by Debra Barnes
‘Hello, Monsieur Wolff. It’s Samuel Laskowski.’
‘Hello, Samuel. How are you doing, Son? I heard you got away from this filthy town for a while.’
‘Yes, and I’m feeling better now, thank you. Could you please get a message to my parents and ask them to come and pick me up?’ I hesitated, then added: ‘It’s very important.’ I’d already decided I wasn’t going to mention the gunfire because I didn’t want my dear mother to panic, but on the other hand I did want them to come as soon as possible.
‘I understand. I’ll tell them.’
‘Could you go today please, Monsieur Wolff?’
‘You know, Samuel, I also have a lot of orders to deliver as well as messages. If I can get there today, then I will do so. Goodbye, Son.’
****
Where were they? It was two days since I telephoned Monsieur Wolff and still no sign of my parents. Had he forgotten to give them the message, or was he punishing me for asking him to hurry? There had been a fair amount of gunfire that morning, but it stopped around midday. I was standing in front of the farmhouse wondering if I should go back to the post office and call again, when I heard a car approach. Maman smiled and waved to me from the passenger seat as Papa drove in and parked. She looked tired, but then she did have my baby sisters to look after. I was eager to see them again, but I guessed they had been left at home, probably with Aunt Dora or cousin Simone. Maman rushed over to kiss and hug me.
‘Samuel, my darling boy. How are you? We missed you so much!’
Papa came over. ‘Hello, Son. You’re looking well,’ he said with a smile, slapping me gently on the back.
Suddenly there was a round of gunfire in the distance. Maman jumped in fright. ‘Was that…?’ she asked, as another round sounded. The front door to the farmhouse opened.
‘Hello, Monsieur and Madame Laskowski. Please, come in,’ invited the farmer’s wife. Maman practically pushed me inside as the clamour continued.
‘Why didn’t you tell us about this?’ Maman demanded.
‘We assumed you knew, Madame,’ replied the farmer’s wife, matter-of-factly. ‘This has been going on for some time although I admit it is more frequent now. What can we do? We can’t leave our farm.’
‘Perhaps not, Madame,’ said my mother, ‘but that doesn’t mean our son has to stay. Samuel, pack your bag! You’re coming home immediately.’
Papa hadn’t said a word, but Maman didn’t wait for his approval. ‘Albert, please pay these people for their hospitality and let’s go.’
I didn’t have to be told twice. I got in the car. Maman sat on the back seat with me and held me close the whole drive back.
****
Just two weeks after I returned from Condé-Northern, Britain and France declared war on Germany.
Pierre
Metz
Summer 1939
Many Jews lived in our neighbourhood, but still I looked over my shoulder when I walked about. If I was with my siblings, I would clutch a stone, ready to defend them from attack. Walking home one day, I heard music as I approached the courtyard of our apartment building. My fists clenched when I saw a minstrel strumming his guitar and singing, ‘I will beat you to death, you Jew, you Jew.’ Usually this space would be full of families enjoying the warm afternoon but the minstrel was alone. No doubt he had scared everyone back to their apartments; I could make out my neighbours watching from behind twitching curtains. Nearly half the families who lived around that courtyard were Jewish, yet no one did anything. I’m sure Papa would have reacted, but he was rarely home. I was furious, but stopped myself from attacking him there and then – he was larger than the school-kids I usually confronted. I decided I would get some of the other guys involved and plan my revenge for another time. When the minstrel came around again, Maman had heard about my plan to run him out of our neighbourhood.
‘Pierre, promise me you won’t do anything. I don’t want to draw attention to our family, and I’m concerned about repercussions.’
‘But, Maman, have you heard what he sings?’
‘No, Son, I choose not to. I’m too busy looking after the twins and Bubbe to listen to such rubbish, thank God.’
Bubbe was showing the first signs of senility and hadn’t left the apartment in many months. She only went outside now to use the WC out the back, and even that was only occasionally. She was a large lady which made it more difficult for her to move, so Maman had gotten used to giving her a chamber pot to do her business. More work for poor Maman. While Papa was away it was my responsibility to protect my family, but I didn’t want to burden my mother with more worries, so I agreed not to act against the repulsive minstrel.
The little Jew-haters at school started to sing those songs too. When summer arrived and I was old enough to leave school, I worried for my brothers without me there to look out for them. I was to enrol in trade school where I could try my hand at carpentry or bookmaking. And then, just as term was due to start at the beginning of September, war broke out and classes were postponed until further notice. Papa volunteered to join the French army, but was refused on the grounds that he had to provide for five children. I wished I was old enough to go in his place to fight the Nazis that threatened my family.
****
The line leading to the depot went all the way down the street and around the corner: hundreds of people waiting for their turn to collect gas masks for their families. There had been no bombing yet, but the mood was uneasy. I was thrilled when Papa asked for my help carrying the masks for our family. Let it take the whole day, I thought, as it meant I would have Papa to myself for once.
‘They said the trade school would reopen once the war is over. When do you think that will be, Papa?’
‘From what I’ve read in the newspapers, we are expecting to win pretty quickly, so hopefully your classes won’t be delayed too long.’
‘I hope so,’ I said eagerly.
‘So do I, Son. So do I,’ said Papa, with a look of strained optimism.
When we reached the head of the queue, Papa handed over the family book where our birth dates were recorded, as well as the Polish birth certificates of himself, Maman and Bubbe.
‘Let’s see. You need masks for three adults, four children and two infants,’ said the clerk after checking the paperwork.
Papa flinched. ‘No, just three children.’
‘Pardon? Ah yes, I see. Sorry,’ he muttered, checking the book again and noticing the handwritten cross marked against Phillipe’s name. He gave us a ticket for each mask needed and told us to join the next queue.
The gas mask for an infant was a hood which went entirely over their head. Henriette and Georgette screamed and kicked and made a terrible fuss when we tried to put theirs on, but they calmed down when they could once again see each other through the glass visors. They seemed to take comfort in knowing they were together and even started smiling and giggling. I suggested we put the hoods on the girls a couple of times each week so they got used to them in case we needed to put them on in a hurry – they would need to move a damn sight quicker than they had on that first attempt.
Everyone tried on their masks. We walked around the room like monsters. I pretended I was doing it to amuse my brothers but, really, I couldn’t wait to have a go! The contraptions were pretty uncomfortable and the rubber smell was awful, so we didn’t keep them on for long.
Meanwhile, Maman reasoned with Bubbe. ‘Mame, you need to learn how to put on yours.’
‘NO!’
‘And if there is an air raid and no one is here to help you?’
‘Then I will die. I am a blind old woman. No one will miss me!’
‘Mame! How can you say that?’
Bubbe had made up her mind. She didn’t want anything to do with the gas mask. Maman walked away in defeat, but I decided to have a go.
‘Bubbe, it’s Pierre.’
‘I know who you are. Did you get me my sweets?’
Bubbe had a sweet tooth. She would send us
out to buy her sweets, which she ate all day long. We daren’t refuse her even though her teeth were rotten from eating so much sugar. When she needed more supplies, she would rummage around in the many pockets of her skirt to find some centimes. Bubbe carried all her money and treasured possessions in her skirts, along with her bonbon stash.
‘Yes, I already gave it to you, Bubbe. You know Papa and I queued for hours to get the gas masks.’
‘Well you needn’t have bothered to get one for me.’
‘But you are the head of the family, absolutely you need one.’
‘Bah!’ Clearly flattery was not going to work.
‘I’m going to leave the gas mask here on the right-hand side of your chair. It has a handle so it will be easy to take with you to bed.’
‘I won’t use it,’ she said, but as I went to walk away I saw her reach down and touch the gas mask before quickly snatching her hand back to rest in her lap.
Success! I thought.
****
For the first months of war, the only fighting going on in France was in the school playgrounds and on street corners. The reports on the radio and in the newspapers spoke of battles in Poland and I was relieved we no longer had family there. We were told the politicians were busy negotiating and, no doubt, the armies were planning their attacks. Biplanes flew overhead and we heard the German army on manoeuvres across the nearby border, but there was little else to this war so far. Many expected it to end before it had even begun.
When it didn’t end, my parents decided to take the advice of the municipal government for all families with young children to evacuate away from the German border. I was delighted Claude and Samuel wouldn’t be returning to school where the bullying was getting worse as the war marched forward. Papa rented a house in a town called Behonne, some one hundred kilometres from Metz in the direction of Paris. We were to leave as soon as possible.
We had the great advantage of owning a car, but once we were all in, there wouldn’t be much room for anything else. Papa decided he would return to pick up the belongings that we couldn’t take with us. All we would carry on our first journey west were clothes and essential household items. Maman went into action. Suitcases and boxes were packed ready. Furniture was polished and then covered with blankets and carpets, to help protect them from whatever was coming. Finally, floors were swept and scrubbed.
‘Rosa, what are you doing that for when we are leaving?’ asked Papa.
‘I don’t want to come back to a dirty home,’ she replied.
Finally, Maman was satisfied. She rinsed out her dishcloths and left them to dry in the kitchen, then walked through the apartment for one last look.
‘Alright, everyone, time to go,’ she said. ‘Come, Mame.’ She went to help Bubbe out of her chair.
‘I’m too old, Rosa. Go without me. My husband is buried here, I won’t leave him.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mame. We’re not going without you. You are coming with us.’
‘NO!’
Uncle Isaac and Aunt Dora came to reason with Bubbe. They were also evacuating to Behonne. There were eight of them including the three children who still lived with them, our cousins, Gabriel, Anna and Simone, along with Simone’s husband, Leon, and their two children. Everyone was ready to go, except for my grandmother.
‘Elle est têtu comme une âne!’ everyone agreed. ‘She is as stubborn as a mule!’
‘And as blind as a bat!’ I heard Samuel whisper to Claude, which set them off giggling.
Maman and Uncle Isaac argued with Bubbe for hours while we loaded the car and said goodbye to our friends and neighbours. Most of them were also preparing to leave for other villages.
‘What will you eat? How will you look after yourself? What happens if you need help and there is no one here?’ But nothing was going to persuade her to leave. Papa and Uncle Isaac tried to lift her up and carry her out against her will but she wailed, screamed and flailed her arms and legs and so they gave up, defeated. Finally, a compromise was reached. Papa would continue to drive around, running his business. He would call in as often as possible to check on Bubbe and Maman would prepare food for him to bring.
****
Leaving Metz was bittersweet. I was happy to leave the Jew-haters and the minstrel behind and my brothers felt the same. Only our baby sisters were oblivious to what they were escaping. On the other hand, I had no idea what would be waiting for us in Behonne, although it felt good to be moving away from Germany.
The journey was a nightmare. Maman cried much of the way, upset about abandoning Bubbe, and Papa worried for his business and whether he could continue providing for us. The roads were jammed with people leaving their homes in the east to travel to safety in the west. There were refugees from Holland and Belgium, and the French army were also trying to get through. It was chaos.
Cars, weighed down with entire families and their belongings, made slow progress on the congested roads. Through the windows people appeared grey and frightened. When we saw someone we knew on our way out of town we merely nodded to each other; this was no time for chit-chat. Some who didn’t have their own cars travelled on buses, others used a horse and cart for their journey, and a few walked along the side of the road. Everyone carried as much as they could manage, not knowing what they would find at their destination or when they would return home.
My parents’ spirits were tested even more once we arrived at Behonne. The house we had rented was completely empty. Maman’s shoulders slumped and she sighed as she realised the task ahead. Then she straightened, rolled up her sleeves and set to sweeping the floors with the broom we had brought with us. Papa and I drove to a lumberyard for pine boards and tools to make bed-frames for us all. We got straw from the stables to put on top of the timber frames and that was what we slept on, except for the twins who slept in the drawers of a dresser we found in the yard.
We had only been in Behonne for a week when Papa returned after spending the day working in the Metz area and brought Bubbe back with him. The solitude and the ever-closer sounds of gunfire and shelling from Germany had proved too much for her and she finally agreed to join us. Maman jumped for joy when she saw her mother get out of the car. We had all secretly missed Bubbe’s eccentric ways. It had been quiet without her constant crying and singing.
Without knowing how long we would be staying at this new home, we settled into our routines. Samuel and Claude were enrolled in the local school and said the teachers and children were very nice and kind to them. Papa continued to work, and Maman cooked, cleaned and looked after us all. Henriette and Georgette were good little girls, but they were walking now and we needed to keep an eye on them. Thank goodness they were often happy just sitting, talking gobble-dygook to each other. It was fun watching them together – they appeared to have the most interesting conversations which only they understood. Maman made cakes, but as there was no oven I was sent to find a baker to cook them. When they were ready I asked how much I owed for use of the oven and was told, ‘No charge, Son, just tell your mother to give me the recipe for her butter crumb cake!’
I was the only one who wasn’t busy. There was no trade school nearby for me and Papa refused to take me on the road with him, saying he needed all the space in the car to carry his merchandise and that I should stay behind to look after the family. I was happy with this plan; it made me feel useful, but it hardly filled my days as Maman insisted on doing almost everything herself. So, while everyone else got on with their lives, I explored our new surroundings. There was an airfield nearby and I found a spot hidden between some trees as a good viewpoint. People were saying how quickly we were going to mobilise the troops, thrash the Germans and get this war over and won. But when I peered through the trees, I saw the men at the airfield had no uniforms, and no weapons except for old rifles left over from the last war. The aircrafts were even worse – old-fashioned biplanes that wouldn’t stand a chance against the sleek German aircrafts we saw flying overhead. There was no barracks; th
e men went home every night to sleep. I couldn’t believe it. How could they defend us if this was the state of our military? I decided not to tell anyone in the family what I had seen; I couldn’t imagine what good it would do to worry them.
****
Just months after arriving in Behonne, a letter arrived from the authorities informing us we were to be relocated to Poitiers. This was followed by a visit from the gendarme.
‘Can you tell me when you will be leaving?’ Papa was asked.
‘My family will travel in a few days, but I have decided to stay for the time being. Poitiers is too far for me to visit my customers and I need to support my family.’
‘Monsieur, that will not be possible. The relocation order is exactly that, an order. It is for your own safety.’
‘I appreciate that, Monsieur, but I’m sure you can appreciate my need to protect the livelihood of my loved ones.’
‘Albert, I think it best if you do as the authorities ask,’ reasoned Maman.
‘But, darling, how will we live?’
‘Monsieur Laskowski, I’m told you will receive a stipend as acknowledgement of having to leave your business behind.’
‘Bah! Refugee money!’ said Papa. ‘It would be better for our country if that money was used for the war effort.’
‘Albert! I don’t think we should be ungrateful for money which will allow us all to stay together,’ said Maman, and with that the discussion ended. Papa would come with us. There was a house available in a small village called Sarry. I was not encouraged by what I remembered from my Jewish History studies at school. There had been no Jewish community in Poitiers for the past six hundred years, since it was expelled by Philip the Fair. I remembered we laughed at his name – he seemed anything but fair.
Maman was upset, having spent much effort on making a home for us in Behonne, but happy to learn we would be reunited with old friends and neighbours from Metz. We also heard Rabbi Epstein, who had tutored me for my bar mitzvah, was now living in Poitiers.
We packed the car up once more. This time there would only be one journey as we had just enough fuel to get us to our new destination and little chance of getting more for a civilian vehicle. There would be no return to the east for the time being, so we took as much as we could fit in and on top of the car and were forced to leave the rest behind. After ourselves, top priority was given to the radio set as it would be our main source of information. Papa promised Maman he would come back at the first opportunity to collect the possessions we were leaving and, as expected, Maman left everything neatly packed and labelled, as well as mopping the floors of what had been our home for such a short time.
