Edelweiss by Madge Swindells

Author:Madge Swindells
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-02-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-Four

The following morning at dawn, Ingrid filed down the gangway at Dover harbour, amongst the exhausted British troops. The stretcher cases were lying side-by-side, filling the roads and pavements all around the docks. What seemed like the entire local population were moving amongst the bedraggled survivors, handing out hot drinks and blankets. Someone handed Ingrid a cup of tea. Her sex and lack of uniform soon attracted an official. ‘Are you a French citizen?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure where I should go . . .’ she began.

He gave her a quick, hard glance. ‘Come this way, Miss,’ he said. Shortly afterwards she was in a hastily converted school, awaiting an interview with the ‘appropriate authorities’ alongside a collection of Frenchmen, who looked in an even worse state than she.

The first time she was questioned she was terrified and she didn’t have to act the part of a shell-shocked refugee. She regressed into the lost waif who had been dumped on the von Burgheim family. It was weeks and several more interviews before she was sent to London and passed to a volunteer welfare worker, who issued her with a ration book, an identity card and a temporary permit, establishing her right to live and work in the area, until she gained more permanent status. She was given some secondhand clothes and a room in Camden Town.

Her welfare officer was middle-aged, overweight and smelt of gin. ‘You will have to earn your own living, er, Princess Ingrid.’ She hesitated in awe over the title.

Ingrid nodded.

‘Have you earned your living before?’

Ingrid shook her head. ‘I had a private income,’ she stammered. ‘I think the capital was held in Switzerland. The money used to come into my French bank every month. I can give you the account number.’

This seemed to disconcert her questioner. ‘I’ll ask someone to look into that. Meantime, we must find you a job.’

Ingrid held out her wrist. ‘I nearly died . . . most of my family have perished . . .’ The tears were rolling down her cheeks. ‘Please . . . you must understand . . . I long to do something worthwhile. I want to help defeat the Nazis.’

An expression of relief swamped the woman’s fat features, this attitude she could understand. ‘Then that’s exactly what you will do. I can’t think of anything more important than helping to build Spitfires. Can you?’

*

Three days later, Ingrid arrived at a series of large asbestos-roofed buildings covered in camouflage netting, beside a field where cows grazed. She was shown how to clock in by the foreman, a short, myopic balding man with an apologetic manner, whom she dismissed at once as a fool.

She was directed to a long white-washed shed, housing rows of work benches. A canteen, toilets and a sick bay were situated in an adjacent shed, while a more sturdy two-storey brick building housed the manager’s planning office with a window overlooking the plant. She was introduced to ‘the girls’ and given an overall and a scarf to wear.

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