The Runaway Family

by Diney Costeloe

  Once again he rifled through it, pulling out her clothes and the last of her food. He picked up the sausage that contained the pound note, and looked at it. He saw Laura watching him with frightened eyes.

  “Not hungry, little Jew?” he taunted, and with a wolfish grin, he sank his teeth into the sausage. For a moment he chewed on the rich-flavoured meat, and then he spat it out into his hand.

  “Oh yes? What’s this then?”

  He pulled away the last of the meat to reveal the pound note. He turned avaricious eyes on Laura, and, carefully unrolling the note held it up and looked at it. “No valuables allowed,” he said, and pushed it into his pocket.

  “Wonder what else we’ve got hidden in here then,” he remarked, as he upended the suitcase onto the seat. He made a more careful examination of its contents, throwing her precious diary onto the floor, tipping her underclothes after it, clearly checking for anything else that he might purloin. The only other thing that interested him was the double picture frame that Oma had given her, her grandparents smiling out from one side, her mother and aunt out from the other. He pulled the pictures out, ripping them across and throwing them on top of the clothes. Then, with a smirk, he pocketed the frame.

  “I will report you, little Jew,” he said, his eyes gleaming malevolently, “for carrying valuables… and you will be put off the train.”

  He moved on to the next carriage, leaving Laura white-faced and terrified. She picked up the torn photographs, staring at them for a moment through eyes blurred with tears, before tucking them inside her diary and returning them to the suitcase. With shaking hands she began stuffing the rest of their things back into their cases. What would happen to Inge if she, Laura, was put off the train? What would happen to her? The welling tears overflowed and began to pour down her cheeks.

  “He can’t report you unless he admits taking the money,” said a voice behind her. Laura turned to find one of the older girls watching her. “If he tells them you had English money, he’ll have to admit he took it and then he won’t have it either.”

  “He might not care about the money…” began Laura. “He might not want it himself, and…”

  “Oh, he wanted it himself,” the other girl said. “I saw his face. Still,” she went on, “it might be best though if you went into the toilet until we move on again.” She saw Laura glance, panic-stricken, across at Inge, and added, “I’ll watch your sister for you, go on.”

  Laura pushed her way through the carriage, where several other children were repacking cases that had been searched, and went into the toilet. The SS soldiers had already searched there, so unless they came back looking especially for her, she should be safe enough. She shut the door and locked it, then sitting down on the closed lavatory seat she began to weep. She wept for her mother, great heaving sobs that she had stifled at the station and ever since. She wept for Oma and the twins, whom she was sure she’d never see again, and when it seemed that she had no more tears left, she wept for herself. How was she going to cope in a country where she didn’t speak the language? How was she going to look after Inge who had simply shut out the world, disappeared inside herself and didn’t speak at all? She and Inge were cast adrift from everything that they knew, and although Papa would be there to meet them at the station, they would still have to live with people they didn’t know, in a house they didn’t know, in a country they didn’t know, and all of a sudden it was too much.

  It seemed an age before there was a clanging of doors, more shouting and a whistle blowing and the train started clanking its way slowly onward again. Drained from her bout of weeping, with red eyes and blotchy face, Laura crept out of the toilet and went back through the crowded carriage to find Inge. Good as her word, the older girl was sitting beside her, holding her hand, but throughout the whole episode Inge had remained silent. She had shown no fear of the soldiers, no interest in the other girl, indeed no reaction at all, and when Laura returned to her seat, she showed no reaction to her either, still not answering when Laura spoke to her.

  “I was right,” the girl said, ignoring Laura’s tear-streaked cheeks and speaking cheerfully. “He didn’t come back for you.” She smiled at Laura. “You were very brave,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “Laura. Laura Friedman. And this,” she indicated Inge, “is my sister, Inge.”

  “I’m Gerda Berger,” the older girl said, and held out her hand. Solemnly they shook hands. “Your sister is very quiet,” Gerda said, as she moved aside to let Laura sit down beside Inge. “Is she always like this?”

  “She won’t eat or drink,” answered Laura. “She hasn’t had anything since we left Vienna. I don’t know what to do.”

  At that moment the train, which had been rattling forward, began to slow again. Laura stared at Gerda in horror. All round them the chatter of children died away as they waited, resigned to the next search of the train.

  “Do you think they’re coming back for me?” whispered Laura, her face ashen.

  “I don’t know.” Gerda, despite her earlier courage, looked pale too. She peered out of the window. “We’re stopping at another platform.”

  Once again the carriage door burst open and another man in uniform came in. Instinctively the children shrank back, but he greeted them with a huge smile on his face. “Welcome to Holland,” he cried in heavily accented German. “Welcome to Holland!”

  Someone gave a cheer, but most of the children were too tired and frightened to take in what the man had said. He moved on to the next carriage, but almost immediately two women climbed in, both carrying baskets.

  “Welcome to Holland,” they said. “You’re safe now, all of you. Anybody hungry?”

  It was as if they had broken an evil spell that had bound the children for as long as they could remember. Suddenly everyone was talking at once, some laughing, some crying, some simply holding out their hands for the bread and cheese and milk and, wonder of wonders, chocolate. The women’s smiles were the first any of the children had seen on the faces of strangers for months. These welcoming women, many of them Dutch Jews, went through the carriages, into every compartment, feeding the hungry children, hugging them, holding the little ones close as if they were the most precious things they’d ever seen.

  One lady stopped beside Laura and Inge. Seeing Laura’s still blotchy face she said in stilted German, “Are you all right, little girl?”

  “I am,” replied Laura bravely, “but my sister…” Her voice trailed off before she added, “Mutti gave us some food, but Inge won’t eat any.”

  The woman smiled, and kneeling down beside Inge gently took her hand. Inge did not respond, simply continued to stare, blank-eyed, into space. The woman produced a small piece of chocolate, and breaking off a sliver slipped it between Inge’s slack lips. At first Inge still did not react, her eyes still blank and unseeing, but as the tiny piece of chocolate began to melt in her mouth, her tongue slid across her lips as if seeking more. Laura watched as the Dutch woman slid another crumb of chocolate into Inge’s mouth. When that, too, was swallowed down the woman poured milk from a bottle in her basket into a cup and held it to Inge’s mouth.

  “Come on, little girl…”

  “Her name’s Inge,” said Laura.

  “Come on, Inge, just a little sip. It’s milk. You like milk don’t you? Just a little sip, there’s a good girl.”

  Gradually, coaxed by the lady’s soft voice, Inge drank the milk. A piece of bread and butter followed, but then, as several blasts on a whistle came from outside, the lady got to her feet.

  “I’ve got to get off now,” she said. She handed the bottle of milk to Laura. “Take this,” she said, “and give her some more later. You’re a brave girl looking after your little sister, your mother would be proud of you.”

  There was another blast on the whistle and the woman scurried to the door and jumped down onto the platform. As the train began to move slowly out of the station, all the women stood along the platform, smiling and waving. The ch
ildren on the train smiled and waved back. Flags fluttered in the breeze above the station roof, Dutch flags, blowing freely in the wind; no sign of a swastika anywhere.

  Gerda stared out of the window at the flat countryside as it slid by. “Look, Laura,” she said, “Holland. We’re free. The Nazis can’t touch us here.”

  “No,” whispered Laura, “but I wish Mutti, Oma and the twins were here too. We’re free, but they’re not.”

  “No, but at least your papa will be waiting for you,” Gerda said. “Mine’s disappeared.” Then making a valiant effort she said, “But my brother Bruno is with the rest of the boys, somewhere on the train. So I’m not quite alone.”

  When the train reached the Hook of Holland it was late evening. All the children were unloaded and made to stand in line, as their names were checked on a register. Laura held tightly to Inge’s hand as they went up the gangplank onto a waiting ship. Inge still hadn’t spoken, but she had lost the blank stare and, seeming more aware of the strangeness of her surroundings, kept a firm hold on Laura’s hand. They were given some food and assigned a place to sleep, and sleep they did for a while, curled up together like puppies on a bunk, each drawing comfort from the closeness of the other.

  The crossing was not rough, but there was a steady swell, and the rise and fall of the boat made both girls feel queasy, so it was with great relief that some hours later they found themselves being led off the ship onto the quay. It was a cold, grey morning, but after the stuffiness of the cabins on the ship, the air was fresh and clean, and Laura gulped down lungfuls, grateful to be on dry land once more.

  “We’re here, Inge,” Laura said, still holding her sister’s hand. “We’re in England. When we get off the next train, Papa will be there.”

  Yet again the children were mustered, checked and loaded onto a train. Gerda had found her brother. Laura saw her hugging a tall dark boy, as they emerged onto the quay, but she didn’t get a chance to talk to her again as they were put into different compartments.

  The train sped through the cold morning air, and as the grey sky lightened, and shafts of early sunshine struck the trees and meadows, Laura stared out of the window at the unfamiliar countryside; small villages with houses clustering round the church, a stand of trees on the skyline, a solitary farmhouse with grey stone outbuildings, cows coming in from the fields to be milked, a man on a bicycle riding to work. Countryside at peace with itself, waking up to a new day. For the first time since she had left Vienna, she felt her spirits lift a little. They were going to live here, somewhere in this new country, where there were no Nazis, no SS, no Hitler. Soon, very soon, they would be with Papa.

  “Look, Inge,” she said, turning to her sister, “look at the villages. This is England. This is where we’re going to live.” But Inge had, once again, retreated into herself, and showed no interest in their new country.

  The train did not stop at any of the stations through which it passed, and the towns, with strange names like Ipswich and Colchester, passed by and gave way to the outward sprawl of a great city. Houses in rows, pocket-handkerchief gardens, brick warehouses and tall factory chimneys all warned of the approaching city. London.

  The train slowed right down and edged its way across a multitude of tracks, clattering over the points and finally drawing under the echoing roof of Liverpool Street Station. All the children had had their noses pressed to the window, anxious to see the sort of place they had come to. As the train finally came to a halt, its great engine blowing off steam as it reached the buffers, there was nervous chatter and noise in all the carriages. Now they were going to meet their foster parents, their new families, where everyone would speak English, no one German.

  Laura collected their two cases, and held one out to Inge. “Here’s yours, Inge,” she said. “You can carry it.”

  Inge made no move to take the case, and one of the escorts called out to them, “Come along there. Get down from the train.” He reached up and took the cases from Laura, so that she could help her sister down onto the platform, then he handed them both back to Laura. “Take your sister over into the line,” he said and turned away to help another child.

  Carrying both cases, Laura led Inge to the group of children waiting patiently, lined up in pairs.

  “You’ll all wait on the platform until everyone is off the train,” they’d been told. “Then keeping together, everyone with a partner, we’ll go to the hall where your relatives and foster parents will be waiting for you.”

  Gerda was standing with her brother. She waved when she saw Laura again. “This is my brother Bruno,” she said.

  Bruno was tall, almost grown up. He smiled at the two girls. “Hallo,” he said. “We’ve made it, then.”

  At last the train was empty. Once again the young man from the Palestine Office checked their names against his list.

  “He has to go back to Vienna,” Bruno told them. “The Nazis only let him come as an escort. If he doesn’t go back, they won’t let any more children come.”

  “He’s very brave,” remarked Gerda, “going back.”

  I’d go back, thought Laura bleakly, watching the young man checking each child against his list. If I could, I’d go back to Mutti, Oma and the twins.

  Once they were all assembled, the crocodile of children was marched off towards the hall where they would finally meet their new families. As they walked along the platform, still wearing their labels and each carrying a small suitcase, people stopped to watch them.

  “Refugees,” remarked one man, “poor little buggers.”

  “Never mind, darlin’,” called another, smiling at Gerda as she walked beside her brother. “You’re safe now. ’Itler ain’t comin’ ’ere!”

  What were the men saying, wondered Laura? The only word she recognised was “Hitler”, and it made her shiver.

  They were led to a lofty, echoing hall. It was gloomy inside, its dirty windows, high in the wall, only allowing dull, grey light to filter through. As they came through the door, each child was handed a packet of sandwiches and then told to sit down on the benches that ran along one wall. The children filed in obediently, and took a seat. One or two opened the sandwiches straightaway and began to eat them; experience had taught them that you never knew where the next meal might come from, so it was best to eat food immediately, before it vanished again.

  Laura, still struggling with both cases, pushed the sandwiches into her coat pocket and said, “Inge, stay close.”

  There was a great shuffling of feet and edging sideways as the children moved along the hall, trying to get a glimpse of the people who waited for them on the other side.

  “Sit down, children,” called out one of the escorts. “Sit down and wait for your name to be called.”

  The children sat on the hard wooden benches and waited in nervous expectation to hear their names. On the opposite side of the room were the group of sponsors and foster parents, who also waited, peering across at the assembled children, wondering. Who? Which?

  Suddenly Inge let out a shriek, and leaping up from her place on the bench, she shot out across the floor, speaking for the first time in forty-eight hours; speaking… calling… crying out, “Papa!”

  One of the escorts made a move to pull her back to the bench, but she pushed him aside and flung herself across the room into the waiting arms of Kurt Friedman. Laura dropped the suitcases and followed her, erupting from the bench, tears streaming down her face as she, too, found herself safe at last within the circle of her father’s arms.

  The noise around them faded, the business of matching child to foster parent blurred behind them as the three held and hugged and laughed and cried. Kurt on his knees, his daughters crushed against him. A middle-aged couple stood behind them, watching the ecstatic reunion. They looked at each other. “Can we really be parents to these little girls?” their eyes seemed to say. “They already have a parent here.” They waited patiently for another few minutes and then the man stepped forward and coughed.


  Kurt looked up and forced a smile to his lips. The Gladstones. He had met them already, had thanked them for offering to take his daughters into their home, but even as they stood there waiting to be introduced to their foster children, he could hardly bear it. His girls were here safe, and within minutes he was going to have to give them up again. He got to his feet, and still holding the girls against him, turned them towards the Gladstones.

  “Laura, Inge, here are the kind lady and gentleman who are going to give you a home. Mr and Mrs Gladstone. Say how do you do.”

  Neither girl moved at first, but at a gentle push from her father, Laura stepped forward and dropped a small curtsey. “How do you do?” she said in German.

  “You must be Laura,” said the woman and coming forward took Laura’s hand.

  Laura, recognising her own name, although it wasn’t said quite right, smiled and said, “Laura.” Then she pointed to Inge, who had buried her face in her father’s stomach, and said, “Inge.”

  The woman pointed to herself, “Aunt Jane,” she said, “and this,” she pointed to her husband, “is Uncle Frank.”

  Gradually the echoing hall was emptying as the children were claimed by their new families. Kurt picked up the girls’ suitcases and led the little group over to the man with the clipboard, explaining who he was and where the children were going.

  “That’s right,” said the man marking them off. “To Mr and Mrs Gladstone.” He shook the Gladstones by the hand and said in careful English, “Thank you for taking these children, your generosity has brought them to safety.”

  Kurt travelled with them to their new home, having agreed with the couple beforehand that he would see the children into the house and then leave. So, after drinking a cup of tea in the Gladstones’ parlour, he stood up to take his leave.

  Immediately Inge burst into tears. “I don’t want you to go, Papa,” she wept. “I don’t like it here. I want to come with you.”