Brote und Wurst

“Hello, am I speaking with Joseph Brummer?”

The haughty woman’s voice, spoke with a high-class English accent, only a well-educated foreigner could articulate. Joe came from a working-class background, and the accent alone sent him back years to an unconfident boy. Aware of the limits of his basic upbringing, completely inexperienced and unfamiliar with the background of how this woman could pronounce his language (not hers) with such elocution and perfect pronunciation. Joe embarrassingly thought, he was still blighted, sometimes dumbfounded, struggling with the basic vowel sounds.

Whoever she was, Joe was already standing to attention in his mind, listening intently. She had his undivided attention.

He stammered a feeble “Yes.”

Up until that second it was a normal day as a flight dispatcher working for the German airline.

“This is Janna Wittman from the German embassy; I’m phoning on behalf of the Ambassador. He has organized special fresh hand-crafted bread from Max Kugels, and the famous sausages of the Bonn region, for the Royal Banquet tonight to celebrate one of the Royal family’s birthday. It was loaded on the Cologne flight which arrived about one hour ago. Do you have our consignment of hand-crafted bread and sausages?”

It was an epiphanic moment in his day, his life. A life-changing realization, a rapid feeling of clarity, an insight in terms of finding out the reason why. It was a revelation of the previous innocuous events of the last flight turnaround.

However, the knowledge left Joe feeling the encroaching dark shadows and rain pouring down on his peaceful day. His mind went into a panic. Yes, he knew where the hand-crafted bread and sausages were! But, if he told the eloquent Fraulein Wittman, there was a good chance that it would cause an international incident, front page news, and being locked up in the tower of London, at the least! Stealing bread and sausages from the British Monarchy and the German Chancellor would not be dealt with lightly.

He thanked God quietly to himself; public hanging had been banned years ago.

When his voice and tongue finally engaged with his chaotic mind, doing summersaults, trying to conjure up a response that sounded authentic. Trying to give himself time, a reprieve from the truth. The best he came up with was a lie.

“I didn’t see anything.” Joe murmured weakly with fake puzzlement. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the witness box, and there was no clever barrister waiting to question his lame excuses.

But, before the hounds of a search party could be mustered up to investigate the missing hand-crafted bread and sausages destined for the palates of royalty. Before an investigation could be mounted to reveal the truth, he needed time to either make his excuses, an alibi, or to erase his wrong doings.

He needed time, as he said.

“But I will double check and phone you back.” Clever, Joe thought. Need to keep a tight lid on this. This could lead to a major diplomatic incident, Britain, Germany, and the world had only just recovered from the last upheaval. Joe felt the world on his shoulders. Bloody Max Kugel and his hand-crafted bread and sausages – whoever he was; had ruined an uneventful day!

“Very well! Please call me back, as soon as possible.” came the final words from Fraulein Wittman. Joe had his orders, he thought he heard the clicking of her expensive polished patent leather black high-heeled shoes, as her ankles came together in a salute. Fraulein Wittman must be obeyed or else. He imagined a threat in her parting words.

Joe’s invading dark thoughts were because he knew exactly the whereabouts of Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages.

He needed a plan. He knew the whereabouts of the food for the Royal banquet, but it didn’t bear thinking about. Has it been eaten already? Was there a chance, a lucky chance it hadn’t? The answers to all these questions were to be found in a location that Joe dreaded. He was not even sure he would get the truth anyway from people who were notorious for stealing and scavenging. The aircraft loaders, the baggage handlers at the airport. This band of workers resembled something out of a Dickensian novel; even Fagin and his young urchins would pale into insignificance against these guys.

Like poetic justice, it was the sole reason for his current dilemma. Trying to appease them, curry favour. Unsolicited gifts: with a hidden meaning “If I help you out now, you help me out later!” Except the gift of Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages was not a gift for Joe to give. He didn’t know it was destined for a Royal banquet, but he did now, and now he had to try and find out if his worst suspicions were true.

He imagined that Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages had already been eaten!

Consumed by a modern-day bunch of thugs from a Charles Dickens novel. More familiar with cheap spam and wedges of sliced bread from the local supermarket. Joe needed to know the sad truth, and then he would face the consequences.

He would accept deportation to colonies, but unfortunately Britain had lost them years ago.

Joe knew he would have to go to “Devil’s Acre” in the bowels of the airport terminal to find the whereabouts of the Haute Cuisine, even if he only found crumbs. Joe knew he was perceived as a white-collar worker, and he would not be welcome. In those years there was complete segregation of white- and blue-collar workers. Segregation was bland, and neutral, in normal circumstances, but for Joe there was more. He didn’t just represent a white-collar worker, management, he also represented Germany, a country that had only recently been at war with Britain, and worse, he had been labelled a “blackleg”.

When Fagin’s army went on strike at the airport, and refused to load or unload the aircraft, Joe volunteered to do their job instead. Fagin’s army didn’t forget, Joe was labelled. He had broken the sacred law of thieves and vagabonds; the striking loaders, he had broken a cardinal rule. He replaced their absent labour, when the loaders were on strike, with his own. Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages was a token gift, a token to say, let’s forget the past, let’s work together.

But he didn’t consider that this act of reconciliation would result in a diplomatic incident.

In the bowels of the terminal the loader’s restroom was dirty like a repair garage or an old factory, dirty overalls, gloves, various items of apparel, and equipment were thrown about everywhere. Each item was discarded like toys and clothes in a kid’s untidy room. There were no windows, only constantly humming neon lights, it was a depressing sight, and it stank.

Joe was dressed in a smart dark blue uniform, with a white shirt and dark blue tie. He felt out of place. In those days of white- and blue-collar workers, there was a stereotype and stigma attached. This was their cave, their restroom, out of sight of the working environment, and they felt uncomfortable that Joe had entered their cave, encroaching on their environment. He was off-limits.

Joe didn’t recognize anyone, as he searched for the faces of the loaders, the temporary custodians of Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages.

One of the loaders looked up, “Why are you here mate?” He said defensively, he was guarded, there was a tinge of irritation in his voice. Joe sensed he was uncomfortable with seeing Joe in their restroom. It was an intrusion; Joe was not welcome.

Joe had to confess the situation and to the circumstances in their restroom that day. As he finished his explanation.

There was a loud uproar of laughter, as he told them of the dilemma of Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages.

One of the loaders said. “Well, that gang from the Cologne flight, are out on another flight, you need to wait mate!”

Joe waited uncomfortably, the loaders went about their restroom business uncomfortably, drinking tea out of disgusting looking chipped mugs, smoking, or reading the newspaper tabloids. In this uncomfortable atmosphere, he pondered about the whereabouts of Max Kugel’s bread and sausages, cooked, and baked for a Royal banquet, but mistakenly scoffed down with a stewed cup of tea by the likes of Fagan’s army, in the dark bowels of the airport.

Eventually, the loading gang returned to the restroom, where Joe stood waiting uncomfortably. He was very fortunate, the high-quality cuisine remained uneaten and intact. It was hidden and stashed in the loader’s lockers. The men in their dirty overalls, started searching their lockers for the numerous plastic bags. He confessed and told them the truth, that it was destined for the German embassy, and pleaded, begging that they return the horde.

Joe never knew if all the full contents were ever returned that day, he didn’t pay attention when the contents of the containers were distributed to the unintended recipients. He was just thrilled that there was something to show, something left. After Max Kugel’s hand-crafted bread and sausages made a side-trip from the food containers to the happy hungry loaders, and their lockers, and then back again to the food containers.

Returning to the flight dispatchers office, he called the German embassy, and Janna Wittman was delighted, she gushed with the news.

She said with a delighted expression. “I will send a car to the airport immediately; the car will collect it directly from your door. Thank you so much Joseph.” Joe thought to himself, if she only knew, it wouldn’t be gratitude.

Joe never heard anything further from the embassy in the days to come. But he did think to himself, be careful what you eat, you never know where it’s been.

No matter where you are - even at a royal banquet!