by Debra Barnes
I rang the bell.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a young woman who appeared at the gate.
‘I have come to see my brother and sisters,’ I said. ‘Claude, Henriette and Georgette Laskowski.’
The woman smiled when she heard their names. I took out my papers and pointed out my surname.
‘Come in,’ she said.
She accompanied me to the large building at the end of the drive and to the office of the director, Monsieur Denis. I introduced myself and asked if I could see my brother and sisters.
‘I don’t think that is a good idea. The children are settled and there would be no benefit in them seeing you,’ said Monsieur Denis. He was a small, thin man. He didn’t seem to have any warm qualities which seemed strange, considering his job. I took an immediate dislike to him.
‘I’m eighteen and old enough to take responsibility for my family. I will be looking after them now.’
‘Your intentions are most admirable,’ he said without sincerity.
‘So, if you can ask for them to get ready, we will leave immediately.’
‘I don’t think so—’
‘But I really must insist. It would be the wishes of our parents.’
His tone changed and with impatience he said, ‘That is totally out of the question. The children will stay here. They are being well looked after and this is the best place for them. Did you not see we moved them all from Paris recently because it was no longer safe? I can assure you that the well-being of the children is our top priority.’
‘I understand and I appreciate what you say, Monsieur Denis. However, I would at least like to see my brother and sisters now that I’m here. We’ve been apart for months, and who knows when I’ll be able to return.’
‘At the risk of repeating myself, Monsieur Laskowski, I think it would be better… for the children… less unsettling, if you didn’t see them.’
This is getting me nowhere, I thought. Let’s try flattering the old toad.
‘Monsieur. I’m so grateful for all you have done for my family. Under the circumstances I can’t imagine a safer place for the children, and I’m sure it’s all thanks to you. My parents will be so happy to know their youngest are being cared for so well. I beg you to please let me see them before I leave.’
That did the trick. The loathsome man finally agreed, and I was taken to see my siblings. They were finishing lunch in the dining hall. There was happy chatter going on and they appeared to be well. Claude was the first to see me; he did a sort of double take and then came running over and grabbed me tightly.
‘Pierre! It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you, of course. How are you?’
‘Oh, alright I suppose but I would rather be with you and Samuel. Have you seen Samuel?’
‘No, not yet. Hopefully later today. Where are the girls?’
‘Over there,’ Claude said, pointing to one of the long tables. We went over to them. My sisters jumped up when they noticed me.
‘Girls, where are you going?’ said an older girl, sitting at the head of the table.
‘It’s our brother!’ said Claude.
‘Pierre!’ Henriette and Georgette hugged me.
‘Let me see you both,’ I said, loosening their grip on me so I could hold them at arm’s length and see their faces. ‘Look at your short hair!’
‘They had to cut our hair off because of the bugs,’ said Henriette.
‘Oh dear. Did the bugs crawl all over your body like this?’ I said, tickling them so they squealed with delight. It was so good to see them chatting and laughing. After a few minutes the older girl came over to us.
‘Hello. I’m Jacqueline. I’m a monitor here, and I look after your lovely sisters. They’ve told me a lot about you. It’s good to meet you.’
I spent an hour with the children. They showed me where they slept and where they played. Claude introduced me to some of his friends and then someone came to tell me to return to Monsieur Denis’s office.
‘So, Monsieur Laskowski, are you satisfied now, knowing the children are well looked after?’
‘It’s good to see they are well, and I met Jacqueline who they seem to like very much.’
‘Indeed, all of our monitors are excellent. Jacqueline is in a similar situation to the children; her parents have been arrested and we think it helps her to be occupied. It also helps her charges to have someone who understands what they are going through. Jacqueline looks after nine of the youngest children, including your sisters.’
‘However,’ I insisted, ‘anyone would agree they would be better off with their own family and that is why I must take the children with me now. They are my responsibility.’
‘Unfortunately that is just not possible. I have to account for every child to the German soldiers who come weekly. If anyone is missing, the rest of the children – and staff – will suffer the consequences.’
‘I won’t leave without them.’ I held my ground.
‘In that case I have no choice but to call the police and have you arrested, Monsieur Laskowski. I’m sure they will be curious to know why you have broken the law to travel outside of your region.’
He went to pick up the telephone on his desk. I wasn’t sure if he was bluffing. Would he really do that to me: did he really want the police coming here? He was unreadable. I had no choice, as I couldn’t risk being arrested again.
‘I’ll be back for them,’ I said as I was escorted to the gate without being allowed to say goodbye. I was desolate and tried not to think about how my brother and sisters would feel once they realised I had gone.
Samuel
Paris
August 1943
It was the day I was to meet Pierre. Getting away from the trade school wouldn’t be a problem; we could come and go as long as we signed the register and were back by curfew. I was desperate to leave but I also wanted to carry on studying. I was learning woodwork and how to be a draughtsman. In class I sat next to Paul Segan, who had become a close friend. Paul was from Paris and his parents had only recently been arrested. He was a nice guy and I didn’t hesitate to ask him if he wanted to come with me.
‘We can leave after class,’ I said. ‘I’ve arranged to meet my brother Pierre at the Saint-Paul metro station at four o’clock. We need to get our younger brother and sisters from the children’s home so we might not be able to leave Paris tonight because of the curfew. I’m hoping Pierre has thought of a place where we can stay.’
‘I can help. We can stay at my parents’ apartment,’ said Paul. ‘It would be better if you and I don’t leave at the same time. You go first, then I’ll go later. Take the metro to Rue Résal and we’ll meet at the apartment. I can walk there, I know shortcuts. It’ll take me around an hour, but you’ll probably arrive before me and it might be dangerous to hang around outside. I’ll give you the key to the apartment. Oh no! I just remembered the door was sealed when my parents were arrested.’
‘Not a problem. In my woodwork class one of the boys showed us how to break a seal and then make it look like it hadn’t been touched.’
‘We have learnt some useful stuff! Great, so you can wait inside the apartment, it’ll be safer. Make sure you don’t put the lights on, the police have Jews patrolling the streets and if they see there’s someone inside, they’ll report it.’
‘Unbelievable! How can people do that to their own?’ I said.
‘Fear brings out the worst in some people.’
‘That’s a kind way of looking at it, Paul. We’ll keep an eye out; we won’t let them ruin our plan.’
‘Pretty sure we’ve thought of everything. Great work!’ said Paul.
****
After class Paul gave me the address and key to his apartment. I asked the laundry for an extra change of clothes, saying that mine were dirty. I bundled them up with a few other belongings, like the music book I had brought from Sarry, but left everything else so it didn’t look like I had left fo
r good. When it was nearly four o’clock I waited in the dark corridor behind the entrance until the supervisor finally left for his break, then I walked casually out the door, without signing the register.
I ran to the metro station. I was relieved to see Pierre waiting for me. As I caught my breath at the top of the stairs, he told me German soldiers had been shot at and blockades put up all over the area to catch those responsible. They were stopping everyone and checking papers. I didn’t have any; my only form of identification was my ration book and I’d left that at the school. A German soldier rounded the corner and we ducked down the stairs to avoid him, but before getting to the bottom we heard a voice from behind us.
‘You. Come here!’ We’d been spotted!
We turned round to face a rifle aimed directly at us. We made our way back up the stairs and the soldier pointed to the package I was carrying.
‘What do you have there?’
‘Only some clothes,’ I answered nervously.
‘There is something else there. What is it?’
I looked down and realised a corner of the book I’d taken was sticking out, covered by a shirt. ‘It’s a book,’ I said.
‘Let me see!’ And he held out a hand while the other firmly gripped his rifle.
I fumbled around with the clothing and took out the book to show him.
‘It’s about music,’ I said.
He seemed disappointed I was telling the truth, and annoyed to waste his time on something so trivial.
‘OK, you can go,’ he said, hurrying us away before one of his fellow soldiers came over and saw the book that had prompted the search. We went into the metro before the German had chance to realise he hadn’t asked to see our papers. When we arrived at Rue Résal, we found Paul’s apartment and managed to split the door seal as quietly as possible. We shut the door behind us and breathed a sigh of relief. We had made it.
The curtains in the sitting room were half open and enough light would come in for a while yet, long enough for us to get our bearings before it got completely dark. We peered round the curtains down at the street below. Patrols of Jews were walking up and down, accompanied by the French police, looking up at the windows to see if there were signs of life in the apartments owned by their Jewish neighbours who had been taken away. Pierre was exhausted. He had been travelling for twenty-four hours now, but I couldn’t let him sleep without him telling me first about Claude, Henriette and Georgette. I hadn’t wanted to ask until we were safely in the apartment with no one to overhear.
‘It’s good they’ve moved the children away from the centre of Paris and that Jacqueline is looking after them, but is there no chance of us going and sneaking them out?’ I asked, after he told me what happened.
‘I can’t see a way. There is a big wall around the garden. It’s much too high for the girls to climb over. The director promised me they are safe there. I didn’t like him much, but I think he was being honest, and they seemed happy,’ said Pierre. ‘We have no choice but to leave them where they are for the time being.’
We settled down for the night in the sitting room. It didn’t feel right sleeping in the beds of people dragged out of their homes. As night fell we drifted to sleep, waiting for Paul.
Sounds from the street below woke us. It was morning and people were able to leave their homes, but there was no sign of Paul. Pierre and I agreed we needed to leave Paris as soon as possible. I wanted to wait for my friend but it wouldn’t be safe to stay much longer – maybe he had changed his mind and stayed at the school? I also worried about Claude and the twins, but Pierre reassured me they were safe in the orphanage. We left the apartment, hid the key under the mat and put back together the seal on the front door. Then we started back on our way to Poitiers.
Georgette
Louveciennes
September 1943
The dining room at Place Roux is the biggest room I’ve ever seen. Dinner is my favourite time of the day; not because of the food, which is pretty horrible, but because everyone eats together at the long wooden tables, so we get to see Claude. We sometimes see him during the day too, but he’s usually off playing with other boys his age. Henriette and I sit with the other five and six year olds. There are eight of us girls and just one boy, Tommy, who is the youngest. Tommy is really sweet and we all love playing with him. Jacqueline collects our food from the kitchen and sits at the end of our table to eat with us. She always tells us to make sure we don’t spill anything because that would be a waste. We all know food is precious.
It’s a long time since we left Maman in that awful place and went home with Pierre. All the children have similar stories; their parents are gone, but almost no one speaks of them. In our little group only Corinne cries for her maman, and she does this every day. Her pain is so bad that one of the monitors usually takes her to a quiet spot so she doesn’t upset the rest of us, giving her a moment to ‘get it out of her system’.
Our days at Place Roux soon become all we know. Our group share a dormitory; Henriette and I share a bed, of course. In the morning Jacqueline wakes us up and helps us to dress, then we go downstairs for breakfast, which is a bowl of porridge. Sometimes the porridge is watery and other days it is thicker, but it is usually enough to stop our stomachs from rumbling too much, except for Rosette, who is always hungry. Jacqueline helps clear away after breakfast and then she disappears for the rest of the morning to study. She told us she used to go to school in Paris but now she has to study by herself as there is no school nearby.
When the other monitors leave for their homes in Louveciennes at the end of each day, Jacqueline watches them and sighs. As the only Jewish monitor she has no choice but to stay here with the rest of us.
Once a week German soldiers come with a list of names to make sure we are all still there. Jacqueline is the only monitor whose name is on the list. Each monitor counts up the children in their group and then goes to tell the soldiers there is no one missing.
‘Some of my friends speak of running away,’ Claude told us.
‘Please don’t go,’ Henriette and I begged.
‘I promise I’ll never leave you.’
We also have Jacqueline, who we all love. She gives us cuddles, never tells us off and shares the parcels of food her grandmother sends from Paris.
‘Come, children, I have a surprise for you,’ she said, when the first parcel arrived at Place Roux.
‘What is it, Jacqueline?’ we asked.
‘My Bubba has sent us a package.’
‘But I don’t know your Bubba,’ said Tommy.
‘Neither do I,’ said Corinne. ‘Do I?’
Rosette, who had an idea there might be food in the package, quickly said, ‘Let’s open it and see what she has sent.’
The package was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, which Jacqueline carefully took off and put to one side. Brown paper and string were things to treasure. Underneath were layers of newspaper that were also kept to one side. The older children liked to read the newspapers, they said it was their only way of finding out what was happening outside the orphanage. Monsieur Denis had a radio but he didn’t let anyone else listen to it. At last we could see what was in the package – bread, apples and a small piece of dried sausage. Jacqueline shared it with us; everyone got a small piece of something and it tasted wonderful.
There was never enough to eat although this was how it had always been since I could remember. Maman always said Henriette and I were born small and we were still small compared to some of the other children our age. Not everyone seemed to have such a bad time though. Madame Bolon, the cook at Place Roux, looked like she was getting plenty to eat! We didn’t see her much, she mainly stayed in her kitchen making the porridge for breakfast and potato soup for lunch and dinner. Sometimes a piece of meat would give the soup a bit more flavour or pieces of carrot or turnip would appear in our bowls.
‘Madame Bolon should give us more meat to eat but she keeps it for herself and to sell. She should
help us instead of being so mean, because she’s Jewish,’ Claude told us.
‘Are we Jewish too?’ I asked him.
****
Monsieur Denis lived at Place Roux with his wife and their daughter Michèle. They had their own private rooms but they ate in the large dining room with us, at their family table. It was easy to see their meals were bigger and better than ours. After the meat rations stolen by the cook, and the extra portions served to the Denis family, there wasn’t much left for the rest of us. Monsieur Denis didn’t seem at all worried that we were going hungry, in fact he didn’t seem to like children very much, and that included his own daughter.
Michèle was six, only a bit older than Henriette and me, so we would have been her friends, if she wasn’t so nasty. She didn’t care that no one liked her. Michèle enjoyed reminding us she was the only child at Place Roux with parents. She wore the prettiest dresses and the biggest bows in her hair, and often had a lollipop in her mouth or a handful of sweets. She liked nothing more than showing off to the rest of us. Jacqueline invited Michèle to join our games, but her mother wouldn’t allow her. Sometimes I would see Michèle looking sad as she watched us having fun, then she would realise I was looking at her and run to her mother to give her a big hug, and her mother would reward her with another piece of candy.
****
Pierre came to see us! We were in the dining room, had just finished lunch and in he walked. What a lovely surprise! He told us about the farm he was working on and his girlfriend. Her name is Aimee and she’s very pretty. Henriette and I were excited to hear about her, but Claude didn’t seem that interested. Pierre told us he was going to see Samuel too. I hope he brings Samuel with him next time. Claude asked about our maman and papa, but Pierre said he hadn’t been able to find out anything yet. I said I could hardly remember what they looked like and Pierre said he had a photo of the whole family back on the farm and he was going to bring it to show us next time.
Mostly Pierre wanted to hear about us and how we were, what we did during the day and who were our friends. Claude told him about school; Henriette and I told him how we play in the woods or in the garden. But then he left, and he didn’t say goodbye, which made us sad. Jacqueline said she was sure he would come back soon and maybe he had to rush off to catch the bus, because people aren’t allowed to be outside late anymore. That night Henriette and I hugged each other tight and cried a little. Claude cried too, but he had no one to hug so we let him borrow Bernadette.