The House by the Fjord

There was the crispness of autumn in the air when Anna settled in her new quarters. Her landlady, Fru Dahl, was a picture-postcard old lady, with white hair and a round apple-cheeked face, and always wore black with a little crocheted lace at the neck. She was delighted to find that Anna, who had been studying hard in her lessons to master Norsk with Fru Eriksen, was able to converse with her, albeit hesitantly at times and not without mistakes that made it difficult to hide a smile. Her husband was an ugly old man with a grey moustache, who was known to regret the end of the Nazi regime in Norway since he had done well working as a tailor for the Germans, but had been obliged to retire, the Royal Norwegian Air Force having its own tailors in the ranks to care for the uniforms.

The old couple had a dog, named Odin, a beautiful, fierce-looking elkhound that was as mild and kindly in his nature as the old lady, and Anna made friends with him on the first day. He was kept tethered on a long chain, but she was allowed to release him to accompany her on walks and she was glad of his company.

The first thing that Anna did in her new home, after the furniture had been arranged to her liking, was to hang the national costume plaques side by side on the white wooden wall, where they made a bright highlight of colour. Molly had given her a potted white Bethlehem Star in a container that was also hung on the wall to display its cascade of flowers. A second house-warming gift had come jointly from the other wives and was a flowered chamber pot. Everybody laughed and applauded as it was presented to Anna.

The apartment was heated by a black floor-to-ceiling stove that gave out a wonderful heat and presently had a small stack of logs for refuelling beside it. The windows were double-glazed as was customary, and the ancient furniture included high-backed, leather-upholstered chairs and bench seat. There was also a coffee table, which Vanessa’s husband had made and which they had left behind for her. It was stained with rings from beer mugs, but Anna soon washed it clean and gave it a much-needed polish afterwards. The wall-bed was in an alcove, which could be closed off by two ancient doors. Fru Dahl supplied the snow-white bed linen and her daughter dealt with the laundry.

Best of all, in the apartment was a beautiful old cupboard that was decoratively painted in soft, aged colours. Anna knew what this particular form of painting was called, because she had seen similar decoration several times during a visit that she and Molly had made one day to the large open-air museum in Oslo. The design was very Nordic, with links to the country’s Viking past in its interpretation of roses and symbols in what was known as rosemaling, a skill that dated far back in the country’s history, and this cupboard, standing in a rented room, was an antique treasure in itself.

The old woman nodded agreement. ‘That was my grandmother’s cupboard and her mother’s before her, but I have no idea how many more women in the past owned it. I expect it was made as a gift for a bride. That used to happen.’

Anna thought what a wonderful gift it would be for any bride of today, too, and made sure that it had pride of place in her living room, where its beauty could be fully appreciated.

On the first day of moving in, she had gone to inspect the loo in the outhouse. There were two steps up to a wooden, boxed-in bench with lids covering three apertures, the third being the right size for a child. The walls were decorated with picture pages from magazines that had not been renewed for a long time, judging by the yellowing of the paper and the fashions in some of them. Suitably sized pieces of newspaper had been patiently strung on a piece of string and suspended from a nail. It was a strange economy when the right paper was available for almost everything, even for what Molly called monthly ‘essentials’ and which were among the very few items amply stocked by the local shop. Anna shut the door behind her as she left. It had a heart painted on it, a guidance symbol that she was soon to see in barns and houses eslewhere.

The front windows of Anna’s apartment gave her a view of the thick forest bordering the opposite side of the lane, while the rear window’s view was of the airfield, and she could see miles across it to the distant hangars and the coming and going of the planes. One day, she saw the first brand-new fighter jet plane land there, which all the pilots had been eagerly awaiting. The propellers of the past war years were to be no more in a fighter squadron. She felt a pang for the Spitfire that had won the Battle of Britain and would now be confined to museum status.

She was watching from the front window when she saw the first of her guests arriving for her house-warming party. At last she was getting the chance to return some of the warm hospitality she had enjoyed since her arrival. All the men were in uniform as usual, for a civilian suit or even a jacket was still virtually unobtainable. A bachelor officer named Karl Haug had come along too. He was tall like most of his fellow countrymen, with healthy good looks, smiling eyes and fair hair, a strand of which flicked across his forehead.

‘Hope it’s OK with you that I’ve invited myself this evening, Anna,’ he said with a grin, his eyes twinkling as he handed her a bottle of wine, ‘but Molly was sure you wouldn’t turn me away.’

All the men had brought bottles that had been purchased in the officers’ mess, and Pat’s husband, Rolf, had brought a gramophone with records of Crosby and Sinatra and various dance bands. Anna had met him several times before this evening and he was as likeable as his wife, having a round boyish face with an impish grin, and she could quite believe Pat’s account of the suspender snapping.

Fru Dahl had asked that the party should not continue beyond midnight, and Anna had fully intended to respect that request, but time slipped by unnoticed with talk, laughter and dancing. Karl flirted with Anna, making her laugh, and he kept her dancing or chatting with him until two minutes past midnight when there came a thunderous knock on the door of her apartment.

Anna opened it to find Herr Dahl nearly as red-faced as his scarlet flannel nightshirt. He spoke so quickly in the local dialect that she could only guess at what he was saying, but his meaning was very clear. He ignored her sincere apology as he stumped away downstairs, his slippers flapping. She turned back into the room.

She waved from the window as the last of her guests made their way merrily homewards. She did not envy the war brides still having husbands that had survived the war, for she was deeply thankful that these courageous men had been able to return to their homeland. Yet her yearning for the man she had loved never eased. It was as if her heart had been permanently damaged.

Karl called on her the next day. His sports car was parked outside. ‘Come for a drive,’ he invited, leaning his shoulder against the door jamb. ‘I’ll take you into Oslo. I know a place where it is possible to get some really good food and we can do a show afterwards. The new American musical Oklahoma! has opened at the theatre and has had some great reviews.’

It proved to be one of the best days she had had for a long time and the show was all it had promised to be. When he saw her to her door, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and then his gaze lingered on her.

After that they saw each other often. He never made any demands on her, but would turn up unannounced to lounge on the hard leather-backed bench with his long legs crossed at the ankles, relaxed and content, while they enjoyed a glass of wine or two from the bottles he brought her. They enjoyed each other’s company. He had known Johan as his squadron leader and Anna could tell that, through being aware of her late husband’s qualities, he was not attempting to rush into a close relationship with her, and neither would she have wanted it. They sometimes lunched with Molly and Olav on family Sundays in the officers’ mess and were now always invited to parties together. Anna was well aware that the other war brides were watching with speculation this growing closeness between her and Karl, but she only thought of him as a good friend, favouring him in her mind because he had flown with Johan.

Then there came the evening when he could no longer hold back his desire for her. It was the first extremely cold night of autumn and he had his arm around her to huddle her up to him and keep her warm in the short distance between the car and the house. When they reached the porch, he did not release her, but bent his head and kissed her fiercely and passionately. Inevitably he reignited a long forgotten fire in her and she seemed to come alive in his arms, responding in a way that was as much a surprise to her as it was a pleasure for him.

Her hand shook as she inserted the key in the front door and she left him to close it after them as she led the way upstairs. The tall black stove gave warmth from its embers as they undressed in silence, she keeping her back to him. She was remembering painfully that only Johan had ever seen her naked and it was only with him that she had ever made love, but loneliness had taken hold of her in an icy grip and for the moment she did not know how to withstand it.

Karl came up behind her and ran caressing hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Then he cupped her breasts and fondled her nipples as he held her back against his chest, his body strong and warm and eager for her. He kissed the nape of her neck.

‘That’s no problem.’ He turned, whipped the duvet off the bed and spread it on the floor, adding a pillow for her head. Then he drew her down on to it and her rebel body responded to his kisses and caresses as he awoke long suppressed passion in her. He gave a low groan of triumph as he brought her to fulfilment.

He slept almost at once, but she lay awake, thinking how mechanical the encounter had been, with none of the truly loving tenderness, the fiery, heartfelt passion and the soft, adoring words that had filled her nights with the man she knew she would love for the rest of her days.

After a while she sat up and carefully lifted aside Karl’s arm that was encompassing her. Then she reached for her dressing robe. Slipping it on, she went to put two logs into the stove, feeling the warmth of the red-gold embers that glowed through the grating. Then she padded into the kitchenette where she switched on the light and made herself a cup of tea.

Sipping it, as she perched on a wooden stool, she thought how very English it was of her to turn to tea to help soothe her tangled thoughts. In air-raids, or in any other crisis, it had always been a cup of tea offered to survivors or those otherwise in some kind of crisis.

She finished her tea and put the cup aside, but she sat on, gazing through the window at the coloured lights of the airfield blinking under a canopy of stars. Now that autumn was here, the skies were dark and the days were getting shorter; the temperature had already fallen sharply and the lovely brightness of the summer nights had faded away until next year.

She cooked scrambled eggs for his breakfast and he was buoyant and happy. He did not become aware of her sober mood until he was about to leave and spoke of picking her up that evening for a party in the officers’ mess.

He was distressed and full of questions, but in the end he accepted her decision. As he left, she thought it would not be long before he found someone else to take her place. To her embarrassment, she saw from her window old Herr Dahl come bursting out of the house to shout at him and shake a furious fist after him as he drove away.

Having offended the old man’s moral code, she fully expected to be given notice to leave, but nothing happened. There was no clump of his boots on the stairs. She supposed that as he had demanded a higher rent from her than he had charged the Misunds, he had no wish to lose her as a tenant.

She was restless that morning, feeling confined by the walls that surrounded her and wanting to get out into the open air. She decided to go and pick some wild cranberries that were showing like bright jewels amid their foliage in the forest. Previously she had had some good pickings of wild blueberries, enough to share with Fru Dahl and Molly. She took up a basket and went downstairs

Outside, Odin came trotting up to accompany her and she talked to him as she unfastened his leash. Then they crossed the lane and entered the clean ferny atmosphere of the forest, the tall fir trees seeming to touch the sky as she looked up at them. She found picking the cranberries therapeutic. All the tenseness in her soothed away in the total peace of her surroundings and she failed to realize that she was going deeper into the forest than ever before.

It was as she paused to stand up and rest her back that she realized that Odin was no longer with her. He had drawn back earlier on, and even when she had spoken to him encouragingly, he had not followed her willingly. She had thought it strange. Now he was nowhere to be seen. It was as she looked about for him she saw something glinting through the distant trees.

Full of curiosity as to what it could be, she moved forward and became aware at the same time of a new kind of silence, as if the forest were holding its breath. There was not the faintest rustle to be heard. Then she saw that it was a high wire fence looming up amid the trees that had caught the light, and even then she did not guess what it might be, only wondering who would keep farm animals enclosed this far into the forest, for she could not think of any other explanation.

It was as she held aside a branch to go forward that the full horror of what was exposed made her cry out in distress. It was a long-deserted concentration camp with the grey huts, the guards’ high lookout posts and the gates still standing wide where they had been flung open to freedom on the day of liberation. All the terrible images she had seen in newsreels and in newspaper photos of the tragic inmates of Auschwitz and Belsen and other such concentration camps flashed through her mind, causing such a cramping hold of pity on her that for a few moments she could not move. Then abruptly she swung about, the basket of cranberries flying from her hand, and broke into a run, heedless of the direction she was taking. Yet somehow she emerged on to the lane to find she was only a short distance from the Dahls’ house.

She could see Fru Dahl on the porch, talking to a tall civilian, who was informally dressed, his traditionally patterned ski cardigan in black and white. A car was parked by the gate. As she approached the house, the old lady sighted her and would have smiled, but Anna’s tortured expression and total lack of colour made her throw up her hands in alarm.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said quietly in understanding, putting his hand lightly on her back to guide her into the house. Fru Dahl went swiftly ahead to open the door to her own parlour where she promptly poured some brandy into a wine glass.

Anna sat down and took it with a trembling hand. ‘I knew about the notorious Grini concentration camp near Oslo and the dreadful one in the far north, where the schoolteachers and others died of cold and ill treatment, but I never expected to see one here almost on this doorstep.’

‘A terrible place!’ the old woman continued in her own tongue to Alexander, not realizing quite how much Anna would understand. ‘We used to hear the firing squad at four o’clock in the mornings. The bodies were buried in a clearing in the forest.’ She let her hands rise and fall expressively. ‘Such terrible years! Then, on liberation day, the quislings were made to dig up the bodies for identification, which were then given a proper Christian burial. All our Jewish people – about five or six hundred of them in all – were taken off to Germany by the Nazis as soon as our country was occupied.’

Alexander noticed that Anna sat as though frozen with her head bowed. He rested a hand on her shoulder in a protective gesture as he tried to stem the old lady’s flow of tragic reminiscences.

‘Yes, Fru Dahl,’ he said, not sure how much Anna would gather from the woman’s rapid Norwegian dialect. ‘I’m well aware of what happened in those camps and can guess what happened here.’

Yet the woman proved unstoppable. ‘There’s a small hut in there where they kept the condemned the night before their execution. The walls are covered with last messages to people named, such as “Give my love to my parents” – “Tell my beloved wife and children that my last thoughts will be of them”—’

The stem of the wine glass snapped in Anna’s hand and she looked up tragically as the brandy spread out on the wooden floor. ‘I’m so sorry, Fru Dahl. I’ve broken your lovely wine glass.’

‘I’ll take Anna for drive. I don’t want her to think of the forest as being wholly ruined by what she saw.’ Then he added to her, ‘It will heal itself with new trees and bushes, ferns and flowers, but there will be a memorial to those that lost their lives there. They will never be forgotten.’

They drove quite a long way and she saw aspects of the forest that she had never seen before. There were the bare slopes where local people would ski in winter, and nearby there was a ski-jump, and farther on a lake that would become a skating rink for children when temperatures dropped. They saw several elk, which regarded them from a distance with long mournful faces, their antlers widely magnificent.

‘Wait till you see where your father-in-law lives in the town of Molde,’ he said, ‘because there it is possible to look out across the fjord and see eighty-seven mountain peaks. You’ll never want to leave.’

‘The Nazis knew that the King and the Crown Prince and the government would have reached there on their flight from Oslo. It’s why German bombers tried to destroy every defenceless little town along the route. Wooden houses soon blaze like torches.’

She shook her head at the tragedy of it, wondering if Alex would now tell her why he was in England during the war and which service he was in, but it did not happen and she was reluctant to question him. Then they returned to the car.

She had recovered from her initial shock and was glad that the beautiful forest had not been lost to her through the horrific deeds that had been carried out in one heart-torn part of it. With time, when all sign of the camp had been removed, the forest would heal again, as Alex had said, and it would be as if nothing had ever violated its quiet peace and beauty, but the men that had died there would always be remembered by those who had loved them, as well as those who had respected them.

‘Then I’ll look forward to seeing you.’ He gave her a wave as he drove off, and she felt extremely grateful for the help he had given her as she went into the house. Although he had said that business had brought him to Oslo again, she thought it significant that he had gone out of his way to visit her. It seemed as if her father-in-law was keeping a close check on her, and yet on reflection she realized that Alex had mentioned Steffan Vartdal only in a passing reference and neither had he asked her if she had read the document that he had left for her to study. Perhaps he had come of his own free will just to see her. It was an interesting thought.