The door to the head mistress’s room opened to reveal a frail, well-groomed woman in her sixties who curled a beckoning finger at the girl on the pew. Gabi quickly retied the bow in her hair, straightened her pinafore and strolled into a room blanketed in a thin layer of dust. A large chair stood behind a mahogany table that had long given up its usefulness as a dining table and was now used as a desk, covered with books, papers and odd trinkets. Two comfortable but well-worn dining chairs stood invitingly in front.
“Come, sit down. We need to talk,” said the woman.
Gabi liked Mistress Loveday. She was a kindly sort, wise and fair but prone to asthma. Perhaps this was why she insisted her room never be dusted, although this in itself seemed illogical to Gabi—after all, was it not better to dwell in a room free from dust? Despite this odd quirk, Mistress Loveday was always interesting to talk to and Gabi spent many hours discussing all manner of topics from politics to fine art, religion or the tragic plight of the mayfly after mating.
It hadn’t taken long for this wise old matriarch to realize that Gabi had a mind made for logic, excelling in all subjects scientific, and the headmistress spent years encouraging Gabi to pursue such a vocation. “You could be a doctor or scientist. Just think how proud your father would be.”
But Gabi had other dreams to follow.
A few times a year Gabi would visit her godfather, Onkel Albert Kesselring, a family friend who, like her father, had made a life in the German military. He was a charismatic man with a perpetual smile and a talent for storytelling, beguiling his audience with war tales of battle, heroism and glory for the Fatherland. Serving with the foot artillery in his early career, he had risen impressively to the ranks of high command. At the age of forty-eight, Lieutenant General Kesselring was transferred to a commanding post with the Luftwaffe where he insisted that he learn to fly, believing only through first-hand knowledge was one able to command.
It was on her twelfth birthday when Onkel Albert surprised Gabi with a joy flight that changed her dreams forever. What an experience that had been, soaring high above the patch-work quilt that covered the earth where they were pummelled by playful winds and blinded by the starkness of fluffy white clouds. It was a defining moment, an epiphany in a life lost to dreary classes and nights of loneliness in a foreign boarding school.
Mistress Loveday removed her spectacles, placing them on the cluttered desk, her expression grave.
“Your father has requested that you return to Germany immediately. You must depart on the next available boat.”
Gabi nodded in like seriousness, keenly aware of the unfolding circumstance. Germany had just invaded Poland to reclaim what rightfully belonged to the Fatherland, but France and the British Empire now felt threatened and would surely retaliate.
“You think there will be war?” Gabi asked.
“I have no reason to doubt your father’s motive. After all, he is a general.”
“I’ll go pack.”
Gabi scurried to her dormitory, hastily removing her clothes from a chest of drawers she shared with another girl and stuffing them into her suitcase. A terse voice spoke from the entrance door.
“What are you doing?” The girl entered the room but kept her distance, preferring to hover behind Gabi’s back like a pesky mosquito.
“I have to return home. War will be declared soon.” Gabi turned her shoulder to block the intrusive girl’s view. Her name was Elizabeth and as the daughter of an Earl, she held herself in high regard. Gabi had tried for years to befriend Elizabeth, hopeful that such an ally would gain her acceptance amongst her peers, but over time Gabi realised that class had more to do with breeding than wealth and that she would never be accepted as one of them.
Elizabeth watched Gabi press more clothing into her bulging suitcase. “You’ll wrinkle all your clothes.”
Gabi shifted her position again and kept stuffing more clothing into her case. “I don’t care.”
Elizabeth stood and stared a while longer but offered no assistance or any further advice. She eventually walked back to the door, turning on her heels to make one final remark. “Your father will be fighting in the war, won’t he? He’ll be killing Englishmen.”
Gabi stopped packing but did not respond; she was the enemy now, and there was nothing she could say that would make it otherwise.
It was the day before England declared war on Germany, and Gabi was where she belonged. The weather was cool and the wind howled through the elm forest that bordered her home on the outskirts of Meissen in Saxony, carrying with it the earthy scent of its rural surroundings and the memories of her childhood.
What adventures she had every summer break when she would play with the village boys—not girls; dolls and sewing were of no interest to Gabi—war games and hunting were far more exciting. They would raid the neighbouring orchards, scrumping the best fruit and devouring it like famished explorers in the Wendy house they had cobbled together down by the old mill. They fished using fat worms that the trout could never resist and snared the wild rabbits in the open fields, gutting and skinning their kill before roasting the carcass on an open fire. They were happy times that passed all too soon, and she would be packed off once again to England to endure another semester at St. George’s.
Gabi waited by the bay window for her father to return from Berlin where he resided and worked during the week. She stared out into the blackness, listening to the grandfather clock tick, its pendulum swinging back and forth, prompting her to count mindlessly in her head. A beam from a motor vehicle broke Gabi’s trance and she bolted for the front door, hurling herself down the stairs and wrapping her arms around her father’s neck.
“Papa!”
“How is my little soldier? Not so little anymore.” He drew her from his neck and surveyed his daughter at arm’s length, taking in her tall stature and square shoulders. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he smiled and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Come, let’s go inside—it’s fresh tonight. Helmut, take my bag into the drawing room.”
The man nodded and scurried to the back of the vehicle, leaving the general and his daughter to their banter. They moved into the main reception room, and the general eased himself down into a tufted chair of the finest leather.
“How was your trip?”
Gabi’s eyes sparkled, and she scrambled over the sofa to be close to him. “Exciting. So much is going on down by the docks.”
Hamburg was indeed buzzing with activity for in these early days of war, optimism had turned what was once a dying economy into a thriving, productive war machine.
“You should see the size of the fleet they’re building. I’ve never seen the shipyards so busy. Every dry dock is in use and the cargo ships are endless—people everywhere.”
“Yes, nothing like war to kick a nation into gear,” the general said and he frowned.
“Are you worried, Papa? Can we beat the English?”
“It would be better if we were not at war with the brother land.” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “It will only be a matter of time before the industrious Americans meddle.” The general waved a dismissive hand. “Enough of such talk—let’s eat.”
Gabi and her father dined on roast duck that evening. It was plump and stuffed with a fusion of onions, bread, apples, liver, and spice. The table was set with the finest Meissner porcelain, a family heirloom that, although precious, was put to good use. Large, generous serving dishes of potatoes, peas, carrots and gravy completed the hearty feast, its delectable aromas wafting around the room and sending Gabi’s stomach into a rumbling spasm as she eagerly watched her father carve the duck.