Dachau Memories 956: Getting To Grips With It Gerti Baruch On Sundays in Vienna my father used to take me to Café Siller, along the Promenade. He used to read the paper... 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 Previous Experience Next Experience

Thessaloniki, 1941: Hanna Hemingway and her family, British citizens, are held in Pavlo Mila prison: I remember everything about being taken prisoner. There's a reel in here [points to her head]. I can’t get it out of my mind. It's there. I just wish somebody would erase it. I remember the good things, I remember the bad things, because wherever you go you can find a laugh. The Germans gave us injections. Why I have no idea. Because we were British we had to have a certain amount of care? I have no idea. Then came the day. My father came with two soldiers guarding him. He told my godmother to say goodbye to me. He told me to take off my Star of David bracelet & a little Star of David around my neck & these earrings, which she had bought me. But she wouldn't take my earrings. That’s why I kept them. A soldier told my mother ‘take all you papers or anything of value, you are not coming back’. He did us a service. Without that British passport we wouldn’t have… So my mother took that & an alarm clock. She must have been absolutely demented. Passport you can understand but why an alarm clock? We had a good laugh over the alarm clock over the years. It was a Greek prison for very hardened criminals. They opened the door & we were thrown into this room. Six young children & my mother, pieces of straw on the floor. Filthy. We just sat there petrified. A hell of a lot women walking around looking at us. In the corner: one small barred window & this cauldron which was used as a toilet. I will remember the stench to this dying day. The only food we had was a piece of bread once a day. They let the women go round in a circle while they watched dinner being served. Somebody would tip a sack of potatoes with mud and everything, a sack of carrots, and within a matter of minutes we each had a carrot & a potato. It just doesn’t bear thinking about. My godmother, god bless her, contacted the English consulate in Greece & said ‘there was this English family held in…blabla’. He came from the consulate. Luckily my father had his passport. They took us out of this filth, put us in a shower, we needed it, we reeked. My mum took as much of the lice she could out of us. She'd be up night after night, wiping the lice off our faces so that we could sleep & she couldn’t. She used to sleep as much as she could during the day. For the first time we saw clean straw. We were put into this room. A long room, less people in it . We were bathed, well showered, we were scrubbed, the skin was sore…they weren’t very gentle. We thought we were in heaven because we could lie down & just go to sleep, it was clean. After three days we got a Red Cross parcel. I'd like to say ‘thank you’ to the Red Cross: those parcels saved our lives. We used to get one a month. My mum didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink tea. Bella used to weasel her way around & get us bits of food in exchange for the things we didn’t want. For 3½ years we did that. My mother used to tell us stories; she used to sing to us, that’s all we could do. Go to the window…I stopped going to the window actually. There were dustbins & a boy was caught scavenging in there. In front of our window there was a big tree. They took him up. They stretched his arms & legs round this tree. He screamed. Screams you don’t forget. They left him all night. They cut him down the morning after but of course he died. But the horror of that boy's death is…I just wish I could forget it, but I can’t. 940: Bringing The Alarm Clock Hanna Hemingway 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 940: Bringing The Alarm Clock ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Hanna Hemingway Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Hanna Hemingway's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2025 • Learn More → Hanna Hemingway Arrested British Citizen Food Not Remembering Prisoner Of War Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Greece See Locations Full Text Thessaloniki, 1941: Hanna Hemingway and her family, British citizens, are held in Pavlo Mila prison: I remember everything about being taken prisoner. There's a reel in here [points to her head]. I can’t get it out of my mind. It's there. I just wish somebody would erase it. I remember the good things, I remember the bad things, because wherever you go you can find a laugh. The Germans gave us injections. Why I have no idea. Because we were British we had to have a certain amount of care? I have no idea. Then came the day. My father came with two soldiers guarding him. He told my godmother to say goodbye to me. He told me to take off my Star of David bracelet & a little Star of David around my neck & these earrings, which she had bought me. But she wouldn't take my earrings. That’s why I kept them. A soldier told my mother ‘take all you papers or anything of value, you are not coming back’. He did us a service. Without that British passport we wouldn’t have… So my mother took that & an alarm clock. She must have been absolutely demented. Passport you can understand but why an alarm clock? We had a good laugh over the alarm clock over the years. It was a Greek prison for very hardened criminals. They opened the door & we were thrown into this room. Six young children & my mother, pieces of straw on the floor. Filthy. We just sat there petrified. A hell of a lot women walking around looking at us. In the corner: one small barred window & this cauldron which was used as a toilet. I will remember the stench to this dying day. The only food we had was a piece of bread once a day. They let the women go round in a circle while they watched dinner being served. Somebody would tip a sack of potatoes with mud and everything, a sack of carrots, and within a matter of minutes we each had a carrot & a potato. It just doesn’t bear thinking about. My godmother, god bless her, contacted the English consulate in Greece & said ‘there was this English family held in…blabla’. He came from the consulate. Luckily my father had his passport. They took us out of this filth, put us in a shower, we needed it, we reeked. My mum took as much of the lice she could out of us. She'd be up night after night, wiping the lice off our faces so that we could sleep & she couldn’t. She used to sleep as much as she could during the day. For the first time we saw clean straw. We were put into this room. A long room, less people in it . We were bathed, well showered, we were scrubbed, the skin was sore…they weren’t very gentle. We thought we were in heaven because we could lie down & just go to sleep, it was clean. After three days we got a Red Cross parcel. I'd like to say ‘thank you’ to the Red Cross: those parcels saved our lives. We used to get one a month. My mum didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink tea. Bella used to weasel her way around & get us bits of food in exchange for the things we didn’t want. For 3½ years we did that. My mother used to tell us stories; she used to sing to us, that’s all we could do. Go to the window…I stopped going to the window actually. There were dustbins & a boy was caught scavenging in there. In front of our window there was a big tree. They took him up. They stretched his arms & legs round this tree. He screamed. Screams you don’t forget. They left him all night. They cut him down the morning after but of course he died. But the horror of that boy's death is…I just wish I could forget it, but I can’t. 940: Bringing The Alarm Clock Hanna Hemingway Edited from Hanna Hemingway's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2025 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Munich, prewar: Tom Heinemann's family, international art dealers, run Galerie Heinemann: My grandmother ran the business until 1938. Franziska Heinemann, known as Mimi. She ran the gallery very successfully. Then she got arrested on some trumped up currency charges and put into prison. They broke into her flat, stole all the paintings. She paid, somebody told me, a million marks ransom in return for an exit visa. But was told she's got to sell the gallery, it had to be Aryanised. The man who bought it was actually a member of staff. A Mr Zinckgraf, who had been with them for 40 years. The German authorities were very suspicious but eventually passed it. Now, Zinckgraf didn't have the money. But he had a backer, a director of the Reichsbank, who had the money. He gave him the money to buy the gallery for flumpence, ha’penny, in return for profit sharing. The gallery was then changed to Galerie Lenbachplatz, because it couldn't be called Galerie Heinemann anymore. Zinckgraf carried on from 1938 until he died in 1954. When my father returned to Germany he did a deal with him. But he let him carry on. Mr Zinckgraf was a decent man. When he died, everything was auctioned off & that was the end of everything. In 1938 Tom & his parents escaped to Switzerland, where they had a gallery in Lucerne. I was just told I was going to fly to Zurich. So exciting. On the flight, since I was the only child there, the pilot asked me to come to the front & I sat on the co-pilot seat. This was a Hungarian airline. Jews weren't allowed to fly on what was Lufthansa in those days. Tom has many memories of the Galerie Heinemann in Munich before it was seized: In 1902 they had a big house built in Lenbachplatz. The gallery was on the ground floor & mezzanine. Above that my grandparents lived. We lived on the top floor. My grandmother was a chainsmoker. She smoked over 100 cigarettes a day. I can remember this thick smoke in her office, everything stinking of cigarettes. She always had a big dog. I used to run up & down the gallery as a child. I used to enjoy that. There was a courtyard at the back, & a goods lift there. That went down into the basement. There was a carpenter shop there. They had a full-time cabinet maker, who made picture frames & packing cases for sending them all over the place. I loved to go down there as a child & mess about. He tried to teach me some woodwork. There was a big balcony the width of the building. I would run up & down on the tricycle there. I could look down on the Lenbachplatz. I loved doing that, watching the world go by. I remember the big Nazi parades with music. Of course I thought it was very exciting. All these bands in brown & black with flags. Hitler was very often in Munich. They pulled down the synagogue well before Kristallnacht. It was said, because Hitler, when he came to the Braune Haus, from the station he had to drive past the synagogue. And he hated it so much that he told them, ‘Pull that bloody thing down.’ My grandparents were founder members. I’ve still got their receipt with the number of the Betstuhl [seat in the synagogue], as they call it. Eventually, the gallery building was pulled down. The facade is still there, because there was Denkmalschutz [protection order]. But behind, there’s an office block now, there's nothing there anymore now of the old gallery. 947: The End Of The Gallery Tom Heinemann 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 947: The End Of The Gallery ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Tom Heinemann Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Tom Heinemann's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Tom Heinemann Business Seized Dismissed From Job Encounter With Nazi Officials Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Munich, prewar: Tom Heinemann's family, international art dealers, run Galerie Heinemann: My grandmother ran the business until 1938. Franziska Heinemann, known as Mimi. She ran the gallery very successfully. Then she got arrested on some trumped up currency charges and put into prison. They broke into her flat, stole all the paintings. She paid, somebody told me, a million marks ransom in return for an exit visa. But was told she's got to sell the gallery, it had to be Aryanised. The man who bought it was actually a member of staff. A Mr Zinckgraf, who had been with them for 40 years. The German authorities were very suspicious but eventually passed it. Now, Zinckgraf didn't have the money. But he had a backer, a director of the Reichsbank, who had the money. He gave him the money to buy the gallery for flumpence, ha’penny, in return for profit sharing. The gallery was then changed to Galerie Lenbachplatz, because it couldn't be called Galerie Heinemann anymore. Zinckgraf carried on from 1938 until he died in 1954. When my father returned to Germany he did a deal with him. But he let him carry on. Mr Zinckgraf was a decent man. When he died, everything was auctioned off & that was the end of everything. In 1938 Tom & his parents escaped to Switzerland, where they had a gallery in Lucerne. I was just told I was going to fly to Zurich. So exciting. On the flight, since I was the only child there, the pilot asked me to come to the front & I sat on the co-pilot seat. This was a Hungarian airline. Jews weren't allowed to fly on what was Lufthansa in those days. Tom has many memories of the Galerie Heinemann in Munich before it was seized: In 1902 they had a big house built in Lenbachplatz. The gallery was on the ground floor & mezzanine. Above that my grandparents lived. We lived on the top floor. My grandmother was a chainsmoker. She smoked over 100 cigarettes a day. I can remember this thick smoke in her office, everything stinking of cigarettes. She always had a big dog. I used to run up & down the gallery as a child. I used to enjoy that. There was a courtyard at the back, & a goods lift there. That went down into the basement. There was a carpenter shop there. They had a full-time cabinet maker, who made picture frames & packing cases for sending them all over the place. I loved to go down there as a child & mess about. He tried to teach me some woodwork. There was a big balcony the width of the building. I would run up & down on the tricycle there. I could look down on the Lenbachplatz. I loved doing that, watching the world go by. I remember the big Nazi parades with music. Of course I thought it was very exciting. All these bands in brown & black with flags. Hitler was very often in Munich. They pulled down the synagogue well before Kristallnacht. It was said, because Hitler, when he came to the Braune Haus, from the station he had to drive past the synagogue. And he hated it so much that he told them, ‘Pull that bloody thing down.’ My grandparents were founder members. I’ve still got their receipt with the number of the Betstuhl [seat in the synagogue], as they call it. Eventually, the gallery building was pulled down. The facade is still there, because there was Denkmalschutz [protection order]. But behind, there’s an office block now, there's nothing there anymore now of the old gallery. 947: The End Of The Gallery Tom Heinemann Edited from Tom Heinemann'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

Lilly Lampert came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport in 1939: 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, because they landed up in Theresienstadt. I shared a bedroom with my parents until my sister left & then I got her room. She came to England 6 months before me. She got somebody to guarantee me, because in those days you couldn't just come to England. She had a hell of a job to get somebody to put £50 pounds forward. I was always doing things. Playing with my dolls, making dolls clothes. Television stops all that, a lot of things I used to do. I brought 2 suitcases. Clothes & one doll. You know, you can't just bring things to England. It had to be a certain weight only. When Hitler marched in, they welcomed him with open arms, didn’t they, the Viennese? That's all I really remember. Things were hidden from me, because I was a little girl. Now all the young kids, they know everything. But in those days, anything not nice was sheltered. My parents were going to follow me. My sister tried desperately to find somebody to – for my mother to be a cook somewhere & my father, a gardener, which he'd never done his life before. But somebody had to say, ‘Yes, he can come & do my garden’, just to get out. But war came. The train ride was at night time. We left on the 13th. I always tell people 13 must be lucky for me, otherwise I wouldn't be alive. I wouldn't have left Vienna. I would be dead like the rest of my family. It was just a normal journey. I was 9. My sister met me at the station. She took me back to her place, one room somewhere. She went to Bloomsbury House. They managed to find me a place in The Beacon in Rusthall. A girl's hostel. She put me on the train & someone met me on the other side. I must have been quite nervous. You don't know the language. You don't know where you are. Terrible, but I survived. But we had three lakes. It was a lovely place we lived in. Now it's a sort of hotel. Five days after I arrived someone I knew from Vienna came there. Mela. She was thrilled to see me. We became good friends until she died. Most people either were German or Austrian. From Czechoslovakia we got one or two. They discouraged us to speak German. They wanted us to speak English. We were quite happy there. I stayed till I came to London in 1947. It was a lovely place & they were nice to us. Most of them. We had snakes in the garden. Mainly grass snakes, apparently. But a snake is a snake, isn't it? They always told us they were only grass snakes, but I wasn't so sure. I couldn't write letters to my parents anymore under normal postage, it had to go through the Red Cross. Only a certain amount of words. I had to write it in an office in Tunbridge Wells, tell them the words. They wrote them down. All I was allowed to do is sign my name, wasn't allowed to even write it myself. Send it to Vienna & my parents answered on the same bit of paper. It's like a boarding school, only a bit rougher. No luxuries. It was quite impersonal, because the staff really, I think they did it just for money. They didn't care for us. There was one matron we quite liked, Mrs Fisher. She was nice because she had her own daughter there. They squashed us in, about 8 in a room. It's not nice sleeping with so many people, squashed in very close to each other. It's hard to remember VE Day because I've wiped these memories out. I don't think about them anymore. It's a different world. Everyone was happy, I suppose. After the war, in 1946, I got a letter from my mother. She wrote that letter in 1943 & gave it to an aunt of mine who was in the concentration camp with her. This aunt survived, went to America & she sent me the letter that my mother wrote. My father was already dead. It says she's now all alone & would bear anything if she could see me for just a second. She must have been very, very, very low. It hurts when you read a thing like that. You should never know anything like that again happening. But it still goes on. That's all I can tell you. 994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon Lilly Lampert 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 994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Lilly Lampert Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Lilly Lampert's interview with Deborah Koder for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, April 2024 • Learn More → Lilly Lampert Boarder Close Family Murdered Homesick Hostel Kindertransport Red Cross Letters Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Lilly Lampert came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport in 1939: 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, because they landed up in Theresienstadt. I shared a bedroom with my parents until my sister left & then I got her room. She came to England 6 months before me. She got somebody to guarantee me, because in those days you couldn't just come to England. She had a hell of a job to get somebody to put £50 pounds forward. I was always doing things. Playing with my dolls, making dolls clothes. Television stops all that, a lot of things I used to do. I brought 2 suitcases. Clothes & one doll. You know, you can't just bring things to England. It had to be a certain weight only. When Hitler marched in, they welcomed him with open arms, didn’t they, the Viennese? That's all I really remember. Things were hidden from me, because I was a little girl. Now all the young kids, they know everything. But in those days, anything not nice was sheltered. My parents were going to follow me. My sister tried desperately to find somebody to – for my mother to be a cook somewhere & my father, a gardener, which he'd never done his life before. But somebody had to say, ‘Yes, he can come & do my garden’, just to get out. But war came. The train ride was at night time. We left on the 13th. I always tell people 13 must be lucky for me, otherwise I wouldn't be alive. I wouldn't have left Vienna. I would be dead like the rest of my family. It was just a normal journey. I was 9. My sister met me at the station. She took me back to her place, one room somewhere. She went to Bloomsbury House. They managed to find me a place in The Beacon in Rusthall. A girl's hostel. She put me on the train & someone met me on the other side. I must have been quite nervous. You don't know the language. You don't know where you are. Terrible, but I survived. But we had three lakes. It was a lovely place we lived in. Now it's a sort of hotel. Five days after I arrived someone I knew from Vienna came there. Mela. She was thrilled to see me. We became good friends until she died. Most people either were German or Austrian. From Czechoslovakia we got one or two. They discouraged us to speak German. They wanted us to speak English. We were quite happy there. I stayed till I came to London in 1947. It was a lovely place & they were nice to us. Most of them. We had snakes in the garden. Mainly grass snakes, apparently. But a snake is a snake, isn't it? They always told us they were only grass snakes, but I wasn't so sure. I couldn't write letters to my parents anymore under normal postage, it had to go through the Red Cross. Only a certain amount of words. I had to write it in an office in Tunbridge Wells, tell them the words. They wrote them down. All I was allowed to do is sign my name, wasn't allowed to even write it myself. Send it to Vienna & my parents answered on the same bit of paper. It's like a boarding school, only a bit rougher. No luxuries. It was quite impersonal, because the staff really, I think they did it just for money. They didn't care for us. There was one matron we quite liked, Mrs Fisher. She was nice because she had her own daughter there. They squashed us in, about 8 in a room. It's not nice sleeping with so many people, squashed in very close to each other. It's hard to remember VE Day because I've wiped these memories out. I don't think about them anymore. It's a different world. Everyone was happy, I suppose. After the war, in 1946, I got a letter from my mother. She wrote that letter in 1943 & gave it to an aunt of mine who was in the concentration camp with her. This aunt survived, went to America & she sent me the letter that my mother wrote. My father was already dead. It says she's now all alone & would bear anything if she could see me for just a second. She must have been very, very, very low. It hurts when you read a thing like that. You should never know anything like that again happening. But it still goes on. That's all I can tell you. 994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon Lilly Lampert Adapted from Lilly Lampert's interview with Deborah Koder for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, April 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Rivka Reich (age 4), Oradea, Hungary, 1944: Our soap factory backed onto the railway station where they took Jews to Auschwitz. We thought going to Auschwitz would be just hard labour; we didn’t think further. But my father was different. He thought we must escape. People thought that they would go to Auschwitz & come back & find all their riches. My father & grandfather as well. They hid their silver & money in the ground. When the SS came, they knew that the Jews did that so, they interviewed him & they… I don’t know how to say it. They really hurt him, with electric wires. All full of blood. So he told them straightaway where everything was. Nobody wanted to be killed for that. That was the beginning of the terrible times. After that my father was trying to think how we can escape, how we can go. Then he thought: in the actual factory there was a loft with a roof, one more floor, never used, but you could go up. He thought maybe we could hide there. We had a non-Jewish manager, called Appan. He was very nice to us. They offered him a house & my mother's diamond ring. He said, 'I'll look after you, hide into this rooftop. Your wife, yourself & your two children. I'll bring food & look after you for as long as needed.' My father told my grandfather about it, my grandfather was very upset. He said 'Why don’t you come with us to Auschwitz? You will be able to work for us, we are elderly people'. My father said 'no.' My grandfather was terribly upset. After that all the people came to speak to my father. He was considered something quite special in town: very clever, very capable. They came all to him: 'Herr Rothbart, maybe you can think of something to save us.' My father told one person, Yankel Schreiber, 'I'm thinking of going into the loft.' 'Can we come with?” So they came, with six children, so there were eight people. My mother took us for a bath in the Mikveh. Berish Weiss saw her there & said 'What are you going to do?' My mother said 'We are going to hide. Come with us.' Another three people. And it grew. The Schreibers came, and then there was a Mrs Fuchs who was a widow with two children, she came as well. My nanny came and a few other young men who were begging to come. It turned out that at the end of the day we were 28 people instead of 4. Which was a tremendous thing, it was a small area, we could just about lie down, we couldn’t walk around, the facilities were just a bucket & only food we survived with was what this fellow brought for four people. We could hear from the window, still now I can hear it, the footsteps of the SS with the big boots, it was so frightening. But people laid down, because when people laid down they don’t move so much. My father said 'If everybody lies down you save energy, & they don’t hear you either”, at night especially. If somebody fell asleep, if they made the slightest noise, that was terrible, so one of us was always up to see that nobody should make a noise & nobody should move. At night noises are always amplified. Just below we could see them walking up & down, taking the people from the ghetto to Auschwitz. Appan brought chazzer [non-kosher meat] with whatever he had. I was allowed to eat it, because I was 4. If a 4-year-old child starts crying or makes the slightest noise, everybody gets endangered, so I was allowed to eat it. Hakadosh Baruch Hu [God] definitely helped all the way, because I didn’t cry. If I wanted to cry or be upset I cried in a cushion & never raised my voice. I had to learn to speak only quietly. For quite a while afterwards I had no voice. I still remember what they used to cook: if he brought some beans, somebody would hold a pan over a candle. That's how we cooked the beans, you can imagine hours standing there, but whatever food they could get would keep us going. They davened [prayed]. We were petrified all the time. There was not a time when we were not, we never could relax. The slightest noise. Rats crawling over you. I coped because my parents were very loving. We suffered, but compared to what people suffered in Auschwitz it was nothing. I can still feel it, I never talked about it for years. But my mother talked about the war a lot: 'We have to talk about the miracles. We are so lucky we are saved, we are saved for something, not just for nothing. There is a purpose in life why we are saved’. She never took it for granted & all her life she had a purpose in life, she helped people, they both did. In those days there were no committees but all their life they helped all war victims, anyone who was victim of anything. They were there to help until their last days. The group hid for 6 weeks until pressure on Appan forced them to make other arrangements. Rivka & her family escaped to Romania & survived. 955: 28 People Hiding In The Loft Rivka Reich 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 955: 28 People Hiding In The Loft ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Rivka Reich Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Rivka Reich's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2005 • Learn More → Rivka Reich Food Helped By Non-Jews Hiding Valuables In Hiding Near Escape Nerves of Steel Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Hungary See Locations Full Text Rivka Reich (age 4), Oradea, Hungary, 1944: Our soap factory backed onto the railway station where they took Jews to Auschwitz. We thought going to Auschwitz would be just hard labour; we didn’t think further. But my father was different. He thought we must escape. People thought that they would go to Auschwitz & come back & find all their riches. My father & grandfather as well. They hid their silver & money in the ground. When the SS came, they knew that the Jews did that so, they interviewed him & they… I don’t know how to say it. They really hurt him, with electric wires. All full of blood. So he told them straightaway where everything was. Nobody wanted to be killed for that. That was the beginning of the terrible times. After that my father was trying to think how we can escape, how we can go. Then he thought: in the actual factory there was a loft with a roof, one more floor, never used, but you could go up. He thought maybe we could hide there. We had a non-Jewish manager, called Appan. He was very nice to us. They offered him a house & my mother's diamond ring. He said, 'I'll look after you, hide into this rooftop. Your wife, yourself & your two children. I'll bring food & look after you for as long as needed.' My father told my grandfather about it, my grandfather was very upset. He said 'Why don’t you come with us to Auschwitz? You will be able to work for us, we are elderly people'. My father said 'no.' My grandfather was terribly upset. After that all the people came to speak to my father. He was considered something quite special in town: very clever, very capable. They came all to him: 'Herr Rothbart, maybe you can think of something to save us.' My father told one person, Yankel Schreiber, 'I'm thinking of going into the loft.' 'Can we come with?” So they came, with six children, so there were eight people. My mother took us for a bath in the Mikveh. Berish Weiss saw her there & said 'What are you going to do?' My mother said 'We are going to hide. Come with us.' Another three people. And it grew. The Schreibers came, and then there was a Mrs Fuchs who was a widow with two children, she came as well. My nanny came and a few other young men who were begging to come. It turned out that at the end of the day we were 28 people instead of 4. Which was a tremendous thing, it was a small area, we could just about lie down, we couldn’t walk around, the facilities were just a bucket & only food we survived with was what this fellow brought for four people. We could hear from the window, still now I can hear it, the footsteps of the SS with the big boots, it was so frightening. But people laid down, because when people laid down they don’t move so much. My father said 'If everybody lies down you save energy, & they don’t hear you either”, at night especially. If somebody fell asleep, if they made the slightest noise, that was terrible, so one of us was always up to see that nobody should make a noise & nobody should move. At night noises are always amplified. Just below we could see them walking up & down, taking the people from the ghetto to Auschwitz. Appan brought chazzer [non-kosher meat] with whatever he had. I was allowed to eat it, because I was 4. If a 4-year-old child starts crying or makes the slightest noise, everybody gets endangered, so I was allowed to eat it. Hakadosh Baruch Hu [God] definitely helped all the way, because I didn’t cry. If I wanted to cry or be upset I cried in a cushion & never raised my voice. I had to learn to speak only quietly. For quite a while afterwards I had no voice. I still remember what they used to cook: if he brought some beans, somebody would hold a pan over a candle. That's how we cooked the beans, you can imagine hours standing there, but whatever food they could get would keep us going. They davened [prayed]. We were petrified all the time. There was not a time when we were not, we never could relax. The slightest noise. Rats crawling over you. I coped because my parents were very loving. We suffered, but compared to what people suffered in Auschwitz it was nothing. I can still feel it, I never talked about it for years. But my mother talked about the war a lot: 'We have to talk about the miracles. We are so lucky we are saved, we are saved for something, not just for nothing. There is a purpose in life why we are saved’. She never took it for granted & all her life she had a purpose in life, she helped people, they both did. In those days there were no committees but all their life they helped all war victims, anyone who was victim of anything. They were there to help until their last days. The group hid for 6 weeks until pressure on Appan forced them to make other arrangements. Rivka & her family escaped to Romania & survived. 955: 28 People Hiding In The Loft Rivka Reich Edited from Rivka Reich's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2005 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

957: How To Hide In Vienna Father Francis Wahle came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport. His mother and father, an ex-judge, remained in Vienna: Father Francis Wahle 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 Father Francis Wahle's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2019 • Learn More → Father Francis Wahle Converted To Christianity Encounter With Nazi Officials False Identity Hiding In Plain Sight In Hiding Near Escape Nerves of Steel Resistance Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Austria See Locations Full Text Father Francis Wahle came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport. His mother and father, an ex-judge, remained in Vienna: At school, letter-writing was timetabled: once a week. But from 1942 onwards there were no letters in reply because on May 1, 1942, my parents went underground. The Gestapo came to get them. Both Francis's parents had converted to Catholicism before he was born but Nazis still considered the family Jewish. My father happened to be out of the flat. My mother was there. She got her handbag & simply walked down the stairs as they were coming up to get her, muttered something about a hell of a to do in the house today, & just left. They'd obviously made provisions beforehand in distributing their belongings as far as they could & having arranged the place to meet in a case like this. From then on, they were non-persons. They couldn't use their identities. No home, no place to actually spend a night in; couldn't spend it in the open because the winter is too hard in Vienna, & secondly, because if you were found in the open, what excuse is there? They had no ration cards, no money, no earning. They experimented a little bit. My mother came up with the idea of spinning a yarn that she was a married woman, married to a policeman, but having an affair with my father who was living outside Vienna but coming in to visit her regularly once a week, & they needed a place where they could spend the night together. And for heaven's sake were they not reported to the police because her husband being a policeman that would wreck her marriage. That story was spun perfectly for the Viennese mentality; sentimental, romantic. With this yarn, they went from landlady to landlady. The more the landlady was a Nazi, the better; it's safer. My mother wasn't shy. She started private tuition in people's homes. It didn't matter whether she knew the subject, provided she was one lesson ahead of the child. And it meant that she was warm during the day. Occasionally she was given rations- either fed or given some ration, so they had something. Also, in restaurants there were one or two watery soups & things like that which you could get without ration. They'd go to those places where the Gestapo also ate because that was the safest place. Once you got yourself established as part of the furniture, they would never dream of having a razzia in that restaurant. It was their base. So, they would meet also in places which had two exits, like churches. If they saw somebody suspicious coming in at one, they would, not hurriedly but just gradually, move to the other exit. Then, identity. My mother's name, Brunner, is very nondistinctive. So she never even changed her maiden name. My father knew that if anybody recognised him from his acquaintances & called him by his name, he would react, so he had to have a name which sounded like Wahle, so Taler, Maler, something "a, e". You could get travel cards for trams & buses. He'd give a name & address which was actually taken from the telephone book. My father suddenly realised—the penny dropped—that as he was now hunted, he was an outlaw. Although he was a judge who had to keep the law & make certain other people kept the law, he was no longer a judge. He was able to tell lies, cheat, because this is an illegitimate government. My mother did some smuggling, all sorts of things. They once spent the night in a brothel. The police raided it, they were taken into custody & released the following day. My mother said, "Give me back my money & jewellery". Far more suspicious if she hadn't brazened it out. They loved it when there was an air raid because then they could get to the shelters where there was no control & they were safe. But for three solid years, watching your back the whole time. It's amazing that they survived. It's a miracle. They had some very narrow squeaks. Their tremendous bravery: not giving in, not saying we can't fight against this huge organisation. My mother said: "they're not as efficient as they portray themselves to be & we've got no other option. We've just got to go and... fight for the children as much as anything. 957: How To Hide In Vienna Father Francis Wahle Edited from Father Francis Wahle's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2019 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

961: Having My Revenge Willie Field, born in Germany, took part in the D-Day Landings for the British Army: Willy Field 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 Willy Field's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2003 • Learn More → Willy Field Australian Internment British Army British Internment HMT Dunera Nerves of Steel Recovery Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts France See Locations Full Text Willie Field, born in Germany, took part in the D-Day Landings for the British Army: That was the best thing that could happen to me. After all, I was a refugee from Nazi oppression. I wanted to have my revenge and I had my revenge. That was a wonderful feeling. Willie joined the army in Australia, where he'd been sent on the HMT Dunera to be interned by the British government: It was ridiculous to send people who were refugees from Nazi oppression there. Finally, they sent a gentleman from the Home Office to Australia. His name was Major Layton. He tried to persuade young people to join the Pioneer Corps & come back to England. Of course, all of us youngsters immediately volunteered. We landed in Liverpool, where we were sworn in to be soldiers. We were given a pass & told that in ten days we have to report to Ilfracombe to join the Pioneer Corps. We were trained there. It was quite comical because most of us couldn't speak proper English. I must compare it with "Dad's Army" if you want me to be honest with you. We didn't have rifles or guns or anything. We had broomsticks, things like that. At least we were in the British Army & we were somebody. It was something I always wanted to do. From then on we were split up & sent to various Companies. I was sent, with one or two of my friends, to a company near Oxford - 65 Company. We had to build huts & roads. Then I was sent to Internee 149 Company at Catterick Camp. It was always the same: building huts or building canvas & that was not what I really wanted to do. I was 22 years old & thought I could be doing better things than building huts etc. Then, all of a sudden, they called us in & said, "You don't have to, but, if you want, you can join the fighting forces." I thought, now is my time, so that is what I did. I was thinking, "What shall I join? The infantry? No, I don't want to start walking". So, I said I wanted to go into the tank, the Royal Armoured Corps. I applied but you don't hear anything. After about a month, the Commanding Officer called me in & said, "You have been accepted for the RAC, but you have got to go on a test." I said, "That's all right." They sent me to Aberystwyth for a week. They gave us mental & physical tests. I was accepted. Eventually I was sent to Ilfracombe to the RAC & trained as a tank driver. I changed my ordinary Pioneer hat to a black beret with a tank on there. I was so proud you can't imagine. I used to walk through Ilfracombe & think: at last now I can do a bit of fighting. I passed my tank driving test & was sent to Norfolk, Thetford, to the King's 8th Royal Irish Hussars. I was of good German origin & was accepted by them as their own. I had no problems. Nothing. I was given a tank & a crew. A tank crew consists of a tank driver, a co-driver, a wireless operator, a gunner & a commander. We trained to get ready for the D-Day landing. I was the tank driver. The tank driver's job was to look after the tank, ensure everything's all right, that there is always enough petrol. The best thing that happened in my life. Not only it was the comradeship, it was wonderful - completely different from the Pioneer Corps. You are somebody then. No anti-Semitism. They knew I was Jewish, originally from Germany. I was absolutely like one of them. We trained & eventually went to Bognor Regis & got our tank ready for the D-Day landing. The D-Day landing we took part. I was always with them. I took part at the Normandy Landing it is called. We landed and I was with them. It was a wonderful thing for me arriving in France & taking German prisoners. For me that was one thing I always wanted to do ever since I left Germany. A wonderful feeling & wonderful comradeship. We went right through to Holland & here comes the sad part I'm afraid. We were always together with my five, we lived together. On the way to Nijmegen & Arnhem, my tank was knocked out by a German 88 gun &, unfortunately, everybody was killed except me. A dreadful thing. I managed to try to save the gunner operator. He had his leg already off, his arm was half off but he was still alive. I got him behind the tank & managed to get the ambulance boys to pick him up. I couldn't pick him up. I was wounded myself, but it was a blessing he died on the way. That was a terrible thing. I was in hospital for a few days. But, like everything, if you fall off a bicycle you get on the bicycle straight away. They gave me another tank. I went through to Hamburg & we took Hamburg. 961: Having My Revenge Willy Field Edited from Willy Field's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2003 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

1000: Idzia Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto, Poland, 1942. Mala Tribich MBE is 12: Mala Tribich MBE 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 Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Mala Tribich MBE Betrayed Ghetto Incarceration Homesick In Hiding Never Finding Out Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland See Locations Full Text Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto, Poland, 1942. Mala Tribich MBE is 12: Rumours started circulating that there's going to be a deportation. So people were in panic, trying to find ways of saving themselves. Escaping the ghetto into the forests, in the sewers, into the open. Some had friends outside who’d perhaps save one or two members of the family. And there were people who were doing it for money, saving Jews. My father & uncle, Joseph Klein, were introduced to a man from Częstochowa, a beautiful town about an hour & a half away from Piotrków. This man was willing to hide two Jewish girls during the deportations but he was doing it for money. That was a business arrangement. This man actually came from Częstochowa into the ghetto. He was smuggled in. I remember them sitting around the table & discussing things. He was paid in advance & we were to travel to Częstochowa one at a time with him a week apart on false papers. He'd pick me up first then come back for my cousin. But my aunt pleaded with him that since they only had one child & I was one of 3, would they take my cousin first. He said no, insisted on taking me first. So he came back for me & a week later for my cousin. Now, travelling itself was very scary because if you're sitting in a train with a lot of people & if someone looked at me for longer than a few seconds I immediately thought: they're suspecting me of being Jewish. It was really terrifying. There was actually a reward for handing in Jews, so there were people there on the lookout for Jews. It was a scary journey but we both arrived there one at a time & found ourselves in a big house on the outskirts of Częstochowa with a middle-aged couple. The man who made all the arrangements was their son-in-law, who lived around the corner with his wife & child. These people weren’t particularly nice to us but they didn't ill-treat us. They just left us alone. We were very scared. We were supposed to be relatives who'd come to stay from Warsaw – Warsaw because we would be not so easily identified from a large town as a small town. My cousin Idzia was younger than I: she was 11 & I was 12. She was so homesick she couldn't bear it. She wanted to go home & she was told she can’t because the deportations were still happening. But she said that her parents had very good friends in Piotrków who held all her family's valuables who would take her in. So the man said OK, off they went. I still languished there for what felt like a lifetime. It didn't come into question that she could take me too & I wasn't asking to be taken. On one occasion there was an engagement in the family & they took me with. A German soldier was getting engaged to a Polish girl. I was there with all these people & I was terrified. I just hoped they wouldn't ask me any difficult questions. Another time: a boy about my age lived down the road. He befriended me a bit. He said: I want to take you somewhere really interesting. In Częstochowa there is a church with a Madonna who cries & her tears are real pearls that come. He said: it’s a kind of museum, kind of church. I'll take you to see it. I thought: if he takes me into a church, I won’t know how to cross myself. He will soon discover that I’m not Christian. I was really worried but I had no reason to say no, I don't want to go. So, we went & my good luck: the church was closed that day. It was on a Tuesday, I remember that. Eventually it was time for me to go home. I was to meet my father in a flour mill which before the war belonged to him. Now he was lucky to have a job there. When we got there we went up to the attic at the top. We came in & there was my father but also my uncle, Joseph Klein. He looked at us & he went white. He said, where is my daughter? The man said, I brought her back, I took her back to your very good friends. My uncle said, but she's not there. Where is she? What have you done with my child? He repeated it a few times. I remember him vividly pacing with his hands behind his back, looking at the ground & pacing there & back, there & back, saying, what have you done with my child? That's the end of the story, because nobody knows what happened to Idzia till this day. And not knowing is so terrible ’cos you imagine the worst. And I still keep thinking of what have they done with her? Could they have done this or that, or cut her throat or thrown her in the river or – but, you know, bludgeoned her to death or how did – terribly she suffered. I – it’s just something I can’t come to terms with. And of course, her parents, oh, were devastated. What we heard after the war was this: That she arrived at the friends' house with the man, they collected a case of valuables & she left with the man & the case. That's it. That's the end of the story. But the man—he must have done something wrong because he left with Idzia & the case. My aunt said to me: How could anybody kill a child for the sake of a few goods? I would have given him everything I possess if only he had saved her. She never got over it. Once she said to me: My Idzia had to go into the gas chamber by herself. There was nobody to hold her hand. Those were the thoughts & the visions she lived with. 1000: Idzia 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

974: How To Recover Susan Pollack OBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Ribbingelund, Sweden, 1945: Susan Pollack OBE, aged 15, recuperates after liberation from Bergen-Belsen: 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. Friendship, trust, sharing, being understood. But then she left, she met someone. I forget exactly the reason why she left quite soon. I missed her terribly. I still think about her. I never befriended the other survivors that much. They were older & more angry. We had felt vulnerable. I lost my youth. My treatment was based on just walking, slow walking. Being fed with good food, listening to music every night, gentle. That’s what I enjoyed very much, a peaceable existence. An existence where I could walk on my own if I chose to do so. Being understood, how lovely. How lovely when you’ve got a home & you’re being loved & considered & you mattered. What a great feeling. And of course, I didn’t have anyone. Susan & her brother Laci were the only members of their 50-strong extended family to survive the Holocaust I often repeat it now in my quiet times, the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He raised me down in still waters. Who will ascend to the mountain of righteousness? Only those with clean hands and a pure heart. I repeat it to myself in my little prayer. My brother told me not to come home. I learned of his survival when I was in Sweden. He informed me, ‘Don’t come back to Hungary’, so where could I go? I’m just on my own. That oneness, aloneness. Then going to Canada, somehow it emerged. We were told that we could go to Canada. I didn’t know where it is located, what it is. That aloneness was a driving force, aloneness. The realisation, where do I belong? Where do I belong? So they took me to Canada & that’s where I met my husband-to-be. We were taken to Toronto. For three weeks we stayed in this home together. Then placed individually with people, with families. I was placed with a Jewish family. I became a kind of a Communist, because they were Communist & the Communists were very friendly. There was a son & a daughter, who wasn’t very friendly to me. I felt the loneliness there very much. Then, it was a problem, going occasionally to these meetings with the Communists could present a huge problem, living in Canada. So, we cut that off. Then I met my husband-to-be. They found a job for me. I had no education, nothing. Nobody suggested, ‘Ah, you could learn to speak English in the evening classes’ or whatever. No, nothing. The factory was miserable time in my life. I couldn’t use the electric sewing machine. I was the only girl who couldn’t speak a word of English. Other people formed themselves in a group. And laughing. ‘Oh’, you know, ‘she’s…’ That went on for a while, being on my own & excluded. No understanding of where I'd come from. I learned my English actually, by listening to people. The daughter of the boss said, ‘Can I come & visit you?’ I said ‘Please do.’ I didn’t have any money to buy food, but that’s by the way. Then she cancelled. I can’t tell you how unhappy I became, having been—you know, she’s the boss’s daughter. Then, she cancelled it. I felt very shameful. It was difficult, it was difficult because we felt, like you say, we were the others. I met my husband. Hungarian, a few years older than me. Same experience. He had a terrible time, it’s surprising he managed to survive. He was working on railways & many of them died. He became very aware of his—missed—necessity of living in a modern world. He was a good listener. He was fun, liked dancing. We understood each other's tough times. It helped me, it gave me strength, the driving force. ‘Do you want a ring?’, he said. ‘No’, I said, ‘it has no practical purpose, a ring. I need a watch, if anything.’ So, I got a watch. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Susan Pollack OBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Susan Pollack OBE Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Recovery Swedish Recuperation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Canada Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Ida Skubiejska was born in Poland & forced to emigrate to Siberia during WW2: Everybody was killed in Auschwitz: my parents, my sister, all my uncles, aunts & cousins. Absolutely everybody except my other sister & my cousin. I was very sociable until I got the news. Ida's wartime experiences as a deportee & then a nurse had taken her from the USSR to Tehran & eventually, in 1945, to Scotland. What happened was I kept in touch with doctors all over the place with whom I worked, with senior officers who wrote me long letters. I enjoyed all this huge company from Tehran, from Palestine, from Kiev. Whoever I came across we kept in touch, wrote letters to each other, gave little gifts & this & that & the other. But when I got the news about my family I sort of completely shut myself in. I was in Carnoustie at that time, I spent the days getting up very, very early, at daybreak, & running along the seashore. I just had a marathon of running, I was very, very sort of sporty, I could walk, I could mountain-climb, I could do anything in the way of just running. Running helped me. But for years & years on end, maybe 15 years afterwards, I would not wear any other colour but black. It was quite psychological: it never crossed my mind if I went into a shop or bought a piece of remnant to make something out of it, it had to be black. The same with coats & the same with hats & the same with everything whatever I wore. Black. Everything started to be all right once I started concentrating on being about to teach geography in English, which was exactly the same except of the sort of different pronunciation. Everything went extremely well. But one could not ask me where is your mother, or what happened. If I spoke about her, that was all right, but if somebody else asked me I couldn’t answer, tears dropping down. The same at all the anniversaries & remembrance days. All very strictly observed because that was the generation which knew it. And I couldn’t stand there. To listen to the Last Post [bugle call] was just about as much as I could do. But now I can. It took me ages & ages before I could even talk about it. Now I can talk without crying. But only a fortnight ago we had a remembrance service here next door in the main office for all the residents around here, many of whom are ex-service, with the Last Post back again. I could speak all the time about recipes from home. How to make this & that. This I could talk about, but not the rest. So that’s the story. It doesn’t affect my sleep. What I don’t like is too much loneliness. I like to be with people, I like to go out. And I don't like Holocaust programmes on television or the books. That’s one thing I will not watch. I would not watch the Pianist, I would not watch Schindler’s List. A year before my husband died, we went for a month to Poland. We went from place to place. I could photograph the remembrance to my professor who was murdered by the Russians. They stood beside me, they knew I was shivering. And all this was just wonderful for me. I would gladly go there again. I didn’t go to Auschwitz although we passed the entrance to it a number of times. I didn’t want to go there. What I did, and what I am proud of: I belonged to the ex-service organisation of ex-Jewish servicemen. I went with them to Jerusalem, to Yad Vashem for a big service. I found the cave with memorial plates instead of tombstones & I bought one & it is in the cave of remembrance at Yad Vashem. And that’s where I think I buried my parents & my sister. Not in Auschwitz, in Jerusalem. 968: How To Talk Without Crying Ida Skubiejska 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 968: How To Talk Without Crying ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Ida Skubiejska Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Ida Skubiejska's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2003 • Learn More → Ida Skubiejska Auschwitz Finding Out Recovery Telling The Story Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Scotland See Locations Full Text Ida Skubiejska was born in Poland & forced to emigrate to Siberia during WW2: Everybody was killed in Auschwitz: my parents, my sister, all my uncles, aunts & cousins. Absolutely everybody except my other sister & my cousin. I was very sociable until I got the news. Ida's wartime experiences as a deportee & then a nurse had taken her from the USSR to Tehran & eventually, in 1945, to Scotland. What happened was I kept in touch with doctors all over the place with whom I worked, with senior officers who wrote me long letters. I enjoyed all this huge company from Tehran, from Palestine, from Kiev. Whoever I came across we kept in touch, wrote letters to each other, gave little gifts & this & that & the other. But when I got the news about my family I sort of completely shut myself in. I was in Carnoustie at that time, I spent the days getting up very, very early, at daybreak, & running along the seashore. I just had a marathon of running, I was very, very sort of sporty, I could walk, I could mountain-climb, I could do anything in the way of just running. Running helped me. But for years & years on end, maybe 15 years afterwards, I would not wear any other colour but black. It was quite psychological: it never crossed my mind if I went into a shop or bought a piece of remnant to make something out of it, it had to be black. The same with coats & the same with hats & the same with everything whatever I wore. Black. Everything started to be all right once I started concentrating on being about to teach geography in English, which was exactly the same except of the sort of different pronunciation. Everything went extremely well. But one could not ask me where is your mother, or what happened. If I spoke about her, that was all right, but if somebody else asked me I couldn’t answer, tears dropping down. The same at all the anniversaries & remembrance days. All very strictly observed because that was the generation which knew it. And I couldn’t stand there. To listen to the Last Post [bugle call] was just about as much as I could do. But now I can. It took me ages & ages before I could even talk about it. Now I can talk without crying. But only a fortnight ago we had a remembrance service here next door in the main office for all the residents around here, many of whom are ex-service, with the Last Post back again. I could speak all the time about recipes from home. How to make this & that. This I could talk about, but not the rest. So that’s the story. It doesn’t affect my sleep. What I don’t like is too much loneliness. I like to be with people, I like to go out. And I don't like Holocaust programmes on television or the books. That’s one thing I will not watch. I would not watch the Pianist, I would not watch Schindler’s List. A year before my husband died, we went for a month to Poland. We went from place to place. I could photograph the remembrance to my professor who was murdered by the Russians. They stood beside me, they knew I was shivering. And all this was just wonderful for me. I would gladly go there again. I didn’t go to Auschwitz although we passed the entrance to it a number of times. I didn’t want to go there. What I did, and what I am proud of: I belonged to the ex-service organisation of ex-Jewish servicemen. I went with them to Jerusalem, to Yad Vashem for a big service. I found the cave with memorial plates instead of tombstones & I bought one & it is in the cave of remembrance at Yad Vashem. And that’s where I think I buried my parents & my sister. Not in Auschwitz, in Jerusalem. 968: How To Talk Without Crying Ida Skubiejska Edited from Ida Skubiejska's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2003 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

1000: Idzia Mala Tribich MBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto, Poland, 1942. Mala Tribich MBE is 12: Rumours started circulating that there's going to be a deportation. So people were in panic, trying to find ways of saving themselves. Escaping the ghetto into the forests, in the sewers, into the open. Some had friends outside who’d perhaps save one or two members of the family. And there were people who were doing it for money, saving Jews. My father & uncle, Joseph Klein, were introduced to a man from Częstochowa, a beautiful town about an hour & a half away from Piotrków. This man was willing to hide two Jewish girls during the deportations but he was doing it for money. That was a business arrangement. This man actually came from Częstochowa into the ghetto. He was smuggled in. I remember them sitting around the table & discussing things. He was paid in advance & we were to travel to Częstochowa one at a time with him a week apart on false papers. He'd pick me up first then come back for my cousin. But my aunt pleaded with him that since they only had one child & I was one of 3, would they take my cousin first. He said no, insisted on taking me first. So he came back for me & a week later for my cousin. Now, travelling itself was very scary because if you're sitting in a train with a lot of people & if someone looked at me for longer than a few seconds I immediately thought: they're suspecting me of being Jewish. It was really terrifying. There was actually a reward for handing in Jews, so there were people there on the lookout for Jews. It was a scary journey but we both arrived there one at a time & found ourselves in a big house on the outskirts of Częstochowa with a middle-aged couple. The man who made all the arrangements was their son-in-law, who lived around the corner with his wife & child. These people weren’t particularly nice to us but they didn't ill-treat us. They just left us alone. We were very scared. We were supposed to be relatives who'd come to stay from Warsaw – Warsaw because we would be not so easily identified from a large town as a small town. My cousin Idzia was younger than I: she was 11 & I was 12. She was so homesick she couldn't bear it. She wanted to go home & she was told she can’t because the deportations were still happening. But she said that her parents had very good friends in Piotrków who held all her family's valuables who would take her in. So the man said OK, off they went. I still languished there for what felt like a lifetime. It didn't come into question that she could take me too & I wasn't asking to be taken. On one occasion there was an engagement in the family & they took me with. A German soldier was getting engaged to a Polish girl. I was there with all these people & I was terrified. I just hoped they wouldn't ask me any difficult questions. Another time: a boy about my age lived down the road. He befriended me a bit. He said: I want to take you somewhere really interesting. In Częstochowa there is a church with a Madonna who cries & her tears are real pearls that come. He said: it’s a kind of museum, kind of church. I'll take you to see it. I thought: if he takes me into a church, I won’t know how to cross myself. He will soon discover that I’m not Christian. I was really worried but I had no reason to say no, I don't want to go. So, we went & my good luck: the church was closed that day. It was on a Tuesday, I remember that. Eventually it was time for me to go home. I was to meet my father in a flour mill which before the war belonged to him. Now he was lucky to have a job there. When we got there we went up to the attic at the top. We came in & there was my father but also my uncle, Joseph Klein. He looked at us & he went white. He said, where is my daughter? The man said, I brought her back, I took her back to your very good friends. My uncle said, but she's not there. Where is she? What have you done with my child? He repeated it a few times. I remember him vividly pacing with his hands behind his back, looking at the ground & pacing there & back, there & back, saying, what have you done with my child? That's the end of the story, because nobody knows what happened to Idzia till this day. And not knowing is so terrible ’cos you imagine the worst. And I still keep thinking of what have they done with her? Could they have done this or that, or cut her throat or thrown her in the river or – but, you know, bludgeoned her to death or how did – terribly she suffered. I – it’s just something I can’t come to terms with. And of course, her parents, oh, were devastated. What we heard after the war was this: That she arrived at the friends' house with the man, they collected a case of valuables & she left with the man & the case. That's it. That's the end of the story. But the man—he must have done something wrong because he left with Idzia & the case. My aunt said to me: How could anybody kill a child for the sake of a few goods? I would have given him everything I possess if only he had saved her. She never got over it. Once she said to me: My Idzia had to go into the gas chamber by herself. There was nobody to hold her hand. Those were the thoughts & the visions she lived with. Previous Memory 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 Betrayed Ghetto Incarceration Homesick In Hiding Never Finding Out Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

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." 951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann 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 951: Passover in Lviv ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Lili Pohlmann MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close 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 See Locations Full Text 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." 951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann MBE Edited from Lili Pohlmann MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts