DEN DANSKE TIDENDE

Velkommen min deglig venner.

(Welcome, my dearest friends)

It's Kristen Hillner, here again with more thoughts on the everyday life of Occupied Denmark.

This is a story to lift hearts and spirits, raise chins high and cause a vow to be made to never, ever give up; to never, ever stop your Danish heart from beating thunderously for your King and country.

If you are an early riser, you may have seen King Christian X riding his magnificent horse, Jubilee through the streets of Copenhagen each and every morning of the week. If you were anywhere near his chosen pathway, you will have probably been the recipient of one of his respectful salutes. Did you ever see a sharper, snappier whip up of an arm for his hand to touch the cap? And the ramrod straight back; the quivering suggestion of a smile; and those marvellously twinkling eyes? If ever there's been a man for the people – the ordinary, workaday people – it's King Christian. Small wonder his subjects hold so much love and respect for him.

Here is my story of one humble park bench painter. His name is Harry Larsen and this is the unforgettable event he experienced one cold, but ordinary early morning.

As the shadow, impossibly elongated by the early morning sun until it looked as if Don Quixote rode again, fell across the bench, my heart sank, Harry told me. A cold chill seized my spine, locking it temporarily into its already ridiculously bent position as an ominous pounding filled my ears.

I'd always known of the risk I took every time I slipped out into the night for the clandestine meetings. There was no doubt about the consequences if caught, and though fearing greatly, having heard unimaginable tales of torture of those caught, I was prepared to risk all for my country.

The worst choice had been facing what the repercussions could – and most probably would – be on my dear wife and small son. That was tough. My resolve was seriously weakened when I considered their lives. But Wanda had been single-minded in her determination.

"There is no choice Harry. You must do anything and everything necessary to support and uphold our right to freedom." She hugged him tightly before turning to gaze lovingly at their treasure. As she pointed out, "What kind of life could we possibly have under them, Harry?" and picking up and holding our small son tightly to her, she looked first at him, and then at me, and continued, "... and him, Harry? Do you want him to be anybody's slave? NO! Better we all die than be under their heels."

I'd never been a nervy type of chap. Never. Until that terrible night when the Germans moved in – and took over my Denmark. That very moment was the one when I decided to join the Resistance and fight – stealthily maybe... but fight, nonetheless. These days I lived on my nerves, trying not to see danger around every corner, spies behind every door, disaster looming constantly.

"Good morning, worthy citizen." My heart seemed to start beating again. There was none of the sarcasm I'd expected from one of the uniformed 'victors'. This was a beautifully smooth and modulated voice, and the tone was full of warmth and friendship. As my glance slid carefully sideways and up the horse's front legs standing tall and strong right next to me, nothing could have prepared me for who the rider was, and accepting what my eyes could not deny.

The King of Denmark? No... it couldn't be? Could it? King Christian X, riding through Copenhagen's Park, by himself on this crisp early Autumn morning? The King was greeting me personally. Harry H. Nobody... a most ordinary painter of park benches these days. And the King was lifting his cap in salute and wishing me well before turning his proud steed Jubilee around and continuing on his way. I felt my heart rise to the heights again and could feel the warm flush of pride through my face as it registered that my King was defiantly wearing the yellow Star of David on his arm.

Only the day before, the German hierarchy had issued the decree that 'every Jew would be issued with a yellow Star of David and must immediately and forthwith wear said cloth star stitched to clothing, both back and front'. The penalty for not obeying would be severe punishment, even death – and this had been proven in Poland where the largest Jewish ghettoes already existed.

Sometimes courage emerges in unexpected quarters, as in the case of King Christian X of Denmark. He was not a Jew, but wore the Star of David himself until this decree and its threat to his people was removed. Much later, it would be said that Hitler held some strange respect for the Danish King – bolstered no doubt by this ruler's unbending opposition – and this time, at least, ensuring the Germans were never able to impose this Draconian regulation in Denmark.

Harry continued his park bench story –

I stared in awe as a German soldier on guard duty nearby snapped to attention and saluted King Christian. But his eyes imperiously swept past the guard as though he didn't exist. If I ever doubted the necessity (or the courage) for my part in the resistance of the enemy, my King showed me how many shades of revolt are possible. There were few who would not have followed him through the Gates of Hell itself, had he asked. As he rode away, somehow the air smelled fresher, the birds sang louder, and I found myself whistling again, for the first time since our uninvited 'guests' first tramped over our country.

Stay strong, my countrymen.

Kristen Hiller

A Voice for the People.

DEN DANSKE TIDENDE

(The Danish Gazette or Journal)

* * * * * *

Harry shook his head from side to side, a bemused expression in his eyes and the twist of his mouth as he slowly closed and folded the newspaper. "I don't know how she gets away with it," he said.

"Me either," said Wanda. She'd been reading over his shoulder and her eyes were wide. "I can't believe it's your story she told this time. I'm so happy. Happy and proud. Everyone should know of all the ordinary people showing their own brand of courage."

"I heard she plans to keep on doing this... as long as she can."

"And then?'

Harry lowered his voice, although they were alone in their flat with only a sleeping toddler within hearing. Or so they hoped. "Then, my love, I believe Kristen Hiller will help produce a newspaper or news-sheet for the Resistance." He sighed heavily. "She knows all the risks, but she refuses to be silenced as long as she has a breath in her body."