Ambulance Girls Under Fire

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘Really, Celia,’ Lore Rosenfeld said, when I turned up at Bloomsbury House the following week, ‘you cannot expect her to be pleased about Simon announcing he loves you. But she will come around.’

  ‘How do you feel about it?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘I am disappointed for my Miriam, but she explained that she and Simon were only ever friends. As for Leo, the incident with your … with Cedric Ashwin has affected him badly. Many problems that Elise thought Leo had overcome have returned. Bedwetting, nightmares and such. Elise is merely trying to protect the boy by keeping him away from the place where it happened.’

  ‘She’s being a guarding dog?’ I suggested.

  Lore smiled. ‘You remember that unfortunate phrase? Yes. Leo is one of her boys now. She will try to protect him, as fiercely as a guarding dog.’

  ‘And Simon?’

  ‘Simon can protect himself. He is just as strong-willed as Elise.’

  It turned out that Leo, also, was very strong-willed. When I opened the door to Simon the following Saturday afternoon Leo was standing beside him. He wrapped me in a hug that squeezed the breath out of me.

  ‘Simon said the braunhemd is dead,’ he whispered. ‘Now you are safe, Celia.’

  At his appearance Bobby squawked ‘Leo Weitz. God save the King’, and delighted the boy with a vivid impersonation of a Heinkel engine flying low above the rooftops.

  ‘I told Mutti I would not play my violin if I could not see you and Celia,’ Leo informed Bobby, once the bird was on his shoulder. ‘And I would not eat.’

  ‘He starved himself for a day,’ Simon whispered. ‘She gave in when he also refused breakfast the following morning. I was most impressed. If he can win a battle of wills with my mother, I predict great things for that boy.’

  One afternoon, a month after Cedric’s death, Simon arrived at my flat with an envelope addressed to me in spiky, old-fashioned handwriting. Inside was a letter that had been written by his grandmother, Mrs Cora Levy. She begged my attendance at a recital the following week, at the Levys’ home. She also wrote that she wished to discuss ‘a matter of importance’ with me. I looked at Simon and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Why would your grandmother want to see me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think you made quite an impression on her when she met you.’

  ‘But will your mother be happy if I come?’

  ‘If my grandmother wants to speak to you, she’ll do it eventually. She’s formidable. I think my mother accepts that.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, Leo talks of you and Bobby all the time.’ He gave me a quick grin. ‘Mainly talks about Bobby, but often refers to you as well.’

  I laughed. ‘That puts me in my place.’

  ‘She knows he’ll be devastated if you don’t hear him play.’

  ‘I’ll come, then. And I’ll bring Bobby. It’s time he went to Leo for good, actually.’

  Simon lifted the viola to his shoulder with a practised ease and looked at his mother, who was seated in front of the piano. He lifted his bow and began with a flourish. The piano supported him and picked up on the tune. Then Leo joined in with his violin and the entire piece soared. Simon barely kept pace as the instruments flowed in and between each other. Leo’s talent was obvious.

  I thought there was a sublime innocence to the piece. In it, Mozart seemed to describe friends coming together to make music and enjoy each other’s company. Leo’s playing picked this up, toyed with it and, I thought, transmuted it into a longing for loved ones not present but not forgotten. I watched his face as he played and I knew that he had left the Levys’ drawing room and in his mind was somewhere else, somewhere beautiful where no one could touch him. His own bluebell glade, made of music.

  The piece finished with a note that seemed to linger. After a second’s silence we clapped furiously. Bobby, who had been listening from his cage in the corner, gave a loud whistle and clicked his beak. Everyone laughed.

  Leo, flushed with his success, put down the violin carefully on a chair and ran to Elise Levy to give her a hug and be told how wonderfully he played. Leo then ran to me and clambered on to my lap.

  ‘Were we excellent?’ he whispered.

  ‘You were all wonderful, but the violin was my favourite. You played marvellously.’

  Leo gave a sigh of pure joy and announced to the room, as if it was the last word on the subject, ‘Celia says I was the best.’

  Mrs Levy’s lips tightened. ‘Over here, Leo. Come and have something to eat, hertzchen.’

  Leo patted my cheek, clambered off my lap and returned to Mrs Levy, who handed him a plate piled with food. I suspected it was to keep him firmly by her side. I looked up and caught Simon’s eye. He gave me a wry smile. Elise Levy had made it plain, in an exquisitely mannered way, that she did not approve of me at all and wished I’d never arrived at the recital.

  I sat quietly, watching Leo as Mrs Levy fussed over him, wishing he was back with me, on my lap and chattering in his precise English. I looked away to scan the room. It seemed that Simon’s grandmother had disappeared. Mrs Cora Levy had greeted me warmly when I arrived. Then she had terrified me by reminding me that she wished to speak to me later.

  Lore Rosenfeld was also there, with her husband and with Miriam. She had greeted me warmly with a quick hug, kissed my cheeks and introduced me to her husband as ‘the invaluable Celia’. When she went on to say, ‘I don’t know how I could cope without her in the office,’ I had demurred.

  Lore had smiled. ‘It’s true. I am so happy you still work with me.’ Then she had glanced at Elise Levy.

  Simon brought a plate of food and sat next to me, ignoring his mother’s cool look as he did so.

  ‘Miriam looks happy,’ I said.

  ‘She’s told them about Antoni and they’ve met him. He agreed that any children may be raised as Jews, and they’ve agreed to the marriage.’ He gave his lazy shrug. ‘Under Jewish law, any children born to a Jewish mother are automatically Jewish. But it is important to the Rosenfelds that they are raised in the faith.’

  ‘I’m so glad for Lore. And for Miriam.’ I looked at him. ‘Only a Jewish mother? What about children with a Jewish father and a Gentile mother?’

  He frowned. ‘The Nazis think that one Jewish grandparent makes you a Jew. But under traditional Jewish law – the halacha – Jewishness is passed down through the mother. So, it’s only if your mother is Jewish, that you are too.’

  He must have seen something in my face, because he took my hand and said, in an urgent whisper, ‘It doesn’t matter to me. Really, Celia. None of that matters to me.’

  ‘Celia.’

  I started, then realised that Mrs Levy had come across to stand by us, leaning heavily on the stick she now used instead of crutches. ‘My mother-in-law wishes to speak to you in the library,’ she said. ‘I will take you to her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. Simon squeezed my hand as I stood, and Mrs Levy frowned at him. Head high, walk tall.

  When I was alone in the corridor with Elise Levy she looked me straight in the eye and frowned. ‘I believed that you wanted to atone for your actions after David’s death. And so I accepted you into my children’s charity. Now I am expected to accept you into my home, perhaps into my family? I cannot do it, Celia.’

  ‘I am very sorry to hear that.’

  She raised her hand, as if to block the sight of me. ‘Seeing you distresses me. You are here today at my mother-in-law’s insistence. But also Leo wanted you here, and Simon.’ Her voice rose. ‘And Jonathan. And Lore Rosenfeld. They are all against me on this. You and Simon, it’s—’ She dashed away a tear and straightened her back. ‘Have you heard of Lilith?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There is a legend that Adam had a first wife, before Eve. A red-haired demon who now enters into men’s dreams and tempts them to sin.’

  I stared at her, appalled. ‘And that is how you see me? As a demon?’

  She shook her head, dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘I don’t know – I don�
��t know what to think of you. First you and David. And now my Simon. You bewitched both my boys. How can I approve of this?’

  I stopped walking and turned to her. Tried to think of what to say, but my brain seemed woolly. I blurted out, ‘You think I’m the very worst person for Simon to love? Is that what you mean? Because I’m not Jewish, and I was married to Cedric Ashwin, and – and because David and I…’ I sucked in a breath and said more calmly, ‘What you’re saying is that you’ll never accept me and Simon.’

  Mrs Levy shook her head, seemed troubled. ‘You were very young when you married Cedric Ashwin. Simon explained that. And he gave us some idea of how difficult your life was with that man. Although I would greatly prefer Simon to marry a Jewish girl, it is not the most important thing. Who he marries is the most important thing. And you are not who I would wish…’

  I said, woodenly, ‘You think I’m not good enough for Simon?’

  What could I say to that? I was inclined to agree.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she drew in a quick deep breath and seemed to collect herself. Her voice became brisk. ‘This is the library.’ She knocked on the door, then opened it and ushered me in.

  In a chair by the window Mrs Cora Levy was sitting. She looked me up and down as I entered, and nodded.

  ‘Leave us please, Elise. I will talk to the girl alone.’ Mrs Levy was dismissed with a wave of the hand.

  When the door closed behind her, Cora Levy gave me a searching look. ‘You are very lovely, my dear. I can see why Simon – but tell me, how is your grandmother? I knew her quite well when she was a girl.’

  ‘Which grandmother?’ I wondered how this fierce little Jewish matriarch could have met either of my grandmothers.

  ‘Your mother’s mother. She was Célia Bernard when I met her in Toulouse. That would have been in… in 1875, I think.’

  ‘Grandmère usually lives in Hampstead, but has moved to Cornwall for the duration. However did you meet her?’ I was bemused that Simon’s grandmother might know my French grandmother.

  ‘I met her when I was visiting relatives in the area. We were both fourteen and girls have intense friendships at that age. Cesia – we all knew her as Cesia – was such a pretty girl, full of mischief.’

  ‘Grandmère doesn’t speak much about her family. All we know is that they were Huguenots who had textile mills in Toulouse.’

  ‘Yes. Her family owned textile mills there.’ She shook her head. ‘They were not Huguenots.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Cesia’s family was Jewish.’

  I became very still. ‘You think my grandmother is Jewish?’ I smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid you are mistaken.’

  ‘I met her in synagogue. They were not a very religious family, but the Bernards celebrated the traditional holidays. I remember it well. It was Yom Kippur. Cesia and I became fast friends and corresponded regularly after my return to England.’

  When the old lady looked at me I was put in mind of Bobby’s ferocious little yellow eyes.

  ‘You really look nothing like her,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I take after my father.’ Again I shook my head. ‘I know nothing about a Jewish family connection.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it was never mentioned once Cesia arrived in England. Her parents died soon after her marriage and she was an only child. She knew no one in this country but me, and she wrote as soon as she arrived to ask me not to reveal her origins. It seems that her husband wished her to forget about them. Cesia never saw me or wrote to me again, and she soon moved in circles far distant to mine. I didn’t care. By then I had my own family to concern me.’ The old lady smiled. ‘I had no idea that she had concocted the Huguenot story. How silly. The Huguenots left the area a long time before she was born.’

  ‘But she’s a staunch Protestant.’ My mind was whirling with memories of attending Christmas Day services with my little French grandmère, who was so very devout.

  ‘Cesia was always thorough. I have no doubt that she is a Christian now. But her family were Jewish. She is Jewish. She cannot deny it.’ Her smile became ever so slightly malicious. ‘If she tries to deny it, tell her I kept the letters.’

  ‘So you can prove it?’ I laughed, a trifle hysterically. ‘I’m sure Father had no idea. Perhaps Mummy does, but if so she never revealed it, not even when Father was so horribly disparaging about… Or when Cedric…’ I looked up at the old woman. ‘You’ve told me this for a reason.’

  ‘So you know the truth. Your mother’s mother is Jewish, your mother is Jewish, and so are you.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m a Christian. I was baptised and confirmed in the Church of England.’

  She made a dismissive gesture. ‘You are Jewish by blood, by law.’

  I felt a sense of unreality. Helen would be furious to know that the Jews she so despised counted her as one of their own. One Jewish grandmother. If Helen and I were now in France, then Hitler would have arrested us and made us wear yellow stars of David.

  ‘Mrs Levy – I don’t understand. Simon said…’ I hesitated. ‘What does it really mean?’

  ‘That you are Jewish. Your children will also be Jewish. Use that information as you will. I will tell no one unless you wish me to. Simon isn’t devout, but of course that may change as he gets older. It often does.’

  I wanted to respond but I couldn’t. Instead I just sat, gaping at her.

  ‘The heart leads where it will,’ she said. ‘Elise will come around to the idea eventually.’

  Mrs Cora Levy kept her word. When Simon asked me to marry him two weeks later, he had no idea of my grandmother’s Jewish background. I told him, just before our wedding in September 1941, and he said it made no difference whatsoever, but I think he was pleased to learn that I was – albeit unwittingly – part of his tribe.

  Helen wasn’t in the least happy to hear of it. Nor was she happy to learn that I was to marry Simon a mere six months after Cedric’s death. It was her husband, Roly, who silenced her objections in an unusual show of defiance.

  ‘I know his father, Jonathan Levy,’ he had thundered, ‘and he’s a capital fellow. I think you should be happy for Celia. Just look at the girl. She’s positively glowing. A new girl entirely.’ He kissed my cheek and whispered to me, ‘Young Levy’s a much better husband for you than that Nazi. Much better indeed.’

  My grandmère took the unmasking of her deception in her stride, and re-established the friendship with Cora Levy that had stalled more than sixty years before. When I approached my mother about it she gave one of her elegant shrugs. ‘Of course I knew of my mother’s background,’ she told me, as she settled her ermine stole more securely over her shoulder. ‘Quite frankly, I never saw a reason to mention it, not to you children, or to your father. What would you like as a wedding present? Silverware?’

  I gave her a considering look. My mother had exquisite taste in clothes and was always beautifully and expensively dressed. ‘What I’d really like, Mummy, is fabric for a pretty dress. One of your old evening gowns?’

  She smiled, and I found myself hoping that I’d inherited her bone structure. She was remarkably beautiful still, her hair dark and glossy and her complexion pale and flawless. ‘And my veil?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably too fussy. It’s to be a registry wedding. Simon’s not devout and I’m only Jewish by blood, not faith. We thought a registry wedding was the thing to do.’

  ‘Thank God. I assumed a synagogue and dreaded the thought. I’d be a duck out of water in a synagogue, and I do so hate feeling ill at ease.’

  I doubted my supremely confident mother could ever be ill at ease.

  ‘You’ll need to get used to it,’ I said, ‘because, although I’m not intending to convert, the children will be raised as Jewish.’

  She shrugged. ‘Darling, I couldn’t care less. The mere thought of grandchildren is horrifying enough and I don’t intend to waste any concern about how they will be raised.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sur
e I’ll dote on them when they arrive. One of my old frocks?’ She seemed to consider the matter. ‘I have a pretty silk jersey frock with a bolero that could be reworked quite nicely for you. It would be perfect for a simple wedding outfit.’

  In the months leading up to the wedding, Elise Levy’s attitude towards me remained cool. I confided to Lore Rosenfeld my concerns about never being accepted by my future mother-in-law.

  ‘Give Elise time,’ she said with a smile, ‘and – most importantly – give her a few grandchildren. All will be well. You and Simon will be very happy together and soon Elise will come to love you. You’ll see.’

  Lore Rosenfeld is a very wise woman. She was right, of course.

  I married Simon Levy in the local register office on a warm September day in 1941. I wore a pretty day dress in cream silk jersey with a lace bolero on which was pinned a small posy of sweet peas, Simon’s favourite flowers. Leo played his violin as I walked into the room. Simon was standing in front of the registrar and when he turned towards me, I thought, Never in my life have I ever been so happy.

  And then he smiled.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tuesday 15 October 1940

  London

  Blood, warm and sticky, was trickling down my forehead. Something sharp must have nicked me as they pushed me through the narrow gap. Never mind, I was inside.

  ‘Hullo,’ I called out. ‘Anyone there?’

  The words disappeared into the darkness as my torchlight flicked over the mess of plaster, wood and debris. In the fug of soot and dust and ash, my breathing was shallow and unsatisfying, which added to the sense of impending doom that had gripped me the moment they shoved me inside.

  The trickle of blood on my forehead had become exquisitely itchy. When I lifted my gloved hand to wipe it away, the leather was harsh against my skin and felt gritty. Now my face was bloody and dirty; I probably looked like any child’s nightmare.