thought to bring the small axe from the woodshed. The makeshift shelter completed, he took Wolfi and with a bit of the twine and his lead tied him to the tree.
âSorry boy, youâll have to wait there while I fetch our things.â
Peter hated tying up Wolfi. In the circumstances it was all he could do. It was now reaching the time of day when there would be more people about, some using Schlachtensee as a shortcut. The best approach with strangers was to keep moving and give the appearance of going about everyday life. This could be difficult if Wolfi was suffering problems with his paws. Even in these troubled times, in the midst of a war, there were still those who would stop to admire a handsome dog.
He kissed Wolfi on the forehead and prayed that he would not bark as he had done the first time that Peter had ever left him on his own. Settling down with his head between his front legs, Wolfi looked dolefully after his master as he left the clearing. Minutes later Peter was by his bicycle, debating whether he should cycle or continue on foot.
âThe bike is quicker,â he thought. He did not want to leave Wolfi for long. In the back of his mind he knew he might have to make a getaway. He rode off as quickly as he could. Without the breaks to clear Wolfiâs paws, he made rapid progress and less than half an hour later he was back at the oak tree. His journey had been uneventful. The few people that he had passed had hardly given him a glance, either dwelling on their own problems or assuming he was just a rather lucky schoolboy with a bicycle.
Thankfully no more snow had fallen and he quickly retrieved his rucksack and sack of food. As best he could he obliterated the tracks that showed he had been there and then carried the bike and precious belongings back to the path. The weight of both was such that even in these temperatures he began to sweat.
On leaving the trees he ditched the bicycle and peered in both directions. Confident that the coast was clear he returned, picked up the bicycle and carried it back to the path and mounting it, pedalled as fast as he could. He nearly crashed into the only person he came across, a pedestrian who swore at him and demanded that he stop and apologise. Peter carried on regardless and in even less time than his outward journey he was almost back at the clearing.
As he crawled out of the trees he was relieved to see Wolfi, straining at his tether, tail wagging and apart from the odd low whine, completely silent.
âGood boy Wolfi! Good boy!â Peter was as pleased to see his dog again as Wolfi was to see him.
He spent the next few hours erecting and concealing the old tent he had brought from home. He disguised it from aerial view as best he could with more tree branches. Inside he spread out his sleeping roll and any spare clothes that he was not going to wear. These he placed over a layer of dry pine needles and moss for insulation.
Removing the food items he needed for that evening, he placed the rucksack inside the tent to use as a pillow. He pinned back the flaps at the front of the tent and took out a small oil burner and saucepan with its fitted lid. He started to prepare a stew of vegetables and salt beef with clean snow as a stock. He cut everything into small chunks to save his precious fuel, a trick his Papa had taught him.
âEnough for about a week,â he thought, as he examined his fuel bottle. Taking his fatherâs gold lighter he lit the burner. As the purple flame glowed underneath the pot he turned the lighter over and over in his hand.
âI hope you and Mama are safe,â he said.
After dinner, Peter and Wolfi crawled into their bed and went to sleep. Once darkness fell there was little else to do. He was reassured by Wolfi curled up next to him.
* * *
They were awakened by the early morning sunlight shining into his tent. Peterâs sleep had been broken, not so much by the bitter cold, more by the horrific
âSorry boy, youâll have to wait there while I fetch our things.â
Peter hated tying up Wolfi. In the circumstances it was all he could do. It was now reaching the time of day when there would be more people about, some using Schlachtensee as a shortcut. The best approach with strangers was to keep moving and give the appearance of going about everyday life. This could be difficult if Wolfi was suffering problems with his paws. Even in these troubled times, in the midst of a war, there were still those who would stop to admire a handsome dog.
He kissed Wolfi on the forehead and prayed that he would not bark as he had done the first time that Peter had ever left him on his own. Settling down with his head between his front legs, Wolfi looked dolefully after his master as he left the clearing. Minutes later Peter was by his bicycle, debating whether he should cycle or continue on foot.
âThe bike is quicker,â he thought. He did not want to leave Wolfi for long. In the back of his mind he knew he might have to make a getaway. He rode off as quickly as he could. Without the breaks to clear Wolfiâs paws, he made rapid progress and less than half an hour later he was back at the oak tree. His journey had been uneventful. The few people that he had passed had hardly given him a glance, either dwelling on their own problems or assuming he was just a rather lucky schoolboy with a bicycle.
Thankfully no more snow had fallen and he quickly retrieved his rucksack and sack of food. As best he could he obliterated the tracks that showed he had been there and then carried the bike and precious belongings back to the path. The weight of both was such that even in these temperatures he began to sweat.
On leaving the trees he ditched the bicycle and peered in both directions. Confident that the coast was clear he returned, picked up the bicycle and carried it back to the path and mounting it, pedalled as fast as he could. He nearly crashed into the only person he came across, a pedestrian who swore at him and demanded that he stop and apologise. Peter carried on regardless and in even less time than his outward journey he was almost back at the clearing.
As he crawled out of the trees he was relieved to see Wolfi, straining at his tether, tail wagging and apart from the odd low whine, completely silent.
âGood boy Wolfi! Good boy!â Peter was as pleased to see his dog again as Wolfi was to see him.
He spent the next few hours erecting and concealing the old tent he had brought from home. He disguised it from aerial view as best he could with more tree branches. Inside he spread out his sleeping roll and any spare clothes that he was not going to wear. These he placed over a layer of dry pine needles and moss for insulation.
Removing the food items he needed for that evening, he placed the rucksack inside the tent to use as a pillow. He pinned back the flaps at the front of the tent and took out a small oil burner and saucepan with its fitted lid. He started to prepare a stew of vegetables and salt beef with clean snow as a stock. He cut everything into small chunks to save his precious fuel, a trick his Papa had taught him.
âEnough for about a week,â he thought, as he examined his fuel bottle. Taking his fatherâs gold lighter he lit the burner. As the purple flame glowed underneath the pot he turned the lighter over and over in his hand.
âI hope you and Mama are safe,â he said.
After dinner, Peter and Wolfi crawled into their bed and went to sleep. Once darkness fell there was little else to do. He was reassured by Wolfi curled up next to him.
* * *
They were awakened by the early morning sunlight shining into his tent. Peterâs sleep had been broken, not so much by the bitter cold, more by the horrific
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