Read Online 04 - Carnival of Criminals by Evelyn James - Free Book Online
Authors: Evelyn James
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serve in the war?” Tommy asked with that knot in
his throat again. In his mind Jurgen Smith’s suit was replaced by the spiked
helmet and grey uniform of the German army.
“Jurgen would have loved to serve in the British army. You
mistake me, Mr Fitzgerald, I did not favour Germany in the war. Neither I nor
my husband could see the point in conflict. It was why we left Prussia in the
first place. Jurgen was patriotic to King George and would have given his life
for England in an instant if he had had the chance. Only Germans, even Germans
who thought of themselves as British, were not allowed in the king’s army.”
“Then, what happened to him?”
“In 1914 we received a letter explaining that the
government was interning British Germans as part of its war policies. I suppose
they thought some of us might be spies or saboteurs. I cried when I read it.”
Mrs Smith took back the photograph and a tear trickled down her face unheeded,
“My son and my husband were both to be interned, but my husband was very ill
with his chest and could barely walk. So we managed to get him excused as he
clearly could do little harm to anyone. But Jurgen had to go. They sent him
away to the Isle of Man just before Christmas.”
Mrs Smith began to rummage in her bag again.
“He was interned for four years, but he wrote often, and
he knew about our move to Brighton. He said he was looking forward to seeing
the new house. I carry the last letter I received from him with me all the
time.” She removed a much-read letter from her bag, the corners were worn away
and the paper was starting to rip down the creases, “He sent me this in
December 1918, just before he was due to come home.”
Tommy was handed the letter and he read, with a little
difficulty, the tightly packed writing on the page.
“Dear mum and dad,
Good news! I am due to get the next ferry across to
England, then I will be on the train and headed home. It’s been a long time.
Some of the men here are resentful about being imprisoned, I tell them it can’t
have been as bad as those filthy trenches in France, so they should cheer up.
It hasn’t been a bad time, don’t think we had it rough. This isn’t a prison,
but I do miss London and you. I keep thinking about what I shall do once I am
home. I still have my heart set on training in engineering, perhaps I can find
a course or something when I get back? I hear that with so many dead and
injured they are going to need a lot of new lads to fill jobs, so maybe I
should just apply for something. Anyway, we can discuss that when I get home.
Not long now! I have a Christmas present for you, but don’t get too excited, it
isn’t much, just a token. Something I’ve worked on over the years. I’m running
late for the post, so I better finish up here.
Take care of yourselves
See you soon
Your loving son, Jurgen”
“But he never arrived?” Tommy handed back the letter.
“No. I waited and waited. I was in a dreadful turmoil,
you see, because I had never explained about his father.” Mrs Smith bit her
lip, “Jurgen’s father took the war hard. We changed our name, but somehow we
were still German, still the enemy. He was a proud man, but very sensitive. I
think in the end he felt so ashamed of the way Germany had behaved and
therefore he felt ashamed of being German. He was very honourable. Germans are.
He took his honour seriously and it pained him to see what his countrymen were
doing in the name of Germany. One day that shame overcame everything else. I
found him in his workshop, the gun he had shot himself with still in his hand.”
Tommy’s stomach turned over. In just half an hour that
was the third person he had heard about who had shot themselves because of the
war. It was disquieting and made him all the more relieved his own pistol was a
useless relic, its workings clogged with Flanders mud. There had been a point
where, had it been in working order, it might have provided a tempting
his throat again. In his mind Jurgen Smith’s suit was replaced by the spiked
helmet and grey uniform of the German army.
“Jurgen would have loved to serve in the British army. You
mistake me, Mr Fitzgerald, I did not favour Germany in the war. Neither I nor
my husband could see the point in conflict. It was why we left Prussia in the
first place. Jurgen was patriotic to King George and would have given his life
for England in an instant if he had had the chance. Only Germans, even Germans
who thought of themselves as British, were not allowed in the king’s army.”
“Then, what happened to him?”
“In 1914 we received a letter explaining that the
government was interning British Germans as part of its war policies. I suppose
they thought some of us might be spies or saboteurs. I cried when I read it.”
Mrs Smith took back the photograph and a tear trickled down her face unheeded,
“My son and my husband were both to be interned, but my husband was very ill
with his chest and could barely walk. So we managed to get him excused as he
clearly could do little harm to anyone. But Jurgen had to go. They sent him
away to the Isle of Man just before Christmas.”
Mrs Smith began to rummage in her bag again.
“He was interned for four years, but he wrote often, and
he knew about our move to Brighton. He said he was looking forward to seeing
the new house. I carry the last letter I received from him with me all the
time.” She removed a much-read letter from her bag, the corners were worn away
and the paper was starting to rip down the creases, “He sent me this in
December 1918, just before he was due to come home.”
Tommy was handed the letter and he read, with a little
difficulty, the tightly packed writing on the page.
“Dear mum and dad,
Good news! I am due to get the next ferry across to
England, then I will be on the train and headed home. It’s been a long time.
Some of the men here are resentful about being imprisoned, I tell them it can’t
have been as bad as those filthy trenches in France, so they should cheer up.
It hasn’t been a bad time, don’t think we had it rough. This isn’t a prison,
but I do miss London and you. I keep thinking about what I shall do once I am
home. I still have my heart set on training in engineering, perhaps I can find
a course or something when I get back? I hear that with so many dead and
injured they are going to need a lot of new lads to fill jobs, so maybe I
should just apply for something. Anyway, we can discuss that when I get home.
Not long now! I have a Christmas present for you, but don’t get too excited, it
isn’t much, just a token. Something I’ve worked on over the years. I’m running
late for the post, so I better finish up here.
Take care of yourselves
See you soon
Your loving son, Jurgen”
“But he never arrived?” Tommy handed back the letter.
“No. I waited and waited. I was in a dreadful turmoil,
you see, because I had never explained about his father.” Mrs Smith bit her
lip, “Jurgen’s father took the war hard. We changed our name, but somehow we
were still German, still the enemy. He was a proud man, but very sensitive. I
think in the end he felt so ashamed of the way Germany had behaved and
therefore he felt ashamed of being German. He was very honourable. Germans are.
He took his honour seriously and it pained him to see what his countrymen were
doing in the name of Germany. One day that shame overcame everything else. I
found him in his workshop, the gun he had shot himself with still in his hand.”
Tommy’s stomach turned over. In just half an hour that
was the third person he had heard about who had shot themselves because of the
war. It was disquieting and made him all the more relieved his own pistol was a
useless relic, its workings clogged with Flanders mud. There had been a point
where, had it been in working order, it might have provided a tempting
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