Here's the final episode with a special last-minute addition for our Princess, since Santa tells me she's been good all year.
The three men looking at him, were they someone’s beloved sons, husbands and fathers? Not just enemy fighters, but flesh-and-blood people, with homes and friends of their own? His eyes bright with unshed tears, Ulrich offered his hand to the three British soldiers. ‘Come,’ he said in halting English. ‘Come. We make Christ’s Mass together.’
Frau Habermann remembered that Christmas until she died, a contented old woman, more than fifty years later. They had taken it in turns to sing carols of their own lands, and she had taught them the beautiful Adeste Fidelis. She even sang for them, in English, a carol written by two old school friends - the German officers understood just a few of the words, but its freshness and simplicity enchanted them. They had told stories of their homes and families and Christmas customs and finally - riotously - played some of the pencil-and-paper games beloved of all Chalet School girls. Food was scarce, but there were sausages and potatoes to fry, and plenty of chicory coffee to drink.
At last, warm and comforted, and their hunger satisfied, she had made up makeshift ‘beds’ for all the men, and they enjoyed a few hours’ sleep. And in the morning, with smiles and tears, Johan and Ulrich departed for the village and thence to Freiburg, to report that there were no British fugitives to be found. At dusk, for it was too dangerous for them to travel by day, George, Tom and Lucas departed too, making for the Swiss border and freedom.
Frau Habermann wiped away the tears as she sped the last of her Christmas guests on their way. The wind had died down, and it was a crisp, starlit winter’s night. She gazed up at the panorama above her head. Unbidden, Mademoiselle’s words came back to her, as they had so often over the years. ‘You have proved yourself to be ruthless, vindictive and unchristian… I pray God that this terrible knowledge may prove to be your help and safeguard for the future.’ At last, thought Thekla Habermann, maybe – just maybe – she was growing into a woman the Chalet School might be proud to count among its former pupils. Now that the danger was past, she allowed herself to know the terrible consequences that could well have followed her act of courage, selflessness and peace. Mademoiselle’s words had indeed been her help and safeguard, and more than that, her inspiration. Shivering a little, for the night was bitterly cold, she offered up a silent prayer for the kindly Frenchwoman. And way up in the heavens, a tiny star, scarcely visible to the human eye, shone just a little bit more brightly that Christmas night.
Goodnight, sweet Chaletians everywhere.
Alternatively, enjoy the Strictly final. 