“You have to understand that this letter meant nothing to me at the time. I had then only a basic grasp of English and needed some help with the translation. But I was troubled by the reference to my father. When I showed the document to Hilde, over breakfast that morning, she feigned disinterest and advised me to ignore the letter, suggesting that it was likely to be a crude attempt to extort money from us. Trusting in my Aunt’s judgement, I discarded the letter, although I never forgot about it.

“Over the next year, with Hilde’s health and private income both in decline, I took on a number of jobs to put food on the table. At dawn, I rose early to deliver fish from the docks to a number of the fishmongers in the Fischmarkt. Throughout the day, I worked as a wages clerk in a small brush-making factory. And at least three nights a week, I worked for a shipping firm. My wages from all three jobs were sufficient to allow us to survive in those difficult times.

“In December 1924, Hilde finally passed away, leaving her home and belongings to me. At her funeral, all but the few family members present believed me to be her son. I was devastated by the loss and unable to continue living alone in the house. I sold the property and most of the furniture, keeping only a few of Hilde’s most treasured possessions including, crucially, her walnut bureau or bonheur-du-jour with its scarlet lacquer and gilt inlays.

“A few months later, after a number of unsuccessful applications, I was offered and accepted a position as a domestique in a large French chateau in Bourbon, in the Allier area of the Auvergne Region, not far from the City of Bourges. I was keen to escape the hardships of my home country and start a new life and career in the birthplace of my father. The bureau went with me to France and did not look out of place in my spacious attic bedroom within the Chateau Roche.

“Each day I worked hard at my job, learning more and more from the head of service and improving my command of many languages to better serve the family’s numerous foreign visitors. Each evening, I sat at the bureau writing out my thoughts and observations in a diary. The initial hostility of the other staff to me being German was lessened by the fact that I had French ancestry, as evidenced by my surname. I was also well regarded by my employer, such that when the elderly major-domo passed away in the spring of this year, I was offered the top job, running the domestic affairs of the Roche household as efficiently as I could.

“One cold April night, as I was putting a few lines into my diary, I observed that the veneer covering one part of the bureau’s inner panels, close to the three main drawers, appeared to be loose, as if peeling away from the wood beneath. I pulled gently at it with my forefinger and was surprised to find that the panel came away from its recess revealing a hidden drawer. I was excited by the discovery and amazed that I had never known of its existence. Unfortunately, the drawer was locked and I had no key, but such was my enthusiasm to discover what treasures might lie inside, that I forced the lock with a letter opener. As the small drawer slid open, I found that it contained only a single document - the Harker letter.

“You cannot begin to understand my mixed emotions reading that letter, as I did, some five years after I was meant to. My initial reaction was one of disbelief, followed closely by one of anger - anger that Hilde could have chosen to hide the letter from me, a letter that explained so much about my family’s past and that connected me directly to my late father. My mother and I had received the official notification that my father had died in that fateful raid over England in 1916, along with a small package of his belongings recovered from the crash site. Reading Harker’s letter, I understood clearly the pain and loss that Franz must have felt as he lay dying in that English wood.

“I could not reconcile how and why Peter Coleman should go to such extraordinary lengths to honour his promise to a dying enemy airman. And remembering the second letter that I had received from Henshaw, I felt an enormous sense of loss and frustration. If only I had made contact with Harker at the time and tried to find out more about the nature of his correspondence! A hundred questions raced through my mind as I stared out from my attic window into the darkness - Could I still put in a claim for what was mine? How could I get to England?

“The chance discovery of the letter perplexed me for weeks, although my intentions became clearer by the day. I could not allow this to be an end to the matter and leave Harker in possession of all my family’s wealth. I did not challenge Harker’s claim to half of the money and knew that the man had acted with the utmost integrity, but felt I owed it to my father to pursue the matter. On 25th April, my birthday, I left Chateau Roche for good, armed with an excellent reference and all the money I possessed. Less than one week later, I stood on English soil, planning my journey to Trimingham Manor.

“Being a cautious man, I was keen to find out what I could about the family before introducing myself to the mysterious David Harker. It was not difficult to find Trimingham Manor, set as it was among hundreds of acres of rolling countryside. But I acted with some care, booking myself into a village inn close to the manor, posing as a hill walker. In the days that followed, I chatted to many local people, learning what I could.

“I was immediately disappointed, saddened and then frustrated to discover that Harker and his wife had died overseas in a mining accident. As a result, I was told that Harker’s six-year-old son, Gerald, had inherited the estate. Asked about the source of their wealth, local people knew only that the late David Harker had been a successful diamond merchant and a generous man who contributed much to support local charities. Beyond this, I could discover little else, although it was common knowledge that young Gerald was now being looked after at the manor by an appointed legal guardian. The executor also had instructions to recruit a permanent valet for the young man, who could tend to his needs when Gerald was at home from boarding school.

“Recognising that I needed to act, I decided to visit Trimingham Manor during my second week in England. Instinctively, I approached the tradesman’s entrance, enquiring at the door about vacancies for domestic staff. The housekeeper, Mrs Dawson, was very friendly and showed me into the kitchen, where I was asked to wait. When she returned a few minutes later, I was told that Barrington Henshaw, Gerald’s guardian, would be pleased to see me there and then. I was a little taken aback, recognising Henshaw’s name and wondering if he recollected my name from the letter he had sent me in 1923.

“I was led into what I now know to be Harker’s study, where Henshaw greeted me. I was disarmed instantly by the man’s relaxed demeanour, his friendly smile and the casual way he offered me a seat and a glass of whisky. I accepted the whisky and sat with him at a small marble table in the corner of the room. He explained that my timing was good, for the house was in need of a valet for Gerald Harker. Henshaw had taken on the role of guardian with some reluctance and wished only to fill the vacancy as quickly as possible, to enable him to get back to his primary role as solicitor in a local legal practice. He then asked me about my background and experience.

“Having given Henshaw an outline of my short career in France, I then produced my written reference from the Roche family, albeit written in French. Henshaw rose from his chair and paused briefly to glance at the letter, clearly unable to understand a word of it. He then extended his hand to me as I remained seated at the table and without any further hesitation, offered me the job, suggesting that I start immediately. No mention was made of my German upbringing.