Hanna
I leave Ruby tidying the kitchen and go upstairs, ostensibly to brush my teeth, but in fact, I’m in need of a few moments to recompose myself.
It’s not even ten in the morning, and already I feel exhausted by the day.
I’m not used to having anyone in the house, and I don’t think I’ve talked so much in years.
Because there she goes again, asking questions that force open long-sealed compartments in my mind, making the memories I’ve stored there spill out.
I have to choose my words carefully in reply, steering away from the jagged rocks and skerries that can so easily sink my thoughts, sucking me down into the maelstrom of pain and grief that lies just beneath the surface.
Best to keep a safe distance from all that.
I sit down on the bed and pick up a comb, pulling it through the tangle of my hair. Talking about Narvik has made it real again. I see the boats in the harbor, remember Erik telling us to go.
And perhaps we should have gone. We should have got onto one of those fishing boats and escaped. Because the fighting was brutal. And it was during those days of struggle that we lost Mamma.
The top of the fjord, where we were, was besieged.
At least we had a few supplies in the town, but for the surrounding villages it was so hard.
One day, in desperation, because their children were starving, a few women from ?yjord got into a boat and rowed the short distance to Narvik.
From our kitchen window, we saw them arrive and went to help them with whatever we could spare.
They walked into town and came back with some tins of food, a few medicines, and some sacks of flour.
We were back in our house by then, watching as they loaded everything into the boat ready for the journey back.
Then Mamma said, “They’ll need cod liver oil, for the children!
” Liv and I couldn’t help exchanging a grin.
Mamma insisted we all take a spoonful of the foul-tasting stuff every day to keep us strong and healthy, so it was no sacrifice to offer up the big brown bottle we had in the cupboard.
She took it and hurried down onto the beach.
One of the ships out at sea must have seen the rowing boat and the group of women loading supplies into it. We would never know which side they were on—whether it was a German shell or a British one that was fired.
Liv and I heard the explosion and ran outside. All that was left, where the women had been, was a deep crater. A few shattered planks from the boat floated in the water. And then we realized there were other bits of wreckage floating there, too. What was left of the women. Of our mother.
The pain of remembering is too much, suddenly.
I fling aside the comb and bury my face in my hands, which are shaking uncontrollably.
There are no tears. I just need to shut out the sights and sounds that fill my head, like a raging wind.
I remind myself to breathe, letting the storm pass, until my thoughts quieten and I can regain control, the shaking slowly subsiding…
We held the funeral two days later. The church was one of the few buildings in the town still standing, but every one of its windows had been shattered by the bombardment of the past weeks.
Liv and I, helped by Nina and her mother, swept up the broken glass, cleared away the dust and rubble, and washed the floor.
We decorated it with the first spring flowers from our garden.
Five graves had been dug in the ground alongside the church since the cemetery on the outskirts of town was no longer accessible, cut off by German roadblocks.
The pastor spoke, his voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion, and after the coffins had been laid in the ground, we walked down to the sea and placed a few flowers there, taken from the wreaths we’d woven, to remember those whose bodies hadn’t been found.
On our mother’s grave, we placed two little posies.
Liv sobbed as she laid hers down. I struggled to find the right words to give her comfort, just as Mamma would have done.
The flowers reminded me of something from our sewing lessons all those years before, when we’d stitched the daisies onto our bunads.
“She has joined the generations who’ve gone before.
And now it’s up to us to remember her by living our lives well.
” The words seemed to work a little, because her ragged breathing grew a little calmer as I put my arm around her and we walked away.
Somehow, Liv and I had to find the strength to go on.
It was war. We had no choice. We couldn’t bear to stay in the house overlooking the beach, so we moved into town, staying with some others in the basement of one of the deserted houses.
And we threw ourselves into helping at the first aid station, as we knew Mamma would have wanted.
On May 17—our National Day—we wore our daisy-covered bunads and raised our glasses by candlelight in a toast to the exiled king.
For more than a month, our town had been under constant attack, and we’d come to accept the gunshots, the explosions, the whistle and crack of the shells followed by the rattle of falling splinters—a deadly rain of jagged steel.
But that night, we heard a different sound.
The ground shook with a series of deeper explosions as the Germans began blowing up the iron ore company’s warehouses and piers.
That was when we knew they sensed they were losing their grip on the city.
They blew up the railways and the ore wagons, and the Allied ships out on the water increased their barrage.
We worked harder than ever in the first aid station, tending wounded German soldiers, gritting our teeth and remembering Mamma’s words—they are all some mothers’ sons—and all the while hoping and praying for their defeat.
Word came through that Allied landing craft had been seen in the harbor.
A different sound was heard in the streets, the rattle of machine guns, the abrupt blast of hand grenades.
I ran to the door, watching as the German troops began to leave Narvik, feeling a new surge of hope in my heart.
I saw them blow up their last gun position at the far edge of the town.
In a final act of retaliation, they set fire to the remaining coal supplies. And then an eerie silence fell.
Liv came to stand beside me, staring in disbelief at the empty streets of our ravaged town.
For what felt like an eternity, we waited for the Allies to appear.
And then, at last, the first Norwegian troops arrived with French Legionnaires alongside them, men who’d been fighting in the mountains.
I scanned their faces for Per’s, but he wasn’t among them.
They marched right up to where we stood in the doorway of City Hall, and they raised the Norwegian flag above the building.
I don’t think we’d ever seen such a wonderful sight.
Liv and I clung to each other, laughing and crying all at once.
It had taken seven weeks of desperate struggle, but at last Narvik was free again.
Our fleeting newfound hope turned out to be a false dawn.
Holding back the Germans was like trying to hold back the tide.
They were too powerful. They soon sent their bombers, as efficient and ruthless as birds of prey, raining death from the skies.
The victory lasted less than a fortnight.
Perhaps our boys could have held fast with help, but beyond our borders, the Germans were sweeping through Europe, and when they invaded France, the Allies pulled out of Norway.
The troops were needed elsewhere. We were left to fight alone.
As the bombing intensified, we were ordered to evacuate the town.
Out along the fjord, the British helped to round up as many Norwegian fishing vessels as they could from villages there and sent them to our harbor one night.
It was early June, and Liv and I hurried through the streets in the midnight twilight.
The last shops and homes still standing were ablaze.
A man stood staring in front of the bookshop, watching as the flames consumed it.
His face was pale and expressionless, as if frozen, and it took me a moment to realize it was Mr. Mosling.
I took his arm, giving it a little shake to bring him to his senses.
He turned toward me slowly. I wasn’t sure he recognized me in his state of shock. “What will become of us, now all the books are burning?” he said, as if talking to himself.
I tugged at his sleeve. “We have to go, Mr. Mosling. Please, come with us to the harbor now. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
“Why, it’s Hanna, the girl who loves books. This is for you,” he said, and he pressed a leather-bound volume into my hands. “It was all I could save.”
With my fingertips, I traced the tooled cover of the book of sagas that had once lain in its glass case on the counter.
“It’s the end of the world, Hanna,” he said. “Ragnarok is upon us. But will Yggdrasil survive? That is the question.”
“Please,” I said again. “Come away now.”
But he just smiled sadly and shook his head, turning back to watch as the shop was consumed. As the ceiling collapsed, a great fountain of sparks shot into the dusky sky, as if the books were releasing their contents, sending the millions of words they contained into the heavens.
“At least go and take shelter somewhere,” I begged him, as another plane swooped low and the ground shook with another series of explosions. “Go to the hotel basement! You’ll be safer there.”
“The hotel? Ah, yes, I’ll do that.” But he didn’t move.
Liv took my hand, saying, “Come, Hanna, it’s time to go.”
Reluctantly, I left Mr. Mosling where he stood, hoping he would find safety somewhere, and we rejoined the crowd hurrying toward the harbor.
We ran back to our abandoned home and collected what we could, then stumbled down to the pier, carrying just a few of our treasured possessions.
Most of the packing we’d done earlier had to be left behind, but I added the leather-bound volume of sagas to the bundle of our father’s books and Liv’s sewing basket.
I draped Mamma’s fine woolen shawl around my shoulders, wanting to take strength from our memories of her as we faced whatever the future might hold for us now.
A strangely subdued hush hung over the crowd as we watched the fishing boats pick their way through the graveyard of drowned ships, whose broken bones littered the water.
We stood in the line of silent, shocked people, alongside Nina and her parents, waiting our turn to be ushered aboard.
It had taken just two months for our lives to be destroyed in the ebb and flow of war.
As we neared the water’s edge, we heard someone calling our names. Liv’s face lit up when she caught sight of Erik. He’d volunteered to pilot one of the boats, desperate to help and to know what had become of us. He jumped ashore and took her in his arms, holding her as she sobbed.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you now. You and Hanna will come and stay with my parents in Fagernes.” He took our pitiful bundle of possessions and helped us on board, before turning to help as many others as the little boat could carry.
The Hansens were on a different boat, and Nina waved, calling something across the widening stretch of water as the crew cast off. I strained to catch her words.
“Take care, Hanna. We’ll meet again.”
I raised a hand in reply, my heart swelling with the hope that she was right, and that Per might be there when we did.
As we pulled away from the shore, we huddled together in the stern. And then we watched the German bombers swoop in again. They set what was left of our town ablaze. Our house was one of the last to burn.
I held Liv in my arms as she sobbed. But I refused to watch that final act of devastation.
I turned my back on what was behind us and sat looking ahead, knowing that while we had lost everything, the fight wasn’t over.
It wouldn’t be over until Norway was free once more and our mountains and seas belonged to us again.
*
A tap at the bedroom door brings me back to the here and now.
“Are you okay in there, Hanna?” the girl asks. “Pip and I are ready to go up the hill, if you are?”
“I’m fine,” I call, trying to keep my voice steady. “Be down in just a minute.”
I pick up the comb again and set it carefully on my nightstand. Then I get to my feet and square my shoulders as I turn away from the darkness, back into the light of day.