Saving Hanno

by Miriam Halahmy

  He turns around and around, finding his comfortable spot, and then he gives another sneeze. I laugh out loud, and he gives me one of his short barks, which means, Let’s play, Rudi! He doesn’t seem sleepy anymore, so we chase each other around the bed like we used to do in my old bedroom in Frankfurt.

  I feel so happy inside and all over. Hanno and I won’t ever be separated again.

  “Come on, boy,” I say. “Let’s go and find Sidney. He’s my best friend, just like you.”

  I sling my bugle over my back, pick Hanno up, and carry him downstairs. Uncle Don bought a brand-new leash for Hanno last week. I clip it on before opening the front door. We go down the garden path and jog all the way to the canal.

  Sidney’s apartment building is set around a courtyard piled high with rubbish, which smells really bad. For a moment I hesitate. Maybe Auntie Irene was right about Sidney and his family, and I shouldn’t go and visit them.

  Then someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see a man in a flat cap, shoulders hunched up.

  “You looking for someone, nipper?”

  “Sidney Scudder,” I say in my best English accent.

  The man narrows his eyes for a second. I think, What if he gets mad because I’m German?

  Then the man gives a nod and says, “Second floor, end of the landing.”

  I mumble, “Thank you,” and walk away quickly.

  The stairs are wet and slippery, and it’s dark climbing up. At the end of the landing on the second floor I find a door with peeling black paint.

  What would Auntie Irene or Lotte say if they saw me here? I wonder, but I knock anyway.

  After a minute Sidney appears and says with a grin, “Is that Hanno? Smashing.”

  We go inside and along a corridor to a room. I think it’s the kitchen, but there’s no sink, just a table and a couple of rickety chairs and a shelf with some cups and plates.

  “This is Mum and Baby Tom,” says Sidney.

  A woman with a thin face is sitting in the corner holding a very tiny baby wrapped in a ragged shawl. The room is cold and smells a bit.

  But Sidney’s mum gives me a kind smile and says, “Hello, dearie. Nice cuppa tea?”

  “We ain’t got no milk,” mutters Sidney.

  “Good,” I say.

  Sidney gives me a grin and boils a kettle on a single gas ring.

  “This is the best cup. It’s got roses on it,” he says.

  He hands me a cracked china cup with no handle, but the tea tastes much better than Auntie Irene’s sweet milky tea. He puts down a bowl with water for Hanno and I settle him on the floor, even though it’s rather dirty.

  “Sidney tells me your mum and dad are still in Germany,” says Sidney’s mum. “You must miss them ever such a lot, lovey. Do you have a picture of them?”

  “Mu-um,” says Sidney with a frown.

  I don’t mind. I like talking about my family.

  Auntie Irene and Uncle Don have seen my pictures and some that Lotte brought too. They say lots of nice things. I know they would like Mutti and Papa very much.

  I keep a photo in my notebook in my pocket. I take it out and say, “Mutti,” pointing to her face.

  “Oh, yes, Mummy,” says Sidney’s mum.

  “Papa and Lotte,” I say, pointing to them.

  “Daddy and big sister. What a lovely family you got, dearie. Lucky you, eh, Sid?”

  I think my chest will burst with pride. Sidney looks pleased too.

  “Sidney has nice good family,” I say in my best English.

  Two bright red points appear on Sidney’s mum’s cheeks and she says, “Oh, ain’t that nice, eh, Sid? What a lovely friend you got here. You make sure you take good care of him. That Mr. Hitler, he ain’t no good, eh, Rudi?”

  I give a big frown and nod hard so she’ll know I’m not a Nazi.

  “You should play your bugle for Mum,” says Sidney, and his mum raises her eyebrows.

  I duck my head but I pull my bugle off my back and play a few notes. Hanno gives a couple of loud barks, like he did back home when I played, and Sidney’s mum claps when I stop.

  “That’s clever, ain’t it, Sid?” she says, rocking Baby Tom, and Sidney looks all sort of proud.

  He’s as good a friend—they say mate in English—as Emil, which is lucky for me and Hanno.

  “Now, you boys take that dog for some fresh air down the canal,” says Sidney’s mum. “Then you see Rudi safely home, Sid. There’s a good boy.”

  “Righto, Mum,” says Sidney.

  We run out of the apartment, Hanno trotting beside me on his leash, and down to the towpath alongside the canal. A mother duck floats past, and we count nine fluffy babies. The sun is still high in the sky and there are blue and yellow wildflowers in the grass. I can’t help thinking that the linden trees would be thick with leaves along the banks of the River Main back home in Frankfurt.

  But home isn’t the same anymore now that Hitler has taken over. All the good Germans are leaving or in prison, Lotte says. Papa writes her long letters about how horrible things are in Frankfurt and how good it is we are safe in London.

  Sidney’s mum understands I’m a good German, doesn’t she?

  “Apple?” I say to Sidney, and take two out of my pocket.

  “Smashing,” says Sidney, and he crunches his down, swallowing the core and everything.

  I keep Hanno on the leash so he won’t fall in the water. He rolls in the grass as if he hasn’t been outside since we lived in Germany.

  “Nearly the summer holidays,” Sidney says. “We can take him out every day, eh, Rudi, mate?”

  “Ja,” I say, and patting Hanno’s back, I say, “Braver Hund.”

  “Braver Hund,” repeats Sidney. “I bet that means Good dog.”

  “Ja. You have so good German,” I say.

  “Race you,” says Sidney, and I run after him, the bugle bumping on my back and Hanno barking behind us, just like back in Frankfurt with Emil.

  After tea we sit in the sitting room, Hanno on my lap. It’s quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the clicking of Auntie Irene’s knitting needles. I’m planning all the games me and Hanno could play over the summer with Sidney.

  “He’s a quiet little thing, isn’t he, Don?” says Auntie Irene, smiling over at Hanno.

  Hanno gives his little sneeze.

  Uncle Don doesn’t say anything. He’s reading the newspaper. I can see the headlines.

  WAR PRODUCTION DOUBLED

  FACTORIES TURN OUT HUNDREDS OF

  SPITFIRES

  England’s getting ready for war with Germany. Everything’s beginning to change, like back home in Germany, only in England they don’t seem to be angry with the Jews.

  Uncle Don has been digging a very big hole in the back garden for our air raid shelter. Hanno and I have been helping. Last week a big truck delivered the shelters to our street. They’re made of corrugated iron (I don’t know how to say that in German, I had to ask Lotte) and each shelter has six huge pieces. Alec Benson from next door came over to help Uncle Don put it together. I passed the screws and held the hammer.

  “Everyone has to help with the war effort, eh, Rudi?” says Alec with a grin.

  He works at the London Zoo and loves animals. He’s always dropping bits of food over the fence to Hanno.

  Uncle Don paused for a moment and said, “It’ll be all hands on deck once the bombing starts,” and he raised his eyebrows toward me.

  I nodded firmly back and made Hanno nod too, so they would know that we don’t like the Nazis.

  Auntie Irene keeps saying how damp and muddy it will be in the shelter, and I don’t think it looks very cozy. But Alec and Uncle Don seem to think it will be the only safe place when the bombing starts. We’ve all got gas masks now too. Auntie Irene hung them up in the hall so we alw
ays know where they are.

  Everyone in Great Britain has them, Sidney says. The government thinks Germany might drop gas on the cities. But no one says whether the shelters can keep out gas.

  I keep quiet, like Lotte says.

  Now as I sit staring into the fire, Hanno gives another little sneeze and Auntie Irene says, “Hanno won’t be any trouble in the war, will he, Don?”

  Uncle Don snaps his paper shut and says, “Not until the bombing anyway.”

  I feel Hanno tense on my legs, and I stroke his back.

  “Well,” Auntie Irene goes on in her comfortable voice, “we don’t know there will definitely be a war.”

  Uncle Don doesn’t say anything else.

  You see, I think as loud as I can, hoping that Hanno can read my mind. Nothing to worry about.

  I can hardly wait to go to bed and lie down with Hanno’s warm body across my legs.

  After Auntie Irene has come up to say good night and turn out the light, I pull my flashlight and notebook out from under my pillow.

  “I’m still making notes for Mutti and Papa,” I whisper to Hanno, opening the last page for him.

  Always carry your gas mask.

  Make sure your flashlight has good batteries.

  Don’t talk about the war to Uncle Don, it makes him worried.

  Hanno licks the page and smudges a bit of my writing.

  “Great,” I say. “You can help me.”

  He gives a little whimper and settles down as I push everything back under my pillow.

  We lie still for a little while, Hanno’s nose over my legs and me stroking his soft ear and jaws. Sidney loves being with Hanno as much as me, and his mum is so nice. She might be poor, but she thinks I have a nice family.

  Papa always said you should judge someone by what they do and what they say, not by their money or religion or country.

  “If more German people listened to their hearts instead of Hitler’s stinking speeches,” he said, “then they would never turn on the Jews.”

  Papa wouldn’t mind me being friends with Sidney, I know it.

  “Over here, Rudi,” Sidney calls out to me from the bridge on the canal.

  I whistle to Hanno, who’s nosing around in the bushes, and we jog over.

  “What are we doing today?” I ask.

  “Neville said the Scouts are camping in a field up the canal,” says Sidney. “They’re making fires and cooking sausages. Neville’s mate, Miles, is gonna be there. They might let us join in.”

  Scouts? Aren’t they like Hitler Youth? I think.

  I bend down and fiddle with Hanno’s collar, my bugle falling around my neck. Neville’s twelve. He’s Sidney’s big brother, and he’s good fun. Sidney and I have been playing outside all summer and sometimes Neville joins us. I’m teaching him to play the bugle but he’s not very good and mostly he can’t get the notes out.

  But what if this Miles is a bully like Konrad Müller and his Hitler Youth gang?

  “Ain’t you hungry?” says Sidney, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m dying for a sausage.”

  I shake my head. I had toast for breakfast and Auntie Irene always packs up sandwiches for me because we stay out until teatime. I share them with Sidney. He never has any food with him.

  Hanno has found a rabbit hole and is digging away, earth flying in all directions.

  I watch him for a minute and then I say, “What if Scouts not like a dog in the tent?”

  “Nein,” says Sidney, and he laughs.

  We usually laugh together when Sidney speaks German, but today I don’t feel like it.

  “Please, Sidney, do not say I am German boy…” I hesitate and then I say, “Or Jewish boy.”

  Sidney gives me his wide grin and says, “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll keep quiet, promise. Come on!”

  Then he runs off up the towpath, Hanno racing after him. There’s nothing I can do except follow and hope for the best.

  We jog beyond the broken old factories that line the canal bank and then past some trees. A crow swoops overhead, and the sky is as blue as the sea, but my head is full of worried thoughts.

  Suddenly Sidney skids to a halt and waves to someone. Squinting in the sunlight, I see Neville up ahead calling to us. Down the canal bank there is a field with six white tents pitched in a large circle. Smoke spirals up to the sky from the middle. Everywhere boys run around, carrying things and shouting to each other. They’re all older than me and much bigger. They wear green shirts and khaki shorts.

  “Hitler Youth,” I whisper to myself. My legs turn to water.

  Before I can gather Hanno in my arms and make a run for it, Neville is yelling, “Over here!”

  Neville and Sidney run off, Hanno racing as fast as he can after them. He wants a sausage too.

  I stay on the canal bank, my legs wanting to run away, but nothing would make me leave Hanno in the hands of the enemy. So I walk down the slope into the camp. I’ve swung the bugle around to my chest and I’m clutching it as if Papa could save me somehow.

  I catch up as the others are talking to a big boy, taller than Neville, with square shoulders and long, chunky legs.

  “Miles, this is our mate, Rudi,” says Neville.

  Miles gives me a nod. “Can you play that?” he asks, pointing to the bugle.

  I nod but he just shrugs.

  Then he and Neville walk off between the tents with Sidney. Hanno is running about yapping in his excited way.

  In the middle of the circle a huge campfire is roaring away. A group of boys are cooking sausages over the fire on sticks. Another group are buttering bread, and a kettle is whistling on a smaller fire to one side.

  “This is Scout Leader,” says Miles, bringing us over to a tall young man.

  The leader wears a khaki shirt and shorts. He has light brown hair and eyes that seem to stare right through me.

  Here we go, I think. Now the trouble starts.

  But when the leader speaks, his voice is deep and firm and—well—kind at the same time.

  “Welcome, boys,” he says. “Come and join us for lunch.”

  His eyes settle on me.

  I feel all flustered and hot so I mutter in my best English, “Thank you.” Then without thinking, I bow.

  The leader looks startled, and Neville says with a grin, “That’s what German boys do.”

  Sidney gives him a shove, and Neville shouts back at him.

  Now I’m in for it, I think. I glance over my shoulder, looking for Hanno and the quickest way to get out and back to safety.

  But the leader is saying something to me. “Did you come on the train from Germany?” His eyes are fixed on me, but they’re crinkled in a nice way.

  I take a deep breath, and I nod.

  “Then I am extra pleased you have come to join us today,” he says.

  He turns away and that’s that.

  Suddenly I have a million new friends. Someone starts a soccer game and Sidney pulls me over to join in. I very nearly—almost—score a goal!

  Everyone cheers and calls out my name just like at school when Sidney became my friend. Hanno zips up and down on the edge, and people keep running over to pat him.

  “He’s our mascot, eh, Rudi?” calls out Miles, and I nod, feeling very proud of my little dog.

  When the food is ready, I give the leader my sandwiches and apples to share and he nods approvingly.

  The Scouts hand around sausages stuffed between huge slabs of bread. Sidney has one in each hand and he doesn’t know which one to bite first.

  The leader says to me quietly, “I know you can’t eat pork sausages, Rudi, because you are Jewish, right?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

  I nod back, my cheeks bright red, and wipe some dust off my forehead.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, patting me on the bac
k. He hands me one of the cheese sandwiches. No one else takes any notice.

  Hanno and I sit around the campfire with Sidney and Neville and the Scouts, singing songs and eating. Scout Leader points to the bugle and asks me to play, so I play the wake-up call and the call to charge. All the boys cheer and some of them even salute like Alec Benson.

  Then we all stand up and sing “God Save the King” and I join in with almost the whole first verse. Sidney gives me a nod and I think how proud Papa would be.

  Emil would love the Scouts, I can’t help thinking. We were so jealous when the Hitler Youth went off camping and left out us Jewish boys. English Scouts aren’t mean. They include everyone.

  When it’s time to leave, the leader calls us over and says, “Come and visit us anytime, and next year you will be old enough to join the Scouts. Everyone will have to do their bit when this war starts…” He raises his eyebrow at me again.

  I give a firm nod back so that he’ll know I’m not a Nazi.

  “The Scouts will be needed too,” says the leader.

  That night in bed, Hanno’s nose resting on my legs, I write in my notebook:

  Don’t eat sausages, ask for cheese instead.

  Scouts are nothing like Hitler Youth.

  Be ready to do your bit. The English like that.

  Only one more week until the summer holidays end and school starts again.

  Or the war begins.

  I have to carry my gas mask all the time now, and everyone says we’ll be bombed. The windows have blackout curtains so the bombers won’t see lights at night, and the air raid wardens shout at anyone who leaves them open. Uncle Don puts the news on every evening and shakes his fist at the radio. Auntie Irene tells him to calm down.

  I don’t say anything. I just stroke Hanno so he doesn’t get too scared. It’s so hard to know what the war is going to be. It makes me scared to think about bombs dropping and guns going off. What if the Nazis invade England like they invaded Czechoslovakia? What will happen to me and Lotte, and will they decide Hanno is a Jewish dog and be mean to him too? Auntie Irene tells me not to worry too much about the war and says they will look after me and keep me safe. But they don’t really know anything about Hitler and the Nazis, do they? Not like me and Lotte, who had to leave our home to be safe.