Karl sighed and agreed, yet had grown ever more fearful of what they faced as the weeks of waiting had dragged by. Now here they were, about to put this undoubtedly harebrained plan into action.
‘It is time,’ a voice hissed in his ear. He came out of his reverie to find himself being urged to lie down into the trench. ‘Hurry, hurry, before the guard looks this way.’
A cloth was put over his head and, seconds later, Karl was lying on his side in the trench while soil was being quickly flung over him. As daylight was gradually blocked out from his hiding place, the pounding of his heart sounded like a big base drum in his ears. He stretched out a toe to see if he could touch Erich, who was further along the trench, also being hastily covered with soil. Karl thought this must be the craziest thing he had ever done in his life. He could only pray that it didn’t bring it to a swift and brutal end.
As he lay there beneath the shroud, being virtually buried alive, he strained to tune in to the sounds above ground. He heard the men move away, heard the clatter of their boots as they lined up for roll call. In his mind’s eye he could see them, the officers at the front, the ratings at the back. Someone would slip from place to place, making it seem as if the correct number were present. He imagined he could hear the counting, the orders barked out in German. Shortly after that came the clump of marching feet, followed by silence. This, he discovered, was the worst part. Only he and Erich could judge when it might be safe to move.
At first Karl had argued they should wait for as long as possible, until dusk had fallen when they could slip away undercover of darkness. But then Erich had expressed a fear that their absence might be noticed once everyone was inside, or when they sat down for the evening meal. The alarm could be called before they’d had a chance to move. In the end they’d decided to take their chances as soon as possible. Now, Karl welcomed that decision. He hadn’t realised how very hot and uncomfortable it would be beneath the soil, however thin the layer that covered him. He felt overwhelmed by claustrophobia, as if he truly had been buried alive. He could bear it no longer
As one they burst out of the trench, scrambled under the fence where one of their number had already dug a tunnel for them and, without pausing for breath, raced up the slope through the forest. They were clad only in their work overalls. As he crashed through the undergrowth with as little noise as they could make, Karl breathlessly related to Erich how they must aim to reach the clearing where he knew Gracie would be waiting with food and warm clothing.
Erich grinned. ‘She is good, your woman.’
‘Yes, she is. I just hope she manages it. We’re going to need all the help we can get.’
Dusk had fallen by the time Gracie reached the clearing. She felt breathless with anxiety, having been delayed for some time seeing to poor Rose. She took off her knapsack and flopped to the ground. The greenness of the forest all around her seemed lush and peaceful, deceptively safe. High in a tree she spotted a red squirrel, busily eating its fill in readiness for winter. Would it have enough food to see it through, she wondered? Would it survive? Would Rose? Life was so uncertain, so filled with dangers. Who would have thought when she and Lou had first arrived here in Grizedale, that it would come to this. With the pair of them estranged, and Gracie risking her very life to safe a prisoner of war, the man she loved.
Would Karl and Erich survive? Would they come soon, or was she already too late? She desperately hoped not. Gracie dreaded the prospect of being robbed of those few precious moments of farewell with Karl.
She’d brought a couple of sweaters, scarves, gloves and hats she’d managed to unearth from Irma’s collection of salvage; the thermos flask of tea and a large packet of sandwiches. Gracie hoped it would be sufficient to keep both men going and give them the strength to reach the coast. It would not be an easy journey. Just thinking of the stretch of mountains they had to traverse made her feel ill.
Carron Fell was bad enough, so often swathed in mist, but that was nothing compared to what they must face later. They must somehow circumnavigate Coniston Water and head west over Dunnerdale, Thwaites and Bootle Fell. All desperately remote, high and dangerous places with precious little in the way of shelter to provide cover. Two scurrying figures could easily be spotted on an exposed mountain top. And what if the authorities called out the dogs? How far could they follow a scent? Gracie didn’t care to think.
Even if they safely reached the coast, where would they find a boat? Whitehaven? Maryport? Both were busy towns occupied by troops, dangerous ground for two German PoWs to be on the loose. But, she argued, perhaps it was easier to lose oneself in a crowd.
Then again, she decided, more likely they would seek to be picked up by a fishing boat on that empty stretch of coastline, though it would have to be by someone who asked no questions. Was such a thing possible? Questions were burning into her own brain, searing her with fear. She really must stop this endless worrying, breathe deeply and calmly. Be patient.
The minutes crawled by like hours and the hands on her watch never seemed to move. The wind changed and a cold night breeze sprang up, the shadows seeming to close in with threatening malevolence. Gracie felt frighteningly alone, vulnerable and afraid. Nevertheless, perhaps because of expending so much emotional energy with worrying, she must have drifted off to sleep for she woke with a jolt, knowing she’d heard a sound, strangely familiar and yet alien in the peace of the forest. Gracie couldn’t at first decide what it might have been and then she heard it again. The siren. Surely not an air raid, not now? And then her heart seemed to cease in its beating as she recognised its significance.
‘My godfathers, their absence must have been noticed.’ Her own voice seemed to bounce back to her with a terrifying loudness in the dread silence of the forest.
Jumping to her feet Gracie peered through the trees, desperately hoping and praying for a sight of their hurrying figures. She saw nothing, was barely able to penetrate the gloom. The sky seemed to light up and she whirled about, letting out a small cry of alarm. Someone had switched on the searchlights. Not simply the normal floodlights which illuminated the entire compound and surrounding area but the twin swivelling lights with which each sentry box in the valley was equipped. These now raked the sky with their long probing beams. Gracie even imagined that she heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance, growing ever louder as if they were drawing ever nearer. Where in God’s name were they?
‘Please come to me Karl. Please!’ And then she heard the shot.
1957
Lou walked slowly along the weed covered drive, her gaze taking in the overgrown grounds, the cracked terraces with their broken masonry and collapsed walls where the prisoners had exercised, the once lovely green lawns a tangle of docks and thistles, the broken remnants of former huts a sad testament to a war long gone if never forgotten. Gone too were the rolls of barbed wire, the high perimeter fence, the sentry boxes. In her mind she could still hear the cry: ‘Advance and be recognised.’
She smiled at the host of memories this recollection provoked. She loved to remember the old days because memories never let you down. They never died but triumphed victorious over all problems and difficulties; lived with you into eternity.
Her gaze moved on to the startling contrast supplied by the expensive cars, farm tractors, battered old vans and even bicycles that were driving up, lining the drive and filling the stable yard which had served as barracks for the guards. Dealers with bulging wallets, farmers with an eye to a bargain, treasure seekers and just the plain curious were crowding into Grizedale Hall this day. They’d all come to investigate this prestigious monument to the success of a Victorian businessman, to witness the demise of this once famous mansion which stood at the head of one of Lakeland’s loveliest and most tranquil valleys, and whose location had awarded it a unique place in history.
Most poignant of all were the former prisoners themselves who came: middle aged men bringing their families to see where they had spent so many years of their youth during a seemingly endless war; to show their loved ones the messages of hope and faith they had carved into the oak panelling which today were to go under the hammer as the hall was taken apart, stripped of its glory and sold, piece by piece, before being demolished and razed to the ground.
As, for the first time, Lou walked into this building which had played such a part, albeit in the background, of her own youth, she felt overwhelmed by sorrow and the waste of it all. For the loss of young lives who had once fought so bravely; the destruction of what had once been the architectural beauty of a fine mansion, degraded and despoiled by the passing of years. Stained glass windows broken and open to the weather, priceless gold damask wall coverings ripped to shreds, fine oak floorboards and panelling filthy and scarred. What hadn’t been broken or smashed had been ruined by damp and neglect. Rather like friendship, came the sudden, chilling thought.
The auction was already under way and Lou searched the crowd of eager faces for any she might recognise. A bright smile, a frantic wave of a gloved hand. ‘Over here. We’re over here.’
Lou joined Rose, nodded a greeting to Adam. ‘I couldn’t see you in the crush.’
‘We’ve just bought some tongue and groove flooring at fourpence a foot. Adam is thrilled.’
‘Aye, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get them window frames an’ all, for a knockdown price.’
Lou glanced over to the windows, many still boasting the mottoes put there by their once proud owner. ‘God sends grace.’ She read it twice, a sense of deep sadness fluttering like a shadow over her heart. ‘I wish He would send Grace,’ she murmured, half to herself.
‘What did you say?’
Lou stifled a sigh and smiled brightly at Rose. ‘I said it’s such a tragedy, this place. Such an utter loss. They’re doing more damage to the house than the Germans did. But don’t tell my boss I said so. The Forestry Commission wants no one else to own freehold property in the middle of their forest.’
The fifteen foot high stone chimneypiece of the great hall, complete with arched stone fireplace, metal canopy and dogs, ornamental pillasters and carved overmantel depicting the four seasons went for only seven pounds. It was the best that the disappointed auctioneer could squeeze out of his buyers. It wasn’t so much that money was tight, as that they disapproved strongly of the sale in the first place, and had no intention of putting money into the pockets of those responsible. Not that anyone could be entirely sure who exactly was responsible, whether it be the local authorities or the Forestry Commission. The debate had raged for months and would no doubt continue to do so. The only good thing to come out of it would be that so many of its treasure would turn up later in other proud Lakeland homes and hotels.
Lou had seen enough and quickly made her excuses to Rose and Adam. ‘Meet you in the Eagle’s Head later.’
Outside, the bright sunlight half blinded her, bouncing off flashy cars where once had stood armoured vehicles with windows blacked out, bearing prisoners to some unknown destination for interrogation.
‘Lou? It is you, isn’t it?’
Lou swung about, shading her eyes and then, suddenly, there she was. Dear Gracie, neat as a new pin and slender as ever, pale blonde hair swept up beneath a smart, fashionable hat. The sweet, oval face no longer bore the imprint of youth but had matured to one of serene loveliness, presenting a picture of calm contentment. Her big grey eyes were, as ever, fiercely challenging, daring anyone who crossed her path to be anything but entirely scrupulous and fair. She greeted Lou with a happy smile, just as if she had last seen her only yesterday and not twelve years ago. ‘It’s so good to see you again. When I read about the sale I had to come, rather hoping you’d be here.’
Lou said nothing, finding herself quite at a loss for words. Gracie laughed at her confusion, then gathered her close in a warm hug. Unable to help herself, Lou hugged her just as fiercely in return, holding her lost friend tight for several long moments before disengaging herself and quickly wiping away a tear. ‘I was thinking about you in there, as a matter of fact.’
‘Happy thoughts, I trust_’
‘I was remembering you and me on our bikes riding up this lane, chopping down our first tree - or not - as the case may be.’ She grinned. As one they turned and began to walk away from the house, arm in arm, as they had used to do. ‘I was thinking of matron and those dratted biscuits you hated so much.’
Gracie put back her head and laughed, a musical, joyous sound. ‘Heavens, yes, and the lorry, and the mud. Do you remember the lorry? And that awful kipper complete with bones. Sneaking out for lunch to the local pub, and the cheese rolls.’ They spoke these last two words in unison and both burst out laughing now, holding on to each other with joy as the memories flooded back.
Wiping away a tear, Lou said. ‘Rose is inside. Adam farms in quite a big way these days, so has an eye for a bargain. We’re meeting up at the Eagle’s Head later.’
‘It’ll be good to see her again. Do you think she’ll wish to speak to me?’ For a moment the big grey eyes looked troubled but Lou only chuckled.
‘Oh, yes, that business is all the past now, isn’t it? Says she owes you her life for calling the ambulance that day. She and Adam never did have any children, but they’re happy and, in the end, that’s all that matters, eh?’