Bone and Blood (11 page)

29
^th
December 1942

Dear Mary,

December has been a long month. We seemed to spend a lot of time sorting things into boxes to put them in the cellar for storage or into the trunk that Delia took with her. Delia would put something in one, then take it out and put it in the other. She gave a running commentary on why the tablecloth or the set of cutlery or the china or whatever was important to her. It feels strange now with the apartment empty. Every room rattles. Dieter's study is the only room that feels the same. There are spaces on the shelves where he took away many of the books. Most of what remains is in German and medical by the looks of them. I like to sit in there. If he does move to the hospital I will bring a bed in here. Dieter wanted Delia to leave earlier but she insisted on staying for Christmas and he gave in. I said that if I changed my mind I would join them later.

They went today.

Yours, Biddy

30
^th
December 1942

Dear Mary,

I went back to the kindergarten yesterday and told them that I will stay on but Josef will not be coming any more. The leader says she will soon leave anyway. She doesn't say why. At least I still have a job of sorts and a rations book.

Your Biddy

31
^st
December 1942

Dear Mary,

Sylvester again. What a way to welcome the New Year! I hope we all have a better year this year.

The day after Delia left, Dieter said that he will not stay here very much and I could sleep in his study. He told me some nurses would move into their apartment.

Yours, Biddy

30
^th
January 1943

Dear Mary,

I missed Dieter when he came to pick up some clothes not long after New Year. He left a note saying that he will come to see me in the kindergarten.

Every day now there is talk of the Eastern front. Nobody dares say how many lives have been lost already in the Battle of Stalingrad. There's a lot of low murmuring when the new matron is not listening. She is the only one with any enthusiasm left for the führer. I thought I heard someone say millions were dead already in the Battle of Stalingrad. Surely there could not be millions of people killed, even if they were not all soldiers. I must have been mistaken. Adelheid, one of the women who work at the crèche, has two sons in the 6
^th
army. She shakes her head and cries when the children cry. I hope the new matron doesn't catch her. I worry about her. She has been kind to me. She's my only friend here
.
The work is harder than ever but I am glad of it. When I get home I fall into bed. It passes the time but I feel like my life is stuck in a station waiting room, just waiting for the war to be over so I can really start my life in Berlin.

I miss you, Mary. If you get this tell me some news about my family. My mother doesn't write much. Give me news of your crowd too.

Yours, Biddy

2
^nd
February 1943

Dear Mary,

My wish might be coming true at last. Everybody is talking about the surrender of the 6
^th
army in Stalingrad. There is more low murmuring. I don't catch the words but I can tell from the way people shake their heads and the expressions on their faces that they would criticise Hitler now if they dared. Adelheid got word the other day that one of her sons was already killed in the Battle of Stalingrad but now she has hope that the other has survived as a Prisoner of War. Apparently the leader of the 6
^th
Army, someone called Friedrich Paulus, disobeyed Hitler because he surrendered instead of fighting to the last man. Though I think she is afraid that the Red Army would kill the survivors instead of taking them prisoner. Nobody dares say it but I think the defeat means that Stalin and his Red Army have a chance of winning the war now. I hope, whatever happens, it means the war will be over soon.

I spend less time with the children with this new matron. I'm all day up to my armpits in nappies, children's clothes, towels and the covers of the small beds – soaked with pee of course. All these have to be passed through a monstrous wringer and hung to dry. The wringer is electric and when it breaks down it is even worse as I have to use the hand one. At least it is work of a sort and without it I would be in a worse state. I pity the poor children who are subjected to a strict regime of food, change, sleep, crawling or walking. It has become a joyless place but still they manage to play and smile. That keeps me going. I soon realised that the new matron doesn't do the Hitler salute just to stay out of trouble like the last one. She is clearly a committed supporter and she trains the children to march and salute. I wait to get home before I laugh at the ridiculous scene. She like a Sergeant Major and the little ones stamping their feet to the music and then stopping for the Hitler salute. She stands in front of the picture of the Führer. I am sure she means the children to salute her. I hope she doesn't want to check my papers. They got me this job all right but now maybe they want more. I live in terror of anyone asking to see my papers in case there is something wrong. I do the Heil Hitler salute in an orderly and serious fashion but I feel sure they will see through me someday. At the moment there is more talk about the Red Army than the British. Even so I make sure everyone knows that I am Irish and Ireland is against the British and against the Communists too. On the walk to and from work each day I try to look as dowdy and dull as every other woman who walks to work. That's not too difficult, I'm sorry to say.

Yours, Biddy

26
^th
December 1943

Dear Mary,

The year has dragged on dismally. I spent Christmas day alone and a good part of the day huddled in bed for heat. My Christmas dinner was bacon from home with spuds and onions from Herr Schmitt. It makes a change from soup. When this is over, I never want to see soup again in my life. I haven't had the heart to write here. Now I really am homesick and lonely. I wish every day that I had gone home when I could – Dieter came by today and brought a tiny morsel of sausage and bread. He doesn't call often now and his uniform no longer hangs in the wardrobe. He would try to get me home if I want but he may be just saying it. I know it will be hard for him to do it now. He says Delia is OK and is working. But I know that already because I still write to her and she writes back. Dieter says it would be easier to send me to Bavaria. I said yes I will go soon but I haven't the heart to do anything about that either. Maybe the war will soon be over now that they are really fighting.

Dieter found the remains of a bottle of Schnaps in the sideboard and we finished the bottle together. This war turns everything topsy-turvy even my feelings. Dieter kissed me goodnight and I felt funny. I do love him but I think for both of us it was only because of the Schnaps and missing Delia. I just laughed and pushed him away from me to his own bedroom. It makes me restless so I write this by candlelight like at home. I don't want the brightness of electric tonight even though the blackout curtains are well fixed.

New Year's Eve 1943.

Another Sylvester and I forgot to ask Dieter why they call it Sylvester – is it a saint? We would need a saint to help us welcome in the New Year. I thought the war would be long over by now. I lie awake every night now listening to the sirens. We are lucky that we allowed to use our cellar as an air-raid shelter. In the public air-raid shelters, people are just huddled together like cattle. Herr Schmidt insists on coming round to check that everyone goes down to their cellar. He takes his role very seriously and becomes more military every day. When there were raids every night I decided to make my bed in our cellar but he still comes to check that I am there. He stayed yesterday to chat. I am glad of the chance to keep practising my German and he makes me do the salute several times so that I do it correctly. It is a small price to pay. I rarely get chance now to speak much in work and hardly dare buy a newspaper. I am glad that Dieter and Delia befriended him. Maybe they did it for my sake.

There's a pump in the cellar for ground water. Delia said that I should never drink it but sometimes I have tried it and I have had no ill effects so I don't always climb the stairs with a bucket. There is an old boiler that was used for heating water for washing. I use the boiler to keep warm if I am not too tired to make sure there is water in it. I have a good selection of scraps of wood. I gather them on my way home from work. I have made the cellar quite cosy. All the cellars have their own door and I have ours to myself most of the time as the nurses are hardly ever here at night. I have made it into my own private waiting room. I dream of the things that are stored in the boxes and of the day that we will unpack them again. I have taken up reading by candlelight. I moved some of Dieter's books down here but I can't read the books in German. I feel guilty when I burn some of them but I tell myself that he won't notice they are gone. I read the children's books in German and am happy when I can understand them.

I've taught myself a sort of wide-awake daydreaming to pass the time and fill the space of my longings. I long for the feeling of glamour that I had when I came here first. I want to ride on the trams again and swing around the corner with a light heart looking at shops and bits of sky. I long for people who can look you in the eye again. I long for cafés with bowls of hot milky coffee where you pay with real money. I long for a trip home to Ireland too. I packed my things. It was easy to put everything I owned back into the small cream pigskin suitcase I love so much. I keep it in the cellar now and stroke the label on it for Berlin. The label on it reminds me of something from a film. I've only ever seen one film in Ireland. I can see Rudolf Valentino saying goodbye at the station and holding onto the hand of his loved one until the train pulled away. It would be lovely to go to Manorhamilton to see a film with you. I will come for a visit when this nonsense is over. Writing to you makes me less lonely. One day soon we will read these letters together to remind us of hard times.

Yours, Biddy