Britwitch
Classically curvy
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Brit's Book of Ideas
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Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Hillbeck Farm
Chapter One
Hillbeck Farm, Swellingdale, Southern England
March, 1943
At 23, Rebecca was too young to be a widow but she knew she was far being alone at such a time. Fathers, brothers, husbands…war was not sympathetic to a man's situation in life when it dealt out fate on the battlefield and it had not been sympathetic to her young husband when it decided he should fall in the line of the duty, in a muddy field in France. They had been married only a few months when war was declared in 1939 and he, like so many others, had rushed to defend their country and those others to which they were allied. Rebecca had begged him not to, to wait at least a little while before joining up, but he had assured her the war would not last long and that he would never forgive himself if he didn't do what he felt was the right thing. Two years later Rebecca received the telegram she, and so many others, never wanted to see.
Glancing in the cracked mirror on her dressing table she saw a young woman staring back whose eyes were the only obvious indication that she had suffered the loss that she had. Her bright green eyes shone with a light that told of the hurt she had gone through. Her chestnut brown hair had grown since he had gone, now reaching between her shoulder blades, and she wore it twisted up out of the way. Her once pale skin was now dusted with freckles from working outdoors almost everyday in summer. Her frame and figure was now a little stronger and her naturally narrow waist was even more so given the current state of rationing and the constant exercise. While she, and other farmers, did eat marginally better than the rest of the population at such a time, she made sure she shared whatever she had with those around her.
The farm was fairly large, they had focused mainly on their crops since the start of the war and had a few chickens and cows whose produce they sold in the local village and gave any excess to the war effort. She basically ran things alone, young men from the village always helped in harvest time and until his death the previous year from ill health, Robert's father had always been popping in to lend a hand should she need it. The land was rolling and the soil good, yielding good produce almost every year, it had a small wooded area near the northern edge of their land that provided berries in the autumn and a stream wound its way through the farm and ran past the farmhouse.
When Robert had gone off to war, Rebecca had wondered if she would cope but she soon quashed her concerns, figuring if he could face the unknown in France then she could definitely face the early mornings, muddy clothes and aching back of farm work. In fact, it helped her more than she knew to have a reason to wake up every morning, whether it was feeding the chickens or milking the cows, driving the cantankerous old tractor up to the main field to plough or plant, it kept her going, kept her alive when the nights were filled with uncertainty and unspeakable sadness, nightmares of what Robert might be going through so far away.
Then she had received another surprise. His brother, James, had been wounded in battle and was being sent home. He came to live on the farm, bedding down in what had been their sitting room, resting until his injured leg was strong enough. The army deemed him too badly injured to return to the service and so he worked on the farm alongside her. Rebecca knew she should be glad of the company but, in truth, she wished he would find a home of his own. Aside from the striking family resemblance he had shared with Robert, making her heart ache at times to simply look at him, she had never really liked her brother-in-law. He drank too much and there had been something in the way he looked at her from time to time that unsettled her. She chided herself for thinking ill of him, knowing it was the Christian thing to do to help him and knowing it was what Robert would want her to do but still, she knew if an opportunity arose that would cause him to leave the farm she would jump at it. Recently he had taken to suggesting that she couldn't possibly carry on alone and that he, believing it would have been Robert's wish, should move in permanently, that they should possibly even marry. Keep everything in the family. She ignored his suggestions as politely as she could and simply changed the subject as delicately as possible whenever he brought it up.
Rebecca dressed quickly and headed down to the kitchen, setting about putting on the kettle for tea even though the sun had not long been up above the horizon. Affectionately touching the bundle of letters she kept in her top drawer before heading downstairs. Robert's letters had been infrequent and usually made her feel worse than better, telling her how he missed her, his Becky, how he wished she were beside him. She missed him so much more than she could ever tell anyone, or ever manage to write down in a letter to him. She had loved him almost from the instant she met him, he had been her first kiss, her first everything. She smiled as she pulled her apron over her head, cinching it in around her waist, filled the teapot with boiling water and remembered their wedding night. It had been slightly shy and a little awkward, but unquestionably tender and full of love. They had had an innocent courtship, childhood friends who had become childhood sweethearts. She had practically grown up on the farm, playing with Robert and James, helping out during the harvest. She still remembered the first time he had kissed her as if it had only just happened.
They were both 13 years old and she had been teasing him about a girl at school who, she genuinely believed, had a crush on him. He had blushed bright red and demanded she change the subject. Sensing the chance for fun at his expense, Rebecca had continued teasing him, saying he was simply afraid that the girl in question might have a crush and that he might have to do something about it.
"Not that I think you'd know what to do with a girl in that situation anyway, least ways not one that you liked back!" She had finished triumphantly. He had stood, his cheeks flushed and blue eyes bright, just staring at her for a few moments. She believed he had been trying to come up with a suitably scathing comeback but instead he had quickly crossed the distance between them and kissed her.
"I don't care if Susan Dean likes me or not," He'd said bluntly after pulling back from the kiss. "I like you and, well, that's all I've wanted to do for months…so there!"
It was in those crazy moments that she had realised she liked him, more than liked him to be truthful, and their friendship became so much more in the months and years that followed.
The loud sound of an engine backfiring cut through Rebecca's musings just as she was easing the tea-cozy down over the pot and brought her back to the present, the reason she had bothered to wear a dress rather then a pair of Robert's old trousers, today they were receiving a new worker, from the local POW camp. At first James had refused outright that they should let a German work on their lands, let alone feed him while he worked, but Rebecca had insisted. Reminding him gently that the farm was hers now and regardless of the man's background, another pair of hands would be invaluable. Wiping her hands on the tea towel that hung from the side of her apron, she headed out of the kitchen door and into the yard outside, folding her arms around her body against the spring chill in the air, wishing she'd thought to pick up her shawl.
A large military truck pulled up and a moustached officer jumped down from the cab. The truck was splashed with mud all over its dark green paint and at the rear, was a covered section.
"Mornin' madam, you must be Mrs Seddon, I am Captain Martin, from Swellingdale Camp. I'm here to deliver your worker…we want to thank you for agreeing to take him on and we can assure you he will be no trouble." The officer addressed her politely but formally, holding a crisp piece of paper in his hand. "I will be back for him at four thirty, if that's alright with you?"
"Yes, yes, of course, that's fine," Rebecca took the paper and glanced briefly at it before looking back into the officer's face. The driver of the truck, had in the meantime, moved to the rear and was in the process of helping a man down from inside.
"Can I offer you some tea before you go? We haven't much milk yet until my brother-in-law comes back from the cow shed but it's freshly mashed and still hot." She smiled, folding the paper and slipping it into the pocket of her apron.
"That's very kind of you, Mrs Seddon, but we do have to get round to the other farms with this little lot before it gets too late." He returned the smile, gesturing over his back to the rear of the covered truck, out of which she could see many pairs of curious eyes peeking out of the slats.
The officer then frowned briefly, believing a hidden meaning in her words. "But we can of course wait until your brother-in-law returns if you wish, then he can show the lad here what's what."
"No, no, there's no need for that," Rebecca quickly assured him. "He won't be long in coming and I can show the young man around in the meantime." Feeling blush rush to her cheeks, unsure if it was indignation that they thought she might not know what needed doing on her own farm or if it was embarrassment for herself and the German man opposite her that the officer would insinuate anything untoward occurring if they were left alone.
"Well, if you're sure madam."
"Quite sure." She insisted gently.
The officer saluted and returned to the truck, within moments the engine roared into life and the truck rocked and bounced its way back down the track towards the main road.
Rebecca turned and smiled at the man she had been left with. Pulling the paper back out of her pocket she tried to read the name, squinting slightly as she tried to decipher the sprawling, slightly smudged, handwriting.
"I can't…I can't quite make out your name," She admitted, shoving the paper back into her pocket and holding out her hand towards him.
"I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Seddon, this is my farm and you are very welcome here," She was conscious of not speaking too fast, unsure if this foreign stranger even understood her. "What is your name? I mean, what can I call you?" She asked, gesturing for him to walk with her. "I will show you around a little and then we can have a cup of tea. My brother-in-law, James, will be here soon to show you the rest of the farm and show you what we would like you to do today."
"Mattias Bachmeier, my name is Mattias," His answer was quiet and Rebecca almost didn't hear it at all.
"Mattias…" She repeated equally as quietly, trying to imitate his pronunciation as closely as she could, not wanting to cause offense.
They walked around the chicken shed and the small barn, she took him to the track and pointed out the main field before escorting him inside the farmhouse and inviting him to take a seat while she poured them both a steaming mug of tea, before adding another log to the fire in the range.
"I hope it's not too strong," She said apologetically, handing him a mug and taking a seat opposite him at the kitchen table. She took a sip of her own, wincing as the heat stung her tongue slightly.
"Do you…do you mind me asking where you're from?" Rebecca leant forwards on the table, wrapping her fingers around the mug and letting the warmth slip into her chilled fingers. "I…I've never travelled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time," She added quietly, not entirely sure why she had said it at all.
Chapter One
Hillbeck Farm, Swellingdale, Southern England
March, 1943
At 23, Rebecca was too young to be a widow but she knew she was far being alone at such a time. Fathers, brothers, husbands…war was not sympathetic to a man's situation in life when it dealt out fate on the battlefield and it had not been sympathetic to her young husband when it decided he should fall in the line of the duty, in a muddy field in France. They had been married only a few months when war was declared in 1939 and he, like so many others, had rushed to defend their country and those others to which they were allied. Rebecca had begged him not to, to wait at least a little while before joining up, but he had assured her the war would not last long and that he would never forgive himself if he didn't do what he felt was the right thing. Two years later Rebecca received the telegram she, and so many others, never wanted to see.
Glancing in the cracked mirror on her dressing table she saw a young woman staring back whose eyes were the only obvious indication that she had suffered the loss that she had. Her bright green eyes shone with a light that told of the hurt she had gone through. Her chestnut brown hair had grown since he had gone, now reaching between her shoulder blades, and she wore it twisted up out of the way. Her once pale skin was now dusted with freckles from working outdoors almost everyday in summer. Her frame and figure was now a little stronger and her naturally narrow waist was even more so given the current state of rationing and the constant exercise. While she, and other farmers, did eat marginally better than the rest of the population at such a time, she made sure she shared whatever she had with those around her.
The farm was fairly large, they had focused mainly on their crops since the start of the war and had a few chickens and cows whose produce they sold in the local village and gave any excess to the war effort. She basically ran things alone, young men from the village always helped in harvest time and until his death the previous year from ill health, Robert's father had always been popping in to lend a hand should she need it. The land was rolling and the soil good, yielding good produce almost every year, it had a small wooded area near the northern edge of their land that provided berries in the autumn and a stream wound its way through the farm and ran past the farmhouse.
When Robert had gone off to war, Rebecca had wondered if she would cope but she soon quashed her concerns, figuring if he could face the unknown in France then she could definitely face the early mornings, muddy clothes and aching back of farm work. In fact, it helped her more than she knew to have a reason to wake up every morning, whether it was feeding the chickens or milking the cows, driving the cantankerous old tractor up to the main field to plough or plant, it kept her going, kept her alive when the nights were filled with uncertainty and unspeakable sadness, nightmares of what Robert might be going through so far away.
Then she had received another surprise. His brother, James, had been wounded in battle and was being sent home. He came to live on the farm, bedding down in what had been their sitting room, resting until his injured leg was strong enough. The army deemed him too badly injured to return to the service and so he worked on the farm alongside her. Rebecca knew she should be glad of the company but, in truth, she wished he would find a home of his own. Aside from the striking family resemblance he had shared with Robert, making her heart ache at times to simply look at him, she had never really liked her brother-in-law. He drank too much and there had been something in the way he looked at her from time to time that unsettled her. She chided herself for thinking ill of him, knowing it was the Christian thing to do to help him and knowing it was what Robert would want her to do but still, she knew if an opportunity arose that would cause him to leave the farm she would jump at it. Recently he had taken to suggesting that she couldn't possibly carry on alone and that he, believing it would have been Robert's wish, should move in permanently, that they should possibly even marry. Keep everything in the family. She ignored his suggestions as politely as she could and simply changed the subject as delicately as possible whenever he brought it up.
Rebecca dressed quickly and headed down to the kitchen, setting about putting on the kettle for tea even though the sun had not long been up above the horizon. Affectionately touching the bundle of letters she kept in her top drawer before heading downstairs. Robert's letters had been infrequent and usually made her feel worse than better, telling her how he missed her, his Becky, how he wished she were beside him. She missed him so much more than she could ever tell anyone, or ever manage to write down in a letter to him. She had loved him almost from the instant she met him, he had been her first kiss, her first everything. She smiled as she pulled her apron over her head, cinching it in around her waist, filled the teapot with boiling water and remembered their wedding night. It had been slightly shy and a little awkward, but unquestionably tender and full of love. They had had an innocent courtship, childhood friends who had become childhood sweethearts. She had practically grown up on the farm, playing with Robert and James, helping out during the harvest. She still remembered the first time he had kissed her as if it had only just happened.
They were both 13 years old and she had been teasing him about a girl at school who, she genuinely believed, had a crush on him. He had blushed bright red and demanded she change the subject. Sensing the chance for fun at his expense, Rebecca had continued teasing him, saying he was simply afraid that the girl in question might have a crush and that he might have to do something about it.
"Not that I think you'd know what to do with a girl in that situation anyway, least ways not one that you liked back!" She had finished triumphantly. He had stood, his cheeks flushed and blue eyes bright, just staring at her for a few moments. She believed he had been trying to come up with a suitably scathing comeback but instead he had quickly crossed the distance between them and kissed her.
"I don't care if Susan Dean likes me or not," He'd said bluntly after pulling back from the kiss. "I like you and, well, that's all I've wanted to do for months…so there!"
It was in those crazy moments that she had realised she liked him, more than liked him to be truthful, and their friendship became so much more in the months and years that followed.
The loud sound of an engine backfiring cut through Rebecca's musings just as she was easing the tea-cozy down over the pot and brought her back to the present, the reason she had bothered to wear a dress rather then a pair of Robert's old trousers, today they were receiving a new worker, from the local POW camp. At first James had refused outright that they should let a German work on their lands, let alone feed him while he worked, but Rebecca had insisted. Reminding him gently that the farm was hers now and regardless of the man's background, another pair of hands would be invaluable. Wiping her hands on the tea towel that hung from the side of her apron, she headed out of the kitchen door and into the yard outside, folding her arms around her body against the spring chill in the air, wishing she'd thought to pick up her shawl.
A large military truck pulled up and a moustached officer jumped down from the cab. The truck was splashed with mud all over its dark green paint and at the rear, was a covered section.
"Mornin' madam, you must be Mrs Seddon, I am Captain Martin, from Swellingdale Camp. I'm here to deliver your worker…we want to thank you for agreeing to take him on and we can assure you he will be no trouble." The officer addressed her politely but formally, holding a crisp piece of paper in his hand. "I will be back for him at four thirty, if that's alright with you?"
"Yes, yes, of course, that's fine," Rebecca took the paper and glanced briefly at it before looking back into the officer's face. The driver of the truck, had in the meantime, moved to the rear and was in the process of helping a man down from inside.
"Can I offer you some tea before you go? We haven't much milk yet until my brother-in-law comes back from the cow shed but it's freshly mashed and still hot." She smiled, folding the paper and slipping it into the pocket of her apron.
"That's very kind of you, Mrs Seddon, but we do have to get round to the other farms with this little lot before it gets too late." He returned the smile, gesturing over his back to the rear of the covered truck, out of which she could see many pairs of curious eyes peeking out of the slats.
The officer then frowned briefly, believing a hidden meaning in her words. "But we can of course wait until your brother-in-law returns if you wish, then he can show the lad here what's what."
"No, no, there's no need for that," Rebecca quickly assured him. "He won't be long in coming and I can show the young man around in the meantime." Feeling blush rush to her cheeks, unsure if it was indignation that they thought she might not know what needed doing on her own farm or if it was embarrassment for herself and the German man opposite her that the officer would insinuate anything untoward occurring if they were left alone.
"Well, if you're sure madam."
"Quite sure." She insisted gently.
The officer saluted and returned to the truck, within moments the engine roared into life and the truck rocked and bounced its way back down the track towards the main road.
Rebecca turned and smiled at the man she had been left with. Pulling the paper back out of her pocket she tried to read the name, squinting slightly as she tried to decipher the sprawling, slightly smudged, handwriting.
"I can't…I can't quite make out your name," She admitted, shoving the paper back into her pocket and holding out her hand towards him.
"I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Seddon, this is my farm and you are very welcome here," She was conscious of not speaking too fast, unsure if this foreign stranger even understood her. "What is your name? I mean, what can I call you?" She asked, gesturing for him to walk with her. "I will show you around a little and then we can have a cup of tea. My brother-in-law, James, will be here soon to show you the rest of the farm and show you what we would like you to do today."
"Mattias Bachmeier, my name is Mattias," His answer was quiet and Rebecca almost didn't hear it at all.
"Mattias…" She repeated equally as quietly, trying to imitate his pronunciation as closely as she could, not wanting to cause offense.
They walked around the chicken shed and the small barn, she took him to the track and pointed out the main field before escorting him inside the farmhouse and inviting him to take a seat while she poured them both a steaming mug of tea, before adding another log to the fire in the range.
"I hope it's not too strong," She said apologetically, handing him a mug and taking a seat opposite him at the kitchen table. She took a sip of her own, wincing as the heat stung her tongue slightly.
"Do you…do you mind me asking where you're from?" Rebecca leant forwards on the table, wrapping her fingers around the mug and letting the warmth slip into her chilled fingers. "I…I've never travelled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time," She added quietly, not entirely sure why she had said it at all.
Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
Hillbeck Farm
Chapter Two
Papenburg, Northern Germany
December, 1942
Mattias wasn't sure why but leaving home had gotten harder in recent years. He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked down the cobbled street towards the station, giving his mother one more cheery wave before the street wound its way around a corner and she disappeared from his sight until the next time he was able to visit. Odd he thought given that for most of his teenage life he had dreamt of escaping the sleepy little town and going off on adventure into the great unknown.
Strange how everything had changed so very entirely but then, he supposed, that's what wars did. They destroyed men and lives and what little they left behind they left almost unrecognisably changed. He had seen it with his own eyes. Friends who he had once believed to be as close as brothers now felt like strangers, their hearts and minds tainted by the horrors of war.
Mattias had grown up with stories of the last war, of the feeling that Germany had only lost because of a lack of patriotism among it's people, that it had been let down, stabbed in the back, by those 'undesirables' in society who many felt were ultimately responsible for Germany's defeat. In his young, naïve heart he felt that should the call ever come for him he would stand up proudly for his country and do what was needed, what was right.
But now that he was about to go off on adventure again and one definitely into the unknown how he wished he were staying right where he was. The idea of what was 'right' had become very blurry in recent times, stories of dark, disgusting deeds being undertaken by his countrymen in the name of victory were filtering through in whispered conversations and whenever his eyes caught sight of his own reflection and the uniform upon his tall frame he felt pang of guilty uncertainty that he might no longer be on the 'right' side anymore.
Mattias had managed to 'escape' when he had finished his schooling. His quick mind when it came to mathematics and the sciences had enabled him to earn a scholarship to the University in Hannover where he studied engineering. He had embraced his studies passionately; devoting every waking hour to attending his lectures, keeping meticulous notes in the process, and to completing his assignments. The University was far away enough that he had 'reason' to stay closer to the campus during the week and return to Papenburg on the weekends. He stayed with a distant cousin of his father's and the freedom of living his own life five days a week was something Mattias had craved for as long as he could remember.
Adventure, the chance to stand up proudly and be counted, had swiftly followed in the form of recruitment into the Kriegsmarine upon his graduation, at the tender age of 21. His talents as an engineer were put into use by their submarine corps and he had enjoyed the challenges of the position he was given, not to mention the benefits it afforded him. Although the first time he had stepped into a submarine he had felt anything but adventurous. The tight confines, the stale air, all of it made him feel nauseous and anything but brave. Nevertheless, desperate to do well, he had swallowed his nerves and completed the training exercise without any problems and within a year of joining the corps he had lost count of how many exercises he had participated in. Now, 5 years later, he barely flinched at the clanging sounds of the hatches being shut, he couldn't say he particularly enjoyed going, but then he doubted if any man did, but they no longer scared him like that first trip under the water had done.
This latest adventure was something very different though and, if he was honest, it did thrill him slightly whenever he thought about it. He was going to fly. Something that he imagined every young boy had dreamt of and many young men in his position would give anything to do. But even so, he wished he was staying at home with his mother's less than subtle questions about when he was going to do the decent thing and propose to Jutta, the girl he had been 'walking out with' before the war had begun, and his father's slightly condescending questions about whether he intended to try and rise higher through the military ranks in the near future. Questions that in the previous months drove him up the wall during his visits home now seemed far preferable when compared to what might lie ahead.
Mattias was brought back to the present and away from his musings as he returned a wave from a uniformed young man waiting at the station entrance. Smiling and warmly shaking the hand of his friend, and fellow recruit, Johannes as he reached him.
"Ready for this?" Johannes shouldered his bag easily and made for the large double doors which would take them through into the ticket hall beyond.
"As I'll ever be," Mattias sighed in reply, pausing to let a pair of young ladies walk through the open door before him. Johannes flashed the pair a winning smile, accompanied with what could only be described as a rakish wink. One of them giggled and slowed her pace as if to respond but her friend was clearly not as easily swayed and grabbed her arm to keep her moving along. "You're incorrigible!" Mattias couldn't help but laugh as he watched Johannes easily shrug off the rejection.
"Plenty more fish and all that," Johannes sighed over dramatically. "Besides, once we've completed this mission they'll be falling over themselves for us, you know how the ladies go for the fly-boys!"
"Taking part in this Luftwaffe mission doesn't make us fly boys, it makes us passengers!" Mattias retorted as they headed out to the platform, crowded with young men in uniform from the surrounding area, all freshly returned from leave and heading back to Wilhelmshaven and the naval base. "And you know as well as I do that they'd probably manage to complete it without us, in all honesty, we're just there for the ride and to make the paperwork everything it should be."
Mattias and Johannes were to accompany a bombing raid to England. Mattias to, supposedly, help identify potential targets of 'strategic benefit' and Johannes was to point out targets that would hit at British moral. He had been a history scholar before his own recruitment and his knowledge of England was supplemented by having distant relations living in the island nation who had regularly hosted his family during summer holidays, taking them to famous beauty spots and historical monuments.
"I know that we'll know we did little to help the mission," Johannes explained in an almost painful tone as they boarded the train. "But the ladies won't!"
"I have to say my faith isn't as strong as yours in this particular plan," Mattias groaned as he hoisted his pack onto the luggage rack and sank down into the seat beside the window.
"Not to worry," Johannes slapped his upper arm jovially. "I have more than enough faith for the pair of us!"
"I know, that's what worries me!" Mattias couldn't help but smile back at his friend in spite of his own reservations as train began to pull away from the station. His eyes drifted out of the window, to the scenery gradually passing with increasing speed, adding under his breath. "…and that's not the only thing!"
Less than twelve hours later, as their plane span out of control towards the English countryside after suffering a barrage of fire as they flew over London, those words were the last thing he remembered flashing through his mind.
*~*~*~*~*
Camp 459 - Swellingdale Camp, Swellingdale, Southern England
March 1943
Hollow. That was the only word Mattias could use with any degree of accuracy to describe how he felt.
He alone had survived the crash, purely as the result of having been thrown clear from the wreckage upon impact. He had been seriously injured, broken arm and leg, cracked ribs and a plethora of cuts and bruises, but he had escaped the fireball that engulfed the twisted remains of the plane shortly after. He hated that he had survived. He knew he should be grateful but he just couldn't bring himself to see things that way. Johannes' face haunted his dreams and he'd woken almost every night crying out in anguish when he had been convalescing in the local hospital before being moved to the Prisoner Camp.
After interrogation on arrival, during which Mattias had felt a vague twinge of relief as he was able to voice his doubts about the regime he had left behind, he had been handed a white patch to sew onto his clothes, the colour signifying he was not considered a 'hardened' follower of the Nazi policies. His English was good and he was genuinely surprised to find himself granted the position of Lagerführer, a form of liason officer between the Germans and the British. As such he had been given permission to work outside the camp. He didn't particularly want to do anything except wallow in his own self-loathing but the chance to get out of the camp was too good to resist and so he found himself bouncing along in the back of a covered truck, en route to his placement at a local farm. Feeling the fresh air rushing past had, Mattias had to admit, blown away some of the 'cobwebs' and ghosts hanging drearily around him. The ghost of a smile passing over his lips as the rolling hills went by. He tried to ignore the grumbles of his fellow prisoners who seemed to think that they were bound to face a barrage of insults from the British farmers and land owners they were to work for. He almost wished his English wasn't as strong as it was. That way he might not understand any insults that came his way.
"36863, Bachmeier, this is you!" The driver boomed from the front seat after they had bounced their way down a muddy track and into a farm yard.
Mattias took a steadying breath as he jumped down from the back of the truck and wandered around the side to meet his 'boss' for the coming days and months.
The sight of a young woman talking to his Prison Officer staggered him slightly. He reasoned she must be the farmer's daughter or, noticing the ring on her finger, perhaps his wife. He tried to not to overhear their brief conversation but his ears pricked up and he felt himself bristling as he was sure the Officer hinted that something untoward would happen if he left the pair alone. He glanced at her face and felt a vague sense of relief that she looked as embarrassed and put out as he felt.
Before he could react the young lady assured the Officer it would be more than fine for him to leave and within moments they were alone, although the Prison Officer has whispered a terse, "Make sure you behave yourself, lad!" on his way back to the cab.
Mattias watched the truck pull unsteadily out of the farm yard and head back up the track to continue on its way. He turned back to see the young woman frowning at the slip of paper she had been handed with his name upon it.
"I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Seddon, this is my farm and you are very welcome here."
Mattias shook her outstretched hand, his mind caught on the realisation this was her farm.
"What is your name? I mean, what can I call you? I will show you around a little and then we can have a cup of tea. My brother-in-law, James, will be here soon to show you the rest of the farm and show you what we would like you to do today…"
"Mattias Bachmeier, my name is Mattias." He replied quietly, trying to hide the uncertainty that filled his insides at her announcement that it would not be her husband that would join them, a horrible feeling that his absence was, perhaps, a permanent one.
Mattias followed her around as she pointed out the various elements of the small farm before being led into the farmhouse and directed to take a seat. The kitchen was warm and homely, causing Mattias to feel a strong pang of homesickness for a moment or two.
He gave a quiet thank you as Rebecca handed him a large mug of dark coloured tea.
"I hope it's not too strong."
"No, no, it's fine," He insisted with a smile. Compared to the slightly watery tea served in the camp it was fantastic.
"Do you…do you mind me asking where you're from? I…I've never travelled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time."
Mattias wanted to apologise for her loss but he knew his words would mean little and wouldn't help either of them feel any more relaxed. Her husband's death, assuming it had been on the front line somewhere, was no more his fault than the death of his great-aunt in a bombing raid by the British on Essen was hers; at least that what he tried to tell himself.
"I don't mind at all. I'm from Papenburg, a small town in Northern Germany. It's not particularly well known outside of Germany, at least I don't know why it would be. Ship building is the main industry, although no one in my family is involved in it. I lived there my whole life until I went to University in Hannover and was then stationed in Wilhelmshaven when I joined the Kriegsmarine, sorry I mean to say, when I joined the German navy." He explained, in between sipping his tea. "Aside from that I am not much of a traveller myself, I haven't even visited Berlin and I'm already 26 years old! Whereas I am sure you have at least visited your nation's capital?" Mattias was genuinely astonished to find he was smiling at the relative stranger before him. He was about to ask her if she had visited London, what it was like, but a loud bang behind him made the pair of them jump slightly.
"Oh, James, there you are. This is Mattias and he will be working on the farm with us." Rebecca's voice sounded tight, even to a relative stranger like Mattias. The man in the doorway did not look pleased.
Chapter Two
Papenburg, Northern Germany
December, 1942
Mattias wasn't sure why but leaving home had gotten harder in recent years. He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked down the cobbled street towards the station, giving his mother one more cheery wave before the street wound its way around a corner and she disappeared from his sight until the next time he was able to visit. Odd he thought given that for most of his teenage life he had dreamt of escaping the sleepy little town and going off on adventure into the great unknown.
Strange how everything had changed so very entirely but then, he supposed, that's what wars did. They destroyed men and lives and what little they left behind they left almost unrecognisably changed. He had seen it with his own eyes. Friends who he had once believed to be as close as brothers now felt like strangers, their hearts and minds tainted by the horrors of war.
Mattias had grown up with stories of the last war, of the feeling that Germany had only lost because of a lack of patriotism among it's people, that it had been let down, stabbed in the back, by those 'undesirables' in society who many felt were ultimately responsible for Germany's defeat. In his young, naïve heart he felt that should the call ever come for him he would stand up proudly for his country and do what was needed, what was right.
But now that he was about to go off on adventure again and one definitely into the unknown how he wished he were staying right where he was. The idea of what was 'right' had become very blurry in recent times, stories of dark, disgusting deeds being undertaken by his countrymen in the name of victory were filtering through in whispered conversations and whenever his eyes caught sight of his own reflection and the uniform upon his tall frame he felt pang of guilty uncertainty that he might no longer be on the 'right' side anymore.
Mattias had managed to 'escape' when he had finished his schooling. His quick mind when it came to mathematics and the sciences had enabled him to earn a scholarship to the University in Hannover where he studied engineering. He had embraced his studies passionately; devoting every waking hour to attending his lectures, keeping meticulous notes in the process, and to completing his assignments. The University was far away enough that he had 'reason' to stay closer to the campus during the week and return to Papenburg on the weekends. He stayed with a distant cousin of his father's and the freedom of living his own life five days a week was something Mattias had craved for as long as he could remember.
Adventure, the chance to stand up proudly and be counted, had swiftly followed in the form of recruitment into the Kriegsmarine upon his graduation, at the tender age of 21. His talents as an engineer were put into use by their submarine corps and he had enjoyed the challenges of the position he was given, not to mention the benefits it afforded him. Although the first time he had stepped into a submarine he had felt anything but adventurous. The tight confines, the stale air, all of it made him feel nauseous and anything but brave. Nevertheless, desperate to do well, he had swallowed his nerves and completed the training exercise without any problems and within a year of joining the corps he had lost count of how many exercises he had participated in. Now, 5 years later, he barely flinched at the clanging sounds of the hatches being shut, he couldn't say he particularly enjoyed going, but then he doubted if any man did, but they no longer scared him like that first trip under the water had done.
This latest adventure was something very different though and, if he was honest, it did thrill him slightly whenever he thought about it. He was going to fly. Something that he imagined every young boy had dreamt of and many young men in his position would give anything to do. But even so, he wished he was staying at home with his mother's less than subtle questions about when he was going to do the decent thing and propose to Jutta, the girl he had been 'walking out with' before the war had begun, and his father's slightly condescending questions about whether he intended to try and rise higher through the military ranks in the near future. Questions that in the previous months drove him up the wall during his visits home now seemed far preferable when compared to what might lie ahead.
Mattias was brought back to the present and away from his musings as he returned a wave from a uniformed young man waiting at the station entrance. Smiling and warmly shaking the hand of his friend, and fellow recruit, Johannes as he reached him.
"Ready for this?" Johannes shouldered his bag easily and made for the large double doors which would take them through into the ticket hall beyond.
"As I'll ever be," Mattias sighed in reply, pausing to let a pair of young ladies walk through the open door before him. Johannes flashed the pair a winning smile, accompanied with what could only be described as a rakish wink. One of them giggled and slowed her pace as if to respond but her friend was clearly not as easily swayed and grabbed her arm to keep her moving along. "You're incorrigible!" Mattias couldn't help but laugh as he watched Johannes easily shrug off the rejection.
"Plenty more fish and all that," Johannes sighed over dramatically. "Besides, once we've completed this mission they'll be falling over themselves for us, you know how the ladies go for the fly-boys!"
"Taking part in this Luftwaffe mission doesn't make us fly boys, it makes us passengers!" Mattias retorted as they headed out to the platform, crowded with young men in uniform from the surrounding area, all freshly returned from leave and heading back to Wilhelmshaven and the naval base. "And you know as well as I do that they'd probably manage to complete it without us, in all honesty, we're just there for the ride and to make the paperwork everything it should be."
Mattias and Johannes were to accompany a bombing raid to England. Mattias to, supposedly, help identify potential targets of 'strategic benefit' and Johannes was to point out targets that would hit at British moral. He had been a history scholar before his own recruitment and his knowledge of England was supplemented by having distant relations living in the island nation who had regularly hosted his family during summer holidays, taking them to famous beauty spots and historical monuments.
"I know that we'll know we did little to help the mission," Johannes explained in an almost painful tone as they boarded the train. "But the ladies won't!"
"I have to say my faith isn't as strong as yours in this particular plan," Mattias groaned as he hoisted his pack onto the luggage rack and sank down into the seat beside the window.
"Not to worry," Johannes slapped his upper arm jovially. "I have more than enough faith for the pair of us!"
"I know, that's what worries me!" Mattias couldn't help but smile back at his friend in spite of his own reservations as train began to pull away from the station. His eyes drifted out of the window, to the scenery gradually passing with increasing speed, adding under his breath. "…and that's not the only thing!"
Less than twelve hours later, as their plane span out of control towards the English countryside after suffering a barrage of fire as they flew over London, those words were the last thing he remembered flashing through his mind.
*~*~*~*~*
Camp 459 - Swellingdale Camp, Swellingdale, Southern England
March 1943
Hollow. That was the only word Mattias could use with any degree of accuracy to describe how he felt.
He alone had survived the crash, purely as the result of having been thrown clear from the wreckage upon impact. He had been seriously injured, broken arm and leg, cracked ribs and a plethora of cuts and bruises, but he had escaped the fireball that engulfed the twisted remains of the plane shortly after. He hated that he had survived. He knew he should be grateful but he just couldn't bring himself to see things that way. Johannes' face haunted his dreams and he'd woken almost every night crying out in anguish when he had been convalescing in the local hospital before being moved to the Prisoner Camp.
After interrogation on arrival, during which Mattias had felt a vague twinge of relief as he was able to voice his doubts about the regime he had left behind, he had been handed a white patch to sew onto his clothes, the colour signifying he was not considered a 'hardened' follower of the Nazi policies. His English was good and he was genuinely surprised to find himself granted the position of Lagerführer, a form of liason officer between the Germans and the British. As such he had been given permission to work outside the camp. He didn't particularly want to do anything except wallow in his own self-loathing but the chance to get out of the camp was too good to resist and so he found himself bouncing along in the back of a covered truck, en route to his placement at a local farm. Feeling the fresh air rushing past had, Mattias had to admit, blown away some of the 'cobwebs' and ghosts hanging drearily around him. The ghost of a smile passing over his lips as the rolling hills went by. He tried to ignore the grumbles of his fellow prisoners who seemed to think that they were bound to face a barrage of insults from the British farmers and land owners they were to work for. He almost wished his English wasn't as strong as it was. That way he might not understand any insults that came his way.
"36863, Bachmeier, this is you!" The driver boomed from the front seat after they had bounced their way down a muddy track and into a farm yard.
Mattias took a steadying breath as he jumped down from the back of the truck and wandered around the side to meet his 'boss' for the coming days and months.
The sight of a young woman talking to his Prison Officer staggered him slightly. He reasoned she must be the farmer's daughter or, noticing the ring on her finger, perhaps his wife. He tried to not to overhear their brief conversation but his ears pricked up and he felt himself bristling as he was sure the Officer hinted that something untoward would happen if he left the pair alone. He glanced at her face and felt a vague sense of relief that she looked as embarrassed and put out as he felt.
Before he could react the young lady assured the Officer it would be more than fine for him to leave and within moments they were alone, although the Prison Officer has whispered a terse, "Make sure you behave yourself, lad!" on his way back to the cab.
Mattias watched the truck pull unsteadily out of the farm yard and head back up the track to continue on its way. He turned back to see the young woman frowning at the slip of paper she had been handed with his name upon it.
"I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Seddon, this is my farm and you are very welcome here."
Mattias shook her outstretched hand, his mind caught on the realisation this was her farm.
"What is your name? I mean, what can I call you? I will show you around a little and then we can have a cup of tea. My brother-in-law, James, will be here soon to show you the rest of the farm and show you what we would like you to do today…"
"Mattias Bachmeier, my name is Mattias." He replied quietly, trying to hide the uncertainty that filled his insides at her announcement that it would not be her husband that would join them, a horrible feeling that his absence was, perhaps, a permanent one.
Mattias followed her around as she pointed out the various elements of the small farm before being led into the farmhouse and directed to take a seat. The kitchen was warm and homely, causing Mattias to feel a strong pang of homesickness for a moment or two.
He gave a quiet thank you as Rebecca handed him a large mug of dark coloured tea.
"I hope it's not too strong."
"No, no, it's fine," He insisted with a smile. Compared to the slightly watery tea served in the camp it was fantastic.
"Do you…do you mind me asking where you're from? I…I've never travelled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time."
Mattias wanted to apologise for her loss but he knew his words would mean little and wouldn't help either of them feel any more relaxed. Her husband's death, assuming it had been on the front line somewhere, was no more his fault than the death of his great-aunt in a bombing raid by the British on Essen was hers; at least that what he tried to tell himself.
"I don't mind at all. I'm from Papenburg, a small town in Northern Germany. It's not particularly well known outside of Germany, at least I don't know why it would be. Ship building is the main industry, although no one in my family is involved in it. I lived there my whole life until I went to University in Hannover and was then stationed in Wilhelmshaven when I joined the Kriegsmarine, sorry I mean to say, when I joined the German navy." He explained, in between sipping his tea. "Aside from that I am not much of a traveller myself, I haven't even visited Berlin and I'm already 26 years old! Whereas I am sure you have at least visited your nation's capital?" Mattias was genuinely astonished to find he was smiling at the relative stranger before him. He was about to ask her if she had visited London, what it was like, but a loud bang behind him made the pair of them jump slightly.
"Oh, James, there you are. This is Mattias and he will be working on the farm with us." Rebecca's voice sounded tight, even to a relative stranger like Mattias. The man in the doorway did not look pleased.
Britwitch
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He frowned slightly, pausing to look at her almost warily, before he replied.
"Is this one of those times when you want me to lie to protect your delicate emotions?"
She laughed. Hard.
"Oh, I needed that!" Her eyes were bright with tears, some of which he was sure had nothing to do with the laughter. "But given all we've been through and all that might lay ahead," she eventually said once she'd regained her composure, "your honest opinion is the least of my worries." Her eyes were solemn when they rose to find his. "Besides, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't care to hear what you actually thought."
"Is this one of those times when you want me to lie to protect your delicate emotions?"
She laughed. Hard.
"Oh, I needed that!" Her eyes were bright with tears, some of which he was sure had nothing to do with the laughter. "But given all we've been through and all that might lay ahead," she eventually said once she'd regained her composure, "your honest opinion is the least of my worries." Her eyes were solemn when they rose to find his. "Besides, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't care to hear what you actually thought."
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Being nice.
It’s harder than it looks.
It sucks for the majority of the time, actually. It’s fairly easy to do to a degree, that’s not what’s hard about it.
My Mum always taught me if you have nothing nice to say then don’t say anything at all. Simple. Keeping the negativity out of conversation instantly makes you a nicer person, right?
But just because I don’t say it aloud, doesn’t mean I don’t think it. I can tell you now that I do. A lot. A lot more than most people will ever know that I do. But I’m nice enough to keep my comments to myself.
Being nice means remembering when people are having a hard time, making sure you keep them in your thoughts and reach out when they’ve been quiet for a little too long. Being nice means keeping important dates in your head and taking the time to mark them. Birthdays, anniversaries or even just sharing photos and jokes that made that person pop into you mind. After all it takes mere moments to let someone know they’re being thought of. Being nice means planning surprises for friends and including them in the excitement of planning for others, trying in a way to spread the idea that caring for those around you should ultimately make you happier.
But all that remembering and planning comes at a price. It also means you can’t help but remember all the times your own hardships were faced alone or all those times your efforts to remember others were all but ignored. The times you’ve gone out of your way to recognise someone’s achievement and yet your own achievements somehow fall off the radar of those you hoped might recognise them. You can’t help but notice that while you’re running around organising and planning for everyone else, no one is planning for you. That when you think you might have been noticeable by your absence, be it physically or conversationally…it seems like no one reaches out to make sure you’re alright. Unless of course you reach out first. Which you inevitably do, because you’re more worried about why they haven’t been in touch than the fact that you’ve been apparently forgotten.
Of course, being nice means you never complain about these things – not openly anyway. That’s not what nice people do. Besides, there’s probably a good reason why no one seems to have you at the top of their list while you’re so busy putting yourself at the bottom of your own. Your niceness means you explain away their indifference and selfishness until it seems almost understandable. Expected. There must be something happening in their lives you don’t know about, so you find yourself reaching out again, to make sure they’re ok. Telling yourself you mustn’t feel too disappointed when it’s painfully obvious that they’ve had the desire and made the time to connect with other people in spite of whatever hardships they’re facing…just not with you.
This isn’t limited to being nice of course. Being the hard worker means it’s all too easy to be the one picking up the slack of those lazier around you. If anything they actually get lazier because they know you’re there to do the work they should be doing. Do you stop going in early to work to combat it? Do you stop trying so hard? Of course you don’t. You can’t.
You carry on. Like always. For the most part on your own. Yes, you have family and friends who love you and tell you they think the world of you, but there are many times after you’ve supported them and listened to them so that they can carry on happily and renewed along life’s highway…you find yourself alone with your problems once again with no one to turn to but yourself.
So you process as best you can and occasionally allow yourself to vent - usually like this, in a place where those who've annoyed and hurt you will never find it, because you have to keep it hidden. God forbid you actually told people how you felt.
Being nice.
It’s harder than it looks.
It’s harder than it looks.
It sucks for the majority of the time, actually. It’s fairly easy to do to a degree, that’s not what’s hard about it.
My Mum always taught me if you have nothing nice to say then don’t say anything at all. Simple. Keeping the negativity out of conversation instantly makes you a nicer person, right?
But just because I don’t say it aloud, doesn’t mean I don’t think it. I can tell you now that I do. A lot. A lot more than most people will ever know that I do. But I’m nice enough to keep my comments to myself.
Being nice means remembering when people are having a hard time, making sure you keep them in your thoughts and reach out when they’ve been quiet for a little too long. Being nice means keeping important dates in your head and taking the time to mark them. Birthdays, anniversaries or even just sharing photos and jokes that made that person pop into you mind. After all it takes mere moments to let someone know they’re being thought of. Being nice means planning surprises for friends and including them in the excitement of planning for others, trying in a way to spread the idea that caring for those around you should ultimately make you happier.
But all that remembering and planning comes at a price. It also means you can’t help but remember all the times your own hardships were faced alone or all those times your efforts to remember others were all but ignored. The times you’ve gone out of your way to recognise someone’s achievement and yet your own achievements somehow fall off the radar of those you hoped might recognise them. You can’t help but notice that while you’re running around organising and planning for everyone else, no one is planning for you. That when you think you might have been noticeable by your absence, be it physically or conversationally…it seems like no one reaches out to make sure you’re alright. Unless of course you reach out first. Which you inevitably do, because you’re more worried about why they haven’t been in touch than the fact that you’ve been apparently forgotten.
Of course, being nice means you never complain about these things – not openly anyway. That’s not what nice people do. Besides, there’s probably a good reason why no one seems to have you at the top of their list while you’re so busy putting yourself at the bottom of your own. Your niceness means you explain away their indifference and selfishness until it seems almost understandable. Expected. There must be something happening in their lives you don’t know about, so you find yourself reaching out again, to make sure they’re ok. Telling yourself you mustn’t feel too disappointed when it’s painfully obvious that they’ve had the desire and made the time to connect with other people in spite of whatever hardships they’re facing…just not with you.
This isn’t limited to being nice of course. Being the hard worker means it’s all too easy to be the one picking up the slack of those lazier around you. If anything they actually get lazier because they know you’re there to do the work they should be doing. Do you stop going in early to work to combat it? Do you stop trying so hard? Of course you don’t. You can’t.
You carry on. Like always. For the most part on your own. Yes, you have family and friends who love you and tell you they think the world of you, but there are many times after you’ve supported them and listened to them so that they can carry on happily and renewed along life’s highway…you find yourself alone with your problems once again with no one to turn to but yourself.
So you process as best you can and occasionally allow yourself to vent - usually like this, in a place where those who've annoyed and hurt you will never find it, because you have to keep it hidden. God forbid you actually told people how you felt.
Being nice.
It’s harder than it looks.
Britwitch
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https://38.media.tumblr.com/3f245136943b3b0ee4ed11e7e2d4ba2d/tumblr_n0okwaVnix1t6ocs0o1_500.gif
Every light that shines into someone's life, casts a shadow into someone else's.
Camp NaNoWriMo 2016
Every light that shines into someone's life, casts a shadow into someone else's.
Camp NaNoWriMo 2016
Britwitch
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For as long as anyone could remember the fog had come. It's arrival was never exactly predicted but everyone knew when the nights began to draw out in length and the days grew shorter that one day the breeze that drifted almost constantly along the valley floor would drop and then the fog would inevitably come.
Streets would be deserted, wherever you were was where you would most likely remain until the wind returned and the fog would recede. Sometimes it was a week but there had been years when the mists had lingered for more than a month.
There were those few opportunists for whom the fog was a blessing. Tavern owners, for instance, relished the prospect of a captive set of customers obliged to eat and drink at a price. Local lawmakers had discussed bylaws to prevent such things being taken advantage of but landlords inevitably 'changed their mind' when the fog descended and the chance to discuss such things publicly was no longer possible.
There were also those who would offer to accompany those for whom travel in the fog was a necessity. Many were honest men, good with a sword and pure of intention. There were others, of course. Just as there had to be night and day there were guides who would take the coin offered by travelers but then lead them astray. After all, in the fog one road looked very much like another. It was all too easy to 'lose' their way or 'misplace' their charge. Some travelers would simply vanish, some - mostly trusting young women - would suffer far worse fates at the hands of those who led them willingly into the fog. Taken advantage of in the darkest of ways, used...sometimes sold.
Even if your guide was trustworthy who knew what dangers might be waiting down the road, the villains waiting in the fog to pounce on passers-by.
No one really knew why the fog came. Some said it was judgement for the sins of the town's founders in past, a punishment. Some said it was merely weather and nothing more. Nevertheless, whatever the true cause might be, when the fog came no one wanted to wander far from home.
*~*~*~*
A young woman travelling on family business finds herself stuck in the town with no knowledge of the fog or it's consequences. When the clouds seem to fall from the sky one night and fill the streets she definitely doesn't want to stay any longer than she has to. But what choice does she have?
Strike out on her own and risk getting lost, try to find a guide willing and trustworthy enough to take her into the fog and convey her to her destination, or simply wait it out...however long that might be.
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fr33ks33k
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That's an interesting take on Strangers on a Train....
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fr33ks33k
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I thought so too
Hope you're keeping well, handsome
I am. Hope all's well in your neck of the woods too!
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