Levi's War

by Julie Thomas

  ‘I think we should move away, get away from London,’ said Gunther, his shaggy eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown.

  ‘It may be even worse somewhere else. London has so many different races and people are used to that. If we go somewhere else, to the north, or into the countryside, we may be treated with even more hostility.’

  The speaker, Michael, was a teacher by trade, working now as a baker’s assistant. He was a very tall, sombre, quiet man who spoke with authority, and they were used to listening to and agreeing with him.

  ‘I think Michael is right,’ Levi added, ‘Here we can blend in, especially if we don’t talk much. We just need to be careful, go about our business and avoid trouble.’ So it was decided, for the moment, that they would stay put.

  Less than a month later they all got letters ordering them to appear before a special tribunal. All Germans and Austrians over the age of sixteen had to report and be assessed. Once again Michael quelled the panic and assured them that, as they had fled from Hitler, they had nothing to fear from his enemies.

  On the day of his appointment, Levi dressed in his best clothes and put his papers in his inside pocket. He stood in front of his mirror and silently practised what he was going to say.

  Levi stood in front of the three-man tribunal and watched them read his papers and the affidavit that Mr Dickenson had written for him. They didn’t even look at him. The middle man slammed a stamp on his paperwork.

  ‘You are a category C, no special risk. You are to be left at liberty. Next!’

  Levi took the papers thrust towards him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He turned on his heel and walked out. A sense of relief flooded him, and he felt an urgent need to go home and see how his friends had fared.

  All but one had returned with the same stamp on their documentation. Andros, an Austrian of Hungarian descent, had confessed links to the fascist party and was sent to a holding camp to await the construction of internment camps on the Isle of Man. Levi couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t just kept his mouth shut about his beliefs and retained his freedom, but he knew that Andros was a hot-head and believed that keeping quiet was akin to betrayal. Maybe his honesty was to be admired, Levi thought as he wrote in his journal about the day’s events. If he held such loyalties, would he have been prepared to be interred for them? Would he give up the comforts of his life for ideals and principles? How patriotic was he? Would he exchange his freedom for a chance to serve the good of his country? To free it from the Nazi tyranny? The questions haunted him as he listened to the dinner-time conversation. There was much to think about in this ever-changing world.

  So life continued as normal, except it didn’t. Inside their haven the men felt safe and comfortable, and they knew the neighbours had been warned by Mrs Slatkin: any rude comments to her men and she would not be suppling bottles of the popular illicit alcohol. But travelling on public transport, and even the simple act of going into Hyde Park to eat lunch, was fraught with the possibility that someone would verbally assault them. The German men were particularly at risk, and Levi took to hurrying to the bank and keeping his head engrossed in his work until it was time to rush home.

  Hitler had made overtures of peace towards Britain and France, but the English Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, rejected these, and there was an uneasy cloud over Europe as the Soviet Union bullied the Baltic states and invaded Finland. Levi followed the news closely, and wrote letters home urging his father to bring the rest of the family to London. Still there was no answer, and the lack of mail made him uncomfortably anxious. He told himself they were too busy trying to cope with their plight as Jews in a hostile environment, but at night, when he couldn’t rationalise the silence, it kept him awake and he tossed and turned with worry.

  Even with the risk of verbal abuse, life was better here than in Berlin. The German men in the house spent endless hours discussing what Hitler would do next and how little the English seemed to understand about this maniac and his obsession with ruling Europe, goaded on by his cohorts, Himmler, Goering and Goebbels. And always there was the fear of confrontation.

  ‘Hello.’

  Levi looked up from his book. An elderly man had sat down next to him on the bus. He nodded and smiled.

  ‘Not joined up then?’ the man asked cheerfully.

  Levi felt a trickle of fear down his spine. If he answered, his accent would give him away. If he didn’t, the man would become suspicious and keep asking. He shook his head. The man peered at him.

  ‘What’s wrong, lad? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘No.’ It was very quiet, almost a whisper.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Surprisingly there was no note of accusation in the tone of the question.

  He looked the man full in the face. ‘Berlin.’

  Too late. The expression hardened and the man looked him up and down. ‘A Jerry! On our bus?’

  Levi sighed deeply. ‘Sir, I am a refugee, a Jew. My family is being persecuted by Hitler now, as we speak. I’m working hard and not troubling anyone. If we are invaded I will take my place to fight against my countrymen.’

  The man snorted with derision. ‘Like hell you will. My boy was killed by the Jerrys, at the Somme, in the last war. You could be a spy, sending messages back to those bloody Nazis.’

  The bus swung into a stop. It wasn’t Levi’s, but he knew his best course of action was to depart. He stood up.

  ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. Excuse me.’

  He swayed slightly as he scrambled his way to the opening door.

  ‘Bloody Jerry! Go home!’

  The man’s final words rang in Levi’s ears as his feet found the pavement and people around him stopped and stared.

  The worst incident by far was a sudden police raid on the house while they were all eating dinner around the table. It was Shabbat, their weekly celebration of the Sabbath, and it was clear that the raid was timed to cause the most offence and inconvenience.

  ‘What do you want with us?’ Gunther demanded of the officer who was left to guard them in the dining room while others searched the house.

  The man shrugged. ‘Be quiet!’ he barked loudly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Michael said gently, ‘they’re only doing their job. There is nothing to worry about.’

  A loud noise from the rooms upstairs drew all their glances to the roof.

  ‘What was —?’

  The door burst open and the constable in charge rushed in. He was holding something in his hand. To his horror Levi realised it was his German pistol. He kept it well hidden and had forgotten it was there.

  ‘Is anyone going to admit to owning this or do we have to arrest you all?’ the Constable asked accusingly.

  Levi stood up. ‘I can explain. I was arrested and questioned by a Gestapo agent at the Danish border. The gun jammed when he tried to shoot me and I fought back. I took his gun when I knocked him out. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it with me. It has no ammunition.’

  The constable checked the gun. ‘Why did you keep it?’ he demanded.

  ‘I . . . I had forgotten I had it. I should have handed it in, I’m sorry.’

  The officer walked over to Levi and studied him. For a moment no one spoke. Levi kept his expression impassive and his eyes locked on the other man’s. In his chest his heart was thumping, and he breathed slowly to control his fear.

  ‘You didn’t shoot him?’ the officer asked at last.

  Levi was shocked. ‘No sir, I punched him out cold, locked the door behind me and ran into Denmark. Besides, the gun was jammed. But I am no killer.’

  Slowly the officer nodded. ‘Nor are we. Did you hurt him?’

  Levi ventured a small smile. ‘I believe he would have been sore.’

  There was a connection, an understanding between the two men. Levi felt a buzz of relief, this man wasn’t going to arrest him.

  The officer smiled back at him. ‘All right, son, I believe you. But I’m taking this.’
He pocketed the gun and held his hand out. ‘Papers.’

  Levi dug into his trousers pocket and handed them over. The man scanned them briefly.

  ‘This incident will go on your official record, Mr Horowitz. But no further action will be taken at this stage.’

  After they left, Levi sank down onto his chair. His legs were shaking under the table. Mrs Slatkin brought him a cup of coffee.

  ‘It has a little something in it,’ she said, ‘to help with the shock. Why on earth did you have a gun?’

  Levi looked up at her. Her eyes were concerned and kind, and for a moment he desperately missed his mama.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten I had it.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  London

  June 1940

  ‘Levi Horowitz?’

  Levi looked up and saw a man in army uniform standing on the other side of his desk. His stomach lurched with a mixture of fear and the desire to run.

  ‘Yes.’

  Suddenly Mr Dickenson was beside the man, a worried frown on his face. ‘What’s this about, soldier?’ he asked.

  The officer looked him up and down. ‘And who are you, sir?’

  Dickenson drew himself up. ‘The owner of this bank. What do you want with my staff member?’

  The soldier ignored the question and turned back to Levi. ‘Do you have your papers on you?’ he asked.

  Levi shook his head. ‘No, not when I come to work.’

  The soldier looked momentarily frustrated. ‘You should carry them with you, but never mind. Mr Horowitz, you are to come with me. We will go to your place of residence and collect your personal belongings. Then I am to take you to Euston Station. There you will get on a train to Liverpool and then a ferry across to the Isle of Man. You will be interned at Hutchinson Internment Camp for the duration of the war.’

  Levi rose to his feet and stared at the soldier. ‘Why? What have I done?’ Levi’s voice sounded strangely small, and his throat felt very tight.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Mr Dickenson spluttered, ‘I will complain to your superior officer.’

  Again the man ignored him and spoke only to Levi. ‘The war in Europe is spreading rapidly, Hitler’s armies are marching north, and the list of countries that have capitulated is growing. The government has enlarged the categories of people who should be interned. You now qualify under the category of enemy aliens who work in occupations that could be a risk to the British economy. Now, would you please come with me, sir?’

  The impatience in his voice was clear. Levi threw a panicked glance at Mr Dickenson, who shook his head.

  ‘Damn it, this young man is a refugee from the Nazis and he is Jewish — he’s hardly going to be approached to work for them, nor would he agree to it.’

  The soldier turned to glare at Dickenson. ‘Nevertheless, the law is the law. And this young man is on record as possessing a German weapon. He is not as harmless as you may think. I must insist.’ The voice was firm, final, and the hand on Levi’s arm reinforced the message.

  Dickenson sighed and pointed to the soldier. ‘Do as he says, lad. We’ll get this sorted out, don’t you worry. I’ve got contacts and I’ll make sure you’re released as soon as possible.’

  Levi nodded and grabbed his hat from the stand in the corner.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to leave the wor —’

  ‘It’s not your fault! Don’t be frightened, they won’t hurt you. Will you, officer?’ Dickenson asked. He glanced at the soldier who was waiting for Levi, and his expression was unmistakable.

  ‘No sir, we won’t hurt him or anyone else. We are not Nazis.’

  The drive to the boarding house and then to the station was conducted in uncomfortable silence. The soldier gave him fifteen minutes to collect his belongings and pack his case. Mrs Slatkin was out, so he left her a note with his key and some extra money.

  At Euston Station the solider put him on a train to Liverpool and told him he would be met at the station and transferred to the ferry.

  ‘Don’t even think about getting off somewhere along the route. The army will hunt you down.’ Those words rang in his ears as he took his seat.

  He’d read some vague reports of labour camps in Germany and prisoners being held in appalling conditions, so by the time he reached Lime Street Station his imagination had painted a very dire picture. Still, it was wartime and no doubt his family were enduring far more hardship. He’d almost stopped thinking about what could have happened to them, as some of the possibilities were horrendous and it was easier to block the options out, even if that layered still more guilt upon him. It wasn’t truly fair for him to be enjoying himself as much as he had been. Perhaps the time had come to pay.

  The ferry was full of men with suitcases all heading for the same place, so Levi just followed the masses, onto a truck and through the gates into the camp. The place was nothing like the hell-hole he’d pictured. The buildings were thirty-three commandeered hotels and boarding houses, all attached, in a row, facing a large grassed square in the seaside town of Douglas. The houses were white, with dark painted lintels and window borders, and all had bay windows and small gardens out the front. If it wasn’t for the double row of barbed-wire fencing and the uniformed guards, it could have been a holiday camp.

  First things first. They were photographed, then issued with an alien registration card which would have their photograph affixed to it.

  Levi was shown to his bedroom, on the third floor of a house two from the end of the row. He sat on the single bed and looked around him. A cupboard, a chair and a bed, and a window with a sea view. Sunlight flooded the room and it was warm. Could be worse, could be a lot worse. A gentle knock broke his reverie. He turned towards the door and gasped with delight.

  ‘Mr Liebermann!’

  ‘Hello, Levi. We meet again.’

  They shook hands and Levi sat back on the bed. Teyve took the chair.

  ‘When did you arrive?’ Teyve asked.

  ‘About an hour ago. They came for me at the bank. Poor Mr Dickenson was so upset. He said he would make sure I was released as soon as possible.’

  Teyve smiled and shook his head. ‘Gentiles think they have such power over the government. They don’t realise that it is preoccupied with preparations for war and we mean absolutely nothing. Personally, I wouldn’t rush to leave here. It is a safe place.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Levi asked.

  ‘Two weeks.’

  ‘Why? Why did they send you here?’

  The older man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m German.’

  ‘As if any of us would raise a finger for Hitler! It is ludicrous. I’m glad you’re here,’ Levi said. ‘Tell me what it’s like.’

  Teyve frowned. ‘I think they keep it as informal as possible, but many of the men resent being “locked up”. There is frustration and depression and outrage at the injustice. People will bend your ear about how unfair it is. But I look upon it as an enforced rest, and when the bombs start to drop, I’ll be safe. They won’t waste bombs on us.’

  ‘What do you do all day?’ Levi asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice.

  ‘First thing in the morning we all line up outside and they count us. To make sure no one has escaped in the night, I suppose. Where would we go? We’re on an island! But they know us all by name and they are good men. Give them no trouble and they will leave you alone.

  ‘There are days when we can go on a walk into the hills or down to the sea for a swim. The guards come with us, but it is easy enough to forget they’re there. The sea is lovely and warm and refreshing. Or I spend time reading and planning my shops.’

  ‘Do they have a piano?’ Levi asked.

  ‘Believe it or not, they have eleven! And the beginnings of an orchestra. There are two concert pianists and they give recitals. There are writers and painters and linguists and scientists, and even some mathematicians! They have lectures at night. You can learn a language or how to paint, or you could give piano less
ons. Men have money and will pay to learn a new skill. It fills in the time.’

  Levi was grinning. ‘It sounds quite bearable.’

  So began Levi’s internment in Hutchinson Camp. At times he felt guilty because he enjoyed it so much.

  Isle of Man, August 1940

  The day everything changed began like any other. The men were woken by a sharp knock on their doors. They dressed and filed outside to stand and be counted. The just-risen late-summer sun warmed them as they stood in silence. After roll call they went to breakfast and chatted about what they planned for the day.

  Levi joined his two best friends, Frank, a German poet from Cologne, and Pierre, a French-born painter who had grown up in Berlin, in the group going down to the sea for a swim. It was starting to turn cold in the evenings, and soon swimming would end until summer 1941, so they wanted to get in as much as they could. A guard accompanied them to the beach, but brought a ball for them to throw to each other and usually joined in. The water licked at Levi’s body as he leapt through the waist-high waves, his arms raised and his feet struggling to keep him upright on the sand.

  ‘Come on, dive in! Don’t be a coward.’ It was Frank. He gave Levi a friendly push as he passed him, sending him tumbling under the churning water. The taste of salt filled his mouth and nose, and as he rolled onto his back he could see the sunshine reflecting off the surface. He stood up, wiped his face and sent a spray in Frank’s direction with the heel of his hand.

  ‘Aha, if it’s war you want, war you shall have.’ Levi was laughing, and so were the men around him as they joined in the battle, using their hands and feet to send cascades of chilly water at each other.

  Pierre dived at Levi, tackled him around the shins and pulled him under the sea. In seconds they were too deep to stand, and Levi found himself pushing against Pierre as he scrambled towards the surface. An arm around his chest pulled him back down, and then it happened. Just a second, there and gone. A pair of lips grazed his, the most delicate of kisses.