The Runaway Family

by Diney Costeloe

  Kurt drank thirstily from the bottle of water that was in the basket and then asked the question that had been consuming him ever since he had climbed into the cart.

  “Did the same thing happen to my family? Did the Gestapo come for them too?”

  “No, they left in time. Frau Heber had to move from her old house some time ago, but no one took much notice of her once she was living in Kreuzstrasse… not until Ruth turned up with the children.”

  “You know Ruth?” breathed Kurt.

  Franz smiled. “Known her since she was a child. Bit of a surprise to find she had four kiddies, though.”

  “So, tell me what’s happened to them,” begged Kurt. “I’ve been trying to find them.”

  “They left a few days ago,” replied Franz. “Things were getting very difficult for them. The house was far too small for so many, the Wessels were charging them exorbitant prices for food, and when winter came on they could have died of cold in that house. I did get some logs to them, but I couldn’t do it regular, like. And then the Hitler Youth began to take an interest in them.”

  “So, where have they gone?”

  Franz shook his head. “I don’t know. They took the bus to Stuttgart, but where they were going from there I wouldn’t know. Didn’t know they were actually leaving until I saw them in the square that morning, getting on the bus.” He thought for a moment and then added, “The driver wasn’t keen to take them, but they showed him some paper or other, and he let them get on.”

  Kurt stayed in Franz Beider’s hayloft for two more days. Dieter arrived every morning and spent the day working in the yard, sawing up waiting tree trunks, chopping and stacking logs. While he was there, Kurt stayed silently in the hay, listening to the work going on below. He offered to chop logs himself when Dieter had gone, but Franz refused his offer.

  “Can’t risk you being surprised in the yard,” he said. “They’re still out looking for you.”

  Two days later, when Dieter had finished his day’s work, Franz climbed up into the loft. “It’s time to move you out,” he said as Kurt ate the food he had brought. “Tomorrow I’ll hide you in the cart again and take you over to Dost. It’s a small town, on the main line to Stuttgart, you’ll be able to catch a train from there.” He cut short Kurt’s thanks. “It won’t be a comfortable journey,” he warned. “I’m afraid you’ll have to travel under the logs again. We pass within a mile or two of the SS camp.” He gave Kurt one of his rare smiles and said, “I’d better bring you some water to shave! You really do look like an undesirable vagrant, now.”

  Early next morning, while it was still dark, Kurt was once again hidden under the tarpaulin, weighed down with logs. As daylight crept into the sky, Franz put the horse in the shafts and they set out. They trundled along the country lanes, and occasionally there would be a shouted greeting, which Franz answered cheerfully, but the cart never stopped.

  Kurt lost track of time. The weight of the logs seemed to increase as they travelled, until he felt that he was being crushed into one huge bruise. He had no idea how long they had been on the road, but at last he heard Franz say, “We’re coming to the outskirts of Dost now. I’m going to let you out here.”

  The cart finally halted, and moments later Franz was hauling Kurt out from under the woodpile. As before, Kurt was so stiff and sore he could hardly stand, but he slipped over the back of the cart and staggered to his feet. As soon as he was clear, Franz started reloading the logs. They were in a small clearing at the edge of a wood, partially concealed from the road by the trees and underbrush.

  “We can’t stay here long,” he said. “Get yourself dusted down, or you really will cause comment when you get to the town.”

  Obediently Kurt brushed at his trousers and coat, which were both covered in sawdust. He combed the dust from his hair, and spitting on his hands wiped the dirt from his face as best he could. The only good thing about the tarpaulin and the logs was that they had kept him comparatively warm. Now even standing in the shelter of the little wood, Kurt realised how cold it had become. He shivered, and blew on his fingers.

  “Could snow later,” Franz said as he tossed the last of the logs back onto the cart. “You should try and catch a train today. Go anywhere. Just don’t stay in Dost, or you may attract unwanted attention to yourself.” He looked across at Kurt. “This is as far as I can take you,” he said. “There is nowhere nearer the town to let you get off unseen.” He reached into the cart and handed Kurt a packet of bread and cheese. “Something to keep you going,” he said.

  Kurt took the parcel and slipped it into his pocket. “I don’t know how to thank you…” he began, but Franz Beider waved the words away.

  “One day this madness will end,” he said, “then come back and thank me. I’ll be pleased to see you. Good luck and God speed.” He swung himself up onto the cart once more, and gathering the reins, clicked his tongue to his horse and was off, back the way they had come.

  Kurt watched him from the cover of the trees until he was out of sight, then he picked up his suitcase and began to walk into the town in search of the railway station.

  9

  What did you expect me to do with them?” Edith demanded,facing her husband, David, across the bedroom. “Put them out into the street?” She seldom raised her voice to David, but his annoyance at returning home to find his mother-in-law, his sister-in-law and her four children all camped out in his house, had made her angrily defensive.

  “No, of course not,” snapped David, as he began to get undressed. “But you know perfectly well we haven’t got room for them. They’ll have to find somewhere else to stay as soon as they can.”

  Ruth was saying exactly the same thing to her mother in the spare room they were sharing with the twins at the other end of the landing. They lay in the darkness, listening to the snuffling sleep of the two little boys, safe at last after the nightmare of the past few weeks.

  “Mother, we can’t stay here for long. We must find a place of our own. It’s very clear that David doesn’t want us here, and Edith never stands up to him, you know.”

  Helga sighed. “I know,” she said, “but they’ll have to put up with us for a few days, we’re flesh and blood after all.”

  “The fewer the better,” said Ruth darkly. “We haven’t survived everything so far simply to be regarded as poor relations by my own sister.” She lapsed into silence as she thought of their escape… from the fire, from Munich, from Vohldorf, from Germany.

  The journey from Stuttgart had been slow and cold, the train chugging steadily through the winter countryside, towards the Austrian border. After four hours in the chill of an unheated compartment, Ruth, Helga and the children had had to change trains at Munich. They waited two hours for their connection, but at least that gave them a chance to buy some more food for the journey. The waiting room had a large notice, No Jews, and, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves, they hadn’t tried to go in. Ruth sat them all down on a bench on the platform, their two precious suitcases close beside them, and gave them the bread, cheese and apples Helga had bought from a station stall.

  When the train to Vienna finally steamed out of the station, it was full; all the compartments crowded with people going home after their day’s work in the city. Ruth and her family stood in the corridor, the twins sitting on the cases, their heads hanging uncomfortably in exhausted sleep.

  Laura looked out of the window, watching the cold countryside race by. As it became dusk, lamps were switched on in the houses, warm beacons of light to welcome fathers home at the end of the day.

  Who lives in those houses, Laura wondered? Who are the children waiting eagerly for their papa to come home? She felt a sudden ache of longing for her own papa. Where was he? Would she ever see him again? Tears filled her eyes and coursed silently down her cheeks. Determined that her mother shouldn’t see them, Laura turned her face resolutely to the window again, seeing the passing landscape through the blur of her tears.

  A pale moo
n had risen, occasionally breaking free from the scudding cloud, to bathe the country in cold, silver light. Scattered villages emerged from the night, bright clusters of warm light, only to vanish as the train passed on. They steamed through small towns where the streetlamps marked the pattern of the roads, and the buildings crowded together in an untidy sprawl. Sometimes the train stopped, and there was the noise and bustle of a station, people climbing on and off the train; guards and porters shouting, the shriek of the engine letting off steam. Then with the shrill of the guard’s whistle, the train would chuff away again, gathering speed as it left the station behind to race onwards through the night.

  Gradually the train emptied a little, and when at last they were able to find space in a compartment, they tried to get comfortable for the rest of the journey.

  We’ve still got a long way to go, thought Ruth, as she settled the children as comfortably as she could. The train will stop several times before we reach the border, but at least we don’t have to change trains again.

  She was still worried about the border crossing. Suppose they weren’t allowed across into Austria? Suppose the SS colonel had tricked them and their papers weren’t in order? A wave of panic flooded through her, but she forced it down. No point in worrying about it until it happened, she tried to make herself believe. It would be all right. It had to be all right.

  The morning after Ruth had returned with the travel permits, the little family had left Vohldorf on the morning bus to Stuttgart. She and Helga had spent all night packing up ready to travel. They had the travel permits in their hands and neither of them dared waste a day in setting out in case those permits were rescinded.

  They had just two suitcases, and into these they packed as many of their belongings as they could. Ruth and the children had few enough clothes, and Helga selected hers from the small number she had been able to bring from her old house. Helga picked up the worn leather photo frame she always carried with her. For a long moment she stared down at her beloved husband, Hans-Peter, after whom the twins were named, so young and so handsome on his wedding day. His eyes were alight with joy, his arm protectively round her as she stood beside him, smiling shyly into the camera.

  “Oh my darling,” Helga murmured. “I’m so glad you didn’t live to see this dreadful day, with your grandchildren hounded out of the country.”

  In the other half of the folding frame, Ruth and Edith, one dark, the other fair, hair plaited and tied with ribbons, sat side by side on a sofa, beaming into the camera; her lovely daughters; how had their family come to this?

  With a sigh Helga tucked the photograph in among her clothes and turned to help the girls with their packing. Laura’s diary and the single pencil she had to write it with, went into the other case, along with the twins’ rabbits. Bunnkin had survived his encounter with the Gestapo officer, and carefully repaired by Helga he was Hansi’s constant comfort. It was with extreme reluctance that he allowed Ruth to pack the rabbit in the case.

  “But darling,” she reasoned, “he’ll be much safer in there. Suppose you dropped him on the bus!”

  “I’d pick him up again,” replied Hans. “He won’t like being in the case, Mutti. He won’t be able to breathe.”

  “But Flop-Ear will be lonely without him,” Ruth pointed out as she put the two toys into the top of the case, “and when we get to Aunt Edith’s house you can get them both out to play with.”

  Inge had no toys, but she had developed an attachment to an old silk scarf of her grandmother’s, winding it round her neck or, thumb in mouth, rubbing its luxurious softness against her cheek. This, too, was carefully packed into one of the cases.

  A diary with a stub of pencil, an old silk scarf and two battered rabbits were the sum total of the children’s private possessions, and Ruth was determined that they should not lose them.

  It’s no good worrying about the border, Ruth thought as the train rattled onwards. We must all try and get some sleep.

  It was some time later that a ticket inspector came along the train. He looked at the family crammed into the compartment. Ruth and Helga each had a twin fast asleep on her knee, Inge was cuddled up against her grandmother, and Laura was crushed between the two other occupants of the carriage, two large elderly ladies.

  “Tickets please!”

  Ruth fumbled in her bag and produced the tickets. The inspector wore a swastika armband on the sleeve of his uniform, and he spoke in the peremptory tones of a small man with a modicum of power. He studied the tickets and then looked up.

  “You’re going all the way to Vienna?” he said, suspiciously. “Have you got passports?”

  Ruth tried to sound unconcerned. “Yes, of course. Do you want to see them?”

  She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The man nodded and held out his hand. With an inward sigh she passed them over and watched his face as he read the names.

  “Friedman,” he said. “Jews.” He looked up at Ruth with a sneer of disgust. “You shouldn’t be sitting in this compartment with these good German ladies,” he said, “squashing them into a corner with your dirty children. Indeed you probably shouldn’t be on the train.”

  “We have permits to travel.” Ruth faced him down bravely. “Issued by Herr Standartenführer Unger of the SS, in Stuttgart.”

  “Have you indeed? Let me see them!”

  “They’re here.” Ruth held them out for him to see, but she didn’t let go of them herself. She didn’t trust the man not to tear them up, or throw them out of the window. The inspector glanced at the signature and the stamp and hurriedly passed them back. Even he was not prepared to question the authority of an SS colonel.

  He took refuge in more bluster. “Well you can’t sit in here with these ladies, you can just move your lot out into the corridor.”

  Helga spoke for the first time. “Excuse me, Herr Inspector, but have you looked at these children? They are exhausted. They are doing no harm sitting in here. I am happy to move into the corridor if that’s what you wish, but let the children stay asleep in here.”

  The inspector was about to reply when one of the other women in the compartment stood up and said with a look of distaste, “I will certainly move to another carriage. The Jews can stay in here. They’d be a great inconvenience to everyone else on the train, Herr Inspector, if they were standing about in the corridor.” She walked to the door, before turning to the other woman. “Won’t you come with me,” she asked, “to a more salubrious carriage?”

  “I think I will.” The second woman got up and crossed to the door, kicking Laura sharply on the ankle as she passed. Laura smothered her cry of pain with a sharp intake of breath, but the woman affected not to notice what she had done and stalked out of the compartment, followed by the ticket inspector, who slid the door closed with a resounding crash. For a moment the first woman looked back through the glass, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes, then she disappeared down the corridor to find another seat.

  Helga began to settle the children again, while Ruth stuffed the passports, tickets and permits back into the depths of her bag. She found she was shaking. How close had they come to being put off the train? Or at least stuck in the corridor? She thought with gratitude of the woman who had come to their aid, while appearing to disparage them. Few people could risk being labelled as a Jew-lover, but there were still good people who were ashamed of how so many of their countrymen treated the Jews.

  When at last they reached the border the train came to a halt. German officials swarmed onto the train, demanding papers. When they reached the Friedmans’ carriage Ruth prepared herself for more trouble, but the passports seemed to be in order. All the official asked was which child was which. As he was leaving the compartment he looked across at Ruth.

  “I shouldn’t come back if I were you,” he said, and moved on down the corridor.

  There were shouts from outside, and, peering out of the window again, Laura could see the officials climbing down off the train on
to the platform. Then after further whistles, shouts and arm-waving, the train chugged forwards, only to stop again with a loud shriek of steam at the Austrian checkpoint a hundred metres down the track. Here their papers were given no more than a cursory glance, and they were safely out of Germany and into Austria. Ruth could have wept with relief, and Helga, who was nearly as exhausted as the children, was suddenly on the verge of tears.

  “We made it, Mother,” Ruth whispered, adding as she fought back her own tears of relief and sorrow, “if only Kurt was with us.”

  There was still a distance to go, with stops at Salzburg and Linz and other smaller stations along the way, but passengers who boarded at these places could see that the compartment where Ruth and her family were sitting was already full, and no one made any attempt to climb in. When at last the train steamed into the Westbahnhof, it was daylight, and a weak sun was forcing its way through the layer of cloud that covered the city. Tired and stiff, they all clambered down onto the platform, Helga gathering the children round her, while Ruth managed the luggage. The station was huge and busy with people. The hiss of steam, the shrill of whistles and the clatter of trains arriving and departing added to the cacophony that surrounded them; but it was Austrian noise. They were safely out of Germany.

  “Come on, Mother, let’s get out of here.” Ruth led the way resolutely along the platform while the children trailed after her, Helga shepherding them from behind. Once they were away from the platform and they could hear themselves speak, they paused and decided what to do.

  “We take a taxi,” Helga said. “We don’t know the way to Edith’s from here. David met us when we came for Paul’s bar mitzvah.”

  “We haven’t money for a taxi, Mother!” protested Ruth.

  “Edith will have. Come on.”

  They found a waiting taxi and all piled in while the driver stowed their cases. Helga gave him the address and they were off through the streets of Vienna. When they reached Edith’s house the door was opened by a uniformed parlour maid.