1954, AMSTERDAM

Second Lieutenant Edward Roland Clemens, of Her Majesty’s Sixth Armoured Division Royal Signals Regiment, wakes up as the sound of the train changes, and looks out of the window. The train he caught at Bad Oeynhausen is crossing a bridge on its way to Amsterdam, and he sees that the landscape has become even flatter since they crossed the border with West Germany. It is 1954 and Edward will be 21 in December.

He closes his eyes again on the flat fields punctuated by rivers, churches and occasional windmills, and turns his mind to the recent NATO exercise on Luneberg Heath. The cables and the connections in his charge had all worked and enabled the British Army to communicate as planned, and the Colonel was pleased. He is tired now, but nothing had gone wrong. It was not so good for the unfortunate colleague who misread the map and led the homecoming convoy into a field, forcing the whole lot to reverse down a narrow lane. There had been a lot of shouting. Edward smiles as he remembers, stretches and turns his mind to the present.

Now that he is nearing the end of his two years’ National Service, Edward is much preoccupied with thoughts of his future, and what his father has planned for him. So he was delighted when Sophie’s parents invited him to join them for a few days in Amsterdam, where they will rent a small house so the family can holiday in the city and enjoy some culture. He was due for a spot of leave and hopes that with a change of scene he will be able to think things out.

He glances at his suitcase, which contains his new camera, a bottle of the Mess’s finest brandy for Henk and a large box of Cadbury’s chocolates for Betty. He has no idea what to give Sophie, but he is looking forward to seeing her, since she was eight and he was only 13 when the family left Tregethlan seven years ago. She was a pretty little girl then, with wide grey eyes and unruly fair hair. Occasional black-and-white photographs enclosed with letters sent to his mother by Sophie’s mother showed her at various stages: her first day at school in the Netherlands and wearing a ridiculous hat, riding a pony, playing tennis, winning a prize for languages. She is what they call a teenager now, and he wonders if she is big and bouncy and wears white socks.

Edward always liked Betty, Sophie’s mother. She used to bathe his knees when he fell over and give him a sugar lump when nobody was looking. He still feels the sense of pride as he remembers Sophie’s first steps, holding her hands on the lawn at Tregethlan, and picking her up when she fell. ‘Eddy,’ she would call, ‘My Eddy, play with me.’ They would bowl old tennis balls across the grass and when she was a bit bigger, he tried to teach her to play cricket with Emily. In spring the three of them looked for birds’ nests and in summer they would roll down the grassy slope above the ha-ha. Most of all they loved to play hide-and-seek, Sophie squealing with laughter when she was found, not very well hidden behind the enormous time-worn cedar tree.

Edward remembers Sophie’s father as tall, impressive in his naval uniform, and kind when he was not busy seeing that everything and everyone in his care worked in good order. He remembers the young Dutch sailors who came and went at Tregethlan and seemed such heroes to him, but sometimes had time to throw him a ball or race him down to the lake. They can’t have been much older than he is now, he thinks, remembering his own National Service training which started as soon as he was out of school and passed the medical.

Edward had not minded the Army, even the initial training at Catterick, as he thought it was no worse than school. Despite the cold dormitories and the poor food, he had enjoyed Charterhouse and revelled in outdoor activities, especially Cricket, but most of all the Army Cadet Corps. He learned about working in a team, as well as wireless communications and the technical challenges of linking cable to cable to achieve the perfect signal. For this fascination he has Sophie’s father to thank for introducing him to the wireless room set up in what used to be his mother’s painting room at Tregethlan. That must have been after May 1944, remembering that his own father was at the time in the invading forces slowly and painfully fighting their way across Europe. Father, he thinks, was never the same after that, resenting the recurring pain of the wound and sometimes withdrawing into his own thoughts. The train continues on its way to Amsterdam in the afternoon sun.

Chapter 25