British Army Memories 928: Goodness Kindness & Helpfulness Susan Pollack OBE I never exchanged a word with anyone. I was on my own, withdrawn within myself. If you'd been found talking to someone, you'd have been shot... Read Full Memory 932: A Cigarette For An Iron Cross Harry Weinberger A very young lieutenant in charge of us told me that the British Army will fight to the last alien, to the last foreign soldier... Read Full Memory 949: Liberation of Bergen-Belsen Susan Pollack OBE We were not human beings anymore. We were reduced to being animals - maybe more. That’s how it was. We were just – no feelings... Read Full Memory 961: Having My Revenge Willy Field I was a refugee from Nazi oppression. I wanted to have my revenge & I had my revenge. That was a wonderful feeling... Read Full Memory 962: Speaking German With An English Accent Charles Danson I'd been the wireless operator for quite some time, so I said to my comrade ‘Let’s change over now’... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

Sweden, postwar. Mala Tribich MBE, recuperating after concentration camps, thinks she is the only member of her family to survive: Then one day I got a letter from my brother Ben. We were in this stately home with all its beauty, I opened it, I read it & was so excited. I ran out into the grounds of this place. There were people milling around. It was a nice summer day & I was holding up this letter saying—shouting, I've got a letter from my brother, I've got a letter from my brother. I was sort of running through the grounds saying that. I think that probably it was nice for all of them to know that somebody’s found their relative alive. Then Ben & I started corresponding. And everyone started leaving Sweden gradually. In 1947 it was decided I was going to my brother in England. Oh, it was a great celebration. They were all very pleased for me. Most people didn't have anywhere to go. I travelled by myself. Today, they would send someone with you &, you know, everything. But in those days, they put me on the boat & I travelled. I was seasick. Ben was waiting with a friend. I could recognise him. It – three years. Mind you, that three years is different because one develops and – yes, I have some lovely pictures of his early time here. I was very excited. We got on the train to go to Victoria Station. I was quite fascinated by the houses. The back of the houses on a railway line, they don't look so great. That was just after the war when they hadn’t done anything to them. There were chimneys & chimneys & chimneys on some older houses, that's what struck me. Ben was living in a hostel in Swiss Cottage. A man had donated two houses, turned them into a hostel. We had games, dances, music, meetings. They were proper. Someone from the Central British Fund came to meet me. She said: 'we haven’t found anything for you yet but there's one girl who’s had an operation. 'She is on convalescence in Blackpool, so you can have her room. By the time she comes back we’ll have found you a room'. They sent someone to go with me, to look after me, & they sent me out to get some clothes. I had clothes but they felt that they wanted to fit me out. You had to have coupons. They didn't always have the clothes that you wanted & there wasn't another delivery for six months & you saw something in the window & you liked it & then they'd say no, but that's only for the window, we haven’t got anything for sale. Difficult, very hard times then but they took me out to kit me out. It wasn't anything too extravagant but they—anything I needed. Then they sent me to learn English. I went to a place in Warren Street called English for Foreigners. I learnt that very quickly [laughs]. Not because I’m good at it but because I knew how quickly I needed it. So then from there, yes, then they wanted to know what I wanted to do, to earn a living. I wanted to do secretarial work, so they sent me to a secretarial college for just about a year in Swiss Cottage. After that I was working & I was self-supporting. My first job was for Cape Times, the newspaper. They had a London office & that's where I got a job, at £4 a week, & I lived on the £4 a week. And from there, you know, I went up and up. 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Mala Tribich MBE 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 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Mala Tribich MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Mala Tribich MBE Close Family Murdered Hostel Recovery Reunited Swedish Recuperation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Sweden, postwar. Mala Tribich MBE, recuperating after concentration camps, thinks she is the only member of her family to survive: Then one day I got a letter from my brother Ben. We were in this stately home with all its beauty, I opened it, I read it & was so excited. I ran out into the grounds of this place. There were people milling around. It was a nice summer day & I was holding up this letter saying—shouting, I've got a letter from my brother, I've got a letter from my brother. I was sort of running through the grounds saying that. I think that probably it was nice for all of them to know that somebody’s found their relative alive. Then Ben & I started corresponding. And everyone started leaving Sweden gradually. In 1947 it was decided I was going to my brother in England. Oh, it was a great celebration. They were all very pleased for me. Most people didn't have anywhere to go. I travelled by myself. Today, they would send someone with you &, you know, everything. But in those days, they put me on the boat & I travelled. I was seasick. Ben was waiting with a friend. I could recognise him. It – three years. Mind you, that three years is different because one develops and – yes, I have some lovely pictures of his early time here. I was very excited. We got on the train to go to Victoria Station. I was quite fascinated by the houses. The back of the houses on a railway line, they don't look so great. That was just after the war when they hadn’t done anything to them. There were chimneys & chimneys & chimneys on some older houses, that's what struck me. Ben was living in a hostel in Swiss Cottage. A man had donated two houses, turned them into a hostel. We had games, dances, music, meetings. They were proper. Someone from the Central British Fund came to meet me. She said: 'we haven’t found anything for you yet but there's one girl who’s had an operation. 'She is on convalescence in Blackpool, so you can have her room. By the time she comes back we’ll have found you a room'. They sent someone to go with me, to look after me, & they sent me out to get some clothes. I had clothes but they felt that they wanted to fit me out. You had to have coupons. They didn't always have the clothes that you wanted & there wasn't another delivery for six months & you saw something in the window & you liked it & then they'd say no, but that's only for the window, we haven’t got anything for sale. Difficult, very hard times then but they took me out to kit me out. It wasn't anything too extravagant but they—anything I needed. Then they sent me to learn English. I went to a place in Warren Street called English for Foreigners. I learnt that very quickly [laughs]. Not because I’m good at it but because I knew how quickly I needed it. So then from there, yes, then they wanted to know what I wanted to do, to earn a living. I wanted to do secretarial work, so they sent me to a secretarial college for just about a year in Swiss Cottage. After that I was working & I was self-supporting. My first job was for Cape Times, the newspaper. They had a London office & that's where I got a job, at £4 a week, & I lived on the £4 a week. And from there, you know, I went up and up. 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Mala Tribich MBE Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Reunited Memories 926: Dressing Up As A Gestapo Officer Betty Bloom The Gestapo were coming to arrest a Jewish baby in an orphanage. So my sister dressed up as a German officer and demanded this child... Read Full Memory 927: The Wonderful Thing Ruth Rogoff My father was a courier for getting people out of Germany & over the border into Czechoslovakia, illegally. One day he was betrayed... Read Full Memory 929: Fending For Myself Aged 9 Stephen Nagy I contracted scarlet fever. You had to go to an isolation hospital for six weeks. The fascist Hungarians took over. So, I was stuck in hospital... Read Full Memory 930: Reunion After 22 Years In Siberia Dorothy Bohm My sister was one when I left. 22 years later I saw her again. We had no language in common. No memories in common, no childhood. Nothing... Read Full Memory 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE My mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told... Read Full Memory 942: Father's New Woman John Hajdu MBE In each flat it was about 20 of us squeezed in. The area was guarded by the Arrow Cross Party: fascist & brutal. Hardly any food... Read Full Memory 943: The Legless Side Of The Bed Laszlo Roman I was always told I mustn’t pee by the side of the road because someone might see that I am circumcised... Read Full Memory 946: Being Stateless Is An Advantage Benno Stern My father, by a great stroke of fortune, was made stateless by Poland because he’d fled the country. It worked to our advantage... Read Full Memory 952: Interned On My 16th Birthday John Goldsmith In 1940, on my 16th birthday, I was writing an English essay & looking through the window & I saw a policeman... Read Full Memory 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green MBE There were two girls who often turned up with their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war... Read Full Memory 970: Mother's Death At Our Liberation Mirjam Finkelstein By January 1945 there were rumours. People got quite excited. There was a wooden table, we had to walk past the camp doctor... Read Full Memory 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Mala Tribich MBE One day I got a letter from my brother Ben. We were in this stately home with all its beauty, I opened it, I read it & was so excited... Read Full Memory 983: The Struggle To Stay Alive Helen Aronson BEM We were taken to a disused prison. People were crying & hungry, not knowing anything. In the morning, Chaim Rumkowski came... Read Full Memory 989: Buying Sauerkraut & Soap Eva Mendelsson When you're a child, when nasty things happen, you remember. It makes a tremendous impression, even if you don’t quite understand... Read Full Memory 995: Father's Shop Harry Bibring BEM It was perfectly OK to try & obtain Jewish property by purchasing it at a peppercorn price... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

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

Close Family Murdered Memories 925: Finding Something Good In Everything Ursula Gilbert My father always used to find something good in everything. He'd say: ‘Things are not so bad. We'll get through it.’ Until the very last day... Read Full Memory 935: Starting To Speak Mala Tribich MBE Talking about my experiences was a very gradual process. Before no one was talking & no one asked... Read Full Memory 936: Why It's Necessary To Talk & Write Selma van de Perre I didn’t speak at all the first 30 years! To anyone or anything or myself. It was in 1975 with the opening of the Ravensbrück Memorial... Read Full Memory 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg We were put in a big school hall, we were all sitting on the floor with a rucksack. They said we are going to go to work... Read Full Memory 964: The Next Thing Is We Were Gone Ruth Edwards I was on the train and saw my father crying. That made me cry. My mother said, perhaps she doesn't want to go. I said, yes, I do want to go... Read Full Memory 969: No One In My Situation Lia Lesser In 1939, my father married again in Prague. His wife was called Ola & she was a seamstress. When she came out of Auschwitz she got in touch... Read Full Memory 971: Equalising What Happened Dr Charlotte Feldman They used to demonstrate in the street below us. They used to shout, ‘Jews to Palestine!’ I had a very happy childhood... Read Full Memory 972: Discovering My Brother Was Alive Mala Tribich MBE One day I got a letter from my brother Ben. We were in this stately home with all its beauty, I opened it, I read it & was so excited... Read Full Memory 973: The Puzzle & The Blanks Jacques Weisser BEM I should've delved more into it, asking questions. But most of the time after the war I wasn't with my father... Read Full Memory 974: How To Recover Susan Pollack OBE It took a long time for me to strengthen my own needs. I made a friend & she made a very big, deep impression on me. A shared nightmare... Read Full Memory 976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger It's a bottomless pit. So absolutely appalling. Children are so vulnerable. Especially when they're separated from their family... Read Full Memory 979: Sitting Through That Bronia Snow My parents always discussed everything. But not a word was spoken about my going to England. So I found myself one fine day... Read Full Memory 981: 4th of the 4th, 1944 Jack Cynamon My first recollection is aeroplanes in the sky in Brussels. One morning the sky was full of aeroplanes. There must have been 60... Read Full Memory 987: Father's Deportation Betty Bloom Unfortunately, at 6am, there was a knock on the door & two Gestapo officers marched in & arrested my father... Read Full Memory 988: Getting Up From The Dust Ivor Perl BEM 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... Read Full Memory 994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon Lilly Lampert All I know: I wanted to come to England to be with my sister Gertie. I didn't know I wasn't going to see my parents again... Read Full Memory 997: My Mother & Father Trude Silman MBE My mother is a question mark. I know she survived ‘til 1944 because we used to get the odd occasional 25-word Red Cross letter, but then it stopped... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

981: 4th of the 4th, 1944 Jack Cynamon came to Britain in 1945 after spending part of WW2 in hiding in Belgium: Jack Cynamon 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 Jack Cynamon's interview with Thamar Barnett for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Jack Cynamon Betrayed Close Family Murdered Helped By Non-Jews Hidden Child Hiding Valuables In Hiding Liberation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Belgium See Locations Full Text Jack Cynamon came to Britain in 1945 after spending part of WW2 in hiding in Belgium: My first recollection is aeroplanes in the sky in Brussels. One morning the sky was full of aeroplanes. There must have been 60. We didn't know what to do. My parents packed a few things, went to the railway station & embarked on the train, in a cattle truck with straw. The train went on & on for 5 days. They were fed by people at the stations, with food & water, they carried on until they reached the Pyrenees. My father worked on a potato farm, they both did, picking potatoes for a farmer, stayed there for about two months & then returned to Brussels because they found out that things weren’t as bad as originally thought. Actually, things were not so bad in Belgium until 1942. I can’t recollect going to school but I must have gone to school of some form. Then in '42 things started to get really tough. We all had to start wearing a Star of David. We were registered as Jews. My mother & father decided to try & escape. First they tried to get to Spain. They found a guide, he took them all but at the border he decided to take their money & leave them. Then we came back to Belgium, & then they tried again. They tried a second time to escape to Switzerland & again the guide took their money & left them at the border. Then things in Belgium became really desperate. They decided to start going to a hiding place. The only way they had currency, my mother had small diamonds & a specially made shoe. She hid the diamonds in the heel of this specially made shoe. Then they went into hiding. The person that looked after them was a guy by the name of Cnudde. He worked for my father & was able to bring food & the like. He hid them in an attic, I’m not sure where. I was in that attic as well. Then they realised that they could not keep me in an attic. I was 8. I was too – I wanted to run & do things & do what boys do. So one day I remember walking along & we came along to a church & my father said goodbye to me & they left me with a priest, & that was the very last time I saw my father. I vaguely remember saying a sort of goodbye. That was it. The very last time I saw my father. I became a choirboy, in a very lovely place – with other children. I became a choirboy, with all the bells & whistles & everything else. I had blue eyes & blonde hair, I blended in. I can’t recollect anybody or any of the things that I did when I was there. I was sort of in a – in a quandary. I didn't know what was what. You just go with the flow. I remember being liberated in 1944, the German army leaving, using horse-drawn carriages, pulling big guns. I recall very vividly that same afternoon the American tanks coming into view. 6 tanks & a jeep. They showered us with sweets & chewing gum. My parents were still in hiding. One day there was a bang on the door because the Germans were doing a house-to-house search for Jews. There was a banging on the door & the Gestapo came in & discovered them. My mother tells me that the very last words my father said to my mother was [gets upset] she was – it's painful. It’s emotional. 'If you ever find Jackie, promise me he will be bar mitzvahed'. He was taken to Mechelen, a holding camp & then to Auschwitz, in one of the very last transports: on the fourth of the fourth, 1944. So many times I wake up at 4:44 in the morning, thinking about him, a very significant number for me. I woke up this morning with the same. My mother was British-born so she went to an intern camp, finished up in La Bourboule which is in the Massif Central, which is really quite a nice place. I joined her there after the war. I was in Brussels & out comes my mother. I was, to be truthful, I was horrified. She wanted me to go back with her. I didn't want to. I wanted to stay with the church, with the priest who loved me. My mother was at that stage a sort of a stranger. I hadn’t seen her for 2½ years." 981: 4th of the 4th, 1944 Jack Cynamon Adapted from Jack Cynamon's interview with Thamar Barnett for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals May 27, 1942: Reinhard Heydrich, a principle Nazi architect of the Holocaust, was fatally shot in Prague by Czech & Slovak soldiers trained by British Intelligence. Frank Bright remembers the Prague aftermath: Frank Bright 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 Frank Bright's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2016 • Learn More → Frank Bright Attempted Humiliation Encounter With Nazi Officials Food Reprisals Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text May 27, 1942: Reinhard Heydrich, a principle Nazi architect of the Holocaust, was fatally shot in Prague by Czech & Slovak soldiers trained by British Intelligence. Frank Bright remembers the Prague aftermath: Two Gestapo men came to our flat & asked where was I at the time. My mother had been indoors. I had just arrived from school. I didn’t look as if I had a gun on me. So they left, but they had to to tick their box [half-laughs]. They looked like typical Gestapo men. They didn’t wear uniform. They wore civvies. But they all wore the same outfits, the same raincoat, the same hat! You could see them from a mile. The reprisals were awful! It just wasn’t worth the candle. A whole village called Lidice was decimated, they shot all the men & took the women to concentration camps. They killed the children. A few they sent to Germany, to be with families, to be brought up as German. My friend Kurt Hirschman & his mother were sent on a transport directly to Poland & shot on arrival. They obviously had nothing to do with it. They were not sent to Theresienstadt first. This was the only transport that was sent directly to Poland, as a result of the assassination. The synagogues in Prague were used at that time as storehouses for the loot they got from the homes of people who had been deported. One of my teachers asked my father if he could prepare me for Bar Mitzvah. My father didn’t really care. He said, “Yes, if you want to” I went to see my teacher, Dr Glunsberg, a Doctor in Oriental languages. My portion was Isaiah, ‘Nachamu, nachamu ami’ [comfort, comfort my people]. I can recite it now. The day came, and they got cold feet. Because there were things like Razzias: where a group of Jews would congregate, the Gestapo would appear, arrest them all, & they would never be seen again. Razzia is an Italian word. And so they got cold feet, so nothing forward. So I had to learn a second portion. Again, Isaiah, & again I can recite it more or less. That was to be held again, at a synagogue of course. They got cold feet again. They were afraid that the Gestapo would hear of it, & they would disappear. So I had to learn a third one. Third time lucky. But that wasn’t held at a synagogue. That was held at a prayer room; this was the ‘Shtiebel’ as they called it, from the German ‘Stube’. There were only the right, minimum number—10—around. People I didn’t know, apart from my teacher. My father wasn’t there. So the atmosphere was one of fear. We had to wear a star. We had to hand in things the Army needed: anything from cameras to bicycles to woollens to typewriters to sewing machines. Musical instruments, including gramophones & records. You could whistle; that was about it. We could only shop during two hours in the afternoon, when things that were off the ration had already gone, Our rations were far, far smaller than anybody else’s. We had no allocation of fruit, or fish. Meat. No soap. We couldn’t go to a hairdresser. No onions. No clothing coupons. Everybody had to fill in a form giving every detail of their property, from the number of cups & saucers, to knives & forks to spoons, to frying pans, saucepans, ironing boards, irons, jackets, shoes & socks, chairs & tables & display cases. The lot. No vitamins & minerals. So we were susceptible to infections, no resistance. We got inflammations. I had a huge one under my arm. You'd use hot compresses to what they call ‘ripen it’ & then squeeze it out. That would heal & the next one would appear. 960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals Frank Bright Edited from Frank Bright's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Germany Buchenwald Memories 990: The Shock Marianne Summerfield BEM My father was asked to report to Nazi headquarters. Stupidly, although my mother told him not to, he just walked into it... Previous Location Next Location

Budapest, 1944: John Hajdu MBE's father is incarcerated in a labour camp. His mother is taken to Mauthausen camp. John & his aunt are moved into the ghetto: In each flat it was about 20 of us squeezed in. The area was guarded by the Arrow Cross Party: fascist & brutal. Hardly any food: bread & drippings & water. We couldn’t go out. In fact, you didn’t want to go out because on the streets were shot at for no reason whatsoever & you saw people dying on the street from dysentery & all kinds of other diseases. So you stayed in the flat. We stayed in this flat for quite some time until the Soviet Air Force was approaching Hungary. They’d already liberated Romania, now they were approaching Budapest. They started bombing. We had to go down into the cellar often. Part of our block was bombed & collapsed. We were extremely fortunate not to have been entombed or killed by the falling masonry & bricks & the roof. We stayed in this terrible situation for some time until the Soviet Air Force & the Soviet Army surrounded Budapest. The whole ghetto was mined by the Nazis in order to blow everybody up. Imagine: 900 blocks of flats, 100s of 1000s of people. But they couldn't blow us up because they had to escape as quickly as possible from the Soviet Army. They didn’t have time to do it. So we were saved by the quick action of the Soviet Army. Then we came out & found Budapest in flames. Houses were demolished or hardly anything left, people wandering aimlessly. Nobody knew what to do. A bombsite. The bridges had gone. In one way it was freedom. It was life. We'd escaped death. So obviously, there was relief. It was freedom, it was happiness. When you then looked at what you have seen around you – Yeah. As a young boy, it was almost impossible to comprehend. The question was, what happens next? My mother wasn’t there. My aunt & I had to find somewhere to live & start a new life. We decided to go to Romania. Why Romania? Because Romania was freed by the Soviets before Hungary & that is where my father escaped. Getting to Romania was a hell of a journey. My father & uncle had started a little shop & they were living a reasonable life. I went back to school there & we lived a reasonable life there. Always at the back of your mind was, what happened to our belongings, to our flat in Budapest & above all what happened to my mother? I found out later that she was taken to Mauthausen concentration camp. She was beaten, her hair fell out, her teeth fell out, her back suffered. If she found some snails to eat she was lucky. People all around her died but somehow, she survived until the American troops freed her. She then was taken in a terrible state to a hospital. After some weeks she recovered enough to allow her out. She went back to Budapest. She didn’t know where the family was, she was not allowed back into our flat by the occupier. She was not given back any of her belongings & was simply told to go. Just back from Mauthausen. Homeless, she searched for us in Budapest, which was in ruins. Eventually a friend told her that we were in Romania. Somehow she managed to trace us & arrived at our doorstep. The feeling of suddenly confronted by your mother in front of you when you thought that she was lost. We couldn’t believe what we’re seeing. A miracle. A wonderful thing to happen. But by this time my father, who thought obviously that my mother is not coming back, had started a relationship with a local woman. I can’t blame him for that because that’s life. My mother after a few hours found out my father had another woman. She immediately turned round & took me back to Budapest. So another part of my life had to start all over again in the ruined town of Budapest where my mother had to find somewhere to live & some work. 942: Father's New Woman John Hajdu MBE 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 942: Father's New Woman ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → John Hajdu MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from John Hajdu MBE's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2023 • Learn More → John Hajdu MBE Arrow Cross Finding Out Ghetto Incarceration Liberation Reunited Siege of Budapest Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Hungary See Locations Full Text Budapest, 1944: John Hajdu MBE's father is incarcerated in a labour camp. His mother is taken to Mauthausen camp. John & his aunt are moved into the ghetto: In each flat it was about 20 of us squeezed in. The area was guarded by the Arrow Cross Party: fascist & brutal. Hardly any food: bread & drippings & water. We couldn’t go out. In fact, you didn’t want to go out because on the streets were shot at for no reason whatsoever & you saw people dying on the street from dysentery & all kinds of other diseases. So you stayed in the flat. We stayed in this flat for quite some time until the Soviet Air Force was approaching Hungary. They’d already liberated Romania, now they were approaching Budapest. They started bombing. We had to go down into the cellar often. Part of our block was bombed & collapsed. We were extremely fortunate not to have been entombed or killed by the falling masonry & bricks & the roof. We stayed in this terrible situation for some time until the Soviet Air Force & the Soviet Army surrounded Budapest. The whole ghetto was mined by the Nazis in order to blow everybody up. Imagine: 900 blocks of flats, 100s of 1000s of people. But they couldn't blow us up because they had to escape as quickly as possible from the Soviet Army. They didn’t have time to do it. So we were saved by the quick action of the Soviet Army. Then we came out & found Budapest in flames. Houses were demolished or hardly anything left, people wandering aimlessly. Nobody knew what to do. A bombsite. The bridges had gone. In one way it was freedom. It was life. We'd escaped death. So obviously, there was relief. It was freedom, it was happiness. When you then looked at what you have seen around you – Yeah. As a young boy, it was almost impossible to comprehend. The question was, what happens next? My mother wasn’t there. My aunt & I had to find somewhere to live & start a new life. We decided to go to Romania. Why Romania? Because Romania was freed by the Soviets before Hungary & that is where my father escaped. Getting to Romania was a hell of a journey. My father & uncle had started a little shop & they were living a reasonable life. I went back to school there & we lived a reasonable life there. Always at the back of your mind was, what happened to our belongings, to our flat in Budapest & above all what happened to my mother? I found out later that she was taken to Mauthausen concentration camp. She was beaten, her hair fell out, her teeth fell out, her back suffered. If she found some snails to eat she was lucky. People all around her died but somehow, she survived until the American troops freed her. She then was taken in a terrible state to a hospital. After some weeks she recovered enough to allow her out. She went back to Budapest. She didn’t know where the family was, she was not allowed back into our flat by the occupier. She was not given back any of her belongings & was simply told to go. Just back from Mauthausen. Homeless, she searched for us in Budapest, which was in ruins. Eventually a friend told her that we were in Romania. Somehow she managed to trace us & arrived at our doorstep. The feeling of suddenly confronted by your mother in front of you when you thought that she was lost. We couldn’t believe what we’re seeing. A miracle. A wonderful thing to happen. But by this time my father, who thought obviously that my mother is not coming back, had started a relationship with a local woman. I can’t blame him for that because that’s life. My mother after a few hours found out my father had another woman. She immediately turned round & took me back to Budapest. So another part of my life had to start all over again in the ruined town of Budapest where my mother had to find somewhere to live & some work. 942: Father's New Woman John Hajdu MBE Edited from John Hajdu MBE's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Reprisals Memories 960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals Frank Bright Two Gestapo men came to our flat & asked where was I at the time. My mother had been indoors. I had just arrived from school... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann MBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Lili Pohlmann has fond memories of Passover in Lviv: My mother and us two children went every Passover to Lviv to my grandparents, her parents, which was lovely. She was the apple of their eye. We lived in Krakow. So for Passover we used to go to Lviv on the train. It was an adventure for children. There was a large extended family, cousins & so on, & they all had children. So that was quite something. My grandparents were called Hinda & Aba Brück. I was actually born in Lviv, in my grandmother's bed. My mother wanted her mother to hold her hand. It wasn’t in those days that husbands were present at birth, you know. So she went back to Lviv to give birth & stayed for two weeks, then brought me back to Krakow. I remember everything about Passover. Everything! You don’t want to go into all the details; it will take you forever! The journey one looked forward to: Oh, my God, going by train! It was always a fast train. It took four to five hours & always stopped in Przemysl. My mother & father had family there. So they all came out, waited for the train. Not like here today, you know. Waited… with food—with food! This one brought broth, that one brought eggs, this one brought sandwiches 'so that the children shouldn’t starve, heaven help us!' You know. It was great fun! We looked forward to it. We saw these people for the half hour or so the train stopped. They brought all the food & we…[laughing] were stuck with it. It was very lovely. And the same on the way back. Everybody came. Perhaps 10 people. I don’t know—practically the whole family came up [laughing] to see you. My grandparents were very religious, orthodox. My grandfather spent his days praying in the synagogue. On Friday he came home & there was a queue of people waiting to be offered this & that & food. Tzedakah [charity]. My father was really non-believer, an agnostic. My mother had candles every Friday for her parents, you know. My grandmother sent every week a challah which she made & some bits & pieces, some cakes & this & that. She baked, & that came by post every week to have it on Friday. My mother did some praying, my father was the opposite. But they were the most loving of couples you ever saw. He was a wonderful father, marvellous. We were a very, very happy family. Until the outbreak of war." Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Lili Pohlmann MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Lili Pohlmann MBE Jewish Festivals Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Gerti Baruch came to Britain from Vienna in 1939: On Sundays in Vienna my father used to take me to Café Siller, along the Promenade. He used to read the paper. I used to have soft-boiled egg & tea. There was an ice cream parlour next door. Then the Anschluss. We had a caretaker downstairs in our block. Overnight he was in Nazi uniform. My mother was very determined not to stay. On Kristallnacht my father was taken to Dachau. My mother got him out & he went to Palestine. I left Vienna with my mother, two weeks before the war. We didn't see my father for 11 years. My sister had a permit to work as a nanny in Kensington. Somehow she managed to get a permit for my mother to come to England as a cook. I don’t know how my mother managed it, but we had a beautiful Art Deco coffee set, quite heavy. She managed to bring that over. It's standing in my house. And a Kaffeemühle [coffee mill] which my daughter has. I was very unhappy at first because I was separated from my mother & had to be fostered. Her employer didn't have room for me. And the whole English way of living was strange. Tea with milk. One of my foster families lived in Ruislip Manor. They didn’t send me to school. I more or less looked after their little boy. I was only 12. Eventually my mother managed to get an apartment in Belsize Grove. My sister & my mother & I lived there. My mother got a job as a machinist in Clerkenwell Road, for C&A. My sister & I got jobs there too. I was only 15 & underage so was employed illegally as an overlocker. We used to go by underground to Goswell Road, then walk down to save the bus fare. We walked in the blackout to Clerkenwell Road. During the war we went to sleep in Belsize Park Underground Station every night. It was very, very sociable. When the sirens went we went up & then the all-clear. Then we showered & went to work. Then I worked in Argyle Street as a machinist. I was 16 so it was legal. A Jewish firm. They had a son who took me out to a Chinese restaurant. I didn’t have a clue about Chinese food & was too shy to ask. I just couldn’t eat anything. But that was the first outing. It was a sociable place. Somebody there pierced my ears. But eventually I worked with my mother at home. My mother smoked, then I smoked. That wasn’t a good thing. My mother used to receive letters from my father in Palestine via the Red Cross. He was very unhappy. Unsettled. The climate didn’t agree. I had boyfriends. They used to take me to Fischer’s off Bond Street. A tea dance. My mother enrolled me at Saint Martin's School of Art. I did fashion drawing & still life. Then I went to Hammersmith School of Art. I was always into fashion. It was always my pet thing. Until I got married at the age of 21. His name was Max & he came from Germany, on the Kindertransport. We went on honeymoon to Torquay, to a hotel where about six other young married couples stayed. In 1950 my mother managed to get my father over to England. He wasn’t very happy. By then I had a baby. He couldn’t get to grips with it. Nor my mother. Very strange. Very sadly, Gerti's father killed himself. Hitler destroyed lots of people. I’m so lucky to be here. But I often think what would have become of me in Vienna. I often think of that, you know. It’s like a dream. I've been back. Vienna was - is beautiful. I went back with my children & showed them. In London we used to visit the Cosmo Cafe a lot with the family. Very social. You always saw the same people in Cosmo's on a Sunday. We used to have Schnitzel & a Continental salad from the bar. You could help yourself. I haven't done too badly. Sometimes people ask: 'Where do you come from?' I say, 'From Austria.' 'Oh, Australia! Vienna, Australia!' 956: Getting To Grips With It Gerti Baruch 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 956: Getting To Grips With It ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Gerti Baruch Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Gerti Baruch's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2016 • Learn More → Gerti Baruch Anschluss Dachau November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Refugee Life Suicide Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Austria See Locations Full Text Gerti Baruch came to Britain from Vienna in 1939: On Sundays in Vienna my father used to take me to Café Siller, along the Promenade. He used to read the paper. I used to have soft-boiled egg & tea. There was an ice cream parlour next door. Then the Anschluss. We had a caretaker downstairs in our block. Overnight he was in Nazi uniform. My mother was very determined not to stay. On Kristallnacht my father was taken to Dachau. My mother got him out & he went to Palestine. I left Vienna with my mother, two weeks before the war. We didn't see my father for 11 years. My sister had a permit to work as a nanny in Kensington. Somehow she managed to get a permit for my mother to come to England as a cook. I don’t know how my mother managed it, but we had a beautiful Art Deco coffee set, quite heavy. She managed to bring that over. It's standing in my house. And a Kaffeemühle [coffee mill] which my daughter has. I was very unhappy at first because I was separated from my mother & had to be fostered. Her employer didn't have room for me. And the whole English way of living was strange. Tea with milk. One of my foster families lived in Ruislip Manor. They didn’t send me to school. I more or less looked after their little boy. I was only 12. Eventually my mother managed to get an apartment in Belsize Grove. My sister & my mother & I lived there. My mother got a job as a machinist in Clerkenwell Road, for C&A. My sister & I got jobs there too. I was only 15 & underage so was employed illegally as an overlocker. We used to go by underground to Goswell Road, then walk down to save the bus fare. We walked in the blackout to Clerkenwell Road. During the war we went to sleep in Belsize Park Underground Station every night. It was very, very sociable. When the sirens went we went up & then the all-clear. Then we showered & went to work. Then I worked in Argyle Street as a machinist. I was 16 so it was legal. A Jewish firm. They had a son who took me out to a Chinese restaurant. I didn’t have a clue about Chinese food & was too shy to ask. I just couldn’t eat anything. But that was the first outing. It was a sociable place. Somebody there pierced my ears. But eventually I worked with my mother at home. My mother smoked, then I smoked. That wasn’t a good thing. My mother used to receive letters from my father in Palestine via the Red Cross. He was very unhappy. Unsettled. The climate didn’t agree. I had boyfriends. They used to take me to Fischer’s off Bond Street. A tea dance. My mother enrolled me at Saint Martin's School of Art. I did fashion drawing & still life. Then I went to Hammersmith School of Art. I was always into fashion. It was always my pet thing. Until I got married at the age of 21. His name was Max & he came from Germany, on the Kindertransport. We went on honeymoon to Torquay, to a hotel where about six other young married couples stayed. In 1950 my mother managed to get my father over to England. He wasn’t very happy. By then I had a baby. He couldn’t get to grips with it. Nor my mother. Very strange. Very sadly, Gerti's father killed himself. Hitler destroyed lots of people. I’m so lucky to be here. But I often think what would have become of me in Vienna. I often think of that, you know. It’s like a dream. I've been back. Vienna was - is beautiful. I went back with my children & showed them. In London we used to visit the Cosmo Cafe a lot with the family. Very social. You always saw the same people in Cosmo's on a Sunday. We used to have Schnitzel & a Continental salad from the bar. You could help yourself. I haven't done too badly. Sometimes people ask: 'Where do you come from?' I say, 'From Austria.' 'Oh, Australia! Vienna, Australia!' 956: Getting To Grips With It Gerti Baruch Edited from Gerti Baruch's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts