Although it was almost midnight, the whole family had come to say goodbye to Laura and Inge… on their way to meet Papa in London. Helga held each twin by a hand, hanging on to them for dear life as she followed Ruth, pushing her way through the press of people.
“Hold tight to my skirt,” Ruth instructed Inge. “Laura, hold Inge’s hand.” In her own hands were the two small suitcases permitted by the authorities. Nothing but clothes, a few personal possessions and a packet of food. Anything else, they had been told, anything valuable, would be confiscated, and the owner put off the train. The girls had few enough clothes as it was. Ruth had dressed them in several layers to keep them warm on the long winter journey, and had scraped together enough money to buy a warm hat and coat for each. In the suitcases were an extra skirt and blouse, thick woollen stockings and another set of underclothes. The last pound note that Kurt had managed to send had been hidden inside a piece of sausage, and tucked into the package of food in Laura’s suitcase.
“Remember not to eat that sausage, darling,” Ruth had warned her. “I can’t have you arriving in a foreign country with no money at all.”
Laura had looked at the money doubtfully. “It’s not like real money,” she said.
“It’s real money in England,” Ruth assured her. And worth a lot more than I’d have been able to exchange it for here, she thought ruefully.
The young man from the Palestine Office was on the platform. He looked harassed as he checked off the girls’ names on a typed list, checked that they had the required documents with them and then handed Ruth two labels.
“Please attach these to the children’s clothes,” he said, “then there will be no question of them getting lost.” He consulted his list again. “Mr and Mrs Gladstone will be at the station in London to meet them and take them to their new home. Girls travel in the front three carriages, please.” And with that he turned away to deal with the next family demanding his attention, leaving the Friedmans to fight their way across the crowded platform to the train.
“Come on, darlings,” Ruth said, brightly. “Let’s get you onto the train and find you some seats.” She looked down at her two young daughters, white-faced in the unforgiving lights of the station, and had to fight every instinct that told her to gather them into her arms and take them home. “Look at all the children travelling with you!” she cried. “What an adventure it will be!”
Ruth led them to an open carriage door, and was about to climb on board to find them seats and to put their luggage up onto the rack when her way was barred by a burly SS man.
“No adults on the train!” he barked. “Children only.”
“I only want to find them a seat…” began Ruth, but he shoved her roughly aside. “No adults on the train,” he repeated.
Ruth pulled the girls back from the doorway, so that they could say a proper goodbye to their grandmother and brothers before they got on the train, but when she turned to find Helga and the twins, they were nowhere to be seen. They had got separated from her and the girls by the heaving crowd on the platform. Ruth looked round frantically, but there was no sign of them. She glanced up at the station clock; it was ten minutes to twelve. She dare not go in search of them now; she would never find them in time in the confusion of the station. As the hands of the clock moved round to the hour, children were being pushed up into the train. Pale, tear-streaked faces appeared at the carriage windows, peering out helplessly for a final look at mother or father left on the platform.
Ruth was determined not to break down in front of her children. She fought the lump that rose so painfully in her throat, struggled to keep the brimming tears from flooding down her cheeks as she looked down at her two little daughters, one just eight, the other eleven, about to embark on a journey into the unknown. How could she let them go? How could she send these two young children off on their own across Europe? Surely they’d be safer with her here in Vienna, where she could look after them properly. Surely she should take them back home with her, and look after them as a mother should.
Then an SS officer started shouting into a megaphone. “The train leaves in five minutes, any child not on board in the next two minutes will be refused leave to travel. There will be no waving to the train, no calling out to the children. Anyone who does so will be arrested.”
And Ruth knew why she was sending her daughters away; so that they should be safe from monsters like him, men who refused a parent the right to wave goodbye to her children, who would arrest a parent for waving or calling out an encouraging word to a small and terrified child.
Sonja Rosen had also been chosen for this particular transport, but at the last minute Anna had changed her mind.
“I can’t let her go!” she cried to Ruth. “With Daniel gone, she’s all I have left.”
Despite the soul-destroying ache in her heart, Ruth thought Anna had made the wrong decision. The only way to protect her children was to send them away, but it was breaking her heart.
“Where’s Oma?” cried Inge suddenly, staring with terrified eyes at the crowds around her. “I want Oma!”
“She’ll be here in a minute,” Ruth promised, knowing it was a lie. “She and the boys got caught up in the crowd.”
She knew it was time, time to kiss her daughters goodbye, and with a conscious effort forced a reassuring smile. “Darlings, you must get on the train. Laura, look after Inge; Inge, do what Laura tells you. Give Papa great big hugs from me and the twins. We’ll be there to join you in no time.”
She pushed her way forward, and pausing only to give each girl a convulsive hug helped them up onto the train. She just had time to pass their cases up after them, before she was shoved aside by another terrified parent, trying to hoist her small son into the carriage.
The SS soldier was there again. “Only girls in this carriage,” he snarled, hauling the little boy back out of the train and pushing him towards his terrified mother. “Boys in the back carriages.”
As the last few frightened children were pushed onto the train, Ruth stood back a little and craned her neck to see Laura and Inge appearing, white-faced, at a window, Laura lifting Inge up so that she could see out. Other parents swirled round her as Ruth stood, blank-eyed, staring at her girls for what could well be the last time in her life. She had no illusions. Her girls would be safe, but almost certainly they would grow up without her.
“Be good for your foster parents,” she had told them. “Mr and Mrs Gladstone are very kind to take you in, and to offer to have both of you, so that you can stay together.”
“I thought we were going to Papa,” Inge had wailed. “I don’t want to go, Mutti. I don’t like Mr Gladstone.”
“Papa will meet you at the station,” Ruth promised, “but you can’t live with him. He has to live where he works and there isn’t room for you as well. He’ll come and visit you whenever he can, and as soon as he’s arranged it, the twins and I will be coming to London too.”
“And Oma?” demanded Inge.
“And Oma,” Ruth said, almost certain that she was lying. Her mother had made it fairly clear that she would not leave Vienna. But Inge and her grandmother had become very close over the last few chaotic months, and Ruth wanted to make their parting easier, offering illusory hope.
Vain promises, she thought now as she stood, rigid, watching her daughters’ faces pressed against the compartment window.
The SS officer with the megaphone repeated his announcement, amending it to one minute to embark or be left behind.
“No waving!” he bellowed. “No shouting. No wailing! Or you will be arrested.”
As the train doors were slammed shut, Ruth felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down to see Hans at her side, still in the firm grasp of Helga who had Peter wedged onto her hip.
“Where are they?” Helga asked, her voice breaking. “I didn’t say goodbye!”
“In that window, look,” Ruth said, nodding towards the train. She was unwilling to point out exactly which window, in case the
watching SS man decided she was waving.
All the doors were shut now, the children locked into the train, but although the whistle shrilled several times, and the engine blew energetic steam into the roof, the train didn’t move.
“Where’s Laura?” demanded Peter, suddenly. “Is she…?”
“…on the train?” finished Hans.
“Yes,” replied Ruth as she hoisted Hans into her arms, holding him tightly against her. “She’s going to see Papa, remember? She and Inge are off to see Papa. Aren’t they lucky?”
It was another ten minutes before the train finally began to move, chugging its way slowly out of the station. Some of the parents tried to run along the platform, tried to keep up so that they could have one last glimpse of their children. With the boys in their arms, neither Helga nor Ruth attempted to run beside the train; they simply stood and watched it growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared round a corner. They had gone. For better or worse, Ruth had sent two of her children, unaccompanied, to England.
The officer with the megaphone was ordering everyone to leave the station and go home, with more threats of instant arrest for any who still stood there, staring down the empty track, long after the train had gone.
As the bereft parents streamed out of the station into the cold night outside, many were openly crying, their keening rising up into the night sky, like the smoke from the train that carried their children away.
Again the megaphone roared. “Jews who are making that dreadful caterwauling will be arrested, instantly.”
The SS soldiers began moving through the crowd, grabbing the arms of anyone outwardly showing emotion and dragging them away.
“You’re all breaking curfew,” bellowed the officer, “we’ll arrest anyone still here in five minutes.”
Panic ran through the crowd, and they began to scatter, slipping away into the darkness of the surrounding streets.
Each carrying a twin, Ruth and Helga ducked into the first side road they saw, and threaded their way through back streets and pathways, until they crossed the canal and reached the comparative safety of their home.
Exhausted, the two women put the boys to bed and then sat by the dying embers, finally allowing the tears to stream down their cheeks, as they thought of the two frightened little girls on the train.
“Did you see the age of some of those children tonight?” Ruth said at last.
She had been amazed at how young some of the children on the train were. “Some were scarcely more than babies; some had older children to look after them, but others were simply pushed into a carriage before the doors were closed.”
“Yes, I saw,” agreed Helga bleakly.
“Toddlers!” cried Ruth. “How could they do that?”
“Fear and desperation,” answered her mother.
“I have to get the twins out now,” Ruth said with sudden determination. “If other parents can send their babies away to safety, so can I. I shall go to the Palestine Office and the Jewish Community Office and register them tomorrow.”
Then she broke down once again, weeping, and her mother gathered her into her arms and rocked her as she had rocked her when a baby, trying to calm her, to soothe her as any mother should, until the dawn came up on their misery, and it was the beginning of another day.
19
The train started with a jolt. All the children who were pressed against the windows, staring out for a last glimpse of their parents, were flung sideways, grabbing at each other to maintain their balance. Those who had been unable to reach the windows and stood on the seats behind in a second rank clung to the luggage racks as the train began to move. All craned their necks for one last sight of their parents who stood frozen on the platform or ran beside the train. Laura clutched at Inge, holding her closely, as the train picked up speed. Some children were crying, others stared mutely out of the window at the darkness rushing past them, lit only by flying sparks from the engine so far ahead. Yet others, mostly the older ones, turned away from the darkness and regained their seats, checked their suitcases were on the rack above, comforted the younger ones, tried to be grown up. Laura led Inge, silent and expressionless, away from the window to two seats in the middle of the compartment.
“Come on, Inge,” she said, hugging her. “We’re going to see Papa.”
Inge didn’t reply, didn’t return the hug. She simply curled into her seat and buried her face in her piece of silk. Laura watched her for a while, but she didn’t move.
“Inge? Inge? Are you asleep?” Laura whispered. She knew that she wasn’t; Inge’s eyes were open, staring blankly and unseeing. She didn’t move, didn’t reply, hardly seeming to breathe, she simply stared. Pale-faced and pinched, she had withdrawn into a world of her own. Laura reached over and took her hands. Inge seemed warm enough, but she didn’t respond to Laura’s touch. Reluctantly Laura let go of her hands and left her alone, curling up in her own seat and trying to lose herself in slumber. But sleep eluded her. As soon as she shut her eyes, all she could see was Mutti, standing on the platform, her eyes fixed on the train, her face pale in the harsh light of the station. Mutti, suddenly smaller than she had seemed at home, waiting for the train to pull away, to carry them away from her; Mutti, small and tired and afraid… and left behind.
“When you get to London,” Mutti had said, “Papa will be at the station, and so will Mr and Mrs Gladstone. They have no children, but have always wanted little girls, so they’ll be so pleased to see you.”
Laura fought the tears that threatened to overcome her now. Mr and Mrs Gladstone will be kind people, she thought, they’ll look after us until we can go home again. But her deepest fear continued to assail her. Suppose we never go back?
“Never go back. Never go back. Never go back,” clacked the wheels of the train, their rhythm taking root in her brain. “Never go back. Never go back. Never go back.”
At last, exhausted, Laura slipped into a restless sleep, from which she awoke some hours later, stiff and cold, her neck aching. For one moment she had no idea where she was, and then she remembered, with awful clarity; remembered the sight of Mutti, Oma and the twins on the platform, getting smaller and smaller, until they disappeared into the darkness.
Laura was fully awake now. All around her were children she didn’t know, children of all ages. Some asleep, snuffling as they slept; others awake, staring white-faced out of the window at the pearl-grey dawn. Some were eating the food they had brought, others shuffled to one of the two toilets at the end of the carriage, queuing to relieve themselves. Laura knew she should join the queue, but she looked across at Inge, who seemed exactly as she’d been the night before, curled into her seat, eyes closed now, the silk against her cheek.
As the morning drew on, the train stopped several times, but the children were not allowed to get off. The carriage doors remained locked, and as they looked out of the windows, they saw people on the station platform staring at the train, turning away if a child waved.
Laura had woken Inge at last, scared by her sister’s long sleep, but although Inge’s eyes were open again, she still stared into space, and when Laura offered her some of their packed food, she did not even seem to see the proffered sandwich, let alone take it and eat it. Laura took Inge to the toilet, going in with her to make sure that she used it, and although Inge allowed herself to be led along the train and into the cubicle, she never once spoke, simply did what Laura told her and then went back to her seat.
They travelled all day and all night. Some of the older children tried to make them sing, some children joined in, others just listened. Laura got her diary from her case and tried to write, but the words wouldn’t come; how could she write about leaving Mutti, Hans, Peter and Oma behind? Later, she thought, I’ll do it later, and she tucked the diary back among her clothes. Inge sat, unmoving, eating and drinking nothing, her eyes blank, her face a deathly white, and Laura sat beside her, holding her hand.
Once again the train slowed down, and, peering out of
the window, Laura was horrified to see a group of SS soldiers climbing aboard.
“SS!” cried someone in panic. “They’re coming on the train!”
Cold fear gripped them all; most of the children had enough experience of the dreaded death’s head soldiers to know true terror. Some of the younger ones, while not knowing the cause, caught the atmosphere of fear and began to cry.
The carriage door slammed open, and a young SS soldier strode in. He was tall with cropped fair hair, cold blue eyes and a long scar down one cheek. Instinctively the children shrank back into their seats as he towered over them.
“Papers!” he barked, and waited, tapping the whip he carried impatiently against the polished leather of his boot. The children hurried to find their passports and permits. As he scrutinised each, he peered at the label round the child’s neck, his face thrust into theirs, his pale eyes alight with pleasure at his own power to instil fear.
Inge did not move, she seemed entirely unaware of his presence. Laura, having charge of both sets of papers, passed them over to the soldier. He looked at them and then pointed at Inge. “What’s the matter with her?” he demanded.
“Please, sir,” Laura whispered, “she’s scared.”
“Half-witted, more like,” snapped the soldier. “Retards like her should be put to sleep!” He looked at the cases on the rack. “Those yours?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Laura.
“Get them down!”
He stood and watched as Laura struggled to get their cases down from rack.
“Open them!”
Laura opened the first case, Inge’s. The man lifted the few clothes from the case, running his hands round the bottom as if he expected to find contraband in there. He tossed Inge’s uneaten food onto the floor, casually crushing it with his boot. Obviously disappointed he turned his attention to Laura’s case, growling, “And the other one.”
The Runaway Family Page 31
