Search Results

963: Experiencing Antisemitism Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Stella Shinder, Chemnitz, 1934: Stella Shinder Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Stella Shinder's interview with Clare Csonka for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2021 • Learn More → Stella Shinder Emigration to Czechoslovakia Not Allowed To Use Swimming Pools Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Stella Shinder, Chemnitz, 1934: It was when I started school at the age of six, that I had my first encounter. I had a little umbrella with red stripes. A little schoolmate of mine said, 'Is that the blood of German babies that the Jews are killing?' I came home to my mother & said, 'Could this be true?' That was my first experience of what was happening. My mother said: 'Absolutely not. This is not true. You must never believe that'. My father had an encounter with a janitor who called him a ‘dirty Jew’. This man had a stick. So my father took the stick & beat him up. There was never any talk about going. Never. It wasn’t until we actually left in July 1938—Friday the 13th—that my mother—we went on our usual holiday to Czechoslovakia. We lived quite near the border & holiday in Karlovy Vary. A beautiful spa in the Sudeten part of Czechoslovakia. When we crossed the border, my mother said to my brother & myself, 'We are never going back'. So that was it. My brother & I were elated. Because we'd already experienced antisemitism. We were thrown out of our schools. We were spat at in the street. We'd experienced antisemitism quite strongly. We weren't allowed to sit on park benches or use swimming pools. So we were very, very happy to leave all that behind. When we were getting ready, I said 'Mummy why are you packing winter stockings on our summer holiday?' She gave me a smack & said, 'Be quiet'. Because we had a cleaning lady working in the flat & she didn’t want her to know that we would never come back again. My father was still in Germany & didn’t want to leave, because we had a beautiful home. He had a business. He didn’t want to leave. My mother wrote to him & said 'If you don’t follow us, you'll never see us again'. So he packed his bag & he had some money in a briefcase. And on the platform at the station he was so nervous he left this bag with the money behind. My poor, poor father. We never saw it again. So he came & joined us. Then we went to live in Prague, where we stayed for six months prior to coming to England. So. Then we had a small flat which we rented in Prague. My brother & I attended a German-speaking school. And of course we were spat at by the Czech children not for being Jewish but because they thought we were Germans. There was a lot of anti-German feeling in Czechoslovakia at that time. We had a letter from my father’s parents who lived in Warsaw at the time to say there was an aunt, my grandfather’s sister, living in England, in London. 'Write to her, get her to, get her to get you a visitor’s visa. Get out of Czechoslovakia because Hitler’s going to come into Czechoslovakia'. So, we were so lucky, we managed to get this visa. My mother arranged for us to fly to England. Crossing Germany would have been dangerous for us, if we'd gone by train. So we took a flight which landed at Brussels & then another flight from Brussels to London. We landed in London on the 6th of December 1938. Croydon Airport. When we left, my mother used to write to—in those days we didn’t all have telephones. She would write to our friends, 'Leave, leave'. And nobody paid any attention. Nobody paid any attention. There was great antisemitism, but nobody could have imagined what finally happened. 963: Experiencing Antisemitism Stella Shinder Edited from Stella Shinder's interview with Clare Csonka for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2021 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

992: Chickenpox Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three July 1938: Bridget Newman's father, mother & brother move to Britain. Bridget, age 6, remains in Berlin with her grandmother. Bridget Newman Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Bridget Newman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Bridget Newman Encounter With Nazi Officials Food In Hiding Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text July 1938: Bridget Newman's father, mother & brother move to Britain. Bridget, age 6, remains in Berlin with her grandmother. I was stuck. Then one day, the doorbell rang: a Gestapo. He came in, he was really rather nice. He had white hair & a big, white moustache & really quite kindly blue eyes. But he apologised, really, really apologised that he would now have to take this house & we would have to go. But we had to go quite quickly. I was in a bit of danger, because my father hadn't paid the Juden tax & they were looking for me. My grandmother couldn’t be with me anymore. She found a safe house for me, with a lady, Mrs Grünbaum. I’m sure she was a very good woman but I disliked her intensely. My grandmother had some flat or dwelling place near me. But we were only allowed to meet in the wood secretly. I had to eat potato soup with sausage in it. Nowadays I love it. In those days I hated it & I didn’t eat. I shared a room with other children & nearly every night the Gestapo were hammering at the doors of the house, looking for adults. Quite scary, a lot of noise & clatter. We were trying to sleep. My parents sent an Englishwoman over to try to help me. She found a place for me on a train bearing orphaned children to London. We had a day & everything. And on the day, I woke up, itching all over. What was the matter? I had chickenpox. Now, with any illness or disease, I would not have been allowed on the train. So, they clothed me with I don’t know how many layers of clothing, to cover all the spots [laughs]. And also, to take more clothes out, because I only had this small suitcase & and 10-shilling note & a big notice on my chest saying, ‘Both parents dead.’ I wouldn't have been allowed on the train otherwise. This was mid-December 1938. I said goodbye to my old nanny. We both cried bitterly and she said, ‘Why don’t you stay here with our lovely Hitler?’ I had no answer for that. I don't remember Kristallnacht. I just remember I got this teddy bear & was shoved to this safe house. The lady who came to arrange for me to go to England insisted I had to call her 'Auntie' & wear white gloves. She didn't come with me on the train. Nobody was allowed to travel with me. I had to say goodbye to my grandmother & this lady on the platform. My grandmother arranged for a little 11-year-old to look after me. I had chickenpox. I remember being on that ship & I itched, I couldn’t scratch. I couldn’t get anywhere. I was 6. I didn’t think I was happy; I think I cried a lot. But I had this little girl & she gave me a silver bracelet, which she said I should wear in her memory, which I did afterwards for many years. I didn’t know what happened to her. We went on to this boat at night. There was something soft on the floor. We all had to lie down as we were & told to go to sleep. I seem to remember just laying down, but itching. [Laughs] And then I don’t know if it’s true but I remember hearing frogs croak & chains rattle. Then I was shoved up the gangway to leave the ship. And there at the top of the gangway were my parents, & we cried & my mother cried. I said to her, ‘Why are you crying?’ She said, ‘Because I’m so happy.’ My parents were staying at the Cumberland Hotel in Marble Arch. My mother had a little gas ring on which she’d got a Schnitzel ready for me. And I can still smell the Schnitzel being fried & prepared for me. It was the first decent food I’d had for a long time. Then 14 days later my grandmother also arrived. We had a big celebration. 992: Chickenpox Bridget Newman Adapted from Bridget Newman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

965: Wounded Animals On The Farm Walter Kammerling Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Walter Kammerling arrived in the UK in 1938 on a Kindertransport from Vienna, was sent to Gorman's Farm in Northern Ireland on arrival & stayed there until 1942: It’s that type of work that put me off gardening. When you go on a cold, wet January & you get a big bag & are told to pick up half a hundredweight of brussels sprout. You can’t do it with gloves, because it’s all wet & it’s all... You pick it up & the bag’s half full, and you think, “Well that’s probably half a hundredweight'. And it’s so light. The weight of brussel sprouts is... enormously low. I didn’t like it at all. And, oh, when you for instance you have to weed out the carrots. The carrot plants are only about an inch high. The weeds are about three inches high, and you can’t see them. After four hours your back’s breaking & you look up, and you’ve only done about three metres or so. You still can’t see the end of the field. I didn’t like that at all. I liked the harvesting. I liked the work with the chickens. That’s OK - with animals. But on the whole, I was quite happy there. It was OK. There were about 30 of us. Though we lived and worked and joked together, we didn’t know each other. Nobody really opened up. It was like – like- like wounded animals licking their wounds, you see? Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Walter Kammerling's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2016 • Learn More → Walter Kammerling Agricultural Labour Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Northern Ireland Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Marianne Summerfield BEM, Breslau, Nov 9, 1938: My father was asked to report to Nazi headquarters. Stupidly, although my mother told him not to, he just walked into it. My mother lost her milk immediately. She was feeding me & immediately lost her milk. The shock. He was sent to Buchenwald. My mother got very bad asthma. She's convinced it happened because of the upset with Kristallnacht & everything that was going on. My father had terrible nightmares for years & years afterwards. But when my daughter was born on the 9th of November, the nightmares stopped. Never had them again. It was as though it wiped the slate clean. My mother became very anxious after that. Always- ‘die Wände haben Ohren’ [the walls have ears]: you mustn't say anything as somebody might be listening. That carried on with her. My father had to write a letter to say that he was treated all right in concentration camp. Because Hitler didn't want the world to know what was going on. But my father signed the letter to my mother, 'Asor'. Your son, Asor, which is quite significant. Asor means not true. It’s Yiddish [אסור 'forbidden']. But my mother understood it immediately. That was a code word. Very difficult, it was very difficult. My mother wasn't very domesticated. My parents had a pet, a cat, & they had to get rid of the cat. Jews were not allowed to have pets. It had to be put down. But my mother was very brave. She dressed up & went to the Gestapo headquarters & flirted, & she was lucky. She was allowed in, because she was blonde & blue eyed, so they didn't think that she was Jewish. That saved her life, my life, my father's life. The Nazi official was very rude & shouted & said, ‘I'm not interested in you & your problems.’ My mother said, ‘Well, I'll wait until you've finished.’ And when he had finished, it took 5 hours, he changed & said, ‘I'll help you now.’ He helped find some missing papers. So, my father then came out of concentration camp. And they gave him the fare money to go home, because he had no money anymore. Probably 8 weeks after he was arrested. Didn't speak about it. His skin was always unsteady, always has skin cancer, my father. He had huge boils when he came out of concentration camp. I'm convinced that the skin was unsteady because of his treatment. He never went into the sun; we didn't understand skin cancer. But it had a very marked effect upon my father, he lost his ambition. He became happy with very little. As long as he had his little house, his wife & child, that's all he really wanted. He had to leave within five days, because his visa would expire. So he left for England to start the new life & my mother & I came soon afterwards. My mother hardly recognised him when he came out. He was so emaciated, in a terrible state. My mother heard Hitler speak once, early on. She went to a rally & heard him speak, because she looked so Aryan. And I never understood again, why they didn't get out earlier. Because that time it wasn't as difficult to get out. I've always asked people, ‘What year did you get out? Why did you leave earlier?’ But they had – my mother had the responsibility to get – you know, she didn't want to leave her mother or mother-in-law. 990: The Shock Marianne Summerfield BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 990: The Shock ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Marianne Summerfield BEM Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Marianne Summerfield BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2023 • Learn More → Marianne Summerfield BEM Buchenwald Encounter With Nazi Officials No Longer Allowed Pets November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Pre-war Camp Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Marianne Summerfield BEM, Breslau, Nov 9, 1938: My father was asked to report to Nazi headquarters. Stupidly, although my mother told him not to, he just walked into it. My mother lost her milk immediately. She was feeding me & immediately lost her milk. The shock. He was sent to Buchenwald. My mother got very bad asthma. She's convinced it happened because of the upset with Kristallnacht & everything that was going on. My father had terrible nightmares for years & years afterwards. But when my daughter was born on the 9th of November, the nightmares stopped. Never had them again. It was as though it wiped the slate clean. My mother became very anxious after that. Always- ‘die Wände haben Ohren’ [the walls have ears]: you mustn't say anything as somebody might be listening. That carried on with her. My father had to write a letter to say that he was treated all right in concentration camp. Because Hitler didn't want the world to know what was going on. But my father signed the letter to my mother, 'Asor'. Your son, Asor, which is quite significant. Asor means not true. It’s Yiddish [אסור 'forbidden']. But my mother understood it immediately. That was a code word. Very difficult, it was very difficult. My mother wasn't very domesticated. My parents had a pet, a cat, & they had to get rid of the cat. Jews were not allowed to have pets. It had to be put down. But my mother was very brave. She dressed up & went to the Gestapo headquarters & flirted, & she was lucky. She was allowed in, because she was blonde & blue eyed, so they didn't think that she was Jewish. That saved her life, my life, my father's life. The Nazi official was very rude & shouted & said, ‘I'm not interested in you & your problems.’ My mother said, ‘Well, I'll wait until you've finished.’ And when he had finished, it took 5 hours, he changed & said, ‘I'll help you now.’ He helped find some missing papers. So, my father then came out of concentration camp. And they gave him the fare money to go home, because he had no money anymore. Probably 8 weeks after he was arrested. Didn't speak about it. His skin was always unsteady, always has skin cancer, my father. He had huge boils when he came out of concentration camp. I'm convinced that the skin was unsteady because of his treatment. He never went into the sun; we didn't understand skin cancer. But it had a very marked effect upon my father, he lost his ambition. He became happy with very little. As long as he had his little house, his wife & child, that's all he really wanted. He had to leave within five days, because his visa would expire. So he left for England to start the new life & my mother & I came soon afterwards. My mother hardly recognised him when he came out. He was so emaciated, in a terrible state. My mother heard Hitler speak once, early on. She went to a rally & heard him speak, because she looked so Aryan. And I never understood again, why they didn't get out earlier. Because that time it wasn't as difficult to get out. I've always asked people, ‘What year did you get out? Why did you leave earlier?’ But they had – my mother had the responsibility to get – you know, she didn't want to leave her mother or mother-in-law. 990: The Shock Marianne Summerfield BEM Adapted from Marianne Summerfield BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

988: Getting Up From The Dust Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Ivor Perl BEM, born in Makó, Hungary, survived Auschwitz, Kaufering & Dachau camps: Ivor Perl BEM Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Ivor Perl BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2024 • Learn More → Ivor Perl BEM Attempted Humiliation Auschwitz Betrayed Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Ghetto Incarceration Not Remembering Recovery Telling The Story Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Hungary See Locations Full Text Ivor Perl BEM, born in Makó, Hungary, survived Auschwitz, Kaufering & Dachau camps: I was only 12 when I was taken to Auschwitz. I feel very, very hurt that I haven’t got many memories of my family. I think I've only got three photos. Painful. I'd give my children a hug when they were leaving for school: 'Give me a kiss, have a nice day'. But people living in that part of the world at that part of the time had couldn't afford that luxury. The antisemitism was constant. Growing up I accepted being called a dirty Jew." Ivor was 7th out of 9 siblings. My brother Alec was the only other one who survived. He was two years older than me. We went together to Auschwitz & survived together. He looked after me. He saved me from the gas oven twice, literally. I was in the gate of hell when he saved me. When the Germans overthrew the Hungarian government [1944], from the following morning, edicts started coming out against the Jews, gradually. Jews mustn’t marry non-Jewish people. You must be home by 7. You mustn’t go from a certain street. Gradual, gradual, until the noose. We used to play football with non-Jewish friends. Those same boys, when the time came for us to be herded into Szeged ghetto, they were ones that herded us there. After the war my brother spoke to those boys we used to play with. He said, how could you do that to us? They said: Well, we didn't know what was happening. All we were told along was the equivalent of the Boy Scouts. The sergeant used to come along: tomorrow, turn up with a stick & we’ll give you ten shillings. And they turned up & their job was to herd us into the ghetto. My father & two other brothers were sent to the labour battalion & then to Auschwitz. One day in Auschwitz, my brother & I were walking along & he said to me: our father is here. I said: how comes? We used to have roll calls every morning & one day my father didn't come back. We've got the date of his sort of passing away but not the when or why, I've got no idea. As a young boy, you never realise the severity of it all. To show you how it was: when I first went on the cattle truck I laid down on the floor and could see the trains running from the railway lines, clickety-click, click, & I said to myself: Oh, wow, isn't this an adventurous journey? My oldest brother David was a rabbi at 21. When he went to Auschwitz, I heard later on that he worked in a Sonderkommando. Have you heard of that? What happened: people used to arrive at Auschwitz & be segregated. Those that could work were put to one side, those who were not just went to the gas chamber. But what happened after the gas chamber? Who took the dead bodies from the gas chamber to the crematoria? The slaves. The Sonnderkommando. But the Sonnderkommando were not allowed to live more than 4 weeks. Every 4 weeks, they themselves were put in a gas oven. I mean. Can you imagine? I wrote a book. My wife said: why don't you do something useful? You’ve got a computer, nobody knows your life story, including your children, write your life story instead of wasting your time. So I sat down at the computer for half an hour, not knowing what to write. As I started typing, suddenly it all came out. I was 50. Until then I lived a life of denial. I thought the best way forward for me, get up from the dust, dust myself down, try not to think too much about the past because I didn't want to hurt the children or the wife. But afterwards the children kept on telling us, why didn't you tell us about it? We said: Because we didn't want to hurt you. They said: they didn't ask us because they didn't want to hurt us. But we didn't have the luxury of therapy in those days. Was it the right way to go about it? I don't know. I don't know. 988: Getting Up From The Dust Ivor Perl BEM Adapted from Ivor Perl BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Simon Jochnowitz, born in Fulda, Germany, to Polish parents, came to Manchester with his family in 1939: I remember Hitler on all the loudspeakers everywhere. You couldn’t escape it. I remember being in bed & saying “Oh I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep”. My mother said, “there’s nothing I can do about it." I remember them [Nazis] going through the high street. I used to go like that with that my hand [Nazi salute] until my sister said, “Don’t do that.” I wanted to be like everybody else [laughs]. In late October 1938, Simon & his family were sent to the Polish border as part of the Polenaktion. They wanted to get rid of all the Polish Jews. They came on Friday afternoon. I remember my sisters packing suitcases. Half were full of books. You don’t think straight. They put us in a van & took us to Kassel. It was the meeting point for all Jews who lived around that area. My father was able to make Kiddush: he had two loaves of bread. It was the first time I saw non-religious Jews. They were very different. Then we went on a train. They locked us in the train. Crazy. Why they locked us in lord knows, because we weren’t going to escape [laughs]. We got to the border to Poland, & a civilian policeperson came on & he said, "no". Because Poles had closed the borders, they wouldn’t let us in, fortunately. Then he said, "you can go wherever you want now." My father just couldn’t take it in, he was so wound up, he just couldn’t take it in. Then we were sent back to Fulda. Of course with efficiency they sealed our apartments, so we couldn’t get into our apartment anymore [laughs]. Simon & his family came to Manchester with help from Rabbi Schonfeld. We took the train to Frankfurt & then onto Belgium. My mother wanted to get off & see her brother in Antwerp. But my father said, “You’re not getting off until we get to England.” So she didn’t see him. He didn’t survive. My cousin his daughter had two children from her first marriage. And those poor children, I think they went to a cinema in Brussels, & they were all ordered out of the cinema & shot on the spot. So, you know, they didn’t survive. My parents found it a bit difficult in Manchester at first. People would ask stupid questions like “Did you have running water in Germany?” At the beginning my parents would say, “It was better in Germany,” you know, everything was better in Germany, but that didn’t last long. We still drank coffee instead of tea, so we were able to exchange some of our coal for coffee [laughs]. I was eight years old when I came, so my German is very rudimentary now. I didn’t identify with anything, so, you know, I basically became a little English boy. 978: Hitler On The Loudspeakers Simon Jochnowitz Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 978: Hitler On The Loudspeakers ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Simon Jochnowitz Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Simon Jochnowitz's interview with Kristin Baumgartner for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2024 • Learn More → Simon Jochnowitz Deported Polenaktion Saved By Rabbi Schonfeld Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Simon Jochnowitz, born in Fulda, Germany, to Polish parents, came to Manchester with his family in 1939: I remember Hitler on all the loudspeakers everywhere. You couldn’t escape it. I remember being in bed & saying “Oh I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep”. My mother said, “there’s nothing I can do about it." I remember them [Nazis] going through the high street. I used to go like that with that my hand [Nazi salute] until my sister said, “Don’t do that.” I wanted to be like everybody else [laughs]. In late October 1938, Simon & his family were sent to the Polish border as part of the Polenaktion. They wanted to get rid of all the Polish Jews. They came on Friday afternoon. I remember my sisters packing suitcases. Half were full of books. You don’t think straight. They put us in a van & took us to Kassel. It was the meeting point for all Jews who lived around that area. My father was able to make Kiddush: he had two loaves of bread. It was the first time I saw non-religious Jews. They were very different. Then we went on a train. They locked us in the train. Crazy. Why they locked us in lord knows, because we weren’t going to escape [laughs]. We got to the border to Poland, & a civilian policeperson came on & he said, "no". Because Poles had closed the borders, they wouldn’t let us in, fortunately. Then he said, "you can go wherever you want now." My father just couldn’t take it in, he was so wound up, he just couldn’t take it in. Then we were sent back to Fulda. Of course with efficiency they sealed our apartments, so we couldn’t get into our apartment anymore [laughs]. Simon & his family came to Manchester with help from Rabbi Schonfeld. We took the train to Frankfurt & then onto Belgium. My mother wanted to get off & see her brother in Antwerp. But my father said, “You’re not getting off until we get to England.” So she didn’t see him. He didn’t survive. My cousin his daughter had two children from her first marriage. And those poor children, I think they went to a cinema in Brussels, & they were all ordered out of the cinema & shot on the spot. So, you know, they didn’t survive. My parents found it a bit difficult in Manchester at first. People would ask stupid questions like “Did you have running water in Germany?” At the beginning my parents would say, “It was better in Germany,” you know, everything was better in Germany, but that didn’t last long. We still drank coffee instead of tea, so we were able to exchange some of our coal for coffee [laughs]. I was eight years old when I came, so my German is very rudimentary now. I didn’t identify with anything, so, you know, I basically became a little English boy. 978: Hitler On The Loudspeakers Simon Jochnowitz Edited from Simon Jochnowitz's interview with Kristin Baumgartner for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Nitra, Slovakia, September 1944: Miriam Freedman, her sister, mother, cousin & uncle & aunt go into hiding in a flat: Miriam Freedman Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Miriam Freedman Helped By Non-Jews In Hiding Near Escape Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Nitra, Slovakia, September 1944: Miriam Freedman, her sister, mother, cousin & uncle & aunt go into hiding in a flat: At nighttime, the caretaker used to bring us food. We sat there, never able to talk, no toys or books or anything. Things becoming all the time worse. The caretaker was fantastic. Sometimes Germans came in looking accommodation for the officers. So what did the caretaker do? He changed the lock of the flat & said the owners were away & nobody can use this flat. He was very clever, the caretaker. He changed the locks. I can’t remember having a shower or a change of clothes. The caretaker had a daughter my age. They had a problem: why is her mother now cooking a lot of food? So the little girl had to be told about us, but she went to school & children often tell secrets they shouldn't. So they actually threatened her to death, the people who saved our life, if she revealed anything to anybody. The caretaker helped us because he was paid, but also because he was a communist. He disagreed with the Germans. At first my uncle had a little money. Eventually it ran out. But my uncle promised after the war that he'd be compensated. By that stage it was as bad for them as for us. If they're caught, if they reveal they're hiding Jews, they are in same position. They know they're going to be killed as well, if we get found. Once we were nearly caught forever. A drunken official came with about 20 soldiers, Hlinka Guard or Nazi, I do not know. They said: we know there are Jews here, we are going to find them one way or another. The caretaker took us down to the cellar. He'd carved a hole there. We went 8 people into this hole, like sardines. The size of this sofa, 8 people, lying together, when there was a rumour that the building is going to be searched. I don't remember ever eating, or going to the toilet. It was like you blocked it, are in a state of denial. You don't want to believe it happened. Next to our hole, in the basement, soldiers used to come regularly to exercise. A tiny wall between us & this big room where the soldiers were exercising. If you cough, we had it. So we had this continental quilt with big feathers. We all had it on our mouth, if you cough into the quilt you don't hear the echo. Sometimes we were there for long time. At night they left, so we could go out into the next part of the cellar. I went to see it a few years ago. You can’t believe it, how small it was. All I remember is, move, move, but where shall I move? There was only a wall & a pipe. It was so terrible. When things quietened down we went back up to the flat. But then a new rumour that they're looking for Jews here. The caretaker terribly quickly ran upstairs & told us: this is the end of it, we have to surrender now to the Gestapo because I can't take you down to the cellar. I can’t take you anywhere, say goodbye, pray, do whatever you like, say goodbye to each other, that is that. Believe me, he was in terrible danger too. But this is what he did: the officer took away all the bunches of keys from every single flat that the caretaker had. But what the caretaker did in 5 seconds: he slipped the old key into the chain & our new key was put away. We could hear the officer coming from door to door. We could hear them talking in the flat next to ours, but very merry, all laughing & joking. I suppose they gave more drink – drink, drink, drinking all the time. When they came out it was the turn of our flat & we could hear him. He tried to enter the key in the keyhole. It wouldn't go in, he couldn't get in. So the caretaker said to him, listen, the only way we can break this door, we go downstairs & get some heavy instrument to break it. For whatever reason, it’s not opening. So he convinced the officer who was drunk, gave him more drink, went downstairs & he said, well, we have seen all the flats, didn't we? So now we can say goodbye. It’s the only flat he didn't enter. Only flat. ’Cos he was so drunk he didn't know what's happening & they said there's no more places to look. This was our saving grace. We couldn't hide anywhere in the flat. There was only one cupboard there. Hiding there wouldn't have made any difference, we'd have been caught. This was the end of our life, would have been. Then we were rescued by the Russians. And trouble started with the Russians [laughs]. One story I forgot to tell you: Christmastime, the caretaker told me: I’m giving you a present. He brought his little daughter to play with me. It was something wonderful because I never saw a child my age. But I didn't know how to talk to her anymore. I had nothing to talk to her about. But I said one thing: if I survive this war I want to be a sportswoman. That was my whole dream: running, running, running. I said to her, I’m going to race you & you never could catch me. The war came over, I couldn’t walk any more. Because of lack of circulation our legs were so swollen. We didn't move. When you don't move for a long time you can't just start. So when the war was over, the girl said: Come on, let’s have a race. I couldn't even lift up my leg. But I was determined to become a sportswoman. I become one, & reached quite a high level. Running, swimming, handball, cycling. I trained for the Olympics. All my life was sports, sports, sports. Every possibility. When I got out of the war something in me wanted to move. The running represent freedom to me, to move. 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Miriam Freedman Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

979: Sitting Through That Bronia Snow Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Bronia Snow came to Britain in 1939 on a Nicholas Winton Kindertransport from Prague: My parents always discussed everything. But not a word was spoken about my going to England. So I found myself one fine day, my mother packing a suitcase, me packing a little rucksack full of my doll, my favourite book & so on. On a platform of the main railway station, & getting on a train, with no idea it was going to happen. The platform was full of not only parents with children, but German soldiers with fixed bayonets. I was scared stiff. I thought: since they want to kill us all, why do they let the children, the next generation go? So I thought they would attack us, I was really scared. The idea was: my mother had a brother in New York who was very comfortably off. We were all going there. My parents & brother were going to pick me up in London, they were just waiting for a document called an affidavit which never came in time. I would have been an American person, instead of which I became an English schoolgirl. When I first arrived, I was frightened, alone. I didn’t speak a word of English. My aunt & uncle lacked my parents' warmth. They lived a life of luxury, with servants. It was a completely different atmosphere. The children were with a governess in the nursery, the parents were golfing, playing bridge, you know the sort. I had one last letter from my father, from Theresienstadt, saying, “We’re not starving, we have potatoes to eat.” Then I had the final notification. I was in the sixth form, 1945. One day before school, as I was getting ready, I had a notification informing me that on such & such a date, transport number so & so, my parents & brother were taken to Auschwitz. The Germans kept detailed numbers, records of the people they were going to murder. Thoroughly ridiculous. They were sent to Auschwitz & no more was heard of them. So I go to school–I mean that was a big shock, because all through the war I had lived in hope of being reunited, we were a very close loving family. So that as closure, I knew I’d never see them again. So I go to school as usual, [laughs], our headmistress announces: “Girls, we are very fortunate to have with us today Miss Moose who has just come back from Bergen-Belsen & will tell us all about it.” So I sat through that, I didn’t want to have to climb over everybody’s legs, & make an exhibition of myself, so I sat & listened to it all. Didn’t do me any harm, made me even more grateful for what I had escaped. And the chances I had had, & I determined I would try & live the sort of life my parents would have wanted me to live, so they’d be proud of me, & make the best of my chances. I became top of my year, was the school hockey team champion. I became an English schoolgirl, I loved it. But when I was in the sixth form my headmistress called me into her room & said, “Bronia, we would have liked to have made you head girl, but your lack of tact is against you.” [Laughs]. I had no idea I was tactless. “But we will make you senior prefect, in charge of discipline instead,” I’d been such a naughty child & there was I in charge of discipline, it was an absolute hoot. What’s lacking in England is an education, the young aren’t being taught history. They’re in cloud cuckoo land, they think England will always be free & democratic, without them even bothering to vote. They don’t realise that if the good people don’t bother, the baddies take over. Just what happened in Germany. Hitler took over before people realised. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Bronia Snow's interview with Sheila Rabin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Bronia Snow Close Family Murdered Finding Out Kindertransport Nicholas Winton Kindertransport Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

967: Fitting In Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Hella Pick CBE came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport in 1939 & went to school in Cumbria: Hella Pick CBE Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Hella Pick CBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2019 • Learn More → Hella Pick CBE Domestic Service Kindertransport Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Hella Pick CBE came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport in 1939 & went to school in Cumbria: The other pupils must have known I was a refugee. I became a Girl Guide & we were performing something in a local church & I was an African chief who got converted to Christianity. I was painted all brown, with dark liquid stockings, which is what people did when there were no real stockings in the war. There were several other refugees living in the Lake District during the war. Three or four musicians formed a little chamber orchestra. My mother took me to these concerts, which was lovely. I don’t think that I had any sort of either special pro or anti Jewish treatment or anything. And not too much curiosity about my origins either. Hella's mother came to Britain on a domestic service visa. She found this job with a family who were very comfortably off. Had a lovely house. But treated her throughout the war as their cook. I had to go into the house by the back door. And if I wanted to swim in the lake, I had to make sure than nobody else was using the garden or was swimming, this sort of thing. It made it hard for me to bring my school friends. Only the very closest friends could be told just the circumstances that I was living in. Which, you know, created- well, I don’t- I don’t know how much a problem it was. I had 2 or 3 very close friends who certainly did come. But it was a curious life for a small child. Going to a school where most of the children came from well-off established families and then going home through their back door. We were ranked as enemy aliens. I went a lot to a lovely village called Grasmere & became friends with one of the Lake artists called Heaton Cooper & his wife, a sculptress. They became my anchor. They were members of ‘Moral Re-Armament’. I used to sit with them while they listened to God & things like that. I loved going to Grasmere Church. I dragged my mother to the church on Sunday evenings. I knew every single hymn. And absolutely loved going to Grasmere Church. [laughs] I dragged her along & she came. So that was the most religious period of my life. I wanted to fit in. 967: Fitting In Hella Pick CBE Edited from Hella Pick CBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2019 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Hannah Wurzburger, age 5, was on the last Kindertransport from Berlin. She left on September 1, 1939, and arrived in Britain on September 2: It's a bottomless pit. So absolutely appalling. Children are so vulnerable. Especially when they're separated from their family. I don't know how they can do this. The whole thing is just a nightmare. Terrible. It took a long time to... accept the situation that I had gone through. Hannah's parents & most of her family were murdered in the Holocaust. I left Berlin when I was 5, so I don't have much recollection there. I do remember coming downstairs & saying, “Hello!” to my mother. And she said, “Oh you don’t have to say hello.” My father teaching me a few things in English: “Let me broom the kitchen”, for instance. I was on the last Kindertransport. It was September, a couple of days before they declared war here. I don't remember the journey. I seem to have a picture—whether it's made up or not—of being with lots of children. This train—I think I had actually a teddy bear. My mother I remember, I think, at the station. I don’t know how they got me there. It may be an imaginary thing. I don't know. What you think you remember is probably more important than what actually happened. I don't remember anything of the journey or arriving here. I had an aunt over here. A little while after I left Berlin there was a letter from my mother. A card perhaps with a photo. I can't remember exactly. But that was it. That was all. My aunt went regularly to the—was it the Home Office where you went, to inquire about refugees? Who had escaped & managed to come over? They had lists of names. She went there regularly. She was not worldly, she had such a struggle, she did really quite a lot. But she—she didn’t come up with any family names. I didn't understand my situation. I wasn't very worldly. I mean I just took everything that was thrown at me & there was quite a lot! You accepted it & relied on your fellow sufferers, if you like, for friendship & talking & so on. There was no... It all seemed to be very... narrowed down & concentrated…" If I hadn’t been forced to leave. I think I would have probably learned to play some musical instrument from my parents, both of them. It's fascinating to think about. My life would have been totally, totally different. No one's life follows a smooth path, does it? We're all going all over the place. But. My life certainly would have probably been more stable. I do think Britain should take more child refugees. They seem to have the size & space. But there's this backlash of native people who say, “We get all these refugees, all these bloody foreigners.” They're afraid they're going to impact on their lives, take away their jobs & whatever. But I think there's still room in this country for many more. They've just got to be gradually assimilated at the beginning. You can't just throw them in. But you have to remember, there's no such thing as blue-blooded Englishman, never has been. They've always had foreigners. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Hannah Wurzburger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2018 • Learn More → Hannah Wurzburger Close Family Murdered Kindertransport Not Remembering Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

977: The Cruel Guardian Our Services Item Title Two Item Title Three Maria Ault came to Britain with her younger sister Birgit on a Kindertransport in May 1939: Maria Ault Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Maria Ault's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, May 2024 • Learn More → Maria Ault Attempted Humiliation Domestic Service Food Kindertransport Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Maria Ault came to Britain with her younger sister Birgit on a Kindertransport in May 1939: My first guardians were fine But when we were evacuated in September 1939, we stayed with a very, very, very, very bad person who used to hit us. She didn't feed us properly. But who could we go to in Melton Mowbray? There was no Childline. She should have known better. She was a minister's wife. I was used as a cheap maid. One day, I was only 12, I was getting a lunch ready for a hotpot, which meant I had to peel onions & potatoes & carrots. And because I used the same knife for the potatoes & the onions, because I didn't change my knife, she hit me. Really hit me hard & said, ‘I've had enough of you, get out.’ It was raining. I took my sister & we walked through Melton Mowbray hand-in-hand. We had nowhere to go, nowhere at all. So, in the end, we were soaked. We went back & I think she was quite pleased to see us. I didn't tell anybody. How they ever found out, I think it might have been through my headmistress who used to have me in her study to give me extra lessons. I had my arm in a sling because my guardian was so cruel to us. I had very bad abscesses under my arm & I had my arm in a sling one day. My headmistress said, ‘Maria, what's – why are you wearing a sling?’ So, I told her. She said, ‘Let me look.’ So, she looked… She didn't ring that person up who I was staying with, she rang the doctor & said, ‘I'm taking Maria straight to the hospital.’ They said if I had – I wouldn't have lived if I had – not a few hours, because I was – it was blood poison. So we were moved, to a very nice house. But again, I was taken in as a maid. I had to leave school & be taken in as a maid. And one day I thought: is this my life? Because my parents were in Sweden, we didn't even know whether they were alive. Maria grew up in Hamburg. I was a very privileged little girl. We were brought up in a nursery with a nanny. Our house was always full of people & music. My mother was a singer & had a choir, they used to meet. And when they’d finished their tea up, my brother & I went down to the kitchen & took the cakes & ate them, which was lovely. I was strictly brought up, which was so good because when I came to England, there was no money. The very first memory I have of having a meal, they gave us fish paste sandwiches. My sister & I looked at each other & she took my hand & we went upstairs & cried our eyes out. Not because of the sandwiches, but because we’d just left our parents. But to cry over fish paste sandwiches, I laugh now, but I didn't laugh at the time. I'm so happy and so lucky that I've got a character where I say, this is what happened to you & you get on with life. But my sister was different. When she was very happily married, they emigrated to Canada. She had 2 children. And one day she couldn't stand it anymore. She had memories of when she was beaten. She used to faint, when we had that awful woman looking after us in Melton Mowbray. My sister used to be beaten & then she'd faint & it was just awful. She couldn't take it. So, unfortunately, two years ago, she wrote me a goodbye letter. We used to talk on the phone every week. We used to talk about our past & she just couldn't stand it anymore. She asked the doctor in Canada: can you take your own life? She was allowed. He gave her an overdose & she passed away two years ago, because she just couldn't stand it. It was definitely because of what happened to us. Because when she went to the psychiatrists the first time she tried to do it, he said: ‘It's all because of what happened to you in Melton Mowbray.’ I'm so happy and so lucky, so grateful that it hasn't happened to me. I remember when we first came over, in the dining car from Harwich to Liverpool Street. We were given porridge. One thing I couldn't stand was porridge, & nor could she. Her tears were rolling down her cheeks. So, when she wasn't looking, I took this porridge & ate it for her. She said, ‘I'll never, never forget it. I’ll never...’ 977: The Cruel Guardian Maria Ault Edited from Maria Ault's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, May 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Walter Kammerling arrived in the UK in 1938 on a Kindertransport from Vienna, was sent to Gorman's Farm in Northern Ireland on arrival & stayed there until 1942: It’s that type of work that put me off gardening. When you go on a cold, wet January & you get a big bag & are told to pick up half a hundredweight of brussels sprout. You can’t do it with gloves, because it’s all wet & it’s all... You pick it up & the bag’s half full, and you think, “Well that’s probably half a hundredweight'. And it’s so light. The weight of brussel sprouts is... enormously low. I didn’t like it at all. And, oh, when you for instance you have to weed out the carrots. The carrot plants are only about an inch high. The weeds are about three inches high, and you can’t see them. After four hours your back’s breaking & you look up, and you’ve only done about three metres or so. You still can’t see the end of the field. I didn’t like that at all. I liked the harvesting. I liked the work with the chickens. That’s OK - with animals. But on the whole, I was quite happy there. It was OK. There were about 30 of us. Though we lived and worked and joked together, we didn’t know each other. Nobody really opened up. It was like – like- like wounded animals licking their wounds, you see? 965: Wounded Animals On The Farm Walter Kammerling Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 965: Wounded Animals On The Farm ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Walter Kammerling Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Walter Kammerling's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2016 • Learn More → Walter Kammerling Agricultural Labour Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Northern Ireland See Locations Full Text Walter Kammerling arrived in the UK in 1938 on a Kindertransport from Vienna, was sent to Gorman's Farm in Northern Ireland on arrival & stayed there until 1942: It’s that type of work that put me off gardening. When you go on a cold, wet January & you get a big bag & are told to pick up half a hundredweight of brussels sprout. You can’t do it with gloves, because it’s all wet & it’s all... You pick it up & the bag’s half full, and you think, “Well that’s probably half a hundredweight'. And it’s so light. The weight of brussel sprouts is... enormously low. I didn’t like it at all. And, oh, when you for instance you have to weed out the carrots. The carrot plants are only about an inch high. The weeds are about three inches high, and you can’t see them. After four hours your back’s breaking & you look up, and you’ve only done about three metres or so. You still can’t see the end of the field. I didn’t like that at all. I liked the harvesting. I liked the work with the chickens. That’s OK - with animals. But on the whole, I was quite happy there. It was OK. There were about 30 of us. Though we lived and worked and joked together, we didn’t know each other. Nobody really opened up. It was like – like- like wounded animals licking their wounds, you see? 965: Wounded Animals On The Farm Walter Kammerling Edited from Walter Kammerling's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts