Writing for Fun
October 2017
Secrets - Anna Browning
With shaky fingers I hesitantly turned the key in the lock and pushed the front door open. It was quite stiff so I gave it a nudge with my body. The door sprang open with a jolt. I stepped in and over the piles of advertising leaflets and letters. My eyes took in the fading wallpaper and familiar patterned carpet and memories came flooding back to me of my childhood. I placed my suitcase down and walked into the kitchen and found it was like walking back in time. The table was still in the same place beside the window overlooking the garden. The old apple tree gnarled and bent with age. The wonky swing still hanging down swaying in the breeze. Nothing had changed.
I placed my handbag down on the table and wandered around the house. Photos were everywhere of mum, dad and myself, at different stages of my life, my graduation, my first job, my first boyfriend, me in my doctor’s uniform, the inevitable white coat and stethoscope. My parents were now dead and I found myself back after many years to take care of everything. I went upstairs to my bedroom. My old books, posters, tapes and records were still in the same old places. I felt as if I had never been away. I lay down on my old bed and closed my eyes, casting my mind back to the last time I had been in this house. I recalled the angry voices. The tension rising in the air. My father’s shocked face as he refused to take in my decision to leave the family home and make my own way in the world. I remember standing in the hall with my packed bags, my mother pleading with me to stay. But I was as stubborn as my father, resolute in my mind to leave home. I was off to travel the world and then would join Medicins Sans Frontieres as a newly qualified doctor, to help injured people in war torn countries.
I took a deep breath and shrugged away the past. My father had been against the idea because of the dangers facing me. As an only child he had wanted me safe at home and join a local practice. I had barely seen them over the years. They had also started traveling. We would meet up briefly in the short times allotted to us. My parents had been steady, reliable parents. They were both civil servants working for local government. My qualifying as a doctor together with my adventurous spirit had surprised them both but made them proud, despite their attempts to rein me in.
Now I found myself back home in the role of executer to my parent’s will. I had a job to do and there was no time to waste. The rooms were gradually emptying and I just had the study to clear. This room seemed to have the most possessions. There were hundreds of books lining the walls. Boxes filled with papers and photos. I didn’t know where to start first, everything seemed a jumble. I started packing the books I didn’t want in the empty boxes waiting to be filled. As I neared the end of my task all that was left was the solitary, dusty desk standing in the now empty room.
I worked through each drawer steadily, busily pulling out old receipts and papers, when my fingers caught the edge of a metal knob. I pulled it and as it moved a cavity revealed itself. I thrust my hand in and pulled out some old yellowed papers. I spread the papers open on the desktop and as I did a small old photo fell out. I studied it closely. A young couple stood close together, the woman holding a baby in her arms. I started to examine the papers. One was a birth certificate written in what looked like German but I wasn’t sure. The document seemed to record the birth of a girl called Katja to parents Irma and Karl Richter. The other paper looked like a letter. The spidery writing was also written in German and addressed to Katya. I stared at these papers in amazement. How could this be? My parents had never mentioned any of this to me.
I would have to find someone to translate these papers. I could no longer continue with the sorting. I needed air to clear my mind. I donned my coat and went out into the cold wintry day. My mind was wracked with questions but there was no one to ask. I didn’t have any relations. There had been a few in the past but they were now all dead. I needed to speak to someone and decided to take the papers to my solicitor.
Mr Greenwood examined the papers and translated them for me as he was fluent in German. He explained that that the letter was written by Irma Richter and addressed to her daughter Katja Richter. She was asking Katja to forgive her for giving her into the care of Robert and Mary Wilson but she had no choice as she was alone in war-torn Berlin. Her husband Karl had recently been killed and, with the Russians closing in any time soon, she was desperate. She just wanted Katja to be safe, so she was handing her over to this English couple who were in the diplomatic service. They were leaving Berlin the very next day for England. She wished Katja a safe and secure future and hoped that perhaps one day they would be reunited.
Mr Greenwood couldn’t explain what this all meant. Of course Robert and Mary Wilson were my parents. Their birth and wedding certificates proved this. According to my birth certificate I was Helen Wilson their daughter with a birth certificate to confirm this. I was born in London during the war. The mystery was where was Katja Richter? We were both baffled as my parents had never mentioned anything to me or in their will, or to Mr Greenwood their solicitor.
I felt overwhelmed by the enormity of this find. I was on the brink of an adventure with no clue to the outcome. I was excited but also perplexed. Could this Katja be me, or could she be somewhere in this universe or even dead. Even though I only had two bits of paper to go on. I was going to do my best to find out by hook or by crook.