Chocolate Girls

by Annie Murray

  ‘Come,’ she commanded David. ‘You are much too thin. You must eat. Some of these I made, some are from Drucker’s cake shop.’

  They settled with their tea and Esther pressed cakes on them. Edie had a delicious slice of spiced apple sponge. She enjoyed sitting in the splendid room with its long brocade curtains, the cabinet full of china figurines and its view out to the garden. But as they talked for a time about the Leishmanns’ business, David’s schooling and her own job at Cadbury’s, Edie began to wonder how on earth they were going to get round to the subject they had really come to talk about. She hoped Frances would take the lead for her.

  But there was no problem. Edie admired the Leish-manns’ directness, because as soon as tea was cleared to one side, Mr Leishmann sat forward in his chair and said gently to David, ‘So – I understand that you have come to us to discover something of your mother?’

  David blushed, but Edie was moved as he sat up straighter and said, as if he had rehearsed it, ‘The only mother I have ever known is here.’ He gestured towards her. ‘But I’d very much like to learn about my blood relatives and where they came from.’

  Tears came to Edie’s eyes and, agitated, she looked down to hide them. How grown up Davey was!

  The Leishmanns both smiled at the reply, and Mr Leishmann said, ‘Gut. Well – we can give you a little help, and perhaps it will be possible to discover more.’ He spoke carefully. ‘Esther and I remember your mother, David. In fact we also remember you, as a small baby. Now – let me see, where do I begin, Esther?’

  ‘You should tell the boy first about his mother,’ Esther sat composedly, feet together in her smart black shoes. ‘That is what he wants to know.’

  ‘Well – firstly, Esther and I were involved with the Social Club for Refugees at Singers Hill Synagogue. Of course many of the refugees also went to the Central Synagogue. We had left Germany ourselves . . . Ah, but that is another story. At that time, more and more accounts were coming out about how bad things were for the Jewish people. Sometimes as the war went on we could not even believe our ears . . .’ He stopped, shaking his head. ‘We could not accept such things we were hearing . . .’

  ‘You are wandering, Joe,’ Esther reproached him.

  ‘Well, one story is always part of another story. Your mother, David, she was a young teacher from Berlin. I can’t pretend I knew her very well, but we first met her when she arrived in the autumn of 1939. I think she was about twenty-four or twenty-five years old. Her husband had sent her away from Berlin, they had somehow procured a student permit for her. Things in Germany were very bad and by the time she left she was also expecting a child – you.’ He laid his hand on David’s knee for a second. ‘He wanted her to be safe even though he could not leave himself. She said he was a chemist, an employee of the government?’ He looked at Esther, who nodded. ‘She was a quiet, demure girl. Very kind, very intelligent. You have her look, David. Now, from what I remember she had been in England a few months . . .’

  ‘She was in London,’ Esther said. She gesticulated with her hands as she talked. ‘She told me she had first obtained work as a housemaid. They treated her like a slave – very bad food, working, working all hours of the day and night. And very harsh and rude. Of course she was getting big—’ She held her hands out in front of her body. ‘With the baby, and she was very unhappy. Then she met a social worker who helped her and I think sent her to Birmingham – to the home of your friend . . .’ She nodded at Frances. ‘She said the people were Quakers and they were kind to her – even though her English was poor and she had a baby coming. She was very affected by the kindness she received, from Mrs Bowles, I remember that.’

  ‘When she came here,’ Joe Leishmann went on, ‘she came to Singers Hill and met with others like herself. I have to say it was hard for them – not everyone was so welcoming. I am ashamed to say that our community did not always greet them with its arms open. But of course some people were very kind. And we owe a special debt to the Quakers, and to the Christadelphians – those communities took in many people. Anyway, her life here was not so bad. We did what was possible, they came to Shul, there were social evenings and the religious festivals and we gave them whatever help we could. After all, it is not so long ago that Esther and I arrived on these shores and we know that everyone needs a little help.’

  Edie watched David. He was completely rapt, waiting for details to fall from Mr Leishmann’s lips like a dog waiting for scraps.

  Joe Leishmann’s brow wrinkled. ‘I wish I had more to tell you. You know your mother’s name was Gerda Mayer? She was a sweet girl. Once you were born she brought you to Singers Hill and they arranged your circumcision. But more than that, I don’t think we know anything else, do we, Esther?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Joe, I talked with her more than you. I know that her husband’s name was Hermann and he had been a chemistry student, but Gerda did not mention to me where he was working. Or if she did I don’t remember. And they attended the Fasenenstrasse Synagogue in Berlin, off Kurfürstendamm. She had taught for two years in one of the Jewish schools and she and her husband had not been married for many months. She wanted to stay with him, but then the pogrom came on 9 November 1938, the night the Nazis called Kristallnacht. They make it sound something pretty, no? They attacked the Jewish businesses, smashed the windows, and set fire to the Fasenenstrasse Synagogue. The roof was all burned, it was basically destroyed. So, of course, everyone was very frightened. After that they hurried to make arrangements for her to leave. Perhaps he hoped to join her here, I don’t know.’

  There was a silence, then David said, ‘And my father?’

  Esther Leishmann’s face tightened as if she had dreaded the question. ‘I’m sorry, David. We do not know what happened to him.’

  Gently, Mr Leishmann said, ‘It is possible that he survived – even if he went to one of the camps. Possible – he was a young man. But you have to understand it may not be so. So many thousands were taken from Berlin, and so many were lost. You know, it may be possible that we can try to find out, if that is what you would like.’

  David nodded, hesitantly.

  ‘You need a little time to think, ja?’

  Frances leaned forward. ‘Were you from Berlin yourselves?’

  ‘No,’ Esther Leishmann said. ‘We are from Hamburg. So unfortunately we do not know well the Jewish community in Berlin. We left Hamburg and came here in 1934 – we could see the direction in which things were going, the laws being passed. Already our children faced restrictions in which schools they could attend. We did not want this for our son and daughters. Just months after we left, the Nuremberg Laws took away the German citizenship of all Jews. We did not know then so clearly as we know it now – but we were saving all our lives when we came here.’

  Edie shook her head slowly. Her own fears and feelings seemed petty at that moment against the enormity of what had happened to David’s family. She felt Esther Leishmann’s hand on her arm.

  ‘This must be a difficult thing for you. We understand that – that you have loved David as your own. You have been a mother to him – and see, what a fine boy he has turned out to be.’

  Edie accepted the proferred comfort with a smile. ‘I just want him to be happy – to be settled in his mind.’

  ‘We can help him,’ Esther told her. ‘And you must not worry. He may find the remnants of a new family. It does not mean he wishes to give up his old one.’

  When they showed Edie and the others out later that afternoon, the Leishmanns parted from them with great warmth.

  ‘You are welcome any time, any time,’ Joe Leishmann said, shaking their hands. ‘And David, you must come . . . Call in at the shop soon and see us.’ Still holding his hand, he pulled David a little closer. ‘And I will find an address for you. I think I know to where we should write.’

  Thirty-Nine

  One weekend the following January, David made his way to Leishmanns’ Tailors along snow-covered pavements, his coat collar turned up
against the freezing wind. He stamped the snow from his shoes on the icy step. Hearing that gentle ‘ting’ as he pushed open the door, he felt his usual mixture of anticipation and slight nervousness at spending time with the Leishmanns – a result almost entirely of his shyness – a young lad with two middle-aged people. Even their son Sam, whom David had met several times, was ten years old than him. At sixteen, feeling his way into adulthood, David often felt gauche and awkward.

  Mostly, however, meeting the Leishmanns had been one of the greatest experiences of his life. Closing the door behind him now, he could hear Mr Leishmann’s voice carrying from behind the inner door, then some sharp retort from Nadia. He smiled to himself. The sparring matches between the two of them were a fact of life at Leishmanns’. While he had been a little alarmed at the ferocity of the first disagreement he had seen, he knew that this loud conflict was routine, and that if a chill silence fell over the workroom, that was something far more disturbing.

  ‘Shalom, shalom!’ Joe Leishmann’s head appeared gleefully round the door. ‘Nearly finished. Then we can go home and have tea!’

  ‘Tell him to come in here. I want to have a look at him!’ Nadia’s voice boomed from behind him. ‘See if he’s putting any flesh on those bones!’

  Mr Leishmann winked. ‘You’re not going to get away today!’

  The Leishmanns invited him over now on a regular basis for Sunday tea, after Mr Leishmann was finishing up for the afternoon. With the shop closed on Saturday, their Sunday morning was often busy, though in the afternoon customers were only admitted by appointment, and it was a time when they tried to catch up on the work. David could have gone straight to the house, but he loved to call in at the shop. There was always a sense of something going on – it was so different from home and the quiet gentility of Bournville. It had colour. That was what it was. Somehow he had walked into a more colourful life.

  Nadia was standing unrolling a bolt of navy cloth with a thin white pinstripe through it. She wore a swinging black skirt with a tight scarlet jumper tucked into it, a wide black belt accentuating her waist. David was mesmerized for a moment by the sight of her large breasts straining out under the woollen garment and he blushed and tore his eyes away.

  ‘’Ello there, sunshine!’ Nadia greeted him. ‘Oh, isn’t he a lovely boy? He’s going to have the girls swarming round!’

  David blushed even more deeply, though he was getting used to Nadia’s earthy observations. He had learned that she was in her mid-thirties, had married an English soldier she met in Italy during the war, and that she was not a woman of hidden depths. She said more or less whatever came into her head, very often at high volume. She was haughty, hot-tempered and warm-hearted all at once, and despite all their disagreements, she told David that no one could hold a candle to Joe Leishmann for tailoring.

  ‘But don’t you go telling him I said so!’ she added threateningly.

  As Mr Leishmann tidied up his work area, Nadia announced petulantly that she had a home to go to as well and would be leaving at the same time. They locked up the shop and headed out into the snow. The house felt cosy inside, and Esther Leishmann greeted them with the usual spread laid out for tea. David had barely missed a week coming here over the last two months. And he thought about it a great deal of the time. He had begun to find a whole new dimension to his life, to who he was.

  On his first visit without Frances and Edie, he had felt uneasy, disloyal to them. Not that the visit was a secret. But it was the extent to which he wanted to go that bothered him. He could hardly contain his excitement all week at the prospect of being back with these people again. He didn’t want Edie or Frances to know how he felt for fear of hurting their feelings. He knew Edie was struggling to be brave about it. Had she expected him to find out the few crumbs of information available about his past, then walk away? None of them could have predicted the strength of his attraction to what he had found, and as the weeks went by this became even more powerful than his feelings of guilt or disloyalty.

  That first time they were alone, Esther Leishmann was very direct with him. As they sat with their cups of tea and the cakes with seams of nuts and cinnamon running through them, she sat up straight in her perfectly fitting suit, placed her feet tidily together and said, ‘So, David. You know a little about your mother. You know that she was Jewish. When your mother is Jewish, that makes you Jewish. You understand that, don’t you? You are a Jewish boy.’

  The way she said it made David feel as if he had found himself a member of an exclusive, magical club. He felt proud, chosen, at that moment, because these people seemed to want him to feel proud of what he had discovered about himself.

  That day, also, she said to him, ‘You know, I did not want to say this in front of your . . . mother. In front of Edith. But your real mother, she called you by a different name. You want to know, David, what is your name?’

  Heart pounding, almost as if something terrible was about to be revealed, he nodded.

  ‘You were called Rudi. I do not remember if she chose a second name for you – perhaps after your father, Hermann. But your name for the first year of your life was Rudi Mayer.’

  David swallowed. Rudi Mayer. ‘Do you know when I was born?’ he asked.

  Esther stirred her tea, considering. ‘Not for sure – Joe, do you have any idea about this?’

  Joe Leishmann shrugged. ‘I’m afraid women remember these things better.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ Esther mused. ‘1939 . . . Ah, now, yes! At the time of Hanukkah she had you with her. You were not newborn then – you were perhaps six weeks, two months old? I don’t clearly remember. As I told you, I didn’t know her so well.’

  Since then, David felt as if he was living a secret life inside his head. If Hanukkah was early December he must have been born some time in October. What day though? That night when he was alone in his room, he sat at his desk in a small pool of light from his lamp and wrote over and over again on a sheet of paper, Rudi Mayer, Rudi Mayer, Rudi Hermann Mayer. He wrote the names of his parents, Gerda Mayer, Hermann Mayer. He stared at the frayed edges of the lampshade in front of him on the desk. Who am I? he thought. David Weale felt like one person, and Rudi Mayer quite another. David Weale was born on 19 November 1940. It felt as if Rudi Mayer had been born that day, last October, 1955, when he had first met the Leishmanns, leaping into the world fully grown yet utterly bewildered. The conflict burned inside him through those weeks, a combination of acute pain and pleasure which sometimes made him weep in the privacy of his bedroom.

  This afternoon, sitting in the cosy room as the wind rattled the windows, Mr Leishmann looked at David over his glasses, with unusual solemnity.

  ‘I have some news to tell you, David. One moment.’ He got up and left the room for a moment, returning with a letter, which he held up solemnly and said, ‘From Berlin.’

  He sat down beside David on the couch, and exchanged the spectacles he was wearing for his half-moon reading glasses, tucking the others into the breast pocket of his jacket. David’s heart began to thump so hard he laid his hand over it. Mr Leishmann had been given the address of a rabbi who had, as a young man, survived the camp at Theresienstadt and returned to Berlin. Few Jews had stayed in ruined Berlin, but the rabbi was one who decided to remain and help unite the remaining community, and to answer just such inquiries as theirs from scattered survivors. David had asked Mr Leishmann to write to him. Although he was quite good at German, he felt Mr Leishmann would do a better job of addressing a rabbi. He had not truly expected a reply though. People said that six million Jews had been killed during those years, as well as all the upheaval and deportations. How could they possibly expect to find one man? And Mr Leishmann had written the letter nearly three months ago. It seemed like a dream that there should be a real rabbi in Germany who might know something about his father!

  ‘Now,’ Joe Leishmann said gently. Esther sat still, watching David’s face with a kind of knowing protectiveness. ‘Rabbi Litthauer has writte
n to us. I will read it to you, eh?’ He laid a hand reassuringly on David’s thigh for a moment. Haltingly, translating as he went along, he read:

  Dear Herr Leishmann,

  I hope you will forgive my tardy reply to your letter. I receive still many enquiries of this kind and it can be a long and frustrating process, and full of painful reminders of the bitter fury which was unleashed upon the House of Israel.

  You asked me to try and determine the whereabouts, or verify the survival, of a Hermann Mayer, born in approximately 1912 and a member of the Fasenenstrasse Congregation. You informed me that his wife left the country in 1939. I am not able to tell you the events which followed this, though it is almost certain he was later deported to one of the concentration camps. I am happy to tell you, however, that according to a number of people to whom I have spoken, a Hermann Mayer made aliyah from here in 1946 and is now residing in the State of Israel.

  Through my enquiries I also discovered that a sister of Hermann Mayer, one Annaliese Mayer, survived the war as a nurse in the Jewish Hospital. She is also now resident in Israel.

  I do not have further information concerning their whereabouts, and I suggest that you address further enquiries to the authorities in Tel Aviv.

  May the peace of Almighty God be upon you.

  Rabbi Samuel Litthauer.

  David’s pulse began to race as Joe Leishmann read the letter and by the end he felt he was going to burst from the mingled feelings inside him. But he contained himself and listened with absolute attention.

  ‘So—’ Joe Leishmann folded the letter and handed it to him. ‘This is yours now. You know what it means, to make aliyah?’

  David shook his head. He knew nothing about anything. He was a complete ignoramus!

  ‘It is when a Jewish person makes the journey to live in Israel, to the land of our fathers. All of our ancestors, David, yours and mine. And now, that is to where your father has gone.’