Clandestine

Chapter 2 - Moon Licht nicht

I must have known, during my formative years, that Britain was at war. Those who have never lived in a nation at war assume that every citizen spends every waking moment hiding in alleyways and dodging the enemy. The truth is I found my childhood amazingly normal. I attended school, played with friends, and enjoyed the trappings of youth. I was ten when the war ended. I remember that my parents danced on the evening that Germany surrendered; it was the only time I saw them embrace.

It was the post-war period that I remember vividly. The late 1940s and early 1950s in Britain may have been the closest example to perfect socialism as has ever been witnessed in human history. I remember my mother taking me to the optometrist at age 12 to have my eyes checked after my teacher wondered if I could see the blackboard. The doctor confirmed that I was indeed near-sighted and outfitted me with three pairs of spectacles, at no charge. That was the Britain of my youth: the country was fully employed and less than one per cent of families lived in poverty. All public services were free, and if a boy needed glasses why not provide three pairs. Of course the country was swimming in public debt and not enough wealth was being created to satisfy the burgeoning industrialists. Eventually greed took its toll and the country’s socialist paradigm came to a crashing halt. Perhaps it was for the best.

As my teenage years approached, a decision loomed. Every young man on her majesty’s island was compelled to serve two years of military service. I could easily have finished high school and joined the infantry, as most boys did, or I could delay my service by attending university before entering the corps.

Strangely, I was looking forward to my military service. I considered my father every bit a war hero who had served his country with honour, and I was ready to do the same. However, at age 15 my name was put forward for an elite academic exchange program to England that opened my eyes to the possibilities in my life. I was one of four boys in Scotland to attend a two-week excursion to Oxford University. It was on that trip that I decided to enter the world of academia, having met so many scholars and talented young students it was clear to me that the army could wait. 

Looking back I’m not sure what made me such a good student. Academics just seemed to come easier to me than most, but it was not that I was a passionate reader of Shakespeare or a keen mathematician. I just seemed to have a knack of winning, and my name always made it to the top of the classroom ladder.

Returning from my visit to Oxford with a scholarship waiting for me, once I had completed my studies at Grammar, I was more motivated than ever to quickly complete my A-levels and get to my future. Still, there were exams to pass and games to be played, and it was during one of those games that I met Eleanor for the first time.

It was a rainy Friday afternoon when our school’s junior and senior football sides embarked on a set of matches against our rival team from Coatbridge. The games were to be played in the evening, and the senior game was to be contested under the lights, after the junior match. There was no love lost between the sides. Upon arrival at the school we received a frosty reception. I learned much later in my travels that the nations of this world are blessed with certain gifts. Germans are skilled at transport, the French can paint, and the Italians can cook, but no other nation comes close to the skill of the Scots in taunting invaders. Our little team of high schoolers from Motherwell was dutifully chastised upon our arrival at the school. As the junior team took the field our seniors, all dressed in sports jackets and ties, were sequestered to a remote area of the pitch where we would watch the game before dressing and taking the field for ourselves.

The school at Coatbridge was a good match for us on the field but in many ways was a superior school to our own, with a strong academic tradition. In particular it housed a tremendous library and I had been having trouble accessing resources on a paper I was writing about the pre-war period in Europe. Specifically, I was looking for any articles focussing on the appeasement of Germany by the West. As I had two hours to consume before our match, I thought I might get away with sneaking out of the stands and seeing if there was a book I might borrow from the Coatbridge School library. I dutifully informed the team manager of my plans and his disappointment could not have been more evident.  However, despite his consternation he couldn’t see the harm. It was approximately 5:30 p.m. and I had assumed the library would be closed, my plans being for not, so when I saw the lights beaming through the window I excitedly quickened my pace.