It’s completely dark by the time they arrive at the quarry. The horses are walking slowly and great clouds of steam rise from their noses as they haul the cart up the steep hill toward the shadowy buildings. Kurt jumps down and runs round to let down the tailgate and motion all of them to climb down, waving his gun in a dangerous way.
The five prisoners gather their belongings from the cart in the darkness, and clutch them as they walk up to the buildings. Bill notices there isn’t any wire fencing. To the right of them is a tall stone house, but they enter through the adjoining single-story, timber-framed extension. Bill hopes they won’t be sleeping in it, as there would be little insulation to keep it warm in the winter. But it’s not sleeping quarters. Inside is a messy office, with piles of papers, and an unlit cast-iron stove.
Herr Rauchbach leads them through the office and unbolts the door into the stone house. Kurt brings up the rear. As they take off their hats in the hallway, Bill can see Kurt’s hair is a dirty blond, and prematurely receding, while the owner has a firm dark hairline. He doesn’t think they are father and son.
Just off the dark hallway is a room with three bunk beds, but they are ushered past it, through to the rear of the house, where the warmth of a kitchen range and the strong smells of cabbage and cigarette smoke welcome them.
They drop their bags and blankets in a heap and shuffle forward. It looks a bit like Izzy’s farmhouse kitchen, thinks Bill, with a deep sink, a range and a large table with about ten chairs, all occupied by British prisoners in khaki battle dress. One of them stands up. “Welcome t ’otel,” he says, and holds out his hand. “Johnson, Frank.”
Ralph steps forward and shakes his hand. “Maddox. Ralph.” He ushers Izzy forward. “And this is Cousins; doesn’t speak I’m afraid, but a good worker.”
Frank looks her up and down doubtfully. The introductions to Bill, Max and Scotty are completed, and the five newcomers gravitate toward the warmth of the range.
Herr Rauchbach says something in German, and Ralph translates. “He’s going now. We have to be ready for work as soon as it’s light at seven a.m. Kurt will come to lock the doors.”
They listen to Herr Rauchbach and Kurt walk back down the hallway, and once they are out of the door, the bolt thunks back into place.
One of the other prisoners has moved to a big cauldron on the range.
“Is there any left?” Frank asks him.
“Should be enough,” he replies.
Bill and the others tuck in eagerly to bowls of steaming cabbage soup. He thinks it tastes wonderful, much better than the Lamsdorf skilly; it has lumps of potato and turnip in it, and once, a small square of rabbit meat. He turns to his kit bag for the remains of their last parcel to supplement the meal.
Frank eyes the parcel food enviously. “The parcels are a bit slow getting through here,” he says, “but Rauchbach feeds us better than a camp. Lots of spuds and meat once a week.”
Frank has a strong Yorkshire accent, and he and Ralph make a joke about the Wars of the Roses and God’s own county. Bill asks about the cricket. He notices Frank has a habit of repeating what someone else has said, as if making their thought his own. There’s some talk about Lamsdorf and the camps where each of them has been imprisoned before coming here. Bill is trying to work out whether to trust these new men with their secret. He thinks he’ll wait a little longer.
Ralph wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “What’s the boss like?”
Frank crosses to the door into the hallway and closes it.
“He’s a good boss. Very fair. I don’t think he’s a fan of the Reich, but he plays the game. The work in the main quarry is hard, ten hours a day, and he has lots of orders to complete, with not enough time. That’s why he’s reopened this small offshoot to the main Saubsdorf quarry. But he’s not a bad man. It’s his sidekick, Kurt, you have to watch out for. Vicious streak. And you younger men shouldn’t be alone with him if you know what I mean.” He nods to Izzy significantly, and she bends her head to show she’s understood. Bill wonders uneasily if he’s put her in even more danger, bringing her here. Ralph studies the floor.
“Rauchbach’s daughter, Rosa, works in the office here,” Frank continues. “That wooden building you came through. Lovely girl. Very sympathetic. She works as a translator. German, Czech and a bit of English. And we have a cook. And some Czech women take our washing and bring us black-market stuff if we have cigs to spare. So could be worse.”
“At night?” asks Bill.
“At night? We’ve got three rooms. I’ll show you in a minute. There’s seventeen of us here now including you five. Six beds to a bedroom, well, three double bunks. We’ve all moved upstairs, knowing you were coming, so you can have the downstairs room. Not the best I’m afraid—the one by the door as you come in, but next to the kitchen. Though don’t get excited. The cupboards are bare.”
Bill thinks the upstairs rooms must be warmer.
Frank gestures to the empty shelves where jars of jams and pickles should be laid up for the winter, and continues. “Wooden bunks. The usual. And out there”—he indicates another door—“is the latrine and washroom, in a hut. After we’ve used that at night, we have to leave our trousers and boots in there. Bit of a cold run back across the yard. I’ve got pajamas which I take in with me. And then Kurt locks us in. Bars at the windows of course. Jam jars for the night necessaries.” He shrugs.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Kurt opens the door from the yard and steps into the kitchen.
He points to the new arrivals and says something in German. Ralph translates with an apologetic shrug. “Last chance to use the ‘shitter’, apparently.”
Ralph politely thanks Kurt in German, then turns to his friends. “Let’s get our pajamas and see the facilities.”
They follow Kurt down a few steps into the yard, where a long wooden shack is opened for them. At one end is the usual bench with holes in it, and closer to the door are three large sinks with taps above them. There aren’t any showers. It seems this is where they must all wash off the dirt of the quarry. The washrooms aren’t as clean as those at Lamsdorf, and have no heating. Bill thinks the taps will freeze in winter.
Kurt isn’t keen to stay in the smelly washroom, so at least they have the relative privacy of just the five of them. It’s better than the forty-hole latrine at Lamsdorf. Bill is grateful to the others, who “about-turn” as Izzy uses the latrine, loudly discussing the journey to cover her embarrassment, and who look away as she takes off her trousers and pulls on her brother’s pajamas.
When they are dressed, in an assortment of pajama bottoms and long winter underwear, they add their boots and trousers to the large pile on the concrete floor. Bill thinks they’ll be very cold to put back on in the morning. He wonders again if this has all been a terrible mistake and they should have stayed at Lamsdorf, especially now that Tucker is dead. They run back to the kitchen in their stocking feet. Kurt locks and bolts the back door from outside.
“Come on. I’ll show you to your room,” says Frank. Bill, Izzy and Ralph follow him, leaving Max and Scotty in the kitchen, talking to the other prisoners.
Bill decides their bedroom must have been a front parlor when the building was used as a house, and it’s cold compared with the kitchen. There’s a wood burner in the fireplace, but it’s obviously not alight.