by Mona Golabek
Lisa had begged the people at work, but they were all as poor as she was. She knocked on shops near the factory, and never thought of giving up; she just resolved to approach things more systematically. She would find every Danziger in London if that was what it took.
When her stomach told her it was dinnertime, she would find the nearest underground station and make her way back to Willesden Green station. At the fish and chips shop, she picked up her pace so as not to be tempted to spend any of the few shillings she had saved.
After dinner Lisa would go to the piano, happy to lose herself in music. The late summer evenings were long and warm, and the large bay windows were left open onto the front lawn. Neighbors and passersby enjoyed a concert of classical culture from old world Vienna.
Before the evening was over, the five friends, Paul, Gunter, Aaron, Lisa, and Gina, would have a “committee meeting.” Paul reported that he had secured a sponsor for his little brother, but that so far there were no seats available on the Berlin Kindertransport—too many families were fighting for a chance to save their children.
Lisa had the opposite problem—a space on the train and still no sponsor.
At the end of yet another unproductive afternoon, Lisa walked up Riffel Road with her head bowed, on her way back to the hostel. A voice stopped her.
“Young lady, come here a moment. Please.”
It was the strange neighbor lady in black, leaning on a large wooden-handled rake. With her long dress and high-button shoes, she looked like the witch in Grimms’ fairy tales.
“I have too many cucumbers and tomatoes this week, would thee take them to Mrs. Cohen for me on your way?”
“Of course,” Lisa said politely, surprised at the strange English.
“I’ll get thee a bag. Please start under there,” she said, pointing to a dark green plant. Lisa hesitantly lifted the large leaves and was surprised to find half a dozen cucumbers waiting. She snapped them off and piled them on the lawn next to a neat stack of already picked tomatoes.
The woman still hadn’t come back. Lisa waited. Overcome by temptation, she reached for a juicy tomato, and bit in. The woman came out the door just as the warm juice exploded over Lisa’s chin and blouse.
“My, my! Look at thee!”
It was just an overripe tomato, but after a day of frustration and exhaustion, and doors shut in her face, Lisa couldn’t control herself and burst into tears.
“It’s nothing to worry about, I’ll get thee a towel.” When the woman returned, Lisa was still crying. She was ashamed of her tears in front of this stranger, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop sobbing.
“You poor dear. Things must be so difficult . . . difficult for all of thee,” the lady said kindly, making Lisa cry even harder.
The woman handed her a plain handkerchief, and Lisa gradually calmed herself.
“Tell me, what’s the matter, dear?” the lady asked with concern.
Lisa didn’t say anything right away, afraid she would start to cry again, but finally she found a voice. “My sister is still in Vienna. Please, please, do you know anyone that could help us be a sponsor?”
The woman’s name was Mrs. Canfield. She wasn’t the scary or strange specter Lisa had thought, but a Quaker, a member of the Religious Society of Friends. She listened carefully to Lisa’s painful pleading, then promised to do all she could. She explained a bit of Quaker philosophy to Lisa, who was in no shape to understand it.
Accepting the handkerchief she was offered as a gift, Lisa backed out the door, carrying the vegetables up the street with a glimmer of hope in her heart.
Two days later, Mr. Hardesty called to leave word that a Quaker family in the north of England had agreed to sponsor Sonia and that expedited calls were being made to the Jewish Refugee Agency in Vienna. Sonia would be on the train within the week, and Lisa was delirious with joy.
The next day was Friday, September 1, 1939, and Lisa came home early for Shabbat. After the lighting of the candles, Mrs. Glazer read aloud from the air raid precautions pamphlet that had been delivered to the hostel that afternoon. The total blackout of London had been ordered. In anticipation of the bombing, bolts of black cloth were to be made into curtains and hung in the windows so no light would shine through. Gas masks previously stored in the basement were to be placed at the head of each person’s bed.
When the sun set that evening, no streetlights came on. Everyone gathered around the radio, which Mrs. Cohen had switched on in spite of the fact that it was the Sabbath. The sad, hushed children listened as the BBC reported that one million Nazi soldiers had marched across the border from Germany to Poland in the last twenty-four hours, with lightning speed, headed for Warsaw. A new word was added to the vocabulary—blitzkrieg.
Lisa went to sleep overwrought with worry, lying awake to the sounds of several children crying in the bedrooms down the hall. She thought of only one thing: Would Sonia make it?
The busy preparations continued the next morning. Lisa was hemming the curtains in the living room as Edith and Gina answered the doorbell. They greeted three of the nuns from the convent next door, who brought boxes filled with tins of food.
“We’re cleaning out the larder. We’ve been ordered to evacuate,” one of them explained.
“Thank you very much, sisters,” Mrs. Cohen said, coming up behind the girls.
“We would prefer to stay, but I’m afraid the bishop doesn’t see it our way. We’d like to offer you the use of our basement, if you’d like. The air raid warden says it’s the best basement on the block for a bomb shelter. Oh, and if anyone could find it in his heart to water the hyacinths for us, Sister Agnes would be most grateful.”
Mrs. Cohen thanked the sisters profusely, while Lisa helped carry the tins of sardines and meats to Mrs. Glazer, who read the labels, checking for nonkosher ingredients.
When she came back to the foyer, the nuns were leaving. One turned back and addressed Lisa. “We’d like to thank you for the beautiful music, we’ll miss it.”
“Thank you,” Lisa said, blushing.
“Miss Jura, will you come with me to my room?” Mrs. Cohen said, closing the door.
As she entered, Lisa noticed that the figurines and framed photographs were neatly wrapped and packed in boxes for protection from the possibility of bombing.
“I understand your sister is to arrive today,” she said, shutting the door to the inner sanctum.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mr. Hardesty called me to discuss where to send you. I understand that Mrs. Canfield has friends who will take Sonia, but that it might be difficult for them to take you as well.”
In the frantic emotions of the past few days, Lisa hadn’t even thought about her own future. Things had happened too fast to allow herself the luxury of plans and expectations. She’d almost forgotten that her stay at Willesden Lane was to be temporary.
Mrs. Cohen continued: “I told him that we would be willing to keep you here, even though we’ll only be allowed thirty ration books and you would be our thirty-second person. We’d be willing to tighten our belts a little bit, if you’d like to stay.”
Lisa bowed her head in gratitude and to hide the tears that were being shed all too often. She nodded yes. “Thank you very much,” she whispered.
“That’s settled, then. Please close the door behind you.” Lisa went to the door, but Mrs. Cohen called her back. “Wait a moment,” she said, opening the doors of the mahogany dresser and lifting out a stack of sheet music. “Would you like to borrow this?”
Lisa’s eyes widened at the sight. It was Chopin and Schubert and Tchaikovsky! A name was penciled neatly on the top of each book: “Hans Cohen.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am,” she cried.
Sonia was due to arrive on the 3:22 train at the Liverpool station that afternoon.
The train station was a madhouse. As fate would have it, the children of London were being evacuated that very weekend, and long lines of English toddlers wer
e being organized by their parents and volunteers. They had tiny packs strapped to their backs and white paper identification tags fastened with strong twine through buttonholes.
A sign outside the station read: “Southern Railways Special Announcement: Sept 1,2,3 the following steam trains are required for the evacuation of children and will not be available for ordinary passengers: 9:30 A.M., 11:30
A.M., etc. all weekend long.”
Lisa located the volunteers from the Bloomsbury House, and they helped her to find Mr. and Mrs. Bates from Norwich, who also spoke with the odd-sounding thees and thous. They offered reassuring words about their farm and about their daughter, who was also Sonia’s age, and together they went to look for the special train coming in on track sixteen.
The waiting was an agony for Lisa, but finally the children began to emerge from the Kindertransport. The boys were dressed as Lisa remembered, in their finest wool suits and tiny ties; the girls in woolen dresses. In comparison with the lines of bright-eyed English children she’d seen outside (who had been promised a vacation in the countryside), these girls and boys looked exhausted and terrified.
Sonia was wearing her heavy maroon coat, even though the weather was warm. When Lisa saw the frail and serious thirteen-year-old come down the steep steps, she thought she would crumple on the spot from the rush of emotion and relief. Breaking away from the couple, she ran to meet Sonia, grabbing her tightly in her arms, calling her name over and over. “Sonia, Sonia, you’ve come, Sonia.” Again she was sobbing and couldn’t make her voice utter any of the words she had been preparing.
For a long moment they held each other, and it almost seemed she was home in Vienna again.
Lisa had told herself to be strong and positive to show her sister that everything would be all right, so she forced herself to stop crying. Mr. and Mrs. Bates had tickets on the train back to the north of England, which would leave from Paddington station in two hours, and they’d been lucky to get any seats at all. Lisa was desperate to make good use of every second of the thirty minutes they had been given for their reunion. The two sisters embraced all the way to the first-class café on the second floor of the station, where they were left alone for a private reunion. Grasping her pale sister’s hand on top of the white tablecloth, Lisa called the waiter, proudly showing off her English by ordering tea and sandwiches. Sonia politely nibbled at the unfamiliar food, while Lisa opened the package that her sister had brought her from Vienna. Her heart leapt to her throat. Inside was a silver lamé evening purse that had belonged to Malka’s grandmother and a book of preludes by Chopin—the one her mother had helped her learn. It seemed like yesterday. She was overwhelmed by emotion.
Opening the letter from her mother, she read: “Your father and I are so comforted to know that you and Sonia are both at last safe in England away from the dreadful place that our home has become. We are putting every effort now to find a way to get Rosie out. Take good care of our littlest treasure, Lisa, and know that all our prayers are for the day when we will be reunited.”
Attached to the letter was a photograph of Abraham. She was so grateful to have his picture—for try as she might, it was harder and harder to remember all the details of his beloved face. She stared at the photograph and was shocked to see that his hair was now totally white.
The thirty minutes passed in a heartbeat, and Mr. and
Mrs. Bates returned. Standing up regretfully, Lisa embraced her sister, trying to reassure the trembling child.
“The minute the bombing is over, you’ll come to London with me, I promise.”
Sonia was too frightened and emotional to respond in words. She clung to her older sister’s hand while Lisa helped with the difficult separation, taking Sonia’s suitcase and handing it to Mr. Bates.
“I’m so sorry, but we mustn’t be late for the train,” Mrs. Bates said, taking Sonia’s hand.
“I promise! Sonia,” Lisa cried reassuringly as the three of them walked away. She watched them disappear, then broke down, tired of being brave beyond her years.
The next morning, at eleven-fifteen, the residents of 243 Willesden Lane put aside their chores and huddled again around the wireless to hear Prime Minister Chamberlain announce formally what everyone had long suspected—that Britain was declaring war on Germany. “It is evil things that we shall be fighting against—brute force, bad faith, injustice, suppression, and persecution, and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.”
Lisa sat on the couch next to Johnny, reassured by the weight of his large, strong presence but wishing she were as certain as the voice on the radio that “right would prevail.” She had mixed feelings about the coming of war— hopefully it would mean an end to the Nazis and would mean that she could return home. But when would that be, what would happen to her family in the meantime? Looking around the room at the worried faces, she knew that everyone shared her feelings—and that in their hearts they feared things would get worse before they got better.
The rest of the day was spent preparing a bomb shelter in the basement of the convent next door. Everyone pitched in, carrying sandbags and buckets of earth to use in case of fire and stocking the cellar with first aid supplies—the packages of antiburn cream, plasters, and bandages. Finally they dragged down their mattresses and linens and set up cozy corners to sleep in.
So they could have a second entrance to the convent, the boys made an opening in the fence, careful not to trample the hyacinths that Sister Agnes so loved.
At six o’clock they were called again around the radio. This time it was King George who spoke: “It is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet this challenge . . . to this high purpose I now call my people at home and my peoples across the seas. I ask them to stand firm and united in this time of trial.” His voice was more soothing than Chamberlain’s, and Lisa wondered secretly where the princess was and what she was doing.
Mrs. Cohen rarely spoke after the broadcasts, but tonight she switched off the wireless and stood up awkwardly. “Please, listen for a moment, children. I know you might be frightened, but it is now more important than ever for you to be courageous. You must try your best to be examples for the others around you here in Britain. Let us say a prayer of gratitude to the good people who have taken us into their country and help them in any way we can—especially by being extra obedient and courteous. We will go about our daily activities—you will go to your jobs as before, and we will put our trust in God.”
Lisa looked over at Paul, whose face was drawn and lifeless. He’d been given the news that afternoon that no more transports would be allowed to leave “greater Germany.” No more sisters and brothers would be coming until the end of the war.
Lisa had been the lucky one—Sonia had arrived on the very last train.
11
BRITAIN READIED itself for the German attack. Posters were slapped on subway walls, some showing dashing air force pilots in leather jackets, others showing German soldiers parachuting from the sky—“How to Recognize the Enemy,” they said, and described the German eagle-wing insignias to watch out for. Londoners walked around looking up, convinced the Nazis would be arriving at any moment.
The London Zoo brought its animals inside, stuffing boa constrictors and cheetahs into sturdy crates. Antiaircraft guns were set up in Hyde Park, and in a confusing attempt to throw the enemy off guard, road signs were uprooted throughout the city. Lisa was grateful she already knew her way around.
The assembly line at Platz & Sons was immediately switched over to the full-time production of uniforms, and Lisa’s floor now cut and stitched trousers for the Royal Navy. Flared bell-bottoms flew out of her machine, and she let her mind wander to the brave midshipmen who would soon be wearing them. Perhaps even Monty would get a pair.
One day, Mrs. McRae, the line manager, seemed less chatty than usual, and at lunch, Lisa overheard the other girls talking about the news.
“Mr. McRae has been shipped to France already! Did you hear? Last night,
real sudden-like, with no warning at all. For God’s sake, don’t they have any concern for the missuses?”
“Now, how are they going to keep a secret if we know about it? U-boats’d get ’em ’fore you count to ten.”
“Guess you’re right. But they’re going to smash them stinkin’ Jerries, aren’t they. It’ll be over before Easter.”
Lisa listened to their conversation but didn’t feel enough at ease to join in. They talked so fast with their Cockney accents, it was all she could do to catch half of what they said. She imagined the dark expanse of the English Channel, the gray sky she had seen almost a year ago now, and pictured the men setting out to sea.
She was so grateful they were going; she’d sew a million uniforms for them if that’s what was needed!
Now that she’d become a permanent member of the hostel, Lisa was given her own drawer in the bureau which she filled with her music, the hairnets she needed for the factory, and several new scarves that she had sewn for herself during lunch break. The scarves were just pieces of cloth she had rescued from the boxes of donated clothes, but they gave her a fashionable flair, and made her think of her older sister, Rosie. Rosie! Where was her beautiful older sister now? Was she safe?
The hour from six to seven was a favorite time for everyone to gather in the living room and listen to Lisa practice. Since the gift of Mrs. Cohen’s sheet music, she no longer had to play only the pieces she knew by heart. Part of every session was an adventurous struggle through difficult new pieces, and she longed for her mother’s guidance. When the effort to learn something new was too tiring for her already exhausted fingers, she would lapse into her favorite, the Grieg piano concerto. She played the unforgettable first bars, Dum dum, da dum dum, and invariably, someone from the “committee” would hum the musical response: Dum dum dum da dum. The heroic and tender passages of the Grieg piano concerto had worked their way inside everyone’s heads, and the musical response to the opening bars had become the call to arms for a committee meeting. Aaron had been the first to do it, and the habit had stuck.