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

Yugoslavia Zagreb Memories 964: The Next Thing Is We Were Gone Ruth Edwards I was on the train and saw my father crying. That made me cry. My mother said, perhaps she doesn't want to go. I said, yes, I do want to go... Previous Location Next Location

964: The Next Thing Is We Were Gone Ruth Edwards Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close 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. Previous Memory 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 Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Lili Pohlmann MBE Read full biography at The AJR / Refugee Voices Testimony Archive Memories 951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann MBE My mother and us two children went every Passover to Lviv to my grandparents, her parents, which was lovely... Read Full Memory Previous Person Next Person

940: Bringing The Alarm Clock Hanna Hemingway Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close 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. Previous Memory 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 Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Charles Danson Read full biography at The AJR / Refugee Voices Testimony Archive Memories 962: Speaking German With An English Accent Charles Danson I'd been the wireless operator for quite some time, so I said to my comrade ‘Let’s change over now’... Read Full Memory Previous Person Next Person

994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon Lilly Lampert came to Britain from Vienna on a Kindertransport in 1939: Lilly Lampert 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 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

Germany Düsseldorf Memories 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’... Previous Location Next Location

Lia Lesser Read full biography at The AJR / Refugee Voices Testimony Archive Memories 969: No One In My Situation Lia Lesser In 1939, my father married again in Prague. His wife was called Ola & she was a seamstress. When she came out of Auschwitz she got in touch... Read Full Memory Previous Person Next Person

Converted To Christianity Memories 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 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 Previous Experience Next Experience

September 6, 1944: Selma van de Perre is imprisoned in Ravensbrück for her part in the Dutch resistance: They transported us to Ravensbrück. Terrible. Screaming, shouting, dogs & whips. The dogs had the same clothes as the soldiers. Same green-grey colour material. They even wore hats. We were marched to the main camp & put in tents. Selma was there under a non-Jewish false identity & called herself Margarete van der Kuit. No one knew that she was Jewish. It was a lice colony. Within a few weeks everybody was full of lice. We were taken in fives to the shower, made to strip, give up all your clothes. Then the doctor’s investigation. I can’t remember if he had gloves on. But he didn’t wash his hands at least. I was given a very thin blue-grey striped prison dress. That was all. And some wooden shoes. No underwear or anything. But in the barracks they gave me my jumper back. We each had a hollow flannel which we hung at the end of our bunk with a toothbrush & toothpaste in. When we woke up, it had disappeared. Stolen by other women. We learned later on that was quite a normal thing to do. In Ravensbrück, Selma was forced to work as a Siemens slave labourer: You had to solder very fine wire together. At the start I was so nervous I fainted. One evening I couldn’t get up from the loo. My tummy was completely out of order. We were given what they called ‘soup’: water with a few grass sprits in it & that was it. No wonder I was ill. So an SS came & started beating me with his belt, with all these iron things on it. So I fainted again. These two girls had to pick me up & hold me up while he was counting. Then they took me to the hospital barrack for 4 days. Then I went back to Siemens. One day we were told to stand outside the barrack, & they told us that the old women over 50 didn’t have to work anymore, & were to be given better food etc. They were taken to the Jugend camp in Uckermark. We later heard that they were gassed & killed. In October it got very cold. Someone said to me 'There's a Jewish woman who works in the textile barrack. She wants bread for her children. She’ll give you some warm clothes.” So I saved up the week’s sliced bread & went to see her. She gave me a man's long johns. They kept me warm the whole time I was in Ravensbrück. Fantastic. There were so many nationalities there. Polish, Slovaks, Czech, Dutch, French. But no more Jews in the Siemens barracks. They'd all been deported to Auschwitz by then. By then we slept in the Siemens barracks. Better conditions: only two in a bed. Three tiers mind you. But no dogs & no big SS fellows screaming away. Selma was liberated by the Swedish Red Cross on 23 April 1945. We were told to stand outside the Siemens barrack. We thought we’d get the same treatment as the old people a few months beforehand. You couldn’t flee because there were Germans on the side of you with dogs. Then we passed Uckermark, luckily & got to the big camp. We were very pleased in a way, but still scared because what’s going to happen! Every day we thought we’d be taken out because we knew they were killing women. You could smell it. The crematorium was going all the time. One day my Czech friend said 'You’re going to be freed Marga: you've got a Red Cross parcel.' So, we said, “Well we hope so.” I gave her a piece of bread, biscuits, & some sausage. She had been very good to me. We then stood outside. That was morning. Nothing came for a while. In the afternoon suddenly a little sportscar came. Out jumped a young Swede. He told us Count Bernadotte was coming with white buses to drive us to Sweden. But the buses didn’t come. We stood there the whole night. Suddenly military trucks came. We were told to jump in. A friend & I fought for the seat next to the driver, ‘cause we wanted to see. The driver said, “We’ll stop in an hour’s time, then you can change.” So I went with my friend in the next truck. After an hour we stopped in a beautiful wood. We were given chocolate & sandwiches & drinks & so by the drivers who had it all ready for us. Beautiful flowers & beginning of the pale green that comes out in the spring. So wonderful to sit there in freedom. Suddenly there were shots. The drivers said, “Leave everything, come quickly back in the truck." So we went in & I wanted to sit next to the driver. But my friend fought with me again, so I had to let her sit, because my friend Dit pulled me back to the other truck. Lo & behold, the truck I should have sat in, was shot. The woman & the driver were shot—by the Allies. They thought they were German. And I was saved again. 953: Slave Labour In Ravensbrück Selma van de Perre 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 953: Slave Labour In Ravensbrück ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Selma van de Perre Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Selma van de Perre's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2020 • Learn More → Selma van de Perre Encounter With Nazi Officials False Identity Near Escape Ravensbrück Resistance Slave Labourer Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text September 6, 1944: Selma van de Perre is imprisoned in Ravensbrück for her part in the Dutch resistance: They transported us to Ravensbrück. Terrible. Screaming, shouting, dogs & whips. The dogs had the same clothes as the soldiers. Same green-grey colour material. They even wore hats. We were marched to the main camp & put in tents. Selma was there under a non-Jewish false identity & called herself Margarete van der Kuit. No one knew that she was Jewish. It was a lice colony. Within a few weeks everybody was full of lice. We were taken in fives to the shower, made to strip, give up all your clothes. Then the doctor’s investigation. I can’t remember if he had gloves on. But he didn’t wash his hands at least. I was given a very thin blue-grey striped prison dress. That was all. And some wooden shoes. No underwear or anything. But in the barracks they gave me my jumper back. We each had a hollow flannel which we hung at the end of our bunk with a toothbrush & toothpaste in. When we woke up, it had disappeared. Stolen by other women. We learned later on that was quite a normal thing to do. In Ravensbrück, Selma was forced to work as a Siemens slave labourer: You had to solder very fine wire together. At the start I was so nervous I fainted. One evening I couldn’t get up from the loo. My tummy was completely out of order. We were given what they called ‘soup’: water with a few grass sprits in it & that was it. No wonder I was ill. So an SS came & started beating me with his belt, with all these iron things on it. So I fainted again. These two girls had to pick me up & hold me up while he was counting. Then they took me to the hospital barrack for 4 days. Then I went back to Siemens. One day we were told to stand outside the barrack, & they told us that the old women over 50 didn’t have to work anymore, & were to be given better food etc. They were taken to the Jugend camp in Uckermark. We later heard that they were gassed & killed. In October it got very cold. Someone said to me 'There's a Jewish woman who works in the textile barrack. She wants bread for her children. She’ll give you some warm clothes.” So I saved up the week’s sliced bread & went to see her. She gave me a man's long johns. They kept me warm the whole time I was in Ravensbrück. Fantastic. There were so many nationalities there. Polish, Slovaks, Czech, Dutch, French. But no more Jews in the Siemens barracks. They'd all been deported to Auschwitz by then. By then we slept in the Siemens barracks. Better conditions: only two in a bed. Three tiers mind you. But no dogs & no big SS fellows screaming away. Selma was liberated by the Swedish Red Cross on 23 April 1945. We were told to stand outside the Siemens barrack. We thought we’d get the same treatment as the old people a few months beforehand. You couldn’t flee because there were Germans on the side of you with dogs. Then we passed Uckermark, luckily & got to the big camp. We were very pleased in a way, but still scared because what’s going to happen! Every day we thought we’d be taken out because we knew they were killing women. You could smell it. The crematorium was going all the time. One day my Czech friend said 'You’re going to be freed Marga: you've got a Red Cross parcel.' So, we said, “Well we hope so.” I gave her a piece of bread, biscuits, & some sausage. She had been very good to me. We then stood outside. That was morning. Nothing came for a while. In the afternoon suddenly a little sportscar came. Out jumped a young Swede. He told us Count Bernadotte was coming with white buses to drive us to Sweden. But the buses didn’t come. We stood there the whole night. Suddenly military trucks came. We were told to jump in. A friend & I fought for the seat next to the driver, ‘cause we wanted to see. The driver said, “We’ll stop in an hour’s time, then you can change.” So I went with my friend in the next truck. After an hour we stopped in a beautiful wood. We were given chocolate & sandwiches & drinks & so by the drivers who had it all ready for us. Beautiful flowers & beginning of the pale green that comes out in the spring. So wonderful to sit there in freedom. Suddenly there were shots. The drivers said, “Leave everything, come quickly back in the truck." So we went in & I wanted to sit next to the driver. But my friend fought with me again, so I had to let her sit, because my friend Dit pulled me back to the other truck. Lo & behold, the truck I should have sat in, was shot. The woman & the driver were shot—by the Allies. They thought they were German. And I was saved again. 953: Slave Labour In Ravensbrück Selma van de Perre Edited from Selma van de Perre's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2020 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

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