by Mark Seaman
These arguments went on for a while but eventually it was decided it would be best for us all to do as we were told for now and see what the future might bring.
“After all,” one woman said, “things can’t get much worse than they are now.” Little did we know.
Around fifteen minutes later another group of soldiers arrived to march us to the station which was situated some half a mile away. As we arrived a train pulled in but the carriages looked like wagons used for transporting cattle rather than human beings. They had wooden planks slatted along them and no sign of windows for us to look out of during the journey. We were hurriedly marshalled into a long line outside the station, with little patience or regard shown towards the elderly and smaller children who struggled to maintain their balance at times as we jostled together in our efforts to form the orderly procession being demanded of us. My parents smiled nervously at some of the other families who were standing alongside us. It was as though they each sensed things were about to get a lot worse, perhaps in ways we couldn’t yet imagine. Although we had all agreed to stay quiet for now, some of the men were still arguing amongst themselves about what was happening and why as they struggled to come to terms with this sudden and dramatic change to their lives and of those they loved.
They realised, as we all did, that whatever the outcome, none of it was intended for our good.
My mother tried to comfort Joseph and I by telling us we were going on an adventure but, young as we were, we were still aware of that same sense of dread and apprehension that our parents were experiencing as we were hurried towards the train and our journey into the unknown.
“Schnell. Get a move on, come along quickly,” the soldiers demanded as we filed forward onto the platform. A real sense of fear came over me as we were bundled into the bare wooden carriages that were to transport us to our eventual destination. There was no seating and it soon became difficult to stand or sit as the soldiers kept pushing more and more people on, young and old alike. The carriage filled quickly until there was no more room and it became hard to breathe in the claustrophobic conditions as we were forced ever closer together. I felt as though I might suffocate as Joseph and I were pushed further towards the back of the carriage and the light faded with so many adults standing tall above us. Any last remaining daylight eventually disappeared as the huge wooden door screeched and slid across the rusting metal runners, slamming shut on us. Joseph and I hung onto each other tightly as shouts of protest rang out from our parents and the other families and as our eyes adjusted to the darkness.
One elderly man had apparently fallen as he tried to clamber into the carriage to be with his family and we could hear his wife scream as one of the guard dogs outside was encouraged to attack him.
“Please no,” she cried out. “Somebody help him.” As she was forced back into the carriage by the sheer weight of bodies fighting for space I remember glancing across to see her eyes searching for him in an effort to say a last goodbye before the door was locked shut leaving her near to hysterics and wondering if she would ever see her beloved husband again. We could still hear the man yelling for her as the dogs barked and snarled at him on the platform. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she yelled out his name, the tears running down her face as she collapsed into the arms of those around her.
“Levi, I’m here, I love you, my darling.”
My mother leant across in an effort to comfort her. “It will be alright, you will see him again soon I am sure.” I could tell by her expression that she didn’t really believe what she was saying.
The train suddenly lurched into life throwing us around and into each other which caused women to scream and the children to panic, crying out for their mothers.
We felt like animals all pressed together, having been herded into this bare wooden wagon with its cramped conditions. There was practically no fresh air which rapidly created an atmosphere that was both stifling and overbearing. This coupled with a growing sense of foreboding caused many to lose any last remnant of hope as we rattled along the track in this makeshift wooden coffin, the only difference being that for now we were still alive, but for how long? Just a few days before and we had all been living safely in our own homes; yes, concerned about what the future might bring, but not in our wildest imagination had any of us considered our lives might change so dramatically in such a short space of time.
The train quickly picked up speed, rocking from side to side with many of the men holding onto each other and struggling to keep their feet having allowed their wives and children to sit on the floor as space allowed. Some of the smaller children wet or soiled themselves which made matters worse as mothers tried to comfort and change them in the overcrowded and unsanitary conditions. Tempers quickly became frayed amongst those without young families complaining about the smell and the women’s failure to deal with their children’s toilet needs.
“Isn’t it bad enough being forced together like this without having to inhale the smell of shit as well? Why don’t you clear it up?
What could they do, there were no proper changing facilities and even for the adults no basic sanitation with only a single rusting bucket in the corner serving as a toilet. This quickly filled and overflowed onto the rough wooden flooring. One very young baby was crying out with hunger and a man shouted at its mother to keep it quiet as she struggled with her blouse in an attempt to feed it.
“For God’s sake can’t you keep the child quiet? Are we expected to put up with that noise for the rest of the journey?” The woman’s husband leapt to her defence.
“My wife is doing her best so why don’t you shut up. Your bellowing certainly isn’t helping either.” Eventually with the two men on the point of exchanging blows another man stepped in between them.
“Stop it; you’re scaring the other children now as well as her baby. Arguing amongst ourselves doesn’t help any of us. Please, both of you, we all need to keep calm.”
The two men weren’t really angry with each other and quickly made up their differences, recognising the sense in the other man’s appeal for understanding. They were just frustrated and concerned for their own family’s needs like the rest of us. But as the journey continued so individual tempers and the potential for aggression rose again, especially amongst the men. Nerves became increasingly ragged and a few minor scuffles eventually broke out as parents looked to protect their families and children. There was no escape from the growing sense of fear and trepidation amongst us all as we were jostled about in the confines of that overly crowded carriage, occasionally being thrown against each other as the train sped forward along the track towards its destination. One woman cried out in pain as a man accidentally trod on her hand as the carriage lurched from one side of the track to the other.
“Watch out, you fool,” shouted the woman’s husband.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t even see my feet let alone your wife’s hand.”
“Well you’ll see mine soon enough if you’re not more careful.”
Disagreements like these continued to break out from time to time throughout the journey, although ultimately everyone recognised it was the cramped and inhumane conditions we were being forced to exist in that was the real cause of the tension between us rather than any lack of concern for each other’s welfare or individual rights as human beings.
There was a broken slat on one side of the carriage and it was agreed to let the elderly woman who had lost her husband at the station sit there for a while to gain access to the little fresh air it afforded. She was still in a state of panic about what she had witnessed and as to what might have happened to him. After a while though other people pushed forward demanding their turn to garner access to the only clean air available in the claustrophobic surroundings of that tomb-like edifice.
“She’s been there long enough, my little boy has asthma and needs some air,” one woman shouted.
“And my daughter is not well either, let her through,” another mother added.
These sorts of exchanges as to whose turn it was to gain a few moments respite from the increasingly airless environment of the carriage continued for much of the rest of the journey. Whoever sat by the broken slat was encouraged to tell the rest of us what they could see as the train hurried along the track, not that there was much to report as we appeared to travel mainly through endless woodland and countryside. Even when we did pass a town or rail station we didn’t slow long enough to identify where we were.
Early on in the journey my mother and one or two of the other women tried to encourage some of the smaller children to sing in an effort to keep their spirits up. After a while though some of the adults without families complained and shouted for them to be quiet.
“Not only are we forced together like cattle but now we have to listen to your children wailing like their offspring as well?” I could tell from my mother’s expression that even though she and the other women were making a brave attempt to comfort and distract us from our grim surroundings, they were also putting on a brave face for each other. They too were as fearful as everyone else as to where we might be headed as the miles rolled by on that dreadful and seemingly endless journey.
Mama put her arms around Joseph and I and pulled us close to her, giving us both a kiss. “Don’t worry, my darlings, Mama loves you. This horrid train ride will soon be over and we will be settled in our new home.” I wasn’t sure that I believed her, but it was good to hear her say it all the same. I leant across to my father and squeezed his arm in an effort to comfort him as well. “I love you, Papa.” I tried to sound confident but was also aware of the tears filling my eyes. He smiled down at me but even in the shadowy light I could still see his eyes were also full, more from the injustice of what was happening to his family I think than with regard to his own personal discomfort.
Also, to the same outrage that every other man on the train was feeling that any of us, especially women and children, should be treated in such a shameful and degrading way. As a man it was only natural for him to want to protect those he loved, but I think he also recognised, for now at least, there was nothing he could do, either for us or about our circumstances.
The journey itself appeared to go on forever and there was little food or water, only what my mother and a few of the other women had managed to bring with them, but they shared it around unselfishly as best they could. Some of the adults on board, especially the older ones became quite dehydrated, and sadly there was very little that could be done for them. One elderly man, overcome by the stifling heat and lack of fresh air died during the journey. One of the other men, a doctor, tried to save him but in those dreadful conditions and with no medicines available there was nothing really that could he could do. The man’s wife sobbed as the doctor held her hand.
“I think with the lack of clean air, coupled with the cramped conditions and heat, his heart simply couldn’t cope with the stress being placed on it, I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand and smiled. “At least he’s at peace now.” Someone put a coat over his face as the doctor moved away and another woman knelt down to pray with the man’s wife. We children were discouraged from looking, partly to stop us becoming further upset ourselves, but also to give the woman a little space and dignity as she mourned the loss of her man. She sat in silence for the rest of the journey holding his lifeless body in her lap and weeping gently to herself. Following the man’s death tempers cooled a little and the impatience demonstrated towards others receded as everyone realised the same thing could happen to them if common courtesy and the well being of their fellow internees didn’t override any personal frustrations.
During the remaining hours on the train the men took it in turns, as space allowed, to either sit or stand. This gave them the chance to rest their legs for a while and also afforded them the brief opportunity to gain a little sleep in that confined space.
Eventually, after more than a complete day of travelling the train began to slow before shuddering to a halt a few minutes later. A woman sitting by the gap looked out and shouted.
“It looks like some sort of station and there are many soldiers.” Before she could say anymore we heard German voices shouting outside, then after a few moments the door that had shut us off from the outside world for so long creaked as it was unlocked and wrenched open along its runners. The sudden change in light made us blink as we attempted to adjust our eyes to the bright sunshine now pouring into the carriage. We gulped in the fresh air that was also suddenly available to us after having survived with only the stench of human sweat, urine and faeces for the past twenty four hours or more. The momentary elation we felt in seeing daylight and breathing normally again almost immediately turned to despair as our gaze fell upon a new and arguably even greater horror than the one we’d encountered on that awful journey and that now stood alongside the carriage waiting to greet us.
Rows of German soldiers in their steel grey green uniforms began shouting at us to get out of the carriage.
“Schnell. Schnell. Get out, move.”
We saw their guns pointing in our direction and heard their dogs barking and snarling with their own particular brand of ferocious welcome.
One elderly lady who had been lying in the same restricted position for much of the journey and had lost the feeling in her legs struggled to stand as she was ordered from the train. A soldier rushed forward and, grabbing her arm, pulled her out of the carriage; she fell awkwardly and hit her head on the ground.
“Get up, Jewish bitch.” I could see blood coming from the side of her head as she struggled to her feet, looking around for help, but the soldier pushed her to one side and shouted again for the rest of us to get down.
“Move, quickly. Come on get out of there.”
The noise was overwhelming with the steam and shrill whistle from the train accompanying the screams of mothers and their children along with the soldiers shouting and their dogs growling and snapping at us; the apparent chaos and increasing tension only serving to further encourage their aggression.
Once we were all on the platform a German officer stepped forward and ordered us to form ourselves into separate lines of men and women, with any children of the age of twelve or older being herded into their appropriate gender groups as well. I was nearing twelve with Joseph almost a year younger but as we had always been tall for our age the soldiers wrongly assumed we were older. I tried to cling on to my father’s hand but another soldier forced me away and I moved into line with my mother who was still, at this point, holding onto Joseph. A soldier with a dog moved forward and shouted at my brother to get in line with the men but my mother held him back in an effort to protect him. The soldier, in response to her act of defiance, encouraged the dog forward as if to attack my mother as she shouted at him.
“He’s not twelve; he’s still only a boy. Can’t you see that he’s scared?” The dog tore at her coat and as my father moved to help her the soldier turned the dog onto him which bit his hand drawing blood.
“Please don’t hurt him,” my mother begged, “he’s bleeding.” The soldier, ignoring my mother’s pleas continued to encourage the dog’s active aggression and was clearly enjoying himself in witnessing both my father’s fear and pain. He made as if to let the dog attack him again and Joseph, fearing for Papa’s life and recognising any further protest was futile, bravely moved over to our father in an effort to shield him from further assault. I hung on tightly to my mother’s arm; she was crying and looking at my father with an expression of panic and dread that I will never forget. Papa attempted a smile of reassurance towards her as he placed his bloodied hand around Joseph’s shoulder and drew him into himself for protection.
Once we were separated into our lines another officer arrived with two other men who we were told were doctors.
“While you are here at the camp you must work to support
the German war effort and to pay for your food and shelter. The doctors will decide which of you is fit and healthy enough to join in this work. Those who are not will be moved to another part of the camp and held in detention until the end of the war when we have gained our glorious victory.”
My father, thinking he might be making things easier for my brother, said he had a weak chest and shouldn’t be made to do manual work. A number of other parents said similar things also hoping to save their children from any forced labour. What they didn’t know, what none of them could have known, was that the doctors were not only deciding who was fit enough to work, but also the more immediate and terrifying fate of those who weren’t; they were to be taken away and killed.
Without realising it my father had, in that instant, along with so many other parents’ unwittingly signed their own childrens’ death warrants. The doctors worked their way through the rows of men and boys extracting all those considered too old or unfit to undertake the duties planned for them. Once this was done they were then marched away in two separate lines: one containing those considered fit and strong enough for labour and the others deemed too elderly, frail or sick to support the “Glorious German war effort”, as the officer had described it. That was the last time I saw my father and brother alive as they were marched away, waving goodbye to my mother and I briefly as they went. Tragically, in having Joseph declared unfit for manual labour my father had placed him amongst the first to be executed in the gas chambers.
I heard later that once my father realised the fate to which he had condemned Joseph he had pleaded with the guards to let him take his place. A man told me the soldiers had said because my father was so concerned about Joseph they would be generous and allow him to die with his son at the same time, and so they were both gassed in the first wave of executions that afternoon. They would have died, along with hundreds of others within an hour of arriving in the camp. The only comfort I take in the horror of that knowledge is in the belief that at least they were together in that terrible moment; that my father would have held Joseph in his arms telling him how much he loved him as the gas was released choking their lungs with its poison and ending their earthly existence.
