Harry was lucky that no further action was taken about his second assault on a police officer. The inspector had no wish for the provocation to be brought out into the open. Public opinion about the internment of German and Italian nationals had begun to swing against the idea. So many had been refugees from the Fascists that many were already being released to do valuable war work. No, Inspector Gordon was just pleased to get shot of the troublemaker Heinrich Schwarz, or Harry Black or whoever he was. He’d happily off-load him and make him someone else’s responsibility.
Harry was taken to Brixton the following morning and a memo on his papers warned that he’d attacked a police officer and should be regarded as dangerous.
Harry’s confinement in His Majesty’s Prison Brixton lasted seven weeks and they were the seven most miserable weeks in his life. The prison was overcrowded. Harry was now regarded as a prisoner rather than an internee and the regime was harsh. However, Brixton was only being used as a transit prison and from there he was moved first to Huyton Internment camp outside Liverpool and then at length by boat to the Isle of Man.
At Huyton he had been housed in a half-built housing estate. Cramped and cold, hundreds of internees had been living on a building site, housed in half-finished council houses, surrounded by barbed wire. Autumn had turned to winter and the facilities were basic to say the least and the food minimal. Always hungry, the inmates had a strict regime among themselves, adding everything edible they could find to spin out their meagre rations. Morale was very low and more than one internee considered suicide as a convenient way out. Most, however, were determined not to be cowed by the harsh conditions. Some of them had already suffered the torment of a Nazi concentration camp and though the conditions were bad they were nothing like those they’d already experienced. Harry and several of the other, younger internees were constantly looking for a way of escape, but they were strictly guarded and no opportunity presented itself.
Then one day, just a week before Christmas, Harry and twenty others were told they were moving again.
‘Where to now?’ Harry demanded.
‘Never you mind,’ came the reply. ‘You’ll see. Get your stuff.’
There was very little ‘stuff’ to get. Harry still had his case with him; it had been returned when he left Brixton. He had his clothes but there was no sign of his money or his watch. He had long ago given up hope of ever seeing those again. The police were the same everywhere, they were thieves, he’d always said so. They’d nicked his valuables and there was nothing he could do about it.
The next day they were taken to Fleetwood where they were put aboard a ship, The Lady of Man, and they realised they were going to the Isle of Man. Everyone had heard about the camps over there and their spirits rose. Several internees had already been released from there, so perhaps the end was in sight. If only they could find some way to prove that they were no threat to the security of England, that they truly hated the Nazis as much as the English did. Harry decided he would be the model prisoner.
When they reached Douglas and disembarked, they were formed up into groups and marched along the sea front. The sea they had just crossed looked grey and brooding. As Harry looked out across the endless expanse of water, he knew that there’d be no escape from here; his mood was grey and brooding, too.
Knew I should’ve made a break for it before we was put on that ship, he thought bleakly. I’m stuck here now till the Nazis invade and come looking for me and all the other Jews holed up here on this bloody island. Like rats in a trap we’ll be.
They were marched through a gate and along the promenade to what looked like a hotel and a row of large houses, looking out over the sea. All this was surrounded by barbed wire, cutting off the whole promenade, and with it those who were constrained to live beyond the gates. The new internees were logged in and assigned to a house along the front. They were all together and for once their accommodation, though cramped with several to a room, was dry and comparatively warm. They were also assigned weekly rations to cook and share. They chose a house leader, Alfred Muller, who had actually been born in England of German Jewish parents. Alfred, who had been the headmaster of a large school in Birmingham, had a talent for organisation and soon sorted out rotas for the cooking and the household duties. It was a step up from jumping to obey the shouted order of some loud-mouthed NCO who had been invalided out of the army. They were to organise themselves. They were responsible for themselves and it returned them some measure of dignity. For the first time in months they were not actively hungry. The food was plain, but at least it was there.
The whole camp had a life of its own with a set routine. Reveille was sounded at seven o’clock, after which the roll was called, followed by some sort of physical exercise before breakfast. Then there was the rest of the day, stretching out before them. Boredom was acknowledged as the main enemy within the camp and it was to counteract this that several of the inmates organised talks, classes, lectures. So many of them were professional men, doctors, lawyers, lecturers, musicians and actors – top men in their fields – and a sort of open university opened up, with tutors of the highest calibre.
On Christmas Eve there were services led by various clergy and the singing of carols raised everyone’s spirits. Harry had never celebrated Christmas before. His parents did not because of their faith; their celebration had been Hanukkah. Since the death of his parents Harry had had no faith and didn’t miss it. He was Harry and he was master of his own destiny. Even so, he was glad there was extra to eat on this day that was so special to others.
Harry’s Christmas dinner was rabbit stew with potatoes and carrots, and it was the best meal he’d eaten in years.
21
By Christmas Eve London had been subjected to nearly a hundred days of almost continuous bombing. Not only London, but other major cities considered by Hitler as targets. Coventry, Southampton, Plymouth, Liverpool, Manchester and Bristol had all received visits from the Luftwaffe with heavy bombing and firestorms, but despite this attack on the fabric of Britain and on the morale of her citizens, though aghast at the damage inflicted, people refused to be cowed. Christmas was upon them and, war or no war, everyone was determined to celebrate the season of goodwill.
‘Season of goodwill, that’s a joke,’ Arthur said gloomily as he and Dan were fire-watching once again on the paint warehouse roof. ‘Hitler’ll probably send us an extra-special present for Christmas.’
‘Well, I shan’t be here to receive it, mate, I’m off to Feneton tomorrow to see my Naomi.’
‘How’s she keeping?’ Arthur asked. ‘Babby’s due soon, isn’t it?’
‘Middle of January, so they say.’ Dan couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice and Arthur, the father of three daughters, smiled. He could well remember the excitement of an imminent birth.
‘So a few weeks to go yet,’ he said equably. ‘Hope it all goes well.’
‘No reason why it shouldn’t, the doc says,’ replied Dan. ‘Still, I’m looking forward to being there over Christmas.’
Dan had managed to get to Feneton only once since Naomi and Shirley had moved there. He had taken the train from Liverpool Street three weeks after they had left and Naomi had met him at the station. She flung herself into his arms, oblivious of the half-envious, half-disapproving looks from the other travellers.
‘Danny, oh Danny, I’ve missed you so,’ she cried. ‘Thank God you’re safe. That dreadful bombing!’ She hugged him to her and he returned her hug as tightly as he dared.
‘Got to be careful of the baby,’ he said as he held her away from him and looked into her eyes. He could feel tears springing to his own as he saw the joy and love he felt reflected there. ‘God,’ he muttered, ‘I’ve missed you, an’ all.’
‘Baby’s all right,’ Naomi assured him and, taking his hand, said, ‘Come on, let’s get away from here.’ She led him out of the station and across the street to a little tea room opposite. As she opened the door a bell jingled and Shirley appeared t
hrough a curtain at the back.
‘Look who’s here, Shirley,’ Naomi cried. ‘Two teas please.’
They sat in the window and held hands across the table. Suddenly shy, Naomi said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, Dan, but I’ve booked us a room at the Feneton Arms. It’s the local pub.’
‘Mind?’ exclaimed Dan. ‘Why should I mind? I want you to myself while I’m here. I’ve missed you, girl.’
Naomi flushed with pleasure. ‘Thought it’d be just as well. I share a room with Shirley and of course she said she’d move out, sleep downstairs, but I wanted us to be more private... you know.’
Dan did know and was wondering why they had stopped in the teashop for tea when their time together was so precious, but he only squeezed her hand and said, ‘Yeah, I want us to be private, too.’
Shirley came out to the table with a pot of tea and two rather tired-looking pieces of sponge cake.
‘Saved you a piece of your own,’ she said, putting the tray on the table. ‘Glad to see you, Dan,’ she added.
‘What did she mean, “a piece of your own”?’ asked Dan as he took one of the pieces of cake and dunked it in his tea.
‘It’s a little job I’ve got,’ Naomi explained. ‘Now, don’t look like that, Dan. I got to do something, even if it’s try to bake cakes without butter or eggs! I bake stuff for the teashop and Mrs Grant, what owns the shop, pays me. Gives me the rent money for Maud. Means I can save for when I can’t work cos of the baby. We been trying out some of them recipes the government gives out. We made Woolton Pie last week. Didn’t taste too bad and we wasn’t hungry after.’ She looked up at her husband suddenly and said, ‘You been getting enough to eat, Dan? With me not there to cook for you?’
‘Course I do,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t you worry about me, I do all right.’ He finished his soggy cake and then gulped down the rest of his tea. ‘Shall we go, then?’
Naomi finished her tea, saying, ‘Just wanted you to see where Shirley and I work, that’s all. I got today off and Sunday.’ She went to the curtain at the back of the shop and lifting a corner called through, ‘Off now, Shirley. Thanks for saving us a bit of cake.’
They wandered out into the late-autumn sunshine and, hand in hand, sauntered along the village street until they came to an old coaching inn fronting the main road with an arched entry to the stable yard at the back. Above the door swung a creaking wooden sign board, but its name had been painted out in dark red paint. ‘It’s cos it’s called the Feneton Arms,’ Naomi explained when Dan looked up in surprise. ‘All the village names have been painted out cos of German parachutists. The pub would give away the name of the village, see?’
‘Let’s hope that any don’t arrive today,’ said Dan as he pushed open the door. ‘We don’t want no interruptions from Hitler or anyone else today!’
They had a wonderful two days away from the bombing in London. The peace of the evening was broken by the distant sound of planes and anti-aircraft fire, but they were able to sleep in each other’s arms without the night sky raining down death and destruction on them.
Now, for the second time, Dan took the train and arrived at Feneton. Again Naomi was there to greet him and in the bitter cold and gathering dusk they hurried straight to the Feneton Arms. Naomi was looking tired, her face pale and drawn. Once upstairs in their room he took her in his arms and kissed her. She returned his kiss and then pulled away.
‘Sorry, love,’ she said, ‘got to sit down. Got a bit of back ache.’
Dan was immediately all solicitude. ‘Here,’ he said, leading her to the dressing-table chair, the only chair in the room. ‘Or do you want a proper lie-down?’
Naomi smiled. ‘No,’ she insisted, ‘I’ll be fine in a minute, it’s probably just that your train was a bit late and I was standing out in the cold for a while. I’ll be fine once I get warmed up again.’
When she felt a little better she suggested that they go downstairs to the bar and get a drink. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘it’s Christmas Eve. We deserve a drink to start our Christmas.’
They went down to the bar, which was decorated with paper chains made by the landlord’s daughter. They looped across the ceiling, hoops of newspaper painted bright colours. Branches of holly were tucked behind the pictures on the walls and ivy twisted up the narrow pillars supporting the canopy over the bar counter. There was a fire burning in a wide, old-fashioned fireplace, the logs glowing red under the dancing flames. The blackout curtains were already closely drawn and in the yellow lamplight the bar looked warm and welcoming.
Dan bought a beer for himself and a warm port and lemon for Naomi and they took their drinks to a small sofa beside the fire.
‘You all right, Naomi?’ Dan asked. ‘You look a bit peaky.’
‘Just tired,’ Naomi assured him. ‘I always seem to be tired now. Don’t worry,’ she smiled across at him, ‘it’s only cos of the baby. The doctor says it’s to be expected.’
‘Well, just as long as you’re sure.’
The landlady provided them with a supper of liver and onions and they each had another drink by the fire before Naomi said, ‘Sorry, Dan, but I got to go to bed.’
They went upstairs and got undressed. Naomi sighed and flopped down on the bed. Dan looked at her anxiously. ‘You sure you’re all right, girlie?’
‘Still got a bit of back ache,’ Naomi admitted, ‘but I expect it’ll be gone in the morning. Come on, get in beside me and warm me up.’
They snuggled down together under the blankets, Naomi nestled in Dan’s arms, reassured by the warmth of his body next to hers. Dan, feeling her heart beat against him, knew an overwhelming burst of love and murmured softly into her hair, ‘You’re everything to me.’
It was only a couple of hours later that Naomi awoke with a start. A sharp pain knifed through her and she sat up with a gasp. Dan was immediately awake.
‘What? What is it?’
‘A bit of a pain,’ Naomi said when she could say anything at all.
‘What sort of pain?’
‘It’s all right, it’s gone now,’ she said. ‘Go back to sleep.’
Dan lay down again but could feel Naomi lying, tense now, beside him.
It can’t be yet, she was thinking. It isn’t due for another fortnight. Must be a false alarm.
It wasn’t. The next pain, coming about twenty minutes later, just as she had drifted off to sleep again, made her gasp. As the contraction wore off she lay still, trying to calm her thoughts. If the baby was indeed about to put in an appearance, how was she going to get to Ipswich to the hospital? The doctor had assured her everything should go well.
‘But,’ he’d said when she’d last seen him two weeks ago, ‘I think it would be a good idea, Mrs Federman, if you had your baby in hospital since you’re a slightly older mother and this is your first. Means we’re all on hand, just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ demanded Naomi. ‘I thought you said it was all going to be OK.’
‘I did, and I’m sure it will be, but just in case we’re needed.’ He had put her name down for the maternity unit for a couple of weeks in mid-January. ‘Can’t be sure when the baby will put in an appearance,’ he went on, ‘but this way at least we’ll be expecting you.’
Well, thought Naomi now, they certainly aren’t expecting me on Christmas Eve. It must be a false alarm, and she forced herself to try and relax. It wasn’t any use and once she’d struggled through the next contraction she shook Dan awake.
‘Dan,’ she whispered. ‘Danny, I think the baby’s coming.’
Dan sat up with a start. ‘What did you say?’
‘The baby. I think it’s coming. I’m having contractions.’
‘But it isn’t due for another two or three weeks yet,’ he cried in dismay.
Naomi gave a weak laugh and said, ‘Don’t think it’s going to wait that long.’
Dan leaped out of bed and pulled on his trousers over his pyjamas. ‘What are we going to do? What shall I do?’
/> ‘I’m supposed to go to the hospital, but I think we’d better ring the doctor first. The number’s in my bag. You could ring from downstairs.’
Dan passed Naomi her bag and she pulled out a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. ‘Here,’ she said, but as he reached to take it from her she doubled up with yet another contraction. ‘Tell him,’ she gasped, ‘tell him they’re coming every fifteen minutes or so and ask him if we should try and get to the hospital.’
Dan snatched the paper and ran to the door. ‘Won’t be long,’ he promised. ‘Back in a minute.’ He ran downstairs to where he’d seen a phone behind the bar, but when he reached it he found a metal grille had been pulled down over the bar and locked so that the phone was inaccessible.
‘Shit!’ He ran back upstairs and along the landing to a door marked Private at the far end. He banged on it hard with both his fists. At first there was no sound in answer to his knock and he beat on the door again, shouting, ‘Open up. Please open up.’
After a moment the door creaked open and the landlord peered out on to the landing. ‘What’s up?’ he demanded grumpily. ‘It’s after midnight, for Christ’s sake!’
‘My wife,’ cried Dan, ‘the baby’s coming. I got to ring the doctor.’
The landlord turned back and shouted up the stairs, ‘Jenny, need you down here, sharpish!’
Moments later the landlady, wearing an old dressing gown and with her hair in an untidy plait, appeared beside her husband.
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