Frankie's Letter Read Free Page B

heaved.
    Miraculously, the window shot up with only the smallest of squeaks. He bundled himself outside and walked away.

TWO
    I t wasn’t simple chance which had lead Anthony to pick Frau Kappelhoff’s house. Not only was it near enough to the university to fit in with his role as a visiting tutor, but it was less than three quarters of a mile from the Handelshafen where the merchant ships docked. It seemed, as he walked away quickly from the Kolhmeyers, that even that short distance might cause him some problems. Anthony knew they were looking for him but there were, he thought, a couple of things in his favour. Kiel was poorly-lit because of the wartime restrictions on fuel and he had a good knowledge of the less frequented routes through town.
    The further he got, the more his spirits rose. The rain and the cold had cleared all idlers from the streets and he took care to slip into the shadows when he heard anyone approach. There were still large numbers of troops about, but, as he saw with relief, even the Kaiser’s soldiers were ordinary men and preferred, on this dismal evening, to keep their coat collars up and stay, when not under the eye of a superior officer, under what shelter they could find. He knew the places he had to be on his guard and managed to slip by four danger spots unnoticed.
    He was making for The Mermaid on Jensenstrasse off the Katserasse, which ran the whole length of the merchant dock. It was at the corner of the Thaulow Museum, with Jensenstrasse only yards away, that he met his first real obstacle. Two sailors, armed with rifles, were standing forlornly in the rain. After a few minutes of watching them from the shadows, Anthony decided to retrace his steps and approach Jensenstrasse by another route. It was just bad luck that one of the sailors glanced up as he moved.
    â€˜
Halt
!’ the sailor called.
    Anthony reluctantly came into the open. He had no hat, no overcoat and was filthy from his climb over the roofs. His wet clothes clung to him and he looked, he thought, like an absolute scarecrow. His only choice was to brazen it out.
    He swayed gently on the spot as they approached, fixing them with a delighted, glassy beam. ‘Hullo.’
    â€˜Your papers, sir,’ said the sailor who had shouted for him to stop.
    â€˜Papers. Papers, papers, papers,’ repeated Anthony in an alcoholic way. ‘I had ’em when I came out.’ He saw the sailors swap knowing looks. ‘Never go out without m’papers.’
    He started a painfully deliberate search through his pockets and pulled out an old letter. ‘Here we are. No it’s not.’ He stared glassily at the sailors. ‘M’wife’s a harsh woman. Out, she said. Am I drunk? No. All I had was a tiny little drop, just a tiny schnapps, but out! No coat, no hat, just out! Her and her mother.’
    The sailors grinned, but persisted. ‘Your papers, sir.’
    He laboriously searched his pockets again and this time produced Mr Kolhmeyer’s card. If the theft had been reported he was for it. He stuck his thumbs into the lapels of his jacket in an expansive way, staggered and fell back against the wall. The sailors’ grins increased and Anthony breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
    He’d fallen against a propaganda poster, pasted to the wall, one he’d seen many times before. It showed a caricature of a moustached, jodhpured figure complete with bulldog, a supposedly typical Englishman. ‘He’s the cause!’ the poster screamed. ‘Why is our life controlled by rationing?’ There was a whole lot more, ending with: ‘England is our deadly enemy’ and ‘Victory for Germany!’.
    The sailors, as he had hoped, looked from him to the poster and laughed. Anthony could follow their thoughts as if they’d spoken them aloud. He couldn’t be an Englishman because an Englishman looked like the man on the poster.
    â€˜He’s all right,’