She knew she couldn’t stay here in Munich; here she knew no one, and had no friends. It was pointless to return to Kirnheim; there was nothing left for them there. There were only two other possibilities. To go to her mother, an elderly widow, or to go to her sister, who’d married an Austrian doctor and now lived in Vienna. Her mother lived in Vohldorf, a village not far from Stuttgart, in the house where Ruth and her sister Edith had been born. Edith lived in a large apartment in Vienna, with her husband, who was an orthopaedic surgeon, and their three children. Edith had, as her mother said, ‘married above her’, and Ruth knew she would not welcome a homeless sister, with four dependent children.
Ruth had heard from neither her mother nor her sister since she had come to Munich, though she had written to both to tell them what had happened and where she was. She wasn’t particularly surprised that Edith hadn’t bothered to reply, but she was surprised that she had heard nothing from her mother.
It would be easier to get to Mother’s, she thought now. It’s an easier journey and we shan’t need passports. From here we simply take the train to Stuttgart and then go by bus to Vohldorf. In the morning I’ll go to the railway station and find out the times of the Stuttgart trains.
With this decision made, she lay down beside the children and fell into an uneasy sleep. Next morning she gave the children an apple each and the last of the bread in the basket. The bags of flour and rice she took over to the rabbi’s wife.
“I am going to the station to find out about trains to Stuttgart,” she told her. “If we can travel there today, we will, but we can’t carry these with us when we go.” She passed over the two bags. “I’m sure you can make use of them.”
Frau Rahmer thanked her gravely. “Where are the children now?” she asked.
“Laura’s looking after them in the meeting room,” replied Ruth. “I hope I shan’t be very long.”
The journey to the station was easy enough. Travelling alone, Ruth attracted little attention, and she had soon discovered they had missed the morning train, but there was another later that afternoon. It would mean that they arrived in Stuttgart after it was dark, but she felt certain that they could reach her mother’s house that evening. Last night’s decision confirmed, she bought five tickets.
When she reached the meeting room again, it was to find it empty. No children, no luggage. Her heart almost stopped at the sight of the empty room. Had the Gestapo come for them there? Then more rational thought returned and she hurried across to the rabbi’s house. Frau Rahmer was in her kitchen, the children round her, the suitcase and the basket tidily in the corner.
“I thought it would be better if they were here with me,” Frau Rahmer said.
“I said we should stay, Mutti,” burst out Laura. “But she took the twins.”
“She gave us gingerbread,” reported Peter.
“And honey,” added Hans.
“But I brought everything with us,” went on Laura, pointing to the luggage.
“It’s all right, Laura,” her mother reassured her. “You did the right thing.” She turned back to Frau Rahmer. “Thank you for looking after them for me,” she said. “I’ve got our tickets. We leave almost at once.”
“I’ve put some bread and cheese in your basket,” Frau Rahmer said, “to eat on the journey. You’ll all be hungry before you get there.”
Ruth smiled at her with true gratitude. “You’ve been very kind,” she said.
Frau Rahmer shrugged. “We’ve done what we can,” she said, and Ruth saw what she had seen in the Meyers’ eyes when they had left there, relief that they were moving on. And she understood it. Life was difficult enough and dangerous enough without taking on other people’s problems.
“If by any chance my husband comes looking for us,” Ruth said as they said goodbye, “please tell him where to find us.”
“Of course,” promised Rabbi Rahmer. “May God protect you.”
They reached Stuttgart without a problem, and Ruth led them to the bus station. She knew where she was now, Stuttgart was where her parents had brought her and Edith for treats when they were children. They were in time to catch the last bus to Vohldorf, and it was with great relief that Ruth settled them all in seats at the back. They were on the final leg of their journey.
She had been so concerned at getting them out of Munich, away from the danger that lurked there, that she had given little thought as to how they might be received in the village of her childhood. Here there would be people who had known her as a child; friends and neighbours who would recognise her, or, if not actually recognise her after the years she’d been away, would know who she was when they moved in with her mother.
How will they react when they find out I’ve come back, she wondered? Will old childhood friendships stand, or will I find, as Laura has with her school friends, that they’ll all turn against me, all our shared happiness forgotten?
As the bus trundled through the dank, winter countryside, Ruth found herself longing for the comfort of her mother’s arms. She needed to be a child again herself. She’d been brave for her own children, but the nearer she came to her childhood home, the more she ached to see her mother, and just for one moment slough off the responsibility of being a parent.
At last the bus dropped them in the market square and rumbled off into the night. Several other people had got off as well, hurrying away to the warmth of their own homes, leaving Ruth and her children standing alone in the familiar square. It was bathed in peaceful moonlight, the silence broken only by the soft splash of a fountain at its centre, the fountain where Ruth and Edith had sat and chatted with their friends as they dawdled their way home from school. At the far end the church tower reached up into the night, moonlight gleaming on its clock face and the hands which showed ten minutes past nine.
We’ll be home by half past nine, thought Ruth. “Nearly there now,” she said cheerfully. “It’s not far to Oma’s house. We can walk it easily from here. There’s enough moon to see where we’re going.” She picked up the case and the depleted basket. “Come on, Laura, don’t lose the boys in the dark. Inge, you can help me carry the basket.”
It was cold and she set off at a brisk pace, leading the children along the lane that led away from the centre of the village, passing the small cottages crouching on either side of the road, the larger homes set back behind gates, and past the tall gateposts of the Great House. All were bathed in peaceful moonlight, and the quiet serenity of the night as she took the familiar road lifted Ruth’s spirits. Yes, she thought, we’re nearly there, now.
Her mother lived on the edge of the village, in a row of houses that wound up the hill to fields and woodland beyond. As children, Ruth, Edith and their friends had played in those woods, picnicking under the trees, gathering wild flowers, playing hide and seek. Such a carefree childhood. Perhaps here, in this quiet village, her own children would be able to reclaim something of their childhood; be able to play in the woods and fields as she had done, with no shadow of fear haunting their play.
When they reached the house Ruth was surprised to find the gate closed. There’d always been a gate, but she’d never seen it shut before. Pushing it open, she led the children up the path to the front door. Lights shone welcomingly from the windows, and a trail of smoke from the chimney filled the night air with the scent of apple wood. Mother would have finished her evening meal, but Ruth had no doubt she would be able to find something warm and filling for them all. Food might be getting scarce in the towns, but here in the country there would be plenty, and Mother had always been a wonderful cook.
Ruth rang the bell, and as she heard the bolts being pulled back from the door, prepared herself for the astonishment in her mother’s eyes as she found her daughter and grandchildren standing on her doorstep… astonishment and delight.
The door creaked open, and there standing in the familiar hallway was a woman whom Ruth had never seen before.
“Yes?” she said.
“I was looking…�
�� Ruth began, “I mean… is Frau Heber at home?”
“Frau Heber? Frau Heber doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Doesn’t live here?” echoed Ruth. “Why? I mean when, when did she move? Where’s she gone?”
“Oh, she’s still in the village,” replied the woman airily. “Who are you?”
“I’m her daughter. Where is she?”
“Her daughter? Well, you’ll find her in Kreuzstrasse.”
“Kreuzstrasse!” Ruth was aghast.
“Yes. Kreuzstrasse. That’s where she lives now.” And with that the woman closed the door.
“Was that Oma?” asked Hans, who had only met his grandmother once and had no recollection of her. “I don’t like her!”
“No,” agreed Peter stoutly. “I don’t like her.”
“I want to go home,” wailed Inge. “Mutti, I don’t like it here.”
“If Oma isn’t here,” Laura said in a tremulous voice, “where shall we go?”
“She is here,” Ruth said firmly. “It’s just that she’s moved house. I know where Kreuzstrasse is, so we’ll go and find her.”
Tiredly, with the children dragging their feet, they trailed back to the village, from where Ruth led them through an alley that ran behind the shops fronting the square. As they walked, Ruth’s mind was whirling. Kreuzstrasse! She knew Kreuzstrasse all right, it was the poorest part of the village, where old houses crouched together, their roofs patched, their grimy windows small, their rooms dark and poky, with a shared tap at the front and a shared outhouse at the back. How could her mother be living in one of these dilapidated houses? Why had she moved out of her own home? Even as these questions raced through her mind, Ruth knew the answers. Her mother had been turned out of her home too, and the place she had moved to was one of the hovels in Kreuzstrasse. There would be little room for five extra people.
There were three houses in Kreuzstrasse. Ruth chose the middle one and knocked on the door.
From inside came a soft voice that Ruth recognised at once. “Who’s there? What do you want?”
“Mother! It’s me, Ruth. Open the door, Mother. Open the door.”
There was the sound of a bolt and a key turning before the door eased open, and Ruth saw her mother, Helga Heber, peering out through the crack. Then it was just as Ruth had imagined. She stared at her daughter in astonishment, before her face broke into the delighted smile. She flung the door wide and gathered her Ruth into her arms.
“Oh, Ruth, my darling girl!” and for a moment Ruth was a child again, sheltered in her mother’s embrace.
“Now let me have a look at you all,” Helga cried, reaching out to the exhausted children. “Come inside and let Oma have a look at you.”
Later, when the children were once again settled down on a makeshift bed in one of the two tiny bedrooms, Ruth sat in the kitchen with her mother and told her everything that had happened.
“I wrote and told you when we moved in with Herbert,” she said, “but I suppose you didn’t get the letter.”
“No, I didn’t. And I wrote to you to tell you I’d had to move, but of course I sent that to Gerbergasse.”
“And I didn’t get it. Mother, what happened here? Who made you leave your home?”
“I knew I had to leave. There’s an SS unit stationed outside the village. All the Jewish families were being moved. There was no way that I was going to be allowed to stay there. The Müllers, who live there now, used to live just off the square, but they’d always liked our house, so they offered to buy it from me.”
“To buy it?”
“Yes. I was lucky. They didn’t offer much for it of course, but if I’d refused to sell, I’d have been put out anyway and had nothing to show for it. They said as much.”
“Then why did they bother paying you anything?” asked Ruth bitterly.
Helga shrugged. “Guilt?” she suggested. “Your father and I used to play cards with them every week.”
“They were your friends and they stole your house,” Ruth said flatly.
“Darling, be realistic! If they hadn’t had it, someone else would have. At least I still have somewhere to live and a little money to live on. Jews were being turned out all over the village. The bakery’s closed, the butcher’s closed. You remember Moises’ grocers?”
“Of course.”
“Well, they’ve gone. Their shop’s taken over by a family from Stuttgart, called Wessel. Not Jews of course.”
“I shall always remember the wonderful smell in Moises’,” Ruth mused, “a mixture of all my favourite food smells combining into one glorious aroma. And Frau Moise behind the counter watching us children like a hawk with those beady eyes.”
“Well, they’ve gone and the Wessels are here. Anyway,” Helga went on, “the Müllers paid me for the house and I moved in here.”
“You’re very philosophical about it, Mother,” Ruth said.
“It’s the only way to be if you’re going to keep your sanity,” replied her mother. “Otherwise fear and anger take over your life.”
“They’ve certainly taken over mine,” said Ruth sharply. “And that’s how I keep my sanity. My anger at the injustice of it all keeps me sane… that and protecting the children are what keep me going. But,” her shoulders sagged with weariness, “what am I going to do now? I thought we could come and live with you for a while, I thought you’d have plenty of room for us.”
“Well, you can stay here with me for as long as you like,” said Helga. “You know that, but it will certainly be close quarters!”
“Oh, I wish Kurt was here!” Ruth’s cry exploded from her. “I don’t know where he is, or even if he’s still alive!”
Helga reached out and took her hands. “My darling, you’ve been so brave. Never doubt that Kurt will find you. He’ll follow you to Herbert’s, and when you’re not there he’ll come here. That is what we have to hold on to. He will come. And,” she went on, “you’re not on your own now. You’ve got me. Between us we’ll keep the children safe. We’ll keep them safe until Kurt finds you.”
Ruth looked across at her mother, a diminutive, grey-haired old lady, but one who had never lacked determination or courage. Through her own tears she could see the tears on her mother’s face, and in that moment she knew, indeed, that she was no longer alone. She might not have Kurt beside her, but she had the next best person. She returned her mother’s grasp and whispered, “Yes, we will.”
Neither woman voiced the possibility that Kurt wasn’t coming back, his release was a hope that they would cling to, but each felt in her heart that as they had heard nothing for nearly four months, it was becoming less and less likely.
Next day they set to work to re-organise the house to accommodate them all. The only room of any size was the kitchen, and it was here that they spent the better part of their time. Ruth tried to keep some structure to the children’s day with lessons in the morning, and play in the afternoon… but seldom out of doors. No chance of the carefree play in the woods Ruth had hoped for.
“Certainly not the woods,” Helga had said. “There’s an SS training camp there now. It’s not really safe to let them play outside at all. It won’t be long before it’s round the village that you’ve come home. Everyone knows we’re Jews and though some people aren’t actively hostile, there is no sign of friendship either.”
“But I can’t keep them indoors all day,” protested Ruth.
“But you can’t let them play outside either,” answered her mother. “Adults probably won’t pay any attention to them, it’ll be the other children. It’s what they’re taught at school now, that Jews are inferior, not really human. They can torment them in any way they like, and no one will tell them to stop.”
20th October 1936
We were turned out of Uncle Herbert’s apartment, so we have come to stay with Oma. She doesn’t live in her old house anymore, where Mutti used to live, but in a much smaller one. We have to go to an outhouse in the yard when we want to be excused. I don’t li
ke it. It’s very smelly and very cold.
I am cold all the time now. It’s winter and we haven’t got any warm clothes. Mutti says she will try and get us some, but I know she hasn’t got any money. Oma gave us girls each one of her cardigans the other day when we said we were cold. We haven’t taken them off since. They are far too big for us, and we do look funny, but we are a bit warmer. We sit in the kitchen with Oma most of the time. It is the only warm room in the house. There is a stove, which burns wood, but there isn’t much wood left, so soon it will go out. The twins talk to each other all the time, but not to the rest of us. They don’t speak German much at all, just some funny language of their own. I don’t like it here, but we haven’t got anywhere else to go. I like Oma. She tells us stories about when Mutti was a little girl.
Laura wrote her diary every day. “It’s to show Papa when he comes back,” she explained to Oma. “He’ll want to know what happened to us while he was away.”
As the days passed they gradually fell into a routine, and apart from when Helga went out to buy food, they didn’t leave the safety of the house. The grocery store in the village displayed the required notice in the window, No Jews, but the Wessels saw the serving of the few Jewish customers who were left in the village as a business opportunity. For extortionate prices, they sold Helga goods that they couldn’t sell to anyone else. She had to pay a far higher price than Aryan customers for even the most basic food; pay it or starve. The family remained fed, but the money was fast dwindling.
The Runaway Family Page 11
