William Word-Smith

Forward:

You were too young to remember this time.

Too young to remember how the world looked when you first arrived and then, how that world rearranged itself around you.

You will though, remember my voice, it will live inside of you and when you listen, when you hear me... for those few moments, I will be alive, I will be with you...

I am much older than most fathers of children your age. By the time you are ready for long conversations, the kind that wander, challenge, circle back, and then linger in the mind, I may not always be there to share them with you.

That thought followed me closely after you were born. It still does. So I began to write. Not as instruction, not as explanation, but as presence...

These pages are meant to be a place where you can come to, when you want to hear me thinking.

When you want to know what mattered to me,

to understand how love, circumstance, and a long line of random, yet purposeful decisions, brought you into my life and made you...

unmistakably, you!

This is where that story begins.

Chapter 1

The beginning

The beginning, is where we stamp a footprint and speak into the night... 'right here, right now'!

Screeching, like an old tired Banshee, the train ground to a gentle halt. A young German girl, still a teenager, took hold of the pitted brass handle, opened the door and stepped down from a time faded maroon carriage and was immediately engulfed by smoke and steam.  The exhausted black locomotive sighed in voluminous clouds... doors began slamming and gleaming pistons groaned to the shrill of the guard's whistle, as it signalled, all was clear. It was a cold foggy morning in late November 1947.  The little station nestled quaintly in the tiny country village of Whitegate, in England. It had an 'other world' serenity to it, almost lost in the mists of time, like Brigadoon! Whitegate, seemed to have totally escaped the devastation Erna had left behind in Essen.

Jostled along the platform by purposeful passengers, all hurrying to avoid the cold damp air, Erna suddenly realised, she was now in what was previously, enemy territory. Wearing black clothes, from head to foot, a coat several sizes too large, dragging ceremoniously on the floor behind her, Erna nervously negotiated the platform towards the station office.

Her meagre world carried beside her, in an old brown suitcase, which weighed heavier than its contents. Erna’s stomach, growling with hunger, made her feel even more conspicuous, adding to the discomfort of an already long, sleep deprived and food absent journey. She had no real idea of whom she was to meet, except for an official crumpled document, gripped tightly in her white knuckled hand, with the names of people waiting there to collect her.

Life in Germany had not been that great for Erna; her mother's relationship with a young Hungarian resulted in Erna, as an unwanted illegitimate baby, forced to live with her Aunt and Uncle in Essen, disguising her mother's infidelity. Life had been tough from its inception. Her Aunt and Uncle were a hard working class couple, with rigid rules, that were supported by a leather strap, for daring to bend any of them. A small scar on Erna's left eyebrow, was now a keepsake from her Aunt, who having nothing else to hand at the time, but a large bone, (which was being prepared for a broth) unleashed it at Erna, whereupon it became a weapon of resentment, landing squarely upon her forehead and creating the 'distinguishing mark' as described on her travel documents.

It is unclear, as to how Erna was funded and indeed permitted, to make such an arduous journey, with so many restrictions in place regarding travel, at this time in history. Post war Europe, was not an easy route by land, sea or air. And then to end up in a tiny rural English village, as a minor and eligible to work in service?                                                                      

There is another complete story here to research, but with little information and no one alive that could corroborate such an undertaking, it remains an intriguing mystery. However, it is clear that for whatever reasons, legal papers were generated to connect Erna to someone in Great Britain and permit her travel across Europe alone, or perhaps with a chaperone, at least until she landed upon UK soil.

A very smartly dressed lady in her 30s, walked towards Erna and spoke in English. Erna recognised her own name and said 'ja'. She had never seen anyone wearing fur before, or indeed make-up. The hat this lady was wearing, had a small piece of decorative netting attached to the front, which gently obscured her face. The lady seemed a little stiff and not so welcoming.  As they negotiated the route from the platform Erna caught a glimpse of her reflection in a station office window, and the little scar upon her eyebrow reminded her of the broth. Despite the remembered pain, she wished she could have a bowl of her Aunt's broth, as her stomach growled at her once again. Through the short exit tunnel, the smell of burning coal was exchanged for the heady aroma of this lady's perfume.

Striding into the carpark, they approached a large highly polished car, to which the lady opened the boot for Erna to place her suitcase inside it.  A jolly, smiling gentleman got out from the driver's seat to assist. He was tall and dressed in clothes, unknown to Erna. Cavalry twill trousers, a checked shirt with paisley cravat and a moleskin waistcoat.

His shoes were handmade oxblood brogues and an elegant Cashmere overcoat, completed the ensemble. These people were old school and old money. Raised in an environment of, first name terms with titled gentry... they were wealthy and well connected farmers. The farm land itself had originally belonged to a titled family, who owned estates and a mansion house, which now bordered the farm fields.

As the car trundled down a tree lined country lane, Erna was impressed by the shiny chrome handles inside the passenger compartment, she ran her fingers over the smooth, cold surface, which then left small fingerprints in the frigid metal. Erna quickly polished these out, with her coat sleeve. There was a wonderful smell of rich leather, coming from the rear bench seat and she could feel the warm air from the heater, gently caressing her flushing red cheeks, as they adjusted from the cold. Erna's senses must have been electrified, with so many new experiences, in such a short space of time.

A very grand looking house suddenly emerged through the gloom, a majestic red bricked construction, with maroon and white wooden gable ends, topped by a handsome dark slate roof. There were fruit trees in the front garden, currently covered in crystal frosting.  Laurel leaf hedge rows adorned the main driveway, trimmed and standing to attention. A mixed collection of dogs greeted the car, all barking excitedly and wagging their tails expectantly.  As Erna opened the car door, her nose was hit by a cocktail of smells. Cow muck, damp dogs and winter Lonicera honeysuckle, which was growing in splendour along the house wall.

Erna was quickly ushered into the house accompanied by the lady to a bedroom upstairs. It wasn't a servant's room, but rather a guest room within the main house. There was a fire lit in the room and together with the aroma of lavender polish from the parquet flooring, it felt very homely and welcoming.

Through one of its windows, Erna could see a large pear tree standing defiantly in the rear garden and many hens, busily searching for worms. The lady pointed to herself and said 'Nancy' and then, finally, she removed her hat and smiled. Nancy pointed at Erna and repeated her name, confirming that this was indeed her name and then gestured with her hands, as though driving the car, to suggest that the man who drove, was her husband and showed Erna her wedding ring. 'Tom' she said. Erna was fascinated by the array of diamonds and precious stones in Nancy's rings.

Nancy then showed Erna the rich mahogany wardrobe with matching chest of drawers and adjustable mirror top. The drawer knobs were ebony, inlaid with ivory motifs,’ Erna's' she said, gently stroking the smooth polished exterior and presenting it in a manner as to affirm, that it was now her’s to use. She then took Erna by the hand and led her along the galleried balcony to the bathroom. It was breathtaking to Erna and larger than the entire apartment, where she had lived in Germany. A stout Victorian roll top enamelled bath, complete with clawed feet and gleaming brass taps.

An enormous pedestal wash basin with built in mirror and a large gentleman's rosewood compactum wardrobe. Nancy tapped the wardrobe and said 'Tom's'. Erna nodded and smiled. Nancy gestured a drinking motion and said 'tea, coffee'? Erna understood and replied Kaffee bitte. As they ambled down the stairs, Erna pointed to all the hand coloured photo portraits hanging on the walls. Nancy explained saying... 'mother, father, grandfather, grandmother'. Erna thought how they looked a little spooky, because their eyes followed you as you moved around. The farmhouse had been in the family for generations.