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Authors: Elizabeth Ellis
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still there, in the same house.’
‘Does he say why he wants us to visit?’
‘Not exactly. I think he’s in poor health. It’s not surprising, he must be over eighty now.’
Sophie bangs the high chair with a spoon. Molly gently removes it, giving her more toast. ‘Would you want to go – could we, do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. Not all of us anyway.’
‘Where are we going?’ Paul mumbles through his food. ‘Can I come?’
‘I’ll go,’ I say, ‘I’d like to go.’
‘It’s a long journey.’ Saul says. ‘Three trains and a boat – it will take two days.’
I’m not put off, though Adam wades in with more obstacles. ‘And it doesn’t bother you that Germany is cut in half now?’ he says. ‘You can’t go further than Lübeck.’
‘But Uncle Jakob lives in Lübeck. Why would we want to go anywhere else?’ I look down at my plate. ‘I just thought it might be fun.’
Saul puts his hand on my arm. ‘I think you’re right. I think we should go. You and I, Maddie – and Josef will come too. It will be good for you both.’
Adam puts down his knife and fork noisily. ‘Well, I’ll be working this summer anyway.’
And Josef, standing up to clear the plates, catches my eye then and winks. This is the year before he leaves, my last memory of light and space, the last time he and I share our lives.
*
As the summer approaches, talk at school revolves around holidays. I have friends whose parents have started to take them abroad – to Spain or Italy where it’s always hot and you can lie on a beach all day. Our family experience of a beach being far removed from heat or lying around, I try to ignite interest in my plans with details of our trip to Germany.
‘So you’ll be on a train for how long?’ Hannah sprawls on my bed peering into a hand mirror, pulling her face around.
‘Eighteen hours. Well, more than that. We get a train to London, then a thing called a boat train to Dover, then a night crossing to somewhere in Belgium, then a train again, all the way to Hamburg.’ I’ve learnt the route by heart. ‘Uncle Jakob will meet us with a car and drive the last part to Lübeck.’
Hannah squeezes a spot on her chin. ‘Sounds a bit boring to me.’ I suspect she has no idea where these places actually are.
In the schoolroom, Josef and I pore over the map of Northern Europe in my school atlas, tracing the route. We follow too the journey Oma made with her sons all those years before.
‘Do you ever wonder about Papa?’ I ask Josef.
‘What about him?’
‘What it was like for him. Growing up – leaving his home.’
Josef shuts the atlas. ‘Has he ever told you about it?’
‘Not really. But Oma did sometimes, especially later on. She rambled – it was all bits and pieces, but I remember some of it now and it starts to make sense. She told me something about a necklace that her sister gave her. Oma brought it here in her cello case, stitched into the lining.’
Josef looks up, surprised. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he says.
That makes my day – I don’t often get the chance to impress him. So I say, ‘I once heard Adam ask Papa if we could change our name – so it was more English – he suggested Fielding or something like that. That would be weird though, wouldn’t it?’
‘Adam’s full of weird ideas.’
‘And Uncle Jakob? How come he ended up in Lübeck?’
‘I don’t know. Same reasons maybe.’ Josef stands up. He’s tall now and thick set, with Molly’s fair colouring, like mine. It sits well on him – my friends from school all blush and giggle stupidly when they come for tea, though he never seems to take much notice. I look at him standing by the door and feel the tug of change that will pull us further apart. Just how far apart I have no notion then, mercifully perhaps. As he leaves the room I race with excitement and regret.
Eleven
August 1962
We break up early for the summer holiday. Saul needs a week to clear his work while Josef
‘Does he say why he wants us to visit?’
‘Not exactly. I think he’s in poor health. It’s not surprising, he must be over eighty now.’
Sophie bangs the high chair with a spoon. Molly gently removes it, giving her more toast. ‘Would you want to go – could we, do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. Not all of us anyway.’
‘Where are we going?’ Paul mumbles through his food. ‘Can I come?’
‘I’ll go,’ I say, ‘I’d like to go.’
‘It’s a long journey.’ Saul says. ‘Three trains and a boat – it will take two days.’
I’m not put off, though Adam wades in with more obstacles. ‘And it doesn’t bother you that Germany is cut in half now?’ he says. ‘You can’t go further than Lübeck.’
‘But Uncle Jakob lives in Lübeck. Why would we want to go anywhere else?’ I look down at my plate. ‘I just thought it might be fun.’
Saul puts his hand on my arm. ‘I think you’re right. I think we should go. You and I, Maddie – and Josef will come too. It will be good for you both.’
Adam puts down his knife and fork noisily. ‘Well, I’ll be working this summer anyway.’
And Josef, standing up to clear the plates, catches my eye then and winks. This is the year before he leaves, my last memory of light and space, the last time he and I share our lives.
*
As the summer approaches, talk at school revolves around holidays. I have friends whose parents have started to take them abroad – to Spain or Italy where it’s always hot and you can lie on a beach all day. Our family experience of a beach being far removed from heat or lying around, I try to ignite interest in my plans with details of our trip to Germany.
‘So you’ll be on a train for how long?’ Hannah sprawls on my bed peering into a hand mirror, pulling her face around.
‘Eighteen hours. Well, more than that. We get a train to London, then a thing called a boat train to Dover, then a night crossing to somewhere in Belgium, then a train again, all the way to Hamburg.’ I’ve learnt the route by heart. ‘Uncle Jakob will meet us with a car and drive the last part to Lübeck.’
Hannah squeezes a spot on her chin. ‘Sounds a bit boring to me.’ I suspect she has no idea where these places actually are.
In the schoolroom, Josef and I pore over the map of Northern Europe in my school atlas, tracing the route. We follow too the journey Oma made with her sons all those years before.
‘Do you ever wonder about Papa?’ I ask Josef.
‘What about him?’
‘What it was like for him. Growing up – leaving his home.’
Josef shuts the atlas. ‘Has he ever told you about it?’
‘Not really. But Oma did sometimes, especially later on. She rambled – it was all bits and pieces, but I remember some of it now and it starts to make sense. She told me something about a necklace that her sister gave her. Oma brought it here in her cello case, stitched into the lining.’
Josef looks up, surprised. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he says.
That makes my day – I don’t often get the chance to impress him. So I say, ‘I once heard Adam ask Papa if we could change our name – so it was more English – he suggested Fielding or something like that. That would be weird though, wouldn’t it?’
‘Adam’s full of weird ideas.’
‘And Uncle Jakob? How come he ended up in Lübeck?’
‘I don’t know. Same reasons maybe.’ Josef stands up. He’s tall now and thick set, with Molly’s fair colouring, like mine. It sits well on him – my friends from school all blush and giggle stupidly when they come for tea, though he never seems to take much notice. I look at him standing by the door and feel the tug of change that will pull us further apart. Just how far apart I have no notion then, mercifully perhaps. As he leaves the room I race with excitement and regret.
Eleven
August 1962
We break up early for the summer holiday. Saul needs a week to clear his work while Josef
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