Title Page

  WHERE E’ER THE WIND BLOWS

  By

  Paul Kelly

  Publisher Information

  Where E’er The Wind Blows

  Published in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Paul Kelly

  The right of Paul Kelly to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Forward

  Gerhardt Steiger sat at his chair in his study and looked out into the green lawn. The scene reminded him of his homeland; the land of his birth and nostalgia overtook him in that moment. Why was Germany so like Scotland, he thought and then his face grew stern.

  What changes had taken place in his life during the past ten years when as an officer of the Third Reich in the German High Command, he could control life and death in the flash of a second. Yes, he was a doctor of medicine, but he was also a top rate psychiatrist, along with his lovely wife Anna, who was a native of Scotland and lived in Germany for several years. The Third Reich had been his life… his dream of living as a free man in a country that truly knew freedom and then … on that particular day when it became known to all and sundry in the nation that he loved, that their leader, Adolph Hitler had committed suicide, his dreams fell apart. In that moment too, he realized many of the things he had done in his office with the Third Reich had not been so heroic or praiseworthy as he had thought. He had been instrumental in conducting the medical side of the various concentration camps and this particular thought caused him more anxiety and fear than he had supposed. With many things on his mind, he could not forget the treatment he had meted out, in particular to the Jews… and then he began to realize something that he had forgotten… or had purposely obliterated from his mind during the days of his power and authority… that he, himself was a Jew.

  It was for this reason and neglect of his religion that he suffered the most and he understood how much suffering can attend a person who has been neglectful in any way towards his fellow man, when in the folly of his ways, when he was in authority for the Third Reich he arranged for a young woman prisoner at a concentration camp to be raped by a number of retarded inmates, just for the fun of it… but he did not realize that “what goes around, comes around” and the victim of his folly was his own sister.

  His power and authority did not serve him as well as he had hoped when he was, as he imagined himself to be, equal to God and his sister gave birth to a child who turned out to be the “SPAWN OF SATAN” It was this child named Freya who would ruin his life when he realized that as his sister, the child’s mother had died, he would be expected to adopt the little girl.

  In this situation, God and the Devil endured a lifelong battle.

  GERHART STEIGER WROTE HIS ADVERT FOR THE NEWSPAPER AND HOPED TO ARRANGE FOR A NANNY TO LOOK AFTER FREYA…

  Chapter One

  IT WAS IN DECEMBER 1946, just a week before Christmas and I was travelling on the 10.50 am from Paddington, hoping to arrive at Stella’s for lunch. My mother had just passed away after a long and serious illness and I felt a sense of relief, if somewhat tinged with guilt as I sat there, listening to the rhythm of the train wheels as they chugged onwards, without a care. I wished then that six months or a year would pass, so that I could say, as indeed so many have said before me ...’This is an experience you have to go through … Everyone has. Death is not an easy thing to accept when you have loved the deceased. Everyone has to go through this knife searing pain of loss and of emptiness’

  I was ashamed ...for I did not have that intense feeling of loss that I felt I should. I could not cry for my mother. I had cried so much when she was alive that I felt my entire emotions were drained and there was nothing in my feelings but emptiness. I wasn’t sorrowing and I certainly wasn’t grieving. Mother had suffered from trypanosomiasis, a type of sleeping sickness; a form of senile dementia and had been ill for the past thirty years, but not much was known of this debilitating disease at that time and even now, we have so much to learn.

  My thoughts were distracted as a gust of wind swept through the small window of the carriage, just above my head and I jumped to catch my hat before it blew away. There was no-one in the carriage but myself, so I took my hat off and put it on the seat beside me, where I noticed that someone had left yesterday’s Telegraph and it had blown open at a page where there was an article about the impending unrest in the Trade Unions which was stirring up trouble for the Government, but strangely enough it was not that article that attracted my attention, but a small advert at the bottom of page six which caught my eye.

  ‘Nanny required for German family. Two little boys and another child expected’

  I turned away for a moment and stared out of the window as the newspaper blew about again in the wind and kept repeatedly flapping against my skirt. I looked again and placed it neatly back on the seat beside me.

  ‘Nanny required.’

  I was tired of nursing and had already given up my work as a Ward Sister at the hospital to look after mother and I was fed up with the stench of sickness and sour urine ...of turning fifteen stone of flesh in bed whilst I washed and cleaned ...and perfumed her ...for the sake of the visitors who would come in their stream to see her, as they did at first ...but none stayed. No-one wanted to be involved with a grumbling old woman who found fault at every turn and I couldn’t blame them ...She was my mother and I had to care, but why should they? Yes, they were her sisters and her brothers, but they couldn’t be expected to do much for her. They were all married with their own families and I am sure, with troubles enough of their own and I could see the sense of relief in their eyes as they left the sick room, leaving their flowers and chocolates. . to breathe the fresh pure air outside. I used to feel shame when they first came to visit us, but all that went after a while. I could have done with an afternoon off occasionally ...or even a few hours would have helped but as I have said, they all had their own problems ... and then the visits gradually dropped to once a fortnight. . then once a month ...and then they never came at all. Stella was the only one who regularly kept in touch, but even she had a large family, so she had her hands full ...but she was always kind, even if it was just a telephone call to enquire how I was getting on ...and always inviting me down to her place ...if I could ever find the time. All the others sent us a card at Christmas wishing us well and with their sincere prayers, hoping that I was coping O.K. and I wonder what would have been the response if I had written back saying that I couldn’t and that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown ...which was long due to me?

  I was an only child and this was my lot. I could like it or lump it, but someone had to do the necessary and mother never stopped telling me how much had to be done and how and when and where, after she had reminded me of everything she had given up for me when I was young. It is strange to love someone and to despise them at the same time I think, but I did love mother more than I could ever say and words would fail to describe my feelings towards her. She was my own flesh and blood ...the woman who had given me birth and life and all that I had ...but I was tired. ... I was thirty-six and I felt like sixty-six. The last ten years of her illness were the worst by far and I was sixteen when she really began to know what her illness was doing to her. Daddy had been wonderful when he was alive, but he died just two years after I took my S.R.N. and I stayed at home from then on to do what I could. I was always glad I had trained as a nurse as it stood me in great stead when I had to cope with mother, but sometimes I regretted even having thought of taking up nursing. I would wish that I had felt the call for some other vocational task, like teaching or the prison service ...or even a Convent at times, when I was very low.

  ‘German family…Two little boys’

  The Telegraph flapped in the wind again.

  ***

  I buried mother with the respect and dignity that she would have wanted, with an abundance of flowers and wreaths and the most superior coffin I could find. I remember it was called The Duchess and it was made in fine teak and I knew that would have pleased her. Her grave was a mass of colour and all the relatives attended in full mourning. I watched their faces ...Some were crying and some in deep repose, meditating on the effect of their loss or whatever, as mother was a woman of considerable means.

  ‘Dearest sister … .darling auntie ….In fondest memories of a heroic soul who suffered her illness bravely ...’ I cried at that, but it wasn’t grief ... and I came away from the cemetery thinking that at last she was happy and that I had done all I could for her, but I felt guilty then ...and I still do now. I think I always will but she was at last free from pain and suffering and I thanked God. I also thanked Him for taking me away from the mood swings and the anger and the wrath. I knew all this was because of her illness, but I still felt it and there were times when I could have gladly strangled her ...and