The Young Survivors

by Debra Barnes

  ‘Madame, I can’t allow you to do this for us. It’s too much to ask.’

  ‘And if you get caught? No, I will take them and that is final.’

  She was right, of course. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Do you have money to pay for the tickets? My brother also said I should take some tobacco to give to the police on the train. They are sure to ask for our papers; doing the Germans’ dirty work but happy to look the other way if there is a bribe on offer.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it.’ The time had come to use the money Papa had hidden for emergencies, as my modest wages would not cover these expenses.

  I returned to the house in Sarry. It had ceased being a real home some time ago. I was the only person living there now and, although I didn’t spend much time at home, the nights alone were difficult. Sometimes I thought I could hear Maman humming as she cooked and cleaned and more than once I had to look twice having imagined Papa sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of wine.

  I took a lamp and went into the barn. I found the spot in the corner at the back and dug up the box of money. It was a relief to find there was more than I needed. I left the rest in the box and reburied it for whatever the future might bring. It was a pity we hadn’t been able to persuade Bubbe to hide her money there too. I smiled to myself as I remembered her carrying all her wealth in a bag tied around her waist, hidden under her skirts, before the war. When the war began and before senility took hold of her – or perhaps because of it – she entrusted her treasure to Rabbi Epstein. She was convinced her bag of money and jewellery would be safe with the rabbi and he committed to give it back it to her after the war. I hoped they would both get to return one day, and the rabbi could fulfil his promise to Bubbe.

  ****

  With the money safely in my pocket, I went the next day to buy the train tickets and had little problem finding someone to sell me a carton of tobacco on the black market at an exorbitant price.

  I collected the girls from the mill where Madame Leblanc bid them a prolonged and emotional farewell; this time there were no guards with rifles hurrying us. I wished Maman had had that same opportunity to say goodbye. Madame Leblanc tried to put on a brave face so as not to upset the girls, but without much success, and the girls wept too. This was the second ‘Maman’ they had been forced to leave. Then it was time to put them in the bicycle trailer. I rode them over to Cerneux where Samuel and Claude were ready to leave. Now it was my turn to say goodbye. I couldn’t stop thinking of Maman’s last words to me, ‘Take good care of your sisters.’ She had entrusted them to me and now I was sending them off to Paris. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

  We were already running a little late because of Madame Leblanc’s endless hugs, so I kept my farewell brief. I hugged my brothers and sisters in turn, squeezing them tight and kissing their cheeks. I breathed in the smell of their skin as I whispered my love to each of them. I handed over the tickets and tobacco and my gratitude to Madame Laurent and watched as they walked towards the train station. It was too dangerous for me to even go to the station now and I had to return to Sarry before curfew. I cycled home without looking back. Now I really was alone.

  Samuel

  Paris

  June 1943

  We had to change trains at Poitiers and wait for the overnight to Paris. The twins were tired and irritable and the rest of us were anxious. Pierre had reserved seats for us, so we were able to settle the girls down and they soon went to sleep, using each other as pillows. Claude dozed off but woke every now and then, asking if we had arrived yet. I couldn’t sleep. Thick blinds covered the windows while inside the train the lights were cold blue, but thankfully dimmed.

  I sat fidgeting and wondering what this children’s home would be like. Claude and I had been happy staying with Madame Laurent, who had treated us like her own family. Claude sleepily asked – again – if we had arrived yet and Madame Laurent said we were about halfway to Paris. Suddenly our carriage door opened. Two French police entered, demanding to see everyone’s papers. It was ridiculous. We’d been ordered to go to Paris by an organisation set up by the government, but we still needed to bribe the police to allow us to travel. Madame Laurent was prepared as she handed over a carton of tobacco and the police walked on.

  The train arrived at Gare Montparnasse early in the morning. My first impression of Paris was not a good one. Nazi flags were flying everywhere, and crowds of German officers sat in the cafes drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes like they owned the place. The street signs were in German, and the blackboards outside cafes advertised their menus in German too. There had been flags and German officers in Poitiers, but not as many as here. We went quickly down to the metro station, where the walls were plastered with posters telling us the wonders of Hitler and the Third Reich and warning of evil Jews.

  We caught the metro to Montmartre. Had we been travelling under different circumstances, this would have been a fantastic adventure; our first time in Paris and our first journey on the metro! As it was, Claude and I couldn’t enjoy the moment, but put on a brave face for our sisters.

  We made our way to the children’s home, as we had been told to do in the letter from the Jewish Agency. It was a giant house which looked even taller than its four storeys at the top of a steep hill only a few metres away from Sacré-Coeur. Madame Laurent tearfully handed us over to the director and left, but not before she made Claude and me promise we would write to her and come back to visit one day, ‘when this sorry mess is over.’

  I was assigned a bed in a top-floor dorm along with other boys my age, and I was happy to see a few children I knew from Metz. Claude was on the floor below and the girls were on the first floor. The home was run by Jews, although German soldiers came regularly with their lists to check up on us. Most of the children had only recently arrived and the people in charge were trying to find local school places for as many of us as possible.

  On our first day there, I was in the garden with my new roommates.

  ‘Look at that wall,’ said one of them. ‘It must be less than two metres high.’

  ‘Last time I was measured I was a metre and a half tall although I’m sure I’ve grown since then,’ said another. He walked casually over to the wall and lent against it. It was not even as tall as him.

  ‘We could easily climb over,’ said the first boy.

  ‘And where would we go?’

  ‘Back to Sarry,’ I said. ‘Our house is big enough for all of us, and it’s empty now except for my older brother, Pierre. It’s out of the way and there are some good hiding places in the barn in case the Germans come. We could go there.’

  ‘Great idea,’ my friends agreed.

  ‘We would have to take my brother Claude and our sisters with us,’ I added. We decided to have a think about the details, but the plan was to leave as soon as possible.

  ****

  ‘Hey, guys, come and look. They’re doing something to the wall!’

  It was the morning after we had been in the garden planning our escape. We ran downstairs.

  ‘What’s that for?’ we asked the workman. He had a bucket of broken glass bottles and some wet cement and was sticking shards of glass to the top of the wall – our way out!

  ‘To stop you running away!’

  Later that day we were in the garden with some of the older kids. The oldest was Jacqueline Goldstein. She was sixteen and had been at the children’s home for four weeks. Jacqueline noticed the glass on the top of the wall, and we told her of our conversation from the day before.

  ‘Someone must have overheard you and told the people running the home. They will get in trouble if any of us escape.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to get out of here, Jacqueline?’

  ‘I’m allowed out to go to school and I can visit my grandmother here in Paris as long as I’m back by six. If I disappear, the authorities will punish my grandmother. I could never do it.’

  ‘Your grandmother is still here?’ The adults
in all our families had been arrested by now.

  ‘Yes, thank God. She still lives in her apartment. My parents and I were arrested and sent to Drancy back in January. I got sick with diphtheria and had to go to hospital, then my grandmother arranged for me to come here instead of going back to Drancy. She wanted me to live with her, but I wasn’t allowed. At least I can visit her from here and this is a million times better than Drancy. But my parents…’

  ‘What is Drancy?’

  ‘It’s a huge building outside Paris that’s been turned into a prison camp. Most of the prisoners are Jews, mainly French but some from other countries too.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Terrible. It’s really terrible. The building is only half-built. There are no doors, so the wind blows through everywhere and you have no privacy. People sleep together in large rooms on planks of wood. The toilets and bathrooms are disgusting, and the food is horrible. There is nothing to do except walk round and round the courtyard. There are too many people crammed in, and a lot of disease. That’s why I got sick.’

  ‘I think my family went to Drancy. Did you meet a woman called Rosa Laskowski or a man called Albert Laskowski? Those are my parents. Or maybe my cousins, Gabriel and Anna Hofman?’

  ‘I don’t remember meeting anyone with those names. There were a lot of people. Thousands were constantly coming and going.’

  ‘The people who leave. Where do they go?’ I asked. ‘Maybe my parents left.’

  ‘I don’t know where they go, but I don’t think it’s a good place. Everyone calls it “Pitchipoi” – the unknown place – because they don’t know what or where it is. There were lists of people who were transported. They had to send people away to make room for the new arrivals.’

  ‘Who makes the lists?’

  ‘Some of the Jewish prisoners. At first they chose only the old and sick, but then the guards realised what they were doing and forced them to make new lists of young people too. Lists were put up all the time and we would have to see if our names were on them. No one wanted to find their name on one of those lists.’

  That night I had another vivid dream. This time I was in Drancy. I saw my mother check the lists for her name. I tried going to her but there were too many people between us – I couldn’t get through them all. I called her name, but my voice was lost in the noise coming from the sky. All I could do was watch her from afar. The noise got louder and there was an almighty bang. I jumped out of bed. I was torn between the joy of seeing my mother and disappointment when I realised it had all been a dream.

  The air raid sirens were sounding as I heard the planes flying overhead. My roommates were looking out of the window and I joined them. We heard an explosion far away followed by flashes of light. The city glowed in the distance. The allies were bombing Paris! We cheered them on while hoping they wouldn’t bomb us. One of them hit something nearby; I think it was a gas tank because it lit up the whole sky. Thank goodness they still had the chutzpah to fight back, unlike the French.

  ****

  After a couple of weeks they told me I was too old to stay at the children’s home and I was to move to the trade school in Le Marais, the Jewish quarter, to learn a skill. I was desperate for something to fill the long days, but I wasn’t happy to leave Claude, Henriette and Georgette. Our family was slowly being ripped apart – first Papa, then Maman, then us from Pierre, and now I had to leave the little ones. I told the director of the children’s home my concerns, but he had little sympathy. He said that my siblings would be well looked after and that I should go and learn a trade so I could provide for them in the future.

  Claude was devastated that I was leaving. ‘Sam, please take me with you. We always stay together, you and me,’ he said.

  ‘I know, but I have no choice. It won’t be for long, I promise,’ I said, praying it would be true.

  Although older than me, Jacqueline was to remain at the children’s home. Only the boys were sent to the trade school; the girls stayed to help look after the younger children. She was fond of Henriette and Georgette and promised to look after them for me. Likewise, they had attached themselves to her. While the girls had each other, I was more worried for Claude, who had never been away from me. I begged the director to let him come with me, but at only eleven he was too young. I explained to Claude that the responsibility of caring for our sisters was now being passed on to him. He would have to be brave and strong for them, and one day soon we would all be together again.

  ****

  Three of us from our dorm were to attend the trade school, which was close to Notre Dame. We were given metro tickets and told to get off at Saint-Paul station. Excited at the prospect of learning a trade, we didn’t even think about running away, and how could I go without my siblings? Besides, we had no money, only a few personal belongings, mainly clothes and a photograph or two. I also had a book about music I had brought with me from Sarry, given to me by Madame Noyer. I wasn’t enthusiastic about music, but with so few things to my name it was one of my most treasured possessions.

  When we climbed the stairs at Saint-Paul metro, I was surprised to find the streets empty. The shops were shut and there was an eerie silence. We were almost at the trade school when we finally saw a man walking past us.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Where are all the people?’ I asked him.

  ‘They’ve all been taken away. Last summer they came and took everyone to the Velodrome. No one came back. They are still taking people. Be careful,’ he warned us, and hurried away.

  The door to the school was unlocked. We walked in and someone in the office at the entrance wrote our names in the register book. We were to turn in our wicker suitcases to the laundry, pick up two sheets and a blanket and then find an empty bunk. That wasn’t a problem as the place was half empty. We were a bit shaken by what the man in the street had told us. Everyone here seemed to be on tenterhooks. We were looking around the place when one of the guys shouted in my direction: ‘Oi, you!’

  I looked behind me but there was no one there.

  ‘I’m talking to you!’ he declared, pointing directly at me.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  ‘Want ta fight?’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied.

  ‘Ya scared?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said, and the guy started laughing. ‘Scared of hurting you!’ I continued. That wiped the smile off his face! He rushed at me, trying to knock me to the ground, but he didn’t know my father had been a champion amateur wrestler in his youth and had passed on a few tips to me. I beat that guy well and good and he never bothered me again.

  All the boys at the trade school seemed to have recently arrived, coming from one children’s home or another. The school was also run by the Jewish Agency so we should have been safe, but something didn’t seem right. Rumours were flying all over the place. The Germans were giving the French quotas to fill. If they didn’t hand over enough Jews, the Germans would take them at random. Someone said the school was waiting for there to be enough of us to fill a truck, and then we would all be taken off to Drancy. We were told the prisons and reform schools were being emptied to fill the quotas and that the trade schools would be next.

  There was a group of older boys, around sixteen years old, who hung out in the piano room at the back of the building. They would close the door and play music so we couldn’t hear what they were talking about. One day they disappeared. Someone said they had been arrested, taken outside of Paris and shot as saboteurs. We checked the register, but their names had disappeared.

  We collected bricks and stones on our balcony to throw down to the courtyard should they come to arrest us. We cut a hole in the ceiling of our dorm to escape through and decided we would jump off the balcony if it came to that.

  I wasn’t planning on hanging around to see if the rumours were true or if our escape plans would work. I wrote to my older brother:

  Dear Pierre,

  It was a terrible mistake coming to Paris. I ha
ve been moved to a trade school near metro Saint-Paul and I had to leave Claude and the girls at the children’s home. Everyone says they are going to arrest all the Jewish children. Please come as soon as possible. Come and get me and we will get the others together.

  Your brother, Samuel.

  Seven days later, he replied:

  I’m coming. Meet me at metro Saint-Paul at 4 p.m. on 11 August.

  Georgette

  Paris

  June 1943

  Samuel left. I don’t think he wanted to go. They told him he was too old to stay here. He had to go and learn to make things so he could look after us later. I think that is a bit silly because it’s the maman and papa’s job to look after the children.

  Samuel said he wasn’t going too far away. I hope he’s going to have fun, like Henriette and I do. We play a lot. Sometimes we play with the other children and sometimes we play with each other. I feel sorry for the boys and girls who don’t have a twin. Being a twin means you’re never alone and that is something that makes us feel better, even when we are a bit sad, like when Samuel left.

  Claude is still here. He comes to say hello every day but then his friends drag him away to play football. There are lots of children and there is always someone to play with. The older girls like Jacqueline help us with getting washed and dressed. And then we spend the day playing. We are happy.

  ****

  ‘Henriette!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop tickling me!’

  ‘I’m not!’

  It felt like she was tickling me, and it was getting annoying. I had never slept in a bed by myself, so I was used to feeling an arm in my back or a foot on my leg during the night, but this felt different; itchy.

  Next day, the monitors told me off for scratching. I didn’t even know I was doing it but soon it felt like there was always someone telling me to stop.

  All the girls from our room were taken down to the medical room. We’d been there before, when we first arrived, and a kind doctor had looked in our eyes and mouths and made sure we were well. He wasn’t there now though. A lady wearing an overall and gloves, and with a scarf covering her hair, scowled at us. She wielded a sharp-looking comb as we stood in line and she came to check our hair. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes,’ was all she said in an angry voice as she looked at each of us. I was standing there scratching my head, so she didn’t even bother looking in my hair.