In Their Mother's Footsteps

by Mary Wood

  Jhona’s dry mouth struggled to chew the bread. Swallowing a lump of it down, he nodded. ‘I will join. I have many skills that would be useful.’

  ‘I know. Baruch has answered and told me of them.’

  ‘How do you get messages in and out?’

  ‘There are many local people who help us. Because I am an engineer, I’m often taken out to work on the munitions factory the Germans are building a few miles from here. I see these people then. They may be delivering materials or working in the fields around. They are good people. They take our messages and bring us food, and other things that we can use as a bribe.’

  Jhona felt a flicker of hope in his heart. ‘That’s good. Just tell me what you need me to do.’

  ‘They are bringing in more and more prisoners, and there is talk of expanding. That is what all that wood is for, to build more huts. One of the huts is to be a washroom, because dysentery is rife. And we saw a whole lot of stores on the way here. They are housed in that hut that was erected near the gate. We need you to break into it. We need more things to bribe with, and more food for the members of our group. We have to stay strong.’

  ‘I can do that. It isn’t a problem. But we can’t get too strong, or it will be noticed. We have to be careful.’

  ‘Yes. And it is good that you think as I do. Given that, and the training you must have had, we can succeed.’

  Ephraim left his side and crept back to his own space. Jhona curled up on the floor once more, a dirty blanket his only cushion. His aches and pains were soothed by the hope that ran through his veins.

  A noise beside him made him turn over. Had his neighbour heard? No one could be trusted. Jhona nudged the man. There was no response. He tried again, afraid of hurting him, as he’d been here longer than himself and was skin and bones. Still nothing. Putting his hand on the man’s chest, he could feel it wasn’t moving. The man was dead.

  Tears fell down Jhona’s cheeks. He didn’t even know the man’s name and yet he had drawn his last breath next to him. ‘Go in peace, whoever you are. I will pray for your soul.’

  With this, Jhona lay back down, knowing there was nothing he could do. In the morning there would be one – or, who knew, maybe many – fewer at roll call. A time they all dreaded.

  The sun beat down on his head. Jhona stood as still as he could, knowing that movement could attract attention. German officers walked up and down, counting heads. Then they added the dead bodies to the number. Jhona had already seen that there were five naked skeletal bodies lying outside the lines of men. He had positioned himself as near to the centre as he could, realizing that if anyone was pulled out as an example for any reason, it was always those on the outside of the lines. This meant that the stronger men always had the best positions in roll call. It had to be that way, for the stronger could ultimately help the weaker.

  Rage spat from Commandant Hoss’s mouth. Understanding the language caused fear to pass through Jhona. He held his breath. The numbers were short.

  Another count began. This would mean at least another hour standing in the heat. He prayed that no one would faint. Anyone who did was shot, as it was judged they were no longer strong enough to be of use. Jhona had hardly made the silent plea when a man slumped to the ground in the front row.

  The sound of the gunshot sent the birds soaring into the sky. Another man dropped; possibly the shock had been too much. Another shot.

  Seconds went by, as if each was an hour. The count went on. Then Hoss strode towards them once more and looked at the count result. His face bulged with anger. His order sickened Jhona: the count was down, and the conclusion was that one man had escaped. Three of them would hang, as a reprisal.

  The soldiers came among them, looking into eyes, dragging screaming men out and shoving them towards the gallows, a permanent fixture that could accommodate up to seven men. Jhona counted. One, two . . . One of the soldiers had hesitated in front of him. Oh God!

  A hand shot out. The man next to him was dragged towards the scaffold, his hollow screams turning into sobs. He begged, but there was no mercy. An order came for everyone to turn towards the gallows. Jhona saw that those chosen now had nooses around their necks. A silence descended. Even the victims were calm. In one movement the soldiers stood behind the gallows and kicked the boxes from under the men. An audible gasp wafted into the air above them. Two bodies dangled; one still kicked. Jhona closed his eyes. When he opened them, the third man was still.

  The soldier who’d hesitated in front of Jhona ordered him and four others to cut the bodies down and take them, and those on the floor, to the crematorium. As they neared the bodies, Jhona quietly told the others to take their time. ‘We have to be sure they’re dead. It may not happen instantly; they could be unconscious, near to death, but not yet dead.’

  One of the other men countermanded this. ‘No, take no notice; if we dawdle they will kill us. We can make sure they are dead before we put them in the oven. I’ve done this before and had to finish one off. It is easy to do, and humane. If we revive them, they will be brain-damaged; and in any case, where could we hide them until they are well? Do as I say, if you want to live.’

  Jhona obeyed. ‘What is your name?’ he asked the man.

  ‘Rafal Rosak. I’m a Polish Jew. And you?’

  Jhona introduced himself as they worked. This was a man that he would recommend joined the Resistance. His decisions were taken with his head, and not his heart, but they were sound and held compassion. He was a leader.

  ‘Strip the bodies!’ This order always sickened Jhona, but with his fellow workers he obeyed. ‘And remove all gold teeth.’ At this command, each of the dead bodies had its mouth prised open, but thankfully no gold teeth were found. All had been previously extracted, or the men had never had any.

  The heat and the smell made nausea wash over Jhona, but he swallowed hard. He had to remember that any sign of weakness would lead to death.

  He and Rafal spoke to each other when they could. He learned that Rafal was a mechanic and worked in a building near Hoss’s house that housed a garage. He kept the cars and trucks maintained and wasn’t treated too badly.

  When the task was finished, Jhona rejoined the group he’d been working with the day before. None of them spoke to him. He was glad of that. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, to bring to mind his beautiful Elka and spend the next hours working hard, but chatting to her in his head. Oh, my darling Elka, will I ever see you again?

  28

  Edith

  Hastleford Hall, Late September 1940 – An Oasis of Peace on a Bed of Heartache

  Nothing looked different here in the country, unlike London. Air raid after air raid had shattered and crumbled the area around the docks on the Thames. Hitler’s warning that he would set London ablaze had seemed to come true, as fires raged, destroying houses, factories and warehouses in its wake.

  Edith had worked day and night operating on the injured, and she was exhausted. Her work at Jimmy’s Hope House continued, but thank goodness the Sisters of Mercy had sent along a group of six of their number to get the feel of running the place, and they had amazed Edith by how organized they were. As four of them were trained nurses, much of the work had been taken off her hands. And now, knowing how beneficial they were going to be for Jimmy’s Hope House, and the area, she couldn’t wait for them to take over completely in January. All that was left to do was make sure the legal papers were all in place.

  The problem was that, with the bombing of London night after night and all the hospitals working flat out, she hadn’t yet found more than two doctors who were able to give up an hour a week to help run her free surgery. Not that it had mattered too much, given everything else that was happening around them; the people of the East End were so absorbed in helping each other and trying to survive that they didn’t worry about taking petty illnesses to a doctor. At the last surgery session she’d only had one patient, a woman with an ear infection. This lessening need for the surgery was also
down to the nuns’ innovation: they had immediately set up a district-nurse system, and clinics for pregnant women and mums with babies. The nuns had been to see the local GP and he had agreed to call-outs for half of his normal fee, which they would pay. Edith was full of admiration for the nuns, and had been surprised to find them such a jolly crowd to be around. She knew Ada would have loved them, and would approve of her letting go of the reins. So, all in all, it was for the best.

  Waking up in her bedroom in Hastleford Hall in Leicestershire with the sun streaming through the open window, bringing with it the smells of the countryside, she’d lain quietly beside the sleeping Laurent, listening to his gentle snores and feeling her body relax. Her mind was a little bit more difficult to quieten.

  As she had done so many times, she thought of her dear mother. Now she understood. Mother had been made of different stuff from herself. In the face of war, she’d wanted everything to remain the same and had continued her quest to find Edith a husband. Poor Mother; and yet, in a way, it was a nice outlook – the idea that life could be normal, despite everything. But it hadn’t been one that she herself harboured. She’d taken up the challenge, and in the process had broken her mother’s heart – a heart that held a weakness none of them had known about. Unable to take the strain of her missing daughter, and with her two sons fighting on the Somme, Mother had died. When Edith had said her goodbyes to her, as she left for France, she was still of an age when she thought of her mother as a silly, empty-headed socialite, not knowing that she would never see her again; and not knowing that one day she would know the exact pain that her mother had felt.

  It was a pain bred of fearful uncertainty. The not knowing. Elka – her beloved daughter – was out there somewhere, and Edith felt sure she was in extreme danger. Ania was trapped in Poland, where the stories of atrocities towards the Jews, if they could be believed, were horrendous. Ania was of that faith, if not a born Jew.

  What were they doing, each of them, and what were their lives like? Oh dear God, it’s unbearable.

  And Jhona – she hadn’t even got to know him well, before he’d left. Now he was missing, and God knew where, or in which country. Elka was having to carry on with a broken heart, no doubt having to make life-threatening decisions while in a state of grief for her husband. It was cruel that she’d only just found her daughters as a second war broke out. Cruel beyond measure that it should snatch them away from her almost immediately.

  She thought of Ginny and Leah, in an attempt to prevent herself from sinking into a sadness that she’d find it difficult to rise from. Their plight wasn’t any less dangerous or worrying, but she’d had encouraging reports of Leah being so happy to be back with her brother, and doing work that was not too dangerous – that is, if she could believe Brendan. He’d said that Leah was billeted with some lovely people and was living as normal a life as was possible in occupied Paris, and her comings and goings on her bicycle were not noted, as far as they could tell. But that’s all Edith knew. Knowing the way of things, it was probably a fraction of the truth.

  Thinking of France, she at least had the comfort of knowing that Marianne was safe, although living under the traitorous Vichy government that was dictated to by Hitler couldn’t be easy. However, Marianne’s letters were uplifting and it seemed that little had changed for her small circle of friends, apart from one of their number dying and forcing Marianne to contemplate her own mortality. Edith had to smile at this. She was glad that war in all its horror hadn’t touched the beautiful Marianne.

  And the letter she’d received from Ginny had been heart-warming. Picking it up from her bedside table, Edith reread it. Ginny was loving her job, mainly getting the ship ready for use. Some wards were in operation and there were wounded aboard, but Ginny hadn’t yet had much involvement in that. As a new girl, she had to do the ‘scrubbing and stacking’, as she called getting each ward and operating theatre ready.

  As she continued to read the letter, Edith felt some peace, where the lovely Ginny was concerned:

  I’ve not suffered from seasickness at all, but many have. Not sure where it was that I got me sea legs from – maybe an ancestor was a sailor? Anyroad, because of this, I have to work twice as hard, but I don’t mind.

  Me mind’s been turning over this a good while, and working flat out gives me little respite from its goings-on, but I have come to some conclusions. I’m getting used to the fact that I can never be with Brendan in the way that I wanted to, and am happy that he and Leah are in love.

  Will you tell him for me, as I can’t write to him – not just yet? Tell him I’m sorry for me reaction, and that I now know that I love him like a niece should an uncle, and had got meself confused over that feeling.

  And you know, Dr Edith, I’m not just saying these things, but beginning to really feel them. I was a silly girl to ever think otherwise, I know that now.

  We’re not short of good-lookers on this ship, either, and I think I’ve caught the eye of one. He’s a merchant seaman called Norman. We have a chat on deck sometimes, but we have to be careful, because if we’re caught we could get into trouble. That makes it all the more exciting.

  Edith smiled. She remembered that order: ‘No fraternizing!’ And yes, it had made it all the more exciting when she’d snatched a moment or two with Albert. Her sigh held a great depth of memories, some of which she didn’t want to visit, so she put her mind to the letter once more:

  A lot of the girls have formed friendships with the seamen. We have guessing games and look for clues as to which are the married ones. But most of it is just a bit of fun, a relief from the more serious work that fills our days.

  I hope you don’t mind me writing to you, for you feel like family to me. And I hope you can find time to write back. I’m really worried about reports of the bombing raids, and how Leah is doing, but I know you can’t put a lot in a letter, if you do write.

  Keep safe. And don’t worry about me – we fly the Red Cross flag and we have been told that, if called upon, we will treat all nations, so we reckon this will mean as we should be left alone and not torpedoed or anything.

  Eeh, I’m going on a bit, have to close. Write soon.

  Yours, Ginny xxx

  The smile that had played around Edith’s lips widened. Reading Ginny’s letter was just like having her here chatting. She must make sure she adopted the same style when she wrote back and didn’t sound as stiff and formal as letter-writing often could. She would contact Brendan and tell him how Ginny was feeling. She was sure Ginny was being truthful about being able to define now how she truly felt. Distancing herself from Brendan had really helped her and had been the best thing Ginny could have done. She’d encourage Brendan to write a chatty letter to Ginny, too. Yes, that would be the thing. Keeping in touch would make for an easy reunion, when the time came.

  Rolling over, Edith lifted her head onto her elbow and looked down on Laurent. One of his eyes opened. This made her giggle. His arm reached out behind her head, inviting her to nestle into the circle of it. She went willingly, snuggling up to him. She felt a stirring of need inside her. It felt almost wrong at such a time, but it was a battle she lost, as Laurent pulled her over him and sought her lips, cupping her breast in his hand.

  For a while Edith lost herself, and all her disturbing thoughts, as she accepted her darling Laurent’s lovemaking. As she reached a peak of ecstasy that wrapped her in a cocoon of blissfulness, her cares seemed to drop from her. If only this could be how life always was.

  But normality prevailed, once they were up and sitting in the dining room to eat a breakfast that Edith was ravenous for.

  Douglas and Thomas burst through the door of the dining room. ‘Oh, you two are up! What time do you call this – there’s harvesting to do, you know! We’ve been out there since the crack of dawn, and so have our girls.’

  ‘Girls?’

  ‘Our Land Army girls. Little crackers, they are.’

  ‘Thomas, not at the table, please,’ Janine sa
id.

  ‘Sorry, Mother.’ Thomas gave a sly, amused glance in Edith’s direction. She wanted to laugh out loud. He wasn’t the joker his older brother Henry was, though he had a way about him that made you smile.

  ‘Where are these Land Girls then?’

  ‘Mother makes them eat in the kitchen. But they don’t mind; they say they wouldn’t feel comfortable eating in here with us.’

  ‘There, you see – I was right.’ Janine had a smug look on her face. Edith couldn’t imagine how Douglas had ever come to marry her, let alone adore her as he did. No one was as snobbish as Janine.

  ‘Yes, Mother, but why you don’t allow Father and me to eat in the kitchen with them is beyond me. Don’t you realize that to have to come in, get washed and don something clean, just to have breakfast, takes a lot more out of our day than we can afford?’

  ‘That’s enough, Thomas. Your mother is trying to keep some sort of civilized life going. It isn’t her fault that you and I have to be hands-on at the farm.’

  Changing the subject, Edith asked if they had heard from Henry.

  ‘Yes, he’s having a whale of a time in the Egyptian sun.’

  Edith doubted this, but it would be the impression Henry would give, in his letters home.

  ‘Archibald Wavell is his commanding officer. He’s a decent chap, is Archie. We fought together at Ypres. Henry couldn’t be in safer hands.’

  Edith detected an over-joviality in Douglas’s voice. Janine didn’t speak, but Edith saw her body tremble. Whatever else she was, Janine was a mother.

  ‘I know how you feel, Janine. But I’m sure Henry will be fine. He’s a brave and sensible chap.’