When the World Was Ours

by Liz Kessler

  And then we are there. We can see the crowds at Prague’s main station. Tears are flowing down Mutti’s cheeks so fast she doesn’t even try to stop them. She grips my hand on one side and Otto’s on the other.

  ‘My darlings, my darlings,’ she says over and over. ‘I love you so much.’

  Then don’t send us away. The words burn my throat, but I keep them inside.

  Vati beckons us towards him. He opens his arms wide and Otto and I fling ourselves into them.

  ‘We will see you soon,’ he says fiercely as Mutti joins the hug, wrapping the two of us in a cocoon. ‘We will never stop thinking about you, not for one day or one hour or even one second.’

  My tears are soaking his coat. I can feel Mutti’s body shaking with sobs.

  And then—

  ‘Mr Bauer, Mr Bauer!’ Someone is calling Vati’s name.

  We move apart to see a man running towards us. I recognize him as Mr Janek, one of Vati’s friends. He and Vati fought together when Vati joined up to fight Hitler’s army last year. He’s been to our home. One of the few who still comes. He came only a few weeks ago with his friend Mr Havel. They were sitting on the sofa together when I came into the kitchen. I think they were holding hands. They broke apart quickly when they saw me. I asked Mutti about them afterwards.

  ‘The Nazis don’t only hate the Jews,’ she said bitterly. ‘They hate anyone who doesn’t conform to their ideas of what a “pure” human being should be like. Even if the reason they hate is for love.’

  I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I knew one thing. Mr Janek and Mr Havel were Mutti and Vati’s friends, and those were so few and far between nowadays that I had no doubt whatsoever that they were my friends too.

  Mr Janek has reached us now. Up ahead, the crowds at the station seem to be dispersing. What’s happening?

  ‘The – train – isn’t – going. They won’t let it leave,’ Mr Janek says. He’s panting and his words come out in staccato bursts.

  ‘Why not?’ Vati asks. ‘Can they get on the next one?’ Even as he speaks, people are passing us to leave the station. Parents in tears, children running behind them.

  While Mr Janek catches his breath, Vati grabs the arm of a father passing us with his three children. ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ the man replies, holding tightly on to the hand of the smallest child, a young girl with a tiny bag on her back.

  Vati turns back to Mr Janek. ‘Filip, what’s happening?’ he repeats.

  ‘It’s over,’ Mr Janek replies. ‘There are no more trains. The Kindertransport is finished.’

  ‘Finished?’ Mutti repeats. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because war has been declared.’

  At the word ‘war’, I swear I feel the insides of my stomach roll over. I think I’m going to be sick.

  ‘We can no longer run the trains. It is not safe for the children. Go home, all of you,’ Mr Janek says.

  ‘And do what?’ Mutti asks, her voice high-pitched, almost a squeak.

  Mr Janek shrugs, his arms out wide. ‘That I cannot tell you,’ he says. ‘No one knows what will happen now. But you should hurry, before the authorities come. Go home. Lie low. Wait it out. That is your only option now.’

  Vati reaches out to shake Mr Janek’s hand. ‘Thank you for trying,’ he says. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,’ he replies. ‘I owe you my life. Without you fighting beside me last year, I would not be here now. I wanted to repay you. I’m sorry.’

  Vati puts his arms around Mr Janek. Mr Janek reaches out to hug Vati. They stand there together for a moment before pulling away, both wiping tears from their eyes. And that – out of everything – is what breaks me. I’ve never seen Vati cry. Never. Not once. Not when we left our life in Vienna, nor when he left us to join the army.

  The fact that he is crying now makes a poisonous snake of fear wriggle inside me.

  Finally, Vati pats Mr Janek on the arm and turns back to us. ‘Come on,’ he says, opening his arms to gather us by his side. ‘Let’s go home.’

  As we walk home in the still-dark night, Mutti tries to be cheerful. ‘Let’s look on the bright side,’ she says.

  ‘Bright side?’ Vati asks.

  ‘We’re together! We will stay together, as a family. There will be no goodbyes. My heart will not be broken today.’

  Vati takes her hand and replies more gently. ‘That is the bright side.’

  He stops walking and crouches to look me and Otto in the eyes. ‘Your mother is right,’ he says. ‘We are together. We wanted to send you away for safety but it didn’t happen, not tonight. So from this moment on, let’s make a promise. We face everything as a family. We are one unit. Your mother and I will be honest with you, we will involve you in all the decisions that affect you. Our country is at war now, and that will change everything.’

  ‘Perhaps it means that one day, the Jews will be able to do things like other people can again,’ Otto says.

  Vati reaches out to touch his chin. ‘I think that is exactly what it means,’ he says. ‘The world is not going to let Hitler get away with any more of this nonsense.’

  ‘So we keep our heads down, we do what we’re told, we don’t stand out and we wait it out,’ Mutti says.

  ‘Exactly,’ Vati says. ‘And before we know it, this will all be over and done with, and we can get on with our lives again. But we will never let anyone separate us. Whatever happens, we face it as a family, together. Agreed?’

  The three of us respond in unison. ‘Agreed.’

  As we walk home through the streets, my mind races with happy thoughts. I’m not going to be sent away. I don’t have to leave my parents. The world is going to make Hitler stop being so horrible.

  Any day now I will once again be able to ride my bike, go to the swimming pool, walk in the park! I can hardly believe such things might ever be possible again.

  Despite the dark, the cold, the damp streets, I walk home with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.

  Everything is going to be all right. I can feel it in my bones and in my heart, and I can’t wait to tell Greta.

  LEO

  When we arrived at the border with Germany, the train stopped and guards came aboard. As they entered our carriage, my mouth was so dry I was finding it hard to breathe, never mind swallow or speak.

  Mama handed over our passports and visa documents. The guard opened the passports on the pages with our names, photos and the big red ‘J’ that marked us out for special attention.

  He nudged the guard next to him. ‘Jews,’ he said in a voice filled with so much disgust you would think he was saying ‘dog poo’. I guess to him, we were as bad as dog poo.

  The other guard took the documents from his colleague and studied them for what felt like an hour before looking up at us and nudging a thumb at the door. ‘Wrong carriage,’ he said.

  Mama glanced at me then back at the guard. ‘Wrong carriage?’ she repeated.

  ‘Get out of this carriage,’ the guard said in a cold voice.

  ‘But – but we have documents,’ Mama said. ‘We have tickets for these seats. We are legal.’

  The guard took a step closer to Mama. So close that, when he replied, spit came out of his mouth and landed on her cheek. ‘You are Jews. Nothing about you is legal.’

  I tugged at her arm. ‘Mama, let’s just do what he says,’ I whispered.

  With a sigh, Mama reached up for her case. I helped her get it down before grabbing mine and following her to the door. The guards were still checking documents for the other passengers. Each one took just a few seconds and documents were returned with smiles and nods.

  ‘Where do we go?’ Mama asked.

  ‘Last carriage,’ one of the guards muttered. He didn’t even turn around.

  ‘Hurry,’ said the other one. ‘Train leaves in two minutes. And we don’t wait for Jews.’

  We scurried off the train
and quickly made our way down the platform.

  The last carriage had a sign on it. Dogs, Jews and Gypsies.

  Mama looked at me. Her cheeks were flushed with shame.

  Just then a whistle blew.

  ‘Mama, please, let’s get inside. At least we’re still on the train,’ I said.

  She pulled a door open and we glanced inside.

  A man and woman were huddled together in a corner on the floor. The woman was wearing a long purple skirt and a loose white shirt with a yellow scarf wrapped around her head. She was holding a small bundle in her arms. A baby.

  The man wore brown trousers and a white shirt with a waistcoat. His face was dark with stubble and he lifted his black beret and nodded as we opened the door. I clambered aboard. The man was on his feet and beside me in seconds.

  ‘Let me help,’ he said, reaching out to take Mama’s bags and help her aboard.

  A second later, the door slammed behind us and we were in total darkness.

  ‘Here, follow me,’ the man said and we felt our way along the walls to sit beside him and his wife.

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that along one side of the carriage were rows of crates. Most were empty. The one nearest to us had a Labrador inside it who whined like a crying child. There were no seats anywhere.

  ‘You are Jewish?’ the woman asked as she spread her blanket for Mama to sit beside her on the floor.

  Mama’s face tightened, readying herself for the attack that usually followed us being identified as Jews. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  The woman put a hand on Mama’s arm. ‘We are your friends,’ she said softly. ‘We are Roma. The ones the Nazis call “Gypsies”.’ She gestured around us at the cages and the bare, cold carriage. ‘We are told our place, just like you. I am Kizzy, and this is my husband, Mairik.’

  Mama talked quietly with Kizzy and Mairik as the train chugged along. They were heading to Holland, like us. They were planning to join friends in the Roma community who had managed to sponsor them for visas.

  As I sat in the darkness, my thoughts flashed to Elsa. Where was she now? Our contact had been less and less frequent, and I hadn’t heard from her at all since Hitler had moved into Czechoslovakia. Every day, I woke with worries in my mind, carried them around with me all day and took them to bed with me at night – and Elsa was always high on my list, beside Papa. I just hoped things weren’t as bad in Prague as they were in Vienna.

  Max still came into my thoughts too, but I didn’t worry so much about him. I hadn’t heard from him at all since he’d left for Munich even though I had written to him many times. He’d managed to slip me his new address before they left. I guessed he was too busy to reply. I hoped that was the reason. I refused to torture myself by imagining other possibilities. Besides, he wasn’t Jewish, so I hoped that meant he was safe, although who knew any more.

  I tried to make myself comfortable on the floor. I was next to the cage with the dog in it. I named him Benji. Through the holes in his basket, I stroked his golden hair. He stopped crying and snuffled his nose into my hand, wagging his tail softly against the side of the cage.

  Finally, the train came to a standstill and we could hear doors being opened. Our carriage didn’t have a window so we couldn’t be sure what was going on. But the train had been still for a while and we could hear voices on the platform.

  We got up and dusted ourselves down. ‘Thank you for sharing the journey,’ Mama said to our new friends. She and Kizzy hugged while Mairik reached out to shake my hand.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said.

  Next thing we knew, the door was flung open. The daylight was blinding and I covered my eyes.

  A guard reached in and grabbed my arm. ‘Come,’ he said.

  Mama and I followed him out of the carriage, along the platform to a building where others were lining up. We joined them in the queue. It happened too quickly for me to see what the guards had done with Kizzy and Mairik and their baby.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Mama said to a couple in front of us. ‘Where are we, please?’

  The couple turned around. I recognized them from the carriage we’d been dragged out of at the start of the journey. The woman sniffed and made a face at us before very deliberately reaching into her pocket for a tissue which she then used to cover her nose.

  The man said, ‘Customs,’ before putting an arm around his wife as they both turned away.

  ‘We’re just Jewish,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘Don’t worry, you can’t catch it.’

  Up ahead, it seemed that everyone just had to show their passports and documents and was then instructed to head left, over to a train that was waiting on the next platform.

  ‘This is it, the border,’ Mama said. The first major step in our journey to England. We were only a few feet away from being out of Germany. Despite the way we had travelled to get here and the response of the people around us, Mama couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.

  The queue moved quickly and soon we were at the front. Mama handed over our documents and we waited while the guard peered at them, reading every word of the signed letter from the Stewarts, checking every inch of our visas, looking us up and down as though we were filth.

  And then he nodded at a cubicle to our right. ‘That way,’ he said.

  Everyone else had been sent to the left, where a door took them straight on to the opposite platform. The one with the waiting train on it. I glanced around to see where Kizzy and Mairik had gone with the baby. I couldn’t see them.

  Please let them arrive safely.

  ‘We are going to England,’ Mama said. ‘We have a boat from Holland. We have to catch that train.’

  The guard looked at her as he might look at an animal that had just spoken back to him. I didn’t need reminding that, to him, that was exactly what had just happened.

  He pointed again at the cubicle. ‘In there,’ he growled.

  We had no choice. By now, almost oblivious to the stares and the sneers as we’d had so many of them, we left the line of people and went over to the cubicle. Leaving our cases on the floor, we sat on a bench and waited.

  Another guard came in after a few minutes. Like all the others, he wore a brown uniform, with a gun in a holster on his polished leather belt. ‘Get up,’ he said. ‘No sitting allowed.’ Then he pointed at our cases. ‘Put them on the bench and open them.’

  We weren’t even allowed to sit down now? I lugged my case on to the bench and stood beside it. Mama did the same. Even our bags had more rights than us.

  The guard pulled out everything, turning clothes inside out, throwing papers around, dropping objects on the floor. When he came to a small, old blanket, I felt Mama stiffen beside me. Why did she care so much about a moth-eaten blanket?

  Then I remembered. It was the one she had sewn her wedding ring into. I closed my little finger around hers. The guard tossed the blanket aside with the rest of her belongings and moved on to my case.

  Again, he manhandled every possession I had. I held my breath as I watched him, with only one thought in my mind.

  Do what you like with my clothes, but please don’t take away my precious photograph.

  Soon he was done. The photo was still safely in the pages of a book.

  We folded our belongings away as quickly as we could and closed our cases. I started to relax. It hadn’t been too bad.

  Then he spoke again. ‘Get undressed.’

  Mama just stared at him. With one hand, he pulled aside a curtain in the middle of the room. With the other, he pulled his jacket aside to remind us of the gun in its holster. ‘In there,’ he said to her. Mama didn’t try to argue this time. She walked across to the other section of the cubicle.

  ‘And you,’ he said to me as he drew the curtain closed behind her.

  I undressed as quickly as I could. The guard took my clothes and examined them as I stood there shivering. I kept asking myself what was making me shiver more: the cold or my fear. It was a tough contest.
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  ‘Turn around,’ the guard said. I did as I was told. Finally he threw my clothes back at me. ‘Get dressed,’ he barked as he went behind the curtain to humiliate Mama in the same way.

  Finally, we were allowed to leave the cubicle.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ Mama asked, pulling her coat back on and picking up her case.

  ‘You go to hell as far as I’m concerned,’ the guard said before turning away.

  We took that as our cue to follow the rest of the passengers to the other platform.

  ‘Mama, come quickly,’ I urged. A man was walking up the platform, blowing a whistle and closing doors.

  We ran across to the train and got to the last open door a second before the guard did. I threw our cases on to the train, jumped aboard and reached down to help Mama get on behind me.

  And then the door closed, the whistle blew, the train started moving and we were off.

  Mama and I looked at each other and grinned. Then, despite the ordeal we’d just been through, we threw our arms around each other in joy; we jumped and danced and sang and laughed.

  I wished more than anything that Papa was here to share the moment with us.

  I did what you told me, Papa, I said to him in my mind. I got Mama to safety.

  And then I smiled and smiled and smiled. We really had done it. We had crossed the border. We were no longer in Germany. The Nazis would never again rule our lives.

  1940

  MAX

  Max spent even longer than usual in his bedroom shining his boots, combing his hair and checking the creases in his shorts. It was a special day and he knew how important it was to get everything right.

  ‘Ready?’ His father was at the door.

  ‘Nearly, Father.’

  ‘Hurry. We leave in five minutes sharp. I don’t want to have to explain to my driver that my son has kept him waiting.’

  ‘You won’t have to, Father. I promise,’ Max assured him. His father gave a quick nod before leaving Max and closing the door behind him.