Home > The German Girl : A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel(5)

The German Girl : A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel(5)
Author: Lily Graham

The doctor had told her that it was his short-term memory that was the biggest concern if he continued to live out here. For the most part he was still roughly cognisant, and his long-term memory was fine but if he started to forget to eat, that’s when they might need to think about sending him to a care home. The trouble was, Ingrid knew Morfar: if that happened, he wouldn’t last long – he was too stubborn, too independent, and far too ornery. At least with her there he’d have some level of freedom, if only she could make him see that…

She sighed. She’d worry about that later; for now, the one thing that was bothering her was his sudden switch into a language he claimed to despise. ‘That’s not the only reason I’m calling, though,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘He spoke German.’

There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘German?’

‘Yes.’

There was a snort as if Ingrid was teasing her; Jonna’s voice was quickly dismissive. ‘Can’t be, love.’

Ingrid sighed. ‘Trust me – he was speaking German – I mean, almost like a native.’

‘What! Are you sure?’

‘Positive. I’d got so used to speaking it with Ben over the years that I didn’t even realise we’d switched languages.’

They’d been together for nearly ten years; it had ended when they’d realised they both wanted very different things. Monogamy for her, for one… it was one of the reasons she’d taken a long, hard look at her life and finally taken the plunge to move back to northern Sweden – if she didn’t do it now, when would she? When she’d found someone else? Got married? Settled down? Those things would make it much harder. There was never a good time to change your life – but there were times when it felt like the earth turned on its axis in such a way that all you had to do was take a leap. Like when she heard about Morfar’s deteriorating condition – something her mother had been keeping from her, knowing how stressed she was about the end of her relationship. When she had finally told her the truth, the decision to move to her parents’ summer cabin and care for him had been instantaneous – and fortuitous, as Marta hadn’t hung up the towel, she’d burnt it and trodden on its embers.

Jonna continued. ‘I – I always thought Morfar hated the language – I mean, it never made sense, really. But there was that thing when you were – I don’t know, maybe eight or nine? When your friend Suzie moved to Stjärna, I don’t know if you remember…’

‘Oh, I remember,’ said Ingrid. ‘Believe me.’

Her mother sighed. ‘Well. Yes. I suppose it must have left an impression. Your father said he’d never seen him like that before. So angry… so wild. I never dreamt he could actually speak the language – considering how he reacted anytime someone spoke it.’

‘Me neither. But he seemed to know it very well.’

There was a small exhalation at the end of the line. ‘What did he say?’

Ingrid thought back to while she was filling the bath. His voice had changed. ‘He sounded young, and he was saying something about a boat, he called me Küken – a little bird. Was it maybe an endearment of some kind he used on you?’

‘No, never,’ breathed her mother.

Ingrid frowned. ‘Maybe he had to learn it against his will or something – at school, or later during the war? I know that Sweden was neutral but there was the fear that they might be invaded like Norway or Denmark, wasn’t there?’

‘Oh yes. A lot of the men were put on standby to train as soldiers in case that ever happened. Being neutral didn’t mean Sweden just carried on as if nothing was happening, it was still a time full of fear – watching planes pass overhead wondering if one of those bombs was going to be for you, listening to the news about the world going mad, mass persecutions, concentration camps, starvation… I remember a teacher telling me that it was like hiding away in an attic when there were burglars inside, but the burglars knew you were there, and you were waiting to hear them climb the stairs…’

Ingrid blew out her cheeks. It must have been scary. Of course, Sweden had had to compromise a lot – it wasn’t squeaky clean in its neutrality as they’d had to concede a great deal to Germany for the privilege of that neutrality, and so, for the ordinary citizens, it stood to reason that they might have been afraid that their agreement with the Nazis was as ‘solid’ as the one the Nazis had with Poland, before they crumbled the country in two like a cookie they shared with the Soviets.

‘When I was growing up, he hated it whenever anything was in German – even the news. He would walk out the room if the television was on and they were speaking it. I always wondered if something specific happened during the war – something to him, you know, to make him react that strongly, but of course he never spoke of it.’

‘Yes.’ Even Ingrid had encountered that wall more than a few times in her childhood. She could count on one hand the personal details he’d told her over the years.

There was a pause, and then Jonna said, ‘You know he was an orphan?’

Ingrid’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ She hadn’t known that. ‘But that can’t be true – he told me about his parents! I’m sure he told me about his mother. She was Danish, right?’

‘You’re thinking of Trine. She was his aunt.’

Ingrid blinked. ‘His aunt?’

‘I’m not sure of the full story but at some point, he went to live with her – I have memories of her myself, when I was little. She was kind. A great sense of humour, and a bit stern. But before that – before I was born – it’s as if all those years before never existed. You couldn’t get him to speak about it for love or money. I know I tried.’ She didn’t mention the years she’d pressed for more. The way she used to beg him. How she’d once screamed at him, ‘It’s not fair – everyone I know has a history – what’s ours? How can I know so little about my own father?’ It was only later that she’d worked out… maybe there wasn’t a history there to tell – or maybe it was just too painful – too lonely? But even so – couldn’t he have told her that? The only person he ever told her about was her mother… but that was hard too, as he’d lost her so soon after Jonna was born.

Ingrid bit her lip. ‘That’s so tough, Mum, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me about this before, though?’

There was a deep sigh. ‘I don’t know, I should have… it just felt like he’d given me this life full of so many questions without answers. I didn’t want to do that to you too.’

Ingrid swallowed. Her mother had been trying to spare her. ‘He loves you, though,’ she told her mother.

‘I know, and he was a good father too – I think he tried very hard to make my life happy, especially as for so many years he was the only person in it. I know that when you came along he mellowed a bit more; he just adored you from the start.’

Ingrid wiped away a tear. It had been mutual; it still was.

‘Still, there’s so much we just don’t know. I mean… German?’

‘I know,’ breathed her mother. ‘Well, I always wondered… if he wasn’t involved in the war in some way.’

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