Free Last Telegram by Liz Trenow Page A

is music to my ears, you know. Most people want younger ones, especially girls. They think the little ’uns are less trouble, though I’m not sure they’re right. The older boys get overlooked, and it’s usually hard to place them.”
    He thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, I’ve got three in mind. First there’s Stefan. He’s obviously older than most of them. Between you and me I think he’s over eighteen, the official limit. But his papers say he’s seventeen and who are we to challenge it? He’s obviously been through quite enough already without us interfering, poor lad. Don’t know much about his background, but he’s clearly very bright.”
    â€œSounds just right,” I said.
    Leo went on. “Stefan’s friendly with a couple of brothers, Kurt and Walter. Also nice lads. Kurt’s seventeen, but Walter’s only fifteen. Is that too young?”
    â€œDepends on the boy,” John said doubtfully. “How mature he is.”
    â€œHard to tell, to be honest with you,” Leo said. “But we obviously can’t separate them, and it’s been almost impossible to find a double placement. Walter’s just a little lad, but I reckon he’d soon shape up, especially with his brother Kurt looking after him. He’s a pretty mature, level-headed boy. Why don’t you meet them, see what you think?”
    How could we refuse?
    â€œGood,” said Leo, getting up. “I’ll get those three in here, explain what you’re offering, and we can see if they like the idea.” Halfway out of the door, he turned back. “All the lads are keen to see the bright lights of London, so you may have to persuade them Westbury’s a good option. Not too far to the city by train, is it?”
    As they came into the chalet, I recognized the three boys as part of the football gang, but they were much more subdued than before. Leo introduced them: “ Stefan, Kurt, Walter, dies ist John Verner und seine Schwester Lily .”
    They shook hands politely, barely meeting our eyes. They seemed so different from English boys. Was it just the language barrier or the way they looked—the pallor of their faces, the unfashionable haircuts, underfed frames, and curious cut of their clothing? I found it impossible to fathom what was going on inside their heads.
    As John started to talk, they exchanged glances, their faces becoming more animated, even excited. When he finished, the boys started talking between themselves, words falling over each other, interrupting each other, all at once.
    Stefan certainly seemed older than seventeen. He was skinny and taller than the others, dressed in a scruffy brown leather jacket and black trousers. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and a dark shadow grew thickly on his slim face. His voice was more baritone than tenor, and deep-set eyes peered out warily through his floppy fringe of untidy hair.
    Kurt and Walter were very alike; in their tweed trousers, hand-knitted jumpers, and woolen waistcoats, they reminded me of the farm boys who came into Westbury on market days. Wiry kinks of mousy hair sprouted from their heads, but their boyish cheeks showed little hint of growth. Kurt was chatty and confident, and Walter tended to repeat what his big brother said. Both of them appeared to defer to Stefan as their leader, turning to him if John or Leo said something they didn’t understand.
    Trying to gauge their personalities as they talked, I wondered how these boys would cope with the robust camaraderie among the men at the mill.
    â€œThey’re all pretty keen,” John said, eventually turning to me. “They’re especially excited by the idea of earning their own money and sharing a house.” He laughed. “Though goodness knows whether they can cook and clean for themselves. What do you think?”
    â€œWe can worry about the housekeeping thing later. But can