The Nazi problem

My grandfather was woken at 6.30 one morning by a hammering on his door.

He dressed quickly and rushed downstairs to find Alan (Alun’s grandfather) in an agitated state.

“It’s the Nazis Jed,” he said (my grandfather was also called Jed), “they’re invading us.”

“Are you sure?” my grandfather said. Alan had been ‘sighting’ Nazis on a regular basis for some months, especially after he’d had a few glasses of turnip wine.

“Yes Jed, I’ve just seen the boatman and a German fleet is heading this way. They’re coming to our little island Jed, we’ll be overrun with Nazi storm-troopers, we’ll become an insignificant annex of Hitler’s empire.”

“We could fight,” my grandfather suggested, “we might win.”

“No we couldn’t Jed, we’re no match for the mighty Nazi army. With just the two of us, no arms, no strategy, we’d be as useless as France.”

“We should at least make an effort, rather than tamely surrender,” my grandfather insisted, ashamed by the comparison with a nation who gave surrender a bad name, a nation who adopted the white flag as it’s national symbol and where holding both arms straight up in the air is its standard military salute.

“It’s not worth it Jed, we could never win. If we surrender we can fight back, secretly, set up a resistance movement. Besides which we have to save the Jewish trombonist. If we cooperate it will give us a chance to save him.”

Alan was right. The Jewish trombonist had moved to the island a few days previously in order to escape the rigorous trombone licencing laws on the mainland. He was staying in the empty house.

“You must hide him Jed, the Nazis do terrible things to Jewish trombonists.”

“I must hide him?” my grandfather had exclaimed. “Why can’t you hide him?”

“Don’t be a fool Jed, my house doesn’t have the hidey, slidy wall thing.”

Alan was right. The hidey, slidy wall thing had been built by my grandfather’s, grandfather’s grandfather, so that he could cheat during games of hide and seek. His record of 126 successive victories still stands to this day.

They went to the empty house, broke the bad news to the Jewish trombonist, led him back to Jed’s house with the minimum number of belongings and secured him safely behind the hidey, slidy wall thing.

The Nazis arrived as predicted a short time later. A fleet of boats surrounded the island prepared for a battle, but Alan and my grandfather offered no resistance. The island became an occupied territory and would remain so for the rest of the war, forming an important strategic base for German military operations.

Two German officers remained on the island at all times. These were known as the ‘overseers’, Herr Jens and Herr Alonz and they moved into the empty house, which was empty now that the trombonist had moved out.

At first the Nazis suspected nothing. Alan and my grandfather went about their daily routine, doing their best to collaborate with the Germans so as to win their trust. Alonz and Jens, meanwhile, were busy with their military operation, ensuring that the island remained ready to play any conceivable role in the anticipated invasion of the mainland. Everything seemed to be going perfectly.

However, at 4.00 p.m. on that first day the plan went wrong. In his snug behind the hidey, slidy wall thing, the Jewish trombonist started to play his trombone. The resultant noise could be heard all over the island.

“Shush,” my grandfather had shouted through the slidy wall.

“I can’t shush,” the trombonist had responded, “I must practice, I’m a trombonist, playing the trombone is what I do.”

“But the Nazis will hear you,” my grandfather had said, “you can’t hide from them if you sit there playing the loudest musical instrument known to man.”

But play he did and though my grandfather protested it was already too late. There was a hammering on the door. It was the Nazis.

“Where are you hiding the trombonist?” ask Jens.

“Trombonist, no there’s nobody else here, just me,” my grandfather had lied.

“So where is your trombone?” A good question, one to which my grandfather had no answer. The silence gave him away.

“I thought so, you are hiding a trombone player here in this house. But not for long.”

The two Germans went through my grandather’s house with the efficiency of an elite, Nazi military unit, but despite their best efforts were unable to find the hidey, slidy wall thing.

“You think you have fooled us,” said Jens as they left, “but next time we will catch you. We will be watching this house with extreme care from now onwards.”

The next morning my grandfather was woken at 6.30 by a hammering on the door. It was Alan, in an agitated state.

“I’ve just seen the boatman Jed. The Germans have invaded Shepherdless Island. The boatman’s rescued the Jewish trumpet player from the island before they could find him, but we’ll have to hide him here.”

“Here?”

“Yes Jed, here in your house, behind the hidey, slidy wall thing. There’s plenty of space.”

And so Alan and my grandfather met the boatman and brought the Jewish trumpet player to the house, where he was safely concealed behind the hidey, slidy wall thing.

At 4.00 p.m. precisely the rehearsal started again. This time the trombone was accompanied by the sound of a trumpet. Again my grandfather urged them to cease, but again it proved too late, with the Germans knocking on the door demanding admission. Eventually he had no choice but to let them in, as they were about to break the door down.

“Where are you hiding the trumpet player and the trombonist?” ask Jens.

“Trombonist, trumpet player? There’s nobody else here, just me,” my grandfather had lied.

“So where are your trombone and trumpet and do please show how you can play them both simultaneously?” A good question, one to which my grandfather had no answer. The silence gave him away.

“I thought so, you are hiding a trombone player and a trumpet player here in this house. But not for long.”

The two Germans went through my grandather’s house with the efficiency of an elite, Nazi military unit, but despite their best efforts were unable to find the hidey, slidy wall thing.

“You think you have fooled us,” said Jens as they left, “but next time we will catch you.”

The next morning my grandfather was woken at 6.30 by a hammering on the door. It was Alan, in an agitated state.

“I’ve just seen the boatman Jed. The Germans have invaded Moonlit Island. The boatman’s rescued a Jewish tuba player from the island before they could find him, but we’ll have to hide him here.”

And so it continued. Over the next few months the boatman rescued a Jewish euphonium player from Noisy Island, a half-Jewish oboe player from Fantastic Ireland and a pair of Jewish twins from Other Island who played the French horn and the bassoon. Each of the musicians was hidden behind the hidey, slidy wall thing.

The Nazis used to arrive at my grandfather’s house just before 4.00, and would stand outside listening to the full concert, before hammering on the door and demanding admission. When it was raining my grandfather would let the Nazis in to listen to the concert in comfort, but only on the strictest agreement that they wouldn’t search while the rehearsal was going on.

One morning my grandfather was woken at 6.30 by a hammering on the door. It was Alan, in an agitated state.

“The English are invading Jed,” he said.

“Well that’s good isn’t it?” my grandfather had replied.

“No Jed, the Nazis did terrible things, crimes beyond your imagination. Our little Nazis will be made prisoners and treated terribly. You’ll have to hide them Jed.”

“Me?” my grandfather had exclaimed. “Why can’t you hide them?”

“Don’t be a fool Jed, my house doesn’t have the hidey, slidy wall thing.”

He was right of course. My grandfather and Alan went down to the empty house to warn the Nazis. They changed places with the Jewish orchestra, who went on to great things on the mainland, despite the licensing situation.

The Nazis stayed on the island for several years after the war. Their descendants still live nearby, on Nazi Island, though how they came to move there is another story entirely.