“Dad came to my room later and brought me a slice of Christmas cake and the last cracker. I gave it to Mandy. It had a thimble and a paper crown in it. People think kids don't matter, that they don't have feelings. It'll be all right, Soph. I'll see you soon, science calls.”
I return to my letter.
16, Great Tichfield Street
London WC1
May 23, 1945
Dear Father:
I am glad you are feeling stronger. The nurses seem to be taking good care of you. It was a shock to hear about Mother. I'm sorry.
Aunt Em told me about the holiday she had in Germany when she first met you. We have a photograph of Mother that you took the day before you got engaged. It's beautiful. I'm sorry, so sorry, that things didn't turn out the way they were supposed to.
This is a holiday weekend. Aunt Em is visiting her brother in the country. I will tell her when she comes back. She will be glad about you and sad about Mama, as of course am I.
I'm fourteen now. Aunt Em thinks I look a bit like both of you. Get well soon.
Your affectionate daughter,
Sophie Mandel
After I finish the letter, I get out my sketchbook and begin a family portrait. First I draw Grandpa Mandel, with his silver and white prayer shawl, the fringes hanging below his waist. Papa must have told me it's a prayer shawl. I draw his face in shadow, the way it looked that time in the synagogue. I draw candles flickering round the walls. Papa, his hand on my shoulder, and myself as a little girl, looking up at him. I sketch Mama in her best dress, the one with the big lace collar, and her hair in wispy curls round her forehead. I have no idea what Mama's parents looked like. She never mentioned her father.
When I was small, I wondered what happened to the baby in the cradle in the photo of the Mandels, the photo that Papa had to hide from the Nazis. He told me once, “That's my baby sister in the crib. My mother – your grandmother – died when the baby was only a few months old.” I expect my aunt kept house for Grandpa Mandel when she grew up.
I draw Aunt Em on the next page, with her kind eyes and the little wrinkles round them. She's never tried to take Mother's place, but she's the most perfect aunt anyone could ask for.
On Tuesday morning I arrive at school just as orchestra practice ends. Mandy must have spread the word because Sally Jones, who I usually try to avoid, simpers up to me and says, “Sorry to hear about your mother. When are you going back to live in Germany with your father?”
I mumble something noncommittal.
Is the whole world waiting for me to be sent back there?
I sit down on the bench in the cloakroom. For a minute I can't think where I'm supposed to be heading.
“Sophie, come on, we'll be late for prayers.” Mandy pulls me to my feet and drags me down the corridor to Assembly.
“What did Aunt Em say?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, what did you tell her?”
“I haven't.”
“Why haven't you?”
“If you must know, because she's not coming home till this afternoon.”
We sit.
“You mean, you stayed by yourself for two whole nights?” Mandy hisses in my ear.
“Yes.”
“Weren't you frightened?”
“Of what? Charles Boyer looking for my jewelry?”
We stand in silence as the staff file in and take their places on the platform.
Later, as we go into class, I remember I'd left my history notes in the cloakroom.
“Hurry up, we'll be late. You know how Miss Jasper hates that,” Mandy says.
“I didn't ask you to wait, and please stop telling me what to do.”
I walk away from her. Miss Jasper doesn't hear me enter the class. She's writing on the blackboard. I copy the question into my notebook: HOW DID THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION AFFECT THE WORKING CLASSES IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY? Words. They don't mean anything to me.
When the bell rings at the end of the first period, Mandy sweeps past me, talking to Sally. Instead of going to English, I walk into the cloakroom, fetch my hat, and saunter out of school.
I wish I'd stayed home. Joanne Fisher did when her brother's ship was torpedoed, with all hands lost at sea. Anthea Warren was away a whole week when her father died in a Japanese prisoner of war camp.
Aunt Em will be home soon. What am I going to tell her? How shall I do it?
The moment I get back, I dial the nurses' residence. I badly want to talk to Marianne. A soft Scot's burr informs me that Nurse Kohn left that morning on a leave of absence.
Voices in the hall.
“Aunt Em, you're early. I'm so glad you're back. Hello, Uncle Gerald, Aunt Winifred.”
Aunt Em hugs me, obviously pleased to be home – worn-out with listening to Aunt Winifred, I should think. “Sophie, everything looks beautifully tidy. Did you and Mandy have a nice time?”
Aunt Winifred interrupts before I have a chance to reply. “You must be getting quite excited about going home, Sophie.”
What on earth is she talking about?
“Going home, Aunt Winifred? I am home.”
Aunt Em sits down. Uncle Gerald takes his pipe from his breast pocket, turns to me and says, “Would you find me a match, my dear? I must have left mine in the car.”
I hand him the box on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Surely he can see it there?
“No, dear, I mean your real home – in Germany with your parents. I expect all you children will be on your way soon. Isn't that so, Gerald?”
I look at Aunt Winifred's carefully marcelled hair, the silly little hat she wears, her slightly caked bright lipstick.
I hate her! I really truly hate her and I think I'm going to tell her so.
“Why are you staring at me in that way, child?”
“Because it's none of your business.”
Aunt Em's shocked “Sophie, apologize to Aunt Winifred at once” is exactly what I don't need to hear at this moment.
“I will not and she's not my aunt any more than you are.”
I manage to get myself out of the room without crying or slamming the door. I hear Uncle Gerald saying, “Must be getting along, Margaret,” as I go upstairs, then Aunt Em's response, which I can't hear, and their footsteps going into the kitchen. I suppose they'll all have a “nice” cup of tea while they discuss how fast they can get rid of me.
And I haven't even had a chance to tell Aunt Em about Mama.
It's ages before the front door opens and closes. Moments later, Aunt Em calls me to come downstairs. She's putting away the tea things. “Would you mind telling me exactly what that exhibition was about?”
“Mine, or Aunt Winifred's?” I feel the teapot; it's still warm. I pour myself a cup of tea.
“I want an explanation, and you will give it to me in a civilized manner.”
“Perhaps you'd better read this first.” I hand Aunt Em Papa's letter, and turn away to drink my tea. When I hear her blow her nose, I wait a few minutes before turning round. She is almost composed again.
“Sophie, my dear. Why didn't you tell me? I would have come home at once.” Her hands, holding the letter, tremble a little. She puts the page on the table between us and clasps her fingers together tightly.
“You've got so tall, Sophie. I wish Charlotte…. Jacob won't recognize you.”
“Aunt Em, please please don't send me back to Germany. I'm afraid to live there. I won't know anyone. I can't speak the language. Of course I love my father, but I hardly remember him and he doesn't know anything about me. I thought I belonged here with you.”
“Sophie, Aunt Winifred's words were out of place and premature. No one is going to send you anywhere immediately.”
“Never – I won't go.”
“Listen to me. Don't interrupt, please. I always knew I only had you on loan until it was safe for you to rejoin your parents. I thought you understood that. Didn't I make it clear to you?”
“No. You didn't, Aunt Em. All
you ever said was, after the war there'd be letters. Every time I wanted to talk about what was going to happen then, you changed the subject. I'm not a thing to be shuffled back and forth. Doesn't what I want matter at all? Don't you want me to stay?”
“What you or I want isn't the point, Sophie. You have a father who loves you and who has lost everything except you. Your parents trusted me and I will never break that trust.”
I'm fighting for my life.
“It's not fair,” I blurt out.
Aunt Em doesn't reply.
Oh, Aunt Em, why can't you try to keep me with you? Why can't you admit that I'm the daughter you didn't have? It's hopeless. You never will. I understand. You can't. I'll just have to go on with my plans without your help.
“Sophie, your mother was my dear friend. I shall miss her very much. I know how hard losing her must be for you. Remember, you have a father who longs to see you and get to know you again. This is what is important. Now let's make plans. It will take time to get a visitor's permit for your father, but I'm sure, in view of the circumstances, the Home Office will cooperate. He won't have recovered sufficiently from his illness to travel yet, but I'll start setting things in motion tomorrow.
“Time for me to unpack. Later on we might start on a list of things to send to Jacob in hospital.”
End of discussion. As usual.
“Aunt Em, I wrote to Father earlier. I'll go and post the letter now, if you don't mind.”
“Do. I'll speak to Uncle Gerald and Aunt Winifred later. Under the circumstances, I shall apologize on your behalf.”
“Thanks, Aunt Em.” I hug her.
“Sophie, you do understand, don't you?”
I pour away the tea – it's stone-cold now. I run the tap so I don't have to answer.
After I post my letter, I wait outside Mandy's gate till she comes home from school. She walks straight past me as if I'm invisible.
“Mandy, I've got something to say to you.”
“Again? I thought you'd finished.”
“I'm sorry. I was awfully rude and I didn't mean it.”
“Yes, you did. You're right. I am bossy. Mum's always telling me.”
“I had a fight with Aunt Winifred.”
“Metaphorically, I hope.”
“It nearly wasn't and then I started on Aunt Em.”
“Do you want to come in and tell me all the gory details?”
“I will, but not today. Aunt Em's a bit upset. I'd better get home.”
“My Girl's Crystal just came – you can read it first.” Mandy hands me her magazine.
“Thanks, awfully.”
“I've come to the conclusion that Sally is a stuck-up, big-mouthed snob.”
When I get back, Aunt Em says, “I phoned the headmistress. She agrees with me that you should stay home this week, but she wants you to continue revising for the June exams.”
“Does she know I walked out of school?”
“It was not discussed, so I think you may forget about it.”
On Wednesday, when Aunt Em comes home from the office, she says, “I've been making some enquiries through the Red Cross. Things in Europe are pretty chaotic. I'm told, much worse than the London Blitz. Thousands and thousands of homeless people, soldiers returning from war, cities reduced to rubble, and hardly any food. If the war had lasted any longer, many people would have died of starvation. I know you'll keep this confidential, Sophie, but it's almost certain that our own rations will be cut again in the next few months. Rationing may go on for years.”
“I always thought the moment war was over, food would miraculously reappear in the shops. I've begun making a list for Father's parcel, Aunt Em. Shall I read it to you? I tried to think what the patients in our hospital seem to want most: instant coffee, tea, biscuits, condensed milk, tinned fruit, soap, socks. I've still got that bar of Yardley's soap Aunt Winifred gave me for Christmas – we could send that.”
“Add cigarettes. Even if your father doesn't smoke, cigarettes can be exchanged for almost anything. I hadn't thought of socks, but I can knit a pair quite quickly. There's some of that gray wool left from your last winter's cardigan. Shirts. We must assume that Jacob has no clothes except what the hospital may provide.”
“There's a whole boxful of men's shirts in the boxes I labeled last week.”
“Why don't you see if you can find one or two shirts in a plain color, dear? Your father is exactly the kind of recipient those shirts are meant for.”
I rush upstairs. I know why Aunt Em said shirts in a plain color. We've both seen too many pictures of prisoners in striped jackets lately. I find a blue one and a white one, both in good condition.
“I tried some on, Aunt Em. These reach to my knees and the sleeves are miles too long, so they should be all right. I expect Father's pretty thin.”
“Excellent. Bring the shopping basket, Sophie, and we'll see what we can do.”
On our way to the grocer's, we pass Mr. Billy's. There's a notice in the window: NO LAMB, BEEF, OR OFFAL. Mr. Billy is standing in the shop doorway.
“Good day, Miss Simmonds. Haven't seen you in a while.” He leers at me.
Aunt Em nods politely. “Good afternoon, Mr. Billy. I wonder if you might have any tins of meat today? We're putting together a care package for a friend in Europe. People are having a bad time over there.”
“Tins of meat, Miss Simmonds? That's a joke. Haven't you heard? There's a peace on. If I did come across such a thing, and I say if … well, charity begins at home, Madam. Meat for the enemy – that's a good one. Good day, Madam, Miss.”
“I think, Sophie,” Aunt Em says, “we must try to find another butcher to register with. I really don't want to have any more dealings with Mr. Billy. In future we shall shop elsewhere.”
“What did you expect, Aunt Em?”
“Decency. He really is a most odious man.”
We walk in silence to the grocer's.
I give our list to Mrs. Logan, and she looks at us as if we've gone mad. Her eyebrows shoot up to her hair net. Aunt Em puts our ration books on the counter.
“No need to look so astonished, Mrs. Logan. We're putting together a parcel for a friend in hospital, in Germany. He's recovering from typhus. Is this list too unrealistic?”
I realize suddenly that Aunt Em intentionally does not mention who the parcel is for. I hope she doesn't think I'd be embarrassed.
“It's for my father, actually,” I say.
“In that case, we'll have to see what we can do, won't we?”
Mrs. Logan reappears five minutes later. “Digestive biscuits – you don't want anything too rich. I can let you have some Bovril cubes too – very strengthening. There's a tin of peaches. I'm sorry about the sugar, but you can have a tin of golden syrup.”
“We're truly grateful, Mrs. Logan.”
“We must all be that, Miss Simmonds. This time let's hope the peace lasts.”
After she takes our points, she puts a tin of corned beef in the basket. “No charge. That's from me to your father, Sophie. My dad didn't come back from the war in 1918. You send that with my good wishes. That'll be nineteen shillings and eight pence, please.”
I put a pound note – the one that Aunt Em had given me to spend – on the counter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Logan. It's very kind of you.”
When we get back from our shopping expedition, the afternoon post has arrived. There is a letter for me from Middlesex Hospital.
May 24, 1945
Dear Miss Mandel,
I am pleased to hear that you find your time with us so rewarding. The dedicated work of Junior Red Cross cadets is invaluable in nursing homes and hospitals across the British Isles.
With your permission, I will ask Sister Tutor to include your drawing in our next staff newsletter. Wishing you every success.
Yours truly and on behalf of Matron,
L.A. Ransome
I enclose the letter with my application to the Home Office, and send it off next morning.
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On Friday Mandy and Nigel call on their way to the Youth Club, and ask if I want them to put my name forward for next year's planning committee. I tell them to go ahead.
I'll be here. Matron's letter will work, I know it will.
Aunt Em's rule is that if I don't go to school, I can't go out socially either. She does agree to let me do my hospital shift as usual on Saturday.
Marianne telephones from the nurses' residence just before I leave for work.
“I'm back, Sophie. I don't go on the ward till Monday. Bridget wants to meet you. Are you free Sunday? I could call for you around two and we can go for a walk first.”
“Who is it?” Aunt Em comes into the hall.
“Marianne. She's invited me to tea on Sunday. Is it all right if I go?”
“It'll do you good.”
Marianne arrives early. The first thing she says to me is, “You're looking awfully tired, Sophie. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“We had some bad news – at least …”
I still haven't worked out how to say it's both good and bad.
“Let's go and sit in Regent's Park – we've got time,” she says.
We sit watching the swans swimming in elegant circles, ignoring the chattering ducks.
“While you were away, Marianne …,” I beg in.
“Do you know why I had to go home?” She starts speaking at the same time. “You first, Sophie. Is it something to do with Aunt Em?”
“In a way it is because she and my mother were friends. A letter arrived from my father –”
“Then he's safe …,” Marianne interrupts. “That's wonderful news.”
“Yes. He's recuperating from typhus in a hospital in Munich.”
“I thought you said your parents lived in Berlin?”
“My mother died there in an air raid. The factory where she worked got a direct hit. That was in 1943. My father wrote he was picked up and sent to a camp called Dachau. The Americans liberated him three weeks ago.”
Finding Sophie Page 8