Fischer - Over the Ocean: A wartime story of exile and enduring love

It is 20th June 1940, a sunny Thursday morning in London. In Hyde Park, the birds are chirruping, and swans are gliding over the motionless waters of the Serpentine. On the deserted lawn sit a woman and a man in deckchairs. The woman is wearing a floral dress and has taken off her shoes. Absently, she considers her feet with their red painted toenails. The mans sports jacket hangs over the back of his deck chair, his unbuttoned shirt is creased. The two are holding each others hands and making low conversation, without looking at one another.

You must be strong now, sweetheart.

She turns to him. Her eyes are big and brown. Her close-cropped dark hair falls softly onto her forehead. It cant be much longer. Weve been separated so often, but this time its different. Im afraid.

Who knows? Maybe theyll overlook me.

First they classify us as refugees from Nazi oppression, and now were supposed to be Fifth Columnists. At least you are: Im just a woman.

She speaks German with a harsh accent.

Theyre right, of course. Or perhaps you were in a position to plan the overthrow of the British government? But you have to admit: mutating in a single day from a pitiful refugee to an enemy alien and Fifth Columnist isnt without its funny side.

His Viennese idiom gives a certain familiarity to the sarcastic undertone of his remarks, a familiarity which she finds irresistible.

Your eyes are so blue, she whispers.

He smiles and caresses her cheek.

Itll all be fine. Weve been through so much together.

Yes, but that was together! If the Germans come, and youre not with me, then what, Erich?

The Germans wont come.

You and your optimism! You know that the Picture Post has devoted its entire latest issue to how to behave when the Germans come. For the Post, invasion is quite a realistic prospect.

Yes, yes, and we should all stock up with Molotov cocktails! What nonsense.

And Churchill? If the German paratroopers arrive, it will be better for both the English and for us not to be here. Thats what he said, right? I can still distinctly remember you showing me the newspaper with his speech.

Erich cannot think of a good answer.

Sweetheart, look how blue the sky is. But behind this tree you can definitely see a grey cloud. Right?

When I look at you, my dear, everything in front of my eyes turns blue. Its as if the sky shines through your eyes.

Erich smiles. He knows what effect his eyes have.

Its so peaceful here. Were sitting in this green oasis, this evening well be spreading juicy English butter on our bread, and on the other side of the Channel all hell has broken loose. Its all a bit unreal. France has capitulated. De Gaulles in London. Who could have imagined that, just one year ago?

Who can stop the Germans now? When they come, only people with Aryan identity will be able to walk on the grass. Then we wont be able to sit on the grass here together.

Didnt you hear de Gaulles speech on the radio? Erich spreads his arms theatrically. The flame of French resistance will not go out! We must have faith.

The French! Theyve always been good at patriotic songs. Like my Poles. Just dont look reality in the face. I read in the paper that the British dont even have any more cement to carry on building the public shelters.

Irka! The other day I saw a group of English soldiers on the street, evacuated from Dunkirk a splendid piece of logistics on the part of the English, by the way. They were laughing, shaking their fists and giving a thumbs up. They shouted to the passers-by, Well be back in France before long!

Theyre naive, they dont know the Nazis. They dont know what that lot are capable of. We do know. But anyway, Emmerich: Im happy to be pociesza how do you say it? Happy to be comforted by you. Wholl do it when youre gone?

Emmerich? Have things got that bad in these parts?

Sometimes I just have to tease you with your funny name. Youre my boy, my lad, my dearest chopak, and I have to take good care of you. If they send you to Canada, Ill buy you some warm underwear.

For the time being Im still here, and its warmer than its been for ages. We mustnt let the opportunity slip. Who knows when well get another one? Were in England, at last. Lets go to the swimming pool! Ill buy you an ice cream.

Hand in hand they stroll over to Lansburys Lido. Despite her high-heeled shoes, Irka looks like a little girl next to him. The swimming area on the lake, crowded at weekends, is deserted this morning.

Erich opens the shutter of his camera, and the lens automatically pops out. Each time, Irka finds this fascinating. She places one foot in front of the other and puts on her melancholy smile, which in her view suits her face best. It is rather risky, for an enemy alien to take photos in public, as they really ought to have handed their camera in at the outbreak of war. But Erich could not be separated from his Voigtlnder Bessa: he loves taking photos with it black and white, 4560 mm.

An elderly gentleman, observing them with a blissful smile, offers to take a picture of them. Erich puts his arm round his little wife.

A lovely couple, the Englishman murmurs as he looks through the viewfinder. Then he presses the shutter release. It clicks.

With a slight bow he hands the camera back to Erich. My pleasure.

Thank you. Now it is Erichs turn to give a graceful bow. He stretches out his hand. Im Erich. Thats Irene. Were enemy aliens.

Irka digs Erich in the ribs. Are you meshugge?

Youre well camouflaged no one can tell! laughs the man.

You see, Erich says with a smile, the English wont let the Jerries in. They have way too much humour. And now for our dip. Id like to see the shape of your breasts in a wet swimming costume. Ill take a photo to go with me to Canada!

Irka gives an embarrassed giggle. She likes it when her boy makes suggestive remarks.