book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between!
***Special thanks to Ginger Chen of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
April,
1934
Ashton Park
“There
you go! There you go!”
Lord
Preston threw the ball as far as he could. The three Belgian shepherds raced
after it, yipping with excitement, and vanished among the tall ash trees. The
leaves were fully open after two days of rain followed by two days of sunshine.
“Top of
the morning, m’lord.” Harrison lifted the fedora off his head. “Those three are
hard at it.”
“Good
day, Harrison. They need a strong run. I’ve been absent for weeks and I’m not
sure old Todd Turpin ever gets the fire out of them. Too many parliamentary
sessions tie me down in London. Well, if they catch scent of a hare I shall not
see them again in a fortnight.” He put his hands behind his back. “I have
renamed them, you know.”
Harrison
shifted his staff from one hand to the other. “I’d heard that.”
“Wynken,
Blynken, and Nod. From the American poem.”
“Very
good. How are they responding?”
“Badly.
If at all. But I shall keep it up. Something had to be done to address the
baron’s treachery.”
“Yes,
m’lord.”
“The
dogs and I needed a fresh start.”
“I
expect you did.”
“I saw
him, you know, Harrison. On a newsreel from Berlin. Hopping and stomping in a
black SS uniform with Herr Hitler and his stooges. Ghastly. I thought I knew
the man.”
“A
chance at power changes many a good soul.”
“Is that
what he considers power? I suppose it is power after a fashion. The way a freak
windstorm knocks off chimney pots and tears brick walls to pieces and hurls
trash bins down an alley—raw force, out of control, of no benefit to man or beast.”
“Have
you heard from Lady Catherine or her husband, the theologian? Are they well?”
Lord
Preston listened a moment to the distant barking of the dogs. “I believe they
have caught the scent of something. No ball ever rolled that far.” He began to
stride into the ash forest. “No, Harrison. Not a word. You might pray about
that, please.”
Across
the English Channel in Germany, Catherine was well aware she was behind in her
letter writing. She had finally finished one to her sister Victoria, who was
living in Africa with her husband Ben and their two sons. Now she felt guilty
she hadn’t sent so much as a note to her mother and father in more than a
month. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and lifted her fountain
pen.
Dear Mama and
Papa,
You will wonder at
my long silence, and you have, I suppose, fretted a good deal over it. I
apologize. Life has been a mad rush here in Tubingen. But let me set your minds
at rest about your grandchildren—Sean is doing very well indeed at school, and
baby Angelika has never been better.
A soft
knocking sounded at the front door.
Catherine
was seated at the dining room table on the ground floor. Albrecht was upstairs
chatting with Sean and Angelika while he worked on his university lectures for
the next day. She knew she should be the one answering the door, but she
hesitated. It was past nine o’clock and dark, and she was not expecting anyone.
Clutching her pen, she waited.
The
knocking sounded a second time.
“Are you
going to get that?” Her husband’s voice came down the staircase. “Please?”
“Ja, ja, Albrecht,” she replied. “I was just working on a letter to my
parents.”
She got
up and went to the door, continuing to hope the knocking would stop and whoever
it was would walk away. Risking Albrecht’s annoyance, she stood facing the door
but did not open it. The knocking came a third time—soft but rapid. Certain her
husband would call from his office again, she took hold of the door handle.
“I have
it, Albrecht. You needn’t worry.”
A smell
of rain on pavement rushed in as she swung the door back, surprising her. She
hadn’t noticed any drops against the windowpanes.
“Ja?” she asked the figure on
the sidewalk.
The man
slipped into the house and shut the door behind him.
“Was?” exclaimed Catherine.
“What are you doing? Get out of here!”
The man
took off his hat.
“Baron!”
She didn’t know what to say next. “Of all people I did not expect to see you!”
“Where
is Albrecht?”
“Upstairs.”
“The
children?”
“They’re
with him. He’s working at his morning lectures.”
“There
will be no morning lectures. The Gestapo will arrive here at two in the
morning. You must be well gone by then.”
Cold air
seemed to fill the room, pouring off his trench coat.
“The
Gestapo! Gone where? Where can we go?”
“My plan
is to get you to France or Switzerland. But first we must get you into a hiding
place outside of Tubingen. If they don’t find you here they will go to all of
your friends’ homes. They will go to the university professors. Comb the city
from one end to another. I have a car around back. You have half an hour, and
then you must be in it and we must be gone.”
“We
can’t be ready in half an hour. Angelika is only four. There is so much we must
prepare.”
“Half an
hour. We cannot take the risk they may come earlier.”
“This is
mad. You can’t come raging in here and demand we load our children into a car
with you. Why should we trust you? You betrayed us once.”
“I saved
Albrecht’s life. He would have died in that house with the others.”
“You’re
SS.”
“It’s
just as well I am. Otherwise I would have no idea of the movements of the
police. If you don’t trust me, you will die here just as Albrecht would have
died in that house with the Brotherhood of the Oak. Last time I used a gun on
Albrecht to work my will. If you force my hand I will do so again.” He patted the
pocket of his trench coat. “Get your husband. Get your children. Get what you
need and get in the car.”
Catherine
started up the staircase, her face whitening. She turned her head. “You can say
what you want about the Gestapo. It’s you I don’t trust.”
“I’m
fine with that so long as we drive away from here at ten o’clock.”
“You
could have been followed.”
“I
wasn’t followed.”
“They
could be watching you.”
“Then we’ll all die together. Will you
trust me if that happens?”
Albrecht stood at the head of the staircase.
“What are you doing here?”
“He says the Gestapo are going to arrest
us,” said Catherine.
“Arrest us? Because of my lectures?”
The baron looked up at him. “Your
lectures. Your protests against the firing of Jewish professors. Your refusal
to join the Nazi Party. Most of all, your books. Oh, yes—they know you are the
author of those anonymous books and pamphlets popping up all over Germany.”
“How do they know that?”
“The SS found the men who do your
printing last night. Smashed the presses. Shot them in the street.”
Albrecht started to say something and
stopped.
“Get what you need, Albrecht.” The
baron’s voice was quiet and flat. “Leave what is superfluous. We have
twenty-five minutes left.”
Two
days later
Ashton Park
Tavy received a telegram at the door and
took it to Lord and Lady Preston, who were having tea in the library.
“Where is it from, William?” Lady Preston
asked her husband. “Africa?”
“No, it’s not from Africa. It’s from
Germany.”
“What is it? Is it Catherine? Is
everything all right?”
“The telegram is not from Catherine. It’s
from the baron.”
“The baron! Why on earth would he write
us? He knows how we feel about him!”
LORD PRESTON
YOUR
DAUGHTER CATHERINE IS SAFE. SO ARE HER CHILDREN. SO IS HER HUSBAND ALBRECHT.
YOU WILL NOT HEAR FROM THEM IN A VERY LONG TIME. BUT THEY ARE NOT PRISONERS AND
THEY HAVE NOT BEEN HARMED.
THE BARON
As Lord Preston was reading the telegram
to his wife in England, small pieces of chocolate were being handed to Sean and
Angelika in a cold, dark cellar in Germany.
“Happy birthday, my son,” whispered
Albrecht. “I had this in my briefcase. You are eleven today. Blessings.”
Sean took the chocolate but didn’t eat
it. “Thank you, Father.”
Mimicking the mood and actions of her big
brother, Angelika clutched her square of chocolate but didn’t smile or put it
in her mouth.
“Go ahead,” urged Albrecht. “It’s Swiss.”
“You said we were going there.” Sean
spoke without emotion. “How long will it take?”
“We will stay at this house today.
Tonight we will move again. And the night after that. Never longer than a day
in each house. But each house brings us closer to the Swiss border.”
“So we are going to the chalet in Pura?”
“Ja.”
“And both of you are staying with us?”
Albrecht put his arm around Catherine.
“Your mother and I will be with you. Wherever we go, we go as a family.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“What if the police find us?”
“The baron has very good friends. They
will not betray us.”
“It’s because of your writing, isn’t it,
Papa?” Again, no tone of accusation, just a question that was a statement of
fact.
“Sean, it is because the Nazis are what
they are.”
Sean put the chocolate in a pocket in his
shirt. “I will eat it once we’ve crossed the border.”
“Very well.”
“Me too.” Angelika placed hers in a small
red leather purse she carried with her everywhere.
“Make sure it doesn’t melt,” said
Catherine. “You wouldn’t want it to melt in a shirt pocket or purse, would you?
Such a waste. And such a mess.”
Sean finally smiled a very small smile.
“I’ll be careful.”
“We’ll all be careful.” Albrecht put a
hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Now each of us must take a nap. We didn’t get a great
deal of sleep last night, and tonight will be no different.”
“How many nights will it be, Father?”
asked Sean. “Ten or twelve?”
“I don’t know. That sounds right, but we’re
still a good ways from the border.”
“But Switzerland is not that far.”
Albrecht nodded. “No, not so far from
Tubingen. But we must move slowly and carefully because the SS and Gestapo will
be hunting us. They’re aware we have a home in Switzerland. The border
crossings will be closely watched.”
“What if we can’t get into Switzerland?”
“We’re just as near to France as we are
to Switzerland. If we cannot get to the chalet safely we will cross over into
Alsace-Lorraine and make our way to the English Channel.”
Catherine smiled. “Then you will see all
your cousins, Sean. And Grandmother and Grandfather Danforth too.”
“I would like that.” Sean’s eyes were
large in the darkness of the cellar. “But I will miss Grandfather Hartmann. And
Grandmother Hartmann as well.”
“Of course you will.” Catherine smoothed
back her son’s hair from his forehead. “But the Nazis will not be in power
forever. The German people will come to their senses and reject them. That will
be the time to see Grandmother and Grandfather Hartmann again.”
“How soon?” asked Angelika.
“A year. Or two. No more.”
“I’ll be a big girl then.”
“Ja. But not
so big Grandfather and Grandmother Hartmann can’t fuss over you and give you
dolls and baskets of sweets.”
A smile, bright in the gloom, darted onto
Angelika’s face.
“Now we need to nap.” Albrecht handed
each of them a woolen blanket. “Night is not far off.”
“I’m hungry,” Angelika said.
“There will be food when you wake up,”
promised Catherine, wrapping the blanket around the little girl’s shoulders. “Or
you can eat your chocolate now.”
“I’m saving it for a special day.”
“All right, you save it for a special
day. Meanwhile, after you have had your nap, there will be a bowl of noodle
soup for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. The lady of the house told me
so herself.”
June
5, 1934
The Parliament buildings, Westminster, London
“What’s bothering you? We must do our
part to get things ready for the rally.”
“I’m well aware of that, Buchanan.”
Edward glanced at the traffic moving up and down in front of the Parliament
buildings. “I’ll be ready.”
“The rally at Olympia is in two days,
Danforth. We intend to set London on its ear. Fill the Grand Hall. The British
Union of Fascists is at its peak.”
“I said I’d be ready.”
Buchanan tapped the silver head of his
cane against his leg. “It’s the matter of your sister, isn’t it? Lady
Catherine? I thought the embassy was sorting that out.”
“The embassy has no idea where Catherine
and her family are. They simply vanished without a trace.”
“Mightn’t they have fled? Sir Oswald
asked you to write that Hartmann fellow and get him to stop penning those
anti-Nazi books and pamphlets. They were infuriating fascists in Spain and
Italy and England as well as Germany and Austria.”
“I wrote him. He never responded.” Edward
looked up at the sky as drops of rain fell on the sidewalk. “They could have
been abducted and shot.”
“Yes, well, there’s that.” Buchanan
opened a black umbrella. “You’re not getting cold feet about the rally, are
you? Sir Oswald counts on you creating quite a stir with your appearance. And
your announcement.”
“I don’t have cold feet, Buchanan. But it
will be a shock to my father and mother when their son stands on a platform
with the leader of the British fascists. Not to mention I’ll be drummed out of
the Conservative Party. I’d like to spare them all that with Catherine
missing.”
“They’ll bear up. Especially once you’re
a success. You have everything to gain by going public with your fascist
beliefs. Yes, you’ll have to sit as an independent. But in the next election we’ll
take a majority of the seats. The Daily Mirror and Daily Mail are on our side, and we have well over 50,000
supporters now. Remember how easily Herr Hitler got in and took over.”
“He was appointed chancellor. He never
got in by popular vote. I wish we could appoint Sir Oswald like that, but
that’s not the way a British democracy runs.”
“Well, we’ll change all that, won’t we?
You always chafed at the slow and awkward movements of democracy, didn’t you?
Look at Hitler. See what a strong man in power can get done and done swiftly?
Why, Berlin has the Olympics in thirty-six, doesn’t it? All sorts of buildings
are being erected at an absolutely feverish pace. You really must pop over to
Berlin with the lot of us next time and see for yourself. That’s what we want
for the British Empire.”
Edward nodded. “I believe a strong man at
the top would be for the best.” He continued to look out over the traffic,
avoiding eye contact with Buchanan. “But look here, what about the danger of a
riot? What are we prepared to do about those hecklers who follow Sir Oswald
about from speech to speech? All the Jews and Communists? It’s enough I have to
drive penny nails into my mother and father’s coffins while they’re grieving
over Catherine and the grandchildren. Can’t we put on a class affair? At least
give my parents something to take comfort in?”
“You’re worrying far too much for your
own good, Danforth. Get home to your wife and have a glass of port. Have two.
This will be a major rally, comparable to the finest rally in Berlin. Music,
flags, marching, chants—it will be a spectacle. A lot of Jews and Reds are not
going to spoil that for us, believe me. We’ve recruited hundreds more
Blackshirts. They’ll be stationed strategically throughout the Grand Hall and
outside on the grounds as well. One look at them and our enemies will shrink
away. Your parents will open up the morning paper and read about a well-run
show. A nationalist show with a good deal of pride in Britain and Britain’s
future.”
Buchanan lifted his umbrella sharply, and
a black cab pulled over in front of them. “There you are, Danforth. Enough
chitchat. We don’t want too many to take notice of us. Home to your beautiful
wife and that glass of port. We’ll see you at Olympia on Thursday.”
“Right.” Edward entered the back of the
cab after the driver came out and opened the door. “Thank you for dropping by
Parliament to have a word with me, Buchanan. I hope everything will come off
according to plan.”
“It will. Remain calm.”
“I stand to lose a great deal,” said
Edward.
Buchanan didn’t respond until after the
cab had sped away. “Indeed you do, Danforth.”
“Good evening, my dear.” Edward came up
behind his wife as she was brushing her long black hair and kissed her on the
cheek. “Where are Owen and Colm?”
She smiled and turned around, slipping
her arms about his neck. “At Jeremy and Emma’s with their cousins. The rectory
has quite the biggest yard this part of London.”
Edward kissed her again, this time on the
mouth. “Better than the postage stamp of a yard we have here, in other words.”
“Don’t be upset. Kipp and Caroline’s
townhouse has a smaller yard than ours, and your father’s new townhouse is
certainly not Ashton Park, is it?”
Edward tossed his top hat on a sofa and
lit a cigarette. “I’m not upset. Just sorry they don’t have the property to run
around in I had when I was a child.”
“Summer is just around the corner. Then
they can play at Dover Sky all they like.”
Edward sank down on the sofa next to his
hat. “Dad’s planning on renovations this summer, Char. I don’t think the house
can be occupied.”
She sat on the sofa with him, moving his
hat onto a small table. “Well, Ashton Park is splendid enough, don’t you think?
They’ll have even more room to run about.”
“So long as they stay away from the sea
cliff.”
“Oh, heavens, Edward, what’s gotten into
you today? You’re fretting like a mother hen. That’s my job, isn’t it?” She
moved so that she was able to get in behind him and began to rub his shoulders
and neck. “You’re tight as a drum.”
He blew out a lungful of smoke and said
nothing.
“Is there a big speech coming up? Some
piece of legislation you need to introduce? A bill to vote on? Is that what has
you wound up like a grandfather clock?”
“I expect.”
“When is this coming to pass?”
“Thursday.”
“Well, then, Friday evening we should
take the boys for a boat ride on the Thames. You know how Owen loves anything
to do with ships. Gets it from you, I imagine, his naval officer father.”
“The war was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was.
You served king and country, and he’s very proud of you. So is Colm. We all
are.”
“King and country, eh?” He drew in on his
cigarette. “My patriotism hasn’t done much for me, has it?”
“What do you mean?” She stopped rubbing
his neck a moment and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You’re an MP and you’re
on the ladder of success in the Conservative Party.”
“Am I? If I were ignored any more than I
am by the Party I’d be as much a pariah as Churchill.”
“Oh, my goodness, you’re quite a long
ways off from anything like that.” She took his jaw in her fingers. “I thought
you liked Winston. You got along famously when your father had him up to Ashton
Park at Christmas.”
“I admire his fight. And his national
pride. But I don’t wish to be banished to the wilderness anytime soon and join
him in solitary confinement.”
“You’re Lord Preston’s son. No one’s
going to do that.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet? Not ever.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You
really have got yourself tied up in knots. I shall have to unravel them.”
He stubbed out his cigarette in an
ashtray. “How will Charlotte Squire do that, I wonder?”
“Oh, I have a tried and true Lancashire
method.”
“Which is?”
“Me. Just me.”
She kissed him with a strength and
passion that pushed him back farther and farther into the sofa. Her blue eyes
glittering, she paused and looked down at his face.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“It’ll do for a start.”
“Will it?”
She placed both hands on his shoulders
and kissed him much longer and with even more vigor. A tear slipped from the
corner of his eye, and she drew back.
“Whatever’s the matter? Have I hurt you
somehow?”
“I want you to be proud of me. I want you
and the boys to be proud of me.”
“My goodness, Edward, we are proud of
you, I’ve told you that. You’re a fine husband and a brilliant father. No one
could ask for more.”
“I dread the day you’re disappointed with
me. I dread it like the grave.”
“Edward. Stop it. That’s never going to
happen. I adore you. Owen and Colm adore you.” She put her arms tightly around
his back and hugged him to herself. “What’s gone wrong, love? What’s put a
knife in your heart? You could never do anything that would turn the boys or me
against you. It’s impossible.”
Although I haven't read the previous two books in this series, I didn't find that it interfered with my enjoyment of London Dawn. This was a gripping historical WWII novel, with details and descriptions that brought me right into the action.
The story follows the family of Lord Preston during the time leading up to and including World War II. I have not read a historical novel from this time period (other than juvenile fiction that just lightly references the war) with characters based in England, and found it very interesting to read from this point of view.
As I was reading, I thought that this story could be similar in style to the television series Downton Abbey (although I couldn't say for sure, never having watched it myself), with multiple character stories being followed, not just one main hero and heroine.
When I watched the trailer posted above, that impression was confirmed. ;) So... fans of Downton Abbey, if you are in the mood to read a book, this series might just be your cup of tea! ;) If you think you would enjoy this story as much as I have, I would suggest starting with the *first book* if you have the option. :)
Even if you aren't a Downton Abbey viewer, if you appreciate what appears to be well researched historical fiction, novels about WWII, and some light romance, you might well enjoy the stories of the family members in this novel~ 2 RAF sons, 2 Naval sons, a minister, as well as an elderly MP, who is the patriarch of the family.
1. It's snowy out there! (What else do we expect, it *is* still February, barely) :) (another 1/2 foot forecasted for Monday~ woohoo!) (This picture is from a "light snow" this week~ Eldest is the photographer)
3. My Classroom Friendly Pencil Sharpener giveaway ends tonight! Go enter!
4. Casting Crowns! Thrive tour! In New England! (Hurrah for musicians who visit New England~ they are few and far between it seems) Littlest will be attending his first "paid for" concert. Exciting!
