Levi's War

by Julie Thomas

  ‘Thank you. Do you know my papa?’ he asked as he slid onto the leather seat and put his suitcase between his feet.

  ‘I do, indeed. Moshe, keep driving,’ the man instructed to the silent figure behind the steering wheel. Then he extended his hand towards Levi.

  ‘I’m Teyve, Teyve Liebermann. I’m a shop owner, or I was. When things got bad your papa helped me to stay in business. Why are you going to London?’

  ‘Papa has a friend there who will give me a job in his bank. I’m to take a fishing boat to Sweden.’

  Teyve nodded slowly. ‘It’s a good plan, but a complicated one. I have an exit visa and I’m on my way to Copenhagen. From there I shall fly to London. My wife was supposed to come with me, but she refused. She doesn’t believe the situation in Berlin will get any worse and she is so German, she says she couldn’t live in London.’

  His voice had a sad quality, and Levi wanted to console him.

  ‘My papa thinks the same thing, but he decided to send me away just in case. When it gets better I’ll come home.’

  Teyve smiled. ‘So will I. And reopen my shops! But in the meantime, young man, would you like to come to Copenhagen with me and fly to London?’

  Levi frowned. What to do? Stick to the plan or trust this new companion?

  ‘Do your parents still have those wonderful music nights?’ Teyve asked. ‘I remember your papa playing his violin.’

  ‘I play the piano!’

  Levi felt hope rising in his throat. Teyve studied him and then nodded. ‘Ah yes, I think I remember you now. Chopin.’

  Levi beamed.

  ‘My favourite. Thank you, Herr Liebermann. Papa would be very pleased that I met you. I will accept your invitation.’

  ‘Good.’

  As Levi settled down into the firm seat he could feel the gun nestled in his pocket and prayed he wouldn’t have to use it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  London

  November 1938

  The rest of the journey went without incident. Levi realised two things by the time they arrived in London. Firstly, Teyve was a very wealthy man, and secondly, Jews were not treated with the same disdain outside of Germany. It was like the old days. People called him ‘sir’ and took his coat and smiled with appreciation when he smiled at them. He suspected that some assumed he was Teyve’s nephew and treated him accordingly.

  He’d never been on a plane, and the flight from Copenhagen to Paris, and then on to Heston Aerodrome west of London, was an adventure. He took his cue from his companion, sipped his beer, and didn’t behave like a refugee fleeing his traumatic homeland. The customs official at Heston was polite and deferential to Teyve.

  ‘Are you going to open a shop here, sir?’ The hand holding the stamp was hovering above the piece of paper.

  Teyve beamed at the tired face looking up at him. ‘Of course! More than one. And I will employ the best of British shop assistants to work in it.’

  The stamp came down with a definitive bang. ‘Very good, sir. Welcome to England.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Levi handed his paper to the same man. Two impassive blue eyes scanned it and then glanced at him quizzically.

  ‘Levi Horowitz.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How do you qualify?’

  ‘I’m a banker.’

  The man looked him up and down and smirked, the eyes had iced over. ‘Are you old enough to work in a bank?’

  Levi swallowed. Suddenly Teyve was beside him again, his hand resting on Levi’s shoulder. ‘He’s with me. He has a letter to Mr Peter Dickenson of London’s Marylebone Bank, who will employ him. His father, Benjamin Horowitz, owns one of the most esteemed banks in Berlin.’

  Once again the stamp fell onto the paper and it was handed back to Levi.

  ‘Very good, sir. Welcome to England.’

  Levi wondered how many times a day the man said that sentence and what he really wanted to say. He smiled broadly at the official.

  ‘Thank you.’

  It was late afternoon and darkness had fallen. A chill wind blew across the field towards the car park at the aerodrome. Levi wasn’t sure what would happen next. He braced himself to say goodbye to the friend of his father who had shown him such kindness.

  ‘Where will you go now?’ Teyve asked him.

  Levi picked up his suitcase. ‘There is a bus stop over there. I have some pounds, I will catch a bus into the city. Papa said there are Jewish organisations in North London who take care of refugees. If I can find one of them, maybe they will give me a bed.’

  Teyve shook his head. ‘Benjamin would never forgive me if I left you here to catch a bus into the unknown. No, definitely not. I am going to take a taxi to stay with a friend of mine, a man who has supplied my shops with beautiful clothing for many years. He lives in Hampstead. I’m sure he and his wife will be happy to accommodate you. And tomorrow you can go into London and find Mr Peter Dickenson of the Marylebone Bank.’

  Levi made a mental note that he needed to make sure his papa knew how kind Mr Liebermann had been. When they were all safely back in Berlin, Papa would want to do something to show his appreciation.

  Levi slept very well during his first night in England. His hosts were welcoming and their house was comfortable, much smaller than his home, but nicely furnished. They had a dog, a black Labrador, and Levi lavished attention on it. Consequently it slept on his bed, and its deep snore lulled him to sleep.

  The next morning he was wondering whether to pack his bag when Margot, the lady of the house, knocked softly on his open door. She was almost as round as she was tall, and she smelled faintly of flour and dried fruit.

  ‘How did you sleep, dear?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  She brushed her large hands on her pinafore and smiled at him. ‘Don’t feel you have to up and go. You’re welcome to stay here until you get settled. Bobo loves you and would miss your company! I have a friend who runs a boarding house south of the river. She has several refugees there, mostly Jews, Europeans I think, and she knows how to cook what they like! Shall I see if she has a spare room?’

  Levi felt a surge of affection and gratitude. ‘Yes, please! You are all so kind. I wish I could explain what it’s like at home. We don’t socialise with fellow Jews because it’s too dangerous to congregate together. When my mama goes shopping, some of the gentiles spit on her and call her names.’

  Margot shook her head. ‘It is all too shocking. Well, you’re safe now, and if anyone is rude to you, you just tell my Fred. He was a boxing champion at school, you know — he’ll give them what for.’

  ‘Well, I never, fancy that, Benjamin Horowitz’s son!’ Mr Peter Dickenson was a lean man with a thick head of sandy-coloured hair. He was younger than Levi had expected, possibly around forty. Levi sat opposite the generous wooden desk and waited patiently.

  ‘Your father says you have been working as a clerk in his bank?’

  Levi nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I started on the personal accounts, but Papa moved me over to some of the larger business accounts, some of them government ones. I did backroom stuff, not meetings with clients.’

  And compared to what he really wanted to do he had found the work monotonous and lonely, but he wasn’t going to admit that to his prospective employer.

  ‘You are twenty-one.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t fancy going to University?’

  Levi hesitated. ‘I wasn’t allowed, sir. Jews are banned from higher education in Germany.’

  Dickenson nodded abruptly. ‘Of course. Sorry. How ridiculous. Your English is very good.’

  ‘We had lessons as children. I speak a little French, Italian, but mostly I learned English. My Feter Avrum, my papa’s brother, immigrated to America in 1925, and Papa promised us we could go and have a holiday with him if our English was good enough. I’m musical, and Mama says that languages come easily to those with a musical ear.’

 
‘Can you write in English?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Apart from a job, what else do you need from me?’

  Levi reached into his coat pocket and drew out a leather pouch. ‘I have some jewellery here. Papa said I was to deposit it in your bank for safekeeping.’

  Dickenson reached out his hand, and Levi passed the bag across the desk. He watched silently as the man opened it and examined the contents in the palm of his hand: rings, brooches, two solid silver snuff boxes, two miniature portraits of Benjamin and Elizabeth, his father and mother. When Dickenson saw the seven loose diamonds in the tiny black box he looked up sharply.

  ‘You carried these with you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I hung the pouch over my shoulder, in my armpit, and it was taped to my side.’

  Levi wondered whether to tell this man about the Gestapo agent and how close he’d come to losing his possessions, but something told him it was better to keep silent for the moment.

  ‘Do you have a list of these things?’ Dickenson asked.

  Levi unfolded two sheets of paper and handed them across. ‘The first one is a list of what I have, the second is a list of all our family’s possessions.’

  Dickenson scanned the two lists, shook his head and folded them up. ‘Let’s hope no one takes any of them from your family. Very well, Levi. I can do that for you and we will find a position for you here. Do you have somewhere to live?’

  ‘Yes, sir, a boarding house south of the river. You should know that there were ten diamonds. I am going to sell one to a jeweller in Covent Garden to give me funds and I have plans for the other two.’

  Teyve was still living in the Hampstead house when it came time for Levi to move to his new home. His new friends at the bank had told him that refugees were given exit visas but not allowed to take more than a very little money with them. This had given him an idea. A way he could thank the people who had helped him. Before he left, he shook Teyve by the hand.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for all your help.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, son, I’m sure Benjamin would do the same for me.’

  Levi reached into his pocket and drew out a piece of paper. He thrust it into Teyve’s hand.

  ‘This is my papa saying thank you and go well.’

  The older man looked at the crumpled piece of paper and frowned. Then he opened it and saw the loose diamond sitting in the centre. When he looked up his eyes were glinting with unshed tears.

  ‘Thank you, my boy. That repays me more than you will ever know.’

  He grasped Levi in a bear hug, and when they parted Levi smiled and nodded. Then he turned to Margot and her husband, Fred, who stood in the hall behind them, watching. Margot came forward and reached up for a hug. Levi bent down and obliged.

  ‘Thank you so much for your kindness, you have made me feel at home.’

  She put her hands against his chest. ‘Oh don’t be silly, dear. We know where you are and we’ll see you again. You must come and keep Shabbat with us.’

  Levi took her hand and put another piece of paper into it. She touched it with her finger.

  ‘What’s this then?’ she asked.

  ‘Open it and see.’

  She opened the paper and saw the diamond. ‘Oh my good Lord, you lovely boy!’

  Fred joined her and stared at the stone.

  Levi smiled at them. ‘Take it to Covent Garden and sell it. They are desperate for good stones, so make sure they give you enough. See more than one jeweller, tell them you are comparing offers.’

  Fred extended his workman’s hand and enveloped Levi’s long fingers. ‘Thank you very much, son, much appreciated.’

  ‘No,’ Levi turned to look at the smiling Teyve, ‘it is I who should be saying thank you. I will never forget any of you.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  London

  1939

  Life had fallen into place with what seemed like remarkable ease. Levi had a job and a place to live. The boarding establishment was a huge house on the edge of Richmond Park. The rooms weren’t large, but the beds were comfortable and there were enough blankets to keep out the cold. The view from his window was green, large trees and an expanse of grass. It made him feel homesick for the back garden at home, and he liked to watch the birds perched in lines on the branches. He wrote a letter to his younger siblings, twins Rachel and David, and told them he’d named the birds after some of the older members of their synagogue. He knew it would make them laugh. He waited patiently for them to reply, and when they didn’t he wrote again, stressing how much it would mean to him to hear news of his family.

  His fellow housemates were a mixture of Hungarian, Czechoslovakian, Russian, German, Italian and French men. Most of them were Jewish, and they ranged from those trying to maintain their strict faith and life practices, to those who had been so assimilated they hardly went to Shul. Levi was one of the very few who worked in the same field he’d left behind in Berlin.

  The front room had an upright piano, old and sturdy but in tune, and one or two men had brought precious violins and flutes with them. They formed a makeshift band and entertained the others with instrumental and vocal renditions of favourite tunes from their homelands.

  Mrs Galina Slatkin, the owner, had inherited her house from her parents. She was a clever cook, and understood that some of her boarders craved garlic, paprika, herbs, beetroot, cheese and spicy sausage. No one asked where she obtained these magic ingredients from, but the fact that her brother had an illegal still in his backyard shed and made alcohol, and that she was adept at bartering, no doubt had something to do with her genius.

  Levi found himself very happy there. He had the freedom to walk where he wanted and shop where he wanted, and no one swore at him or made him feel unsafe. When he smiled at shop assistants they smiled back and many called him, ‘sir.’

  There were no storm troopers with batons and no crude anti-Semitic slogans painted on buildings. He was allowed to own a radio and read books by Jewish authors. He found a Jewish doctor and a Jewish dentist, and both were happy to have him as a client. It made him realise how much had been ripped away from the Jews in his homeland, how normal his life had once been and what it felt like to be a valued member of your society. If he dwelt upon this injustice, he found himself becoming angry.

  Five days a week he dressed in one or other of his two suits, a tie and a white shirt, polished black shoes and a fedora hat and made his way by bus into the city. The bank was in a cavernous and impressive Georgian building, and he loved the sound of the echoes in the vast marble entrance hall. His job was similar to the tasks he’d done back home, except the documents were in English, and the people around him were friendly and welcoming.

  In March of 1939 a workmate, an accountant called Ted who came from Liverpool, invited him to a jazz club, Le Meridian, to watch an American band. Jazz had been popular in the USA since the 1920s, but was only just gaining a real foothold in England. Levi followed Ted down a flight of steps into a smoke-filled, dimly lit space. They ordered cocktails at the bar and took a table close to the raised stage. For Levi, jazz was fascinating, a world away from the classical music he had grown up playing, or the swing music he’d heard in the cafés of Berlin. The rhythms were infectious, his fingers and toes tapped in time and he felt a wave of joy.

  ‘Don’t look now, but someone is watching you,’ Ted murmured. Levi glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘I said don’t look!’

  ‘Where? What do you mean?’

  ‘Over by the bar, nine o’clock.’

  Levi sighed and frowned at his companion. ‘How can I see if I’m not allowed to look?’ he asked, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.

  ‘Honestly, you are so naïve! Take a sip of your drink and slowly turn around.’

  Levi did as he was told. A woman sat at the bar nursing a whisky on the rocks and watching them. She was a buxom brunette, wearing a tight-fitting and low-cut dress. She smiled at him.

  �
�Go over and talk to her, buy her a drink.’

  Levi shook his head. He could imagine nothing worse than trying to make conversation above the music.

  ‘Certainly not,’ he said firmly, and took another sip of cocktail.

  Ted sighed. ‘Are you a homosexual, Horowitz?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ Levi felt the shock of the question like a fist to the solar plexus, immediately followed by acute embarrassment.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ted, what sort of question is that?’

  Ted shrugged. ‘Okay, so you’re shy. Mind if I step in?’

  ‘Why should I mind?’ Levi asked.

  ‘You might be planning to pick her up, wouldn’t want to step on your toes.’

  He looked across the table and recognised the smile twitching at the corners of Ted’s mouth.

  ‘You’re teasing me. I don’t understand your English ways. Go ahead, be my guest,’ he said.

  Ted stood up and gave him a mock salute. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Two nights later Levi went back by himself, and realised almost immediately that the pianist was unwell and struggling to keep up. At the first break he went up to the man playing the trumpet, who seemed to be in charge, and asked if he could have a chance to play the piano. The love affair was instanteous; the music flowed through him like an electrical charge, and by song number three he was improvising. The trumpet player came over at the next break.

  ‘Billy wants to know if you can stay till closing. He’d like to go home if you’ve got this,’ he said. Levi nodded and smiled. The trumpet player patted his shoulder.

  ‘Thanks, buddy. You’re great. We’ll pay you.’

  Several hours later Levi floated out of the club with some pounds in his pocket, the smell of smoke in his nostrils and the taste of whisky on his lips. Would he come back and play again? Try and stop him! The thought of his father’s reaction made him smile.

  On 1 September 1939, Hitler’s army invaded Poland and everything changed. Within hours Levi was an ‘enemy alien’, not because he was Jewish but because he was German. He was horrified to find himself in a country at war with his homeland. At the boarding house, all of the German men gathered and discussed what to do.