Deported 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 959: The Invasion Of Hungary George Donath It was a Sunday. We went to my grandparents for lunch as usual. All of a sudden we see these black Mercedes drawing up in front... Read Full Memory 978: Hitler On The Loudspeakers Simon Jochnowitz I remember Hitler on all the loudspeakers everywhere. You couldn’t escape it. I remember being in bed & saying “Oh I can’t sleep, I can't sleep... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

Henry Wuga MBE came to Britain on a Kindertransport, settled in Glasgow and became a chef: Ingrid & I got married on December 26 1944. In the middle of the war. We were in love & there was nothing to wait for, not really. We were 20. We had the wedding in the synagogue & the function in Ingrid’s parents’ flat. A very nice party. I got one of the chefs from the hotel to do the cooking while we were at the synagogue &, well, again, we tried to do it differently. The menu is still hanging up out in the hall. We delivered a special menu. I was determined. Food was always important, just the presentation. I made bombs, ice cream bombs, yes. I had shapes, you filled in the ice cream but then you have to freeze it. Now we had no deep freezers or anything like that in these days. On the day of the wedding, I went down to the local Italian shop, asked his permission to use his ice cream machine, filled our bath with ice & sea salt to make it into a saline solution, & froze the bombs in there. Crazy, but that gave us a lot of pleasure. A very nice wedding. Just a few months before the wedding I was sent by my employers, a big catering firm in Glasgow, to Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott, to cater the wedding for his great-great-granddaughter. I was very greatly honoured at age 20 to be sent to arrange this wedding. I had tremendous help from the local baker, who supplied me with staff, with sandwiches. The gamekeeper’s wife happened to be French, so she came & helped me in the kitchen for a family dinner. It was war time, but being on a private estate, consommé, lobster, pheasant, partridge, was not a problem. It was for me a wonderful experience. They were very kind & this baker eventually said to me, ‘When you are getting married in December we will do the wedding cake.’ He sent me a 3-tier wedding cake but you wouldn’t recognise it. It’s silver in colour because the outside was made of these cake boards in papier maché. You were allowed to bake cakes but you were not allowed to ice them. That was the war time restriction. But it was very generous of this man to send me a cake. Henry met his future wife Ingrid at a refugee club: It didn’t have a name. We just called it the centre, was a little house called ‘the house on the hill’ in Sophie Hall Street, where the dental hospital is now. It was financed by the trade union movement in Glasgow. We learned a lot about music, we had lectures, we had meetings on a Saturday afternoon. On Sundays we went for rambles. There were discussion groups & helping the war effort. We founded a group singing Czech & Austrian songs for Mrs. Churchill’s aid to Russia fund. We toured Scotland, performing in the Usher Hall, in St. Andrew’s Hall, in the music hall in Aberdeen to raise money for Mrs. Churchill’s aid to Russia fund. We were fairly left-wing in climate, 1st of May march, etc. Ingrid's father warned her, ‘Don’t get involved in left-wing affairs.’ But luckily she did. It was so egalitarian because we all had no money. You did what you could. On a Saturday we went for a ramble. You made yourself a sandwich or something, but, some people had more money than others. So you threw your sandwich in the middle in a cloth, & then took a dip & had to eat whatever came out. Nobody should suffer from not having enough money to put whatever they want in their sandwich. The club was great. We made great friends that lasted many, many, many years. 941: Sharing The Sandwiches Henry Wuga 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 941: Sharing The Sandwiches ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Henry Wuga MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Henry Wuga MBE's interview with Dr Anthony Grenville for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2004 • Learn More → Henry Wuga MBE Food Kindertransport Refugee Life Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Scotland See Locations Full Text Henry Wuga MBE came to Britain on a Kindertransport, settled in Glasgow and became a chef: Ingrid & I got married on December 26 1944. In the middle of the war. We were in love & there was nothing to wait for, not really. We were 20. We had the wedding in the synagogue & the function in Ingrid’s parents’ flat. A very nice party. I got one of the chefs from the hotel to do the cooking while we were at the synagogue &, well, again, we tried to do it differently. The menu is still hanging up out in the hall. We delivered a special menu. I was determined. Food was always important, just the presentation. I made bombs, ice cream bombs, yes. I had shapes, you filled in the ice cream but then you have to freeze it. Now we had no deep freezers or anything like that in these days. On the day of the wedding, I went down to the local Italian shop, asked his permission to use his ice cream machine, filled our bath with ice & sea salt to make it into a saline solution, & froze the bombs in there. Crazy, but that gave us a lot of pleasure. A very nice wedding. Just a few months before the wedding I was sent by my employers, a big catering firm in Glasgow, to Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott, to cater the wedding for his great-great-granddaughter. I was very greatly honoured at age 20 to be sent to arrange this wedding. I had tremendous help from the local baker, who supplied me with staff, with sandwiches. The gamekeeper’s wife happened to be French, so she came & helped me in the kitchen for a family dinner. It was war time, but being on a private estate, consommé, lobster, pheasant, partridge, was not a problem. It was for me a wonderful experience. They were very kind & this baker eventually said to me, ‘When you are getting married in December we will do the wedding cake.’ He sent me a 3-tier wedding cake but you wouldn’t recognise it. It’s silver in colour because the outside was made of these cake boards in papier maché. You were allowed to bake cakes but you were not allowed to ice them. That was the war time restriction. But it was very generous of this man to send me a cake. Henry met his future wife Ingrid at a refugee club: It didn’t have a name. We just called it the centre, was a little house called ‘the house on the hill’ in Sophie Hall Street, where the dental hospital is now. It was financed by the trade union movement in Glasgow. We learned a lot about music, we had lectures, we had meetings on a Saturday afternoon. On Sundays we went for rambles. There were discussion groups & helping the war effort. We founded a group singing Czech & Austrian songs for Mrs. Churchill’s aid to Russia fund. We toured Scotland, performing in the Usher Hall, in St. Andrew’s Hall, in the music hall in Aberdeen to raise money for Mrs. Churchill’s aid to Russia fund. We were fairly left-wing in climate, 1st of May march, etc. Ingrid's father warned her, ‘Don’t get involved in left-wing affairs.’ But luckily she did. It was so egalitarian because we all had no money. You did what you could. On a Saturday we went for a ramble. You made yourself a sandwich or something, but, some people had more money than others. So you threw your sandwich in the middle in a cloth, & then took a dip & had to eat whatever came out. Nobody should suffer from not having enough money to put whatever they want in their sandwich. The club was great. We made great friends that lasted many, many, many years. 941: Sharing The Sandwiches Henry Wuga MBE Edited from Henry Wuga MBE's interview with Dr Anthony Grenville for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2004 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: I was 14 & still there & planned to leave school—you could leave at 14—& stay on the farm & raise animals & be a farmer. I'd have been so happy doing that. Then my mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told. I think the Hoskings wanted to keep me. I think they had plans to adopt me & they took the view that four years after the war how could my parents want me if they'd left it four years. They didn't understand that Europe was absolute chaos. I mean, England was pretty chaotic, because it was so badly bombed, but all the structures were still in place in England. It was not the sort of chaos in Europe where waves of displaced people were on the move. It was a long time before I understood the chaos preventing my parents making contact earlier. But another 4 years in England postwar made it impossible for me. At 10 I'd probably have settled down after a while. But at 14 there was absolutely no way I could go back to Germany. Ruth & her brother Martin had last seen their parents in 1939 before their Kindertransport. Martin & I had to meet her at the station. I remember not knowing what to do & Martin telling me she was our mother & we should be happy to see her. Then he couldn't face her either. He looked away & was ill at ease once she arrived off the train. It was an impossible situation. She didn't speak any English & I didn't know any German. Very, very painful for everyone. Furious arguments with Mrs. Hosking. And my mother went back to Germany without me. Which must have been terrible for her, particularly as she didn’t know any English. As soon as she got back to Germany, my father served a court order on my foster parents. And my foster mother, who'd said I was one of the family, had to take me to Germany & leave me there. The final betrayal. The one person I thought was really there for me had to leave me. In my head I knew that she had to. At 14 I knew what a court order was. But in my guts, it was the final betrayal. I decided trying to be good & please people had never worked. I turned very nasty. I gave my parents a hell of a time, which I'm not proud of. They tried to make me go to school. They fixed up art lessons for me. They fixed up a horse for me to ride. I mean, they did everything they possibly could, but it had no chance of working. My mother never talked about her war experience. I think she was the most severely traumatised of the four of us. I never, ever saw my parents completely relaxed & happy after the war, together. They weren't capable of it. They'd experienced just so much tension & fear. There’s an alertness when you’re in danger. I don’t think that alertness ever left them. I was being such a nasty beast. I refused to do anything I was asked to. If they mentioned the word ‘school’ I was out the door & didn't come back till the early hours of the morning. My parents realised that it was impossible & a big mistake very quickly. They said I could go back to England if I promised to stay at school & come for holidays. I was desperate to get back to England so of course I promised. But it took a year to get the necessary documents. I went back to the family & my school. But I felt betrayed that they'd taken me to Germany. I couldn't trust anyone. But I could trust the animals. I got the emotional support & the comforting from animals that I couldn't accept from people. They’d let me down too many times. 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett 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 931: Let Down Too Many Times ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Ruth Barnett MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Ruth Barnett MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Ruth Barnett MBE Betrayed Foster Family Kindertransport Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: I was 14 & still there & planned to leave school—you could leave at 14—& stay on the farm & raise animals & be a farmer. I'd have been so happy doing that. Then my mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told. I think the Hoskings wanted to keep me. I think they had plans to adopt me & they took the view that four years after the war how could my parents want me if they'd left it four years. They didn't understand that Europe was absolute chaos. I mean, England was pretty chaotic, because it was so badly bombed, but all the structures were still in place in England. It was not the sort of chaos in Europe where waves of displaced people were on the move. It was a long time before I understood the chaos preventing my parents making contact earlier. But another 4 years in England postwar made it impossible for me. At 10 I'd probably have settled down after a while. But at 14 there was absolutely no way I could go back to Germany. Ruth & her brother Martin had last seen their parents in 1939 before their Kindertransport. Martin & I had to meet her at the station. I remember not knowing what to do & Martin telling me she was our mother & we should be happy to see her. Then he couldn't face her either. He looked away & was ill at ease once she arrived off the train. It was an impossible situation. She didn't speak any English & I didn't know any German. Very, very painful for everyone. Furious arguments with Mrs. Hosking. And my mother went back to Germany without me. Which must have been terrible for her, particularly as she didn’t know any English. As soon as she got back to Germany, my father served a court order on my foster parents. And my foster mother, who'd said I was one of the family, had to take me to Germany & leave me there. The final betrayal. The one person I thought was really there for me had to leave me. In my head I knew that she had to. At 14 I knew what a court order was. But in my guts, it was the final betrayal. I decided trying to be good & please people had never worked. I turned very nasty. I gave my parents a hell of a time, which I'm not proud of. They tried to make me go to school. They fixed up art lessons for me. They fixed up a horse for me to ride. I mean, they did everything they possibly could, but it had no chance of working. My mother never talked about her war experience. I think she was the most severely traumatised of the four of us. I never, ever saw my parents completely relaxed & happy after the war, together. They weren't capable of it. They'd experienced just so much tension & fear. There’s an alertness when you’re in danger. I don’t think that alertness ever left them. I was being such a nasty beast. I refused to do anything I was asked to. If they mentioned the word ‘school’ I was out the door & didn't come back till the early hours of the morning. My parents realised that it was impossible & a big mistake very quickly. They said I could go back to England if I promised to stay at school & come for holidays. I was desperate to get back to England so of course I promised. But it took a year to get the necessary documents. I went back to the family & my school. But I felt betrayed that they'd taken me to Germany. I couldn't trust anyone. But I could trust the animals. I got the emotional support & the comforting from animals that I couldn't accept from people. They’d let me down too many times. 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE Edited from Ruth Barnett 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

949: Liberation of Bergen-Belsen April 15, 1945, Bergen-Belsen concentration camp was liberated. Susan Pollack OBE was there, after incarceration in Auschwitz and Guben: Susan Pollack OBE 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 Susan Pollack OBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Susan Pollack OBE Auschwitz Bergen-Belsen British Army Concentration Camp Guben Liberation Slave Labourer Swedish Recuperation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text April 15, 1945, Bergen-Belsen concentration camp was liberated. Susan Pollack OBE was there, after incarceration in Auschwitz and Guben: We were not human beings anymore. We were reduced to being animals - maybe more. That’s how it was. We were just – no feelings. No awareness of me. We didn’t exist anymore. When you’re under such inner fear, even the fear goes somehow. When hope disappears, you don’t ask God, because where is God? And just, it was the end of life, the end of life that you can’t – there is no way out. In Auschwitz there were two or three levels in the barracks. We looked in disbelief & we looked at it in a totally ignorant – you know, when you have no – your mind doesn’t produce any – the mind also needs to be fed. Well, we weren’t. So, the mind needs some comprehension, some questions. No, no, no, it was just vacant, vacant, vacancy. I was in a world which somehow doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t correspond to anything I knew. I wasn’t a person anymore. I wasn’t a human being. I see myself as just a shadow, reduced. There was an occasion, I think it was in – it was some – where could it have been? I looked up at the sky & saw the sun. Somehow, did I interpreted it as God is looking down? But I don’t know whether that is something I recognise now, or did I think of it that way in those times? I don’t know. In Auschwitz Susan was selected for slave labour in Guben. One would think you'd realise: oh, I’m being selected, there’s hope. No, I was a robot. I was a complete robot, with no sentiments, with no feelings, with no hopes. Just a robot and life didn’t mean anything. Guben was something to do with armaments, small pieces to sort out. They showed it to me, nobody beat me up. I just always nodded in agreement. I don’t think anybody was supervising me. When I was told to do something, I did it if I could. I was willing, of course, because really, I wouldn’t object to anything. No, no. When the Allies advanced, Susan was sent on a death march to Bergen-Belsen. We got into Bergen-Belsen, place of death, diseases. In the barrack where I was put, there were all rotted bodies. I crawled out—I wasn’t able to walk anymore—I crawled out to the next barrack. Who do I see? My former neighbour, a Jewish woman from Felsőgöd. She recognised me. ‘Are we going to survive?’ she said. I said ‘Yes, just hold on a bit longer. Things will work out.’ The following day, I could see the lice all over her forehead when I crawled back to see her. She died. Lice would carry the diseases: typhus, tetanus—all the diseases I could think of we were infected with—most of us died. I heard shouting when finally the liberation came. But it didn’t mean anything to me anymore. It didn’t mean anything. Those who were strong, perhaps they could reasonably perhaps work it out. Ah, we’re free. I crawled out, I crawled out. On the green, in the field I wanted to die there. I feel a pair of hands gently picking me up, placing me in a warm place. A miracle. A British soldier. I got on my feet. I said, ‘What put that goodness into your heart that you could actually…? You made yourself vulnerable for us.’ They set up in a small building, it wasn’t even a building, just a small couple of rooms, they had beds. I remember fainting couple of times. But I was given food. This woman tried to explain where I might be able to get help. I just nodded. She said ‘Sweden.’ I didn’t even know that Sweden existed. So not long after I was moved. The Swedish sent the boat. You couldn’t walk, you had to be carried. Sweden offered me & others a place of rescue. 949: Liberation of Bergen-Belsen Susan Pollack OBE Edited from Susan Pollack OBE'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

Encounter With Nazi Officials Memories 937: Eichmann Asking For Chopped Liver Fred Barschak On Saturday: elderly Jews scrubbing the pavements & marvellous shouts of ‘At last, Hitler’s found work for the Jews!' Read Full Memory 944: Cat Piddle In My Beer Rudolph Sabor It strengthened my belief: this cannot be forever. A cultured people like the Germans, would wake up any day. Total delusion... Read Full Memory 945: Dad's Blood-Drenched Shirt Bea Green MBE I believe trying to protect your children by not telling them everything is a terrible thing. Because it makes them imagine things worse than reality... 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 947: The End Of The Gallery Tom Heinemann My grandmother ran the gallery very successfully. Then she got arrested on some trumped up currency charges & put into prison... Read Full Memory 953: Slave Labour In Ravensbrück Selma van de Perre They transported us to Ravensbrück. Terrible. Screaming, shouting, dogs & whips. The dogs had the same clothes as the soldiers... 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 957: How To Hide In Vienna Father Francis Wahle Letter-writing was timetabled: once a week. But from 1942 onwards there were no letters in reply because my parents went underground... Read Full Memory 959: The Invasion Of Hungary George Donath It was a Sunday. We went to my grandparents for lunch as usual. All of a sudden we see these black Mercedes drawing up in front... Read Full Memory 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 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 980: Getting Streetwise Margot Harris When we were packing for England, the Gestapo came & went through all the cutlery drawers & took the silver cutlery & this & that... Read Full Memory 984: The Attack On Our School Albert Lester I was playing with a little car in the common room when there was this huge commotion, children were running, screaming... Read Full Memory 986: The End of Łódź Ghetto Helen Aronson BEM In 1944, the ghetto was closed, everybody sent to camps. But the Germans decided: there's still some money to be made... 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 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 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... Read Full Memory 992: Chickenpox Bridget Newman I was stuck. Then one day, the doorbell rang: a Gestapo. He came in, he was really rather nice. He had white hair & a big, white moustache... 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 996: How To Hide In Berlin Hans Danziger My father had nerves of steel. Before the war, Jews were obliged to put ‘Israel’ in front of their names. My father refused... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

In Hiding Memories 924: The Babies Not Sent To Auschwitz Jacques Weisser BEM I have absolutely no memory of any kind whatsoever about the war other than what I have been told... 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 955: 28 People Hiding In The Loft Rivka Reich We thought going to Auschwitz would be just hard labour. But my father was different. He thought we must escape... Read Full Memory 957: How To Hide In Vienna Father Francis Wahle Letter-writing was timetabled: once a week. But from 1942 onwards there were no letters in reply because my parents went underground... 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 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 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing... Read Full Memory 992: Chickenpox Bridget Newman I was stuck. Then one day, the doorbell rang: a Gestapo. He came in, he was really rather nice. He had white hair & a big, white moustache... Read Full Memory 996: How To Hide In Berlin Hans Danziger My father had nerves of steel. Before the war, Jews were obliged to put ‘Israel’ in front of their names. My father refused... Read Full Memory 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Miriam Freedman At night time, the caretaker used to bring us food. We sat there, never able to talk, no toys or books or anything. Things becoming all the time worse... Read Full Memory 1000: Idzia Mala Tribich MBE Rumours started circulating that there's going to be a deportation. So people were in panic, trying to find ways of saving themselves... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

No Longer Allowed Pets 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... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

Jewish House Memories 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 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 Previous Experience Next Experience

Near Escape Memories 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 944: Cat Piddle In My Beer Rudolph Sabor It strengthened my belief: this cannot be forever. A cultured people like the Germans, would wake up any day. Total delusion... Read Full Memory 953: Slave Labour In Ravensbrück Selma van de Perre They transported us to Ravensbrück. Terrible. Screaming, shouting, dogs & whips. The dogs had the same clothes as the soldiers... Read Full Memory 955: 28 People Hiding In The Loft Rivka Reich We thought going to Auschwitz would be just hard labour. But my father was different. He thought we must escape... Read Full Memory 957: How To Hide In Vienna Father Francis Wahle Letter-writing was timetabled: once a week. But from 1942 onwards there were no letters in reply because my parents went underground... Read Full Memory 959: The Invasion Of Hungary George Donath It was a Sunday. We went to my grandparents for lunch as usual. All of a sudden we see these black Mercedes drawing up in front... 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 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 996: How To Hide In Berlin Hans Danziger My father had nerves of steel. Before the war, Jews were obliged to put ‘Israel’ in front of their names. My father refused... Read Full Memory 999: The Caretaker & His Daughter Miriam Freedman At night time, the caretaker used to bring us food. We sat there, never able to talk, no toys or books or anything. Things becoming all the time worse... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

Yellow Star Memories 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 958: Discovering I Was Jewish John Dobai My parents thought that by changing their religion, it might produce some sort of saving, at least for me. But they were wrong... Read Full Memory 959: The Invasion Of Hungary George Donath It was a Sunday. We went to my grandparents for lunch as usual. All of a sudden we see these black Mercedes drawing up in front... Read Full Memory 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

964: The Next Thing Is We Were Gone Ruth Edwards was 12 and a half years old when she came to England from Vienna in 1939: Ruth Edwards 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 Ruth Edwards' interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2003 • Learn More → Ruth Edwards Close Family Murdered Finding Out Recovery Red Cross Letters Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Ruth Edwards was 12 and a half years old when she came to England from Vienna in 1939: 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. I remember saying that but not in English of course and the next thing is we were gone. It was a very quick goodbye. Nobody thought that we would never seem them again. I thought it would be a matter of six or seven months and we would be together again. Ruth came to Britain on a domestic service visa. Her parents escaped to Yugoslavia, but were murdered in Zagreb during the Second World War. I got a Red Cross letter in 1945. There was a very good man, a Mr Bloom, who lived just around the corner from us [in Macclesfield]. After the war he used to come in with all the names of people who'd survived. I went through everything & never found their names on it or any of my family names. In 1945 I got an official letter from the Red Cross that they were shot in Zagreb. It would have been nice for them to see me. I know how much pleasure my grandchildren have given me. I used to have the older ones staying with me overnight. I used to take them back on a Sunday to my son and we used to say, "Do you want us to come up every week? It is too much." And he used to say "Mum, you don't know about grandparents, what it is. We never had them so let my children enjoy it." And we have. We have had a very good relationship with all four. It is wonderful, which my parents never had. 964: The Next Thing Is We Were Gone Ruth Edwards Edited from Ruth Edwards' interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2003 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Poland 1940: Soviet troops force 14-year-old Izak Wiesenfeld & his family to emigrate from Przeworsk to Novosibirsk, Siberia: We were taken by lorries into the forest, to a huge barrack. The first speech: “You will never get out of here, here you will die & if you don’t work you won't get any food”. I was 14. I had to go to the forest to cut down trees & dry out swamps, difficult work. They used to give workers 1.2kg of bread. People who couldn’t work, or who were too young: 0.5kg. The bread inside was like clay, outside was a bit better. We had no vegetables, fruit, fat, sugar, or anything like this. Because of it we couldn’t see at night, we really lost some of our sight. But when war broke out, in 1941, they stopped all the bread as well. We had to live from what we could collect in the forest. During the summer we had strawberries, or mushrooms & all kind of things. That is what we had to live on for a long, long time. We were there with Russians who'd been there since 1917, since gulags & communism. They helped, knew what was edible. When we got malaria in Siberia, during the 3 months that it was hot—people think of Siberia as cold, that wasn’t the worst, the worst was the 3 months when it was hot, like a tropical country. Then it was like in the Torah, in the Tochacha [Leviticus 26] they say: “In the evening we waited for morning & in the morning we waited for evening”. In the evening when we came home we couldn’t sleep in the barrack, because there were the bugs, & outside there was the mosquitos, thousands of them, & then we waited for the morning. And we went to work in the morning in the forest & every bite you got your hand was swollen & your feet were swollen & you waited for the evening, so it was… it was very, very difficult. For malaria there is only one cure: quinine. Here, if you get malaria, you either get an injection or pills. There, after pleading & pleading & pleading, we got it in powder form. This is the bitterest thing in the world. We couldn’t take it, one Gulag said: get hold of an onion, get one of their thin skins, wrap up this powder in it, with a bit of water. That's how we could take it. But lots of people didn’t survive. Once they became ill there, you are finished, no cure, no doctor, no medicine, or anything like this, so that is how my father died in Siberia, & my friend's father. I was a bit lucky, because although I was 14 I was short, so when my father died I was still able to sit shiva. But when my friend's father died, he didn’t go to work & they put him in prison for 8 days for this. There were about 120 or 130 of us in the barracks & about 39 died during the one and a half years we were there. We were taken once to clear away snow, about 10km from us. We slept in a school overnight on the floor, & there we got some bread, it was good bread somehow. We queued up, with our names, & she couldn’t read our names. Some of us queued up 3 times, we got 3.6kg of bread. We lay down on the floor, it was only bread, nothing else. We couldn’t fall asleep until we finished the whole lot, because for months we didn’t have any. But they didn't treat us too bad. It depended who was in charge. Mazel [luck] played a big, big part in this. We were in the forest, we were free, we couldn’t go anywhere. We had no transport, no paper, no radio, we didn’t know the world existed. Cold weather is actually very healthy weather, if you have proper clothing & boots. A human being can survive different climates. If you take an animal from a hot climate to another climate, it may die. But somehow, Hakodosh Boruch Hu [God] gave us special shkoyach [strength], if I was to eat now what I did there, or walk now on snow with bare feet, I wouldn’t be well here. Whatever Jewish customs we could keep, we kept. No question of eating treife [non-kosher food]. There was no treife there, no meat or anything like that. Although remember I said we couldn’t see at night, because of the lack of vitamins? A Russian said “If you get hold of a piece of liver & eat it your sight will be restored.” Eventually we got hold of one & it came back. 975: Life In A Siberian Labour Camp Izak Wiesenfeld 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 975: Life In A Siberian Labour Camp ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Izak Wiesenfeld Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Izak Wiesenfeld's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2006 • Learn More → Izak Wiesenfeld Food Forced Soviet Emigration Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Soviet Union See Locations Full Text Poland 1940: Soviet troops force 14-year-old Izak Wiesenfeld & his family to emigrate from Przeworsk to Novosibirsk, Siberia: We were taken by lorries into the forest, to a huge barrack. The first speech: “You will never get out of here, here you will die & if you don’t work you won't get any food”. I was 14. I had to go to the forest to cut down trees & dry out swamps, difficult work. They used to give workers 1.2kg of bread. People who couldn’t work, or who were too young: 0.5kg. The bread inside was like clay, outside was a bit better. We had no vegetables, fruit, fat, sugar, or anything like this. Because of it we couldn’t see at night, we really lost some of our sight. But when war broke out, in 1941, they stopped all the bread as well. We had to live from what we could collect in the forest. During the summer we had strawberries, or mushrooms & all kind of things. That is what we had to live on for a long, long time. We were there with Russians who'd been there since 1917, since gulags & communism. They helped, knew what was edible. When we got malaria in Siberia, during the 3 months that it was hot—people think of Siberia as cold, that wasn’t the worst, the worst was the 3 months when it was hot, like a tropical country. Then it was like in the Torah, in the Tochacha [Leviticus 26] they say: “In the evening we waited for morning & in the morning we waited for evening”. In the evening when we came home we couldn’t sleep in the barrack, because there were the bugs, & outside there was the mosquitos, thousands of them, & then we waited for the morning. And we went to work in the morning in the forest & every bite you got your hand was swollen & your feet were swollen & you waited for the evening, so it was… it was very, very difficult. For malaria there is only one cure: quinine. Here, if you get malaria, you either get an injection or pills. There, after pleading & pleading & pleading, we got it in powder form. This is the bitterest thing in the world. We couldn’t take it, one Gulag said: get hold of an onion, get one of their thin skins, wrap up this powder in it, with a bit of water. That's how we could take it. But lots of people didn’t survive. Once they became ill there, you are finished, no cure, no doctor, no medicine, or anything like this, so that is how my father died in Siberia, & my friend's father. I was a bit lucky, because although I was 14 I was short, so when my father died I was still able to sit shiva. But when my friend's father died, he didn’t go to work & they put him in prison for 8 days for this. There were about 120 or 130 of us in the barracks & about 39 died during the one and a half years we were there. We were taken once to clear away snow, about 10km from us. We slept in a school overnight on the floor, & there we got some bread, it was good bread somehow. We queued up, with our names, & she couldn’t read our names. Some of us queued up 3 times, we got 3.6kg of bread. We lay down on the floor, it was only bread, nothing else. We couldn’t fall asleep until we finished the whole lot, because for months we didn’t have any. But they didn't treat us too bad. It depended who was in charge. Mazel [luck] played a big, big part in this. We were in the forest, we were free, we couldn’t go anywhere. We had no transport, no paper, no radio, we didn’t know the world existed. Cold weather is actually very healthy weather, if you have proper clothing & boots. A human being can survive different climates. If you take an animal from a hot climate to another climate, it may die. But somehow, Hakodosh Boruch Hu [God] gave us special shkoyach [strength], if I was to eat now what I did there, or walk now on snow with bare feet, I wouldn’t be well here. Whatever Jewish customs we could keep, we kept. No question of eating treife [non-kosher food]. There was no treife there, no meat or anything like that. Although remember I said we couldn’t see at night, because of the lack of vitamins? A Russian said “If you get hold of a piece of liver & eat it your sight will be restored.” Eventually we got hold of one & it came back. 975: Life In A Siberian Labour Camp Izak Wiesenfeld Edited from Izak Wiesenfeld's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2006 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts