... And the Policeman Smiled (31 page)

The tensions of wartime could easily turn anger against refugees who were thought to be getting privileged treatment. Salomea was at the Cadby Nursery when, at short notice, several refugee nurses took up the chance of emigrating to America.

At the end of last week Salomea was called in by Sister in Charge. Sister told her that she had been asked about four weeks ago to ‘give the sack' to Salomea because the superintendent of the nursery felt that, in view of the departure of the other refugees, it would be best to give them all notice gradually. She added that she had put off telling Salomea for a while because she felt it was very hard on her, especially as Salomea's work was so much appreciated. She assured Salomea that she would have a very good reference.

When Salomea tried to find another job, she was turned down because she had been given notice from her previous employment. She went on to take a social science course and to train for general nursing.

Promotion for Hilde was not the cause for celebration she had expected:

… she is worried about the anti-alien feeling in the factory. She says the managers and directors are really good to her, but that the work people react adversely. Hilde always feels an undercurrent of ill feeling against her – the factory hands resent the fact that as an alien she is in a position of authority over them. She understands their resentment, but nevertheless it makes her unhappy and she tries all she can to combat this feeling.

The borderline between teasing and victimisation was easily crossed as Herbert Gale (Hans Groschler) discovered:

While I was working at the hairdressers, I asked one of our Jewish customers, who I knew had a large factory, to give me a job rebuilding old sewing machines, which he did. I was taught the work. A few of my workmates were very kind but some were anti-Semitic. A favourite pastime of theirs was to fill my pocket with grease and to thread a six-inch bolt through the buttonholes of my coat, put a nut on the end and damage the thread of the bolt, making it impossible for me to remove without putting it in a vice and hacksawing it.

A familiar character in the annals of wartime prejudice was the busybody who made a vocation out of telling others how to behave.

Fritz telephoned and mentioned he had had some trouble with an ‘informer', who had complained either to the Home Office or the Ministry of Labour that this young man was not in uniform. The matter was taken up by the Ministry of Labour and he now has a letter from them stating that they are satisfied with the work that he is doing and will not be making any change.

There were those who took direct action against their tormentors. Paula, aged twenty-three in 1945 and working for the Worcester Brass Company in Birmingham, had no hesitation in sticking up for herself:

Paula has changed her job. In her own words: a fellow worker called her a dirty refugee and hit her, so Paula socked her in the jaw. Unfortunately, the lady fell backwards through a glass window and it was decided by all parties that it was best if Paula left … she has had no trouble at work since this incident. A manager of
the firm pointed out that he understood Paula's point of view perefectly and agreed with her. But in view of the attitude of the employee he felt that a change would be best.

The report adds: ‘Paula is living a very bright life with plenty of entertainment and dancing, but she knows how many beans make five!'

Of the reports on problem children that came through to Bloomsbury House, in at least fifty per cent of the cases education, or the lack of it, was a contributory factor.

Youngsters who were found jobs and then left to their own devices invariably ended up lonely and frustrated. They were different from other young workers and they were not allowed to forget it. Feelings against refugees and things foreign, like a German accent, caused mysterious illness and bloody-mindedness.

Karl was judged to be a normal, pleasant boy when he started as a clerical assistant in February 1943, but he was soon complaining that the work he was given was boring and that his pay – 1/6d an hour – was not enough. He was frequently sick, though the doctor could find nothing physically wrong with him, took to borrowing money which he did not pay back, and was averse to working or changing his clothes. In July he was thrown out of his hostel and ended up at the Jews' Temporary Shelter in the East End. From there he was handed on to Bloomsbury House, where Elaine Blond agreed a one-off payment to fit him out for another job. This ‘last chance' produced ‘a wonderful change, both in the brightness and cleanliness of Karl', and his supervisor had ‘the feeling that the chance given to him will be more than repaid'.

But within a fortnight Karl was back to zero – ‘as bad as ever'. Having lost one job he was interviewed at the Feltham Ordnance Factory, but was rejected as useless, ‘having fallen asleep while waiting to be given instructions'.

There followed a period of over a year when Karl moved aimlessly through a succession of jobs. Then there was a police report. Karl had been caught travelling the Underground without a ticket. Bloomsbury House helped to get him off with a warning, but there was no further contact. The last heard of Karl was at the end of the war when he had a job as a waiter.

There were occasions when Bloomsbury House pulled out all the stops on behalf of children who were clearly gifted – usually
in the arts. At sixteen, Edgar gained a scholarship to the Royal College of Music in 1941. Up to then he had been supported by the British Council, who now passed the buck to Bloomsbury House. Edgar was offered a grant for six months; after that he was on his own. It was long enough for him to persuade the Royal College of Music that his talent was worth taking seriously. His scholarship was extended, but he was without maintenance until Bloomsbury House put him in touch with a sponsor. In 1943 he was still doggedly pursuing his studies.

Help of a more immediately practical nature was given to Marian, a young pianist who was without a piano. Bloomsbury House had the answer. ‘When the weather gets warmer she will be able to go and practise on the piano in the home of the Misses Montague – we will let her know when this is possible.' Though not in the best of health, Marian was determined to make her own way, accepting little else from Bloomsbury House except tickets for the occasional outing to the Wigmore Hall. Her last entry reads: ‘Letter from girl thanking us for concert tickets. Informs us that she has managed to buy a piano with her savings.'

When no other funding was available, one or other of the wealthier members of the RCM could be relied upon to chip in a contribution. Awarded a free place at Birmingham University to study music for three years, Peter was short of basics like clothes and books until Elaine Blond gave him £30 and arranged for Peter to work at Bloomsbury House in his holidays to help make up any shortfall.

Hans was sitting his finals, at the London School of Economics in 1947, when his father called Bloomsbury House and asked if his son could have a fortnight's convalescence at their expense as he was over-tired and very nervous. The father had only been in the country six months and had no means of supporting his son. Hans was sent to Bournemouth for a fortnight.

Also at the LSE, Hella was guaranteed £60 a year for the first two years of her course by Professor Harold Laski, the brother of Elaine Blond's first husband. When he was no longer able to provide this, Dorothy Hardisty persuaded the International Student Service, who were already paying Hella £20 a year, to increase their grant.

Shortage of money was not the only impediment to higher education. When Hannah declared her ambition to be a teacher,
Bloomsbury House replied that it was doubtful ‘if she could be released from essential work to take up full-time study'.

Undeterred, two months later Hannah enrolled at University College, London to read French, having obtained her release from war work on medical grounds. She had also found herself a sponsor to support her to the tune of £100 a year. Bloomsbury House, asked to contribute £35 towards books, told her she was too late that term (it was November) and that she might possibly get a small emergency grant for the summer term (six months ahead) if she still needed it. The case was passed on to German Self Aid, who gave £50.

Would-be actors and actresses were rarely taken seriously by the Movement. Having fallen in love with the theatre in the Free German Youth, a left-wing group dedicated to rebuilding Germany for socialism, Ruth called Bloomsbury House to say ‘she was very interested in dramatic work and hopes one day to take it up as a career'. The weighty hint was ignored.

In May 1944, Ruth called again:

She is going through an ‘I want to be an actress' phase. She attends the theatre school at Morley College on five evenings a week … She knows she is apt to be nervy and feels that this is due to striving after the unattainable. She is always restless and on the move. Her work affords her no satisfaction and it becomes merely mechanical – all her thought and interests are centred round the stage.

Two years on, Ruth made yet another bid to launch herself into her chosen career:

Miss Abrahams of the Jewish Board of Guardians rang to let us known that Ruth has called at her office asking for financial help in order to take a full-time training at the School of Dramatic Art. The girl apparently went there without an introduction from us and explained to Miss Abrahams that a friend had advised her to call. Miss Abrahams wanted to know whether we had any objections whatsoever against Ruth's being helped by the Board, but pointed out the grave difficulties in obtaining permission for work on the stage.

The records peter out before telling us if Ruth achieved her ambitions. But if single-minded determination is a qualification for a stage career, Ruth had a better chance than most.

Another aspiring actress bitterly resented what she considered to be interference from Bloomsbury House. Of Sonja, her RCM adviser wrote:

The girl has no previous stage training or experience beyond some lessons in step dancing, but she says it has always been her ambition to go on the stage and that we have always promised to help her, though no mention of stage or histrionic ability appears in her dossier. We are strongly of the opinion that the Movement could not subscribe itself to encourage employment of this description … The girl is inclined to be hysterical and says that now she has the opportunity of realising her ambition we are frustrating her.

I have promised to ascertain if Mrs Laski (Elaine Blond) or Mrs Hahn-Warburg have any theatrical connections to whom the girl could be introduced. It is a most impractical and ridiculous suggestion but, before damping the girl's ardour completely, we feel that it would be wiser for her to be damped by a celebrity.

One month later, however, Sonja was working at Amersham Repertory Theatre as a student trainee – receiving no wages, but getting her maintenance paid by her ex-employer.

She was most indignant at the thought of any improper relations between her and this man. She has no conscience about accepting his money, as she feels it is her only opportunity of gaining a foothold in the theatrical profession, and she is not going to let this chance slip through her fingers … She says the man is fabulously wealthy and will in no way miss this small sum and that he seems fully prepared, from philanthropic motives, to help her along the way.

Of all the obstacles put in the way of young refugees entering the learned professions, none were higher and bulkier than those erected by the medical fraternity. Very few beat the system and those who did were not much encouraged by Bloomsbury House.

Vera was a brilliant member of a very clever family of sisters. At sixteen, having taken her Higher School Certificate, she was already preparing for her first MD examination. Encouraged by Mr Lacey, her guarantor, who firmly believed that, young as she was, Vera would find a medical school to accept her, she applied to Kings College Hospital, the Royal Free Hospital and Glasgow Medical School. Bloomsbury House reacted sceptically with a
half-hearted inquiry as to the Home Office attitude to refugee medical students. But Vera did not wait on a Home Office ruling. Having passed the equivalent of the first MD examination, the universities could hardly turn her away, though places were made conditional on her waiting for her eighteenth birthday before going up. To occupy the intervening months she took a job in a hospital.

There was a lot to be said for knowing your place if you wanted help from Bloomsbury House. Hermann clearly went about his interview in the wrong way:

A most unpleasant young man. He had a long story to tell of his misfortunes, beginning with a statement to the effect that he was dismissed from Garners under suspicion of sabotage (this boiled down to statements that he had made a drawing of some machinery and the other workers did not like him, or what he had done, and made trouble). He then accused us of refusing him financial help, causing him to take up part-time work without a permit for Miss Wagenaar of Frognal Lane. This led to unsavoury accusations against Miss Wagenaar, in addition to which he said she owed him £5. He has now obtained a work permit from the Willesden Labour Exchange … to work for the London Provincial Film Company as a mechanic-driver. The young man spun a wonderful story of his need for money next week, until his first pay day in the new job, his driving licence need renewing, he owes to his landlady and he has not a penny … He became so insulting that he had to be asked to leave the office …

The brush-off seems to have had the desired effect. Subsequent entries on his report card show Hermann enjoying his new job delivering films to cinemas, paying off his debts and making toys in his spare time.

Appeals to Bloomsbury House to support job training and applications throw up some curious details: ‘Ruth needs 2 prs. knickers and 1 apron' – she got the first items but not the apron. One frequent request was for containers in which to put belongings which were to be stored at Bloomsbury House: ‘Alice needs 2 wooden boxes and 1 cardboard container in which to put all her belongings …' Very often special clothes were needed for work – gumboots and waterproofs for those working on the land, aprons and overalls for those in catering.