Cold Victory

Robin had no way of comparing Gatow’s Christmas party to the events hosted by the Americans, but he was proud of what his staff had put together. While it was still light, the arriving children had a choice between a tour of a Dakota or a pony ride. The former triggered more interest and enthusiasm than Robin had expected and resulted in an endless line of wide-eyed, delighted little boys waiting for the chance to walk up the aisle and into the tiny cockpit of one of their unserviceable Dakotas. Here, they were shown the dials by a pilot. Meanwhile, the girls gravitated more towards the stables, where pony and cart rides were offered until it became too dark and cold.

As darkness fell, the children, carefully escorted by parents or teachers from the local schools, were herded to the training facility and into the large entry hall. They left their outdoor garments on a table to one side and then entered a large room decorated in traditional English style with boughs of holly and other evergreens garnished with red ribbons, and gold and silver bells. A large Christmas tree bedecked with lights and wooden and paper ornaments stood against the back wall and beside it sat a fat and jolly Santa Claus. On his other side was a transport crate wrapped in Christmas paper and ribbon. The children lined up to approach him one at a time and each received a little gift out of the box.

At the front of the room, a chorus of teenagers sang Christmas carols in English and German. The choir was extraordinarily good, given how little practice they had had together, and Robin found himself watching them almost as much as the children receiving their gifts from Santa. As he turned to leave, he touched his finger to his cap to signal his approval to Georgina and Anna, who beamed back at him.

After receiving a wrapped package each, the children were escorted into the dining room. They were seated at a long table with an adult in every fifth place. At each place setting, a paper angel standing on an orange waited beside a pair of paper RAF wings. Robin watched as the children gasped, squealed, and clapped or reached out to inspect their presents. The boys often grabbed the wings first and put them up against their chests. The girls focused more on the angels, comparing their faces and examining how they had been made. The oranges proved to be a dubious surprise, however, since many of the children appeared not to know what they were. Several of the smaller children thought they were balls and tried to bounce them. Adults or siblings had to show them how to peel them open, accompanied by exclamations of surprise, impatience or shrieks as juice squirted out.

When all the children were seated, the kitchen staff emerged in a long line wearing their white uniforms to an appropriate drum roll from the RAF band. The children were awed for a moment and then broke into wild applause. The decibels rose to an almost intolerable level — except that seeing the excitement and the happiness of children made it tolerable.

As for the food, Gatow’s kitchen staff had put together a mouth-watering dinner of turkey, stuffing, gravy, fresh mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts and carrots smothered in melted butter. The meal was accompanied by jugs of hot chocolate and finished off with Christmas pudding. All items had been purchased with money donated by Gatow personnel and flown to Berlin from England in Emergency Air Services’ new Halifax.

As the meal ended, the chorus emerged from the kitchen, where they had been served the same meal. They now led the children in singing carols together, ending with ‘Silent Night.’ As the chorus bowed and filed out, the adult escorts started to herd the children together towards their outdoor clothing and the exit.

Waiting for the event to wind up, Robin formulated in his head the circular he would send out to his staff the following morning praising them for a hugely successful event. His thoughts were interrupted by an elderly gentleman, one of the escorting teachers. “Herr Oberst?” The German made a stab at interpreting the three stripes on Robin’s sleeve.

“Yes?”

The man thrust out his bony and gnarled hand. Robin took it and winced as the man grasped his hand fiercely and pumped it up and down vigorously. In a tear-choked voice, he exclaimed, “Vielen, vielen Dank! Das war die schoenste Weihnachten in Jahren! Ihr habt uns alle so geehrt!”

Robin understood the sentiment rather than the words and responded with, “It was our pleasure.” He meant it.

But no sooner had the first man gone than the woman behind him also stopped and the next and the one after. It was like a reception line only at the end of the event rather than the beginning, and that made it very different. These people were not introducing themselves to him but thanking him with embarrassing sincerity. Robin understood that he was nothing more than the most obvious and convenient representative of everyone who had made this evening possible, yet he felt overwhelmed all the same.

“They will always remember this,” one of the women said in good English, indicating the wide-eyed children clustered around her, before adding, “We will never forget who our friends are.”

And that, Robin realised, was the most remarkable thing of all. A year ago, this feast would have been inconceivable — on his own part, on the part of his staff, or the part of the Berliners. A year ago, although not outright enemies, they had still been victors and vanquished. Tangible hatred might have faded, but in its place, wariness tinged with mutual dislike had taken root. That was now gone. They had overcome their suspicions and put aside their grudges to find the humanity in one another. The lion had lain down with the lamb and they had become friends.