The Battle of Brittany

Not in France

Journey a thousand miles to the south and east, into the interior of the fuming continent of Europe. Land, not at an airport, but on the desk of a young man at work in Germany with a peculiar responsibility that impacts the world around him.

For the man deals with truth; unearthing it, analysing it and turning it inside out, making a reflection of all our hopes and fears.

Do not announce your arrival for interesting matters are underway. Instead, take up position behind a bookcase or perhaps, Lilliput-style, jump into one of the open drawers running down the side of the desk all the way to the floor. There are plenty of hiding places because Gunter Grossberg is not a tidy man. Most certainly, he does not appear to fit the mould of the typical efficient German. There are papers, books and boxes everywhere in his sprawling office. He spends a lot of his precious time searching for things; for his car keys, his thick and heavy spectacles, his cup of coffee before it gets cold and, often enough, the pen he makes notes with.

Yet, when he is not searching for such incidentals, he charges through vast documents, knowing, it seems, the location of every piece of paper in the room. This man's mind serves two masters and the practical, everyday purpose is of such low consequence that all his inherent order, all his skill and expertise, goes into his work. There is more than one way to be efficient, as Herr Grossberg evidences.

Refrain, however, from using the title 'Herr Grossberg' for this young man. He's a friendly and casual creature with sandy hair that he rubs frequently, freckles concentrated below his eyes like poppy fields marked on a map and a huge frame of a body on which hangs a tee-shirt and worn jeans that any self-respecting hippy would die for. Instead, take him at his word and call him Gunter.

Gunter is the youngest ever History professor at any German University. He has a secretary in the outer office who is a week older than him. She reminds him at regular intervals of his external responsibilities, principally teaching commitments and departmental functions.

The rest of the time he spends on his project.

"Yes, Fraulein, have I missed something?"

She wished he would call her by her first name. To once hear 'Heidi' from his lips would make her world complete.

"Herr Professor Grossberg, you have a phone call." She was the only person who used his formal title. She had started that way on her first day and had never been invited to do otherwise.

Gunter thanked the Fraulein and picked up his phone, not realising how much their lives were going to change.

They left by taxi for Munch Airport the next morning, leaving early at Heidi's insistence. She spent the forty-minute journey together in the back of the cab reading out lists of things to be remembered, starting with the most essential.

"Have you got your passport, Herr Professor?" She had left enough time for two turn arounds for forgotten items. They used up the first going back for his passport. But it was such a short circle that it barely counted.

"While you are back home, sir, please also get your wallet including credit cards, the Swiss francs I got for you yesterday and your wash bag." While he went back into his flat, she opened his suitcase and examined the contents. "As I thought" she muttered to herself. The suitcase had three pairs of jeans, a half-dozen tee-shirts but no formal wear. She carried it back indoors.

They left twenty-minutes later with a case that weighed twice as much and a completed checklist in her handbag. They still had time to spare.

Their destination was Geneva, more specifically the offices of the European Historical Society. Housed in an elegant stone house overlooking the river, it had a library and sixty permanent staff plus a host of students and interns buzzing around.