Bombs on Aunt Dainty. Judith Kerr

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       Chapter Five

      Explaining to Mama and Papa about Max was just as bad as Anna had feared. Papa said almost nothing, as though Max’s internment were only part of a huge catastrophe that he could see rolling towards them, towards England, perhaps towards the whole world, and that he was helpless to avert. Mama shouted and got excited and would not be calmed. Why hadn’t Max explained to the police about Papa? she asked again and again. Why hadn’t the College done anything? Why hadn’t his friends? When Anna told her that indeed they all had, she simply shook her head disbelievingly and cried, “If only I’d been there! I would never have let them take Max away!”

      The nine o’clock news brought an announcement that all male enemy aliens in southern and eastern coastal areas had been arrested and were to be sent to internment camps. (“If only Max had come to spend Whitsun in London!” cried Mama.) Anna had not realised that Cambridge was in a coastal area – it must be just on the edge. Presumably these were the parts of England most vulnerable to attack. The announcer went on to say that the government understood the hardship to innocent people that might result from its action, but that it was hoped to alleviate this in due course. This was cold comfort and the rest of the news was no more encouraging. At the end there was an interview with the Dutch royal family, who had escaped from the Nazis by the skin of their teeth, and a quote from Churchill’s first speech as Prime Minister. “I can offer you nothing,” he told the House of Commons, “except blood and toil and tears and sweat.”

      The next day the Dutch army collapsed.

      Anna heard the news at the Bartholomews’ that evening.

      “That’s lousy!” said Jinny. “I’m sure now they’ll get all worried again about air raids and they won’t let our school come back to London!”

      Judy agreed. “I don’t think I could bear to go back to that place in the middle of nowhere.”

      “Well, you may not …” began Mr Bartholomew and suddenly looked at Anna and stopped.

      “Pa!” cried Judy. “You mean we might go back to the States?”

      “Oh, how do we know what’s going to happen,” said Mrs Bartholomew. “Your father’s business is here and obviously we’d only leave if things became really serious, so let’s not even talk about it.” She turned to Anna and asked, “Did you hear from your mother today? Has she had any more news of Max?”

      Anna shook her head. “We don’t even know where he is,” she said. “Mama rang the police in Cambridge, but they’re not allowed to tell us.” The call had cost over two shillings and Mama had been full of hopes that she might be able to speak to Max, but the police would only say that Max was no longer in their charge and that he would, in any case, not be allowed to receive or send any messages.

      “I’m so very sorry,” said Mrs Bartholomew.

      “His exams are quite soon,” said Anna. She kept thinking of the law books Max had packed instead of clothes.

      “I believe they’ve even interned some of the professors,” said Mr Bartholomew, and added, “Everything’s in chaos.”

      The weather continued very hot and made everyone irritable. When Anna went round to the Hotel Continental on Wednesday after her secretarial course she found Papa depressed and Mama in a terrible state of nerves. They had been trying to contact anyone who might be able to help about Max, or at least advise them what action to take, but their acquaintances were few and no one seemed to know.

      “There must be something we can do!” cried Mama and listed, yet again, her various forlorn hopes. If one wrote to the College, to the University, if George asked again at the police station…Her tense, unhappy voice went on and on and only stopped at the ringing of the porter’s telephone. Then she sat with her hands clenched in her lap, willing him to tell her that it was for her, that it was news of Max. But the only call that came was from Otto’s mother, to say that Otto, too, had been interned, and so had the professor of physics who had invited him to Cambridge.

      “You see, it’s the same for everyone – a national emergency,” said Papa, but Mama would not listen.

      She had had a wretched day at her office. Instead of sorting Lord Parker’s innumerable bills and receipts, she had tried to telephone people she hardly knew about Max, all to no avail. In the end her boss had objected and she had had a row with him.

      “As though it mattered about Lord Parker,” she cried. “He’s dead, anyway. The only thing that matters is doing something about Max!”

      Papa tried to reason with her, but she shouted, “No! I didn’t care about anything else, but now it’s too much!” She stared accusingly at an innocent Polish lady who happened to be sitting at the next table. “Wasn’t it enough,” she said, “for us to have lost everything in Germany? Wasn’t it enough to have to rebuild our lives again and again?”

      “Of course—” began Papa, but Mama swept him aside.

      “We’ve been fighting Hitler for years,” she shouted. “All the time when the English were still saying what a fine gentleman he was. And now that the penny’s finally dropped,” she finished in tears, “the only thing they can do is to intern Max!”

      Papa offered her his handkerchief and she blew her nose. Anna watched her helplessly. The Polish lady got up to greet a man who had just come in and they began to talk in Polish. Anna caught the word Rotterdam and then some other Poles joined them and they all became excited.

      At last one of them turned to Papa and said haltingly in English, “The Germans have bombed Rotterdam.”

      “It is thought,” said another, “that ten thousand people were killed.”

      Anna tried to imagine it. She had never seen a dead person. How could one imagine ten thousand dead?

      “Poor people,” said Papa.

      Did he mean the dead or the ones who were still alive?

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