BONNIE AND GRETA
T
hese daily bombing incidents were called the
Blitzkrieg
, German for “Lightning War,” because the bombs fell like lightning bolts from the sky onto the people below. At the start of the Blitz, my brother Hans was living in London again, about a hundred miles or so from Wellingborough. He had been released from the Isle of Man after a few months as a war prisoner there. Travel was very much restricted, and for us to visit one another was just about impossible. Only those in the armed forces or other government people now used public railroads or buses. Cars, belonging to the privileged who owned them, slept soundly in their garages, as gasoline, or “petrol” as it was called, was in rare supply.
But even though Hans and I could not see one another, we wrote to each other regularly, once a week. Sometimes he would include news from Stuttgart, when he had it. It was always that twenty-five-word postcard through the Red Cross. The message was always more or less the
same: “All is well. We will come to you as soon as possible ⦠.” They were always at least two months old by the time I got them. Mama's and Papa's photographs stood propped against the washbowl on my dresser. Even so, their reality was slowly, slowly fading. Even Hans was no longer real. What
was
real was school, “the War,” and surviving from day to day.
In April another girl came to live at Kirkholm. Her name was Bonnie. Bonnie was evacuated from London, along with most of her classmates, because of bombing near her school. Many Londoners began to send their children into the country through an organized effort to evacuate them. I myself was an evacuee from England's east coast, where invasion from Germany was thought to be the most likely to begin. But there was a difference between us. These London children were free to go back home any time they or their parents wanted. For me, there was no going home. What I didn't know then, but have since realized, was this: if a Nazi invasion had happened, I, as a Jewâa
German
Jew at thatâwould have been hunted down and killed. The fact that I was only a child would not have bothered the invaders. One-and-a-half million children who were left behind in Germany and other European countries were murdered by the Nazis during that time.
Bonnie was about as old as I, though taller. We went to school together and were in the same class. To get to
school, we had to walk down the hill into town and then up again on the other side, past a foul-smelling beer brewery. I held my nose every time we passed it. The boys' school was across the street from our girls' school. We never got to talk to any of the boys, which was too bad. But there was a boy in my Sunday school on whom I had a crush. The trouble was that he didn't seem to know I existed.
Bonnie and I also shared the bed. Auntie Mona put a long, skinny pillow, called a bolster, down the middle between us, and God help either of us if we moved it! We got along very well and hardly ever fought. We also shared the air-raid shelter under the stairs. I, for one, thought it fun having a sister.
Since Hans wrote to me regularly once a week, Auntie made me write back to him. He then passed my letters on to our parents in Germany, along with his. Sometimes he let them accumulate a while. I don't know which of these letters ever reached our parents. But I'm sure Mama and Papa celebrated every time they did, and I could imagine them waiting anxiously for the mailman to come again.
Hans sent me writing pads and postage stamps. He told me about the bombing in London, and about the fire watchers who had to stand on the rooftops all night on the lookout for fires. It sounded terribly dangerous, and I begged him not to do anything like that. I was glad that Wellingborough was not a prime target for the Germans.
We used to hear them going overheard on their way to London. Every time we heard them, we hoped that they wouldn't accidentally let a bomb fall on us. How ironic, I thought, that Mama and Papa had sent us both to England so we would be safe. Now even England wasn't all that safe anymore, especially London, where Hans was. But, I thought, it was still a lot safer than being in Germany. If only our parents could get away from there before it was too late!
Uncle Larry used to take Bonnie and me up to his Victory Garden. We loved it there. He grew all kinds of vegetables and berries, which later Auntie Mona turned into magical meals. He also shot rabbits up there. In answer to my protests, he explained that they would eat our vegetables if he left them alone. “And anyway,” he said, “they taste very good in a pie.” I still felt sorry for them. But the best part about the Victory Garden was the old-fashioned carriage he had standing around up there. In olden times it would have been drawn by a team of horses. It was made of black leather and brass, which Bonnie and I kept polished and shiny. All the windows still had glass in them. Uncle Larry let us sit inside it. Although it could no longer go anywhere, we had hours of fun pretending that we were fine ladies dressed in fine clothes.
Bonnie and I went with Auntie Mona to her Baptist
prayer meetings on Sunday evenings. Once or twice they had missionaries from China speak to us. Auntie Mona was born in China, where her parents had been missionaries. The boy I liked would be there, and once he actually said hello to me. I never knew his name, but what did it really matter? Uncle Larry never came along to Auntie Mona's prayer meetings. I don't believe he went to church either.
In June I got a letter from the Refugee Committee in London. They wanted to see me in a month and would arrange for my train travel. Of course, I looked forward to seeing Hans again, but even more, I hoped they would supply me with new shoes and a coat for winter. I was growing so fast that I was sure Mama and Papa wouldn't recognize me when they saw me again. I had also put on some weight. Auntie Mona was a very good cook, though it must have been difficult, considering all the shortages and rationing. Sometimes we children were not allowed to eat the same things she ateâreal orange marmalade for instance. I was jealous, but I soon forgot such trivial matters. Something far more important came along. Two things.
One, at school I acquired a new best friend named Greta, and two, James, Uncle Larry's and Auntie Mona's son, came home on leave from the navy. I detested him at first. He teased me without mercy. His hair was red like my brother's, and he was about five years older than I. After a while I got used to him and teased back. It got
to be a game between us, and soon I actually enjoyed the banter. When he wore his uniform, he looked quite handsome. June, his sister, would come home now and then, too. She looked so much more grown-up than she had at school. I loved it when everybody was home, and the walls would echo with laughter.
One time I took a picture of Bonnie in front of our house with my Brownie box camera. But I snapped it in front of the house next door by mistake! Actually, since all the houses looked exactly the same anyway, I thought it didn't really matter. I sent it to Hans, and I'm sure he must have had a good laugh.
Bonnie and I also went to Girl Guides together. Girl Guides is what the American Girl Scouts was modeled on. We spent a lot of time learning to tie different kinds of knots, practicing the Morse Code, and collecting tin foil, which we rolled into a huge ball. The tin foil was supposed to help the war effort. We also talked about going to Girl Guide camp in the coming summer. I frugally saved up my sixpence (five cents) weekly allowance to buy a uniform. Our Girl Guide leader told me she had a belt that would fit me. I was thrilled! I bought the rest of the uniform piece by piece. When I was finally able to buy the last item, I felt I had accomplished something important.
The day came to keep my appointment with the people at the Refugee Committee. I took the train to London by myself, a one-day round-trip. Hans met me at the station
and went with me to the address they had sent me. They seemed very kind. I had to fill out a form, which Hans helped me with. Then we sat in a waiting room for a long time. At last my name was called, and, miraculously, I was given a new winter coat and shoes. After lunch together, Hans saw me back on the train to Wellingborough again, and we said good-bye. We were rather formal with one another, as if we were just acquaintances rather than brother and sister. I remember hugging my new treasures all the way home, and being glad that there was no air raid while I was in London.
The war raged on. We listened to the radio and heard that London was now being bombed day and night by the Germans. In Wellingborough we only got one or two hits during that time. Both occurred downtown at the railroad station. We were told that they didn't do too much damage.
One night, Uncle Larry let Bonnie and me stand outside by the garden gate right after the “all clear” had sounded.
“Look up there,” he told us, pointing his finger at the horizon. “That's the city of Coventry. It's quite far from us, maybe two hours by bike. I was there once. They have a fine cathedral. Must have been hit badly, poor blokes. Hope they didn't get the cathedral.”
Indeed, the entire sky in the direction of Coventry glowed an eerie orangy red. We heard on the radio the
next day that all of Coventry had been destroyed, including the cathedral.
Now about Greta. This is how Greta and I became best friends. She had come to my class with the London evacuees, who swelled the population of my school to double its former size. She looked different from the other children. I could tell right away that she wasn't English. She was tall and thin. But it wasn't that. I'm not sure what it was, unless it was her hair, which was coal black, unlike all the blonde little English girls'. It stuck out from her face, making her look thinner yet. I thought she might be a refugee, like me. It turned out I was right.
Greta looked sadly through enormous brown eyes behind glasses that were so big they almost covered her face. She never smiled, and the only time she spoke was when the teacher acknowledged her raised hand. She always got the answers right. She was the exact opposite of me, especially when it came to getting the right answers!
One day Bonnie and I were walking home from schoolâdown the hill and up the hillâwhen we passed Greta walking alone. On impulse I stopped, but Bonnie went on. I decided it was now or never. I watched Bonnie out of the corner of my eye, until I saw her stop and wait for me a few yards up the street.
I caught up with Greta. “Will you be my friend?” I
blurted out without preliminaries. My heart was pounding fiercely.
Greta stood still and stared at me out of those melancholy eyes, without answering. Then, with just a hint of a smile, she said: “Yes, if you'll be mine.”
And that was that. In time, the three of us became inseparable. Bonnie and I learned that Greta had come from Berlin to London with her mother about the same time that I got to England, a year-and-a-half ago. Then came the Blitz, and Greta's school, like Bonnie's, was evacuated. She and her mother came to Wellingborough. I envied her for being with her mother.
“Where's your father?” Bonnie asked her.
Greta hesitated before answering: “We don't know. He was taken away ⦠before we left Germany ⦠to a concentration camp ⦠.” And her big brown eyes grew bigger. I felt bad for having envied her.
That night I knelt by the side of my bed, as Auntie Mona had taught me, and prayed: “Please, God, let Mama and Papa come here soon. Don't let anything happen to them. Oh, and please keep Hans safe, too. Amen.”
WHY NEW YORK?
A
ugust 1941. Summer camp.
I was still small and skinny for my age, which was thirteen and a half. My eyes were too big for my thin face, and my pigtails did nothing to make it look fatter. My Girl Guide uniform was made of thick, dark blue cotton that clung to my skin in the summer heat. My skirt was hiked up above my knees, and I reflected with a twisted smile that if Auntie Mona could see me now, she would have a fit. At the very least she would give me one of her lectures on “ladylike behavior.” But I was not being ladylike this afternoon. In fact, I was perched in a tree in the woods, with an open book propped in my lap. Auntie Mona did not approve of “wasting time just reading.” But Auntie Mona was not here. I was at Girl Guide camp. Two weeks of pure fun stretched ahead in endless eternity.
Below me, a dozen or so tents sprouted like anthills beneath the trees. Most of the girls were resting inside
them, lying on their cots, reading, sleeping, talking quietly. I had chosen the privacy of my favorite tree this afternoon, hiding in its broad branches and sheltering leaves. My book was called
Anne of Green Gables
, about an orphan girl my age who got a new family. I was so totally involved with Anne that at first I did not hear my name being called:
“Olga! Oh, there you are! What are you doing up there? Come down, I have something for you.”
It was Mary, my troop leader. Oh oh! I thought. Now I'm in for it. I knew I was supposed to be in my tent. But she didn't seem to care. She was waving a piece of paper at me with great excitement.
“For me?” I was so surprised I nearly lost my grip on the branch.
“A telegram.”
“A telegram!” I half fell, half slid down the tree. “Let me see it!” I ripped open the envelope. It was from Hans. At first the message didn't sink in. Then I felt as if I couldn't swallow, and my eyes were stinging. The whole troop had crawled out of their tents by now and crowded around me.
“What is it? Who's it from? What does it say? Is something wrong? Say something, Olga!”
But I could not. At last I managed to croak, like a frog: “Nothing's wrong. It's from my big brother in London.” The girls were already starting to move away, disappointed. Then, as if from another planet, I heard myself
say: “It's about my parents. They arrived safely in New York a week ago. New York. America.”
I was trying to smile, but instead, tears came to my eyes. While everyone cheered, Mary put her arm around me.
“What's the matter? Aren't you happy? You look as if you'd just swallowed a lemon.”
But all I could do was shrug and push her away. For a minute Mary kept her arm around me, then, with a funny look on her face, she straightened up and blew the whistle that hung around her neck: “Everyone, fall in! Chore time!”
All the girls obeyed her order, including me.
Mechanically I picked up a broom and swept around my cot. In the kitchen tent, I peeled potatoes and carrots. Like a machine, I chopped and mixed and stirred the things that needed chopping and mixing and stirring for supper. These were the things I normally loved to do. But not today. Today, a nagging voice inside me was screaming:
Why? Why? Why New York?
I did not speak all the rest of that day and clear through supper. We ate in a long communal structure in the woods, overlooking a little stream, from where we could see the sun set. After supper we had our nightly powwow and sing-along, with the moon streaming through the
branches overhead, and bright, bright stars. So beautiful. Such magic. But I could not sing.
Why New York? Why America? The question kept going round and round in my head, like a gramophone record.
I crept into my tent and got ready for bed. I sensed, more than saw, one of the girls reach out from her cot to touch me. I heard her start to say something to me, heard another girl stop her. “Leave her alone,” I heard her say. “Can't you see? She doesn't feel like talking.” I was grateful to her. But I said nothing.
Sleep did not come easily that night. I tossed about, rumpling my sheets and getting scratched from the wool blanket on my skin. I should be happy for them, I kept telling myself. What a selfish, ungrateful girl you are, Olga. Auntie Mona is right. She always says you should be more grateful. Haven't you been waiting all this time for them to get out of Germany? It's been over two years now. And the Nazis are killing all the Jews. They could have killed them too. They got out. So what if they didn't come here to you. We're all alive. That's all that matters. You should be happy for them.
So what's the problem? asked that voice inside me. The problem, I answered, is that for two and a half years I've been waiting for them to come
here
. And now ⦠and now I don't know when we'll all be together again. Maybe never. Maybe I don't even care anymore. Anyway, I'm sick of this stupid war!
What wicked thoughts. How could I be so selfish? Please, God, forgive me. I pulled the blanket over my head, and softly began to hum a tune to myself. “There'll be peace and laughter, and joy ever after, tomorrow, when the world is free ⦠.” It was a song everyone was singing those days. I must have fallen asleep, for I don't think I ever got to the end of that song.
Too soon, summer and Girl Guide camp ended. School was on again. One day in October, when I got home from my piano lesson, I found a letter waiting for me. It was propped on the umbrella stand behind the front door, where the sun streamed in through the colored glass. I dropped my music on the floor and gingerly touched the envelope. I had never seen one like this before. The very thin paper was edged with red, white, and blue stripes all around. The ink looked as if it had gotten wet. But most curious were the postage stamps. On them was printed: “United States of America.” I carried my letter into the kitchen and opened it carefully with a knife. I began to read:
New York, September 1941
Dearest little Ollie
,
I had to smile. No one had ever called me Ollie here. And what about “little”? If only they could see how much I'd grown!
Yes,
I read,
we really are here in New
York. I still have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming.
But getting here was not so easy. When our last papers came through, Papa and I walked arm in arm into the American consulate's office in Stuttgart. We were barely able to conceal our joy. I won't go into details now about our lives up to that day, since you left. Those times will always remain the “dark days” for me, and I don't care to think about them anymore.
The Herr Consul handed us our visas, the last papers necessary, and wished us a pleasant journey. Three days later we left Stuttgart forever. We were already on the train to Lisbon, Portugal, where we hoped our ship would be waiting, when we saw in a newspaper that the American consulate in Stuttgart had closed its doors that morning. Think of it, Ollielein! One more day and ⦠! But let me not write about that.
In Lisbon, our ship was not there. It would come soon, we were told. It took four more days. In the meantime, we had all our papers sorted out, approved, and officially stamped. When I first saw the ship that was to take us clear across the Atlantic Ocean, my heart sank. But it was afloat, and I prayed that it would remain floating. The Portuguese almost wouldn't let us aboard. They said one of my papers was missing. Papa went white with anger. In a trembling voice he demanded that they look again. We were told to wait in the waiting room. After three long hours a man came. My missing paper had been found. I nearly cried.
A week later, we saw the Statue of Liberty! We were delayed by one day, because we had an unexpected storm at sea. Everybody got sick, except me. I was so interested in the huge waves and the fabulous sky, that I didn't notice how we were being tossed about. By the time we sailed past the statue, all was calm again, and the sun was just coming up behind the skyscrapers. We were so happy, neither of us could speak. We just stood by the rail and held each other's hand. Ollie! I can't wait till you see it, too!
Now we live in a modest little apartment in uptown New York. We are learning to become Americans. Papa has a little trouble with the language. He says it sounds as if everybody has marbles in their mouths. But I seem to be picking it up quite easily. During the day, we work in the kitchen of a very fine restaurant. We prepare hundreds of grapefruits every day. At night we go to school to prepare for our American citizenship. You may not know this, but among other indignities we were subjected to by Hitler, he also left us “stateless.” But why talk about that? I can't think of a more wonderful country to be a citizen of than the U.S.A. If only Oma could come here too. We are very worried about her.
I've saved the best news till last: From the first day of our arrival, we have started proceedings to get you and Hans over here too. I am sure it will not take very much longer now. Then we will all be together again ⦠. Love and kisses, Mama.
Papa scribbled a few words under Mama's long letter. She hadn't left him much room. Just as well. I never could
read his handwriting. What struck me was that neither of them had complained about suddenly being poor. I don't think they ever thought of themselves as poor, just temporarily not rich. In any case, they were so happy to have escaped, that nothing else really mattered.
So I should be happy, too, I told myself. The “dark days” were to be forgotten. Soon I would go to America.