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As the last of the children and their mums passed through the police station doors toward home, reminders of the war troubled Rupert. What a dastardly holiday this would be in the Hurtgen Forest.
In those dark, forbidding woods, the battle had begun in September and raged on in winter’s bitter cold. Those poor soldiers out there fought the elements as well as Adolph—the thought made him sick at his stomach. With each news report, all promise of the war ending this year joined so many others from the War Ministry, and even from General Eisenhower himself.
A cry from Iris shook Rupert back to the moment where mums and children frolicked at the same time as this gruesome war. Iris gave him that look that called him from whatever else that might engage him.
“Da!” His daughter’s excited cry saved him from memory’s pit—from falling back to that other war. Without doubt, he had survived by sheer mercy.
Iris clung to his knee and Cecil to his waist. “Da, look, look! See what Father Christmas brought. Thank you, thank you.” Cecil held an apple, a new sweater, and a set of coloring pencils. Iris cradled a store-bought baby doll complete with a bright yellow blanket and matching hat.
Invigorated, Madeleine accompanied the two youngsters. A simple celebration, but worth every effort. Around them, the Green itself seemed somehow brighter this afternoon.
Soon they would honor their own quiet Christmas traditions. Last year, they’d retreated to the Anderson shelter for a good share of the day, as Adolph made their holiday a cozy one.
No tree again this year, but he and Madeleine would take Iris and Cecil on a walk one day soon to view the one erected in the tube station. There, children from families without an Anderson shelter—many with no home at all—would share cakes and goodies to honor the birth of this world’s Savior.
Oh, the irony of that phrase. Without the Vicar, Rupert could scarcely consider its context. No, this was no time for pondering. At such a time, one carried out traditions regardless of the mire riding one’s soul.
On their visit to the tube station last winter, Cecil had spied a schoolmate and begged to stay. His plaintive request still rang.
“Why can’t we live down here, too?” Madeleine tried to explain, but Rupert forsook all attempts. Some things, a youngster like Cecil would not understand until much later.
Tears swelled behind his eyes as he paused just outside the door. Oh that his children might grow to embrace Truth and goodness. Seeing them lead the way brought Anna to mind. Last night, she’d been waiting up for him when he came home from his volunteer duties.
Sitting there at the kitchen table, a book in hand—Jane Eyre, to be exact—she attended his return. Minutes before he caught sight of her, he’d been dragging his weary body home, longing for the relief of sleep.
But seeing Anna, all else flitted away. Nothing mattered but his firstborn daughter, clever and lovely, the pride of her teachers, and long the joy of this family.
The years paraded before him—Anna at her birth, pink and chubby in a miniature cap and sweater knitted by Gran. Anna as a two-year-old cherub, dimpled and delightful, Anna with her hand tightly in Junior’s, headed off for her first day of school, Anna parading with the dolly carriage he’d made her for Christmas.
The retinue might have continued, but for the very real 19-year-old young woman before him.
“Da...” Anna’s voice broke, along with any resolve Rupert had made. Before he could gather appropriate words, she fell against him. “I—I never meant to...”
Rupert could only envelope her against his damp wool coat. Anna’s sniffling and the hurt in her eyes undid him.
What had she expected him to say? He could barely imagine, for his emotions overcame all rationality.
This afternoon in such jovial company, figments of their conversation had returned, but last night, snuffles, trembling lips, sighs and tortured looks inundated their words. One sensation remained quite vivid; Anna so near—the trust in her eyes.
Yes, and the strength in her voice when she vowed to be more circumspect, and named the father of her child—Marcus. His unit had now crossed the Channel to slug its way into enemy territory. When he returned—if he did—they would rethink their so-called “stepping out.”
He must have responded in an appropriate way, because she thanked him and kissed his forehead before retiring. How long had he lingered afterward, bewitched by her essence?
Now, at the close of this festive day, sweet Iris had touched his cheek in much the same way as Anna. He gave her another hug, and then Cecil broke out, trembling with excitement.
“Soldiers are coming for Christmas, Iris, did you hear?”
Oh, the energy of this lad! With a satisfied smile, Madeleine set them on the course for home. Just then, someone poked Rupert on the shoulder.
Fletcher, in need of human connection. “What do you think? The affair went jolly well?”
“Oh, indeed—you have done yourself proud.”
Fletcher looked almost happy, but for the perennial downturn of his lips. Yet his eyes exhibited a new fierceness.
The Chief Constable approached and thumped him on the back. “Good work, Fletcher. Absolutely capitol!” Fletcher beamed, if only for a moment, and started to clean up.
How alone that poor man must be, how terribly echoing his flat, how devoid of warmth and cheer, for he and his wife had never been blessed with children. And now, she had left him. Perhaps he ought to invite him over on Christmas as well.
He shook himself as the Chief turned to him. Oh, my goodness, no—three American soldiers would be quite enough. They’d be stretched accommodating them. Against his better judgment, Rupert might add. But Madeleine had her heart set on welcoming the strangers.
“No room in the inn—” Rupert determined to comply with her wishes, though his heart went cold at the thought of Anna helping Madeleine serve those brash fellows. Perhaps he might— No, no. Cecil would never let him hear the end of a turn-about.
“What a day this has been, Laudner. I hear ‘twas your wife who linked us to the Americans. My, my, what generosity they showed—perhaps they possess some redeeming qualities, after all.”
“Mmm. Quite.”
###
SNOW-LADEN PINE BRANCHES dipped into three-feet-high drifts as truck drivers rubbed their gloved hands between runs. Through a partially frosted window, Dorothy viewed a pile of litters awaiting transport in the hospital yard, and closer, several corpsmen hurrying up the sidewalk.
After 12 hours of surgeries, she dropped into a chair and sipped hot coffee. Where would they be without this wonderful black liquid? Nearby, two off-duty doctors discussed life on this December 21st, 1944.
“Still in our fancy hotel—Luneville, France and it’s almost 1945. Never dreamed we’d still be at this.”
“We could be out in a field hospital, trying to make things work in this cold.”
“I can’t imagine. Guess I really believed the predictions that this would all be over by Christmas.” The speaker held up a cinnamon-sprinkled donut. “But I have to give it to Wally—how does he manage to bake stuff this good?”
The other doc threw up his hands. “Like those Red Cross girls with their traveling donut-mobiles, I guess. Saw one of them the other day when I went to—”
“Yeah.” Obviously, he’d rather not hear details about trips to the front to haul in the wounded. So many medics had perished in the line of duty that some doctors volunteered to help during their down time.
Oh, Ewald, do be careful. Keep your head down, little brother.
“It’s hellacious out there, but there’s a little mobile canteen with two bright-eyed young women, one from Indiana, one from Pennsylvania. Talk about courage. They’re parked way closer to the fighting than I’d want my daughter or my wife.”
“No kidding? Out in this winter weather?”
“Absolutely, and I had a chance to speak with one of them. She was frying donuts by the dozen—should’ve asked how they keep supplied with ingredients.”
“Who knows?”
“That would be a good motto for this whole confounded war right now. Who knows? What will we do when a certain medicine runs out, why hasn’t the mail caught up with us, and what is keeping that last shipment of wool socks ordered months ago?”
The doc rubbed his forehead. “But mostly, will this new Ardennes offensive work better than the one in that treacherous Hurtgen Forest?”
“An awful place to launch an attack, yet they say it was the only way to get to Aachen. I sure am tired of hearing about the Siegfried Line.”
“So many casualties this late in the fighting. After the reports we heard about Normandy, I thought things would slow down.”
“Underestimating the enemy’s resolve seems as epidemic as trench foot.”
Silently, Dorothy concurred. If there were one thing she could do to change things, she’d get better clothing for the troops, extra sweaters, earmuffs, scarves, and especially socks.
The wool socks that could have prevented this awful outbreak must be stalled somewhere—if only those in power could see the misery she saw daily. Trench foot had run rampant, and kept so many men from their posts.
She wanted to march into some General’s office and scream, “Where are those socks?” She and Millie knitted as many as they could, and had recruited several other nurses to help. Mama and Elfrieda sent yarn and their own finished pairs, but it all amounted to a mere drop in a massive empty bucket.
“Hey, there. I thought I’d find you here.” Millie pulled up a chair. “You’ll never guess what Lieutenant Eilola told me.”
“The war’s over?”
“No, silly. A Big Shot is coming. Her name’s Lieutenant Colonel Florence Blanchfield from Washington, D.C. She’s flying in to inspect us. Lieutenant Eilola told me you and I are in charge of making sure she has special food while she’s here.”
“Wow—what does she mean by special?”
“Maybe we could dredge up a little more meat and—I don’t know, maybe some dessert and wine?”
“Right. I know exactly who to ask.”
“I figured. So that’s all taken care of. Glad we’re not in charge of her accommodations—some of the girls are busy decking out a private room for her.”
“I’d far rather work on the food. Don’t know how I’d come up with any more parachute silk around this place.”
“Now that you mention it, that might work for the tablecloth and napkins.”
“Hmm. Let me put my thinking cap on.”
“Great—when you start thinking, I know something good’s going to happen.”
Millie started away, but something in her voice was off. Dorothy caught her hand. “What’s up, Mil?” That touch was all it took. Her face crumbled.
“Oh, Moonbeam—”
“Here, sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”
Finally, Millie allowed some tears to flow. In fits and starts, her message came through—Loretta’s boyfriend hadn’t sent her a dear Jane letter, he had died.
“He’d been wounded and was recovering, they thought, but—”
Dorothy handed her hankie over, and Millie made good use of it. “If he can die in a hospital back in the States where they can really care for him, then Del—”
Patting her back was all Dorothy could think to do.
“The thing is, I’ve been—” Millie started over. “You know that feeling I had that Del is still alive?”
Dorothy nodded, dreading what was coming.
“It’s gone, Dorothy.” Fresh tears broke out, and the two of them sat staring through the frost at all the activity out in the yard.
###
TWO DAYS BEFORE COLONEL Blanchfield arrived, Jeremy said he and his sergeant would be gone for the night—something to do with the upcoming visit. With so many surgeries, Dorothy had no time to help with the table, but several nurses jumped at the chance. What a happening this would be!
On the big day, Dorothy checked in the kitchen, and Wally gave her a pleased smile. “Too bad the guys out in the foxholes can’t enjoy what Jeremy found. You won’t believe it, but he brought in a goose. Don’t ask me how—he wasn’t sayin’. I’m about to butcher the old girl. Goose ala orange sauce, coming up.”
“And this cake’s for the Colonel, too?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna slice it and put whipped cream between the layers.”
“You’re outdoing yourself. I feel like I’m back home in my father’s bakery. Thanks so much.”
“Hey. Hank told me to hustle. When she commands, I obey.” He made a formal bow, difficult with a dripping spatula in his hand.
A few hours later, the red carpet treatment went into high gear, and that evening the nurses sat listening to Colonel Blanchfield. Even Hank lent her full attention.
“I’m pleased to view your facility here, and commend you for your labors. But I must say, you all look a bit tawdry. I expected uniforms and caps in good order, at least.” She tightened her lips.
“I hate to say it, but I’m a bit ashamed. Most of you have not even cleaned your shoes properly, and some of them have not been polished in weeks. I expected better of nurses with such a long record of service.”
Hank’s cheeks appeared even more sunken than normal—she was biting the insides of her mouth to maintain control. She’d worked all night, and now this? She had every reason to lash out at this high and mighty fool. A retort sat on the edge of Dorothy’s tongue, too, but she saved her fury for later, up in the nurses’ quarters, where they would tear this pompous desk-sitter limb from limb.
“In addition, not one of you is wearing a tie. I find it difficult to believe you have let yourselves go, and this distresses me.”
When Lieutenant Eilola dismissed them, Hank stormed behind Dorothy. “To hell with her! How dare she—”
“Shhh.”
“Why’re we going to the kitchen?”
“To change the menu for tomorrow. Pronto.”
The sparks in Hank’s eyes agreed, and she managed to contain herself while Dorothy spoke with Wally.
“You know that goose Jeremy found? Can you save it for after the Colonel leaves?”
“I—sure, if you want me to.”
“I do. Make something so everybody gets at least a little bit. And the cake, too. This old bat doesn’t deserve all we’ve done for her—let her eat exactly what we do every day. We’ll eat all that great food tomorrow night for supper.”
Wally was looking at Hank, not her. What was going on here?
“What did she say to you?”
Hank dove in. “I wouldn’t waste my breath repeating it. She can eat worms, for all I care. I regret every minute I spent helping clean her room. I might even sneak in and put snakes in her bed.” She turned to Dorothy. “Think Jeremy could round some up?”
“It’s possible—he can do almost anything. Anyway, we’re not treating her like royalty any more.”
Hank almost spat her clincher. “And that’s that!”
Wally gave her a salute. From the corner of her eye, Dorothy thought she noticed a wink pass between the two of them. But what mattered now was undoing all the preparations they’d been making for tomorrow’s noon meal honoring the Colonel.
That hard-earned tablecloth would make a hankie for every nurse here—yes, for Christmas presents. And why not take someone else’s place in the recovery ward during the meal tomorrow? Instead of scrambling to finish hemming the cloth, Dorothy checked the schedule and offered to take Sharon’s place. Then she settled in for a much-needed nap.
The next day, seeing Hank on duty too brought a smile. They’d have to be careful not to talk—the patients didn’t need to hear them grousing about the Colonel. Ah, well. Soon, she’d be gone.
Hank did whisper an aside when she brushed against Dorothy. “You know, I think I’d like the Army, if it weren’t for big-shot officers who think they’re so brilliant but have no idea what they’re doing.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
A little later, Jeremy signaled to Dorothy from the entrance. Things were quiet, so she stepped out for a moment.
“What’s up?”
“The Captain says to let you know he’ll be gone for a couple of days.” When she nodded, he asked, “What happened with the Colonel?”
“Let’s just say she showed us what she really thinks of us, and it’s not much.”
“Why that—” Jeremy huffed out his next statement. “If she had half a brain, she’d realize the work you nurses have done for this outfit. Think of all the men you’ve saved.”
“Yeah. Well, good riddance to her. Thanks for the great food you found for us. We’re going to have a fabulous feast tonight after she’s gone. “
“Good. The goose was, umm, an interesting find, and she don’t deserve what it took to get it. But you do.”
“I’ll be done in ten more minutes, if you can wait for me.”
“Sure thing.”
True to his word, Jeremy loitered outside the room when Dorothy walked out, and they talked some more.
“Been thinking about that cotton-pickin’ colonel. Somebody oughta tell her all you girls been through.”
“She must’ve made no effort to find out, but I imagine Lieutenant Eilola has filled her in. Hopefully we’ll never run into her again.”
“I got a peek at her. Reminds me of a pet peacock we had once. A fox got into our coop one night, and the peacock barely got away with his life. Lost a big chunk of his tail feathers, though, but when mating time came, he still strutted around big as you please. But the womenfolk realized he had a whole lot less to offer than he realized. Just like that ol’ battle-axe.”
“Jeremy, thanks. You’re a true friend.”
“Hey, got somethin’ in on the radio last night from New York, a guy listening on the 41 and 49 meter band. Somebody chimed in from Iowa, a place called Dubuque. Have you been there?”
“Sure. It’s not that far from Waterloo.”
“So people there are listening in, even though it’s banned.”
“They’re breaking the law?”
“Looks like it. But my Daddy wrote that some lady in, I think it’s Ohio. She’s organizin’ folks to let people know when they hear somethin’ from Axis Sally or Lord He Haw about their kin in German prisons.”
“Lord He Haw?”
“Don’t know how that fella got his name, but he’s a traitor. Betcha he’ll hang when this is all over.” He looked at his watch. “Gotta get back—might be missin’ somethin’ good.”
“All right. I’m going to sleep better, just thinking about that peacock of yours.”
The huge onslaught of casualties continued right through Christmas. Finally, they had a spot for a tree, but who had time to find one? Besides, thinking of home might not be a good thing in the midst of all this misery.
On Christmas Eve, though, a surprise waited when Dorothy left the operating room. In the foyer near the building’s entrance, a small pine complete with twinkling lights graced a corner. The sight nearly brought her to tears and she sank into a chair. Somebody bustled around, fiddling with the pail of sand holding the tree.
Finally a figure stepped out of the shadows. Jeremy—no surprise. As soon as he spied Dorothy, he grinned, but then he sobered. “Whoa, you look way too tired.”
“You found us a tree—and lights. How did you—”
“Sarge here’s a genius. You never know where he’ll come up with things.”
Behind him, some scraping and grunting ensued, but only the sergeant’s boots showed as he finished whatever he was doing and faded back into the shadows. Typical—he rarely appeared in the mess, where people got to know each other, or anywhere else. No one had any clue how much he’d accomplished for the cause.
Jeremy wound a few more lights around the top of the tree and picked up a small wooden crate of tools. “Come and see me when you get time.”
She had no energy to answer. The way casualties were mounting, she might never enjoy another evening glued to the shortwave.
But staring at the scraggly little pine gave her pause, and a sense of wonder stole in. Such a seemingly insignificant object, yet it took her back to childhood Christmas Eves that Mama made memorable. Real candles on a tree hewn by Papa only hours before, and always a practical gift for her and everyone else—new ice skates if they’d outgrown their old ones, sturdy boots, a book, or school supplies.
Footsteps from the hallway marked a man’s approach. Before he spoke a word, Rig’s spearmint breath gave him away. He stopped nearby.
“Pretty awful day, huh? You look as though you could hardly stand up straight.”
“You’ve got that right.”
He shook his head. “They came up with a tree—how about that?” His eyes glinted. “Three Christmases away from home is three too many.
“My wife says my daughter’s wrapper chain reaches around the tree six times now, top to bottom. Too bad she had to start with the Orbit brand last summer, but I’ve still got quite a stash of spearmint she sent me.
“Guess the company lost their source of one ingredient, and instead of lowering the quality of his gum, Mr. Wrigley decided to create a new one. That’s what’ll be available until after the war.”
“What’s your little girl’s name?”
“Rosanna.” His voice grew heavy. “We never expected this to last so long, but the way it looks right now—”
His pause suggested she might not want to hear what he’d learned on his private grapevine.
“Don’t you hate thinking about what our patients have gone through?”
“That’s an understatement. Even knowing the Army, I can hardly believe it. Bastogne, the 101st Airborne jumped in wearing their summer uniforms.”
“Yeah, some of them have made it here. The frostbite cases make me sick.”
“The command made transporting fuel and ammunition the priority, but that means no coats or winter boots are to be had. So those guys tramp through slush and mud by day and ice by night. Can’t even light fires to keep warm, with the Fifth Panzers so close.
“Every time I shave, I think how impossible it is for them to even wash their faces. Even if they have a change of socks in their pack, think what an effort it would be to untie their boots and make the switch.” His groan spoke for them both.
“It’s such a shame the Hurtgen Forest was the only direct way to get to the Rur Dam. At first, this front was all about preventing Jerry from reinforcing their troops at Aachen, but we also wanted control of the dam.
“Of course, the generals wrangled again, so we started out in the dead of winter, and with too few men.”
“So here we are.” Dorothy leaned back against the wall. The high ceilings seemed to tower as far away as victory. “And we lost 22 good young men in the surgery today.”
“Mmm. But how many did you save?”
“All I can see is the ones gone from this world.”
“Think about those who made it through surgery—they’d have died otherwise. Wound after wound, you’re tending them, doing your best. They’ll live through the night because of you and the docs.”
Too weary to push back the cries of the wounded, the blood, and the helpless feeling when some died waiting in line, Dorothy allowed them to crowd in. Always, that one set of crystal blue eyes from way back in North Africa, that fellow who’d lost everything but his head and torso, haunted her.
“You have to look at it this way, because—”
“—if we didn’t, we’d all give up right now.”
“Exactly. Even guys like me who only deliver the mail have to believe we’re making a difference.”
Make a difference. Yes, that’s all she’d ever wanted to do. The last light of day filtered through a tall window to their left, and Rig’s quiet breathing brought a sense of calm. In spite of everything, gratitude claimed her heart.
So far, her brothers were all still safe. Her last letter from Elfrieda included one from Vernon—amazingly, the censors let a little logistical info slip through.
Moving again. Heat oppressive. Crossed 180th meridian at 1 a.m. Task forces contacted enemy somewhere around Salmon Islands, two aircraft carriers and oil tanker. Will be glad for earth beneath my feet again, not meant to be a sailor. Even in a tank, you can see land.
So he was on the move too. A sudden recollection of a younger Vernon bent over a ship’s railing rose, and Dorothy debated—that was on the second trip to Germany, but was it going or coming back? The figment was too vague for her to decide, but seeing her big brother retching had scared her. Anyway, it was good to read words in Vernon’s own handwriting.
With Millie and Hank, Rig and Abner, plus so many others who really cared, however long this war took would be manageable. Sometimes surgery seemed like a forced assembly line, but just today she’d watched a surgeon rumple a sedated GI’s hair after amputating his foot.
“Awful surgery, but I’m pretty sure he’s gonna make it.”
Rig meandered over to the tree. When he returned to sit opposite her, he dropped his head into his hands.
“What is it? Bad news from home?”
“Just more of the war. My wife—”
Maybe finally, he would say what she did for the war effort.
“It’s terrible, what she has to do. She works at the Army Effects Bureau in Kansas City, on the tenth floor, where they send all the deceased soldiers’ effects. They hired her as one of the first employees in ’42 when the office opened. Now, they’ve had to expand to over a thousand workers.”
The tree lights outlined his profile as he stared off into the distance. “There’s no end to it—the stuff comes from all over; here, the Pacific—thousands of shipments every month. Workers go though it all piece by piece. They read each letter, study each picture.”
Dorothy’s gulp sounded loud in the silence. How many people even knew about this sort of work going on?
“Betty supervises a room full of workers, each at their station beside containers that run down a conveyor belt. They search for classified documents, ammunition, even pornography.
“They find letters that might hurt the family, like a picture of another woman, or correspondence with a married soldier who picked up a girlfriend overseas. Before they send the effects to his next of kin, they remove anything that would cause more pain. They’re supposed to think like the soldier—what would he want his family to see?”
“Oh man.” Half a world away, stuck in a building all day long, these people dealt with this grim task.
“They use grinding stones and dentist’s drills to clean up blood from helmets and gear, and scrub stains out of uniforms. In another room, typists write letters to the family, to find out where they should send the possessions.”
“I knew somebody had to do this, but—” The clock ticked away a full minute.
“And then today I heard how many of our guys were taken prisoner a couple days ago—thousands of them. This whole war makes me sick to my stomach.”
Finally, Rig got to his feet. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right.”
“We’ll make it through, I know we will. We just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“Yes.”
As his footsteps echoed up the stairway, Dorothy focused on the tree again. She might have sat there all night, thinking about all those soldiers in enemy hands. It seemed incredible that so far, Vernon, Albert, and Ewald were all still alive and free—but what had they endured in this horrible fight?
Some time later, Hank swept in. “Well, lookee there, a Christmas tree.” She strode over. “You look way beyond beat, Moonbeam. Come one, let’s get you up to bed.”
###
ON CHRISTMAS DAY, THE Colonel posted a note in the mess.
“A few days ago, General Eisenhower said this in his order to our men fighting for Bastogne:
“By rushing out from his fixed defenses the enemy may give us the chance to turn his great gamble into his worst defeat. So I call upon every man, of all the Allies, to rise now to new heights of courage ... with unshakable faith in the cause for which we fight, we will, with God’s help, go forward to our greatest victory.”
“These are our orders, as well. I am happy to report that the weather finally cleared enough for our Air Force to attack German positions on the 23rd—cause for rejoicing, since it also allowed for reinforcements and supplies to reach our trapped troops.
“And for those of you unable to hear President Roosevelt’s Christmas Eve address, we have typed it here in part.
“It is not easy to say, ‘Merry Christmas,’ to you, my fellow Americans, in this time of destructive war ... We will celebrate this Christmas Day in our traditional American way ... because the teachings of Christ are fundamental in our lives ... the story of the coming of the immortal Prince of Peace.
“Rather than issue a hollow, “Merry Christmas,” let me say that your efforts on behalf of our brave men in uniform do not go unnoticed. Strength to each one of you.
In the midst of today’s nightmarish influx of wounded, somehow the Colonel made sure that everyone at least tasted the dinner Wally and his men worked so hard to prepare. When Dorothy’s turn came, she stood in line reading the Colonel’s note and wishing for even the shortest possible chapel service to mark the holiday.
But the chaplains were all out with the troops, where they should be. Her thoughts centered on her brothers. Was Vernon still aboard ship, or on some other Pacific island by now? Was Albert dropping bombs on Japanese defenses? And Ewald, out in the bitter cold aiding GIs somewhere in the Bulge—would he eat at all today?
“Merry Christmas, Ewald. Stay safe, and the same to you, Vernon and Albert. Maybe next year we’ll all be together again, back in Waterloo.”
