Once upon a time in Copenhagen…
WordSmith
Gerard Smith
As a child, stranger-danger was omnipresent in my life. Manchester’s streets were tainted by the crimes of the Moors Murderers. My peers and I considered every adult with caution. Even a kindly smile from a stranger was met with suspicion; we’d run away from the ‘smiler’ hurling expletives in our wake. The suspicion followed me to Cavan; one summer day when I was nine; I walked a rural lane when a man pulled up in a car. He rolled down the window, “Young Smith, jump in…” He knew me, I didn’t know him; I leapt a hedge and cantered over a field like a racehorse. It was a response embedded in my childhood self, a natural reflex; I had a mindful knowledge – those infamous Brady-Hindley mug-shots were etched on my mind, forever warning of adult malevolence in my midst.
As I grew older, I became somewhat reckless when it came to potential stranger danger. My 19th summer; I was obsessed with the writer Hans Christian Anderson. I longed to visit, “Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen…” I’d been told work in the hospitality sector was plentiful there. With a one way ticket, and a few pound in my pocket, I took off; leaving my fraught parents with a shrug, “Stop fretting, I’ll be fine!”
On the plane I read the book: Killing For Company, an account of Dennis Nielsen, a serial killer who invited young men to his home, then murdered them. Reading material far removed from Anderson’s fairy-tales.
Once landed, I took off for hotels. I had neither CV nor experience, not even accommodation for the night. Door after hotel door was closed in my face. I wondered if the money in my pocket would be best spent on a ticket home rather than a bed for the night. Feeling despondent, I entered the umpteenth posh hotel and asked to see the manager. To my surprise the receptionist took me to his office.
A big man sat at a desk, he offered me a seat and said in heavily accented English, “Give me your passport.” He perused it, looked at me and said, “I have a chamber-man position, will you take it?” Not knowing what the job entailed, I said, “Yes!” He began taking formalities, “Your Copenhagen address?” he asked. Problem, “I don’t have one,” I said. He picked up the phone and spoke animatedly in Dutch. Slamming down the phone he announced, “I have a solution, you will live with me.”
Mere hours after arriving in a strange city I walked with a stranger towards his car – madness! In the car I questioned my rash decision. As the city gave way to leafy Dutch suburbia, my unease grew. At an imposing apartment block he stopped, “We are here.” I thought of running, but stupidly followed him into the flat like a lost dog.
He closed the door behind me and engaged one of those little lock-chains. Noting my alarm he said, “Do not be nervous.” A blonde woman caught my eye, the sight of her increased my anxiety. She handed me a piece of paper, “Call your parents, give them this number, they will know where you are.” I relaxed – a little.
Dad answered, “Son, are you alright?” I responded, “Yes, a man’s given me a job, and I’m staying in his flat, tonight.” There was a second's pause before he shouted, “You are not, get the f*ck out of there, now!” The woman took the phone from me and began talking with dad. There followed a fairy-tale time, a totally magical summer. In our world that is increasingly divisive and hate-fuelled; I was lucky to encounter Peter, and his wife, Hanne. They were the most wonderful people, who enriched my young-life and showed me the power of care and kindness. And what’s more, they remained life-long-pen-friends with my parents. A fact I only recently discovered on finding their letters (I believe they may have visited Cavan, while I gallivanted the world).
My mother always said, “The truth is what you feel, not what you’re told.” It’s a mantra I live by. Although initially reticent, I felt Peter’s inherent goodness and went with it. I’m currently searching for Peter and Hanne, I hope to find them – because this ‘once upon a time’ deserves a ‘happy ever after.’