The Munich Dilemma
by Sinbad

Chapter 6

The boys came to and got themselves up an hour or so later, took turns in the bathroom and dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen looking for food. Sophie heard them come downstairs and came upstairs and offered to cook them breakfast. So they happily drank coffee from the pot ready on a hotplate while Sophie busied herself with a frying pan and a packet of sausages.

“What have you got planned for today? Are you going out or will you have a quiet day indoors?” she asked, by way of making conversation.

“We hadn't really thought. What is there to do around here?” Chris spoke up first.

“Well, we're a bit far away from museums and art galleries, you'd need to go in on the U-bahn to find those sorts of places. But we've got the shopping centre at the end of the road, and there's a footpath that takes you right through to the Schloss Nymphenburg which has got lovely grounds we like to walk in. I don't know if you'd like to explore there?”

Chris and Ricky exchanged glances, hoping that Sophie couldn't decipher the meaning that passed wordlessly between them: 'sounds as exciting as watching paint dry'. But each thought they'd find something to amuse themselves so they just nodded compliantly at her. In the end they didn't do anything. They were both more tired than they cared to admit after two weeks crewing a tall ship, and they just took a short walk to the local shops just to find their way around, and then lay on their beds and napped until Roger Taylor came home from work and they ate the evening meal together.

Making polite conversation, Roger asked “What did you boys do today, then?” - and the two looked at each other, to establish who was going to act as spokesman. It was Ricky who replied to his father: “Not much. We found the shops, but we didn't feel like going anywhere today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”

Roger took a mouthful of lasagne and chewed pensively for a moment. He didn't speak until he'd swallowed, table manners drilled into him from childhood. “What about coming into town with me tomorrow? There's lots in walking distance from the office that you could do.”

Another glance between them, and they spoke together. “That would be great”. “Yes please, Mr Taylor!”

“Fine. That's settled, then. And, Chris, you can make me feel more comfortable by calling me Roger, if you would.”

“Yes, Mr..... Roger” Chris stumbled over the name. It would take a bit of getting used to, there weren't any other adults that he called by their first names. But it was nice he'd invited him to use his first name; Chris thought it was a big gesture of acceptance, or approval.

The next day, then, they rose early and made their own breakfast, and finished and had cleaned their teeth and were sitting waiting by the time Roger appeared down the stairs in his business suit and carrying a briefcase. They enjoyed the journey, neither boy had known what to expect but Roger didn't bring his car out of the underground car park. Instead they walked across the sports field behind the house and across the street to the U-Bahnhof, the station of the underground railway. Roger showed them how to buy a strip of tickets from the slot machine, and how to fold the strip so that just the right number of ticket sections got marked in the slot by the automatic gate.

Underground rail travel is much the same around the world. Perhaps the carriages are newer, cleaner in some places than others. London has the world's oldest underground railway, and Ricky thought that in contrast to the bright cleanliness of the Munich U-Bahn London's Tube looked its age. They were delivered quickly and efficiently, quietly and comfortably, into central Munich where they climbed the stairs back up to ground level and found themselves just around the corner from the British Council offices and public library. The boys were introduced to the staff. The receptionist, a Frau Wollendorf, a big motherly woman who broke all the rules of German etiquette by abandoning the formal shaking of hands and pulling both boys together into her capacious bosom and releasing them slightly dazed and disorientated.

“My daughter is here. You boys can talk to her in English! I want my Bettina to speak English fluently. Come, meet Bettina. You will be good friends!” she boomed, and beckoned forward a very bashful girl in blond plaited pigtails and ankle socks. Bettina peered up at Chris through a fringe that dangled into her eyes and must have irritated beyond endurance. She smiled. Chris smiled back. Neither spoke. Ricky, whom she appeared not to have noticed, spoke up.

“Hello Bettina. I'm Ricky, Roger Taylor is my father. And this is my friend Chris. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hallo, Ricky? Is that right, Ricky? I am pleased also to meet you. Your friend is...?”

Ricky helped out. “Chris.”

“Ah yes. Chris. Chris, I am pleased to meet you also. How are you?”

Chris seemed a little spellbound. “Me? Oh, I'm fine. Fine. Never better. Er, thank you for asking, er, Bettina. And how are you?”

“Das ist gut. Gefällig. Entschuldigung.. I apologise. I should say... That is good. It is... it.. I am happy for it. Thank you that you ask for my health. I go well. I am good.”

Ricky found this a little amusing. Chris and Bettina were staring at each other smiling broadly. Making inane conversation limited by their lack of fluency in a common language, nevertheless they seemed unable to bring the conversation to a close, or to progress beyond platitudes. Amusing indeed. He interrupted.

“Should we go somewhere else? We're a bit in the way here. Dad says we can go into the library if we're reasonably quiet.”

The other two were tongue-tied but followed Ricky through the double doors into the library with its double-sided bookshelves free standing in rows across the room, forming a maze into which the young people could disappear from view. They found a reading area, laid out like a domestic lounge, comfortable upholstered brown leather chairs set around a low coffee table on a central rug on the wood floor. They sat down. Nobody spoke. They looked at each other shyly. Chris twitched, the other two looked at him expectantly and for a second it looked as though he was about to say something, but a moment later his shoulders drooped and he remained silent. Ricky though maybe he should try speaking in German, it didn't seem fair that Bettina had to struggle all the time with English. But he couldn't think of a whole sentence that he could say with confidence, and worried that if he said something she would reply and he wouldn't understand her reply and that would be even more embarrassing. So he didn't speak either.

Ricky began to feel very awkward. They couldn't just sit there and stare at each other, someone had to break the ice. He looked across the coffee table. To his left, Bettina sat demurely, looking through the curtains of her fringe not back at him but with a lop-sided smile at Chris. He looked to his right, and there was Chris. He and Ricky had been friends so long that Ricky could read him like a book. He was leaning forward slightly, and his left hand was wandering down his leg until it caught the hem of his trouser. Then he slid it up his leg, exposing the top of his sock and his hairy calf, and Chris began twisting the material around the end of his finger, turning it into a tourniquet around his leg. It was an old childhood habit that Ricky remembered well from years before. Chris's mother hand nagged him about it until he stopped, but not before he had ruined several pairs of perfectly good trousers. Ricky knew that just now Chris would be completely unaware that he was doing it, or that it made him look gauche and goofy, and he felt for his friend, but looking up into Chris's face, what he saw there put him at ease. He had a silly grin plastered all over his face and he was staring back at Bettina, their eyes locked together pacifically. He realised they would be perfectly happy to stare at each other for hours. He's got it bad, he thought to himself.

Feeling like an unwanted guest at a wedding, Ricky cast around for some way of breaking out of this impasse. He suggested they go outside for a walk. And as though snapping out of a trance, both Bettina and Chris suddenly turned to him as though they'd forgotten his presence, as they probably had, and took a moment to take in his suggestion before glancing at each other for approval and then agreeing.

So they told the adults where they were going and took the lift down to the ground floor and out onto the pedestrian precinct below. Outdoors the language problem seemed not to be so significant. They found a market stall selling little figurines made of marzipan and they bought some with Bettina's help and ate them. Further along they found a trader making waffles and they bought one each, and ate them messily, laughing at the sight of white icing sugar traces across each others' cheeks. They found a square with an impressive ornamental fountain and sat on the edge watching people pass and talking about the things and people they saw. The boys found they were brave enough to discuss in German at a simple level, and Bettina was very patient with them, helping them along where they dried up. And Bettina's English proved to be rather better than they'd initially thought, once she'd got over her initial shyness. She could understand most things they said to her and could make quite complex sentences.

When it came time to return to the office the three of them were fast friends. Ricky asked his father if Bettina could come to tea, which brought his father up short. He looked stunned.

“Boys, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. We have guests coming for a meal this evening. You don't mind, do you? I think you'll like to meet them.”

Ricky glanced at Chris before replying “No problem, Dad. But can Bettina come too?”

“Well, I don't know. I'll have to ask Sophie. I think there's room for another around the table. I'll give her a ring. Hold on!” - and he bounded back into his office and they heard him dialling. A minute later he was back and asked Frau Kopler, Bettina's mother, if she would mind if Bettina went to tea with his family and friends. She was, unsurprisingly, delighted with the idea, and Bettina looked about as pleased about it as Chris did. Ricky, noticing this, smiled to himself. He thought to ask his father: “Who is it that's coming to dinner?”

“First things first. It's time to go and we have a train to catch. Let's get going and I'll tell you about it on the train. There's a story to tell.”

They crowded into the lift with Bettina in tow and headed down and out onto the pavement. A few steps took them around the corner to the U-Bahnhof, the underground railway station, and they stamped their tickets to get through the barrier onto the platform. They hardly had to wait at all before the train arrived and they piled into a relatively empty carriage. Roger was as good as his word and as soon as they were seated and settled, he launched into his story.

“Munich is hosting the Olympic Games. You know that, of course. Even you, Ricky, although you pay so little attention to sporting events. If you hadn't picked up on the excitement in the press in England, you'll have seen all the signs and posters here in the city.

Well, the British Embassy is making an effort to make the British athletes feel welcome, and has sent out a letter to a lot of the British residents here, asking if they would be able to host a meal for a small number of athletes. We had one and we replied that we would like that. And so the people coming for a meal tonight are Olympic athletes. We've never met them, but we know who they are. Jane Allenby, the discus thrower, is coming, and John and Daisy Ferguson, who are married. He is a runner and she's a swimmer. Jane Allenby is an old hand, this'll be her third Olympics. She's never won a medal but people think this year she's in with a chance. And John and Daisy Ferguson are both at their first Olympics. John is one of Britain's bright new hopes. So, what do you think – you're going to meet famous people!?”

“Wow” said Chris. “That's nice” said Ricky. Bettina was quiet. Chris turned her way. “We won't have to stay and talk to them all evening, we'll be able to go up to our room after the meal, I should think.” She brightened considerably.

The train brought them home in just a few more minutes and they raced each other across the common to the row of terraced houses. The boys went up to wash and change, Bettina had to make do with what she was wearing but Sophie invited her to use the top floor bathroom and she gladly went up to do what she could to look her best.

The meal went quite well, really, considering that the guests didn't know their hosts. Roger and Sophie were used to entertaining, since Roger's job occasionally entailed showing hospitality to some official visitor or another. They kept the conversation going, alternating between The Olympics, including the training regimes of the athletes, and the standard of living in Munich. Ricky had the impression that their guests enjoyed their evening. Chris had the impression that there was only one other person in the room – and she wasn't an athlete. Ricky realised that neither Chris nor Bettina were going to be much company either for the party around the dinner table or for him when, after the meal, the youngsters excused themselves and retreated upstairs.

When it was time for the guests to leave, Roger called them and they went downstairs to say their goodbyes, and walked into the middle of a conversation about touring the Olympic village. Apparently the three guests were offering to take the three children around the competitors' area of the Olympic village, the area the public normally couldn't access, using a special pass. The offer was made and the three children accepted with enthusiasm. This was turning into a better holiday than they had any of them anticipated.

Lots of hand shaking followed, and plans were made – time and place to meet the following afternoon, when all the athletes would have the time and the children could make their way to the Olympic village by U-Bahn. Roger gave the guests and Bettina a lift home in his car and the boys went to bed. They couldn't sleep immediately, so they talked across the dark bedroom for a while until their voices slurred and slowed, and the next morning neither could have said who fell asleep first.

The visit to the Olympic village was all they could think of through the morning and eventually it was time to catch the train. They still had plenty of stripes on their tickets and they found their way to the Olympic village station without trouble. Bettina was there waiting for them – her home was not on the same railway route as theirs. They walked together along the covered walkway that led directly from the station to the village, and there they presented themselves to the security guards, giving Jane Allenby as their contact. They were ushered into a waiting room attached to the security checkpoint and told that Miss Allenby would be called and she would come to collect them.

They waited patiently and after maybe five minutes Jane, John and Daisy all appeared and they all shook hands. Jane explained that she and Daisy both had training schedules which were going to keep them busy, but that John had some spare time, so he was going to show them around. So they all trooped off towards the long low building with the swooping tent-like roof which served as a relaxing leisure area for the athletes. Inside it was a bit like an airport, with comfortable chairs, televisions on brackets attached the the walls, waiters serving coffee and stronger drinks, and healthy -looking people everywhere. John introduced them to several of the big names in the world of athletics, who just happened to be there chatting and relaxing. The conversation paused for a couple of minutes as they all watched the closing part of an event on the television screens. It was a race in the swimming pool and the amazing American who was winning multiple gold medals pulled ahead of all the other competitors and won another medal. After the race the conversation continued, but the boys continued watching the screen nearest to them, and saw the medal ceremony. The great swimmer had the ribbon of his medal placed around his neck and stood with it against his chest, proudly representing his country. Out of the corner of his eye, Ricky noticed someone come into the building, dripping wet and with a towel around their neck. He looked and noticed, first, the gold medal around the man's neck, and then that the man approaching and being congratulated by athletes around him, was the same man as they were watching on supposedly live television. Hmm, thought Ricky. So even when it's claimed to be live there's a short delay. Maybe so that if anything disastrous happens, they can prevent it being seen by the millions at home. What sort of thing might that be, he wondered.

Neither Ricky or Chris were much interested in sports in the normal run of things, and Ricky was feeling a little embarrassed that he was maybe not reacting to all this sporting heroism as he should. He felt he probably ought to be more awestruck by meeting these famous people than he was, and he didn't want his hosts to think he wasn't impressed. He tried to look impressed.

They stopped in the leisure building long enough for a hot chocolate drink, and then John took them to see the quarters where the athletes were living during their stay. Across a wide open space with various areas for playing games, including a giant chess set, with pieces as tall as Bettina, there were rows of buildings like blocks of flats. They were blocks of flats, of course, but designed for the athletes. The rooms each had two beds with bedside tables, a chest of drawers and a tiny wardrobe. There were two further doors, one opening onto a balcony, the other opening into a small shower room and lavatory. It was all very spartan. They left the accommodation block and, walking along under the balconies of the upstairs rooms, Chris happened to look up and saw a group of athletes on one of the balconies with a big Union flag that they were tying to the balcony railing. He tugged at Ricky's arm and pointed: “That's Geoff Talbott!”

Ricky peered upwards, trying to make out the figures on the balcony against the bright sky. Geoff Talbott was their Geography teacher, and the boys knew he played hockey for England but hadn't known of him being on the Olympic team. But it certainly did look like him.

John Ferguson overheard. “Well, that is the British hockey team. Do you know one of them?”

“Our teacher, Geoff Talbott, plays hockey for England, I think that's him – the one with the sunglasses on.”

John took charge. “Geoff!” he called, “Geoff Talbott? There's someone here wants to speak to you!”

Ricky cringed – this was embarrassing. Chris didn't seem to mind, he was making eyes at Bettina as usual. The man on the balcony peered through his dark glasses at the little group on the ground below, and waved momentarily before disappearing back into the building. Seconds later he appeared at ground level and strode towards them. It was definitely Mr Talbott and he came up and shook hands with.... John Ferguson.

He did acknowledge the boys, and exchanged a few words with John, after which John turned to the three children and told them that Geoff was going to take over showing them around. He shook hands with each of them, asked them to take his thanks for the previous evening back to Roger and Sophie, and left them with Mr Talbott. Who looked like he'd rather be somewhere else. He took them up to his room, an untidy and slightly musty version of the one they'd been shown earlier, and asked them to wait for him there while he made some arrangements. They waited patiently and he returned with the news that he and some of his team-mates were going to watch a hockey match and that they could come and watch it with them. Bettina and the boys were amenable and Geoff led them off, stopping at two other rooms on the corridor to be joined by other hockey players, including some from the women's team.

It was a party of eleven who arrived at the security checkpoint to leave the competitors' area and re-enter the public area, to get to the hockey stadium. It occurred to Chris that they would have to get back into the restricted area after the match, and this time there was no pre-arranged clearance for them. He explained as best he could to the guard, in German, what the situation was, and that they would need to get back in after the game. The guard explained that he would have gone off duty by the time the game ended, but that he would leave instructions for his replacement to let the three teenagers back in with the British athletes (who of course all had their own security passes, hung around their necks).

The game was exciting, fast and furious, played to a very high standard, with Pakistan, one of the favourites to win, playing Finland, who were surprisingly good against them. Pakistan won, as expected, but it was a well-fought game. The spectators sat in comfortable plastic folding seats in the terraced concrete stand and one of the athletes who'd come with them handed sweets around. It was a nice experience. And after the match they all walked back to the security checkpoint. The athletes simply filed past the guard, showing their passes as they reached him. The three teenagers waited till last and then Chris, taking the lead once more, spoke to the guard in German, explaining that they were allowed in the restricted area under a special pass but that they didn't have any proof of that, just that they'd been invited in by Jane Allenby, but they were now with Geoff Talbott, who he pointed out to the guard just as he disappeared with his friends around a corner up ahead. And he'd explained it all to the guard when they'd left the competitors' village earlier, and he had said he would leave instructions that they were to be let back in.

Chris's German was far from perfect but he made himself understood and the guard walked into his guardroom and checked a pad on the desk there. He returned and waved them through. Bettina trotted along beside Chris, put her hand through the crook of his arm, looked puppy eyes up at him through her fringe and said: “You were wonderful. You spoke to him so well! You didn't have to do that, you know, I would have spoken to the guard for you!”

“Yes, I know, but I wanted to try and see if I could do it. See if I could make myself understood in a real life situation. And I did, didn't I?”

“You did. I'm very proud of you. Do you think your Geography teacher will tell your German teacher when he gets back to your school?”

“Dunno. He might. It would be good if he does!”

They walked briskly to catch up with the hockey players ahead of them. Geoff seemed to have forgotten about them until they caught up, and Ricky took it on himself to invite his teacher to tea. And Mr Talbott, not nearly so confident and self-assured as he seemed when addressing a class, thanked them and accepted the invitation, although he realised it had come from the son of the man who would be acting as host, not the host himself. And although he was not himself at ease among strangers. What did I do that for? He asked himself. He didn't get an answer.