The Betrayed

by Christy Kenneally

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

In a small town high in the Austrian mountains, Karl and Max are friends on the edge of adulthood. Karl dreams of being a teacher and calling Hallstatt home for the rest of his life. Max, desperate to escape the poisonous influence of his mother, is increasingly tormented with jealousy over his friend''s bond with the brilliant and passionate Elsa. Then, a tragedy in the local salt-mines changes their lives forever. As they leave their childhoods behind, Karl and Max walk very different paths. One trying to survive the horrors of war on the Russian front; the other in an unrelenting quest for power within the Catholic Church. When they meet again many years later, they must face the memories that have haunted them since that fateful day in the mines. And confront the darkness that divided them. The Betrayed is an epic story of friendship, love, loss and the power of destiny.

Release date: August 4, 2011

Publisher: Hachette Ireland

Print pages: 300

Sample

Hitler invaded Yugoslavia in April 1940. Shortly afterwards, the Croat fascists were allowed to declare an independent Croatia
under Ante Paveliç. Paveliç’s group, the Ustashe (from ‘ustati’, to rise up) had resisted the Kingdom of Yugoslavia after
the first World War and, under Mussolini’s protection, Paveliç had planned the assassination of King Alexander of Yugoslavia.


The historical background to the setting up of the NDH (Nezavisna Drzava Hrvatska) or Independent State of Croatia was a combination
of ancient loyalties to the papacy, going back thirteen hundred years, and the fact that both Serbs and Croats equated ethnicity
and religious identity – Orthodox Serb versus Catholic Croat.


This was also the background to the campaign of terror the Ustashe carried out against Serb Orthodox Christians, Jews, gypsies
and Communists between 1941 and 1945. It was an attempt to create a ‘pure’ Catholic Croatia by enforced conversion, deportation
and extermination.


Pope Pius XII warmly endorsed Croat nationalism. When a national pilgrimage came to Rome, in 1939, the pope used a phrase
first applied to the Croats by Pope Leo X, referring to them as ‘the last outpost of Christianity’. ‘The hope of a better
future seems to be smiling on you,’ Pius said. ‘A future in which the relations between Church and State in your country will
be regulated in harmonious action to the advantage of both.’


In April 1941, the first Jews were transported from Zagreb to a concentration camp at Danica.

Details of the the massacre of Serbs and the elimination of the Jews and gypsies were known by the Croatian Catholic priests
and bishops. Indeed, as tribunals discovered, after the war, clergy often took a leading role in the atrocities.


By the most recent reliable reckoning, 487,000 Orthodox Serbs and 27,000 gypsies were massacred between 1941 and 1945 in the
Independent State of Croatia. In addition, approximately 30,000 out of a population of 45,000 Jews were killed; 20,000 to
25,000 as a result of Ustashe death camps and another 7,000 deported to the gas chambers.


Cardinal Eugène Tisserant


A French cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church who participated in the conclave of 1939 that elected Eugenio Pacelli as Pope
Pius XII.


Francis D’Arcy Osborne (1884-1964)

The British ambassador to the Vatican during the papacy of Pope Pius XII.

Doctor Carl-Ludwig Diego von Bergen (1872-1944)

Baron von Bergen was announced as German ambassador to the Vatican in 1920, however, he was not regarded as sufficiently pro-Nazi
and was recalled to Berlin in 1943.


Ante Paveliç; (1889-1959)

A Croatian fascist leader who ruled as Poglavnik, or head, of the independent state of Croatia, which was created as a puppet-state
of Nazi Germany in occupied Yugoslavia. He was also the leader of the Croatian fascist militia, the Ustashe, who were responsible
for atrocities against Orthodox Serbs, Jews and others during the war years. After the war, he fled to Rome and then Argentina.
A Serb shot Paveliç near Buenos Aires in 1957 and he died of his injuries in 1959.


Father Ludwig Kaas (1881-1952)

A German Roman Catholic priest and politician during the Weimar Republic. Kaas was an advisor to Eugenio Pacelli when he served
as a papal nuncio to Bavaria. During the war, he became the close confidant of Pope Pius XII.


Father Robert Leiber, SJ (1887-1967)

A German Jesuit who became the private secretary and close advisor of Pope Pius XII.

Cardinal Luigi Maglione (1877-1944)

An Italian cardinal who served as the Vatican Secretary of State under Pope Pius XII.

Pope Pius XII (1859-1958)

He was born Eugenio Pacelli, in Rome, and served as a papal nuncio and later as Cardinal Secretary of State under Pius XI.
As Secretary of State, he signed a concordat between Germany and the Vatican in 1938. Elected Pope in 1939, he was leader
of the Roman Catholic Church throughout the war and until his death in 1958. Pope Pius XII was criticised for failing to speak
out against the Nazi extermination of the Jews in Europe, and the massacre of the Orthodox Serbs and others by the Independent
State of Croatia under its leader Ante Paveliç. Immediately after his death, Pope Paul VI began the process for his canonisation.
In 2009, Pope Pius XII was declared Venerable by Pope Benedict XVI.


Friedrich Werner von der Schulenburg (1875–1944)

A German diplomat and the last German ambassador to the Soviet Union before Operation Barbarossa. After the failed plot against
Hitler in 1944, von der Schulenburg was hanged.


Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov (1890–1986)

Molotov served as Minister for Foreign Affairs in the Soviet government from 1939 to 1947. He signed the Nazi–Soviet non-aggression
pact with von Ribbentrop in 1939.


General Semyon Timoshenko (1895–1970)

A Soviet military commander of the Red Army at the beginning of Operation Barbarossa in 1941.

Lavrentiy Beria (1899–1953)

Chief of the Soviet security and police apparatus (NKVD) under Stalin.

General Georgy Zhukov (1896–1974)

A Soviet general who played a pivotal role in defending Moscow during Operation Barbarossa.

Joseph Stalin (Iosif Vissaryonovich) (1878–1953)

A Georgian-born Soviet politician and Bolshevik revolutionary. He was First General Secretary of the Communist Party of the
Soviet Union from 1922 until his death. In August 1939, Stalin’s USSR signed a non-aggression pact with Nazi Germany. In June
1941, Germany invaded the USSR under the codename Operation Barbarossa.


Lazar Kaganovich ( 1893–1991)

A Soviet politician and administrator. He was one of the main associates of Stalin. For his ruthlessness in carrying out Stalin’s
orders, he was known as ‘Iron Lazar’.


Anastas Mikoyan (1895–1978)

A Soviet politician and close ally of Stalin. He served as Minister for Trade throughout the Second World War and was placed
in charge of food and supplies when Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941.


Waffen SS

In the early days of Operation Barbarossa, the Waffen SS fought Soviet partisans behind the German lines. Later, they were
removed from the control of the regular army and took part in the murder of Soviet prisoners and the liquidation of Jews in
the Soviet Union.


General Gunther Adolf Ferdinand ‘Hans’ von Kluge (1892-1944)

Commander of the Fourth Army Central at the beginning of Operation Barbarossa, he was promoted later in the campaign after
the dismissal of General Fedor von Bock. General von Kluge was implicated in the assassination attempt on Hitler and died
by suicide in 1944.


General Franz Halder (1884-1972)

Chief of the General Staff. Halder’s opposition to Operation Barbarossa and to Hitler’s strategy led to his demotion in 1942.
While he did not actively participate in the assassination attempt on Hitler, he was arrested and sent to a concentration
camp where he remained until the war was over.


Bishop Alojzije Miscic (1859-1942)

The Catholic bishop of Mostar in Croatia. He was an enthusiastic supporter to Ante Paveliç and the Ustashe and advocated the
mass conversion of Orthodox Serbs to Roman Catholicism.


Archbishop Aloysius Stepinac (1898-1960)

Became Archbishop of Zagreb in 1937. After the German invasion of Yugoslavia, Stepinac issued proclamations celebrating the
new Croatian state and welcomed the Ustashe leadership of Ante Paveliç. In 1943, he objected to the Nazi laws, the persecution
of Jews and was critical of Ustashe atrocities. Stepinac was convicted of collaboration by the Yugoslav communist government
in 1946 and imprisoned. Later, he was released and kept under house arrest. Pope Pius XII made him a cardinal in 1953 and he died, probably as a result of poisoning, in
1960. Aloysius Stepinac was declared a martyr and was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1998.


Fra Miroslav Filipovic (1915-46)

A Croatian nationalist and Roman Catholic priest, he was convicted of war crimes by a German military court and a Yugoslav
civil court and hanged in Belgrade.


Ustashe

A Croatian, fascist, anti-Yugoslav, separatist movement. The Ustashe promoted persecution and genocide against Serbs, Jews
and Roma people during the war. It was responsible for atrocities against various communities and in concentration camps throughout
Croatia. It is estimated that almost 300,000 people were murdered by the Ustashe before the German surrender in 1945.


General Fedor von Bock (1880-1945)

Von Bock is best known for commanding Operation Typhoon, the failed attempt to capture Moscow during the winter of 1941. After
the Soviet counter-offensive, he recommended a withdrawal and was relieved of his command by Hitler. He personally despised
Nazism but did not sympathise with plots to overthrow Hitler. Von Bock, along with his wife and daughter, were killed by a
strafing British fighter-bomber on 4 May 1945 as they travelled by car to Hamburg.


General Erich von Manstein (1887-1993)

During Operation Barbarossa, von Manstein served under General Hoepner. In September 1941, von Manstein was appointed commander
of the Eleventh Army tasked with invading the Crimea. He was dismissed by Hitler in 1944 because of their disagreements over
military strategy. In 1949, he was tried in Hamburg for war crimes and sentenced to eighteen years in prison. He was released
after four years and became a military advisor to the West German government.


General Maximilian von Weichs (1881-1954)

Von Weichs led the Second Army, as part of von Bock’s Army Group Centre at the Battle of Smolensk and later at Bryansk.

General Erich Hoepner (1886-1944)

Commander of the Fourth Panzer Group during Operation Barbarossa, Hoepner was arrested and executed for his part in the failed assassination attempt on Hitler in 1944.


General Konstantin Rokossovsky (1896-1968)

Rokossovsky played a key role in the defence of Moscow. He went on to even greater success during the counter-offensive and
became a marshal of the Soviet Union.


General Leonid Govorov (1897-1955)

An artillery commander, Govorov commanded an army during the Battle of Moscow in November 1941. From 1942 to the end of the
war, he commanded the Leningrad Front and reached the rank of Marshal of the Soviet Union in 1944.


Doctor Rusinovic

A Croatian medical doctor, Rusinovic represented the new Croatian state at the Vatican.

Father Krunoslav Dragonovic (1903-83)

A Croatian Roman Catholic priest, Dragonovic was accused of being one of the main organisers of the ‘ratlines’ which helped
war criminals escape from Europe after the Second World War. His centre of operations for the Croat ratline was the monastery
of San Girolamo in Rome, from where he is believed to have helped Ante Paveliç and Klaus Barbie escape to South America.


Albert von Kesselring (1885-1960)

A German Luftwaffe General during the Second World War, von Kesselring defended Italy against the Allied invasion until he
was injured in an accident. He was tried for war crimes and sentenced to death, though his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment
and he was released in 1952 on health grounds.


Pè re Marie-Benoît (1895-1990)

A Capuchin Franciscan friar, Marie-Benoît helped smuggle approximately 4,000 Jews to safety from Nazi-occupied southern France.
While in Rome, he set up a unit in the International College to forge identity papers and travel documents for refugees. In
1966, he was honoured with the Medal of Righteousness among the Nations for his courage. His actions on behalf of Jews during
the Holocaust earned him the epithet ‘Father of the Jews’.


 

HALLSTATT, AUSTRIA, 1940

Simon Tauber wiped the blackboard clean, folded the cloth carefully, and placed it on his desk. Tiny flecks of white danced
in the beam of light from the classroom window and he inhaled their smell. It was a good smell, he thought, a smell that permeated
his clothes which, during the long evenings, reminded him of the classroom. He would store it in his memory, along with the
smell of the fresh ink he poured into the tiny ceramic cups at the top-right corner of the desks every morning; the smell
of weathered desks, pencil shavings and the ashes still warm in the stove. Every morning, he turned the key in the lock and
stepped into this space. His students came at eight thirty, some dewy-eyed, fresh from sleep, smelling of carbolic soap. Others
smelled of the cows they had milked earlier. Karl, the carpenter’s boy, had a piny whiff of wood-shavings from his father’s
workshop. Even with his back turned, the teacher could identify them by their smell; his students, the boys and girls who
shuffled into desks, flipped the flaps of their satchels, set their books and copybooks in neat piles and looked expectantly
at him.


‘Good morning,’ he said.

‘Good morning, sir,’ they chorused.

His eyes ranged across their faces. Karl was bright-eyed and attentive as ever, his books sorted, his pens aligned; a workman
standing ready with his tools for the day. What a solid student he would make, in time and with the right teacher. Elsa, the
miner’s daughter who sat beside him, was chaos to his calm. Already, she was digging in a shapeless bag for the things that
eluded and frustrated her. He had no doubt that the brilliant and undisciplined Elsa would plough a significant academic furrow,
if she could be brought to focus. And Max? Ah, Max, the policeman’s son; the third member of the bright triumvirate. No, triumvirate
was the wrong word – it implied three men. Trio then? Yes, accurate and gender neutral, but it didn’t really do them justice. They
did reign over the others, in terms of intellectual ability. Max could even qualify as their pole-star. The boy was a polymath
– excelling across a range of subjects, but he was such an arrogant shit. Simon Tauber closed his eyes and asked God’s forgiveness
for his uncharacteristic cruelty. ‘I am not myself, today, Lord,’ he reminded his Maker. ‘I know a good teacher would never
put such a label on a child – but…?’ And there, his prayer ended. He knew that a man who was truly penitent could never ‘but’
before God. But his rational mind insisted there was something in Max that tainted his brilliance and when Karl and Elsa conferred
on a task, there was something in his face. Perhaps it was just a longing to be part of their unconscious closeness. But?


To distract himself, the teacher let his attention move among the others. Apart from Elsa, he surmised, most of the girls
would leave school at the earliest possible opportunity to work on the family farm or in the village, until they married.
Why not? he argued with himself; it will be a good life for them, here in Hallstatt. And yet his heart protested against the
inevitability of it. His heart sank further as he assessed the boys. How they hankered after war, he despaired. Have their
fathers no memories? Who could remember the Somme or Passchendaele and not bar the recruiting sergeant from the door? Why
do the young insist on drawing Death’s attention, like children edging to the centre of the frozen lake where the ice is thinnest?
Suddenly, a burst of sunlight defied his mood, and the dusty classroom window, to flood their faces. As one, they turned to
it, like sunflowers. Only he could see their shadows stretching long and black behind them. ‘Carpe diem,’ seize the day, his
heart urged but his tongue caught and swallowed it. Small children inhabit and are possessed by the present, he knew.


These young men and women existed only in the present moment, but it was the future that occupied them. It is only the old
who appreciate the preciousness of each passing moment and, by then, it is too late. He had read somewhere that if mothers
truly remembered the pains of childbirth, they would never give birth to another child. Amnesia, he concluded, is the real recruiting sergeant. It dulls the agony of the man-boy blown to bits
or crucified on the wire. And so, it urges us to put up monuments; huge slabs of stone to suppress the real memories. We cast
the dead in heroic bronze to transform the terrible into something more palatable in the short term, and more seductive to
the next generation. Let’s not forget the shame, he prompted himself. What happens to those who lose a war; those who barter
a generation of golden sons for the dross of defeat? Shame, he thought, is the anger that sours and eats the soul. It is such
a small step from ‘shame’ to ‘blame’ and then a nation and every house within it divides against itself, and those whose words
fall like sparks on that dry tinder blaze to prominence and power. And what of those whose faces do not fit – whose faith
has made them, even marginally, separate and therefore suspect and …? He was surprised at the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
I am afraid, he thought and let that shuddering realisation run through him. I have fallen under the shadow of the Chinese
curse and have ‘come to the attention of the authorities’.


The policeman had come before dawn. The teacher had asked him inside because invitation lessens the sting of intrusion and
he had treated him with all the courtesy he would have extended to any neighbour. The policeman had been his neighbour before
his duty brought him in another guise. They had sat across the kitchen table from each other, Tauber in his dressing gown
and slippers, trying to ignore the feeling of nakedness that chilled his bare ankles. The policeman had asked for his papers
in a formal language that marked and measured the distance between them. With trembling hands, he had unearthed his papers
from the drawer in the kitchen table; tugging them free of the bric-a-brac that seemed to protest their leaving. The policeman’s
lips moved as he read and the teacher wondered if he was aware of that.


‘Everything in order?’

He asked the question to relieve the tension that was becoming an ache in his belly.

‘I’m afraid not, Herr Tauber. Your wife … your late wife … was a Roman Catholic, according to her papers.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, she was baptised here in Hallstatt.’


The policeman nodded. ‘But you, Herr Tauber …’ He paused and picked up a page as if to re-read something, but his lips did
not move.


‘I was born Jewish, in Vienna. It’s all there; including my conversion and baptism into the Roman Catholic Church before our
marriage.’


‘Ah,’ the policeman grunted.

Simon Tauber knew he should let the silence stretch. Even a rural schoolteacher knew how filling silences revealed more than
you intended, but his fear overrode his good sense.


‘This all happened some years ago, so, you see, the new laws concerning Jews converting to Christianity do not apply to me.’

The policeman brought the page a little closer to his eyes.

‘Herr Steiger, the current laws apply only to those who have recently converted,’ he said, as if explaining some crystal clear
fact to a particularly dense student.


‘And why do you think that is so, Herr Tauber?’

‘Why? I suppose … of course, I am not a legal person but, I surm— … imagine it is to prevent Jews from evading the law in
some way … by converting, that is.’


‘But, the motive, Herr Tauber,’ the policeman said, placing the page on the table before him, ‘the motive, then or now, could
be the same.’


‘If you will check with Father Kyril—’

‘I have spoken to Father Kyril. He cannot, in conscience, vouch for your motives. There is room for doubt, Herr Tauber,’ he
concluded, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger as if considering a complex legal problem.


For a moment, Tauber was at a loss. His papers were in order. This nit-picking over motives was … Ah! He leaned back in his
chair as he realised his error. He had forgotten the rules of the game. It was a simple game played in every walk of life.
It had other names, of course, like ‘observing the proprieties’, but it all boiled down to the same game. According to the
rules of the game, the shopper greeted the butcher, formally and respectfully, before they both proceeded to the transaction.
The priest was asked if he could provide a baptism certificate, as a favour, even though it was a right and he had a duty to provide it.
Herr Steiger, according to bierkeller gossip, was a man of small ability and enormous self-importance. Tauber had heard him
referred to as ‘the little corporal’, and he idly wondered, in his teacher’s way, if the reference was to Napoleon or Hitler.
In his innocence, he had asked his wife and, he remembered, she’d looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and affection.
‘Not Hitler,’ she’d said definitively. ‘Herr Steiger has Hitler at home.’ When she was sure he had digested this, she had
continued to warn him of the importance of ‘staying out of his way’. This most Christian of women was wiser in the ways of
the real world than the learned Simon Tauber. Essentially, she had cautioned him to observe the rules of the game. He leaned
forward and bowed his head. When he spoke, his voice was deferential and subdued.


‘Surely,’ he began, ‘a man in your position is empowered to exercise a degree of … discretion in such matters?’

He watched the muscles of the policeman’s jaw relax. The game had begun.

‘Of course, of course,’ he huffed. ‘My superiors in Vienna leave many matters to my discretion, but …’

The teacher dropped his voice to little above a whisper.

‘Of course’, he concurred. ‘They rely on you to do what is best for the community under your protection. I’m sure this is
yet another burden you carry, along with all your other duties. I hope the community appreciates that.’


The policeman pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. ‘Some do,’ he granted.

‘I would like to consider myself among them,’ Simon Tauber said. ‘I am sure you and I can come to an accommodation that would
satisfy the law and all parties concerned.’


The policeman nodded again, stretched his legs and stood. ‘Perhaps, you’re right, Herr Tauber,’ he said. ‘Such things are
best kept local; between people who know and understand each other. Yes, leave it with me. I’m sure we can arrive at an accommodation.’
He scooped the papers from the table. ‘Until tonight, Herr Tauber.’


Simon Tauber broke from his reverie and looked through the schoolhouse window at the lake. He had scraped together every schilling
he could find and hoped it would be enough of an accommodation for the policeman, who was coming again that evening. And perhaps
some night next week, Tauber mused bitterly, as ‘complications’ arose. This was a game he could not win. At best, he could
only hope to limit his losses.


‘Herr Tauber?’

‘What?’

He realised his students had been waiting.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I … I was somewhere else. No doubt you would also like to be somewhere else as well.’ They
smiled dutifully. ‘I’ve been looking out over the lake and thinking how lucky I’ve been. I came here to Hallstatt as a substitute
teacher and found my wife. She knew more about the history of Hallstatt than any historian. We walked a lot; I was younger
then. Naturally, we explored the mines, as I’m sure you have.’ He looked at them and added mischievously, ‘We didn’t need
our parents’ permission.’


Some of the students smiled while a few dropped their eyes selfconsciously.

‘And we walked in the Dachstein Mountains,’ he continued, ‘but our walks always ended at the lake. She told me how our Celtic
ancestors threw offerings in the water because they thought God lived there. Sometimes, I allowed myself to become distracted
by … by really important things like correcting essays.’


They laughed at this while he strolled to the window.

‘When you’re young, it’s so easy to become distracted from what matters,’ he said quietly. He lifted his eyes to the white
crests of the mountains. ‘Whatever happiness I have known since … I have known here with you and I thank you.’


He turned and looked at them.

‘It is much too nice a day for you to sit here listening to me ramble. Go, go for a walk,’ he said, flapping his hand at them.
‘Adam and Eve did not know they lived in Paradise until it was lost to them.’


*

Simon Tauber stood in the centre of his kitchen and concluded that it was as clean as a man could make it. He padded into
the bathroom and shaved, carefully, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. He dressed in his best, dark suit and tied a cravat under
his stiff, white collar. When he left, he simply pulled the door behind him. The streets lay deserted as twilight blurred
towards true night under the looming shadow of the mountains. A little light leaked from the window shutters of the tall houses
so that he didn’t have to watch his step and could look around him. Simon Tauber imprinted the topography on his mind as he
walked through the silent village. His eyes travelled over the canted roofs and the stark silhouette of the church until they
lifted to the houses that straggled up the slopes and vanished in the darkness. His eyes swung back to the church and to the
little light that identified the priest’s house sheltering in its shadow. Perhaps if I spoke to Father Kyril, he thought.
He remembered knocking on the door of that house when he had gone for instruction, prior to baptism. The priest had not made
any eye contact and had gone through the motions, like a man whose mind and heart were elsewhere. Tauber remembered the contorted
cross behind the priest’s shoulder as they had sat at the table and he had wondered if it had been strategically placed so
that a penitent or, as in his case, a supplicant would reflect upon his part in that agony. His baptism had occurred before
dawn in the cold and echoing church; ‘to avoid scandal,’ the priest had muttered. After breakfast, Clara had encouraged him
to go for a walk. In her wisdom, she’d invented some excuse to stay at home so that he could have time alone with his thoughts.
He’d followed the same route he took now, letting the memories of his bar mitzvah and many happy Seder meals wash over him.
Three days later, a final letter from his sister informed him that his father had recited Kaddish for him – the Jewish prayer
for the dead.


The road edged the lake and he followed it to a fringe of beach that jutted into the water. His boots crunched on the shingle,
keeping time with the rhythmic slapping of the small waves. Their walks always ended here. All along the route, Clara would
stride forward, lured by the next object of interest, while he would trail behind, slowed by his own thoughts, until she was
almost out of sight. Then he would call to her, ‘Wait, darling, I don’t want to lose you.’ She would retrace her steps and link his arm. Even in
the gathering dark, he’d known she was smiling. He stepped into the lake and shuddered as the water lapped his knees and then
higher until he found it hard to hold his footing. ‘Wait, darling,’ he gasped before the water filled his mouth.


HALLSTATT: THE BIERKELLER, THREE NIGHTS LATER

The occasional pop of wood burning in the hearth was the loudest sound in the bierkeller. Gert finished wiping the bar top
and started to polish the glasses. He knew it was a futile exercise. During the night, the downdraught from the chimney would
coat both bar and glasses with a fine ash. His solitary customer sat swaying on a stool, trying to stay in synch with his
glass on the bar. The one-armed boatman was alone tonight, Gert noted; no Erich to shadow and steer him home when the drink
inevitably took his land legs. He hoped the boatman’s son was at home with his mother and sisters. No boy should see what
had come up on his father’s grappling hook that morning, Gert grimaced. The women would know how to handle him. The beer would
dull the reality for Johann, as it had done since he’d left his arm in Ypres.


‘Hard work,’ h