The Girl With No Name (5 page)

Her words were greeted with a murmur from the assembled children and she quelled it instantly with the lift of her hand. ‘Let us hope,’ she said, ‘that none of you will ever have to flee from your home and family to escape persecution.’

‘Just the bombing,’ said a voice loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to be unidentified, and there was a ripple of laughter.

Miss Hammond ignored the comment and simply said, ‘School dismiss.’

When they returned to the classroom, Miss May moved Hilda to the desk next to Lisa, and pretended not to notice when she spoke to Lisa in German, but the other children noticed.

At break time they all went out into the playground. It was a sunny day and most of the girls gathered in groups chatting. Some of the younger ones played hopscotch on a grid painted on the tarmac or took turns to turn the rope for a skipping game; the boys, seemingly more energetic, played tag, let off steam kicking a football about or scuffled in a suddenly erupting playground scrap. Hilda led Lisa to a bench at the far end of the yard, away from the more exuberant games, and they sat down together in the warm September sun.

‘Where are you from, then?’ she asked.

‘Hanau, near Frankfurt,’ Lisa replied.

‘Your parents come too?’

‘No.’ Tears welled up in Lisa’s eyes and she blinked hard to dispel them. ‘I came on the train. They would only take children, one from each family. My brother, Martin, couldn’t come. He’s still at home with my mother.’ Her voice broke on a sob as she said, ‘I wish I was, too.’ She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘My dad was taken by the Gestapo. He didn’t come back, not for ages, and now Mum says he’s ill.’ Determined not to break down completely in front of this stranger and even more in front of the other children, some of whom were covertly watching her, Lisa blew her nose again and changed the subject. ‘What about you? How come you speak German?’

‘My mum’s German. She met my dad when he was working in Berlin. He’s English. My brother Peter and me was born in Berlin, but we’re Jewish, so when Hitler began to make laws against the Jews, we come home here. We’re safe here.’ She looked at Lisa with interest. ‘You Jewish?’

‘Yes, well, no, not really. Grandma is and that’s enough over there.’

At the end of school the two girls crossed the playground to the gate where Aunt Naomi was waiting and Lisa took Hilda over to meet her.

‘I’m looking after Lisa at school,’ Hilda said. ‘I can tell her stuff in German if she don’t understand.’

‘Oh, that’s marvellous.’ There was great relief in Naomi’s voice. ‘Poor Lisa, she can’t understand us and we can’t understand her and it’s very difficult for everyone.’ She smiled at Hilda. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Hilda Lang, well Hildegarde really, but,’ she gave a rueful smile, ‘it doesn’t do to have a German name just now, does it?’

When Hilda got home that evening, she told her mother about the new girl who had come to school.

‘She’s come on the train all the way from Frankfurt, Mum, by herself, and the Gestapo took her dad.’

Esther Lang felt the familiar stab of fear, though she tried hard not to let her daughter see it. As a German Jew herself, the very mention of the Gestapo instilled terror. Her own parents were still living in Berlin in circumstances she could not imagine. They had been turned out of their home some months earlier and had moved in with Esther’s younger sister, Elsa, and her family. As far as Esther knew they were still all crammed into that tiny apartment, but she didn’t know for certain and since the declaration of war, all communication between them had ceased. Her heart went out to the child who had come all that way, seeking safety in London. A child alone.

Esther had married Max, Hilda’s father, in the twenties when he’d been sent by his firm to work in Berlin. Hildegarde and her brother, Peter, had both been born there, but with the rise of Hitler and with anti-Semitism rife, the family had returned to London, where they had settled and Esther had become naturalised British. Both children were bilingual, as both parents knew how useful it was to know another language, but English was the language of the household.

‘Well, I hope you’ll help her all you can, darling,’ said her mother. ‘I don’t think she’s going to have a very easy time of it.’ She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Where did you say she was living?’

‘With some people called Federman over in Kemble Street.’

‘Is she now? I think I met them once, at Anthony Stein’s bar mitzvah. Perhaps I should pay them a call.’

True to her word, a few days later Esther walked the mile or so to Kemble Street to introduce herself as Hilda’s mother. Naomi invited her in and they spent a pleasant half-hour, each discovering what she could about the other.

‘It’s good of your Hilda to help Lisa out at school,’ Naomi said. ‘It’s very difficult for her, speaking so little English. Dan and I do our best, of course, we talk to her all the time, trying to teach her, but she can’t tell us anything about the things that matter to her, about her home and her family.’

Esther had heard a little about Lisa’s background, but she didn’t repeat it, that was for Lisa when she was able. Instead she said, ‘I was wondering if Lisa might like to come back with Hilda to our house after school sometimes. Playing with Hilda and her brother might be one of the quickest ways to help her learn English.’

‘Oh, Mrs Lang,’ Naomi said, ‘I think that would be a marvellous idea. Are you sure?’

‘Of course,’ replied Esther. ‘She’s a brave child and needs all the help she can get. Please ask her if she’d like to come and if she agrees, Hilda will bring her home after school, tomorrow.’

That evening Naomi sat Lisa down and said, ‘Hilda’s mother asks you to go to Hilda’s house after school. Would you like to go?’

‘Go to Hilda?’

‘Yes, after school.’

‘Not sleep?’

‘No, sleep here. I will come for you.’

Lisa’s face broke into a broad beam. ‘Yes, Aunt Naomi, I go.’

From then on Lisa went home with Hilda after school most days. Esther forbade them to converse in German.

‘This is to help Lisa learn English,’ she reminded them. ‘While she is here with us we will all only speak English. You, too, Peter,’ she said to her son. ‘No cheating when you’re playing outside!’

Lisa loved going to Hilda’s house. The Langs were more affluent than the Federmans and though their home in Grove Avenue was only a mile or so from Kemble Street, it was quite different; much larger with a garden at the back where Max Lang was growing vegetables. The windows were wide and the house light and airy. The autumn sunlight flooded into the kitchen in the afternoon where the children sat up to the table to have their tea and it was always warm. Esther Lang sat them at the kitchen table to do their homework, giving Lisa a helping hand when she thought it was all getting too difficult.

‘You’re always welcome here,’ Esther told her one day as she was leaving to return to Kemble Street. ‘Any time you want some company your own age, just come round. Don’t wait to be asked.’

Lisa was soon accepted by the other children who lived nearby as a friend of Hilda’s. Her English improved by leaps and bounds, Hilda teaching her the words she needed, albeit with an East London accent and vocabulary. They became firm friends, and because the Langs lived only a few streets away, Naomi was happy enough for Lisa to spend much of her time at their house.

‘Far better she has someone to play with,’ she said to Dan, ‘than come home to an empty house and me.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Dan agreed. ‘Once she can talk to us properly, we’ll all feel much more comfortable.’

Lisa was a quick learner and though nothing like fluent, she soon understood a good deal of what was being said and could make herself understood in return.

Life at school, however, was not easy. Despite Miss Hammond’s admonition, there was still a significant group of children who did not make her welcome, who regarded her as the enemy and were ready to gang up on her. Roger Davis and his cronies, egged on by their peers, would surround Lisa, pressing in on her, and pretend to touch her before leaping backwards shouting, ‘Lisa’s got the measles! German measles! Don’t catch her germs! Dirty German germs!’ They clasped their throats and made ‘dying’ groans before collapsing dramatically to the ground.

Lisa would push her way free of them, but within moments they’d be back. On occasion she hit out at them, once punching one of Roger’s sidekicks in the face and making his nose bleed. They backed off for a while, but they were soon back, always lying in wait for her, always out of sight of the teacher on playground duty. Hilda, unable to do anything and recognising she would be in for the same treatment if she tried, stayed well clear.

‘Don’t say nothing at home, though,’ she warned Lisa. ‘If you split on them and your Aunt Naomi come down here and complained, things’d only get worse. They’ll get tired of it in the end and find someone else to pick on.’

Lisa knew she was right. They weren’t hurting her physically, they were only shouting abuse at her and she was used to that. It had happened all the time in Hanau. But she longed to fight back, to give as good as she got.

It all ended quite suddenly. Roger’s gang cornered her on her way home from school one day. It was the first time she’d been waylaid outside the school yard. They backed her up against a wall, shooting out their arms in Nazi salutes, shouting,
‘Heil
Hitler!
’

‘Go away! Go away!’ she screamed. ‘I hate you! I hate you. You’re all Nazis!’

They roared with laughter at her fury, posturing and prancing, but blocking her way so that she had no escape. She swung a punch at Albert, the boy whose nose she’d made bleed before, but he was ready for her this time and caught her arm, gripping it tightly, easily holding her off.

‘Hey, Rog,’ he jeered, ‘we got a wild cat here. Teach her a lesson, shall we? German bitch!’ The others crowed their delight, but their cheers were short-lived. Suddenly, from round the corner, someone erupted into the middle of them, his fists flying, his elbows crashing sideways and his feet, in heavy leather boots, kicking shins and stamping on toes. Taken completely by surprise, the gang found themselves on the ground, nursing bruises, bleeding noses, cut eyebrows and aching heads. Roger, turning to make a fight of it, was slammed against the wall and then spun round, his arm jerked up painfully behind his back, so that he cried out.

Lisa, as surprised as her tormentors by this sudden attack, cowered back, but when she saw that Roger was held in an arm-lock and his cronies were edging away, she stepped forward to stand beside her saviour. To her surprise her spoke to her in German.

‘I’ve seen this scum picking on you before,’ he said, ‘just say the word and I’ll break his arm.’

‘No don’t,’ Lisa said, ‘it’ll just make more trouble for me. Just scare him so badly that he never comes near me again, him or his mates.’

‘You sure?’ He jerked Roger’s arm suddenly and Roger gave a yelp of pain. ‘Well, if you say so.’

The boy, for a boy he still was, looked disappointed, but with a swift movement he spun Roger round and backed him up against the wall. ‘She say I not break your arm. I wish to, she say no. You not go near this girl or her friend again.’ He spoke the careful English of one who was still learning. ‘You understand me?’ When Roger didn’t answer immediately he punched him in the stomach and Roger doubled up. ‘You understand me?’ he said again and Roger managed to croak ‘Yes,’ thus avoiding another punch.

‘If you touch girl again, I will come to you. Understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ The boy let him go, tossing him aside like a rag doll.

Roger picked himself up from the ground and scuttled away to find his mates. But seeing Roger so totally defeated, they had all melted away.

Lisa looked at the boy left standing beside her. He wasn’t much taller than she, but wiry and strong. His clothes were old and patched, his thin legs thrust into heavy workman’s boots. He had dark hair, cropped short, and brown eyes set above a prominent nose and wide mouth. He grinned at her and she saw he had a front tooth missing.

‘That’s him sorted,’ he said, ‘shouldn’t have no more bother with him.’ Again he spoke in German and Lisa answered him in the same.

‘Thanks for coming to my rescue.’

‘It’s OK. Saw him pestering you in the school yard, but couldn’t do nothing about it there. Too many people about. Might have got messy!’

‘Are you at my school?’ Lisa asked. ‘I haven’t seen you.’

‘Only just come,’ replied the boy. ‘Heinrich Schwarz at your service,’ and he gave a funny little bow, ‘now called Harry Black.’

‘I’m Lisa, Lisa Becker. Where do you come from? Did you come on one of the trains?’

‘Same one as you,’ Harry replied. ‘I saw you at the station at Frankfurt and in London, too.’

‘Did you?’ Lisa was amazed. ‘And you recognised me at school?’

‘Saw them picking on you and when I realised why, I remembered you on the train.’

Lisa shook her head in disbelief. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m very glad you did.’

‘You with a foster family round here?’

‘Yeah, some people called Federman.’

‘All right, are they?’

‘They’re OK. They’re kind to me and try and help me with things. It’s getting easier now I speak some English. What about you? You with foster parents, too?’

‘No, not now,’ Harry said flatly. ‘Foster parents and me didn’t get on, so I left.’

Lisa stared at him in amazement. ‘You mean you just walked out?’

‘Not quite. They complained to the Bloomsbury people and I got moved. Live in a hostel now in Stoke Newington. Much better. Can come and go as I like.’

‘But you come to school?’

‘Part of the deal,’ Harry said. ‘I get to live in the hostel, but I have to go to school till they find me a job.’

‘A job?’

‘Yeah, I’m fifteen next month. Got to earn my keep, haven’t I?’

Lisa looked at him again. He didn’t look fifteen. In some ways he looked younger – he was small for fifteen – but in others he looked older. There was a sort of worldliness in his expression, an air of being able to look after himself. His missing tooth suggested that he was no stranger to a fight and she knew he was ready with his fists.