“Thank you, pesky little brother,” she says with a grin.
That makes me laugh. Not everything has changed, has it?
“What’s it like with your family?” I say.
Lotte shrugs. “All right, I suppose. I’m sort of like a maid. I clean up, and I get two shillings a week for my pocket money, all my food, and a tiny room at the top of the house.”
I frown. That doesn’t sound right. “But what about school?”
“Things are different for me, Rudi. But that doesn’t matter,” she says quickly.
I can see she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“You’ll start school tomorrow, Frau Evans said,” Lotte tells me. “Then you can make some friends, and you absolutely must start speaking English. I know you understand a lot.”
I nod, feeling miserable again.
“Promise me.”
I shrug.
“Or I’ll tell Auntie Irene no more candy or dessert!”
I stare at Lotte’s dark brown eyes, and then a grin appears on her face. I punch her on the arm and take off as fast as I can down the path.
“Hey, pest! Come back here!” she cries out, chasing after me.
She doesn’t catch me until we reach the gate. Then she grabs me, picks me up, and swings me around like she used to when I was very little.
I squeal and kick my legs out. I haven’t had so much fun since I was at home with Hanno on my bed.
I have the absolute best big sister in the world.
I’m so tired at bedtime, but I still take out my notebook. Mutti and Papa are relying on me. Lotte said she’ll come and see me every Tuesday after school when she has her afternoon off.
I’m very scared about school tomorrow. What if everyone hates me because I’m German? Like the Hitler Youth hate Jewish boys. What if the teacher’s a Nazi? I might run away, only Emil won’t be there to help me.
Is he keeping a notebook too?
I’ll bet he is!
Say something in English every day.
Hot custard is better than cold.
Bull’s-eyes last longer than pear drops.
English apples look different, but they taste OK.
They don’t have Zuckerrübensirup in England.
A cup of tea is a nice cuppa.
Dinner is called tea.
Never eat in the street. It’s rude.
A bob is a shilling, which is twelve whole pennies. You can buy lots of candy with a shilling.
I’ve been in England for eight weeks. I feel homesick all the time. It’s like a pain in my stomach, and it never goes away. I miss Hanno so much. I don’t really believe he’s in England. How do I know he arrived safely? Maybe someone threw him in the sea because they don’t like German dogs.
I heard Auntie Irene speaking one morning over the fence to Mrs. Benson next door. She lives with her son, Alec, the older boy with the cheery whistle. I don’t think there’s a Mr. Benson.
I didn’t understand everything Auntie Irene said but she was talking about me, saying I was a good boy, and it was awful how Hitler was treating Jewish children. Mrs. Benson kept nodding. I think Mrs. Benson and Alec understand why I’m here.
I’m still too shy to speak much English. Most of the time I keep quiet. I don’t tell anyone I’m miserable, especially not Lotte. She has a rotten time with her family, the Greens. She thought they would look after her like my family does and send her to school. But instead they make her do housework all day. It’s very unfair, but she says if she refuses they might send her back to Germany. That would be very scary, and Mutti and Papa would be angry with her.
How will she become a doctor if she doesn’t go to school?
It was my birthday on February twenty-first, two weeks after I arrived in England. I had already missed Emil’s birthday, which was the week before, and now he wouldn’t be here for mine. It’s the first time ever in my life Emil and I missed our birthdays together.
Mrs. Benson and Alec came to tea, and of course Lotte was there. I don’t have any friends my age in England. But everyone was very kind to me, and I had some good presents.
Alec gave me a little toy dog. It was a dachshund just like Hanno.
“Thank you, Alec,” I said in my shy voice.
Alec grinned and stuck his thumb in the air to say OK.
Mrs. Benson had knitted me a pair of soft brown gloves. I put them on straightaway. She gave me a smile. I could see she was pleased, so I said, “Thank you,” in English too.
Auntie Irene made a huge chocolate cake with thick chocolate icing. There were nine candles, and I blew them out in one go. Everyone cheered and clapped.
“You like cake, Rudi dear, don’t you?” she said, cutting me the biggest slice.
I smiled and said, “Please, yes.”
She gave me a nod. Auntie Irene’s always happy if I say something in English.
The cake tasted wonderful. The grown-ups ate with little forks like Mutti did back in Frankfurt. But I picked up my slice and bit straight into it. I got icing on my nose, and everyone laughed.
Lotte frowned a bit and handed me her handkerchief to clean my face.
But Alec picked up his slice in both hands and took an absolutely huge bite, his eyes grinning away.
It’s nice to have another boy to joke around with even though he’s six years older than me. Girls just aren’t the same.
Uncle Don gave me a pencil box for school. He’d wrapped it in about a million layers of newspaper and brown paper and even a bit of flowery wallpaper, so it looked enormous. We all laughed as I unwrapped and unwrapped for ages. There were a really good eraser and two brand-new pencils inside.
“Let me know when they need sharpening, eh, lad?” said Uncle Don. He always calls me lad, which is a kind word for boy in English. I like it.
The Evanses don’t have any children or grandchildren or even any nephews and nieces. It’s just them, which is a bit lonely, I think. So they’re sort of practicing on me. Lotte and I think they’re doing quite well.
Lotte made me a card with a big black 9 on the front.
“I don’t earn enough to buy you a present yet, Rudi,” she whispered to me in German.
She only earns two shillings a week and has to buy everything she needs with that, including stamps to write to Mutti and Papa in Germany. I think her family is very mean and I wish so much that she could come and live with me. But the Evanses only have two bedrooms, so it’s impossible, Lotte says.
It was a nice afternoon, but I couldn’t help thinking how different it was from my parties back home in Germany.
My school’s nearby and I walk by myself just like in Frankfurt, but it’s very lonely without Emil. My teacher, Miss Cotton, is very kind, just like Fräulein Becker. She wears her hair in a bun, not in braids like German women.
They don’t have any Nazi teachers. Lotte told me there aren’t any Nazis in England. The English don’t like them. So I shouldn’t worry about it anymore. I hope she’s right.
Miss Cotton tries to get me to speak English, and I understand quite a lot now. But the other kids laugh at my accent, so I don’t speak.
Then today in the playground a boy kicks a ball near me. I pick it up and hold it out to him.
“Thanks, mate,” the boy says. “You the kid from Germany?”
He has a grubby face and his clothes are a bit torn, but he speaks in a sort of interested voice.
I nod, and then I think, I must speak, I absolutely must.
“Me, Rudi,” I say, and point to my chest.
The boy grins and says, “Me, Sidney. Wanna play Tarzan?”
Just like Emil!
We run around the playground, whooping and yelling, “Me Tarzan! Me Tarzan!”
Some of the other boys join in. It’s like being back in school in Germany before t
he Hitler Youth took over. Emil would have loved it.
“Come on, Rudi, mate,” Sidney keeps calling out, and the others shout my name too.
We play Tarzan all playtime. It’s amazing.
When the whistle blows, the other kids pull me into the line and one whispers, “Stand next to me, Rudi.”
Back in class Sidney asks Miss Cotton if he can sit next to me.
Miss Cotton smiles and says, “Yes, of course, Sidney. Now, Rudi”—she gives me a serious look—“I want you to speak English with Sidney every day. I know you understand.”
“Yes, Fräulein Cotton,” I say, and I give her a polite bow like boys do in Germany.
Sidney bows too. Then all the boys stand up and bow to each other, and we all nearly fall over laughing. It’s great!
When school is over everyone goes out of the school gate. Instead of ignoring me, lots of kids call out, “See you tomorrow, Rudi.”
Sidney walks off with me, and I really want to play some more with him, so I say, “Park, Sidney?”
“Ja, Rudi.” Sidney gives me a big grin.
Sidney’s speaking German! That’s so great I nearly jump for joy. Maybe he wants to learn more, I think.
“I have Hund,” I tell him.
“Hund?” he says with a frown, looking puzzled.
I give a bark.
“Oh, you’ve got a dog,” says Sidney. “What’s his name?”
“Hanno.” But I don’t know how to say quarantine.
We run off to the park. Sidney’s about my height and quite skinny, but he’s strong and climbs trees even better than Emil. We find a park bench and jump on and off, playing Tarzan. Two women walk past, but they don’t tell me off. Jews don’t wear those nasty yellow stars here, so no one probably knows who we are, do they?
Lotte told me not to tell anyone I’m Jewish. It’s safer. But when we’re alone she talks about being Jewish back in Germany,
“On Friday nights, even if I have to work, I think about Mutti lighting the candles,” she said once.
“Hanno always sneezed at the smell from the wick,” I said with a grin.
Lotte grinned back. “That’s right, and Papa gave us a sip of wine. I don’t think English children drink wine.”
“Uncle Don likes beer.”
“It’s not the same. Papa said the prayer in Hebrew over the wine. Do you remember it?”
She recited the prayer and made me say it with her. I stumbled over some of the words, but I could hear Papa’s voice in my ear.
“…borei p’ri hagafen,” we finished together.
“You must never forget we’re Jewish, Rudi. Never,” said Lotte, swinging me around to face her.
Her dark eyes were very serious. I gave her hand a squeeze to show that I was really listening.
To be honest, I don’t think Sidney would care very much if he knew I was Jewish. He’s a really great friend.
“Tarzan’s the strongest man in the world,” he yells to me now, and throws himself up on the wide branches of an oak tree. Oaks are thicker and taller than linden trees.
“Ja!” I yell back.
We play until it’s time to go home, and Sidney comes with me.
When we arrive at the front garden, Auntie Irene is standing on the step.
“Sidney, friend,” I say. “Nice cuppa tea?”
I thought Auntie Irene would be pleased with my English.
But instead she frowns at Sidney and says, “Not today, dear. I think you’d better go home now.”
Sidney gives a shrug and says, “See ya tomorrow, mate,” and he disappears.
Auntie Irene goes into the kitchen with me, saying, “I’d rather you didn’t play with that boy, Rudi dear. He comes from a very poor home, and you could catch lice and all sorts of diseases from him. All right?”
I nod, but I don’t really understand. Sidney’s clothes are not very clean, but who cares?
Then the doorbell rings. It’s Lotte. Tuesday is her afternoon off, and she always comes to see me.
“We will go to the park, Rudi,” Lotte says with a smile.
She always speaks English in front of the Evanses, and Auntie Irene gives her an approving nod.
Lotte always takes my hand as if I’m too small to walk on my own, but I quite like it. Her hand’s warm like Mutti’s, and I swear she smells of cinnamon too.
We speak German only when we’re together.
I tell her about Sidney and the playground and everyone bowing in class, which makes her laugh.
“But Auntie Irene says I can’t be his friend. It’s not fair,” I finish.
“You can be friends with Sidney at school, but don’t bring him home. You don’t want to go against the Evanses,” says Lotte with an anxious look on her face. “You need them on your side, don’t you? Especially if they’re going to take Hanno as well.”
That makes me feel quite scared. Lotte’s right. I need to be really, really nice all the time at home so that Hanno’s looked after when he comes out of quarantine.
I’ve been missing Hanno so much and there’s still months and months to wait. But if I can’t bring home my friends from school, will Auntie Irene and Uncle Don want Hanno to live with us? They never say anything to me about my dog, except once when they showed me a nice basket they have ready for him. If only they knew what a special little dog my Hanno is, I know they’d love him as much as me. At least Hanno won’t be wearing torn clothes, like Sidney.
Don’t speak German in the street or the police will arrest you.
Never say anything in Germany is better.
Look out for lice.
Never tell anyone you are Jewish.
It’s nearly teatime, and I’ve been standing out on the street since I got home from school. I’ve slung my bugle on my back for good luck.
Hanno’s coming home today!
He’s finished quarantine. He’s healthy, and very soon he’ll be free. Will he still know me?
“Bring him over to mine tonight, mate,” said Sidney at school. He’s nearly as excited as me. “The building next to the canal. Ask anyone, they’ll show you the door.”
“Ja,” I said.
Sidney likes it if I speak German. He’s picking it up very quickly. He says gut and Fräulein and nein and his accent’s quite good. He says it’ll be useful in the war.
“Any sign, Rudi, love?”
Auntie Irene has come down the path. She’s got a dishcloth in her hand, and she’s raised the other hand to shade her eyes and look down the street.
I shake my head.
An air raid warden goes past on his bicycle. He has a whistle around his neck and a tin helmet with ARP in thick white letters on it. Uncle Don says he’ll boss us around when the Germans bomb London.
What will it be like when bombs fall on us? Will it be like when a branch of one of the trees broke in the park one day and Emil and I jumped out of the way just in time? That was very scary but tree branches don’t explode like bombs. Sidney says if a bomb hits our house the roof will fall in. I’ll have to try to be brave so that Hanno doesn’t get too scared.
The grown-ups talk about war all the time now as if it will start tomorrow. Uncle Don works in a factory, and I heard him telling Auntie Irene that they’re changing all the machines so they can make spare parts for tanks and armored cars.
When we go shopping Auntie Irene gives me a big bag, and she fills it up with extra cans and packets of food.
“For my stock cupboard,” she tells the shopkeeper, and he nods.
“Everyone’s doing the same,” she says when we walk home.
The bag’s so heavy I can hardly carry it, but I can’t help noticing that Auntie Irene has bought some cans of dog food too. So Hanno won’t go hungry.
Uncle Don’s always shaking his fist at the radio these days a
nd saying, “That Mr. Hitler’s a right lunatic.”
He looks just as angry as Papa back home when he heard the news on the radio.
I don’t know what to say.
Lotte says, Keep quiet.
A big white van turns onto the road and drives down, stopping right in front of me. When the engine turns off there’s the sound of dogs barking.
“Here we are,” says the driver. He opens the back and brings out a chocolate-brown dachshund. “Yours?” he asks.
“Hanno!” I cry out, and the man drops a little dog into my arms.
The dog has a funny stale smell and doesn’t move at all. Is it Hanno? I can’t help thinking. Then he twitches the end of his nose and gives a sneeze.
“You are Hanno,” I whisper in German, and my lovely, velvety little dog licks and licks my face like he always used to do.
I close my eyes and for a second I almost think I’m back home, Mutti standing next to me with her sweet cinnamon smell.
But there’s only Auntie Irene.
“What a nice doggie,” she says. “Bring him inside.”
In the kitchen Hanno gobbles up a bowl of scraps. Even Auntie Irene laughs and fills his bowl up a second time. I can’t help wondering if they’ve fed him properly all these months. I can feel his ribs when I cuddle him. Hanno was always such a nice round sort of dog back in Germany.
After Hanno has finished eating, his eyes begin to close a bit.
“Take him upstairs and show him your room, lovey. Looks like he could do with a bit of a sleep.”
“Yes, thank you,” I say. Auntie Irene gives me a nice smile and pats my head. I really need her to like Hanno even if that means I have to speak English more.
I pick Hanno up and carry him upstairs. Once he’s on the bed, my cold, lonely room seems much more like home for the very first time.
“You can sleep on my legs tonight,” I tell Hanno.
Saving Hanno Page 4
