal himself, who was presently in Berlin, like Aidan, Margarethe had had no word but he would be back, of that she was certain; he always came back to her.
Leeds and Liverpool Canal, passing Armley, Leeds, West Riding, Yorkshire, April 1945.
With the British and Americans having crossed the Rhine, the Russians having captured Vienna, the Red Army fighting its way street by street into the very heart of Berlin, and now with the Americans and the Russians having met on the Elbe, the war in Europe was all but over.
Dawn was now breaking, and the mist rising wraith like from off the dirty, sluggish, grey water of the canal, as the heavily laden coal barge nosed its way slowly towards the wooden gates of the distant lock.
Ignoring the gaggle of noisy, ragamuffin urchins running along the weed grown cinders of the towpath, keeping pace with the slow moving barge, both their whistles and their cat-calls going unanswered and unheeded, the man at the tiller, who looked younger than his years, now stood up, and swept back a thick thatch of fair hair. Apart from paying no attention whatsoever to the boys, neither did the man appear even to notice the tall chimneys and the blackened brick and stonework of the woollen mills, many of which were now derelict, along with the empty wharves, the silent quays, and the rusting cranes, lining either side of the cut. Instead, as was his wont, he kept himself very much to himself. And then, he saw it, looming like a malevolent beast above the rows of grimy terraced houses: the grim bulk of the prison.
He glanced at his wristwatch and smiled. They were here and with time enough to spare.
Despite the demands made upon him by the manual labour necessary to enable their passage through the flight of locks at Bingley Five Rise, to name but one, as well as all the others, before beginning the long climb up to the summit of the canal at Foulridge, disappearing into the damp, dripping bore of the tunnel there, emerging a mile or so later through its eastern portal, just as day was breaking, they had made good time on the long journey all the way from Liverpool, wending their way across the coastal plain of Lancashire, and thence through the Pennines, over here to Leeds.
Which was just as well.
For, on this particular day, late of the Royal Army Medical Corps, and of Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, Mr. Simon Crawley had an appointment to keep.
And he had no intention, whatsoever, of being late.
Gloucester Terrace, Armley, later that same morning.
In the pearl grey light of early morning, as Alec Foster stepped outside the massive studded gates of the grim, forbidding, castellated edifice that was Armley Gaol, hearing the wicket door slam shut, he looked nervously about him, half fearful that who it was he was hoping earnestly to see, would not be there. That, despite the handful of visits Simon had been permitted to make to see Alec, let alone what they had written to each other in their letters, and that so circumscribed and hedged about to make it seem perfectly innocuous to the prison warders who read every line of Alec's correspondence, when the time came, the other's nerve would have failed him.
And then, as Alec continued to stand and look about him, on the other side of the street, he now saw a young man, wearing a cloth cap, check shirt, waistcoat, and corduroy trousers, with a rucksack on his left shoulder, standing beneath a lamp post, with a teddy bear tucked in the crook of his right arm. A moment later, the self same bear raised a moth eaten paw in friendly greeting.
Alec raised his hand and crossed the street. On reaching Simon, the two of them shook hands.
"Hello," said Simon.
Alec nodded; briefly studied the other's face, then ducked his head and looked down at his feet.
"Up until I saw you, I half feared that you wouldn't be ..." His voice broke with emotion.
"Alec, will you look at me, please?" Simon asked, making deliberate use of the very same words Alec had once said to him.
Alec did as he had been asked. Slowly, he raised his head.
"What I owe you ..." he began.
"Alec, between friends there never is any question of owing. None whatsoever. After what we've both been through, given what we mean to each other, did you really think I wouldn't be here?"
"Simon ...
"You and I, Alec ... We don't need other people. All we need ... is each other," said Simon softly.
Alec grinned broadly and nodded his head in agreement.
"So where to now then?" he asked, his voice sounding somewhat more confident.
Simon smiled; he rested his hands lightly on his friend's shoulders.
"That's for you to decide. But, only on one condition".
"Which is?"
"That wherever it is you decide to go, we do so together".
Alec smiled.
"I wouldn't have it any other way".
"Then, we'd best be off, hadn't we?" Simon grinned.
Alec nodded.
"I think we had".
And, as in bright sunlight, they set off on foot through the waking streets of Leeds, side by side, and together, from far off Simon heard again Alec's words and the question he had asked of him on a long gone Christmas Eve:
"Have you ever wondered if one day you might meet someone with whom you could happily spend the rest of your life?"
Glancing sideways at Alec's profile, Simon smiled broadly.
Despite all the odds stacked against them, together, they had done just that.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, 8th May 1945.
The war had ended.
Hitler had committed suicide.
Germany had surrendered, unconditionally.
And they were celebrating all over Europe.
"God bless you all. This is your victory! It is the victory of the cause of freedom in every land. In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this. Everyone, man or woman, has done their best. Everyone has tried. Neither the long years, nor the dangers, nor the fierce attacks of the enemy, have in any way weakened the independent resolve of the British nation. God bless you all..."
Up in London, after his radio broadcast to the nation, along with Their Majesties the King and Queen, accompanied by Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret, the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, had appeared on the balcony of Buckingham Palace before a sea of cheering crowds.
Here in Downton, the news that the war was over was met with both delight and relief, but not with euphoria. After all, victory had come at a terrible price; the memorial tablet to Cora, Dowager Countess of Grantham in the Crawley Chapel in the parish church, along with new graves dug in the churchyard, including that of darling Max, bore testimony to that. And over in Ireland, had it not been for the war, young Bobby Branson too, would still be alive. But for the war, Simon Crawley would not have been wounded, and, in all likelihood, would never have met Alec Foster, now newly released from prison over in Leeds. Nor would Friedrich, Edith, Max, and Kurt, have been forced to leave Austria, first to seek refuge in France, and thereafter here in England, at Downton. And all things being equal, which of course they were not, and never ever had been, Max also might yet be alive.
Then again, save for the war, perhaps Robert Crawley and Saiorse Branson would not have married, and now be the proud parents of four children, with their youngest, Edward James Crawley, born at Downton at the end of January. Maybe Danny Branson would not have met up once more with the girl he had fallen in love with over there in Spain during the Civil War, and their three young boys would never have been born. And nor would darling Max and Claire have met on the railway station at Wrangaton down in Devonshire. And that being so, little Josef would not now be lying fast asleep in his cot in the nursery at the top of Crawley House, watched over by his doting grandmother.
Perhaps Mary and Edith would be on better terms than they were now.
And Downton Abbey would not have passed into the care of the National Trust.
But whatever the truth of all these imponderables, one thing was certain.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Skerries House, County Cork, Ireland, May 1945.
The war was over.
Save that was, for a reckoning with the Japanese and which, this morning here at breakfast, Tom had said would come soon enough indeed. And, if but for a moment, setting aside Ireland's much vaunted neutrality, given what had happened to Simon, the family still had a score of its own to settle with the Japanese just as until the victory in Europe it had with the Germans, over the deaths of both dearest Cora and darling Bobby. There were rumours now circulating that the Americans intended to bring the war against Japan to a swift end by using the power of what was called the atom bomb.
And yet, in the very hour of the Allied victory over Nazi Germany, in their respective radio broadcasts, both Churchill and de Valera had resorted to squabbling like a pair of overgrown schoolboys and trading thinly veiled insults. On balance, Tom thought, that it would have been far wiser if Churchill, for whom he had very little time, if at all, however great a wartime leader the British thought him to have been, had not suggested that if necessary the British would have re-occupied Ireland in order to safeguard the Western Approaches during the Battle of the Atlantic.
As for de Valera, in Tom's view, a dignified silence would have been far better, rather than remarking that Churchill's statement had been unworthy and then going on to allude to the old wounds extant between Great Britain and Ireland: By resisting his temptation in this instance, Mr. Churchill, instead of adding another horrid chapter to the already bloodstained record of the relations between England and this country ... Would either of them ever learn? Tom thought it unlikely.
Laying aside his newspaper, Tom stared mournfully at what passed for his breakfast: a poached egg and two rounds of lightly buttered toast. Whatever the doctor in Cork had said, Sybil was taking this diet of his far too seriously.
Rosslare, County Wexford, Ireland, late June 1945.
While in recent months they had exchanged photographs, neither of them had seen each other for some five years; not in fact since the summer of 1940, when they had been at Downton for Robert and Saiorse's wedding. A lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Nonetheless, even without the photographs, she would have recognised him instantly, standing there on the quayside to meet her, shading his eyes, scanning the decks of the St. Andrew, from the pier here in Rosslare, and beside him a young boy who, even from this distance Claire could see was Danny made over in miniature. Before leaving the rail, she waved her hand in friendly greeting; saw it acknowledged. A few moments later, Claire was walking down the gangway and onto the quayside below.
"Hello," he said, and gave her a perfunctory kiss on her cheek; nothing more, much as a brother might do to a sister to whom he was not especially close. Danny drew back, taking in her trim figure and smart two piece suit, not that she knew it at the time of course, as well as the young boy held fast in her arms. There was no doubting who his father had been. Even so, Danny lofted an inquisitive eye.
"Josef?"
Claire nodded.
"Of course. Who else?" She smiled. "Thank you," Claire said absent mindlessly to the steward who had deposited her battered single suitcase beside her on the quay. "And this is ..." She looked down at the little boy standing beside Danny who was studying her openly with a guileless gaze.
"Daniel. I left the other two at home, with Da and Ma. Better that way for sure. And ... it's a long journey".
"Why better? Are they that much of a handful? Frightened of meeting me perhaps?"
"No, er ... neither". Danny blushed and ducked his head. "They wanted to come but I thought it was fairer to you if I .. Less overwhelming!" He looked up and grinned.
"That was very sweet of you ... to be so thoughtful". Claire now surprised herself by reaching up and kissing Danny lightly on the cheek, while Daniel did his best to be helpful by attempting to pick up her heavy suitcase, before Danny intervened and took it from him.
"Here, son, I'll take that. The station's this way". Danny nodded towards the landward end of the stone pier, while beside them, there came a deafening blast from the whistle of the St. Andrew, startling a flock of seagulls, which now soared upwards on the wing into the cloudless afternoon sky.
Skerries House, County Cork, Ireland, June 1945.
Shortly before Tom came into the bright, sunlit room, Claire, holding Josef by the hand, had picked up one of the framed photographs from off the table. Of course, she had seen it before, and in more or less the same position it occupied here, beside the fireplace, but that had been back in England, up in Yorkshire, in the Drawing Room of Crawley House. The picture in question showed three smiling boys standing together on the steps of an hotel.
On coming into what had once been the Drawing Room of the old house but which now they referred to more simply as the sitting room, seeing Claire with the photograph in her hand, Tom smiled. Hearing footsteps behind her, Claire turned.
"I hope you don't mind ..."
Tom smiled; shook his head.
"Is your bedroom all right? With the view of the sea, Sybil thought you would like ..."
"It's lovely, thank you, Mr. Branson".
"Tom, please," he corrected her.
"And the cot?"
"Perfect, thank you".
"It was Danny's".
Tom picked up the photograph which Claire had set back in its place on the table. For a moment he said nothing, looking instead at the smiling faces of the three boys, of Danny, of Robert, and ... of Max.
"Douglas, Isle of Man, June 1936. Before the war. A lifetime ago. It's hard to believe they were all ever that young". He shook his head, seemingly in disbelief.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel of the forecourt, followed by the sound of voices. Looking up, through the window Claire saw Danny, Daniel and Tomás heading off towards the old stables, in which Danny had set up his workshop. Tom said nothing; merely followed the length of Claire's gaze.
"Would it really work, do you think?" she asked airily, seemingly to no-one in particular.
"A difficult question to be asking, for sure". Tom smiled. "But since yous have, may I give yous some advice?"
Claire turned back to him and smiled.
"Which is?"
"I think both of yous are worrying about something neither of yous can do anything about".
"You mean ghosts?"
"Perhaps," said Tom equitably.
Claire sighed.
"So what should I do?"
"Both of yous are letting yourselves be held prisoners by the past. I don't say forget it, but when one door closes, for sure another opens".
"Danny's spoken to you ..."
"And to Sybil, yes. But only in the broadest, possible terms. After all, it's up to yous. And to him. Danny's a man grown".
Claire nodded.
"Yes, he is. For sure!" She smiled; turning back to the window she saw that Danny had hoisted a laughing little Tomás onto his broad shoulders something which, towards the end of the brief time they had shared, Max had done with darling Josef. The image the scene evoked tore at Claire's heart.
"Only the two of yous can decide". Tom nodded towards Danny and two of his grandsons. "I t'ink Danny said something about going for a swim later. If it will help, Sybil and I will take care of the boys while ..."
"Don't fuss so, for sure!" exclaimed Tom petulantly, as Sybil tucked the blanket in tightly around his knees, aided in her endeavours, or so they thought, by both Daniel and Tomás who believed they were doing their bit to help Nana look after Grandpa.
"Now, Tom, you know what Dr. Kennedy said in Cork. Very much the same as Dr. Trevelyan told you back in Dublin. Thank you boys. Grandpa's very grateful. Aren't you, Grandpa?" Having contrived the briefest of smiles for his two adored grandsons, Tom scowled at Sybil, who merely responded by giving him a knowing smile. "And anyway, I'm not," she added.
"Yes yous are! And yous can stop your matchmaking too!" grumbled Tom peevishly. Sybil sighed; resignedly so and tucked in the last corner of the blanket around his legs. Tom was never a good patient; the more so since he had been put on a strict diet.
"I'm not doing that either. But you yourself can't deny that we haven't seen Danny this happy in ages". Sybil nodded towards where Danny and Claire were walking across the newly raked gravel in front of the house, both of them in their swimsuits and carrying rolled up towels, clearly heading for the beach down below the house. How times had changed, and with them, fashions too, thought Sybil. A man and a woman going swimming together in the sea, while only a decade or so ago, such costumes, which left very little to the imagination, would have been considered positively indecent. Here in Catholic, rural Ireland no doubt they still would be, but fortunately for Danny and Claire, Skerries Cove was private property and so safe from prying eyes.
"Maybe".
"As I said before, they're head over heels ..."
"Sybil ..."
"Earlier on, when they were sitting out on the steps there," Sybil nodded towards the front door of the house, "they had their heads together".
Tom rolled his eyes in disbelief.
"Jaysus, woman! They were looking at the newspaper!"
"Don't you woman me, Tom Branson!"
"Nana?" asked Daniel.
"Hm?" Sybil looked down at the eldest of her grandsons who, save for his skin being slightly darker, something he had inherited from his Spanish mother, Carmen, was the image of Danny at the same age.
"What's a Jaysus woman?"
Sybil shook her head.
Honestly!
Skerries Cove, County Cork, June 1945.
"Not at all, for sure!" laughed Danny, in answer to Claire's question as to whether or not he thought her swimsuit was too revealing. "Just about right but then who am I to judge?" He smiled again at her, sitting there on the sand, her arms placed demurely about her slender body. "C'mon in, why don't yous, the water's lovely, for sure!"
At that, Claire stood up, slowly let slip her encircling arms, and walked hesitantly towards the very edge of the water where she dabbled a single toe in the sea.
"Liar! The water's freezing!"
"No it isn't".
"Yes, it is".
"Have it your own way! Come on in, Claire!"
"Be careful what you wish for," she called laughingly, the water now covered her feet and was lapping at her ankles. She had to raise her voice above the roar of the surf but never for once did she take her eyes from off his face.
"And what do I wish for, for sure?" asked Danny executing a perfect dive and re-surfacing a moment later a little further along the beach, to see that Claire had now waded into the sea, the water reaching up to her thighs.
"See, I told you; it's not so bad". He swam over to where she was now standing.
"Perhaps".
"Have it your own way then, for sure!" chuckled Danny, swimming effortlessly back and forth in the surf but feet from where she was now standing, the water lapping just below the curve of her breasts. Watching him, Claire experienced a feeling that she had not felt for a very long time; not since Max died. She hadn't felt this carefree for a very long while.
A moment later, and he was there, standing in front of her. He smiled.
"Yous told me once ... that I never ask, or say what I mean, so ..."
Claire sensed what might be coming.
"Danny ... we're friends, isn't that enough?"
Danny smiled; gently shook his head.
"If you'd let me, I know I can be more than that".
"Danny, darling, I told you, I'm not Carmen". It was the first time she had ever called him darling.
"And I'm not Max. I don't pretend I am. I never have".
"Your Da said both of us have been caught by the past ..."
"So does that mean yous ... because if it does, I won't ask again".
"But he also said that when one door closes, for sure another opens ..." Claire smiled.
"Well then, will yous marry me, Claire?" Danny asked, his strong arms now warm about her, holding her close.
Claire looked up into a pair of laughing blue grey eyes, took in again Danny's thatch of dark hair, his ready smile, his manly physique, which radiated both health and vitality, saw the drops of water on his sunburned skin sparkling in the sunlight, and she knew she had her answer. In the richly woven tapestry of life, like her marriage to darling Max, it was a decision which she was never to regret.
Author's Note:
Since 1885, Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, commonly known as the Labouchere Amendment, had made what was termed "gross indecency" between men a crime in the United Kingdom. This would not be repealed until the passage of the Sexual Offences Act 1967 which decriminalised homosexual acts in private between two men if both had attained the age of 21.
Repton, played by the organist in the parish church, was written by Sir Charles Hubert Hastings Parry (1848-1918) an English composer, teacher, and music historian and is the tune to which the hymn, Dear Lord and Father of Mankind is sung of which there are various renditions on the Internet.
Peppercorn rent - a nominal rent well below market value for the same.
The two squadrons of the Free French Air Force based at RAF Elvington, from May 1944, played a leading role in the bombing of Germany.
What came to be known as the "Baby Blitz" (January-May 1944) - Operation Steinbock - was the last strategic air offensive mounted against Britain by the Germans during the war. The main targets were London and southern England. Claire was lucky: on the the night of 14-15 March, 162 tons of bombs were dropped on London, 54 boroughs reporting damage, among them, Bloomsbury.
V1s and V2s; long-range rockets used by the Germans to attack Britain, the vast majority of which were fired at London.
Reasons vary as to why Heidelberg was never bombed. Of its Jewish population, they were initially deported to Gurs, in southwest France, and thereafter, east, to Auschwitz. Hardly any survived. The liberation of Auschwitz, in January 1945, received little coverage in the Allied press.
Volkssturm - the German national militia, established in the last months of the war and made up of conscripts aged between 16 and 60, poorly trained and poorly equipped. Some of the conscripts were as young as 13.
Churchill's broadcast on VE Day (8th May 1945) in which he suggested that, had the military situation demanded it, Great Britain would have re-occupied Ireland, caused considerable anger in the Irish Republic. For his part, de Valera's response did much to enhance his image as the Father of the Irish Nation.