by Mary Wood
‘They are going to build some kind of barracks, or camp. No one is sure what its purpose is, but it is to be built in Plaszow.’
‘So it is true: the men are only going to work?’
‘Not in that way. They are not going willingly; it is forced labour.’
‘Were they all Jewish?’
‘No, there were many non-Jewish Poles, too. Those selected were the fittest.’
With lessons over, the children left. As she closed the door on the last of them, Ania savoured the smell of the stew their maid had placed on the table. She knew it would be mostly liquid. On their trip to the market that afternoon she and Babcia had found only one stall selling fish. The trader had just a few scraps left. They had bought these and a bag of fish heads. Together with the potatoes that one of their neighbour’s sons had brought in on his bicycle, from a farm on the outskirts of the city, a meal of sorts had been put together. Ania didn’t care how unpalatable it was; she was really hungry and would savour every mouthful.
As Babcia helped herself from the delicate bone-china tureen she said, ‘Ania, when you were growing up, you were very shy. You always bowed down to Elka’s demands. You preferred to play with your dolls, or to study, whilst she was the leader and played boy-type games. I looked on her as the strong one, the determined one, and on you as the gentle, kind-hearted one. But you are showing that you have the strength and courage that your mother had. I am proud of you.’
‘Thank you, Babcia. Tell me all you know of my mother, as I fear I may never meet her.’
Babcia didn’t deny this, but went on to tell Ania what she remembered of Edith. As Ania listened, she tried to picture her mother in her head. What she heard, she liked. She hadn’t wanted to feel love for this woman who had given birth to her. It had been too painful, and it felt like a betrayal of the woman who had brought her up, nurtured and loved her. But then Babcia Petra spoke of Edith with love, so why shouldn’t she allow herself to feel some emotion towards Edith, too?
‘Did you love my mother, Babcia?’
‘I did. And I hope that one day she will forgive me, because what I did, I did for the love of my own daughter, and because of my fear of what might happen to you both.’
‘Let’s leave it at that. I forgive you, and I think Elka will in time. Now, I have to go out. I have to meet up with Baruch.’
‘No, I beg of you . . .’
‘Babcia Petra, I must.’
These words quietened her grandmother and she made no further protest as Ania kissed her head. Taking her jacket from the hook behind the entrance door, Ania left the room.
On reaching the bottom of the stairs, she turned in the opposite direction to the front door and made her way towards the cellar door. Unlocking it, she slipped inside. Sliding the bolt across the moment she’d closed the door behind her, she descended the many steps into the dark, dank space below. Routes that would be less likely to be discovered by the Germans had been established by Baruch and his followers, in preparation for a possible occupation by the Nazis. Now that was a reality, and what they had done enabled movement without detection, and for meetings to take place. But not without fear – that was one factor none of them had thought of, as they’d gallantly made their plans.
A shudder went through Ania as she made her way along the wall, remembering where each trunk of essentials and oddments was stored, until she came to a cupboard. She felt for the handle, moving the two shelves that held a panel in place and then lifting it out. Behind lay a gap that led to the cellar next door, and then to a door leading through to their courtyard.
As she climbed through and replaced everything that would cover the escape route, she realized that one day she might need to do this in terrifying circumstances, and not just to see her darling Baruch. Am I up to it? Will I cope? Dismissing the negative thoughts that crowded in on her, she took a deep breath and told herself: I am, and I will. If called upon to do vital but dangerous work, I will find the courage to do it, from somewhere. They were brave words, but they didn’t quell the fear that clutched at her chest.
As she slipped through the gate and into the alley behind, Baruch’s waiting arms encircled her. The fear died as her heart quickened. This is where she belonged, where she could forget everything. But then his anxious voice grounded her once more, with the enormity of how their lives had changed. ‘My darling, you are safe. I worried so much when I heard what was happening in your street earlier.’
‘Yes, I am here. A soldier shoved the butt of his gun into my side and I am bruised, but that is all. It is worrying that they took the men, and made them take so much with them. They say they will be back after a week, but I don’t believe it.’
‘Neither do I. I think they are being forced to build a labour camp – a concentration camp. It is what has happened in Germany, and there is talk that some men have been taken to Germany to work, too.’
‘Oh, Baruch. What will become of us? The Resistance didn’t even get a chance to fight.’
‘I know – it was hopeless. Once Mayor Klimecki surrendered, there was nothing to be done. Though I have never known a braver man: riding out to meet the Germans and asking them to stop shooting, as Krakow was defenceless, and offering himself as a hostage, took a great deal of courage. We had to lay down our arms, but many of our number were shot, and some were hanged in the square, in full public view. Only a few of us were able to sneak back into society without being detected.’
‘Oh, my darling. What will you do?’
‘We are going to find a hiding place in the Tatra Mountains, around Zakopane.’
‘But when will I see you again?’
‘I don’t know, but we will establish a link along the way, so that I can send messages to you and you can contact me. We are in touch with a man who will help us, Major Jan Wlodarkiewicz. He has formed a secret army in Warsaw. We are going to be attached to his unit eventually. He is in the process of organizing everything at the moment. We had a message from him that told us we will be a much-needed force; that all past hurts must be put aside, and that we Jews are not looked on as different from the rest any longer. We are all Polish – Jews and Gentiles – and we must fight together.’
‘That is a good thing for him to say, and it puts my heart at rest. We can only fight our enemy if we stand as one. What will happen now?’
‘The major will send someone to instruct us. I told his messenger about you. He sent a reply saying that all of those who are fighting for freedom would be in your debt and greatly helped by having someone with the language skills you possess. He asked if you would be willing to try and get work in the government offices the Germans have set up, or at Gestapo headquarters. He says to do so, you will need to denounce your Jewish faith.’
‘I have already thought of that, but . . .’
‘It may be the only way you can help our people.’
Leaning heavily against the wall, Ania felt her world collapsing. ‘What of Babcia Petra?’
‘She will have to be sacrificed. She does not deserve your love and loyalty. She is the reason you are here, and not with your real mother in England, away from the danger and the persecution that our people suffer. You are English.’
‘Don’t ever say that, Baruch. That persecutes me. You are separating me from all I have ever known. From yourself even. I am a Jew, and I am Polish. And I will remain of that faith, and that nationality, for the rest of my life.’
‘I am sorry. I just want you to be safe, but I also want you to see that you can help our people far more by denying your Jewish faith.’
She could see that, but how was she going to do such a thing as deny her own grandmother? Whatever Baruch and Elka thought, to her Petra would always be her beloved Babcia: her grandmother. ‘I – I will think about it. I will discuss it with our rabbi. Whatever he decides I should do, I will do.’
‘Ania, my darling, it hurts me to ask this of you, when all I want to do is protect you, but we have been forced into this situation. I l
ove you, Ania.’ He stepped towards her once more and took her in his arms. ‘I have something planned. I know I should not ask it of you at such a time, but will you marry me?’
‘Oh, Baruch, yes. Yes. But when? How?’
‘Right now. The rabbi is waiting for us. He and my family agree that the marriage must be conducted in words only. There can be no entry in the register, or any papers that tie us together.’
She felt like crying out at the injustice of the world. A world that was making her deny her faith and the man she loved. But Baruch’s grip tightened on her and helped to steady her. Locked as she was in his arms, everything seemed possible. Everything would be all right.
‘Come, my darling, we have to go to Stara Synagogue. I will have a message sent to Petra to tell her that you are safe with me and are staying with my family tonight.’
It all seemed so incredible. Here she was: recognized as Baruch’s wife, having gone through the rituals that made her so, without any records being made. She’d had the shortest and simplest ceremony possible. Only Baruch’s mother, father and sister – and her husband – had attended.
After the ceremony they had laughed at silly jokes whilst enjoying the little feast the rabbi had managed to get together, as if nothing was amiss and the world was as it should be.
And now the marriage bed awaited them. Baruch’s sister, Ruta, and her husband, Chavivi, had prepared their own bed and had left their home to spend the night with Baruch’s parents.
Alone with Baruch after such a happy evening, Ania felt the nerves in her stomach twitch. This was the moment she had longed for, and yet she felt such fear. She didn’t know what was expected of her. What she did know of the act that was to take place seemed a very strange thing for a man and a woman to do, and yet she longed to do it with Baruch.
‘Are you all right, my Ania – my wife?’
‘Yes, just a little nervous.’
‘Don’t be. I am not experienced, but I know that we will help each other. Come here.’
Meeting at the bottom of the bed, they held each other. It was a moment that turned into a deep kiss. Never had Baruch kissed her like this before. Such passion and longing came from him and lit a response in her, so that she did not object as he began to peel her clothes from her. His fingers were not practised at this task and so, laughing at his attempts to undo her buttoned frock, she moved away from him and undid as many buttons as were necessary for it to fall to her feet and for her to step out of it.
Baruch gazed at her for a moment and then, tugging at her silk slip, whispered, ‘Everything. I want to see you without clothes.’ Her giggles died, and her earlier feelings intensified as she complied with his wishes and saw that he, too, was undressing.
They stood naked now. Their breath came in short gasps. Their eyes held each other’s. There was a tension between them, as if an invisible wire held them entwined. Both moved towards the other at the same time.
Their union just happened, and it was as if they had been lovers forever. Neither had any expectation of the other – they just were as they were meant to be. They cried tears of joy, whilst clinging and calling out to each other. There was no final relief from Baruch on entering her, and neither was there much pain; Ania had expected more, from the tales she’d heard. Instead, as Baruch pulled out of her after quickly reaching his climax, Ania had a sense of something that she had missed out on – something she still sought.
This feeling grew as she returned Baruch’s kisses with a fervour she hadn’t known herself capable of. With her shyness now gone, she sought to hold him in her hand for the first time. Finding that he did not reject her touch, but responded to it, she tentatively slid her hand along the length of him. His moans of pleasure gave her permission. Her movements increased and Baruch pulled her close, his free hands finding and stroking the heart of her womanhood.
Now she knew for sure there was something more for her. Building inside her was an urgency. A need. Something she almost fought against, as she was afraid it would draw her into it. When, finally, they joined together again, a crescendo of intense feelings swathed her. Wave after wave of deep, indescribable pleasure made her claw at Baruch and holler her joy, as she savoured the last surge of the beautiful, all-consuming sensations.
As a calmness stilled her, she knew she had nothing else to give. Lying under Baruch, she took his urgent thrusts, unable even to muster the strength to hold him, until his voice rasped with joy and he slumped down on her.
They clung together for a long time, both sobbing, without knowing why.
But then they had a lot to cry about. Not least the terror that the future held, and the deep sadness of not knowing when, after tonight, they would ever see each other again.
9
Ginny
London, October 1939 – Finding Recognition
‘Oh, she’s a bonny little thing.’
‘Bonny? What is this “bonny”?’
‘Ha, it’s a good thing, so don’t be worrying yourself. It means she is a pretty girl – belle fille – I think. Is that reet?’
‘Ah, oui, Felicia is good pretty.’
‘Oh, Leah lass, I wonder if we’ll ever get to talk to each other properly, but we must keep trying. You should say: “very pretty”, not “good pretty”. “Very.”’
‘Felicia is very pretty.’
Ginny clapped her hands. ‘Well done.’
Conversation was getting easier between them, as Leah was making rapid progress with her English. But Ginny was also proud of the few words she’d learned in French. Her imagination had been fired by the romantic sound of it, and by her desire to converse properly with Leah. And if I’m honest, she thought, I have to admit that learning French is bringing me closer to Brendan. She’d been surprised to learn that Brendan spoke French. She’d been discussing with him her desire to be able to communicate with Leah when he’d told her that he would be able to help. He’d explained to her how Edith and Lady Eloise had paid for a private education for him, and how he’d been taught languages and had a natural aptitude. He’d said that French was his favourite. By, she loved the conversations she had with Brendan, and learning a new French phrase from him every day.
Ginny knew she was treading dangerous water. But something compelled her to flirt with Brendan. He occupied her every waking hour – and a good bit of her sleeping ones. She had wished a million times that they weren’t related.
Her job here, in Jimmy’s Hope House, helped. It was a busy place and she was always needed somewhere.
‘Reet, let’s shift you over and rub your buttocks, Leah. We don’t want you getting bedsores or owt. You’ve still another four days in bed. Then after I’ve made you comfortable, I’ll give you Felicia and you can put her to your breast. It’s three hours since she last suckled, the lazy madam.’ Ginny accompanied what she said with miming actions.
Leah understood, but now she looked indignant. ‘Madame? Felicia? Non, she is mademoiselle!’
Ginny laughed out loud. ‘It’s just sommat we say, when . . . Ha, never mind. Oh, Dr Edith, am I glad to see you come through the door.’
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Naw. I’m just about to make Leah comfortable, which she understands, as it’s our routine every day, even if she doesn’t understand the actual words. But I’ve blundered by referring to Felicia as a “little madam”. I said it because she isn’t waking up for her feeds. Leah is all confused.’
‘Ah! Don’t worry, I’ll explain.’ Dr Edith laughed as she told Leah what Ginny had meant. But after Edith left, the smile on Leah’s face changed to a twisted sob.
‘Eeh, Leah, what’s to do, lass, what’s to do?’
‘Ma mère et mon père . . .’
This Ginny did understand, and doing so cut her in two. She knew the words stood for ‘mam’ and ‘dad’, and the sobs – well, the loss of parents was something they both had in common. Swallowing a huge lump, she sat down on the side of the bed and thanked God that she’d tal
ked to Brendan about this possibility happening, and what she could say to show she understood. His reply had been, ‘Je comprends. Ma mère et mon père sont morts récemment’ – ‘I understand, as my own mam and dad have recently died.’ She’d practised and practised it, and now it came out as a sob that she’d never intended.
Leah’s tiny hands took hold of hers.
They sat like that for a moment, each in a pit of misery. Ginny couldn’t comprehend how bad this girl must be feeling. She was three years younger than herself and in a foreign country, where she’d been treated so badly. Now she’d given birth, and all whilst coping with the death of her parents.
More tears sprang from Ginny at these thoughts. Lying beside Leah, she held the girl to her and together they sobbed out their grief.
It was a few days later, when Leah was up and about and helping Ginny, that Leah asked, ‘Have you a man?’
Whilst Leah felt she was mostly following Ginny around, Ginny didn’t mind, as they had somehow found comfort in each other’s company.
‘Naw, I’ve been too busy training for me job to bother with men.’ She was getting quite good at miming as she spoke. Leah understood straight away.
‘But Brendan, no? You like him?’
A burning sensation crept from Ginny’s neck and spread over her face. ‘Eeh, naw – he’s me relative!’ Seeing a blank look on Leah’s face, Ginny just laughed.
‘Oh? But you very pretty, you should have a man.’
Ginny sighed. It was as if everyone thought a woman couldn’t function without a man by her side. It shocked and surprised her that Leah should think like this. If young women didn’t stand up for equality, who would? ‘Have you a man, Leah?’
‘Non. I detest men!’
Ginny laughed at this. ‘Every lass who’s just given birth hates men. You wait, love. Six weeks down the line, you’ll be back to normal. I – I mean . . .’ For once Ginny hoped Leah hadn’t understood, as that seemed a callous thing to say. And in Leah’s case, she probably would hate men for a lot longer than was usual.