The Young Survivors

by Debra Barnes

  Pierre

  Poitiers

  August 1943

  Samuel and I took the train back to Poitiers, travelling third class, the cheapest ticket available. I felt defeated. It was as if the police and soldiers on the train knew I wasn’t even worth bothering with, and we weren’t questioned. I had failed the children. I couldn’t stop thinking about them and how I left them without saying goodbye, but I reassured myself they would be well looked after at Place Roux.

  Meanwhile, Samuel and I had no plan. I’d thought of going to the house in Sarry with all the children but as it was only Samuel and me, I thought it better that I return to the farm. I probably needed to get back anyway in case the police came to check up on me. Samuel would not be able to stay on the farm with me; there was no room for him and I thought it better he be with boys his own age. There was a children’s home in the south run by the Jewish Scout Movement, Éclaireurs israélites de France. He took some convincing. He asked if it made sense for him to escape one home to go willingly to another, but I was sure he would be safe with the scouts and eventually he agreed.

  At Poitiers we went to collect my bicycle, which I had left hidden in a disused garage. I was relieved to see it was still where I had left it, but I hadn’t realised the terrible conditions of the tyres. We looked around and found a length of old rubber hose. ‘That should do the trick,’ said Samuel. He removed the tyres, which practically disintegrated when he handled them, and made replacements out of the hose.

  We set off, me on the saddle and Samuel hanging on for dear life behind me. Around halfway we gave up on the rubber hose tyres, which had been a great idea but were, in fact, completely useless. We cycled as far as our backsides could take on metal frames and then walked the rest of the way. After many hours we arrived in Châteauroux, one hundred and twenty kilometres east of Poitiers and right on the demarcation line. By the time we arrived, it was night. We had to get off the streets. We walked in the shadows of the tall buildings until we came across a convent and knocked on the door. The Mother Superior opened it just enough to speak to us.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We are two Jewish boys and we need somewhere to stay for the night,’ I said.

  The nun opened the door wide enough for us to enter. She looked shocked. ‘Come in quickly!’ she said. ‘Do you know where you are?’ She took us to the window. ‘Look there. That is the Gestapo headquarters!’ The door of the building opposite opened almost immediately. A guard came out and stood to attention, directly across the street where we had just been standing. A few seconds later and he would have seen us.

  ‘Our Lord Jesus is looking after you,’ said the Mother Superior. ‘You may stay tonight but you will have to leave first thing tomorrow. It would be too dangerous for you to stay any longer.’

  ‘We’re so grateful. We don’t want to cause anyone trouble and we’ll continue our journey in the morning,’ I promised.

  ‘The safest place for you to sleep will be in the attic.’

  We followed the Mother Superior up several flights of stairs. When she opened the door to the large attic room the overpowering smell of urine mixed with disinfectant hit us. From the light of the lamp our host carried we could see around a dozen beds, mostly occupied by elderly women. Some were sleeping quietly but others were moaning or crying.

  ‘These women are very ill,’ said our hostess. ‘The Gestapo are afraid of disease and they would never come up here.’

  Samuel and I were pretty afraid of disease too, but the Mother Superior went on to reassure us that no one was contagious. ‘But we keep that quiet,’ she said, with a hint of a smile.

  We found two empty beds and settled down for the night. We were exhausted after our long journey and quickly fell asleep.

  ****

  We got up early the next morning, eager to avoid being noticed by our room-mates, and quickly made our way downstairs. The Mother Superior was already busy with chores.

  ‘Good morning, boys. I hope you slept well.’

  ‘We did. Thank you for allowing us to stay. We’re most grateful for your help, Madame.’

  ‘I’m happy we were able to help you, but now it would be best if you leave as soon as possible. I’m sorry we are not able to offer you breakfast. Here, please take this,’ and she handed over a box of biscuits.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Let me see if it is safe for you to leave.’ She looked out of the peephole in the front door. ‘All clear. May God go with you.’

  ****

  We left the convent, carefully crossed the unguarded demarcation line and went to the bus station. I put Samuel on the bus for Toulouse and told him to get off at Beaulieu sur Dordogne and to look for the Jewish Scout Movement. I felt miserable sending my brother away again like this. I had achieved nothing. I had gone to Paris and not managed to get my three youngest siblings out of the children’s home. Samuel had escaped by himself, I had done little to help him, and now I was sending him to another home. I was failing my parents terribly. I felt useless and wretched. I headed back to the farm.

  Samuel

  Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne

  August 1943

  Another journey and another children’s home. I didn’t blame Pierre; he didn’t know what to do with me. Besides, I was old enough to look after myself. I could have gotten off the bus anywhere and not turned up at the Jewish Scouts, but I didn’t much like being on my own. I decided I would go there and give it a couple of days. If I didn’t like it then I would run away.

  Pierre left me the entire box of biscuits from the convent, which I devoured on the bus. The guy in the ticket office said the journey would take around five hours. I didn’t want to tell the driver where I was getting off, in case the police came and started asking questions. The problem was my full stomach made me sleepy, and, anyhow, I had no watch so how was I supposed to know when five hours had passed? I was drifting in and out of sleep when the bus stopped and the driver called out, ‘Beaulieu sur Dordogne.’ I quickly grabbed my things and got off.

  Pierre had said someone from the Jewish Scouts would meet me, but I couldn’t see anyone waiting. I hoped I was in the right place. I had no idea where I should go so I waited until I saw someone to ask.

  ‘Excuse me, Monsieur. Do you know where the home for the Jewish Scouts is?’

  ‘That way, to the square,’ he said.

  As I reached the square I came across two boys fighting in the street. From a distance it looked like quite a brawl but, as I got nearer, it was clear they were only playing around. When they saw me arrive with my small package of belongings, they stopped fighting and ran over to me.

  ‘Are you Samuel, just arrived on the bus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘See what you did?’ one of them said to the other, punching him on the arm. ‘You made us late to meet him.’ Turning to me he said, ‘Hey, Sam, please don’t tell the director we didn’t meet you.’

  ‘It was your fault. You started it!’ said the other boy, punching the first one back.

  ‘It’s OK. I won’t say anything,’ I said.

  ‘Phew! I’m Marcus and this is my brother Rudy.’

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  Marcus and Rudy Kohn were from Germany. They spoke broken French with a strong German accent, but that wasn’t a problem for me, coming from Metz. Marcus was fourteen like me, and Rudy was a year younger. They fought all the time, but you could see they were best friends and I was jealous not to have a brother I could be that close with. Pierre was four years older and Claude three years younger than me, but that wasn’t important right now; the only thing that mattered was neither of them were here.

  Marcus and Rudy took me to meet the Scout director, Monsieur Gordin. I was assigned a bed in the same dorm as my two new friends, who showed me around. ‘This building is for the little girls. This one is for the older girls. This is the dining room; let’s go there now, it’s nearly dinner time.’ That sounded good to me, I hadn’t eaten anyth
ing except the cookies since lunch on the day I left the trade school.

  ****

  I was happy with the Scouts and any thoughts of running away were soon forgotten. The Kohn brothers and I got along like a house on fire. They included me in everything they did, and we became a close group of three. The children were organised into troops and we spent the days hiking, singing songs and playing games. That was fine for the little kids, but we older boys wanted more so the director arranged for the local blacksmith to teach us tool and die-making. He was a good man, and an avid listener of Radio Londres.

  ‘Do you see those cars driving around with big antennas?’ he asked us. ‘That is a signal finder and they can track anyone listening to the radio. If you see one near, you must tell me.’

  ‘But how do you listen to London without an antenna yourself?’ I said.

  ‘Well, I may not have an antenna, but my wife has a very strong laundry line!’ The blacksmith’s wife would hang out the washing on a wire rather than a cord.

  ‘Ici Londres,’ came the message every day, followed by La Marseillaise and a number of coded messages. ‘La vache est bleue.’ ‘La lune est tombée.’ I sure hoped those messages made sense to someone!

  ****

  Marcus, Rudy and I went to the local bakery every morning to buy the bread for everyone. This had to be the best job of all; getting to enjoy the smell of freshly baked bread every day and being smiled at by the baker’s daughter. We would take the loaves to the kitchen in time for breakfast.

  ‘Let’s get this sliced,’ said the cook one morning. Each slice was weighed so everyone got their fair portion. She picked up the bread knife and tried to cut through one of the loaves. ‘Hmmm, I’m having a bit of trouble today. Feels like the baker might have dropped a stone in here by mistake. I can’t get the knife through this at all. Let’s see what is going on here.’ She pulled the bread apart with her hands. There was an almighty scream. ‘That baker is going to get it from me. A rat in my kitchen!’

  We ran to see and, sure enough, there was a rat baked into the loaf of bread. The wretched creature must have fallen into the dough as it was left to rise. From then on we were given a thin stick and told to poke it through each loaf before we left the bakery to make sure there were no more hidden surprises!

  ****

  The director called the children together. ‘It’s time for another camping trip. Most of you will have been through this before but please help anyone who has joined us recently. Pack only a few belongings as we’ll all need to help carry the camping gear between us. We leave in one hour.’

  There were a few cheers and most of the children looked pleased to hear this news.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked my pals.

  ‘The police chief warns the director when he hears of a visit from the Nazis or anyone who might be dangerous for us. Then we all go camping for a few days until it’s safe to return,’ said Rudy.

  ‘It’s good fun,’ added Marcus. ‘It makes a change from the usual routine. Come on, let’s go and get ready.’

  Being part of the Scout movement, the home had a supply of decent tents and other camping gear, which was shared out between us to carry. We set off on foot, leaving as quietly and discreetly as possible. We went in small groups, avoiding the busy streets, and we all met up again at the beginning of the woods on the outskirts of town.

  After a long day of hiking we reached a small clearing in a dense part of the woods and set up camp. We were on high ground and a rota was arranged to look out for unwelcome visitors. The lookout on duty was given a pair of binoculars and taught a bird song to call as an alarm. Such responsibility! I was excited to be included in the rota and could hardly wait for my turn. I shared my first shift with a Scout leader who showed me what to look out for. My first lookout passed without incident. The rest of the time was spent learning survival skills: how to build a campfire, make a shelter, how to forage for food and to hunt. I was having the time of my life!

  After a few days, word came that it was safe to return to town. I was disappointed to leave camp. We packed up and went back as discreetly as we’d left. Next morning, Rudy, Marcus and I went to collect the bread from the bakery, as before.

  ‘Hello, boys. Did you have a good holiday?’ the baker asked and winked at us.

  ****

  Word came again from the police chief that it was ‘getting hot’. This time we were split into smaller groups. Rudy, Marcus and I were put with some of the older kids.

  ‘Everyone pack their blankets and take some old newspapers for insulation – it’s going to be cold where you’re going,’ the police chief said with a smile.

  Those words sent a chill down my spine – it was exactly what they told Papa and Maman when they had been arrested…

  This time we travelled by bus. We were going to a camp used by the secular boy scouts, L’Éclaireurs de France – EDF – near the Swiss border. We had been taught their anthem to sing later when we reached the campsite and we would fly the EDF flag.

  We arrived and pitched our tents. We went scouting and hiking and played football against the other scout troops. At night we sat around a big bonfire singing and telling scary stories. After a week or so the weather changed and it turned cold. The other EDF scout troops packed up and left. We pretended we were leaving too, but we had other plans. It was late autumn and, reportedly, the German army was in pretty bad shape. Their lines had thinned out, including those guarding the Swiss border. The Scout leader gathered us all around. ‘Others have made it over the border recently. We will stay and observe for a couple of days and then decide whether to send you over.’

  ‘But what about my family here in France?’ asked one boy.

  ‘We all have family here and they would want us to be safe. At this moment I believe it is safer for you in Switzerland than it is in France. As soon as the war ends, you will return home.’

  The next day Rudy, Marcus and I left to explore the border. By now the other kids were calling us The Three Musketeers which suited me just fine: it had been one of my favourite books at school. We were told to walk along the border due south of where we were camping. We would be close enough to count the number of guards and to make notes if we saw what looked like a good place to cross, but far enough away to not be spotted. The trees provided cover and shelter for us and we had a pair of binoculars to use. I appointed myself chief binocular holder as we couldn’t risk the two brothers bickering over them while we were ‘undercover’.

  We walked with another small group from our camp in a straight line directly towards the border. When we reached a safe distance the three of us turned ninety degrees to the right and starting walking and observing, while the other small group turned ninety degrees to the left and did the same. This was even better than the last camping trip. We saw some German guards at the border, while making sure they didn’t see us. It was an exciting adventure. At the end of the day we compared notes back at camp and made our suggestions for the best places to cross. The Scout leader chose one person from each group to show him their recommendations and to avoid sibling rivalry, I was chosen.

  We left at first light the next morning: me, the Scout leader, and a boy from the other group. I’d left some marks on trees and counted steps and I easily found the two places along the border we had thought would offer the best chance of crossing over. Then we turned north and went to see the places chosen by the other group. I had to admit their options were better than ours; more sheltered and easier to stay hidden. Our leader agreed and, after observing the area for a couple of hours, decided to send a group over the following day using one of the northern spots. When we returned to camp, he gathered everyone together.

  ‘We’ve found a good place, but there will always be an element of risk. Three of you will go tomorrow, then three more each day until you’re all safely in Switzerland. I’ll take you to the border and when you’ve crossed you’ll be met by friends of the Jewish Scouts who will guide you. I suggest the
group of three who found the spot go first. Is that alright with everyone?’

  No one objected and the selected three – two girls and the boy I spent the day with – sat with the Scout leader to be fully briefed. I don’t know if they managed to sleep but, had it been me leaving the next day, I would have had a sleepless night. They left first thing, while the rest of us stayed at the campsite. We waited all day for the Scout leader to return. When he eventually came back, he looked upset.

  ‘It didn’t go well,’ he said. I thought he meant they hadn’t had the chance to cross and I expected to see the three follow him back. But he was alone.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We got to the spot and watched for a while. There were no guards anywhere near, so I told the kids to cross the border. They did exactly what I told them to, moving carefully and watching out as they went, keeping undercover as much as possible. They went over without issue, gave me the “all OK” sign and then disappeared into the woods. I waited for the signal from our people on the other side to tell me they had arrived safely, but it never came. Eventually they sent someone to tell me the children had been arrested by the Swiss police, who called the Germans to collect them. I’m sorry.’ And he held his head in shame.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ someone said. The rest of us were silent. We knew that could have been any one of us today.

  ‘We have to leave. We’ll trek down to a town called Ville-la-Grand. It’s not too far away. We’ll start now, stop when it gets dark and carry on tomorrow,’ said the leader.