by Anna Patrick
Marta rubbed the back of her neck, hoping the tightening sensation wouldn’t result in another headache.
‘Time enough when the truck stops.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
She attempted a smile and gazed into the drab interior at their travelling companions. Renata touched her on the arm.
‘Come on, Marta, tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘Oh nothing, I suppose. I was just remembering how we used to say change was always change for the worse. It was almost like a camp motto.’
‘Oh, Marta, not anymore. Or at least it doesn’t have to be.’
‘No, you’re right. I’m being miserable.’
‘You need a cigarette.’
‘Ah, how well you know me.’
The truck came to a halt outside an administration building and the driver, a young private, jumped out and helped them down from the truck. They were slowly regaining their physical strength but despite their increased rations they were still stick thin and tired easily and were glad of his assistance. An interpreter travelling with them told the group to wait while he went inside.
The soldier sauntered up to Renata and chatted.
‘You’ve got an admirer,’ said Marta, blowing smoke into the air and grinning.
‘Yes, but I don’t understand a word he’s saying.’
‘Neither do I.’
Eventually, the young man took hold of her hand, shook it vigorously and ran back to the truck before reappearing with a packet of cigarettes and half-eaten bar of chocolate which he thrust into her hands.
‘For you. Good luck.’
Renata beamed her thanks and waved as the truck drew away.
‘Chocolate! Do you think it would be all right to eat it?’ she said, snapping the remainder in half.
‘No, please keep it all for yourself. However, if you’re not in need of that packet of cigarettes?’
‘They’re yours. No need to ask. So what do you think about the chocolate?’
‘Perhaps just a small piece at a time.’
‘Oh good,’ said Renata who already had a chunk half-way to her mouth.
The rest of their group had started to move inside the building and they joined them. As they waited their turn to be registered, they noticed a large pin board with hundreds of handwritten notes, all of them seeking information about missing relatives. Marta walked up to it and read the messages under her breath, her fingertips caressing the names. After several minutes she returned phrasing her own request in her head.
‘My God, how depressing is that. Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘True, but we have to take every opportunity we can. You never know who might read it.’
‘I gave my details to the Red Cross when they visited the camp just before we left. That’s good enough for me.’
‘So did I but I don’t want to miss out on any chance for information.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Why are you being like that, Renata? Surely we all have to do whatever we can and not just leave it to the Red Cross.’
‘But look at that board. There’s no organisation to it. They’re not in alphabetical order or geographical order. They don’t even have a date to say when they were first pinned up. It would take you days just to read them.’
‘Yes, you do have a point. Perhaps we can suggest some changes to the people in charge.’
Renata scuffed the toe of her shoe along the wooden floor and looked past the queue to see how much longer they had to wait.
An hour later, with their paperwork completed, they headed out with instructions on how to find their sleeping quarters.
‘Right, if I’ve understood that correctly we need to go to the end of this road, turn right and then it’s the second building on our left.’
‘I’m glad you took it all in. I’m hopeless at directions.’
‘So now you’ve had a chance to examine our surroundings, what’s your opinion of our fancy new camp?’
‘Fancy? The buildings are monstrous, ugly and unimaginative, in a word, German.’
‘Yes, yes, I agree, but still impressive in their own way. What are they – four, five-storey high? I wonder what it used to be. It’s too uniform to be a town and yet the roads are better than the ones we had back home in Plonsk. And it doesn’t seem to have sustained any bomb damage either. Why don’t you ask? Please?’
Marta sighed and returned to the reception desk, glancing again at the notice board.
‘It’s an army camp, or was.’
‘Yes, that makes sense.’
‘Can we go now?’
‘Goodness you are in a bad mood.’
‘I’m just tired. Right now all I want is to be home and we’re a long way from that.’
‘That’s true but you’ve got to admit it is a change for the better.’
‘Yes, it is.’
By the time they found their beds and introduced themselves to their neighbours, it was time for supper and they made their way to a meeting room on the ground floor where large urns of cocoa and slabs of bread were set out for all the latest arrivals to the camp.
‘The cocoa is watery, but it’s sweet and there’s plenty of bread to go round.’
‘Yes, we won’t be going to bed hungry, that’s for sure.’
In the middle of the night Marta sat bolt upright gasping for breath. Renata, her face illuminated by moonlight, was sitting on the edge of her bed staring into space. She leapt off and hugged her friend.
‘What’s the matter? Are you all right?’
Marta was shaking uncontrollably, her heart racing, her face ashen.
‘I was back there,’ she whispered. ‘In the camp. Dead bodies pressing me down. I couldn’t breathe. They were suffocating me.’
‘Shh. It’s all right. It’s all over. The British Army liberated us, remember?’
Marta gave a lopsided smile and tried to keep her voice light.
‘Yes, they liberated us, Renata, but will we ever be free?’
The two friends sat in silence clinging to each other.
‘Anyway, what are you doing still up?’
‘I couldn’t sleep. The bed was too comfortable.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. Perhaps we should sleep on the floor?’
‘Definitely not. I want to get used to comfort of every description.’
Marta smiled.
‘Well let’s give it another try.’
In the morning she woke tired and deflated. She looked around the dormitory. Renata was still asleep in the next bed. Other women were getting up, heading to the showers and toilets or pottering about.
She watched as a woman on the other side of the room removed all her belongings from a small canvas bag, laid them on the bed and then returned them one by one before starting the process all over again. It seemed like a prayer in motion.
The neat rows of iron bedsteads and utility cupboards made her imagine the soldiers who once inhabited these barracks. She remembered the Wehrmacht troops marching into Warsaw, uniformly blond and blue-eyed. Later they became a more motley crew.
How she’d hated seeing their arrogant faces, hearing their barked orders, smelling her nation’s defeat in gunfire and blood.
Renata stirred.
‘Shall we get up?’
Marta nodded and swung her legs out of bed. Would she ever feel at ease here? Was it possible on German soil? And when she left here could she make a home for herself anywhere? Would Ludek understand what she had been through? Would anyone?
Breakfast in the canteen was a noisy affair. They clutched at each other as they walked up to the serving hatch to collect their coffee and bread past tables of men and women sitting together talking, bickering, swapping tales, even
laughing and joking.
It didn’t seem real. They’d walked into a newsreel or onto a stage. It had been so long since they’d experienced anything like this. They found themselves a space at one of the long tables and ate without talking, their wary eyes taking it all in.
More and more people kept joining the queue for food and the continuous rumble of voices was interspersed with the chink of cutlery and plates and orders shouted across the kitchen behind them. They cleared their utensils and walked out into the fresh air.
‘Do you suppose that’s why they gave us supper in a room on our own?’
‘To give us a chance to get acclimatised? Yes, probably. I must admit that was too noisy for my liking. It would be lovely to sit out here for a while and enjoy the peace and quiet.’
‘But you are coming to the induction meeting at ten?’
‘I guess so.’
‘You seem reluctant.’
‘I’m dreading hearing the rules. You can’t do this, you have to do that, make sure you’ve got this, don’t forget to do that.’
‘I’m sure it won’t be that bad. They all seem quite relaxed so far.’
‘Mm, but will it last? We are in Germany after all.’
‘Yes, but under British protection, don’t forget that.’
‘There, you’re doing it already.’
But they both grinned; humour lightening their spirits as it had done so often in their friendship.
The induction meeting was less about rules than the opportunities available to them. There were classes in all manner of trades as well as schools for youngsters, everything to help them reintegrate into society. The man leading the session put up a map of the camp and they gawped at the facilities: a radio broadcasting centre, a cinema, a sports field, a hospital, a chapel. There was even, of all things, a windmill.
The camp had opened at the beginning of June and already there were thousands of people there, mostly Poles but also Lithuanians, Latvians, Yugoslavs and Jews from various territories.
‘I wonder if I should take up tailoring classes,’ said Renata, after they left the session.
‘My mother used to say people were scared of doing alterations for themselves so it was a good way to earn money. Actually, even if I say so myself, I’m quite good with a needle and thread already but it would be useful to have a certificate to show people. What about you? Is there anything you’d like to do?’
‘I’m interested in getting involved in the camp newsletter. I don’t suppose it’ll help me get a job but it’ll be the first creative thing I’ve done for ages. It might lift me out of this mood of despondency I keep falling into.’
‘Poor Marta. I do understand what you mean. I assumed it would be easy once we left the concentration camp behind but it’s followed us here, hasn’t it? I seem to veer from enthusiasm and joy to lethargy and wondering what the point of anything is.’
‘Perhaps having a routine and a purpose to our day will make all the difference. I certainly hope so.’
Later that same day Renata entered the administration block to sign up for the tailoring classes.
‘Are you sure? That would be rather unusual,’ said a rather officious middle-aged man peering at her over his glasses.
‘Quite sure, thank you.’
‘Only we do have a millinery and toy making class run by Mrs Antkowiak which is very popular with our women residents.’
‘Is it against the rules?’ asked Renata, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
‘No, not at all, if that is what you wish.’
‘I do.’
When she joined the class the next day, she understood his hesitation: she was the only woman. The men were friendly and welcoming and the tutor, if he noticed her sex at all, made no comment. He seldom looked his students in the eye, focusing exclusively on the work, folding sheets of old newspapers as he explained various techniques, stroking the samples of material as he examined their stitches.
‘I’m enjoying it,’ she told Marta as they compared notes after their first week at the camp.
‘One of the men is absolutely hopeless. I can’t imagine he’ll pass the course. I keep helping him whenever I can but he’s all fingers and thumbs.’
‘Have you considered that you might be the one putting him off?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well you are very attractive, Renata. Perhaps he’s falling in love with you instead of his work.’
‘Oh don’t be silly. I haven’t got time for any of that,’ she said, blushing a deep crimson all the same.
Marta introduced herself to the small editorial team putting together a weekly newsletter for the Polish inhabitants which they called “Ostatni Etape” or “The Last Stage.” They were pleased to have an extra pair of hands and interested in the suggestions she made for future articles. She felt she had found her niche in the camp and the fact that they were all such dedicated smokers added to her feelings of warmth; meetings always took place in a cosy fug.
As the weeks turned into months, both women began to flourish. A casual observer would have noted a new vigour in their movements, a sparkle in their eyes, and a readiness to smile that masked their recent history. They made friends and were soon part of the noisy groups that sat in the canteen eating their meals and chatting away.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ said Marta as they were getting ready for bed one night.
‘It’s just that dress. It really doesn’t do anything for you. Would you mind if I had a go at altering it for you?’
‘Be my guest. I was going to wear my skirt and blouse tomorrow, anyway.’
‘Mm, well that doesn’t do much for you either but one thing at a time. Put it back on for a moment. I asked my tutor if I could borrow a sewing kit for the weekend so if I pin it up now I’ll have it finished for you by tomorrow night.’
Marta had one fitting the next day and after a few minor adjustments the dress was finished.
‘You’ve done a lovely job. I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow.’
‘Thank you. It was a pleasure.’
The next morning Marta seemed taller; she walked with wider steps, swinging her arms. The tailored dress emphasized her newly emerging figure and boosted her confidence. A wolf whistle as she walked into the canteen made her laugh out loud and give a wave.
‘This is the first time I’ve felt like a woman in I don’t know how long.’
‘You do look marvellous.’
‘Thank you. It actually makes me want to do something about my appearance now. People on the hairdressing course are looking for models to try out their skills so I might go along to that.’
‘You should.’
A few nights later Marta sat on her bed, staring down at her hands.
‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m going to have to visit the dentist.’
‘Why?’
‘Look.’
Marta opened her hand to reveal three white teeth.
‘They fell out when I was brushing them. I’m going to have to wear dentures, aren’t I?’
‘We all are. All my teeth are loose too.’
‘My family despised people with false teeth.’
‘Mine too. False teeth belonged to people who hadn’t bothered to brush their teeth and if they didn’t bother with their teeth… well you can imagine the rest. And yet we tried so hard in the camp, didn’t we? Washing in freezing cold water in the middle of winter, rubbing our teeth with a stick, doing everything possible in the circumstances.’
‘Yes, we did. I realise it’s not our fault, but it’s going to take some getting used to.’
‘Try to remember the positives: at least we won’t be standing naked while he looks in our mouths like we had to in the camp.’
The dentist confirmed there was noth
ing he could do to save Marta’s remaining teeth and set about fitting her for dentures.
‘Nearly everyone from the camps is being fitted with dentures. I don’t suppose you’ll find many natural smiles in Wentorf,’ he said.
Once she left his surgery, she discovered he was right. Everywhere she looked men and women were wearing dentures or revealing gaps when they smiled. It made her accept the situation. With so many people wearing them, surely her family and friends would understand?
‘At least there’s one good thing about these,’ she said, comparing her pristine dentures with Renata’s.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve finally lost that gap between my front teeth. I did so hate it growing up.’
24
Marta visited the notice board in reception on a daily basis. Her own request for information about Ludek Golab, last seen in Krakow, June 1944, was pinned up with all the others. She didn’t expect a response in all honesty but checking the board took on the role of a pilgrimage. It was her prayer to the future, for herself and all the others seeking their relatives and friends.
She had also written a short letter and sent it to his family home. Unlike the articles she produced quickly and fluently for the camp newsletter, she had been stumped for words.
I am alive. Write to me. I love you.
It said everything and nothing. She longed to see him, to gaze into his eyes, to hold him close. She couldn’t imagine telling him her story. Words had connected them as intimately as touch but the right ones didn’t exist, not any more. Love had once bound them together through joy and sorrow. Was that the answer? She believed in love. Love would find a way. Wouldn’t it?
She moved aside to let another woman pin up her notice while she considered writing an article about the Red Cross search for missing relatives and how it worked. The article could end with a plea for volunteers to organise this board in a more logical way.
‘Do you suppose it works?’
‘We have to hope so,’ said Marta. ‘Have you informed the Red Cross as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who are you looking for?’
‘My cousin. She decided to hide at the start of the war. I’m not hopeful, to be honest, but if anybody had the ability to survive the last six years it would have been Rachel. She had that kind of spirit.’