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  “Where had you heard of this place, Eric? Who has told you about Belsen?”

  Eric smiled and looked at me as if I knew nothing as I didn’t go to his school but Isaac persisted, “Where did you hear of this place?” he asked again and Eric turned to look at Kurt as if he would be better able to answer, but Kurt shrugged his shoulders and I could see him blushing.

  “Belsen is the place where Hitler sends homosexuals and gypsies,” he said with adult assurance as if this was a fact that everybody knew, but Isaac was very concerned as Eric continued to explain what a homosexual was by telling us that the Latin word for ‘man’ was homo . . and homosexuals were men who fucked other men and not women.. His language made me glare at him and demand that he watch his language, but Eric misunderstood what I meant and started to tell me again that homosexuals were men who . . .” but I told him to be quiet and Kurt turned to Isaac to tell him his part of the story.

  “You see Dad, we have a boy at school, a Spanish boy who is . . .who is what Eric has described and he told us that his parents were arranging to go back to Barcelona where they came from as Hitler was getting rid of all foreigners. They were going back, not because Carlos was a homosexual but because they were not German and they came here from Spain, just as Eric giggled and gave his own version of the story.

  “Just as well they’re going back to Spain as Carlos would have a great time in Belsen with everyone fucking everyone else. I wonder if old Hitler is a . . .” but Isaac stood up and demanded that the boys go upstairs and do some homework

  “I don’t know what kind of school those two go to,” said Isaac but I could see him smiling as he excused himself to go to the toilet.

  Later I asked Isaac if it was conceivable that we, as a family could immigrate to England as he and I had studied in England and we could both speak the language. Isaac thought at first it might be a good idea and perhaps even the ONLY idea, but then he stared at me with wide eyes,

  “Darling . . . we are forgetting Franz. He is with the Hitler Youth and how could we get him out of that . . .? How could we leave Germany without him?”

  I felt ashamed when Isaac said that as I too had forgotten, NOT FRANZ, but that he was in the Hitler Youth . . . and we had to abandon all ideas of going to England.

  Our minds were full of the miseries that took over the country and Hitler had only taken over as Chancellor since 1933. What a difference . . . and now we had to rethink our way of living for fear of someone knocking on the door one day and bustling us all off to a concentration camp. One of our neighbours told us that there was such a place at Auschwitz and another at Dachau, but there was so much talk about these terrible places that we began to think it was ‘just talk’ until young Eric came home one day and told us that the school was indeed discussing these places as ‘horrific’

  and what was worse, Eric told us that he saw Herman, my brother and his uncle dressed in Nazi uniform with a swastika on his arm. I thought he must have imagined this and that the man he saw was someone who looked like Herman, but ten minutes later young Kurt came rushing home to tell us that he too had seen Herman in the Nazi uniform and not only that, but that Herman had been in the school talking to the children to tell them of the benefits that the Nazis had given to Germany and that ‘the Fatherland’ was due for greater strength in the future when we were victorious over the war with Britain. Isaac could not believe it when I told him later that day and he began to get really worried that if we did stand a chance of getting to England, the boys would already have been warned off the idea and we would have trouble trying to convince them of the ridiculous lies that Herman had spouted in the school classrooms.

  Isaac decided it would best to go and see Herman about this matter and I told him to be careful. It was just a rumour at the moment and the boys could have mistaken Herman for someone else who looked like him, but Isaac hadn’t been gone long when he came back in a fury and his face was red and I was worried that he had been in a fight, but he sat down heavily on our old battered settee and shook his head.

  “That bastard,” he cried out and I stared at him. “That bastard cousin of yours is a fucking nut-case.”

  “Isaac . . . Isaac darling, what are you saying? Did you have something to drink next door?” I asked, hoping that nothing serious was amiss, but to my amazement my husband started to cry. I said nothing more as I realized that something serious had indeed occurred but I put my arms around Isaac and waited.

  “Your bloody cousin is a fucking Nazi.” said Isaac and I could not believe what I was hearing. It was so much unlike my family to do such a thing as we were all aware of the dangers towards Jews by this time . . . but Isaac insisted. . . telling me that he could see the swastika on Herman’s sleeve. “I could have torn the bloody shirt off his back,” he went on, but I cuddled him and assured him that Herman’s heart was in the right place, but I don’t think Isaac was in the least impressed . . . and what annoyed me most was that the boys came in and asked what was going on when they heard their father shouting. It was Eric who guessed what the row was about when he asked if one of us had been to see Herman and Isaac stared at his son as he assured him in no uncertain terms that he had indeed been to see the ‘bloody Nazi’ and Eric grinned.

  “I think it’s just a joke,” Eric called out and shot his arm into the air screaming, Heil Hitler at the top of his voice, but Isaac didn’t see it as a joke and smacked Eric across the face.

  “You wouldn’t see it as a joke if you landed up in a concentration camp . . . so don’t ever let me see or hear you do anything like that again, do you understand?”

  Eric rubbed his cheek and apologised to his dad for the offence, but he looked from me to young Kurt and I am sure he did not understand the full meaning of what Isaac had said to him. I could hear him whispering to Kurt as they left the house and I know he was asking his brother if he knew what a concentration camp was as Kurt shrugged his shoulders and looked back at me for an explanation, but I could only close my eyes and shake my head hoping this gesture would help them to understand that whatever this concentration camp was, they should never ever mention it again in the house.

  Strangely enough . . . for the first time in my life, I felt that I was alien to the country in which I was born and I wished with all my heart that we had never left London.

  Chapter Three

  Isaac tells his story

  I had three days off work which was due to him as I had a very short holiday time the year before and I decided I would go to Berlin and see Franz in the Hitler Youth organisation, if I could . . . I knew I would have to be careful as indeed any Jew would have to be if he visited such a Nazi organisation and I was worried sick that Franz would be known to be a Jew by this time and what the consequences of that would be. Would Jews be accepted for the Hitler Youth, I thought. . .

  The town hall was his first port of call and I made the excuse that as it was the birthday of the young man I wanted to visit, would they please tell me how this could be arranged and there seemed to be no trouble there when they gave me the instructions of how to get to the Hitler Youth Camp and I set off with a light heart.

  The camp wasn’t too far away and I got there with little effort, but getting past the gate was another problem. I had to sign his name in a book and I was hesitant as I did not know anything about the entry of the young men or boys who were in there and I was afraid that the Camp officials might recognise my name as Jewish however, I braved the situation and signed my name as Isaac Gutfeld and after a few strange and suspicious looks from the guards . . . I was allowed through the gates.

  I could see a number of uniformed guards as I walked across the large lawn towards a building that looked like a reception area before I could see a crowd of youths; almost men, gathered in a group just outside the building. I approached very carefully and one of the young men came towards me to ask if he could help in any way and I w
as pleased.

  “Yes, I would be pleased if you could help me to find Franz . . . ” I asked, but before I could say another word, the young man introduced himself,

  “I am Adolf Smythe,” he said with a smile and added very cheerily, “Not a relative of the great Hitler. . . I know where Franz is. Are you a relative?”

  I didn’t know how to answer this at first and I was very hesitant, but there was no way out and I had to tell this young Adolf that I was Franz’ father and he smiled again. “I had to ask, Sir. . . You see Franz is in hospital . . . he is a good friend of mine, but only relatives would be allowed into the hospital to see him.”

  “Is my son very ill?” I asked and young Adolf took him by the shoulder without saying a word as he led me to the hospital, but as they turned a corner near the hospital building, Adolf spoke again,

  “Franz has tuberculosis, but we think he is improving. He is able to sit up and take notice now where before he seemed to be asleep all the time”

  Adolf took me into the ward and smiled as he brought me to the hospital bed and told Franz that his father had come to see him, as if this was a meeting that was very unusual and I suppose it was, but Franz sighed heavily and reached out to hug me as Adolf stepped aside, saying that he would leave us together and get us both a cup of tea and I asked Franz how he came to have such a friend as Adolf Smythe and Franz smiled as he blushed and I wondered if there was any secret here, but it was very innocent when the explanation came across.

  “We all have to get into the showers after a football match,” said Franz, “Well usually about ten of us at one time and I noticed that Adolf was the same as me.”

  I could not understand what was meant for a moment and then everything came into place. Apparently Adolf was like Franz . . . he was a Jew. Franz said that Adolf was his very special friend; the one who came to visit him every day in the hospital. The other young men were O.K. There never was any friction between them as was common when young men are gathered together, but there was a Nazi streak that could not be ignored and every game that was played was headed by the Nazi salute and screams of ‘Heil Hitler’ which Franz found very disturbing. One of the other patients in the same ward as Franz had died just the night before and nobody could understand why as he didn’t seem to be troubled by anything serious, but as was the rule . . . NO QUESTIONS WERE EVER ASKED. Heil Hitler . . .

  I would have loved to have taken Franz home with me to a local hospital, but now the Third Reich had taken him under their wing, there was nothing I could do but hope that he would be well looked after and if possible that he might be cured of his tuberculosis although even with all the treatment he had received, the doctors gave us very little hope.

  This was another reason why I wished he had never been recruited into the Hitler Youth, as he would soon be sixteen and probably taken into the army and then what? I left the hospital with hugs and tears and wished I was somewhere other than Berlin. I wished I could have been in London and free from all this tyranny that had overtaken the Jewish race in this awful country called the ‘Fatherland’ A country that until that time, I had loved.

  When I arrived home in Duisburg, I was greeted warmly by the whole family who were anxious to know how Franz was keeping and a lovely wife who was due any day to have another baby and I wished we had all been somewhere else . . . Anywhere, but where we were and even more so when Herman came to ask about Franz . . . It was in that moment that I looked very seriously at Hilda as I knew the thoughts that were tormenting my lovely wife at that moment

  I could have knocked him across the room as he stood there with a smirk on his fat face and a swastika on his even fatter arm.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him and Herman grinned as if he was where he should be and I tried to turn my attention away from him to ensure that I was alright as he could see already that Hilda was going into spasms and I thought it must be nearer the time for the baby to arrive. “I think you had better leave us,” I shouted at Herman. “Can’t you see that Hilda is struggling,”

  But Herman shrugged his shoulders and had the nerve to reply that he knew when he wasn’t wanted. I could have verified that thought but Hilda reached out and touched my hand. “The midwife,” she called out, “Get Frau Kupenberg, I am sure the baby is due.”

  It was as much as I could do to get Herman out of the house and get Frau Kupenberg to come in and see Hilda who by this time had obviously gone into labour and I could see that her water had broken. I ushered the children out into the garden and put the kettle on as I knew hot water would be an essential from what I could remember from the other children we had. I sat in the living room and waited and waited until I could hear a faint sound coming from the bedroom. Frau Kupenberg opened the bedroom door and the screams of a new born baby was everywhere around the house, calling the children from the garden and with Frau Kupenberg demanding a cup of tea.

  “You have a lovely little daughter, Herr Gutfeld,” she called out and I ran upstairs to be with Hilda, leaving Frau Kupenberg to get her own tea.

  ***

  We spent no time in calling the little one Freya. She was born on November 1st and I put that date in the calendar on the kitchen wall with all of the other birthdays, FREYA GUTFELD, born November 1st, 1939 . . . but between the joy of having another baby and the sadness of knowing about Franz in Berlin, the day passed as any other would, but I knew the sadness that Hilda felt as I could see her crying through her ‘apparent joy’ . . . The thought of Franz being in the Hitler Youth with no thought that he might come home for the birth or that he would ever improve in health was a depression that was hard to describe. I thought again about Adolf Smythe and was grateful for the care he took to go and see Franz every day in the hospital, but the other young man who had died in the same hospital the day before and without any reason for his death, gave me a sense of foreboding and I cuddled Hilda and kept my thoughts to myself. She had enough to be going on with and Frau Kupenberg left us with a wave, thanking us for the tea which she had to get herself . . .

  The boys were thrilled with little Freya and Maria sat very quietly in the armchair. I think she was wondering what had happened when she saw the little girl as she had been brought up with a houseful of boys. I bounced her on my knee and made her laugh as I didn’t want her to feel jealous or strange being with another little girl in the house. . . and I watched Hilda feeding the little one on the breast as she crooned a lullaby, but her eyes were full of sadness. Could one joy ever take away a sadness? Could a new birth ever make up for the neighbourhood of illness and death? when suddenly outside I could hear the roar of thunder and a flash of lightning struck its rays across the room.

  Chapter Four

  Hilda Tells Her Story

  Strangely enough although I had already had a family; mostly of boys, I fell deeply in love with my little Freya. She was a quiet little thing and was so easy to look after. She cried little and slept all through the night which was a great relief to Isaac and me as we had been used to sleepless nights in the past, especially with the ‘roaring boys’ I am sure Isaac felt the same towards Freya, but the thoughts of Franz and his illness never left his mind. I knew there was something amiss when he came back from Berlin and it was quite some time before he told me about Franz being in hospital, but Isaac is a man who cannot hold trouble in his mind for long and because of that fact, I never pursued him in any way for any kind of information when he returned home. I knew in time, he would tell me everything and sometimes I wished he hadn’t, but your family is always special, like the marriage vows, in sickness and in health . . . and you are always aware of that.

  I wanted to go to Berlin myself and see Franz, but with Freya needing so much regular attention, I realized that I could not possibly do that and leave Isaac to care for the little girl on his own, but I doubled my prayers and begged God to send Franz back to us as he was too ill for the army to take
him, despite what that damned officer told us when he came to collect our eldest son. There was no consideration at all for his health. Franz was a male and he was fifteen. No mention was said of him being Jewish, but I am sure that officer who came to our house to collect him knew that he was as he swore that when Franz returned to us, he would be coming home to a ‘perfect home’.

  Isaac told me about the young man who befriended Franz and visited him regularly in the hospital and I smiled when I was told that his name was Adolf. I know he was Jewish, but I wondered what his parents were thinking when they christened him Adolf . . . and then I thought, perhaps it was only one of his parents who was Jewish and the non-Jewish parent named the lad after the great Adolf himself . . .

  Whatever it was, the young Adolf seemed to be quite proud of his Jewish nationality and I thought a lot about this young Adolf and wondered did he have a girlfriend and if he had, was she Jewish . . . and would he marry and have lots of children with strange German names.

  My mind was full of weird and wonderful thoughts now that we had baby Freya to consider in the vast array of characters in our family. I don’t think any one of them was like the other. Even the boys were totally different in make-up as they headed into manhood. Franz had always been the thoughtful one who would be found somewhere in a corner of the room reading a book, whereas Eric was a fighter and loved to bang something around with his fists in the garden. Kurt was a little gentler and I was a little afraid that he might have too much female in him, although I am sure he was not a homosexual. He was in love with a girl at his school and had brought her home several times to tea. He was also very artistic and loved drawing. Gunther was Maria’s twin. He would sit for hours playing his violin and Maria would sing in accompaniment. They seemed inseparable and now we had the little Freya to wonder what she might be like. With the world that she had been born into, we hoped she would not be a Nazi recruit . . . Isaac, my husband had something of all of his children in his character, but he was sure they were all like me, even how they looked and I would scoff at that idea, as I liked to think I was entirely feminine and dreaded the boys going around in skirts. . .