Opposite Sides (3 page)

“
Everybody,
turn around!”

The loud voice of one of
the masters brought the students back into order. All the heads
faced forwards once more.

The senior prefect took
his cue from the master.

“
Now, the
notices for the day . . . ”

Hans turned and smiled
faintly at Anne as he noticed the relief on her face. He seemed to
convey some understanding that he knew how she felt. Anyway, he was
having a lot of trouble trying to focus on what was being said and
found that he was not understanding much of it at all. He began to
wonder how he was going to survive the next few months.

The assembly hall
emptied, boys to the left and girls to the right, never to come
together again until the next main assembly. The chatter outside
began to subside. One of the masters reminded Hans of his father:
they would have been about the same age. He moved like his father
so it was likely this master had been in the army for some time.
His father had been a soldier, too. Hans only knew his father in
uniform right from the time he could remember.

When Hans was a little
boy the family lived in Salzburg on Austrian border. He was proud
of his father. When he wore a bright uniform with shining badges
and colourful epaulettes and Hans thought he looked exactly like
one of the tin toy soldiers he kept in a box under the stairs’
cupboard. Then, when he was older, the family left Austria and went
to live on the outskirts of Berlin, not far from his aunt and
uncle. That was when his father went away. That was when the war
began.

Hans remembered the last
time he had seen Papi. It was almost a year before the war had
ended. Everything was to have been fine and when it was all over,
Papi had promised to take them back home to Austria. But it was not
to be. Only two weeks after that, a telegram boy had rang the
doorbell. That dreaded telegram which no one wants delivered. Mutti
cried. Her world had been shattered. Her children soon knew their
father would never be coming back and that he would never take them
back to Austria. Not ever!

Hans then thought how
lucky he was that his grandmother had chosen him as the one to go
to England. Papi’s mother had been born in England. It had been a
desire of hers that one of her grandsons would learn to experience
her homeland and grow to love its countryside as much as she had.
Oma had left some of her money in England, which was just as well,
as after the war many people in Germany were to lose all their
savings.

Even though there had
been a bloody war between his country and this one, the Resmel
family had no hate for their cousins across the sea. One day, he
decided to learn English at school. It was then that Oma told him
that it was her wish for him to go to a school in England. If he
could make friends there and find his English relatives, then he
could help to mend the bridges that had forced them on opposite
sides. The trouble was that Oma had lost touch with her English
family and all she could give her grandson were hazy directions or
names of people long since gone.

So, with all that going
through his mind, and with eyes fixed firmly in front, Mister
Resmel pushed back his shoulders and was determined to make his
grandmother proud.

During the morning
recess, twenty boys took the opportunity to surround the new-comer
and learn everything there was about him.

“
. . . and
where did you say you came from, old boy?” asked a one of the boys.
He was a well-built boy who, Hans noted, had thick, round lips like
a girl.

“
Salzburg.”

“
Oh, ho-ho.
Where’s that? Is that why you speak so strangely?”

There was an air of
contempt in the boy’s expression that Hans did not like. He took an
instant dislike to him.

“
Ö
sterreich
,” he said with conviction. After all, that is where he had
spent much of his early childhood. Oma still lived in the same
house in Salzburg. It was where she and his grandfather had raised
all their children.

“
What?
Ostrich?”

“
Österreich
.
”
Hans repeated.

“
Where?” The
boy’s eyebrows rose. He shook his head, and with a mocking grin
looked at the senior boy sporting a prefects badge who had just
joined them. “Sorry, never heard of it!”

Hans felt that the boy
was ridiculing him and he did not like the tone of his voice. Some
of the others around this boy mimicked ‘never heard of it’ and
began laughing loudly together. Hans thought they were laughing at
him. He felt the skin on his face begin to burn as his blood surged
upwards and made his temples throb. Hans clenched his fists and was
ready to lash out when he was stopped by the hand of someone
touching his shoulder.

“
All right,
old chap. Take things easy. Don’t get fashy or worked up about it.
It is not worth getting into trouble over a little harmless
bantering.”

The touch was friendly
enough and comforting at first but it didn’t last long. The
well-built boy who had mocked him stood slightly to one side, just
behind the prefect and continued to make mocking faces as he eyed
Hans up and down. He balled his fist at him as though he was now
ready for a punch-up.

“
Hau
ab
!
Go! Go
away!”

Hans
flung
his arms wildly in his tormentor’s
direction but the other boy ducked out of the way directly behind
the prefect. Hans appealed to the senior boy but the words that
were spoken now were stern and threatening.

“
Your name,
boy?”

“
Resmel.”

“
Well, Mister
Resmel, watch it next time. I have you marked.” He pointed to the
side of his skull. “It’s in here. I won’t forget!”

“
That boy
start the fight!” Hans pointed behind the prefect who turned to
look behind him.

“
Nobody is
there.” He instructed the small group to move away before
addressing Hans once more. “Mr Resmel. I shall not
forget.”

As the prefect walked
away, Hans felt another hand touch him lightly on his
arm.

“
Keep calm
and keep your head down for a while.” The voice behind him was
friendly. “That boy is known to be a bully. He always rubs any new
boy up one way or another, just to take pleasure in seeing him
punished. As for that prefect, his name is Timmins and he’s one to
avoid as much as possible.”

Even though Hans had not
understood, he felt that here was someone who, at least,
sympathised with his situation. He was sorry and angry with himself
at the same time for his stupid outburst. He knew he needed to
control himself but everything was so difficult. Something inside
him took control of all his emotions and then the anger just
suddenly welled up and threatened to gush over like a burst dam. He
was here, he had to remind himself, to try and understand these
other boys; not fight with them. There had been enough fighting in
the world . . . for four long years . . . four years during which
so many boys had lost their fathers.

“
Thank
you.”

“
Don’t
mention it, old chap.” The boy had wavy black hair which he had
attempted to flatten with hair oil. His round face broadened
further in a wide grin as he asked, “What did you say your name
was?”

“
Hans. Hans
Resmel.”

“
Robert.
Robert Brinkwater. Pleased to meet you, Mister Hans
Resmel.”

Robert held out the hand
of friendship. It was firm and resolute. Hans felt
relieved.

Several weeks after that
episode, the House, as each of the main groupings of boys was
called, went outside to do ‘manual.’ Working in the garden was one
of the activities that the boys had to do to help them become
honourable members of their society. As many of the men had been
killed during the Great War and as there were not enough working
men available for employment, the boys were obliged to keep the
college grounds clean and tidy. So, every Friday morning shortly
before the midday recess, each House from the senior and junior
boys, was made responsible for a certain section of the grounds and
gardens.

Coleridge House was
responsible for the east wing area which included part of the main
driveway. On this occasion, it was Miss Turner who arrived to
supervise the allocation of tasks, together with two of her girls .
. . one, who Hans had noticed briefly two days after his arrival at
the school and Anne Sutherland. Hans had already been told that
garden duty was only expected from the boys so he was surprised to
see Miss Turner with two of her girls.

Hans nudged Robert in the
side.

“
Who’s that
with Miss Sutherland?”

“
The matron’s
niece. The younger Miss Turner,
the
Miss Janine Turner.”

Hans had already heard
that Janine Turner was one of the youngest of the girls at the
school and always did exactly whatever her aunt said, especially if
it was passing on a message to one of the other students. Young
Janine Turner was well known throughout the school for that
role.

Most of the girls at the
school came from privileged backgrounds, a new rising middle class
that now spent money educating their girls so that they would find
positions as private secretaries, be accepted into accounting firms
or become a companion for some wealthy and titled lady. This school
was the finishing school which would turn each girl from an awkward
or rebellious teenager who had reached the school leaving age of
fourteen into a polished and desirable young lady of seventeen or
going on eighteen that any father would be proud of. Of course,
there was always the hope that some successful business tycoon or
landed gentry may be looking for a good match for a younger
son.

The first time Hans saw
Janine was when one of the boys pointed to this girl piled high
with books making her way over the wide driveway towards the
section of the school where the administration and library was. A
pile of books with black-stocking legs. A nameless pile of books.
He now remembered that Robert had mentioned that the girl he had
seen carrying the books did not mix with much with the other girls
but spent much of her free time in the library. Hans had thought
that was because there were so few girls who were as young as she
was but now he knew her name, he thought that it was most likely
because the Matron was her aunt. Anne had been seen with Janine on
several occasions for she had helped the girl with some of her
homework. Since that day Janine had told everyone that Anne was her
friend and since then she had latched on to Anne like a limpet to a
rock and was seen either tagging along behind Anne or not too far
away from Anne and her group of friends. Being in Anne’s company
allowed Miss Turner’s niece to become one of the admired members of
‘Anne’s group.’ This gave the younger girl courage and occasionally
the suppressed side of her nature became bold enough to make its
appearance, like this day, a month after Hans had entered the
school. It was his turn to see the bossy side of the young Miss
Janine Turner.

The afternoon had been
allocated as a tidy-up afternoon. Each boy was given one of the
duties and then, as each task was completed, Miss Turner got her
girls to check it off the list. Janine Turner approached Hans with
an air of smugness and began reading off the jobs on the work-card
she was holding.

“
My Aunt says
. . . ” She was known for always starting with those words. It made
the boys feel very uncomfortable as though the school mistress was
always present even when she was not. “Mister Thickpenny and Mister
Stafford are to tidy the main garden area. You have to pick up
paper and rake pebbles back on to the drive.” Hans noticed she
gently knocked the bottom of her glasses with the back of her hand
when she looked up from the form. “And then . . . my Aunt says . .
. ” She stopped mid-sentence and waved the instruction list at
them. “It’s all here in black and white, if you don’t believe
me!”

“
Go on,” said
one of the boys in a flat, disinterested voice as if he had heard
those words a thousand times before.

“
It says . .
.” She indicated the pile of tools which had been dropped at the
base of one of the trees. “It says you are to take those buckets
over there, together with these brushes and rakes and spades here.”
She began reading the names of each boy, together with his pair and
the list of duties they were to perform. Each pair collected a
bucket and then gathered the tools they needed. Hans watched them
go and wondered who his partner might be. He did not have to wait
long. “My aunt says . . . Mister Brinkwater and Mister Resmel are
to scrub the fountain and its surrounds. It has to be clean.
Spotless! And my aunt says I’m to say if it
is
spotless, see?”

It was the way she
stressed the ‘is’ and the way she looked at him, especially him,
that that Hans found annoying. He was indignant that a girl,
especially this rude and bossy girl who was several years his
junior, should even tell him what to do. No real man should ever
take orders like these from a woman. In uncle Karl’s house, it was
always his word that ruled. Aunt Laura always deferred to her
husband and he could never remember his own mother telling his
father what to do. There had been no place for any petticoat
politics in Hans’ life, ever. And he was not going to take orders
from any female, especially a trumped-up chit of a girl like Miss
Janine Turner!