For once this story is not based on real people at all - and the story itself is pure fiction. The background information however is accurate.

 May 1915

As soon as I entered the church I felt uneasy. The choir loft door, which was always tightly closed was open, ever so slightly, but it was always closed. I slowly made my way up the circular steps, and heard a rustling noise while I was doing it. When I got to the top my worries were realised. Two people were in the choir loft – smelly, scruffy strangers – and my first reaction was fear. But then I suddenly thought, “These are probably some of the Belgians who are nervous about going to church, so they though to hide in the choir loft, not realising that I would be coming up to play the organ.” Since Belgium was invaded by the Germans, many thousands of them had been evacuated to Britain, as well as other countries, and we had a large number of them now living in Marple Bridge and Mellor.

Every Sunday at 8.30 I play for Mass at St Mary’s Catholic Church, Marple Bridge. The main organist, Mr. Campion plays for High Mass at 11. Being an experienced organist myself,  when I moved to the area, I offered my services. Father McSweeney said that it was unnecessary to have music at more than the one mass, but he has allows me to play a hymn before and after this earlier mass. Now that people are getting used to it, I think they quite like to have a couple of hyms and they are singing along quite well.

Usually I got to church early and practiced the hymns, to make sure that I play in the right key and know the music well when the time comes. But today, I had these strangers in my loft. It is quite a large room, the choir loft, with the pipe organ taking the central space near the front – with the organist having her back to the church. I could see what was happening on the altar because I have a mirror attached to the organ on the left hand side which is angled so it reflects the altar. The rest of the space is filled with chairs, because at the 11 o’clock service there would be 10 regular choir members, down somewhat now that our young men are off at war. I stopped for a moment to add a silent prayer for my dear husband, now in Cyprus, in the Signals Corps. He wasn’t in a fighting zone, but the work he did was important so it might well be dangerous for him, for that very reason.

The strangers were sitting on the choir chairs, but my impression was that before I came in, they had been elsewhere in the room, and they had just quickly got into these positions when they heard me coming up the stairs.

The man was unkempty, unshaven and somewhat smelly, but underneath it all, I could sense that he was young, tall, dark, very good looking. He was also looking frightened and tired. The little girl, who I guessed to be about four, and appeared to be his daughter, was clinging to him, looking very upset. She also was mussed as if she had been quickly put into her position, and she wasn’t totally aware of what was going on.

The man spoke slowly and quietly, “May we sit here for church?”

His accent was Germanic, I thought, but his English was very understandable.

“You can sit anywhere downstairs. The church won’t be full.”

“We would prefer to be here, if we might. My Lizbet would be frightened to be with all the strange people.”

“I am the organist, and I must start now and practice the hymns. I don’t mind if you stay here if you don’t disturb me.”

He reassured me that they wouldn’t bother me, and so I did what I needed to do and started pumping the foot bellows to allow me to get enough sound for a quick run through of the hymns. Later, when the service started, Mr. Brady and Mr. Cunningham would be controlling the larger bellows which would free my feet for using the pedals, but when I played it on my own, I had to make my own air supply.

I opened my book and got ready to practice today’s hymns; O Jesus Christ Remember, and Hail Queen of Heaven. Of course at the 11 o’clock service there was much more music, with the parts of the Mass, the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei being sung along with the Asperages Me, when the priest sprinkles holy water over the congregation before the beginning of the mass.

When the service started and then progressed, I kept half an eye on the strangers, but the man certainly was fully familiar with the rituals of the service, and needed no prompting about when he should be kneeling, standing or sitting. He seemed to understand, as much as any of it us did, the Latin parts of the Mass, and during the sermon, he listened intently. His little daughter was now a bit more relaxed, and while at first she sat quietly, during the sermon she seemed to get restless and bored. Her father smiled at her, and urged her to be quiet, and pulled a small rag doll out of his pocket to entertain her.

When communion time came, I went down the stairs, as always, to approach the altar. When I got back they were gone. I was both surprised and disappointed as I had hoped to find out more about them after Mass. But I was also relieved, as I prefer things to be as I expect them. The choir loft was different today – different smells, things seemed to be somewhat out of place. It almost seemed as if those strangers had spent more than just a few moments before I arrived here.

As I was getting ready to leave after the service, I reached into my reticule to get out my envelope for the collection. Since I am playing the organ during the collection at Offertory time, I always put my envelope through the slot in the rectory door as I am leaving. But today when I looked in my bag, again, I knew straight away that it was not as I left it. I quickly checked my purse and found none of my money missing. The envelope was where I had put it. But it had been disarranged I was sure. And it could only have been done by the strange man. Once again I felt uncomfortable. Why should this man search my bag and then not take my money? I quickly gathered my coat and scarf and gloves and arranged my person neatly, and made my way back down the stairs and out the front door.

Our house is only a short distance from the church. As I walked home, I took a good look at the houses as I walked by, just in case there was something new or interesting to add in my next letter to John. First down Hollins Lane to the bottom, and then turn left up Mellor Road, past some cottages and the  water wheel, going past several houses and the police station and St. Sebastian’s Church. My daughter, Rebecca, would be at the service there now. It still seemed strange to me that my child should not go to the same church as I, but this was her wish. She had been baptised a Catholic and had gone to church with me as a small child, but when she reached school age, her father, who is not a Catholic, said that her schooling should be done at the best school in the area, whatever the denomination.

He visited each of the three schools in the area, Mellor, Ludworth and St. Mary’s and quizzed the headmasters as to the sort of education they could provide. He was strongly convinced that Mellor would do the best for our daughter, and in the end I went along with his wishes. She continued to go to church with me for awhile, but before long, she wanted to go to the same church as her friends, and despite my tears and pleading, she had her father on her side, and did as she wished. Our priest, Father McSweeny is not happy with the situation, but he knows that I did my best so doesn’t blame me but says I must continue to pray that she will come back to our fold.

I passed the big house on the corner of Townscliffe Road, turned up and walked another 300 yards or so, to our house. As you go up the road you see two sets of semi-detatched houses and a detatched house on the left. They are set way back from the road, so that it is their gardens that you see most of. The front doors are on the side of each house. Then a little farther up on the right come 7 sets of semi-detatched houses all built around the same time – about 5 years ago. We are the second owners of our house which is called Reston. Like most of its neighbours, it is quite big, with a larger than usual front bay window. We have lovely poplar trees planted by the previous owners which are now becoming established and make a line down the side of our house. In the back we have a rose garden and a small vegetable patch as well as lawn. In the front we have a hedge and more lawn with a flower border.

Things have deteriorated since John went into the army. I don’t have the interest to keep the garden as nicely as he did. He has been gone eight months now. At first he was in basic training at Catterick, in Yorkshire, where he qualified to become an officer. Then when they realised his potential, they sent him off for more specialised training, and he is now at control headquarters in Cyprus. I hear from him at least once a month of things that he can say. I know his work is secret and he can’t tell me much about what he is really doing. But at least as long as I hear from him, I know he is safe and still alive. I am luckier than many who live in Mellor, whose sons and husbands have already been killed.

Although I take off my coat and start preparations for lunch, my mind cannot stop thinking about the man and his daughter. Where are they now? Why were they hiding? Who are they? But I can give myself no answers, so get on with peeling potatoes and getting the chicken ready for the oven. We have a large meal each Sunday, and then live most of the rest of the week off the leftovers – making pies and soups and casseroles with the extra meat, and adding in other vegetables as required. I can’t say I enjoy cooking much. But it needs to be done, so I do it.

About 11.30 Rebecca came home from her church, and rushed up to her bedroom to read her book. She asked if she could have a friend to play this afternoon. Sundays are long days for her without any school, knowing that she is not allowed to do the normal sorts of activities of ordinary days. But I agree that her friend Mollie can come and they can have a nice afternoon of playing with her toys up in her room. I look forward to a quiet time sitting and reading my book, and I shall start a letter to John later.

About 2.30, Mollie and Becca safely upstairs, I sat down on the couch, putting my legs up for comfort, having slipped off my shoes, and suddenly there was a knock on the front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but none the less felt that I needed to get up, put my shoes back on, straighten my hair and made it to the front door just as the knocker went a second time.

To my astonishment it was the man from church and his daughter again. I couldn’t contain my surprise and anger. “Why have you come here? And why did you look in my reticule?”

The man looked sheepish and said, “Please Mrs. Davis, please let us in and I will explain.”

He knew my name. He knew where we lived. That’s why he looked in my bag – to find out where I lived.

“Why should I? What do you want of me?” I knew my voice was sounding screechy but I was really frightened.

“You are my cousin,” he said quietly.

“Your cousin? What is your name?”

“I am Peter Novak, and was married to Elizabeth Suchla, who has now died. Am I not right in saying that I am your cousin? Are you not the Barbara Kulig who was the daughter of Hyacinth Kulig who moved from Sielkowitz in Wraclow, Poland although now it is called Breslau and they say it is in Germany?”

“Come in,” I said, now a bit more kindly, as he certainly did seem to know who I was.

I ushered Peter and his daughter who I had heard him call Lizbet in church and told them they could sit down. And in time I remembered my manners too. “Could I get you a cup of tea, and your daughter some milk?”

“We would be most grateful,” he said with a shy smile. “It has been some time since we have had these things as our food and drink has been rather hard to come by recently.”

I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the range, which as it had only boiled recently did not take long to again come to a boil. I made a small pot, and putting a cup and saucer and the sugar and creamer on a tray, added the small teapot. Then I found some shortbread biscuits in a tin and added a plate of those along with a small glass of milk.

Lizbet’s eyes grew large as she saw the biscuits, but her father told her to wait until she was invited to partake. So I handed her the glass of milk and pushed the plate of biscuits towards her. She smiled, the first time I had seen her do so, and she quickly put the rich food to her mouth and ate it almost as if she were starving. Peter was also very pleased to have his drink and ate his biscuit more slowly, but with obvious enjoyment.

“When did you last eat?” I asked.

“We had some bread and water last night.”

“Did you sleep in the church?” I asked.

“Yes, and for the past few nights,” he admitted. “There was no where else to go. I have no money and I must keep hidden until I decide what I must do.”

“Please start your story at the beginning and tell me why you are here. And how did you know about me anyway?”

“As you might know, things in our part of Germany are not good. I don’t think of us as living in Germany but in Poland, but unfortunately, the boundaries of our canton now say we are in Germany. When this war started I knew it was likely I would be conscripted. I did not want to fight a war. I do not believe in war. But I knew that the government would not listen to my views, so I knew I had to leave.

"But first we had to wait until Elizabeth my wife died. She had been ill for many months, and we knew it would not be long. She was so thin and in such pain. But in the end she died, and then, as soon as the burial service was over, I took Lizbet and we started to find out way out of the country. We walked and we slept sometimes in haystacks. We had some money to start with and could buy food and shelter for the night, but it didn’t last long, and I knew I had to save enough for our crossing from Holland.

“If I am found, I will be sent back to Germany – to a certain death as a traitor and coward. If I am captured by the English, I will be sent to a prisoner of war camp. I know this. This is a risk I can take, but I can’t allow my daughter to be alone when I am taken.

"I knew that my mother had a brother who had gone to America and then later he sent for her sister Anna to join him. I knew Anna had gone to live in Chicago, and I wrote to the address she had given there, but I knew there was no way I could get her to Chicago. But then I remembered Hyacinth, who of course left us long ago, but I wrote to him in Independence, Wisconsin and he told me that his youngest daughter, Barbara, had married an Englishman whom she had met in Chicago, and that you now lived somewhere near Manchester. He wrote the name of the town, but I couldn’t make out the writing – only that it began with an M. He also mentioned that you played the organ in church, so I have used that as my way of trying to find you. I have been to many of the Catholic churches in this area over the last few weeks, but when I saw you, I immediately knew you were the right one. You look Polish – you have the dark eyes and olive skin which is so like my own dear Elizabeth looked before she became so ill.”

I poured more tea into his cup and urged him to have another biscuit. Lizbet didn’t need urging and took one with each hand. I knew he needed time to keep himself from crying, and to get his thoughts back together again.

“Now that you have found me, what do you expect of me?”

“I would like you to take care of my daughter for me. I have no one else. She has no one else. She is your kin. I don’t know what will happen to me, but I am sure that I will not be allowed to stay and live normally in this country. But I don’t want my daughter to suffer. I had no one to leave her with at home. And I didn’t want her to grow up in Germany, not after this war, whatever the end consequences might be.”

“I cannot offer to have you live here. My husband is away at the war, and it would not be seemly for me to have a gentleman living under my roof.”

“I don’t ask for myself – only for my daughter. Do you have room for her?”

“Yes, we have a spare bedroom. There is only my daughter who is eleven and myself living here. It is a large house as you can see and we are comfortably off, at least at the moment. My husband was a University lecturer at Manchester University before the war, and we have some savings.”

“When the war is over, if I am yet alive, I will of course come back for her. And I will repay you in any way I can for your kindness to us. But I cannot be sure I will come back. I don’t know what my fate will be. But please let me rest assured that my child will be safe with you.”

“I don’t know what to say. I wish I could ask John, but even if I write to him tonight, by the time he gets my letter and replies it might be several weeks, and you need to know now. I will say yes, for the time being, and if he is against the idea when I ask him, then we will find somewhere else for her. I won’t just throw her out. There are some nuns who have a convent up by the Church. There will be orphanages and such like that she might be sent to if necessary.”

“Please don’t send her to an orphanage. You are her cousin. She needs family. Please say you will have her.”

“I will do my best. Now before anything else happens, you look as if you could do with a good rest. Why don’t you both lie down here on the couch and chair, and sleep for an hour or so, while I sort out a bed and some clothes for Lizbet. And then we can talk again about what you will do next.”

So I left them reclining on the couch, and knew that they would soon both be asleep. I shut the door of the front room so that Rebecca and her friend Mollie wouldn’t see them in there.

Our house has three bedrooms and a bathroom. Our master bedroom is at the front and is a large room. Then nearly as large is Rebecca’s room, where she has 2 single beds. Then the third room contains another single bed. When we have a couple to stay, they take Rebecca’s room and she is moved to the smaller room, which is still adequate in size for one person.

I now got sheets and blankets out of the closet in the bathroom and made up the bed in the single room. I knew if I crawled into the attic space I would find a trunk which had some of Rebecca’s clothing from her childhood. I could never throw away her clothes when she outgrew them, always hoping she would have a baby sister who might some day be able to use them.

About five o’clock the front door knocker went again. I knew it would likely be Mollie’s father, coming to collect her. I also knew that Peter and his daughter would be very frightened to be discovered.  So I went to Rebeccas’s room and said, “Mollie, I expect that is your Papa, coming for you now. Let’s go down straight away now.”

The girls looked somewhat surprised by my hurrying them up, but obeyed and leaving their toys behind made their way downstairs to the front hall. I opened the door for Mr. Ben but quickly said, “Here she is for you, all played out.” And he took her by the hand saying, “Say thank you to Mrs. Davis for a nice time,” and she did.
I watched at the front door while they went down the steps and up the path and down the lane. They lived 4 houses down the road, so would be home in no time. “You acted like you were pushing her out,” Rebecca accused me.

“I know, dear, I am sorry, but something has happened that I must now tell you, but I didn’t want her to know about it. It must be a secret.”

I opened the door of the living room, and Peter and Lizbet now both sitting close together on the couch looked at me, wondering what would happen next.

“This is my daughter Rebecca.”

“Rebecca this is your cousin Lizbet who has come to stay with us for awhile. She will be sleeping in the spare room.”

“Her father will not be staying, but I expect we will see him from time to time when he comes to visit her. Why don’t you take Lizbet with you upstairs and show her her room, and then later, we can get the ladder and go up to the attic and find some of your old clothes that might fit her. Go and show her your toys.”

So Rebecca, thrilled to have a new cousin, took her by the hand, and gently led her upstairs.

“She might need to use the toilet,” I called after. Show her where the closet is.”

I turned to Peter. “But what about you? Where will you go? Back to hide in the choir loft again?”

“I don’t know anywhere else to go at the moment. But I will try to find some place which can offer me work, and I can change my name, and make up a story, and then when I can I will try to come back and visit her, perhaps on Sundays at this time each week, if I can.”

“I will make you up a pack of food. You also perhaps would wish to wash before you go. The bathroom is at the top of the stairs, the girls should be done in there by now. Use the towels that are there, I can put some more out later.”

So Peter went to wash, and I made him several sandwiches with our leftover chicken. I put in some carrots and apples and a good supply of biscuits. I also filled a bottle with lemonade and put it all in a bag.

When Peter returned down the stairs I said, “Best you go now, and slip off before you look too conspicuous. If you can come again tomorrow, I will have some more food for you and perhaps can find a change of clothing to give you as well. And I will think of anyone I can who might be able to give you work. But it is best you go now, before the nosy neighbours think they have something to gossip about.”

“Can I not say goodbye to my daughter?”

“I think it is best you go. I will tell her you will be back tomorrow. I think she will be fine with us.”

So Peter walked off and slipped down the road, and I didn’t know what I had got myself in for.