Chapter Six Aletta
Chapter Six
Aletta
‘Come along, class,’ Aletta said, trying her best to sound bright. ‘Tidy your desks and pack your bags, and then we’ll have time to read another fairy tale.’
She noticed one of the little boys was rubbing at his face, and she went over to him, bending down to check he was all right. When he saw her, fresh tears filled his eyes and began to plop down his cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘I’m worried about my brother. He’s eighteen.’
The rest of the class had gone quiet, and she turned to see almost every child was watching her. She hadn’t thought that they might have worries about their own siblings being sent off to fight, but so far she’d managed to avoid any questions about the newly departed royal family or the war.
‘Is anyone else feeling worried about their brothers?’ she asked, as it dawned on her just how many of these children could be affected by the war. ‘Or your fathers or uncles?’
Every little head began to nod.
‘Well, I understand. The thought of war is terrifying, and I’m a little scared too,’ she admitted. ‘But here in this class, while you’re with me, we’re all going to do our best to smile and have fun. How does that sound?’
There were more than a few smiles, and she beamed back at them, even though inside she wanted to cry.
‘We’re going to read and sing,’ she said, ‘and we’re going to think of fun projects that will keep us all busy.’
Aletta gave the boy a hug and stood up, turning away for a second to quickly wipe her own eyes. In that moment, she couldn’t look at their innocent, beautiful little faces. They might not all be here by the end of the year, and the thought broke her heart into a million tiny pieces.
As soon as she got home after school, Aletta kept herself busy setting up their little room, not wanting to think of her sad children from earlier in the day. The only consolation was that they’d all been smiling when they left, after she’d read all their favourite fairy tales.
They’d just carried a typewriter through the little door in the wardrobe from her mother’s sewing room, which was heavier than it looked, and it was now sitting atop an overturned apple box.
There was barely any space, so they’d decided on the box and a cushion each, with another box for a desk.
They also had a painting on the wall, to make it appear more homely, and some blankets and other cushions, all ones her mother had stitched herself, that had been gathering dust in a cupboard.
It was certainly going to be warm and cosy in there, because there wasn’t going to be so much as a breath of fresh air in the small, cramped space.
She passed her mother, pushing her slightly damp hair from her face as she carried in some supplies.
Her father had brought home paper from his office, which they would use for the typewriter, and they also had pens and some of her teaching plans just to make it look like a storage area if their new workspace was found.
Her mother grinned back at her, looking satisfied as she went back out for another load.
‘I think we’re almost done,’ Aletta said, blowing her hair away when it fell straight back to her forehead.
‘I think so, too,’ her mother said.
Aletta went back to her room and took some final bits and pieces, knowing they’d be grateful to have everything they needed at their fingertips when their work began.
They still didn’t know when it would be, but the closer the Nazis got to the city, the more pressing the need for an underground newspaper.
And they all knew that it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
She paused beside a photograph that had been taken when she was a girl, a portrait of her family, just the three of them.
She lifted it, remembering the day. It had been her birthday and they’d gone to sit for a photograph before going out for ice-cream.
Her father had taken the day off work, and it had made her feel like a princess, as if no one was more important than her on her special day.
After she replaced the photograph on her bedside table, Aletta took the last of her supplies and made her way back into their little room. She found her mother standing there, and caught her wiping a tear from her cheek.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, putting her things down and placing an arm around her mother’s shoulder.
‘Nothing,’ her mother said, smiling as she wiped another errant tear away. ‘Nothing’s wrong at all. I just needed a moment to look at what we’ve done.’
Aletta felt her own eyes prickling with tears, but she blinked them away.
They stood, hands on hips, surveying the room. It wasn’t anything fancy and it certainly wasn’t very large, but it was theirs.
‘We did it,’ she said, turning to her mother, who replied with a big smile. ‘We actually did it, and we did it together.’
Her mother blinked away tears. ‘I suppose it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything for myself,’ she said.
‘I know how that must sound to you, but we didn’t have the same opportunities when I was young.
It was get married and have a baby straight out of school, and .
. .’ Her mother smiled. ‘I know it probably doesn’t seem all that different to you now, but it is.
I mean look at you, studying to be a teacher at the college and bravely signing up for this resistance work. ’
Aletta smiled back, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
‘Who knows, women might help win this war,’ she said, before letting go. ‘Now come on, let’s have a cup of coffee and make some lunch.’ She checked the clock – there was a reason her stomach was rumbling. It was well after noon.
She felt lighter as she walked through the wardrobe door, ducking down low and then emerging into her mother’s sewing room, and she smiled to herself as she went through the apartment and into the kitchen, setting the water to boil.
But just as she was turning to get the cups down, she heard something – a rumble that left her uneasy.
Aletta waited until she heard it again. It was only faint, but it was a rumble, like nothing she’d ever heard before, and she also registered the glasses tinkling together ever so slightly in their kitchen cupboard.
‘Did you hear that?’ she asked her mother, just as another noise sounded in the distance.
‘I heard it,’ her mother said, frowning as they both paused to listen again. ‘It was . . . I don’t know how to explain it.’
Aletta quickly went over to the window to open it, leaning out and listening, seeing that other people in apartments across from theirs were doing the same. Her pulse ignited, and Aletta glanced back at her mother, who was now fiddling with the wireless. Something was very wrong.
‘Do you think . . .’ but Aletta’s voice faded away. She knew that whatever it was they were hearing could only mean one thing, that this was no random noise.
This was an act of war. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
The fighting was getting closer. Close enough that the happiness and bravery she’d felt only moments earlier was fast evaporating.
She forgot about the coffee she’d been making when the wireless crackled to life, and she shut the window as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and listened.
There was a static noise for some time, and they just stood there, waiting, her mother adjusting it as a voice came to life and stuttered through the airwaves.
There was another distant shudder as they listened to the broadcast, a shudder that told her that somewhere, something more dreadful than she could possibly imagine was happening.
‘The city of Rotterdam is under attack,’ came the steady, emotionless voice of the newsreader. ‘I repeat, the city of Rotterdam is under attack from aerial bombing.’
Aletta met her mother’s gaze. Rotterdam?
They had friends who’d moved there some years ago, and it was a beautiful city.
She couldn’t imagine the terror of the people who lived there, what it must be like to hide in fear as bombs were ruthlessly dropped from the air, the fear of realising that the planes overhead were coming for them and their homes.
That they were the enemy’s target. Was that truly what they’d heard?
And if they were bombing Rotterdam, did that mean that Amsterdam was next?
She swallowed, trying not to imagine the terror of buildings being ripped apart around her, or heaven forbid, their own apartment block being hit. Or where they might hide.
‘Despite a fierce act of resistance to German paratroopers and soldiers who landed on the water and tried to invade the city of Rotterdam not four days ago, today marks a grave day for the people of the Netherlands. Our forces refused to surrender, and now it is feared that hundreds will already be dead.’
Aletta stepped forward, her hand shaking as she turned the radio off. She didn’t want to hear any more. She couldn’t stand to listen to another word, not as fear built inside of her at such a steady rate, threatening to steal her breath away.
‘What we’re doing . . .’ she began, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘We’re doing the right thing. It makes the work we’ve agreed to do even more important.’
Her mother nodded, but she couldn’t disguise the fear in her gaze. ‘I’d hoped that we could fight them off, that we wouldn’t surrender, but . . .’
She didn’t need to finish her sentence. They were only a tiny force compared to Germany’s army; it had only been a matter of time.
‘Do you think they’ll stop with Rotterdam?’ she asked her mother. ‘Or do you think the bombing will continue?’
Her mother’s wide eyes met hers. ‘They want us to surrender.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘They’re not going to stop until they get what they want.’
And what they wanted right now was the Netherlands, and Belgium, and France, and Luxembourg, and then the next country that was in their path. It seemed they weren’t going to stop until they’d swallowed all of Europe.