The Baker’s Dozen <br /> <br />The baker, in our village, a man who loved his craft, <br />collaborated with the enemy in the war of 1940-45, as <br />it was the only way he could get fine flour and other <br />stuff to bake his delicious cakes and white bread. <br />Our baker was a pleasant, brown eyed, a short rotund <br />man who always had boiled sweet in his pocket for <br />the children when he went for his afternoon walk. <br /> <br />His wife was more of an administrative type, dressed <br />in black, starched blouse and ankle long skirt, and in <br />her blue eyes ice floes drifted; chased children, beggars <br />and dogs with her broom, but had been seen feeding <br />birds, bread crumbs on cold winter days. <br /> <br />During daylight the enemy and Nazi officials came and <br />bought the baker’s enticing products; in nights or early <br />mornings those who could afford it, but didn’t like to be <br />seen associating with a traitor, came and bought fresh <br />bread, aromatic Danish pastry and chocolate éclairs. <br /> <br />When the war ended, as wars must, the baker was sent <br />to jail as a collaborator, but he didn’t sit there long <br />I suspect - but cannot prove this- that his night visitors, <br />mostly lawyers, doctors and business men spoke well of <br />him into the right authorities. It is odd to think during <br />all this upheaval few, if any, knew that it was his wife <br />who wore an iron cross under her blouse.<br /><br />jan oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-baker-s-dozen/
