‘I’d love to. It’s a deal,’ Prue said, eagerly shaking Brenda’s hand.
*
Hugh was driving across the open countryside, which always felt like a wonderful release. Summer was passing but the wild roses were still in bloom. He could hear the melodious chatter of fieldfares, thanks to the mild weather. He gazed across at Pots and Pans hill with its obelisk, a war memorial built in the twenties to commemorate the First World War. Yet more soldiers’ names would no doubt be added to it soon, including Jack’s. He intended to park up and take a much-needed walk across the moors, and perhaps around Dovestone reservoir. There was so much going on in his mind that he badly felt in need of some fresh air and escape. So perhaps that Dino chap deserved some sympathy for feeling the same.
A part of Hugh was beginning to think it would be a good idea for his sister, and this new husband of hers, to take over the farm. Farming had not come naturally to him, despite being forced into it by his father, so why had he been reluctant to agree? He’d sold several pieces of land, which had largely resolved the death duty issue. It had of course resulted in a reduction in the income they received from tenants.
The farm was much improved. Farmers had always been willing to accept a certain degree of government intervention in return for an improvement in their income. Save for his father, of course, who had very much insisted upon being in control and doing things his way.
Once Sir Randolph had passed away, old Joe’s management had proved to be much better. He could no doubt remember the time of the 1930s depression when thousands of acres had been left desolate and unfarmed. Rural life had been pretty well ruined as a result. But as a consequence of war, derelict land had been reclaimed, numerous livestock slaughtered in order to save on feed and plough up more land, and the use of tractors became a requirement. Things might change a little now the war was over, but the days when farms were ruled by the Big House were long gone. And the government was still determined to ensure that sufficient food was produced. Thanks to the drop in imports and guaranteed pricing, farm profits had risen surprisingly well, so why not build upon that? This Dino chap sounded quite keen to do so. Hugh decided he would speak to him on the subject, and see what his plans were.
But as he walked he still felt oddly unsettled and undecided on what he should do about the factory. Had he been too quick to dismiss Brenda’s suggestion too? Or was he simply regretting that decision because he was missing her?
*
A day or two later, Brenda was delighted to receive one of her regular letters from Emma:
‘Dear Brenda
I was wondering if you’re any nearer to finding Tommy. I’ve had to stop looking for Paul, my lovely hubbie, as I’m afraid he’s gone from this life. But you might be interested to hear that I’ve involved myself again with OSE, helping to connect families with lost children. It’s proving to be quite difficult and painful, taking months, so you do have my sympathy. Some parents resort to placing notices in newspapers. Have you thought to try that? Many people search convents and orphanages, as well as foster families. Even if we are fortunate enough to find them, some of the younger children have no memory of their true parents or any knowledge of their Jewish origins, as we were warned could happen. So sad, and quite upsetting for them. They think of their rescuers as the only family they know and love, and are often quite reluctant to leave them. Some foster parents move or hide the children again as they have no wish to part with them either. At other times, the search can end in tragedy, the parents discovering that their child has been killed or vanished completely. As Tommy isn’t Jewish, let’s hope he’s been more fortunate than these poor souls. I’m sure he must still be safe and well somewhere. If only we knew where. I could speak to the OSE about him, if you wish. Don’t ever give up looking.
All my love,
Emma’
Brenda found this news utterly heartrending. She worried all the time that poor Tommy might have been packed off to a concentration camp where he could have died of neglect or disease, as she knew from experience. It was a prospect that really didn’t bear thinking about.
She remembered how, when working for the OSE, she’d learned how children and parents would each bear the grief of separation in silence, anxious not to jeopardise the safety of the other and terrified it could become permanent. Even those families who did get together again often suffered from dreadful problems, their relationships having been seriously damaged.
She remembered once helping to reunite a father and son. The man had managed to escape after having been confined for months. His head had been shaved, his face turned into a wrinkled mess and his body a thin shabby wreck. Sadly, he was also no longer the loving and patient father his son remembered, being filled with anger and wracked with nerves. And having lost his mother who’d died of dysentery, the boy was not in a good state of mind either. The pair did not seem close, both being psychologically damaged and torn apart.
‘The boy probably feels like a small bird who has been tossed out of the nest and has resolved to remain independent and take care of himself,’ Emma had said, as they’d watched them walk away, yards apart. ‘We can but hope things will improve for them in time.’
Having seen how these parents and children suffered, Brenda feared that even if she did find Tommy again, would he even want her? She would be a complete stranger to him. Striving to block out these negative thoughts, she read the letter again.
Emma had made some suggestions worth trying, and Brenda decided that she would indeed put a notice in various newspapers, asking for anyone who might have information about Adèle Rouanet, as well as her son, to contact her. Pulling out a sheet of paper she began to reply to her friend’s letter, saying she’d give this a go, and would Emma please speak to the OSE about Adèle.
*
‘Any help you can offer would be greatly appreciated, and I’m so glad to hear you are still helping those poor Jewish children. I loved doing that too.’
Twenty-Two
France, 1943
Towards the end of 1943, Emma was still happily working in the local orphanage. Brenda’s latest challenge was to find accommodation for two young brothers from Nuremberg, who spoke barely a word of French.
‘This would only be until we can get them a visa to go to England, although that could take a while,’ Jeanne explained. ‘A local farmer and his wife have volunteered to take the boys. You’ll need to check them out carefully.’
‘Happy to do that,’ Brenda agreed, and went to meet the two brothers: Kurt who was nine, and Walter aged eight. She spent the next week helping them to recover from their journey and teaching them some French. They taught her a little German too, which was useful and even fun. Little by little they shared their story.
‘I believe our father was executed,’ the elder boy told her. ‘Then our mutter too was arrested by the Gestapo and sent to Auschwitz concentration camp just for owning a radio and listening to the BBC. We pray she will survive.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased that you two boys remained safe,’ Brenda softly said.
Walter nodded. ‘Mutter instructed us to hide behind some wood panelling when anyone called, which we did.’
‘After she was arrested, one of our uncles took us through Luxembourg and sent us by train to Paris. We hoped to then find one to take us to the coast where we could catch a boat to England. We have an aunt who lives there,’ Kurt explained. ‘Unfortunately there were no trains to be found, so we walked for many kilometres.’
‘We managed to grab a few lifts in tractors and trucks,’ Walter put in with a grin.
‘Good for you,’ Brenda said. ‘I’ll do my best to find you somewhere safe to stay, then organise the necessary visas for you to get to England.’
*
‘You do appreciate the risks you will be taking by harbouring Jewish children?’ she informed their potential carers. Finding herself visiting this small farm reminded her of her time at Trowbridge Hall, although that was
a much grander house. How she missed it, and still agonised over how she would ever manage to return. But right now protecting these two young lads was more urgent.
‘We do appreciate the dangers involved, yes. We have a daughter, but need some help on the farm to grow vegetables so we decided it was worth it,’ the man said.
‘And we do, of course, feel sorry for them,’ his wife quickly added.
Knowing they would be granted a small sum of money for the care they were offering, Brenda felt quite cautious, remembering how it could all go wrong. ‘I’m sure the boys will be willing to help a little on the farm. But mainly they must be kept indoors, certainly when any German soldiers are around. And wherever they are hidden, they must keep absolutely silent. No giggling, singing, chatter, or playing around as youngsters love to do, as this could arouse suspicion among neighbours.’
‘We don’t have any neighbours out here in the countryside, miles from anywhere.’
‘Then just be wary of any passers-by who might alert the police or military if they see or hear something suspicious. Neither are Jewish children allowed to seek safety in an air-raid shelter should there be any bombing, which can happen even in the middle of nowhere. Also, as these boys are of German origin they must speak only French. They do not speak the language well, so remaining silent and hidden is the best option. Any mistake they make in language or behaviour could reveal their true identity. For that reason they cannot attend school. Nor can your daughter bring friends home. Even you should try to avoid having visitors.’
‘Or that will put us in more danger, I suppose,’ the farmer said.
‘Exactly. No one must know they are here,’ Brenda firmly stated. ‘Are you still happy to take them?’
‘Of course,’ his wife said, and the farmer nodded in agreement.
Brenda could well understand the stress, anguish and fear these people must feel for their own safety, which could give them some doubts. Children too suffered from fear, loneliness and trauma, and she gently pointed this out when she brought the two boys the following evening.
‘I’ll call back in a few days to see how things are going,’ she promised them. Brenda fully intended to make sure they remained safe and were properly cared for.
To her great relief, Kurt and Walter settled in well, and were happy to help dig vegetables. She called several more times over the coming weeks to check they were still secure, but on her next visit Brenda was shocked to find that the barn had burned down and they were nowhere around.
‘Thank goodness you came again,’ the farmer said, rushing to meet her at the gate. ‘We were about to come and ask you to save these boys. Someone must have realised they were here and this is what we’ve suffered as a result.’
‘Oh, my goodness, where are they?’
‘I’ve no idea. They just vanished.’
Devastation struck her. ‘Dear lord, don’t tell me they were arrested.’
‘No, no,’ the farmer’s wife said. ‘They ran quickly away. I think they’re hiding in the forest. We could go and look.’
Hours later they found the two of them nestled together under a tall pine tree. It was such a relief to find these young boys safe, and not captured by the Nazis, Brenda gave them each of them a warm hug. ‘Right, lads, the good news is that I now have your visas, so you can come with us to England.’
*
Emma and Brenda made fond farewells to Jeanne, thanking her for her efforts to find Tommy, even though she had not been successful. They were taken in a horse-drawn cart by a member of the Resistance movement to catch a train at Saint-Pierre-des-Corps for Biarritz. Buried beneath bags of straw, the two young brothers were, as always, instructed not to make a sound.
‘Definitely no coughing or sneezing,’ Brenda warned them.
Bursting into giggles, they slapped their hands to their mouths and silently nodded, their small eyes alight with excitement.
Jeanne had bribed a railway official so that they could occupy a compartment generally reserved for German officers. Brenda felt deeply grateful for this help, as so many people had been obliged to escape France by crossing the Pyrenees, which was a long and dangerous walk.
As they climbed on board the train, she saw a likely member of the Gestapo standing in the corridor. When he later opened the door of their compartment to ask to see their papers, he said something to her in German that she did not understand. Brenda cast Kurt and Walter a quick warning glance, in case they felt the need to translate, then smilingly chatted to him in French, telling him they were on their way to see her sick grandmama in Toulouse. A complete lie, but she believed she needed to say something. He handed the documents back to her and left them in peace.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said with a sigh.
‘He did say something rude,’ Kurt said, as his younger brother giggled.
‘Oh, what was that?’
‘He said you should learn to keep your stupid mouth shut, you silly bitch.’ And they all fell about laughing.
The journey took several hours but Jeanne had packed them plenty of food so they didn’t go hungry. Brenda and Emma took it in turns to sleep while keeping a close watch on the two brothers. They’d contacted their aunt in England, although they would need to do that again once they knew the date of their arrival. Brenda was determined to keep these young boys safe, as if by doing so it would help her to believe that some stranger would do the same for her own son.
On arrival at Biarritz station there was a strong military presence at all the barriers, demanding to see credentials. Anxious to avoid being examined, they chose a moment when the guard at their barrier was busily saluting an officer with Heil! They slipped through along with a crowd of local school children and their teachers.
‘Success!’ Emma whispered, and they all chuckled with joy.
They hurried across the road only to find themselves confronted by another German officer. Terror escalated through her as Brenda realised this time it was clearly a member of the Gestapo. Fearful of the secret police, the boys quickly spirited themselves away, as they had learned to do. The officer hustled the two women into the admin office, where he ordered them to strip off.
Glancing at each other in horror they realised they had no choice but to do as they were told. Heart pounding, Brenda began to unfasten the buttons on her blouse with trembling hands. Was she about to be raped yet again? Dear lord, she hoped not. For some considerable time she’d lived in fear that she’d been made pregnant, but fortunately hadn’t. Were it to happen a second time, and being a little healthier, she might not be so lucky.
Standing naked before him, the two women covered themselves with their arms and hands, but were then ordered to put them up. The officer searched each of them by groping and fondling their breasts and private parts while he smirked with pleasure. Brenda gritted her teeth, desperately blanking out her mind. Unfortunately, Emma was less tolerant.
‘How dare you!’ she cried in her haughty tones, only to get her face slapped. Then opening their bags in retaliation, he tossed all their possessions out on to the wet road. To Brenda’s huge relief they were then allowed to dress and leave.
‘Was he looking for secret coded messages to prove we’re spies?’ she muttered to Emma as they scrabbled to gather up their belongings.
‘No, he just fancied a grope, the bastard!’
‘We got off lightly, then.’
‘We certainly did, and it wasn’t as much fun as I’d once hoped,’ Emma said with a giggle.
Kurt and Walter were hiding in a shop doorway, anxiously waiting for them, but the two women made no mention of what had happened.
‘Just a few questions we had to answer. Now all we have to do is find a ship home,’ Brenda said, giving them both a hug.
None were available in Biarritz. They managed to take a train to Saint-Jean-de-Luz but as there were no ships heading for England there either, and no trains going anywhere else, they were told by a friendly Spaniard they’d need to walk to
Bilbao. It was well over a hundred kilometres, and the long journey deeply worried Brenda. Did these young boys have the energy to walk so far? And did she and Emma? The years they’d spent in the internment camp had greatly depleted their health and stamina. Nevertheless, they had no choice but to try. As night fell they bravely set out across the Basque country with steely courage and determination.
‘Are you all right, lads?’ she asked time and time again as they walked, and they would nod in silence. These two boys were not at all chatty, being quiet and withdrawn, probably as a result of all they’d suffered with the loss of their parents. How sad that was.
‘I know this journey won’t be easy, but there’s no rush and I have every faith you can do it,’ Brenda told them, giving the brothers an encouraging smile. They returned it with a small flicker of gratitude.
‘We just need a bit of good luck,’ Emma agreed, sharing an anxious glance with Brenda.
Carefully avoiding frontier posts, and keeping as close to the coast as they could so as not to get lost, they climbed a high mountain that seemed to go on forever, finally emerging out of the mist at dawn to stare across a magnificent bay lit by a bright, pink sky. After taking a rest they then walked down the steepest slope imaginable, crossed through pine woods and even swam through a cold dark river. The journey took days. They’d stop to sleep under hedges or trees, or sometimes in barns. On occasions they would find themselves booted out, at other times they’d be offered soup or bread and cheese, for which they were deeply grateful, as the food Jeanne had given them was all gone now.
Arriving in Bilbao feeling pretty exhausted but elated by the success of their journey, Brenda went straight to the harbour to make enquiries about transport to England. Eventually, using all her charm, Emma managed to find them accommodation on a troop ship.
The boys beamed with delight. ‘Thank you so much for saving us.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Brenda said, giving each of them a hug. ‘Now we must send a telegram to your aunt, then home we go.’
Always In My Heart Page 17