Eva's Story (19 page)

Finally they wanted us to join in. We tried but after one or two feeble attempts we collapsed laughing. I thought I could dance with them, it looked so easy when they performed, but I couldn't manage even one simple step.

In the light of dawn we crawled back exhausted to our mattresses glowing with excitement at the exuberance of these inspired men. They were genuine, straightforward, uncomplicated and open-hearted and I loved being with them.

I sank into a deep sleep, but was drawn back to semiconsciousness by the sound of excited voices. Someone was shaking me. I opened my heavy eyelids and there stood Mutti smiling down at me. I had never really doubted our reunion but strangely my reaction was one of intense anger. How silly of her to have missed all the fun, the good food and company. I sat up and railed at her, getting rid of all my frustration while tears rolled down her cheeks. Then at last we hugged each other and went to sleep reconciled.

I could hear Eva's screams of panic for a long time after they were muffled by the noise of the train as it accelerated and disappeared into the distance. Standing alone by the track I stared after it, feeling shocked and angry with myself. Why had I been such a coward? Why hadn't I jumped for the outstretched hands? I felt utterly miserable at being separated from Eva again.

Slowly I picked my way across the sleepers to the bombed station signposted Lemberg. It was quite large and had been repaired in places. I knew it had once been part of Austria so they ought to speak some German here.

The station hall was crowded with people, mostly peasants. Many lay sleeping and snoring amongst their baskets and bundles. Behind the counter of the station bar a tired-looking woman was sipping coffee.

‘I have lost my daughter,' I blurted out in German. ‘She was on that train. Can you help me?'

The woman looked up at me in surprise but she must have seen how distressed I was and she came round the counter, sat me down and listened to the whole story.

‘Where were you bound for?' she asked.

‘I heard someone say Czernowitz,' I said, ‘but I can't be certain.'

‘Wait here while I go and find out what I can.' She disappeared in search of the station master but my hopes sank when she returned, shaking her head.

‘The whole railway is in disorder,' she said. ‘No one knows when the next train will be or where it will go to. Military trains are moving along the lines all the time carrying Russians or liberated prisoners of war, people from the concentration or work camps. You will just have to wait and see.'

Well, I will get back to my Eva one way or another,
I thought. I was determined that it should be so.

The station master came round and advised me to wait on the platform and to board the first train travelling in the direction of Czernowitz. Meanwhile he offered me some food and coffee to sustain me. It was the start of my experience of the remarkable generosity of people who had suffered all the privations and hardships of war. I was on the receiving end of many simple acts of humanity which touched me deeply and restored my faith and my courage. I could give nothing back except thanks but it is something I will never forget.

I sat on the platform in the fresh afternoon air and waited. It was very quiet and my thoughts drifted eastwards to Eva. Thank God she was safe. At least she would have Rootje and Kea for company. If it came to the worst we would meet up in Amsterdam. And then my thoughts turned westwards to Erich and Heinz. If the war ended quickly they would make their way back home and be waiting for me.

I realized just how lucky I was, remembering Rootje who was frantic with worry about her daughter Judy in the work camp, and poor Mrs Frank who had died of despair in Rootje's arms when her two daughters were transported from Birkenau. By the time I heard the engine chugging in the distance I felt quite calm and almost ready for adventure.

It was a Russian transport train loaded with trucks and jeeps tied to flat rolling stock. Russian soldiers jumped down as it drew up at the station. I could speak German, French and Dutch fluently. I also had some English but no Russian, so the bar lady came out and acted as interpreter. An officer confirmed that they were going part of the way towards Czernowitz and helped me climb on board and into the front of one of the jeeps. I sat in the driver's seat pretending to drive and we all laughed together. He said something as he jumped in and sat next to me. I imagined he wanted to know where I had come from, so I said, ‘Auschwitz, but before that Holland.'

He beamed and became very excited. ‘
Ahh, da, Ollandia
,' he exclaimed wielding an imaginary paintbrush in the air. ‘Rembrandt, Franz Hals, Vermeer!' Then he shook my hand ecstatically.

Just before the train moved off he brought me a loaf of coarse bread, some hard-boiled eggs and – the greatest luxury of all – a piece of boiled meat. I ate it greedily and he seemed pleased. When I pulled off my headscarf to wrap the food in for later and revealed the cropped head of a camp victim he patted my arm and indicated that I should lie down on the seat to sleep. Then he left me. I slept only fitfully, worried that I would be forgotten and that I would miss my stop.

The train ran on through the night. At dawn it slowed to a halt and a young soldier opened the door of the jeep and signalled for me to get out. As the train moved away I stood alone on the platform again not knowing where I was or what to do. There was no one around and everything was silent. Away in the distance I heard a cock crowing followed almost immediately by the far-off chugging of another train coming towards the station.

The noise of the steam engine grew louder as it came into the station and stopped. It was a long-distance train with compartments and a corridor full of soldiers who jumped down to stretch their legs, laughing and joking. I could hardly believe my ears. They were speaking English!

I asked them where they were going. They replied they were English prisoners of war freed by the Russians and on their way to get a ship back home. I told them that I too had been liberated by the Russians and they listened to my story with astonishment. They had no idea about concentration camps or gas chambers. By the time I had unburdened myself I was sobbing and insisting that I had to find Eva. One of them had a map, so together they looked up Czernowitz for me. It was not their destination but they suggested that I travel with them part of the way until I could find another connection. Two of them helped me into the carriage and I sank down gratefully on to the seat.

‘I feel so dirty,' I apologized. ‘I've been travelling for days. Is there anywhere on this train I can wash?'

‘Now you wait here, my dear,' said one soldier and he sent another to bring back a bowl of hot water, soap and a towel. As the train began to move forward all the soldiers gallantly left the compartment to wait in the corridor while I made myself clean and fresh again. I was very moved at their courtesy in treating me like a lady once more.

Afterwards I told them my parents and my sister and her family lived in Darwen near Manchester and asked if it was possible to write a letter to be posted in England. Someone produced a pencil and notepad and there in the swaying compartment I wrote the first letter to my family for nearly three years – some two years in hiding and nine months in Auschwitz – telling them that Eva and I had survived. I handed it to a soldier who folded it carefully into his top pocket and promised to post it the minute he arrived home. I learned some months later that the letter had indeed been sent. Soon afterwards our routes divided and they left me at a small station called Kolomea which was also a former Austrian town. I was sad to part with these English gentlemen.

It was about midday but everything seemed deserted. The surrounding area was devastated: all the buildings were damaged, and many were derelict. I left the station and wandered around the streets searching for someone to confide in. Only a few old women shuffled past but then I saw a man with a beard, slightly bent, walking towards a badly bombed house where only the basement and ground floor were intact. I decided to approach him.

‘I need help,' I said. ‘Will you help me?'

He looked up at me and his piercing, kindly eyes shone with pity.

‘Shalom
. I'll help if I can,' he replied.

He guided me before him into the cellar of what had been his home. In the centre stood an old table and chairs, kitchen utensils were stacked on the floor while bedding and blankets were piled in a corner. His young wife looked worn out but had managed to cook a modest meal on a small fire in one corner. She greeted me with friendly astonishment insisting that I share their meal with them. As we ate together we exchanged stories. It happened that they, too, were Jews who had just returned from Russia where they had fled from the Germans. As I told my story of the torment and horror of the concentration camps they were appalled.

There were to be no trains the following day and so they insisted I stay with them, sharing their meagre accommodation until they could find out exactly when a train to Russia was due to arrive. On a makeshift bed of blankets and rags, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

The following morning I was taken to another house in a better state of repair where Jewish families were living together for the time being until they could regain their homes and possessions. The news of my arrival had spread and many more came to meet me and listen to my story. Though there were rumours no one knew exactly what had happened in Auschwitz and many were openly crying as I told them of the gas chambers and ovens.

I was overwhelmed by the respect with which I was treated. Not only was I offered food – as much as I could eat – but they made a collection to help me on my way. As I sat there with money in my hands, I was overcome with emotion.

I spent the whole day with these good people and returned to the cellar to bed down for the night. At dawn I was awoken by my host who walked me to the station to join crowds of people from surrounding areas waiting to catch the train. He nodded, pressing my hands as I thanked him.

‘God go with you,' he said.

He left me to fight my way through the crush of passengers pushing themselves into the carriages. I managed to pull myself up the high steps into a large compartment lined with wooden benches where everyone sat squashed together. They seemed to be farmers or farmhands, animated and cheerful, carrying bottles of vodka from which they regularly took sips. Some held their drink out to me but I thanked them politely and shook my head. In fact, the odour was so strong it was making me feel faint.

The train rattled along through many stations where passengers dismounted or boarded, no one taking much notice of me so that I began to feel more alone than ever before. I had no idea where I was going and it was already dark when we came to a complete halt and everybody got out. Once more I stood on a station platform not knowing what to do next.

A Russian soldier stepped from the shadows stubbing out his cigarette. He glanced at me and I looked anxiously back at him. I pointed to my cropped hair and beckoned to him. He came over and said something in Russian but we couldn't understand each other –
Russian is such an incomprehensible language
, I thought.

Suddenly fatigue and the strain of the journey made me feel dizzy and faint and I began to sway and reel backwards. In an instant he was beside me to support me. With his arm round me he led me from the station to a nearby house evidently used as army quarters. We entered an office and several officers nodded as he spoke to them. The Russians tried to question me, each one interrupting the other when they thought they'd found out what I wanted. But it was no use, none of them could understand what I was saying.

Then I had an idea. There was a large wall map behind the main desk so I searched on it for Czernowitz. I pointed to myself, then to the location and finally to the number on my arm. At last they seemed to understand and agreed with each other.

‘Ah Czernowitz,
Da!'

A soldier was directed to take me to a canteen full of men chatting and smoking. Much to the interest of his mates he sat me down and put tea and bright yellow scrambled egg in front of me. I had never seen anything like it before but it tasted good. Later I learned that it was powdered egg, a new kind of product the Americans had sent in large quantities to Russia. The room was filled with smoke. I watched as soldiers tore off small strips of newspaper in which they rolled tobacco, lighting them with great pleasure, inhaling deeply and puffing out huge clouds of smoke.

It can't be very healthy for them
, I thought, but they looked the picture of good health with their sturdy frames and ruddy complexions.

My friend sat and waited while I ate and drank thirstily and afterwards indicated that I should follow him down a darkened lane. I had no idea what to expect.

I was led to a tiny village house. He knocked and waited for the door to be opened by a woman whose eyes shone up at him as he explained the situation and indicated what she must do for me. A child of about three clung to her skirt and behind her, by the fireside, sat a wizened old mother in her rocking chair. The woman nodded and smiled as she welcomed me into her home.

I gazed around in amazement. It was the neatest, cleanest room I'd ever been into, just like a doll's house. All the furniture was sparkling clean and pretty. Everywhere, on the two beds in the corners, and on the chairs and stools, there were hand-embroidered cushions in bright colours. The tablecloth was embroidered, there were hand woven carpets on the wooden floor, pictures of saints on the whitewashed walls and plants on the window sill. A door opened into a neat little kitchen where shining pots and pans hung from hooks. It was so like a gingerbread cottage that I thought I was dreaming.

The woman quickly rearranged the beds. The old mother was tucked into one and I was offered the other while the woman and little girl made a bed for themselves on the floor. I lay watching the glow of the fire thinking of Eva and when we would be together until I finally fell asleep. I awoke in the middle of the night when the soldier knocked on the door and made signs that I should follow him to the station.