Marianne Toxboe

Hidden Games

in Love and War

A Novel

Part One

By the same author:

Part II Father Unknown

Part III Left Behind

Part VI Footprints

Part V Adored

transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher,

except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

eBook ISBN 978-87-971684-3-1

First English Edition 2021

Translated by N.E. Jensen, Denmark

Edited: Dawn Locke, ProofPerfect, UK

Cover design: Michael Toxboe

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living, or dead,

is purely coincidental.

Contents
Preface
Odense, 1 August, 1943.
Munke Mose
Rebellion
Tarts and Terrain Mattresses
Sweet Revenge
Resistance and Change
The Times are Changing
Blessings in Disguise
Dangerous Games
Dreams of the Future
Mille’s Secret
Christmas, 1943
Secret Meeting
Revealed
Exiled
Copenhagen, January 1944
New Horizons
Parting
Copenhagen in Revolt
The Punishment of Copenhagen
State of Emergency
Breach of Confidence
A New Reality
Someone Must Pay
Working Underground
New Release

Preface

Denmark was invaded by Germany on the 9th of April, 1940, during

World War Two. Defeat was inevitable and swift. The Danish government

immediately called for peace and order and entered into a co-operation

agreement with the German armed forces. That agreement was terminated

in 1943 at the instigation of the resistance movement and the Danish

people's revolt against the former government's co-operation policies.

Odense, Denmark, August 1943: Smouldering public dissatisfaction with

the government's co-operation policies burst into flames. In particular, the

dock workers’ union and the Communist Party’s inner circle seeded the

resistance movement, which grew stronger and stronger. The mood in town

was aggressive and uneasy. Who was friend and who was foe? The time had

come to take a stand against collaborators and against German soldiers

making free with Danish girls, who were colloquially known as ‘terrain

mattresses’.

Hidden Games is the first volume in a series about seventeenyear- old

Maia Niemann’s dramatic life during and after the Second World War.

Falling in love with a German officer was a dangerous game in a period

when many of her countrymen were fighting them for dignity and freedom.

A game with grave consequences for her life.

The book is fiction. None of the characters have existed in real life, but

the story takes place in an authentic historical framework; the novel is at

once a thriller, a love story and family saga. It becomes a narrative of the

human dilemma in the daily dramatic events during and after WWII.

Odense, 1 August, 1943

he first day at Odense Cathedral School was over almost before it had

started. The sun was still high in the sky when the bell announced

classes were over. Reaction was swift. As though by the wave of a magic

wand, the empty school yard was suddenly filled with happy and liberated

students. Minutes later, there was a queue at the bicycle racks.

Maia pushed her way through the crowd and managed to get to her

bicycle with some difficulty. She looked around to find Jens, but gave up

and wheeled her bicycle out to one side to wait for him. She looked up at

the sky and let the warm rays of the sun ease away the tensions of the day’s

sessions in a cramped classroom.

“Maia!” A shout came from behind. Maia turned and spotted Jens, who

waved eagerly with both arms.

“Shall we walk together?” He suggested, reaching her side a little

breathlessly.

“Why not,” agreed Maia, and smiled. “I was just looking for you. How

have you been?”

“Fine, but I’ve missed you. Although I have been rather busy, and I think

I’ll be pretty busy over the coming week too,” he said, smiling secretively

with his intense green eyes.

“Oh? And what does that mean?”

“So many of us refuse to accept the Germans’ condescending treatment

of the Danish people, Maia. The time has come for action.” Even as he

formed the words, he realised they were coming out of his mouth all wrong.

Maia could barely keep from smiling. She’d never heard Jens express

himself in such righteous rhetoric before. “I can keep a secret,” she said,

seriously.

“Are you sure?” he carried on without waiting for Maia to reply. “There

are rumours of a strike against the German guards at the wharf… to shut

everything down.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Are you going to join in?”

“Not when we stand together, Maia. That’s what this is all about. Don’t

you understand? It’s something we’ve talked about all summer.”

Who’s this we? Wondered Maia irritably, feeling left out. Did he really

think it wouldn’t be dangerous to take a stand against the Germans merely

by being part of a group? And why did he think she couldn’t understand? It

was unbearable being spoken to like an ignorant child, but Maia suppressed

her irritation and nodded. They walked on, side by side with their bicycles

between them, without speaking.

Jens broke the silence. “How was your summer?”

“You know my aunt, Mille? I spent the holidays in her summer house in

North Sjaelland – almost three weeks. And we went to Copenhagen for the

day, and visited Tivoli. But now I’ve heard you were working the entire

summer, I feel I’ve actually been quite lazy.”

“Yes, some of us do belong to the working classes. But at least I haven’t

been bored.” said Jens, with a teasing smile. “I’m free on Saturday though.

So, if you feel like it, we could go for a trip to the park at Munke Mose.

There’s something I’d like to show you and talk to you about.” His face

became secretive again.

“Okay, when?”

“Three o’clock?”

“All right, I’ll pack a picnic basket with something special.” Maia was

glad they had broken the strained atmosphere that had arisen between them.

Jens flicked her a look with the direct and happy gaze she always found

so irresistible. “See you Saturday then,” he said, and jumped on his bicycle.

Jens was the only one in his family who had attended high school. His

father led the blacksmith’s union and was informally known in the town as

‘The Foreman.’ At primary school Jens had proved himself more than

ordinarily gifted, and Jens' mathematics teacher had urged the Foreman to

ensure his son’s talent would not be wasted.

The Foreman himself was an eloquent man and had done well in life,

even though he left school at fourteen. He’d been on the verge of rejecting

the maths teacher’s advice because he did not want to be seen as needing

help. But he reconsidered. With the right education, thought the Foreman,

the boy will go further than I ever dreamed. Jens could become a valuable

player in the trade union. He was living proof of hidden talents amongst the

working classes. Higher education was normally reserved for the children

of rich families, which just wasn’t right.

In the end, the Foreman agreed that Jens' maths teacher could apply for a

grant or scholarship for Jens. The funds would compensate for Jens not

contributing financially during his years at high school. But the Foreman

also arranged part-time work for his son, with the trade union. There were

no doubts about the Foreman’s political leanings, but his involvement with

Denmark’s Communist Party, the DKP, was officially secret. Throughout

his childhood Jens had overheard loud political discussions taking place

around their kitchen table until the early hours of the morning.

Jens became a member of DKP's youth association, and the older

members soon noticed his talents as he threw himself into union work. He

excelled in everything he did, using his excellent communication skills and

showing a deep commitment to society and the greater good. They quickly

saw that he had his father’s eloquence and sharp analytical mind.

When Jens was incorporated into the resistance group he began to write

articles for Trods Alt, the DKP’s underground paper. Having made his way

so far up the hierarchy, he took an active role in writing the proclamations

and calls to arms with which the DKP got their message out to the people.

These were just some of the experiences Jens wanted to share with Maia. It

frustrated him that he couldn’t tell her about his work for the resistance.

Maia swerved into the driveway and immediately saw Aunt Mille's

bicycle in the rack. She threw down her own, and took the stairs in three

strides.

“I’m home!” she called, running through the hall and into the living

room. She was looking forward to talking to Mille, because she’d promised

Maia that she could shadow the garment design process and observe from

the sidelines when the new autumn collection, for 1944, was being

launched. And that was coming up soon.

Aunt Mille and Maia’s father, Johannes, were still running the clothing

factory that their German born father had founded forty years ago.

Throughout her childhood Maia had listened in at the table when ideas for

each season’s new collection were discussed, always a year ahead. So, from

an early age she had been passionate about designing and sewing her own

clothes. In fact, she secretly dreamed of a career as a fashion designer. But

Aunt Mille was the only one who recognised Maia’s talent. Her parents saw

her interest as being only a rather utilitarian and ladylike hobby.

Maia pushed opened the living room door.

“Hello Maia,” said Mille, holding out her arms. Maia hugged her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here today, Mille.”

“Neither did I, but I needed to discuss something with your father, and

your lovely mother has invited me for dinner, so I accepted.” Mille smiled

at Agnes who was sitting nearby.

Her sister-in-law’s personality did not, despite her beautiful and well-

groomed appearance, leave any great impression, and as hostess she simply

preferred to leave all the preparations to Ruth, the household cook.

“It’s always a pleasure to have good company.” Agnes replied

mechanically, and poured out some sherry.

Mille reached for the glass and absentmindedly rolled the sherry around

it for a moment, then, with a small sigh, leaned back into the big armchair.

Maia could hear her father on the phone in his office. She looked at Mille

again and, for the first time, noticed how tired and tense she was. Normally

she would not drink sherry in the afternoon. “Are there problems at the

factory, Mille?”

“It's a bit complicated, Maia. There have been some disturbances at the

factory. As I just told your mother, I was visited by two rather nasty chaps

today. They wanted me to sack two of my best machinists. The girls have

had ‘demoralising contact with German soldiers’, as they put it. They were

really threatening. But they claimed they had trade union backing.”

“What on earth are you going to do about it?” Asked Agnes, slightly

irritated at her thread of conversation being interrupted by her daughter.

Mille frowned.

“I’m not sure. As you know, I’m not one for being dictated to, but we

have to do something. It’s an awkward situation. The mood in town is ugly,

or perhaps fuelled up is a better way of putting it. I must talk to Johannes

about it. Well, here's your father, Maia…” Mille stood up. “Let's talk when

this has all quietened down a bit. I’m hoping you’ll look in at the factory

when you have the time – if you want to, that is. I’ve received fabrics for

the new collection. The quality’s good, but the colours are a bit drab. I’d

like your input on how to smarten things up.” Mille winked at Maia, who

smiled back feeling proud and warm inside.

“Thanks for tea, Mummy. I'll go upstairs. I need to put covers on my

new schoolbooks.”

“You do that, Maia.” Agnes sighed.

Here I am, sitting all alone again, thought Agnes, as she watched Mille

closing the door to Johannes' office. Odd, how their discussions always had

to be held behind closed doors. But then, how could she contribute anything

meaningful when Mille always took the words out of her mouth? Even

though Johannes appeared not to notice, she knew it was always Mille he

listened to and her opinion that he counted on. Actually, she was amazed he

could accept Mille, as a woman, acting as an equal partner, when he always

belittled whatever Agnes came up with.

Personally, she thought she had quite good ideas about fashion. The

problem was Johannes. He always found her ideas either unrealistic or too

difficult to carry out. So, these days, she simply stopped getting involved.

Agnes felt pressure building up over her eyes. And why does it never suit

Johannes to take me along on any of his business trips? Now that the girls

have grown, I could do with a little diversion once in a while. And Maia,

Agnes thought on, is just like Mille. They are cut from the same cloth and

conspire with each other about everything.

She felt a sharp pain in her temple and a slight flickering in front of her

eyes. Within a few moments the headache had spread out and become an

unbearable pounding pain. I’m going upstairs to lie down, she thought.

Nobody will notice I’m gone, anyway.

Maia closed her door and threw herself on the bed. Her room was her

cave, her sanctuary. From her bed she could see the bay window where she

had set up her own little sewing workshop. A sturdy plank had been

installed the full width of the bay window. On this workbench was her

dearest possession, an old Singer that Mille had bought from an elderly

seamstress’s estate and given her as a birthday present.

A huge wicker basket stood under the workbench, filled to the brim with

fabric remnants. She had gathered most of it from her father, who

systematically collected secondhand clothes ever since the war had caused a

shortage in the supply of textiles. The used clothes were cut up, the cloth

washed and sorted, and sent to the workshop in Herning to be turned into

new clothes. The reconstituted garments were sold in the shops at a good

profit.

Maia's workbench was cornered by a large retail shop counter, which

divided the room into two. The counter had multiple small drawers that held

zippers, buttons of every size and colour, ribbons, hooks and eyes,

trimmings, and fragments of leather, all of which were off-cut from the

secondhand clothes. The bay window had become Maia’s little workshop,

where she combined and transformed all these assorted materials into smart

new creations.

On her notice board were photos she had selected from the latest

designs; mostly cuttings from catalogues her father brought home for her. A

large block of drawing paper, watercolours, and a big mug of crayons all

held more prominent places on her desk than her schoolbooks.

This is my world, she thought, and nobody will ever take it from me.

Then she closed her eyes and, very shortly, fell asleep…

“Maia! Dinner in fifteen minutes!” Helene shouted, poking her head into

the room. Maia's little sister, who more or less disapproved of everything

Maia did, glared at her in indignation. “Are you lying here asleep in the

middle of the day? Aunt Mille’s here.”

“I know,” Maia said, mildly irritated. She looked at the clock. “I am

coming now, so buzz off.”

As Jens cycled home from school, he was thinking about the

proclamation he had just finalised. This proclamation should spark off an

uproar against those German loving tarts. Jens had started very early this

morning distributing his leaflets to helpers who would stick them on lamp

posts around town. They had worked on printing the leaflets until late last

night, and he knew the text by heart:

COMRADES!

Have you forgotten your national pride? Will we just stand back and

watch while these empty-headed, amoral sluts can't keep the

German uniforms at bay but, instead, shamefully mock our country?

Let's take these terrain mattresses in hand. It is rumoured that,

elsewhere, the German soldiers’ lady friends have been stripped and

clipped bald. We look forward to receiving any information on the

matter as soon as possible, and will be happy to publish it.

Jens shivered. An elated satisfaction replaced the vengeful, moral

indignation stirred up by the text. Those tarts should be taught a lesson

about damaging public morality, he thought. They had discussed it in the

group. Pricking at Danish men and women’s pride and sense of self-worth

was a prerequisite for mobilising revolt. Solidarity had to be generated

against the German occupation; everyone should be proud to be Danish!

The next leaflet to be sent out lay in a box under his bed. He needed to

read it through one more time before it was ready to be copied and

distributed at the docks. This leaflet called for dockworkers to attend a

strike meeting, demanding that the German sabotage prevention forces be

removed from the docks.

Jens saw Maia's face in his mind’s eye. She was beautiful in her own

special way; there was an elegance about her tall slim figure. She had her

own opinions and was quick-witted, but that did not scare him off. She’s not

as easily won over as other girls, Jens thought. Maybe that was what

intrigued him. She belonged to another class all right, but class divisions

were only there to be broken down. In any case, Jens was certain they could

be the perfect couple. They complemented one another well. It bored him

when, all too often, people just agreed with whatever he said.

Tomorrow, he’d show Maia those girls who walked out with German

soldiers in Munke Mose Park and explain how they intended to make an

example of them, so people could understand how reprehensible it was and

reclaim their pride.

Munke Mose

ll week Maia had been looking forward to her trip to Munke Mose with

Jens. She had packed a basket with two slices of apple cake, juice,

glasses and a blanket. With her basket on the luggage rack she cycled

happily towards Munke Mose.

She saw him from far off. The lightly freckled face with redblond hair

and self-conscious green eyes left no room for doubt that it was Jens. When

he spotted her, he raised an arm and smiled broadly. Maia waved back,

dismounted, and took the basket off the bicycle. They parked their bikes at

the entrance to the gardens and Jens held out his hand to her.

“I have been looking forward to this,” he said with a smile.

“So have I.” Maia smiled back. “Where are we going? You said there

was something you wanted to show me.”

“Not so fast. First, let's find somewhere to sit and talk in the sunshine.”

He took the basket from her and they walked for a little while, enjoying

the delightful warmth of late summer. There were quite a few other people

out walking too. In particular, German soldiers were strolling arm in arm

with their Danish girlfriends. Jens scowled at them.

“Such a bunch of shortsighted terrain mattresses,” he muttered. “You

know they’re committing high treason?”

“Less of a sentence than that, surely,” Maia said. She was a bit taken

aback at the aggression in his voice.

Jens smiled soothingly at her, and merely said, “Let's find a decent place

to sit.”

Maia spread the blanket under a big oak tree and set out the contents of

her basket. It was not until the last rays of the sun were about to fade that

she could no longer contain her curiosity. She turned inquisitively to Jens.

“Let's go for a walk before it gets too chilly. You wanted to show me

something, right?”

Jens took a deep breath and finally got around to what he wanted to say.

“What I want to show you is something I’d like you to understand before

things start to blow up. I want to explain how it all fits together.” He studied

her face hesitantly, then composed himself.

“The German occupying forces want to subdue us, as if we were a bunch

of incapable idiots. They see themselves as the Master Race, and

exterminate whatever they imagine threatens them or their culture. If the

Germans win the day, it’ll be only their way of thinking that shapes our

future.” He drew a deep breath before going on.

“Those Germans’ whores you just saw let themselves be bought for a

pair of silk stockings, or a fine meal. They ignore their Danish heritage and

just think about their own pleasure. Denmark needs to rise above this

subjugated and passive state we find ourselves in! We must recover our

national pride. Those sluts demoralise the whole country and make a

laughing stock of Danish men. You saw for yourself how the Germans were

showing off our girls.”

As he went on, Jens warmed to his subject. His eyes glinted with anger

and his language became more and more like the rhetoric of the Communist

Party’s youth association. Maia stared at him. He seemed to have forgotten

she was even here; he was so completely absorbed in making his argument.

What he said was not wrong. It was just that she hadn't seen it quite like this

before. But she hated being lectured! And what gave him the right to say

that Danish girls were national property?

“So, are these girls the Danish men’s property, then?” she asked

provocatively.

Jens stared in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, of course it isn't very smart what the girls are doing, but as no

one can own another person, the girls don’t belong to Danish men either.

And if Danish men feel a laughing stock because they’ve been overlooked,

then they’re the ones with a problem.”

“Maia, you’re refusing to understand my point! It’s a matter of

morality.” It seemed he had noticed Maia again.

“Are you a member of the resistance movement?”

“No,” he answered, and blushed slightly at having been so carried away

by his own narrative. “And if I was, I’d never tell anyone outside the

ranks.” He looked directly at Maia, as if trying to read her thoughts.

They were quiet for a while.

Of course he’s in. And, of course he’s fully engaged, thought Maia. He

has to be. It’s who he is. She understood what he meant, but it left an

unpleasant feeling that she couldn't get rid of; something dark, threatening,

and too difficult to put into words. “Let's go for a walk.”

They quickly packed their things and stood up. Jens took her hand. He

was annoyed at how, yet again, they had misunderstood each other. He had

been so sure that she would see the necessity of what had to be done.

Ahead of them on the path, two German soldiers were promenading their

Danish girlfriends. Four Danish soldiers approached them and stopped to

say something. It was obvious that the conversation was more heated than

pleasant. The girls looked shocked and held firmly on to the German

soldiers’ arms.

“It's none of your business who we walk out in the park with,” said one

of the girls, defensively.

“German whore!” hissed back one of the Danish soldiers.

“Terrain mattress!” his comrade supplemented, stepping menacingly

towards her.

The Germans attempted to defend their girls by pushing away one of the

impertinent Danes who had managed, nevertheless, to grab the arm of the

girl who had spoken.

“Do you know how girls like you are punished?” Said the Dane,

menacingly, tightening his grip.

“Aargh, let go of me, you idiot!” shouted the girl, directly into his face.

Her German sweetheart stepped in. “Let the girl go!” he commanded.

The Dane was about to push him over when he spotted a group of armed

German soldiers moving towards them.

“You’d better keep your filthy hands off our Danish girls!” He shouted,

as he let go of the girl’s arm.

“Get out of here. Now! They’re armed,” shouted one of his friends,

indicating the fast approaching guards.

“We’re not finished with you, believe me…” he warned the girl, as they

turned and fled.

Maia stared speechless at the ruckus taking place in front of her. Her

heart pounded and her mouth went dry. When the Danish soldiers had

disappeared, she felt as though she were waking from an impossible dream.

A sense of threat still hung in the air. What would have happened to that

girl if the German guards hadn’t appeared?

Maia turned to Jens in horror, but to her astonishment she saw him

standing with his arms crossed over his chest, calmly observing the shocked

faces of the two young women. A smirk was playing on his lips. She was

dumbfounded. Surely this couldn't be happening. Then anger struck her,

like lightning from a clear sky.

“I want to go home!” she said abruptly, and made her way towards the

exit.

Jens tried to take her hand but Maia pulled it back and turned away.

“Perhaps you think it’s all right to give in to the enemy? Are you at all

aware what this means?” Jens shouted angrily.

Maia had turned ashen. “The only thing I know right now is that it was

disgusting to witness. Did you see how they threatened those girls?” Maia

looked at Jens. “And you looked as though you thought it was all in order –

even entertaining!”

“Many people, in fact, most of us, would call this treason,” said Jens,

indignantly.

“That’s as may be, but are you quite sure that you and your ‘comrades’

are entitled to judge others? It looks like harassment to me and, in any case,

it’s never been legal to punish people you simply don't like. I thought you

were better than this!” Her eyes flashed. She saw Jens felt hurt, but she did

not care. She was fighting back her tears. Anger and indignation faded to

powerlessness. The safe world she knew had suddenly become

unpredictable and opaque. Anxiety twisted deep in her belly. She had never

imagined that her Jens could be one of those who threatened others or could

stir up a lynch mob.

“Perhaps it’s not clear to you that we’re at war and occupied by a hostile

enemy?” Jens blurted, desperate for Maia to understand. Maia looked back

at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I need to be alone now, Jens. I’ll make my own way home,” she said,

without giving him a chance to respond.

Jens stood there for a long time, watching her departing figure. Anger

surged in his chest. He had seen himself and Maia as a couple, allied in a

common struggle against injustice. He admired her point of view and

intelligence and would have given anything to share his thoughts of a future

with her.

“That uppity spoiled brat! She has no grip on reality,” he hissed. Well, I

don’t give a toss. She’s bloody well not going to walk all over me, he

thought angrily. She’ll find out! “Damn and blast it!”

Maia quickened her pace. She felt nauseated and, in a strange way, she

felt betrayed. She had been looking forward to spending time with Jens. But

now… it was hard to harness her thoughts. Just as she reached their

driveway, she noticed a poster hanging on the lamppost.

COMRADES!

Have you lost your national pride? Are we going to passively accept

those brain dead, amoral Danish sluts who can't keep German

uniforms at bay, blatantly mocking our country? Let's teach these

terrain mattresses a proper lesson…

Maia stared at the poster. This was why she’d been invited to Munke

Mose! It was this, then, that she was supposed to understand. Her face

twisted in disgust. The only thing she needed, right now, was to be alone.

“I’m back!” shouted Maia, and went straight up to her room. Who on

earth does he think he is? she thought, as she closed the door behind her.

What gives him and his friends the right to judge and humiliate those girls –

even if perhaps they shouldn’t be openly befriending Germans when the rest

of the world is risking their lives fighting them?

But, actually, she could see why the girls were attracted to German

soldiers, who by and large conducted themselves politely and properly.

They were eye-catching in their uniforms, and far more courteous and

attentive than most Danish farm lads. But she knew she shouldn't say that

aloud.

If it really is treason, then what’s it called when others profit from doing

business with the Germans? Maia was thinking of her father. And her

grandfather, who was German. Luckily, he was no longer around to witness

any of this. She didn’t really want to think about it. The whole thing had to

end some day. But in her head, she could still hear Jens' accusing voice:

‘Perhaps it’s not clear to you that we are at war, Maia?’

The following week passed at a snail’s pace. An awkward mood hung

everywhere. The scene with Jens in Munke Mose kept resurfacing into

Maia’s thoughts. At school, they avoided each other. Whenever their eyes

met, both of them quickly looked away. Something irreparable had

happened between them. She was still attracted to his direct gaze and street

wise cockiness, but she had seen a side of Jens that she could not accept.

It was a strange sensation, because Jens had unwittingly made her more

aware of who she was. She realised how much she hated the jingoism and

unrelenting idealism of the vigilantes. But he’d also started off something

deeper. He had sown a doubt that caused her own self-perception to crack.

Jens was on fire in word and deed, for the common good and for that

which he saw as fair and right. And what was she doing about it all? He’d

touched a nerve in her conscience, because she knew it would take an awful

lot for her to put aside the goals she had set for herself.

At the end of the week, he strolled casually across the school yard.

Stopping in front of her he asked, as if nothing had happened between them,

whether she wanted to go to the cinema with him. Maia saw he was

vulnerable, but still she chose to say she was busy helping out at the factory.

He knew it was a lie; she could see that in his eyes. He shrugged, but said

nothing.

Rebellion

aia had agreed to meet Mille at the factory after school, and now she

was on her way. The streets were filled with people. As she neared the

factory she came across a huge crowd. Maia got off her bicycle,

instinctively keeping a distance from the angry mob. The mood was

extremely unpleasant.

A line of Danish soldiers formed a chain that covered the entire

pavement. When they passed a group of German soldiers, they shoved them

aside so that the Germans had to step out onto the road.

“German pigs!” somebody shouted.

‘How do they dare do that?’ wondered Maia.

A bunch of Danish youths trailed behind the soldiers. Summoning their

courage, they started shouting in unison: “Scram home to Germany!

Denmark for the Danes!”

Maia had heard about subversive action down at the docks while she was

on summer holiday in Gilleleje. Apparently, there had also been several

instances on the streets of open conflict with German soldiers. But she had

imagined it to be as unreal as the stories and rumours about the war in

Europe. Right now, she felt this threatening mood on the street as a physical

pressure in her chest. She wheeled her bicycle in a wide arc to avoid the

uproar and carried on to the factory, not relaxing until she closed the factory

gates behind her.

“Why, if it isn’t Miss Maia,” declared Mrs. Mørk at reception, smiling

broadly.

Mrs. Mørk had worked for the Niemann family for as long as Maia could

remember. From when she was younger she knew that Mrs Mørk kept

sweets in the upper right-hand drawer. It had been their little secret. This

confidentiality was still something special. Maia smiled at the thought.

“I’m here to see my aunt. Do you know if she’s around?”

“As far as I know she’s in her office, so go on up,” Mrs. Mørk replied.

Maia took the stairs in a few strides and knocked on Mille's door.

“Come in!” Mille shouted “Oh, it's you, Maia; we’ve been so busy I

almost forgot I’d asked you to come. Come and sit down. Want a sandwich?

We’ve just had a meeting.”

Maia nodded and started munching on a sumptuous open sandwich.

Meanwhile, Mille put her papers aside. She looks weary, thought Maia.

“Did you and Daddy solve the problem about the dressmakers the other

day?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, Maia. Those women are brilliant and

their work is impeccable; but they’re heavily dependent on their wage

packets. For example, one of them, Karen Sorensen, is a single mother with

a little girl. We need to try and work things out between the trade union and

the seamstresses. But to be honest, I’m not convinced that’s going to solve

the problem.” Mille became silent, and was clearly very worried.

“I think it’s all so frightening. There’s an ugly mood everywhere,” said

Maia.

“Yes, I don't like it either. But I do understand why some people react

this way. When the girls so openly adore the German soldiers, it bruises our

men’s self-esteem and national pride. On the other hand, recent policies in

Denmark haven’t been very clear either. Maybe we’ve all been a bit too

complacent? It’s certainly made me think, and I can’t help feeling it’s time

for us all to be actively critical of what’s going on here!” Mille looked

thoughtfully out the window, then turned energetically back to the room, as

if to shake off her worries. “Anyway, Maia, that’s not what we were here to

talk about today. Let me show you what we’re working on at the moment.

I’d like to hear what you think about my ideas.”

The topic of conversation was closed. Maia would like to have asked

Mille what she meant by ‘actively critical’. She liked hearing Mille’s

opinion on things. Perhaps she had been too quick to react and was being

unfair towards Jens? But she had missed her chance, so, instead, she turned

her thoughts to what she had been looking forward to for more than a week

now.

They went down to the factory floor, where Mille showed Maia the huge

rolls of dark grey tweed they had acquired.

“It’s actually meant for men’s suits,” Mille said. “But I think we could

use it for ladies; perhaps some tailor-made office wear? The problem is, the

fabric isn't exactly effervescent; it needs to be spruced up somehow. I’d like

to let you play around with it. Perhaps you could come up with a new

design? Put together a proper professional toile.” Mille looked

questioningly at Maia, who lit up with a big smile.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” laughed Mille, “…and if it looks good, we might

use your design when we show our proposed autumn collection. If not, then

we’ll just call it a practice run. I’ve cut off some samples for you. They’re

on the table in the cutting room – and you can rummage around for other

bits of cloth or buttons or appliqués to use. See if you can find anything to

buy in town too. I’ll give you a small expenses budget. Just make sure you

get a receipt. I’m afraid I must get on now, Maia. See yourself out, when

you’re ready.” Mille hugged Maia before she left.

She went into the cutting room, looked around, and found the tweed.

Four large cutting tables stood in the centre, and ranged along all the walls

were boxes with buttons, zippers and other haberdashery materials used in

the tailoring process.

I’m standing right here, in this room, where they create the actual

collections, Maia thought, in awe. She unfolded the grey cloth on the

cutting table and rummaged in assorted boxes for materials that might

inspire her. Then she draped the cloth on the tailor’s dummy and started to

play with leftover pieces of fabric, leather and buttons, in various colour

combinations. Before long, she was so absorbed in her work that she lost

any sense of time and place.

Maia spent all Sunday, and some of Monday evening, drawing up

several different design concepts. She had been allowed to borrow a

professional dressmaker’s dummy and a variety of patterns from the

factory, which made it easier to experiment. First, she would mock-up the

suit using some old cloth; that would allow her freedom to test her ideas

and make mistakes. She became fully absorbed in the world she loved best.

Tarts and Terrain Mattresses

aia woke with a start. Judging by the light flooding into her room, she

had overslept. Then she realised it was Sunday and snuggled down

under the duvet. She had slept badly, fighting the same dream over and over

throughout the night.

It always started with her walking through Munke Mose. She came upon

a group of young men standing in a tight circle. In the middle of the circle

stood a girl, naked and crying. The youths pushed her backwards and

forwards amongst them, and groped her every time she fell into their arms.

Maia wanted to flee, but out of nowhere someone grabbed her arm and

held her tight. It was Jens. He laughed and forced her to join in the sport.

She cried for help, and the next moment they were surrounded by German

soldiers. Jens spat at the nearest German, directly in his face, and told him

to shove off. The German drew his gun and aimed it at Jens. Jens slapped

the gun away and started to run. Everyone ran in all directions. The German

soldier fired. She saw Jens fall with a bloody patch on his back. Then she

started to run, but no matter how hard she ran she did not get anywhere. She

was caught, and stood alone facing the Germans and their pistols. Then she

woke up.

Maia tried to shake off the dream. Since the evening with Jens in Munke

Mose, it felt as if everything had changed. She noticed little things she had

not seen before.