by Paul Kelly
The camp ‘orchestra’ was a gathering of inmates who could play an instrument of any kind. Sometimes the music sounded very nice, even if it was meant to drown the screams and moaning of those who we were going to their deaths, but at other times it was so loud and basic that you had to hold your ears for fear of going deaf, but anyone who could play even the simplest of instruments joined that ‘orchestra’ as it was one sure way of escaping death. . .
Chapter Seven
Our fear was a common commodity in the days to come as day after day a gathering of inmates went along a side alley that led to a great building that didn’t appear to have any windows. I don’t know what it was used for but some of the inmates who had been in the concentration camp longer than us, would shrink in terror when they saw people being gathered together and pushed along this side road to the windowless building. I asked Sister Evangelist if she knew what it was but she made the sign of the cross and held her forefinger to her lips and I gathered it was some sort of punishment building, however nobody ever came back after they had visited there and I thought that perhaps there was a gate at the other side where prisoners were transferred to another camp. The secrecy was intense. New prisoners came in every day and old ones went out by the mysterious side alley to the windowless building.
I wished I could have seen Isaac and the boys . . .even young Gunther was regarded as an adult simply because he was male, but he was Maria’s twin and they were both coming on for five years of age. How could they regard my little Gunther as a man?
One of the women; an elderly grey haired woman who had definite whiskers on her chin and who was doing her washing in the washhouse told us that the reason why they separated the women from the men was for two reasons . . . the men would be made to work in the surrounding fields and buildings, doing manual work which would be unsuitable to woman and also . . . and this woman raised her eyebrows as if what she was about to say was a profound secret and I listened carefully. . . the men would not be able to have intercourse with the women and therefore no more Jewish children would be born. This reason surprised me and I began to think that there must be many homosexual men in the camp and women would be of no use to them anyway so what would THEY do . . . but when I enquired of the tell-tale woman with the whiskers, she simply smiled and whispered, “An old arse can be quite useful dear, . . and a young one even more useful,” she cackled her way out of the washhouse and looked back at me with laughter, raising her eyebrows again as if I should already have known what she had told me.
I wondered what Sister Evangelist would have thought of that, but I had no intention of telling her, however at that same moment as I was thinking about what the whiskered woman had said, Sister Evangelist came up to me with sweets in her pocket for Maria and Freya. I could never imagine how she could have got sweets or any other kind of luxury in such a place as the concentration camp, but then Sister Evangelist seemed to be a rule unto herself as I found out in many ways as we met together. She told me that there were many young priests with the men and that there was a suspicion that several of them had been murdered simply because of their religion, which stunned and annoyed me.
“But Sister,” I asked when she told me that, “What have priests got to do with the Nazi regime? They are not Jews and I thought all this war thing was about the Jews in Germany . . .” and Sister Evangelist said, “If GOD is anywhere, then the Nazis will kill. They do not accept God and their materialistic world has made them devils.” She smiled as she looked again at Freya and patted her cheek, “This little angel could shame them all off the face of the earth,” she said, “When she is a grown woman, the world will be different.” But I swallowed hard when she said that as I looked around at the drab existence we had to endure. I wanted to agree with the good nun, but in my heart I was sad beyond words. I did not want to tell Maria or little Freya of my thoughts when I wondered seriously if any of us would ever grow up into a world of tomorrow and would that world be any different if the great Adolf Hitler was still in supreme control where the whole world and God, did as we were told.
I was just about to take Maria to see the doctor, if I could find one, as she was very cold and complaining of pains in her chest, when Sister Evangelist came from seemingly nowhere. . . and she immediately offered to help by saying that as she had been practising medicine before she became a nun, the Gestapo had used her services in the camp hospital and it was then that I guessed the reason for the sweets . . . She took Maria in her arms and left us saying that she would be back when she had some more information. In that moment as she left with Maria, I wondered if she knew of any men who were in the hospital and if she did, could she tell me if Isaac or any of my boys were in there. It seemed an eternity since I heard from any of them and I thought they just might have become ill and had to be admitted to the hospital. The weather was inclement to say the least as snow built up around the camp billets and people were going around sneezing and coughing.
I waited impatiently until Sister Evangelist returned and I could see by her face that there was some trouble on her mind.
“I am sorry to tell you, Hilda. . . Maria is improving if slowly but she has developed pneumonia and a slight infection of diphtheria.”
This news upset me greatly as I was so restricted in seeing my little daughter again and even when I tried to see the camp authorities, of which there seemed to be so many, I could get no satisfaction. Sister Evangelist was very kind and told me she would do all she could to get me into the hospital, but both she and I knew how difficult that would be, the Gestapo who ran the camp did not agree with hospitals or inmates being admitted to hospital. Apparently the hospital was installed in the camp FOR GERMAN GUARDS and THEIR FAMILIES . . and I was amazed how Sister Evangelist could get Maria in there in the first place. I knew she was helpful in the hospital as she had told me, but she was like the rest of us, a prisoner of the Germans and prisoners were regarded with little if any respect. It was a delight when she returned with a grin on her face and I thought that perhaps the situation with Maria had changed, but she looked at Freya who was toddling around the floor.
“Look what I’ve got for a very good little girl that I know,” she said and produced a little furry toy from under her habit. Freya shrieked with joy and grabbed the thing, but I wasn’t able to tell what it was until Sister Evangelist explained that it was a little Pekinese dog toy that she had herself when she was engaged to be married and although she was instructed at the convent where she became a nun that she should NEVER take anything PERSONAL with her into the convent as they took a vow of poverty and could never be allowed to have or own anything of their own, Sister could not find it in her heart to give up her little toy and she hid it in her case, hoping the Superiors at the convent would not see it. It was in that moment that she looked deeply into my eyes and said that even children in the camp were often hidden under a nuns habit which was deep and flowing, so that they would never be seen, but when I asked her what would happen to the children when they were under the nun’s habit, she just grinned and touched her nose with her finger tips.
As she gave the little furry toy to Freya, she smiled at me and whispered “You won’t tell anyone, will you Hilda?” and we laughed together. Freya loved the little dog toy and it reminded me of our own little puppy that we had at home in Duisburg; the little boxer puppy we called Betsy and this memory made me cry when I thought of Betsy and how Maria loved that little girl. What wouldn’t I have given to see Betsy again and squeeze her tight as I took her to the hospital to see Maria . . . but as we were going, I was suddenly stopped by a young man who wore only an open-necked shirt with no swastika on the sleeve, I stared at him and he smiled.
“Can I help you at all?” he asked and his voice was soft and gentle; so unlike the tone used by the guards who only shouted their commands. “I am Ramon Kostka,” he said, “I am a Roman Catholic priest.” I swallowed hard. I had never spoken to a priest before
and I didn’t know what to say and he smiled again, “I saw the good Sister talking to you and I thought you must be Catholics . . . is that so?” he continued and I informed him that the good Sister was a very good friend to us but that we were Jewish and he bit his lower lip as he apologized and wished us well. Some dreams . . .Some hopes . . .that we could ever be ‘well’ in a place like we were in, but I thought the priest was very kind and it was so different for anyone to wish us well . . .as everyone knew that we were in a prison . . . a prison without relief of any kind. Sadly my lovely little Maria died of pneumonia two days after she had been admitted to the hospital and I broke my heart, crying uncontrollably for days on end. I felt as though the world had come to an abrupt end and apart from my little Freya and Isaac and the boys wherever they were, I wished I could have died with Maria. There was nothing to live for in this hell of a place where every day brought a new agony and peace and light were things of the far distant past. Something changed that day in my life and although I had to live and endure the agonies that were to be accepted because of a man who wanted to rule the world, I would have willingly taken my own life had it not been for my family
***
I was taking little Freya for a walk around the perimeter, making sure she was taking the right steps as she seemed to be keen on little dance steps of her own and falling about when I was sure I could see someone that I had met before but I couldn’t remember where and just as I was picking Freya up for the third time, I heard a familiar voice.
“I thought it was you,” someone shouted out nearby, “I was sure it was you, Hilda Gutfeld . . . am I right?” I turned to see where the voice was coming from and I immediately realized who was talking. It was Bertha Kupenberg, the midwife from Duisburg and she raced over to be beside me. “I was sure it was you and then when I saw the little one, I just had to stop and see how things are getting along,”
We hugged each other and she grabbed Freya and swung her in the air.
“Have you been here long?” I asked and Bertha shrugged her shoulders suggesting that she had been in the camp ‘too long’ but she had been taken prisoner by the Gestapo when someone had reported her for being very anti-Nazi. I was rather surprised by that remark as I had thought, against my better judgement and opinion, that Bertha had denied she was a Jew when she was first arrested and that was why she had not been rounded up with the rest of us that first day when we all arrived here from Duisburg, but she told me that the young girl with whom she had performed the abortion had arranged for Bertha to be arrested by the police although there was no need for an abortion at all, but the girl wanted Bertha to be arrested so that she could claim compensation. . . and when no compensation was forthcoming, the girl informed the police that Bertha had spread rumours suggesting that Hitler was a bastard . . . and thus, she found herself in a concentration camp.
Bertha made a great fuss over Freya and of course, Freya just loved all that, as they cavorted together doing silly dances and singing even more silly songs. Bertha stayed with me for at least an hour and then she said she had to report to some lieutenant or other at the Camp office.
Very soon after Bertha had left us, there was uproar in the camp and everyone was told to get together for what was described as ‘a little journey by foot . . .’ and everyone started to panic as there was no place to walk for any far distance in the camp and the mystery command over the tannoy sent shivers up the spines of many of the prisoners. Women started to scream and even men gave out loud groans and suspicion was the fear of the day. I looked around for Freya but she was nowhere to be found and I gathered that Bertha had taken her with her when she went to see her lieutenant. I kept looking and asking everyone around me if they had seen a little blonde girl aged about one, but nobody took the slightest bit of notice as they screamed their way with the crowd which was fast heading for that mysterious hut with no windows. I was swept along, still shouting for Freya at the top of my voice, but to no avail. I screamed and screamed until my throat was sore and my voice was hoarse until I arrived with the crowd at the place described as a little journey by foot . . . but I could not stand as I was hustled into a confined space near the mysterious hut where we had to stand so close to each other that it was hard to breathe and we were instructed to remove all our clothes and stand naked . . .Trying to remove your clothes seemed impossible as you could touch your neighbour as she was so close to you, but after a struggle and screams from the guards with their whips we managed . . . and stood naked, shivering in the cold air. . . men and women alike as we were to have a shower and our clothes would be returned when we came out. We had been instructed to have a shower before, but the order didn’t have the same intensity as this one and I became suspicious especially when we were told to remove all watches and jewellery . . . and even false teeth and wigs . . .All watches and jewellery had to be deposited in a barrel and footwear was to be gathered in a large truck that stood by the side of the hut . . .a truck with no wheels. I looked around again as best I could, but the crowd was so large and so intense that I couldn’t see anything more than a foot away from where I was standing and I remember thinking in that time about God . . . and asking Him to look after Freya and the others of my family. It was very cold and I stood shivering until we were all pushed into the hut. It was dark inside except for the light from a roof window. Suddenly I could smell some sort of gas and in that moment, I knew there would be no door at the end of this hut where we might escape to another area. I knew there was little else I could do and I waited for a few frustrated intense moments realizing that I was about to die. That was a moment that I had never ever believed I would experience . . . Everything went black and I saw a young man standing naked beside me and it was only then that I realized that other men were in this situation, but we were all so closely huddled together that apart from the heads, there was no way of looking up or down and bodies all looked much the same, but this young man had a rosary around his neck and I watched him making the sign of the cross as he looked up towards the heavens and in that moment I knew this was the young priest who had been so kind to us in the last few days, Father Ramon Kostka. I saw him close his eyes and it seemed as though he was sinking down but was held up by the bodies surrounding him . . .With the shouts and screams everywhere, it seemed there was there was no hope and I accepted the death that had been prepared for me by the same tyrant who wanted to get rid of all the Jews in Germany before he set about ruling the world. God had to step aside as a human named Adolf Hitler had taken possession of the entire universe.
Chapter Eight
LONDON, England In The Year 1967.
22 Years After The End Of The Second World War.
I was sitting in my surgery waiting for the next patient to come in and with little on no possibility of going home as it was still early in the day and I was on duty at the surgery until six that evening. I thought of my past life and how things could have been so different if there had been no war in 1939 . . . I thought if I had married Austin Fairhead and had never entered the convent, as I never would have done if Austin had lived. I had never ever thought to become a nun before he died. Certainly not into an order of enclosed nuns where prayer and hard labour was the order of the day and that was simply day after day until my superiors suggested I should go to one of their convents in Germany as my German was equally as good as my English and it was considered that I would do well there in encouraging vocations. . . . an obedience that rather surprised me as I had entered the order to pray and not to converse, but the need for religious vocations in Germany was very poor as a war had been anticipated and young women had their minds full of ‘the power and strength of the Fatherland’ and not so much on God.
Why could I not have simply remained in the Religious order without upheaval of the war where I was taken as prisoner in Germany, even if I was a nun at that time and also qualified as a medical doctor. Should I ever have considered coming out of the convent after I wa
s released from the concentration camp even if the war had still been going on. YES, that was the big question in my life when I removed my religious veil where I was known as Sister Evangelist and reverted to simple Miss Anna Carpenter, but the memories of the concentration camp in German would never leave my mind and I knew that would be true until the very day I died That was a special time in my life; a time that had been thrust upon me; a time that gave me great happiness, perhaps a happiness that I didn’t deserve and yet that happiness was accompanied by a great sadness. A sadness that had changed my life forever. I knew I would never; COULD never ever fall in love again in the way I did with Austin even if several ‘candidates’ turned up from time to time with ‘hopes’ or whatever else they called it, but my heart was closed. I felt that I could serve God better as a doctor than I did when I wore the veil and my medical experience was in better use than when I was struggling with my modest prayers in the convent. I didn’t feel particularly proud of my achievements, but with some little boy needing a stitch or two to his knee where he had fallen and cut himself came crying into my surgery or when Priscilla Kent was distraught when she realized she was pregnant at sixteen, or when young Robbie Macalpine was struggling with suicide when he was fourteen because he thought he was gay, I somehow felt that I COULD help in my own chosen profession as a doctor, better than I could have done in the cloisters of love.