Remember Me (16 page)

After a few minutes the headmistress came out, and said, “I have told Miss Joyce that you and I are going to have a little chat in my office. Come along.”

They walked together to the tiny room that was a cupboard compared to the spacious office Miss Lacey used to have in London.

“Sit down, Mary Anne.”

Marianne sat on the edge of the chair. She didn’t know how she’d explain, even to Miss Lacey, who was always so fair, that she’d answered back because Miss Joyce reminded her of her math teacher in Berlin.

Miss Lacey said, “How are you getting on in your billet, Mary Anne?”

The question was so unexpected that Marianne burst into tears. “She’s changed my name. She wants me to call her Mother. I can’t. I have a mother, even if I don’t know where she is or if she’s still alive. She, that is, Mrs. Roberts, said my parents didn’t want me. It’s not true. She’s trying to turn me into her dead child. It’s awful being prayed over.”

Miss Lacey offered Marianne her own handkerchief and sat in silence until Marianne was calmer.

“Why didn’t you tell Miss Barry, or come to me?”

“Because I didn’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Will you trust me for a few days, Mary Anne? I’m sure between us, Mr. Evans and I can find the right billet for you.” Miss Lacey’s voice changed. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, are you ready to tell me why you were sent out of class? Just the facts, Mary Anne.”

“I forgot to bring in my homework, and I did badly on my test. Miss Joyce said I was lazy and that my kind take advantage. I’m sorry. I did answer back.”

Miss Lacey was quiet for a moment. Her eyes looked sad. “We don’t live in a perfect world, I’m afraid, and wars don’t transform ideas overnight. Everyone is under stress. We are away from people we love, and it’s not only children who have to adapt to unusual circumstances. You may go home at recess and bring your homework to Miss Joyce.” She paused. “And Mary Anne, don’t give up hope, will you?”

Miss Lacey stood up and Marianne was dismissed. She’d been really fair and understanding. Marianne knew Miss Lacey was right to tell her to hope. She’d never give up hoping her mother would find her.

Marianne allowed herself to dream for a while. She knew it wasn’t possible, not in wartime, but suppose, what if by some miracle, Mutti
had
escaped?

On Friday, three days after her interview with Miss Lacey, Marianne was told she was going to a new billet.

When she got back at lunchtime, her suitcase stood at the bottom of the stairs. Uncle Dai was waiting for her.

“You’re being moved,” he said. “For the best it is. The neighbors have been talking about us taking in a girl from Germany. Not right, is it, when we’re at war? ‘Harboring an enemy,’ Blodwen Jenkins said.” His voice grew cold. “And what have you been telling them in that posh school of yours? Tell me that, Mary Anne.”

Auntie Vi came down the stairs. “I’ve put Elisabeth’s room straight. Just the way it was.” She looked at Marianne. “And there I was thinking you were like my Elisabeth. You were going to be our own little girl.”

Marianne said, “I am very sorry, Auntie Vi, Uncle Dai. But I can’t be your little girl because I belong to someone else.”

“Not good enough to shine our Elisabeth’s shoes, you are. Go on, wait outside, wicked, ungrateful evacuee. I don’t want you in my house. Blodwen Jenkins warned me we’d be sorry taking in a foreigner.”

Marianne stumbled out, clutching her suitcase. The front door shut.

The curtains on both sides of number sixty-six parted. The neighbors stared at her. If she’d been a bit younger, Marianne might have put out her tongue. She felt sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, but relieved to be out of that suffocating house. Marianne sat down on her suitcase to wait.
Poor Mr. Evans, he must be tired of trying to find me a permanent billet. I hope he won’t be too disappointed with me.

A
small car stopped across the street. Mr. Evans got out and called to her: “I’m in a hurry, Mary Anne. Get in quick, in the front seat next to me. That’s right. Been waiting long, have you? There’s cold it is for November.” He hummed “
Sospan Fach.
”

Marianne said, “Please, Mr. Evans, I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble.” She bit her thumbnail.

“No trouble,
bach,
it’s what I’m here for. Better luck next time.”

Marianne wondered how many next times there could be.

“Here you are, then. Out you get. Don’t forget your case.”

“But Mr. Evans, this is the railway station. Where am I going?”

She wondered if her new billet was far away. How would she get to school, then?

“No need to look so worried. Someone’s looking forward to meeting you. In the ladies’ waiting room, she is. Off you go and get acquainted. I’ll be along in a minute. Got to see
the stationmaster.” Mr. Evans went off waving cheerfully.

It’s all very well for him, he doesn’t have to start all over again with another new family.

Marianne had never been inside the ladies’ waiting room before. She opened the door cautiously, half hoping her new foster mother hadn’t arrived yet. It would be nice to have a few minutes to prepare herself.

A cloud of thick greenish-gray smoke hung in the air. It almost obliterated the tiny fire that someone must have just lit in the small grate. A woman in a dark coat and hat stood warming her hands in front of the orange glow that did not yet offer warmth or heat to brighten the gloomy room.

“Excuse me, please,” Marianne said. “Are you the lady who’s expecting me? Mr. Evans told me to wait in here. He’ll be along in a minute.”

The woman turned around slowly, and took a step towards Marianne. For a moment they looked at each other without speaking.

“Mutti, is it you? Are you real?”

“Marianne, you’ve got so tall.”

“I knew you’d come – I always knew you’d find me.” Marianne wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “The smoke’s making my eyes water,” she said.

“Mine, too,” said her mother, and then Marianne hugged her as if she’d never let her go.

When Mr. Evans came back, Marianne and her mother were sitting very close together. They didn’t notice the billeting officer
until he coughed to get their attention. “Train to London’s due in five minutes. Off you go with your mother,
bach.
Take your case. Permanent it is this time, Mary Anne.” He smiled at them both.

On the platform Marianne said, “Mr. Evans, how did you manage it?”

“I didn’t know anything myself until this morning,
bach.
No one did. Your mother just turned up. A very nice surprise, indeed. Mind you, Mary Anne, Mrs. Evans will be disappointed. Determined she was that I should buy a bed for the parlor so you could stay with her. There’s happy she’ll be for you both.” He smiled.

Mrs. Kohn said, “You are a kind good man. Thank you.”

They shook hands.

Mr. Evans helped them onto the train.

“
Diolch yn fawr
– Thank you very much, Mr. Evans,” said Marianne.

The train was packed with men and women in uniform. A soldier got up and offered Mrs. Kohn his seat, and went to stand in the corridor beside Marianne. Every few minutes she checked to make sure her mother was still there, that she hadn’t imagined the last hour. When the train stopped at Cardiff, several people got out, and at last Marianne could sit with her mother.

“I brought some sandwiches. You must be hungry.” Mrs. Kohn unwrapped a small neat package.

“
Mother,
how do you expect me to eat? I’m bursting with questions. I want you to tell me every tiny detail right from the beginning – how you got to England, how you found me, and what took you so long,” Marianne said.

“First, eat. We have plenty of time,” Mrs. Kohn said affectionately.

That was the moment Marianne knew she hadn’t been dreaming. Her mother was really here!

There were government signs in the compartment:
CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES, AND HITLER WILL SEND NO WARNING – SO ALWAYS CARRY YOUR GAS MASK
.

A sailor in the corner was fast asleep. Three young nurses were laughing and talking to each other. Mrs. Kohn looked around nervously.

“It’s alright, Mutti,” said Marianne. “Please don’t keep me in suspense any longer. It was a delicious sandwich. I’ll even eat another one.”

“Oma and Opa are well, and send their love. The house was requisitioned. We expected that. They were moved to another part of the city, to a room. I got my visa stamped after I’d almost given up hope. It was on August 31st.”

“That was the day I looked for you at the station. I’d dreamt about you coming to England. I was so sure you’d get there.” Marianne squeezed her mother’s hand.

Mrs. Kohn continued, “I finally arrived in London on Saturday, September 2nd – one day before war was declared. I was so excited knowing I’d see you.”

“By then I was already in Wales,” Marianne interrupted.

“If I’d only known that,” her mother said. “When I got to 12 Circus Road, the house was closed up. There was no one next door to ask what had happened. I found my way to the school.
The sign on the gate read:
EVACUATED TILL FURTHER NOTICE.
Marianne, I can’t begin to tell you how I felt.” She looked away.

“Go on,” said Marianne.

“I could do nothing more that day. Mrs. Davy was expecting me. I had another train to catch.”

“Do you like her? What’s the house like?” Marianne was eager to know all about her mother’s new life.

“Mrs. Davy is a wonderful person. I enjoy working for her. The house has a beautiful garden. It was full of roses when I came. I have two small rooms for myself, a bedroom and a little sitting room. I can’t wait to share them with you.

“One day Mrs. Davy came into the kitchen. I was baking an apple cake, and Mrs. Davy said to me, ‘How your family must miss your cooking, my dear, and your wonderful coffee.’ I couldn’t speak for a moment.”

“Admit it, you cried, didn’t you, Mutti?” said Marianne.

“Yes. She made me tell her everything. How terrible it was not knowing how to find you. She said, ‘Mary Anne must have made some friends. Surely their parents would know where the girls are?’

“I ran upstairs to get your letters. I did not have Bridget’s address, but you had written her name, and that her father was a doctor. The rest was easy. Dr. O’Malley contacted Bridget in Canada, and Mrs. Davy came with me to the police station to explain to the sergeant why I needed another travel permit.”

“I don’t understand, Mutti.”

“Aliens over sixteen are not allowed to move more than five miles away from their homes without permission. It’s a sensible
precaution in wartime. Before I left, Mrs. Davy said, ‘Be sure to bring Mary Anne back with you. It will be so nice to have a child in the house again.’ ”

“I’m not a child,” said Marianne. “I’ll be thirteen next year.”

“You haven’t changed a bit. You still have an answer for everything,” said her mother lovingly.

Why haven’t we spoken about Vati?
Marianne looked at her mother. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there a year ago.

Marianne took out the card that her father had sent her just before the outbreak of war. She gave it to her mother to read. Mrs. Kohn looked at the brief message and then sat quietly for a moment, just holding the card.

“It’s only good-bye until after the war,” Marianne said. “It’s not forever. We’ll see him again, won’t we, and Oma and Opa and Ruth?”

The train lurched to a stop.

The all clear sounded, welcoming them to London.

Remember Me
is a work of fiction, set against the backdrop of events that surrounded the beginning of the Second World War (1939-1945).

History is unalterable, and the facts are true, though Marianne’s story is imaginary – one that children like her might have experienced.

The last
Kindertransport
left Berlin on August 31, 1939. The rescue operation had continued since December 2, 1938 and saved 10,000 children from Germany, Austria, Poland, and Czechoslovakia before international borders were closed.

Typical foster parents, who opened their homes to the young refugees, were average English people who did not speak German, and whose knowledge of the terrible events that were taking place in Europe was gleaned from occasional newspaper reports. Many of the homes were non-Jewish.

In 1945, the end of the war revealed that countless Jewish families had not survived, and many of the
Kinder
did not see their parents and relatives again.

Irene Kirstein Watts arrived in England from Berlin on December 10, 1938 by
Kindertransport.
On September 1, 1939 the eight year old became one of thousands of evacuees sent away from London and the threat of aerial bombardment to the protection of strangers in the country.