As the door burst wide open, slamming back hard on its hinges, for a terrifying moment Wanda thought it was a further invasion by German soldiers - directly into their own humble flat this time. The gun, she thought. Harry's gun... but where is it? Unconsciously she took a fearful step backwards as panic flooded her being. Wrapping shaking arms around herself, she turned to face... what?

I know where his armband is - and the black beret, as well. But not the gun... and not the bullets, either. For the safety of both herself and their treasured little son, this was a secret he kept from her. Not only the place of the hidden weapon, but all details of those clandestine meetings and his undercover work with the Resistance.

But now she heard the voice, a moment before she could see - Harry! It's Harry. And she breathed again, causing the tight fist around her heart to lessen its painful grip. Knees abruptly soggy with relief, she stumbled, and near fell into Harry's willing arms. His face registered concern, but only briefly, so intent was he on sharing his happiness with her.

"Wanda! Wanda! I have news." Harry's grin almost split his face from ear to ear. Grabbing her by her upper arms and dancing her around their dining table a few times, she quickly found his exuberance was infectious. Following those blackest of moments of fear, she found herself breaking into laughter as she breathlessly asked, "... but what? What can it be?" There'd been so little to celebrate since the Occupation of Denmark. More than two years ago now - the thought came unbidden - when our little darling, Knud, was only three weeks old. That all-too-familiar pain stabbed her chest again. Such mixed feelings about raising a child in this foreign world. Wanda couldn't stop a small tremor before she took a tight hold of herself, brushing away all else from her thoughts to concentrate on Harry's words.

"Torben Andersen is going to take a photo of our boy. A real, professional photo."

"Wh-a-a-t?" Her eyes widened and rolled. A 'proper' photo of her golden angel? Her near-bursting pride reflected brightly in her husband's loving eyes. In typical 'Mother' fashion, her immediate next thought swept away all else...what should little Knud wear? - and was ready with an answer - this time out loud. "There's a little suit... it's soft and warm and dark blue. No-one has bought it yet - it's just not practical enough. But for a professional photo? Of our special treasure? Oh please, please say yes, Harry. It has all these little pearly buttons. And Harry... a LACE collar!"

Before he took her in his arms, Wanda could see the twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly her anxious ones were matching that gleam, crinkling happily at their corners. He was agreeing, although they both knew this would mean tightening their belts a few impossible notches more, and were all too aware what it would take to save those ration tickets meant for essentials like food and warm, sensible clothing... But Harry surrendered, as Wanda had known, in her heart of hearts, he would.

There hadn't been a moment since the Occupation began, when he hadn't recognised and deeply appreciated her amazing juggling skills when it came to meeting their daily needs in the best possible fashion, despite the meagre rations allowed to Danish citizens nowadays.

"I have a hidden treasure," she whispered in Harry's ear. She didn't believe there were any hidden listening devices planted in their small flat, but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Bad enough for their two lives to be at stake, but unthinkable to risk their cherub. Harry sighed happily, hugging her tightly and wagging his head slowly and lovingly, before once again stretching back to hold her at arm's length. 'You are simply the best. Do you know that?"

Preening and hugging him right back, she knew without doubt, tomorrow she would be joining yet another seemingly-endless queue of ad nauseum waiting. More often than not, these stretched several city blocks, but maybe this time... One can dream, she thought. A wistful expression was quickly replaced with rolling eyes and an involuntary 'HA!', catching Harry's full attention and causing him to smirk, too. He knew if the local shop closed its doors due to exhausted supplies before it became her turn, Wanda would be right back there even earlier the next day. Such was her promise to herself... and her determination and stoic acceptance of daily wartime realities.

Her patience was rewarded a few days later when the precious garment was finally clutched tightly - but most carefully in her eager hands. Triumphantly she dressed her babe like the little Prince she saw whenever she looked at him. In due course, their good friend Torben smuggled them into his studio to sneak the photo shoot in between his endless and boring portraits of German officers' in full dress uniform, haughtily parading their profusion of medals.

Harry knew Wanda would dress in her best clothes for this most important occasion even though she believed she would not be part of the proceedings. Cunningly, Harry kept the secret between Torben and himself there would be one more 'surprise' photo - the three of them reading a beloved book together. His heart soared to imagine how special this photo would hopefully be, forever. He was sure little Knud would value this photo as highly as they did, when he was grown and maybe they were history. A shadow flitted across his face at the thought, but he shrugged it away. This was now, and nothing else mattered.

The wonderful (although in these trying times, some would say frivolous) little suit now had the starring role for the best and most important time of their lives so far. Otherwise, it carefully hung beneath a cotton dust-cover the meticulous Wanda hand-sewed especially to protect this priceless clothing. Despite her best efforts to keep it spotless, inevitably, wash-day finally became necessary. Pieces and ends of their most special soaps had been saved and melted down to be reborn and lather again in warm (definitely not hot) water for the gentlest hand-washing (or hand-squeezing actually - absolutely NO rubbing). Still, Wanda held her breath. She'd waited patiently until Harry was home - somehow needing the comfort of them facing this ordeal together.

Wanda believed the material to be a felt, made in the traditional way with hairs bound strongly together by the tangling of each one's countless fibres. Traditionally, this had always been manufactured from rabbit fur (or more probably from a wild hare from the forests in Denmark). Filling her lungs nervously after several panicky glances at Harry, Wanda gently pushed it underwater.... And started exclaiming, "No! No! NO-O-O-o!" as the precious small suit fell apart into hundreds of tiny pieces. The entire garment had been held together only by water-soluble glue! In those trying times and countless 'black' markets, much legalese was ignored, along with countries of origin or honest details of content.

She cried, of course... many bitter tears. And Harry tried desperately to console her, always knowing they had no regress, no possibility of returning anything, complaining about anything. Not a case of life and death, but so typically the 'straw that could break the camel's back (or in this case, spirit)'. A small matter amongst all the tragic experiences during those impossibly hard years, raising a toddler with enemy soldiers at every turn; fearing discovery and unthinkable repercussions from her husband's involvement in the Resistance movement, along with several good friends - and a cousin who would never discuss his particular tortures upon his return. And yet... when it's a question of a mother's love, and all that entails, it's little wonder she treasured those two studio photos for the rest of her life - as we continue to, for the rest of our lives.

Postscript 1:

Thirty years later, when Wanda told me this story, her eyes still glistened and the sadness lurked as close as yesterday

Postscript 2:

I have used the original Danish spelling of Kanute's name (Knud) in this story, and any others I may write about him in Denmark. He didn't change the spelling until sometime after he migrated with his family to Australia, due to the terrible (although often hysterically funny) translations of it into 'Strine'.

And I cannot leave without a quote that feels SO appropriate to this story.

Life brings tears, smiles and memories,

The tears dry, the smiles fade,

but the memories last forever.        ~ Unknown