The only compensation we could offer was to pay a good rent for food and accommodation. We thought this might be welcome since Ilse was working at home with her parents and it did not look as if the farm could provide much of an income. I had very little money, having lost most of my army-pay in action, but Erika had saved enough to cover several months’ rent.
In characteristic German fashion the farmhouse was situated in the town and separate from the land that belonged to it. There was an enclosed cobblestone yard at the back and side of the house, with access to the road. Behind the yard itself, there was a large barn with room to house the cattle in winter and also a wagon and the one horse which the Gerkens owned. Ducks, hens and a pig were housed in the yard and that was also where the only toilet was located.
During our evening meal we made plans. Our first priority was to get jobs, but we also had to register at the local police-station and we had to apply for ration cards. Willi and I had the extra problem of trying to avoid being sent to a prisoner-of-war camp. Mr Gerkens mentioned that there was a large British military administration department in Rotenburg which might be glad to employ Erika and me with our knowledge of English.
Early next morning Erika and I set off to visit the British Commanding Officer of the town, Major Carver who turned out to be a most gentlemanly person about forty-five years of age. We told him that we had just arrived in Rotenburg and needed a job while waiting to get back to our home in Ireland. I said nothing about having been in the army, and the major tactfully did not ask me although it must have been obvious to him. The major was very sympathetic to our cause and promised to try to get us jobs in the administration department. We were to come back next morning and he would let us know the outcome.
This gave us a trump card for our next important visit. We had to go to the police station for permission to register as new residents in Rotenburg. There was now a danger that some super-officious busybody might start asking me about army discharge papers. When we got there I spoke to the desk sergeant and told him importantly, and tongue-in-cheek, that my sister and I were about to start working at the Administration Department of the British Military Government. Having suitably impressed the sergeant, I went on to tell him that we already had living accommodation and now wished to register.
Whether this build-up was necessary or not I do not know, but it was as well to take the initiative and not leave anything to chance. It was only a matter of minutes before all formalities had been completed and we were on our way to the town hall as fully legitimate residents to claim our ration cards, and these we got without more ado.
During our absence, Willi had cycled to a neighbouring village, where he had worked as a fitter. They did not have enough work to give him his old job back, but agreed to employ him part-time until business improved. Since we had a free afternoon on our hands, we went for a walk in the adjoining heathlands and let Willi show us over his father’s land. After a year’s living on my wits in almost continuous danger, it was an unbelievable feeling to go for a relaxed ramble and I thought the atmosphere was one of perfect, idyllic peace. Now I could hear the song of birds without listening for the sound of danger, an approaching aircraft was no cause for alarm and distant figures posed no threat to me. I think I must have been on a “high” because I felt a numbing of my senses and it was as if I was viewing everything around me through a screen.
When I saw the land belonging to the Gerkens I was impressed by what good use had been made of it. It was quite tiny, only about six acres, but every square foot had been utilised. Five cows were grazing on a meadow and the rest was intensively cultivated with vegetables and fruit. It was a neat little holding, but it was also obvious that it took a lot of hard work to raise a family on it.
Next morning Erika and I were full of hopeful expectation when we went to see Major Carver. Once again luck was with us and he told us that we had been offered jobs as translators and interpreters. We were to report on the following day to a Major Waring, the officer in charge of the 58th Depot Control Company which was a unit of the British Control Commission of Germany. The offices were located in the administration buildings of a disused military aerodrome, a few miles outside Rotenburg. The aerodrome had been used as a base for fighter planes during the war, but runways, hangars and the office block had survived largely undamaged.
The following morning Erika and I cycled out to work and met our new boss. Major Waring was a very big man with a handlebar moustache; he had a somewhat gruff manner, but was not unfriendly. Wasting no time he handed us over to Mr Wallwork, the office manager. Mr Wallwork was another man with a moustache; he was also tall, but rather reserved and I can’t say that I ever warmed to him. Although he did not show it, I think he did not like Germans and I must have sensed this. Actually, all through my employment with the British Control Commission I came across many service personnel who looked on all German men as bearing guilt for National-Socialism while considering all German women to be innocent. This was clearly a male bias and therefore natural, but it often annoyed me.
Our duties, as explained to us by Mr Wallwork, were twofold. Most of our time was to be taken up with translating letters, documents, discussion notes, details of agreements, etc., but we would also be asked to do a lot of translating at meetings between British staff and German spokesmen for townships and the business sector. A fair amount of travelling could be involved in the area between Hannover, Bremen and Hamburg. A big bonus in our job was that we would get lunch in the officers’ canteen which meant a saving on our precious ration cards. By this, Mrs Gerkens would also benefit. All in all, Erika and I could be well pleased with the arrangements and it looked as if the work might also be very interesting.
What I enjoyed most about my work were the trips on which I acted as interpreter. The subjects discussed almost invariably dealt with getting industry going again, rebuilding the infrastructure and assessing the immediate needs in various districts. This meant meeting important people and getting an insight into the workings of civic authorities and business generally. One other advantage of these trips was that I usually accompanied officers of a much higher rank than I associated with in my office job and they did not seem to have any anti-German bias.
As soon as Erika and I had settled into our jobs we set about our aim to get back to Ireland quickly. Germans had no regular way of communicating with the outside world, so we had to find another way of getting a message to our parents. Making enquiries around the office building, we came across an officer who came from Dublin, a Captain Mulholland. We put our problem to him and he promised to contact our parents when he went over on leave in a week’s time.
Our big difficulty was that it would not be easy to get permission to leave Germany; as Germans we had no rights. We thought of claiming that we were “Displaced Persons,” which was not strictly accurate, but we hoped the umbrella organisation might take up our case. With this in mind we took a train to Bremen on our first week-end off and placed an application with the relevant authorities. While in Bremen we also visited the Red Cross on the off-chance that they could help us, but they said they had no responsibility for us. Satisfied that we still had two irons in the fire, Erika and I returned to Rotenburg to await developments.