I wondered if we should seek out Leo, who might remember something useful about the twins – those three were such friends – but Sch?nbrunn thinks it better not. It could distress Leo unnecessarily, he says, and there is also the point that we do not want to draw attention to ourselves. Two strangers in a small country place, talking to a child, may attract notice.
I have no idea if this letter will reach you safely or if it will do so in its entirety, but as usual Sch?nbrunn has friends within some kind of secret network, and assures me he can get letters to you. For that reason I feel able to write in more detail than I should otherwise dare.
As always, I send my kind regards and very best wishes. Stay safe, my good friend,
M.B.
Oxford
Spring 1944
Dear J.W.
As you see, we have reached Oxford. Travelling is difficult, although not impossible, but the trains seem to take the longest route between two places, and there are all kinds of papers and proofs of identity to be shown along the journey. Sch?nbrunn, as you will guess, has provided us with all the necessary documents. I have not asked how or where he acquired them – I have not dared! I am just grateful that they are accepted.
Oxford is a beautiful city, even in the midst of this war, and we have managed to find rooms in a small boarding house which is modest, but clean and comfortable. Somehow Sch?nbrunn has acquired a motor car – a shocking old rattletrap it is – and also petrol (again, I dare not ask). However, a car will make things much easier, although he is a terrible driver. I clutch the dashboard as we bounce along, while Sch?nbrunn wrestles with gears and steering, and swears at the other motorists in various languages.
Sophie and Susannah Reiss were placed with a family in a village just outside a place called Wolvercote. Sch?nbrunn was involved in the arrangements and knows the way, so we shall drive there tomorrow and call at the house, presenting ourselves as Ministry Officials. Apparently the British are accustomed to people knocking on their doors and asking the most intimate questions. I dare say this is the fault of various War Departments.
Our questions will be based on food consumption which Sch?nbrunn thinks will not seem offensive.
Best regards,
M.B.
Oxford
Spring 1944
Dear J.W.
The food consumption ploy has worked perfectly. We did, though, have to knock on the doors of at least half a dozen other houses so as to appear credible, and I am now in possession of a great deal of information regarding potatoes (half the crop suffered something called blight), carrots (a quarter of these were lost to black rot) and Brussels sprouts, which, according to most people, are not liked by anyone, except at Christmas, when you have to eat them on account of it being a tradition. There are, however, hopes for the spring yield of tomatoes and lettuces – providing, that is, the Government doesn’t snaffle the best of the crop. (I am unsure of the precise meaning of this word snaffle, but Sch?nbrunn says it simply means steal.)
Sophie and Susannah Reiss lived with a couple called Battersby on the village outskirts. Mrs Battersby, a generously proportioned and garrulous lady, insisted on our coming inside, the better to complete our questionnaire.
And now I am setting down, to the best of my recollection, an account of the conversation. It began with a well-judged question from Sch?nbrunn about how many people lived in the house, and this caused Mrs Battersby to open up about the two small girls taken in the previous year.
‘Dear girls, they were,’ said Mrs Battersby, dispensing tea (very strong), and slices of seed cake (delicious). ‘And Mr Battersby and I were more than happy to give them homes, not having been blessed with children of our own. But those poor lambs were so bewildered and vulnerable at first it broke my heart.’ Then, to me, ‘I can assure you we were careful about their attendance at school each day – a very good village school we have here.’