The day of the confinement arrived.
It was a dark threatening evening; distant thunder muttered in the mountains and lightening flickered silently over the plain. In the village, people hurried in out of the streets to their cosy fire-lit homes and drew their curtains on the dark stormy night.
At the inn the poor woman’s labour began, while her husband was below in the tap-room quaffing beer with his cronies.
The birth was a long drawn-out agony and when, at dawn, the baby was eventually born he was sickly and not expected to survive the night.
The mother lay back in her bed sweating and exhausted – effete. She clutched the priest’s hand and asked about her baby.
– The poor wee mite is a bit poorly my daughter but with the Lord’s help he will live; don’t forget that He is all-knowing and all-seeing. Do not worry, place your trust in the wisdom of Our Lord and everything will come out alright in the end, Frau Hitler.