The Runaway Family (40 page)

“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.”

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 children 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.