"Can't believe you're really here," my brother, Jens says, hugging me so tightly I imagine I hear my ribs creak. Surely they could even crack with such a grip. We were born on this family farm, the fourth generation of Pedersens to own this piece of the Danish countryside. I suspect the smile on my face clearly shows my memories of the 'best friend' status we'd always held for each other. We surely were close. Only two years apart. "Can you imagine how happy our parents must have been with each of our arrivals?" I ask.

Jens grunts in some surprise, obviously wondering what I mean. Guessing his question, I continue, "...getting a boy first, to carry on the family name and farm—" He interrupts, "... and a girl to be schooled in the gentle art_ of womanhood..." His voice drifts off, seemingly thinking the same as me... that was the Grand Plan of those days.

I smile as my thoughts take me even further. I've surely come a long way from those days. "I can't believe it either. No more than I can believe what a soft spot Hitler seems to have for Denmark... how much freedom he allows us compared to what we hear about other—"

"You can believe it's a soft spot, Wanda. You're from the city," My father growls from among the pillows supporting him in his special lounge chair. "Don't you know those black angels from hell took two of our four horses?" His face is thunderous, clearly remembering the sight of them being taken away. His rapidly reddening face is a sure indication of his rising blood pressure, and I imagine a painful pounding in his ears. "Two of them!" He growls angrily. "And of course, they had to be the youngest! Nothing but the best for Mr. Hitler," and his face twists in an ugly frown.

I can feel the shock and pain clouding my face as I find myself unable to prevent a gasping denial of the cruel reality. "Ohh no, Far. NO!! Asta? And Ludie?" Even closing my eyes tightly can't stop them brimming and overflowing. I was there at the birth of Asta. She was named for the stars that filled the clear, cold, black sky on that special night. And Ludie? Pain and disbelief grow to an unbearable level in the remembering - her birth was all over by the time we arrived. I have no control of the tear that runs down my cheek. "I saw Ludie take her first precious steps after all those countless wobbly attempts to stand up. She can't be gone, Far. She can't!" My hand raises itself as if having a life of its own. As if to stop the reality. Both of those darling girls held such special places in my heart... forever, I'd thought. But not any more.

Knud nods grimly, his distress evident. Such high hopes he'd held for these equine youngsters - the precious offspring of his top working horses. I can barely suppress a sob. Ahh Trine and Frida. How shall we go on without you? Turning his head aside with a faked coughing fit, Knud is barely able to whip out a crumpled handkerchief and hide most of his face. I pretend not to notice. Unthinkable for him to have anyone witness his tears; especially not me. How clearly I remember the young woman who'd looked up to him and respected him since she was a small girl, bobbing along on his shoulders as he proudly strode his land.

More tears threaten as I pat his hand. I know how hard this loss must have struck him. Dearest Far - must have been a pain near as strong as all he'd endured after the amputation of his leg. And another random thought crosses my mind. Diabetes, they'd said - the medicos. Decades later, descendants would question this diagnosis, wondering how any ordinary person would have managed to eat too much sugar in wartime. The saying - rub salt in the wound - was never more apt than what that old man must have felt with this further loss. Once so powerful and in control; now no longer even able to 'stand' by and see his beauties taken away to who knew what treatment? And an unimaginable life and final fate. He turns his hand over to clutch mine tightly, his heavy jowls and wrinkled throat tightening with several convulsive gulps. It's a hard thing to watch. My heart aches for him.

I have extra reason to be thankful for being here on the farm now. I relish the thought of sharing the load my ever-patient mother bears as she tends to her tragically disabled partner, despite his amazing ways and means of coping with much that would have slowed or stopped another. I know how my sister-in-law welcomes my help to share the cooking for all, and Harry will help my brother to make everyday chores on the farm much easier. And our little Knud? He'll bring smiles to faces and a lightness to hearts that few other humans can achieve in these difficult days. It's no task at all for this small, angelic blonde toddler - bizarrely the ideal specimen of Hitler's dream - the perfect Aryan.

But first things first. I need to step out into the central courtyard of the sheltered square the buildings make - their stone walls and thatched roofs form safe and cosy housing for both humans and animals. Ahh but that smell of country. Is there anything better in the world? I ask myself. And myself answers, Well there is that other sweetest of smells, a baby fresh from his bath - and wait... another - the smell of puppy breath as it licks your nose! And I stretch luxuriously. Two whole weeks of this! Despite the fulfillment of having a husband and child now, how I miss this beautiful corner of my world. Our flat in Copenhagen feels like a lifetime away; our conversation of just last night taking on a dreamlike quality...

* * * * * *

"I never thought to see the day when we would tighten our belts this far." I didn't mean to whinge, but couldn't seem to keep the sadness out of my voice. And the bewilderment. "I guess I didn't know just what to expect of 'Occupation'. It didn't seem all bad at first— "

"Not so long as we believed that food was going to our troops. Like I said the other day, the Huns put that one to bed smartly enough, stripping us down to the bare necessities to feed their lot in style. Even Fritz, the foot soldier does well, compared to us, I'm told." Harry shook his head in disbelief. His face clearly showed his wonderment as to why he should doubt any misfortune these days. "I probably wouldn't mind nearly so much if it weren't for little cherub, there..." and he gestured towards our small son, innocently sleeping while the world around him was falling apart. The frown melted from Harry's face as he looked at our boy, our small angel. 'Would never have brought him into being had we known these terrible years were ahead, hey?' he muttered as he reached out to stroke little Knud's silky blonde hair.

"Mustn't complain. We're amongst the luckiest ones, at least some of the time. Our neighbours would give much to enjoy our getaways to the farm, no matter how rare." Harry's face grew thoughtful as he picked absent-mindedly at the edge of the tablecloth. Neither of us could understand how the Germans permitted these visits - especially in our case, when it would involve taking a ferry to the island of Fyn. A tone of bitterness crept into his voice. "Probably happy to have less mouths to take the tiniest amount of food away from their troops," he said. I was well aware of Harry's feelings. He'd shared them with me often enough, along with his wish to do something... anything, to give greater rein to his opposition to these unwelcome 'guests'. I couldn't ignore the feeling a plan was bubbling beneath his mostly calm exterior. At this moment however, the slow shake of his head, back and forth, looked as though he was chastising himself for not concentrating instead on the joy of those precious days ahead on Jens and Karin's farm. I couldn't help a smile of relief, knowing that, despite his narrowed waist and sagging trousers, his first memory was not of food so much as the fresh, clean air we three would be breathing. Air polluted only by animal and nature smells and sounds. The smell of FREEDOM - surely the most precious feeling on Earth.

"It's hard to believe it's three years ago since we were there." I knew how wistful my voice must sound. Just as l knew how Harry's heart ached that he couldn't provide this respite for longer than those few precious weeks. He put his arm around me for comfort and extra strength as we resolutely turned our thoughts to tomorrow's travel day, planned and anticipated for months. The meagre contents of our wardrobes had been stacked on the beds countless times, packed and unpacked and then re-organised - again and again. It was not a long trip from our Copenhagen flat to the ferry landing of Kosoer, but its importance to our small family never lost its joyous value.

Hitler's reasoning was incomprehensible, with absolutely no strategic advantage to this route for his army. They had dragged several of the most ancient Danish trains back into service to chug slowly but faithfully along the old rail lines for the 110 kms. to reach the train ferry crossing. The tiny strait called the Great Belt, was a mere 16km wide, leaving us with only the final small road trip across Fyn to the farm at Svindinge. We were happy for this, but remained mystified why it should be so.

Locking the door of our flat behind us as we left, neither of us could avoid furtive looks all around, eyes sweeping up and down the street, suspicion and fear flaring at every untoward shadow. The suspicion was ever present our 'dictators of Life' would change their minds; about anything... about everything that mattered. Every day brought new restrictions, worse reprisals. Nothing could be relied upon to last. Harry shook his head and sighed often, obviously sharing the sadness of precious memories that pre-dated the scourges of war. But as was his habit, he shook himself firmly, squared his shoulders and lead our little family to the railway station.

Knud was only a toddler, and yet later he would surprise me with a few things he remembered. One was the area between the station and the boarding gangplank of the ferry. A series of temporary plywood panels formed a walled passageway all travellers must pass through between two checkpoints. Ominously, eyes could be seen behind the cut-out peepholes along the way, watching our every move. The only solution most could think of was that we were being scrutinised as possible escapees, maybe Jews. Although an actual roundup of such persons was some time away, there were suspicions already circulating amongst the Danish people.

Another memory I'd all but forgotten was Knud playing with a blue beachball as we waited at the station - until the ball got away from him and rolled to the feet of a German soldier standing at attention, his rifle in hand at his side.

"It all happened so quickly," and the horror of that moment gripped my heart in that iron first all over again.

"I know... and we didn't know how we would react. Too many of them were already showing their cruel and unforgiving side." A shudder runs through Harry's body, picturing that terrifying moment. "But then he caught the ball, propped his rifle against the wall, knelt down and rolled it back to little Knud with the kindest smile."

"And then we saw how young he really was!" A happy warmth rushes through me as once again, I see him fetch out photos of his little boy and his beautiful young wife.

Harry's eyes softened at this memory. "In those days it ewas all too easy to forget how many of their young men were conscripted for this ugly job... same as ours," he says. "Not much more than boys themselves and yet there they were - fathers - fighting and dying for their country - like it or not."

* * * * * *

I give myself a determined 'no-nonsense' shake - a reminder that we're here to relax and enjoy - NOT get uptight and stressed with memories of our city life these days. After we get unpacked and settled in the small flat the itinerant workmen use in busy times, we fall into our new daily pattern. My Mor and Far 'baby-sit' Knud some of the time when he's awake, and all of the time through his daytime naps. They talk softly and he is lulled into a sweet dreamtime, surrounded by their love. Mor loves to have an excuse to sit and do her exquisite tatting of lacy doileys and other dinner table trimmings. Far harrumphs carefully now and then as he reads his agricultural publications and daydreams about machinery he'd love to own.

***This chapter is still a work-in-progress, involving little possible research and much imagination. I will get there, but may have to move on to other chapters for a bit to renew my perspective here.