The Young Survivors

by Debra Barnes

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just then, when Papa came. I thought you were going to ask me something.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Sorry. I was going to ask if you… if you would like to take a walk with me after supper this evening.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Aimee, in surprise.

  ‘Actually, it’s a stupid idea. Forget it,’ I said and went to open the front door.

  ‘No! It’s a lovely idea. I would be happy to go with you. We should have time for a quick walk before the curfew begins. We don’t want to get you in more trouble!’ she said.

  ‘That’s true. Well… see you later!’ I practically skipped out of the front door like a little kid!

  ****

  After supper I waited for Aimee outside the farmhouse. She didn’t keep me waiting long. When she came out of the front door she looked so beautiful I could hardly believe she was interested in me. I was very nervous; what if I had got it wrong and she just wanted to be my friend?

  ‘Let’s walk down to the stream,’ she said, and off we set. ‘Were you scared today, Pierre?’

  ‘No, not really. With all the terrible things that could happen to any one of us these days, going to a cafe with a gendarme didn’t seem too awful!’

  ‘Ha! I hadn’t thought of it like that. Yes, you’re right. We had a letter from my brother Lucas today. He said that conditions are getting worse in Germany and the French workers are being pushed harder and harder. There is a lot of illness there too and some of his friends have died.’

  ‘That’s terrible. I’m very sorry to hear it.’

  ‘My mother is really upset. This stupid war just gets worse and worse. Everyone is suffering and all because of that idiot Hitler.’

  ‘I agree. My family has been torn apart and I don’t know if I will ever see my parents again. My little brothers and sisters are alone in Paris…’ My voice faltered as I thought of my siblings and I realised Aimee was the first person I had been able to share my thoughts with. ‘I’m happy on the farm but I should be doing something to help. I feel so useless.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Aimee as she stopped and faced me. She took my hands in hers. ‘You are helping to feed a lot of people by working here.’

  ‘But I should be fighting to defend my family and good people like you and your parents.’

  ‘Pierre, you’re a good person too. You are honourable, and I’m sure you will always do the right thing. Now the most important thing is that you get your papers back tomorrow.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong,’ I said impulsively. Aimee looked surprised. ‘This is the most important thing right now.’ I pulled her towards me and kissed her softly.

  She put her hand on my shoulder and kissed me back.

  ****

  I walked Aimee back to the farmhouse and, checking no one was in sight, kissed her goodnight.

  ‘I’m going to the police station early in the morning, so I’ll see you when I get back.’

  ‘OK, be careful. See you tomorrow. I had a lovely time this evening, Pierre.’

  ‘Yes, me too,’ I said. What a day!

  ****

  First thing next morning I rode my bike to the police station in Bazaiges and presented myself to the sub-officer sitting at the front desk.

  ‘My name is Pierre Laskowski. A gendarme came to see me yesterday and took my papers away. I was told to come here today to get them back.’

  ‘I’ll call the sergeant and we’ll see what he has to say,’ the sub-officer replied.

  He picked up the telephone. ‘Pierre Laskowski is here. What do you want me to do with him? What? Oh, I see. OK.’ Turning back to me he said, ‘Pierre Laskowski, I am arresting you.’

  ‘What for? I’m not a criminal. I work on a farm!’

  ‘You crossed the demarcation line without a visa. That is a criminal offence.’

  ‘But yesterday the gendarme said he was not going to arrest me! What is going on?’

  The sub-officer offered no further explanation as he led me to a cell at the back of the police station. I was the only prisoner. Me – in prison! With no one to talk to, my mind was free to conjure up all kinds of scenarios. I had been arrested just like my father and mother had, and my grandmother and aunt and uncle and cousins, and none of them had come home. Would that happen to me? And what about Aimee, what would she think when I didn’t return to the farm ? I picked up a newspaper that was lying there. It was the fascist rag, Je Suis Partout, but I read it to distract me. True to form, it was crammed full of anti-Semitic propaganda which did nothing to calm me down. After what seemed a long time, the gendarme from the day before returned.

  ‘Monsieur, please let me go. I’m needed on the farm. It’s a busy time, the crops will be ruined without me to help,’ I pleaded.

  ‘One more day will make little difference. Tomorrow I’ll take you to see the judge and ask for you to be released,’ he said.

  I was shocked. ‘Why are you helping me?’ I asked.

  ‘I have a son a little older than you. He has been sent to Germany as slave labour. I can’t help him but maybe there is a police officer in Germany who will treat him fairly, as I’m doing for you. However, you crossed the demarcation line without a visa and I can’t let you go without the permission of the court.’

  ****

  The words of the gendarme gave me hope that the world might not be so bad after all. In the morning the gendarme took me to the courthouse. Instead of going to the courtroom we were directed to the judge’s office.

  ‘Now, who have we here?’ asked the judge from behind his desk.

  ‘This is Pierre Laskowski, your honour,’ replied the gendarme on my behalf. ‘He has been detained for crossing the demarcation line without a visa. He has no other convictions and is an honest and hard-working young man. I request he is released to his employer, Monsieur Masson, who needs him on the farm. The hay season approaches.’

  The judge looked down at my papers on his desk.

  ‘The law dictates that this matter needs to be decided in court, but this young man is not yet eighteen so I cannot allow him to go through the court system.’

  I couldn’t believe my luck. It seemed like the gendarme and the judge were both going to let me go.

  ‘You are only two weeks away from your eighteenth birthday on… let me see… 14 July. Ah, Bastille Day! Very good. Until that date you shall go to the local children’s home and then return here before me.’

  ‘But, sir…’ I started. The judge looked at me sternly. It was clear I shouldn’t speak.

  ‘That is all. I will see you in two weeks, young man, when you will be just that… a young man!’ said the judge, to his own amusement.

  When we left the office the gendarme said, ‘It is only two weeks.’ He probably thought, as I did, that it was ridiculous taking me to a children’s home when I could be working on the farm instead. I was not a child. I had been living on my own for months now and working like any other man. I even had a girlfriend now – well, for a day at least. Trust my luck! After showing Aimee I was the man for her I was to be locked up in a children’s home!

  ****

  There were around one hundred children living at that home. Most were there because their parents had been sent to Germany as forced labour. I don’t think any of them were Jewish. I was by far the oldest; most other children over the age of fourteen in the area lived and worked on farms. The supervisor in charge was cruel and the conditions were terrible. Were Samuel, Claude, Henriette and Georgette being treated this badly? The thought of my poor brothers and sisters suffering like these children made my blood boil.

  The children hardly spoke. There was no one to show them any kindness or fight for them. Although I planned on keeping my head down, I couldn’t ignore the way they were being treated. The place was squalid, the children and their clothes were filthy, and the food was disgusting, served on rusty metal plates like a medieval workhouse. After mealtimes the smell and taste of those metal plates were difficult to forget. All but th
e youngest children were expected to work full days in the vegetable gardens, but no fresh vegetables were served to us.

  I could have run away but then it would be impossible to return to Aimee and my job on the farm, so I stayed and did what I could to help improve the lives of the younger children. I complained about the food at every mealtime. I asked why it was necessary to eat from metal plates which tainted the already revolting food. I showed the children how to wash their own clothes. I ‘borrowed’ a broom, bucket and mop and arranged a cleaning rota. I taught the children how to tend to the vegetables (after all, I was a farmer now) and, more importantly, I showed them how to pocket a few of the vegetables which could be eaten raw without the supervisor realising. All this kept me busy but it didn’t stop me worrying about what would happen next. Once I turned eighteen, would I be sent to a camp and disappear like my parents?

  When my court order was delivered to the children’s home, the supervisor worried I would tell the judge about the awful conditions. She offered to accompany me to court as I was under her responsibility, but the official said that wouldn’t be necessary.

  My birthday came soon enough. Another birthday with no celebration and this year none of my family with me. It was almost a year since I had last seen Papa. So much had happened in such a short time. Would he be thinking of me on this special day? Would we all get to celebrate our missed birthdays and anniversaries when we were reunited again? I would not allow myself to think any other way.

  When I was called to enter the courtroom I was surprised to see three judges sitting on the bench, not only the one I had met before.

  ‘Ah, Monsieur Laskowski. You are now an adult and therefore responsible for your own actions. Can you tell the court why you crossed the demarcation line without a visa, when you knew this was forbidden by law?’

  ‘Your honour, I was trying to save my own life. My parents have been arrested and my brothers and sisters taken to Paris. I am all alone. There was no work for me in Poitiers, no way to make a living. I came to this area to work on a farm. I’m working hard to help produce food for France.’

  The three judges conferred.

  ‘We are not unsympathetic, but you must realise there are certain rules and laws which have to be abided. It could have been extremely dangerous for you to cross the demarcation line without a visa. You should consider yourself lucky that it is this court dealing with you as others may not be so understanding.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ I thought of my poor cousin Simone and her family, who had disappeared after trying to make the crossing and had not been heard of since.

  I was fined three hundred francs, not an insignificant amount; if I could get back to Sarry I could pay it with the money still hidden in the barn.

  ‘Don’t be caught again or next time we’ll be putting you in prison,’ one judge said. Dammit. How was I going to get to Sarry and back without crossing the demarcation line – twice?

  ‘I won’t, sir,’ I said.

  I was allowed to leave. I ran to the Masson farm where I was warmly welcomed back by my sympathetic employers and their beautiful daughter.

  ****

  I worked hard back at the farm. I felt bad for the extra work the others had been lumbered with while I was stuck in the children’s home. Naturally, the guys had a good laugh when they found out where I had been. I pushed myself to the limit. I started earlier and finished later. I stopped only for quick water and food breaks. I ran back and forth all day long.

  In the evenings I had just enough energy to sit with my beautiful Aimee. Being together felt so right and, while I was still fuming at having been treated like a child, our time apart only made me want to be with her more. It was almost possible to forget about the war and be happy. Would I ever get the chance to tell Maman about my sweet girlfriend?

  Keen to not risk my future on the farm (yes! I finally had a future to think about), I knew I had to settle the three hundred francs fine. It would take years to pay out of my low wages and I was too proud to ask Monsieur Masson for a loan. The other guys had no money so my only option was to return to the house in Sarry and collect some of the hidden money in the barn. This time I would be careful crossing the demarcation line and not be seen. My plan was to go and return to the farm straightaway, but that all changed when I arrived in Sarry and Madame Leblanc came rushing over with a letter in her hand.

  Georgette

  Paris

  July 1943

  It was easy to pack our things. There wasn’t much to take; one change of clothes each and a toothbrush. Our hairbrush had been burned after they found the head lice. We didn’t need it now anyway. And, oh yes, we had our darling doll Bernadette, packed in Henriette’s case for safekeeping.

  Jacqueline said she was really proud of us when she saw how quickly we got ready. She told us to wait in our room until she came to get us. The other children were running noisily down the stairs. I climbed up on the bed to look out of the window and saw a bus driving up the road, stopping outside the building. A group of older children piled on and scrambled to get the best seats. They looked excited, like they were going on an adventure. I couldn’t remember ever having been on a bus. I had been in a car, a train, in a trailer on the back of a bicycle being ridden by Pierre… I started to think of Maman for the first time in a long while. I remembered being in that horrible place with her and then Pierre coming to get Henriette and I. Where was Maman now? I tried desperately to remember her face, but I couldn’t picture it. I was about to ask my sister if she remembered, when Jacqueline came back and told us to make our way downstairs. We didn’t run down the stairs like the older children. We walked carefully, holding on to the handrail as we went. Soon enough we were boarding the bus and leaving the children’s home.

  Henriette and I were, naturally, sitting together, but I sat next to the window and as we drove out of Paris I was fascinated by what I could see. The children’s home was on a high point of the city and there was a fantastic view as we drove away.

  As we continued on our journey the streets narrowed, and we saw fewer people and buildings until the bus turned off the road, up a gravel driveway and stopped in front of a big house with a walled garden.

  We were taken through the gate to our new home. Only some of the children came with us and, most importantly, Henriette, Claude and Jacqueline were with me. And Bernadette, of course.

  Pierre

  Paris

  August 1943

  The letter waiting from me at Sarry was from Samuel, warning me the children were not safe in Paris. I sent a hurried reply and made plans to go there immediately. I would collect Claude, Henriette and Georgette and then we would meet Samuel at Saint-Paul metro station and leave Paris together. We would come back to Sarry and live as a family once more. I thought about the Leblancs, and Aimee in particular, but the safety of my brothers and sisters had to take priority.

  As I walked up the last part of the steep hill in Montmartre, I could tell something wasn’t right. It was morning, but the courtyard was silent, not what you would expect from a large building of young children. Where was everyone? I tried to open the front gates but they were locked, the home was deserted. I began to panic. Was I too late; had the children been taken? I sat on the wall on the other side of the street, not knowing what to do, when a man walked up, stopped at the gate and took out a key to unlock the door.

  ‘Monsieur, can you help me please? I’m looking for my brother and sisters who were in this home. Do you know where they’ve gone?’

  The man looked at me. He wore a yellow star on his jacket pocket, but I wasn’t wearing mine. I had stopped wearing it after the incident with the Milice that Sunday in Poitiers, besides I wouldn’t have been able to travel to Paris on the night train wearing it. I did have my papers with me though, so I took them out of my pocket and showed him the ‘Juif’ printed in red ink.

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Claude, Henriette and Georgette Laskowski. See on my pape
rs? They are my siblings. Claude is eleven and the girls are five-year-old twins.’

  To my huge relief the man said, ‘Yes, I know them. Come in and I’ll tell you more.’

  We went into an office and he explained that all the children had been taken outside the city for safety. ‘It’s rumoured the gendarmerie have been given huge quotas to fill by the Germans. Before, French Jews and children were off-limits, but not now. Your brother and sisters are being well looked after, don’t worry.’

  ‘I need to see them. Can you tell me where they are?’

  ‘I’m sorry but that information is classified. We need to keep the new locations secret.’

  ‘I understand, but I beg you to tell me where they are. I have risked everything to travel here to see them,’ I pleaded.

  ‘I’m sorry, Son,’ he said.

  ‘Please, Monsieur. My little brother and sisters. Who knows when I can see them again?’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Monsieur. Everyone has been taken away from me. I just want to see the children. Do you still have your family with you?’

  The man looked like I had struck him. ‘Alright, Son. Let me see where they are.’

  He unlocked a drawer and took out a ledger.

  ‘What was that surname again?’

  ‘Laskowski.’

  ‘Ah yes, here they are. They’ve been taken to a suburb west of Paris called Louveciennes. The address is 1 Place DreuxRoux. You can get a bus there, it’s not too far. You should be safe to travel, although these days it’s a risk to go anywhere.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ****

  As the bus drove into Louveciennes, we passed grand houses. It was different from a dirty city like Metz, a tiny village like Sarry, or the farmlands of Bazaiges. Here there were mansions, country estates and even castles. When I got to the gate at 1 Place DreuxRoux I noticed a large sign outside: Orphelinat. Orphanage. It stopped me in my tracks. It was only a word, but the difference between ‘children’s home’ and ‘orphanage’ stung. Is that what we were now? Would we ever truly know?