Willow Bank Farm was not like anywhere he had ever known. There were fields and animals, and the farmhouse smelled of cabbage and carbolic. The chairs were not very comfortable and the table where they ate their meals was a bare, scrubbed one, not like the glossy one at home, which Leo’s mother polished every week. Each night, after supper, Mr Hurst read the Bible to them, Miss Hurst nodding in approval over her mending basket. Leo had never seen a Bible before and he did not understand many of the words in it.
His room was at the top of the house, looking across fields and trees. There was a place to hang the few things he had been able to bring with him, and a shelf for books. A kind of picture with words in sewing hung over his bed. He knelt on his bed and traced the words with one finger, trying to understand them, but his English was not enough.
At first he put the silver golem on the window ledge by his bed, because it would look after him and he liked to wake up in the morning and see it there. But the Hursts were horrified; they said it was a heathen image and not something that could be on display. Leo managed to understand most of this, although he had no idea what a heathen image was. He explained, as well as he could, that the golem was a piece of home – of his family – and he must keep it. He was allowed to put it in a drawer in his room, but each night, after the Hursts had gone to bed, he set it on the window ledge, so that it would not feel shut away, and so that Leo would know it was looking after him. He always made sure to put it back in the drawer before breakfast, and he supposed this was a bit deceitful, but he could not help it. He wondered if the twins were allowed to have their silver golem in their bedroom, or if they, too, had been told it was a heathen image.
On Sundays the farmhouse smelled of boiled mutton – occasionally roast lamb, although that was rare and was generally accompanied by Farmer Hurst’s talks about how sacrifices to the Lord must be without blemish. This precept, however, did not appear to apply to the more elderly sheep of Willow Bank’s flock, whose flesh found its stringy way on to the dinner table more frequently than any other dish. Leo, obediently eating whatever was put in front of him, thought that when he was home he would never eat mutton again.
Mr Hurst tilled the land and saw to the sheep and oversaw the labourers who worked for him. Miss Hurst looked after the house and cooked and cleaned, which she did very thoroughly, because cleanliness was next to godliness. When she was not cooking or cleaning, she was at church.
Leo was taken to church and to something called Sunday School. He was made to learn prayers and told to always speak English, and he was pulled into a culture he had not previously known existed. It was bewildering and desperately lonely, but his father had said he must do whatever he was told, and Sch?nbrunn had said it would not be for very long. Leo trusted his father and he trusted Sch?nbrunn, so he tried to do all the things expected of him, and he did his best to learn English. He seemed to be quite good at this, and he discovered that he liked learning new words and trying them out.
He thought there might be letters from his parents, but Miss Hurst said there was a war going on, an evil, wicked war it was, and it meant letters were very difficult to send. Leo might write to his parents, of course, and they would post the letters, and trust in the Lord that they were delivered safely. Leo was given paper and a pencil, and he wrote very careful letters every week. He did not know if his parents received them, but he told himself they did, and he imagined them opening the letters and reading them and being pleased that he was safe and working hard and being looked after.