Let Me Whisper You My Story

by Moya Simons

  Outside Buckingham Palace we watched the changing of the guard. Unblinking, the guards ignored everyone, of course. I had wanted to bring along some pepper from the breakfast table to throw under the nose of a guard, but Greta said, ‘No, you can be arrested for that. They will take you away and put you in the Tower of London. Maybe you’ll even be beheaded.’

  ‘Big fib, Greta,’ I said but in any case decided not to throw pepper. Instead I watched the guards and wondered what they thought about while they stood like statues in all kinds of weather.

  The palace was amazing from the outside but disappointing because the King and Queen weren’t there. The flag that was hoisted when King George and Queen Elizabeth were in residence was lowered. Then the most amazing thing happened. Two young women appeared on the balcony. They were the Princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret. Prince Philip, recently married to Princess Elizabeth, stood there beside his beautiful wife. She wore a wonderful blue dress with long sleeves. I wondered who’d designed it. Maybe Norman Hartnell or Dior. He was the French designer who made dresses for the rich and famous. Martha had magazines and I’d looked at the fashion pages, fascinated. Prince Philip, also handsome and elegant, had his hands behind his back and was smiling.

  Princess Margaret had long dark hair and a huge smile. She held a puppy in her arms. She waved the puppy’s paw at the crowd.

  Everyone cheered. I felt sure that Princess Elizabeth saw me standing there with my face pressed against the huge iron gates. Didn’t she bend her head a little, to see just me? Didn’t our eyes meet for just a moment? Her smile was magical.

  After that we went to the London Museum and saw mummies from Egypt and bits of old walls with ancient writing and magnificent Greek and Roman sculptures. We visited the Tate Gallery, and then bought fish and chips which we took down to the River Thames, where we sat on benches watching boats sail by.

  I fell in love with London. I’d seen the Princesses and Prince Philip too. Greta nibbled a chip and commented, ‘I caught Princess Elizabeth looking at me. Of course, she couldn’t call out or send someone to get me but she knew I was there.’

  ‘Hey, Greta, I thought she was looking at me,’ I teased.

  ‘Nope. She looked at me,’ said Alex, his eyes twinkling. ‘You girls are royalty mad. I’d rather be a pirate any day.’

  ‘Fat chance. You’re at least two hundred years too late.’

  We walked down narrow cobbled lanes and visited the Tower of London. It had been there for hundreds and hundreds of years, and was very creepy with narrow passages and stone-cold rooms where important prisoners had been locked up before being beheaded. Then we strolled through the markets stopping every five minutes to do a head check to make sure none of us was lost.

  On the bus ride home, Greta fell asleep on my shoulder, a frown on her face.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  NINETEEN FORTY-SEVEN brought England’s coldest winter in years. It snowed heavily and we built a large snowman on the front lawn. Peter had given me an old pipe to put in our snowman’s mouth, and we found two round stones to use for his eyes. We were building a family for our snowman, a snow-wife and three snow-children, when Peter opened the front door and called out to me: ‘Rachel, come inside. Quickly.’

  His usually mournful face was excited. What had happened? I reluctantly left the other children and ran to the house, the world’s longest scarf doubled around my neck and trailing behind me in the cold wind. My breath fogged the air as I raced inside.

  ‘What is it, Peter?’

  ‘Come, child, come.’

  I took off my gloves and followed him into Martha’s office. She had her back to me, facing the log fire. When she turned around I could see that her face was very red. Had she been standing too close to the open fire, or was it something else? She seemed to be bursting with excitement.

  ‘Sit down, Rachel,’ she said. ‘We have had some wonderful news.’

  ‘I won’t sit down,’ I said, and suddenly my heart began to pound with crazy hope. ‘If you have something good to tell me, tell me now.’

  Peter walked over to me. He placed his hands on my trembling shoulders and gripped me tightly. ‘Rachel, your father and your sister, Miri, are alive.’

  My world spun with stars. I felt my legs buckle. I was falling from a great height. I felt Peter’s strong arms catch me. When I opened my eyes I was lying on a couch. Peter and Martha were peering anxiously at me. Martha handed me a glass of water. I gulped it down. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Your father and sister are alive.’

  I felt myself grow faint again. ‘Is it true? Miri and Papa are alive?’

  ‘Yes, Rachel. They were thought dead, but because your father is a doctor he could be useful to the Nazis. Your sister was strong and young. She worked, and survived.’

  ‘They are alive? Is there a chance that a mistake has been made with Mama? Maybe she is alive too?’

  ‘I am sorry, Rachel. She didn’t make it.’

  Fresh tears filled my eyes.

  ‘Rachel,’ said Martha and there were tears in her eyes too, ‘your father and Miri are alive. They are alive, and were in a displaced persons’ camp and then went to Australia, to a lovely city called Sydney. They have tried for years to trace you, but you know how hard this has been with millions upon millions of displaced people. Now finally contact has been made. Your papa has sent a letter for you through the Red Cross.’

  ‘Read it. Read it. No, I will read it to you. But let me smell it first. I’ll know then whether this is a trick or not.’

  I was handed three sheets of lined paper. Was this Papa’s handwriting? All in German? I put the sheet of paper to my nose and inhaled deeply. Yes, there it was, a scent that had travelled thousands of miles from my sister to me. A perfume. A promise. A reminder.

  I slowly read the words, translating them into English as I went along. Peter, leaning over my shoulder, helped me with difficult German words:

  To good people in England who are looking after my daughter Rachel,

  My heart is filled with thanks for you saving her. I thought she must have surely perished like her beautiful mother. I hear from the Red Cross that she has gained weight and is looking well, and can speak English. That she lives in a wonderful orphanage. I am so thankful to you all.

  I have enclosed a letter for Rachel.

  I turned to the next page and read:

  Dearest Rachel, my darling daughter,

  You must come to Australia as soon as possible. Miri and I live near the beach. We shall all go down to the beach together. We are renting a small apartment in Bondi, a seaside suburb. I am attempting now to get my medical qualifications recognised, and that should happen soon. I practise English all the time, but still struggle with it.

  On Friday nights, even if it is just a small gathering, we shall have our Sabbath service and, Rachel, you are welcome to throw bread across the table. I promise I won’t complain.

  Also, my eyebrows are reaching out to shake hands and are in great need of a trim. I shall, however, wait until you arrive.

  You will know, of course, about the death of your darling mama, and your aunt and uncle and cousin. We believe that Agnes may still be alive. Her name has not yet turned up on any records. Let us pray that one day, soon, she will be with us and we shall encourage her to have tantrums on the floor, because of our great happiness to see her.

  You must write, Rachel, to the above address.

  Here is a note from Miri,

  your loving Papa

  I quickly turned to the third page, giddy with excitement:

  Dear Rachel,

  I shall buy you a big bottle of scent all for yourself when you arrive. My skinny little sister, have you filled out now?

  I speak such good English, you would hardly know me. Papa has difficulties with it. He gets words mixed up.

  Soon we shall be together. We looked so hard for you. We have been through terrible times, but that is over now.

  You will
notice the smell on this letter. Papa hates it. The name of the scent is Fate.

  Love always,

  Miri

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I RAN OUTSIDE to tell Greta. She was busy shaping a small snow-child. Her cheeks were bright red.

  ‘I’m very happy for you,’ she said to me as I danced around the snow family holding my letters high in the air. But she didn’t sound happy. She silently stooped to pick up handfuls of snow and returned to moulding the snow family.

  I went to the living room and sat at a desk, and quickly wrote two letters, one to Papa and Miri and the other to Freddy.

  Dear Papa and Miri,

  I cannot put into words how I feel about finding you. I am so happy and I cannot wait to see you both again.

  Arrangements will be made here for me to travel to Australia. If only Mama and the rest of the family had survived.

  Everyone has been so kind to me. I have so much to tell you. I was saved by a wonderful German family, Gertrude, Heinrich and Freddy. I missed you every moment we were apart.

  I am sure I will love Australia. I am reading about it from books in the school library.

  My English is wonderful. I think so, anyway. However, I have forgotten a lot of German words, and Peter, our number one translator here, is helping me to write this in German to you.

  I shall write in more detail next letter, but want to get this off to you straight away.

  Soon we shall be together,

  your Rachel

  I tore out another sheet of lined paper and wrote:

  Dear Freddy,

  Can you believe it? My father and sister are alive. They are in Sydney, Australia, and finally, finally we were able to make contact through the Red Cross. I shall see them again.

  Freddy, I am so excited. I shall be going by ship to Australia and shall have a bunk bed in a small cabin, and if there is a storm, I shall sleep underneath it!

  Please tell Gertrude I love her and my mother would have loved her too. Mama died, you know.

  Your dear friend,

  Rachel

  ‘SO, YOU’RE GOING away.’ We’d finished eating dinner. Greta and I were sitting with other children on a sofa near the open fire in the lounge room. Greta was struggling to look happy. She couldn’t manage it. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘You are so lucky, Rachel,’ one of the boys said. ‘You’ll be going to Australia. They have wonderful beaches there.’

  ‘You have your father now, and a sister,’ said another child. ‘I wish that could happen to me.’

  In my newly found happiness I’d forgotten about the orphans at Hartfield. What would become of them? Some would get adopted, but what about the others? What about Greta?

  I reached out and hugged her. ‘I’m happy for me. But I want the same for you, too. For all of you. Tell me the truth, Greta, do you have an aunt and uncle in England?’

  ‘I am so tired. I’m going to bed,’ said Greta, and she stood up and left the room.

  The next day we were in the garden together. Snow was still falling, covering the trees with a white shroud. We trudged through the snow in our heavy coats and gloves, cheeks pink with cold.

  Snowflakes dotting her face, Greta turned to me suddenly and said, ‘All right. I’ll answer that question you asked me last night. No, I don’t have an aunt and uncle in England. I have no-one in England. And no, before you ask me, the Queen and King and Princesses are not my friends.’

  ‘Well, you know, that’s not such a surprise. Nobody really thought they were.’

  ‘And no-one will ever adopt me, because I’m not special, I’m not cute, I am not a small child, and I like to make up stories to make my life interesting.’

  ‘But why stories that obviously aren’t true? Why the royal family?’

  ‘Their lives are like fairy tales. I knew it was silly, but for a moment there when I first arrived at Hartfield everyone wondered if it was true. One of the children asked me when the royal family was coming to Hartfield so she could wear her best dress, and I loved that. Everyone was envious of my connections. It’s part of me now. Sometimes I even see Princess Elizabeth and myself on a double swing together, playing and talking. Next to you, she is my best friend.’

  ‘Stop it, Greta. She isn’t your best friend. She’s a married woman, not a little girl. You aren’t a little girl either.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes, I suppose I do know that, so you can leave me alone now.’

  Snow fell silently on bare branches. Was it true that each snowflake was different from the other, like our fingerprints, like all the different stories that made up the miracle of surviving the Holocaust?

  ‘Greta, what happened to you in the war?’

  ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘Greta, you’re my best friend. You make me laugh. You made me feel better when I cried.’

  Greta put her gloved hands in her pockets. ‘Nobody really wants me. Not even the royal family. I thought the Queen of England was supposed to be the mother of all the English people. I wrote to her, you know. No, really, I’m telling the truth. I did. I received a formal letter back from Buckingham Palace. The Queen got someone else to write to me. Imagine that. She thanked me for my letter but said it’s impossible for her to adopt me, or something like that. You can imagine how I feel.’

  ‘Did you really write to the Queen? Really? Come on, let’s go inside now. My breath will turn to ice soon. Come inside.’

  LETTERS WENT BACKWARDS and forwards between Papa, Miri and me. Then a letter came from Freddy. In the meantime Greta seemed to have settled down, although her fibs about her imaginary friends were more frequent. When Martha handed me my letter I opened it quickly. A small photograph slipped out of the letter. Greta, who was with me, grabbed it. ‘Ooh! He’s handsome.’

  ‘Give it to me. That’s mine.’

  She handed over a passport size photograph. Freddy. His arms were folded. He was all grown-up and no longer skinny. I thought he might even have muscles, but it was hard to tell by the suit he was wearing. His blond hair was combed to one side on his head and he was smiling at me—for me.

  ‘You’ve gone red. Bet you like him.’

  ‘He and his family saved me. Of course I like him.’ I turned, holding the photograph away from Greta. I ran to the dormitory ahead of her and hid under my bunk bed to read Freddy’s letter:

  Dear Rachel,

  I am very happy you have found your father and sister. I am sorry about your mama. At least, though, now you have some family.

  My grandmother died. She always spoke of you, Rachel. She said that saving you reminded her that it’s possible to make a difference. This is what she has taught me.

  There has been no word from my father so it seems he died too. I live with my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister. I am working in a shop by day baking bread (a good place to be when the country is on food rations) and I study at night. I want to be a teacher. A good teacher. I want to be part of rebuilding Germany from the inside out. You can put up buldings but rebuilding thoughts and ideas is different.

  I have an English friend here who stayed on when the Red Cross left Germany. My English is terrible, but I’m learning, because one day, Rachel, I have to see you again.

  I hear in Australia they talk English strangely and everyone has nicknames. Maybe, when I come to visit, you can call me Fred.

  I am enclosing a photograph.

  Your dear friend,

  Fred(dy)

  ‘Let me see.’ Greta had discovered me under the bed and immediately crept under it to join me. ‘Tell me what he says. You know I can’t read German anymore.’

  ‘Bet you can if you try,’ I replied. My face felt hot. Freddy was coming to Australia to see me.

  Greta wriggled closer to me. ‘Oh, you like him. Let me look at his photograph again. Rachel has a boyfriend. Rachel has a boyfriend,’ she teased.

  ‘Maybe,’ I answered smugly. ‘And when I move to Australia he’s coming to see me.’


  Greta abruptly twisted herself away from me. ‘You’ll be glad to see the back of me,’ she said, as she stood up.

  I didn’t go after her. She was my best friend, but I had so much to think about now. My father, my sister, and now Freddy coming one day to Australia.

  I finally got up from under the bed and put my letters under my pillow. I looked around for Greta but couldn’t see her. I was sorry for her, but I felt so excited I wanted to slide down the bannisters.

  Later, as it was beginning to get dark, I searched for her again. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I even checked under her bed in the dormitory. You never knew with Greta where she’d turn up. It was then I noticed that the world’s longest scarf had gone.

  I thought quickly. Nobody would touch my scarf. No-one. Everyone knew what it meant to me. If Greta had taken it, there had to be a reason. I ran from room to room in the house. No Greta.

  I found Martha inside her office at her desk, typing a letter. She looked up, her nimble fingers still on the keys. ‘Goodness gracious, Rachel, your cheeks are flushed.’

  ‘Martha, Greta’s disappeared. I’ve searched everywhere for her, and she’s not in the house. I think she’s taken my scarf too.’

  Martha stopped typing immediately. ‘Oh, I hope she hasn’t rushed out in the snow. It’s getting late.’

  ‘Why does she do these things? What’s wrong with her, Martha?’

  ‘Greta’s not well. She hasn’t been for a long time. She makes up stories to escape the past.’