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Poland Lviv 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... Previous Location Next Location

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

Judith Steinberg was deported from Paks, Hungary, to Auschwitz in June 1944: 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. We looked at each other, ‘Where are we going to work? What is going to happen to us?’ Nobody knew. We were just sent there. 3 days, 3 nights. The wagon wasn’t an ordinary train, it was to transport animals. There were German guards outside the school, nobody can escape. They said, ‘If one of you escapes, we shoot 10, straight away!’ We were like sardines. Over 2000 people in the hall. They said, ‘Just take your things, you are going to work.’ We collected some photographs, bits of valuable, watch, my father’s pocket watch & bits & pieces. But there was hardly any food. We were all starving but we didn’t know where we were going. We were still in our normal clothes. When we went through the city main street, some people were crying, some were looking out of curiosity, wondering where they were taking the Jews. The Germans just said, ‘Get on, move on!’ ‘Schnell, schnell!’ or ‘Tempo!’, that was their favourite expression. So we were pushed in these wagons. 3 days & 3 nights. When we arrived in Auschwitz, two babies were dead, in my wagon. I was with my mother and four brothers. I believe that my father & oldest brother died in Mauthausen. I lost the voice in the wagon, I was very thirsty. One elderly man & two babies died & we lost our voice. We could hardly speak when we opened, it was hot, no air, no food. We wanted water. The thirst. We had to sleep standing, leaning over the one next to you. There was no room to move. They opened the door & we just looked at each other. ‘God, where is it?’ We looked at those bonfires & the people behind. Like an asylum, not a normal place. What are they doing here? They said, ‘Just get out!’ We cried for water. The German soldier said, ‘No water, you'll get some later on. You go over there’. There was a barrack & in front there was Dr Mengele, he was in charge for selection. They called him the ‘Lagerdoktor’, the doctor of the camp. We were hanging on to my mother, my four little brothers & my sister. When he saw us, he said, ‘Just leave your mother, you go that way, leave your mother, see her later.’ To my sister, he said, ‘You two go the other side, you'll see your mother later. Let them come with me, the children, your younger brothers.’ He spoke German, my mother spoke German, I speak German. I understood what he was talking about. So, that was, that was the last time I saw my mother. We were sent into a barrack, our clothes were ripped off, our hair was shaved off. A German woman called an ‘Aufseherin’ said: ‘You come to this B1 Lager, B2 Lager.’ ‘Lager’ are camp, they called it ‘Lager’, ‘And you go to C ‘Lager’. I was taken away with my sister, we couldn’t recognise each other because we had no hair. We stood naked for two hours. They threw some old rubbishy clothes at us. We were bewildered, we just don’t know, what’s this all about? We look at each other. What’s next? When will we see our mother, when we meet later? When the light came we could look through the window. This terrible smell of burning. The sky was red from all this smoke. A horrible smell. We didn’t know what it was. A woman said, ‘Don’t ask questions!’ I said, ‘When can we see my mother?’ She said, ‘I can’t guarantee you are going to see her.’ That was the answer. And I wouldn’t believe her. 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg 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 954: Arriving In Auschwitz ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Judith Steinberg Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Judith Steinberg's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2005 • Learn More → Judith Steinberg Auschwitz Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Encounter With Nazi Officials Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland See Locations Full Text Judith Steinberg was deported from Paks, Hungary, to Auschwitz in June 1944: 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. We looked at each other, ‘Where are we going to work? What is going to happen to us?’ Nobody knew. We were just sent there. 3 days, 3 nights. The wagon wasn’t an ordinary train, it was to transport animals. There were German guards outside the school, nobody can escape. They said, ‘If one of you escapes, we shoot 10, straight away!’ We were like sardines. Over 2000 people in the hall. They said, ‘Just take your things, you are going to work.’ We collected some photographs, bits of valuable, watch, my father’s pocket watch & bits & pieces. But there was hardly any food. We were all starving but we didn’t know where we were going. We were still in our normal clothes. When we went through the city main street, some people were crying, some were looking out of curiosity, wondering where they were taking the Jews. The Germans just said, ‘Get on, move on!’ ‘Schnell, schnell!’ or ‘Tempo!’, that was their favourite expression. So we were pushed in these wagons. 3 days & 3 nights. When we arrived in Auschwitz, two babies were dead, in my wagon. I was with my mother and four brothers. I believe that my father & oldest brother died in Mauthausen. I lost the voice in the wagon, I was very thirsty. One elderly man & two babies died & we lost our voice. We could hardly speak when we opened, it was hot, no air, no food. We wanted water. The thirst. We had to sleep standing, leaning over the one next to you. There was no room to move. They opened the door & we just looked at each other. ‘God, where is it?’ We looked at those bonfires & the people behind. Like an asylum, not a normal place. What are they doing here? They said, ‘Just get out!’ We cried for water. The German soldier said, ‘No water, you'll get some later on. You go over there’. There was a barrack & in front there was Dr Mengele, he was in charge for selection. They called him the ‘Lagerdoktor’, the doctor of the camp. We were hanging on to my mother, my four little brothers & my sister. When he saw us, he said, ‘Just leave your mother, you go that way, leave your mother, see her later.’ To my sister, he said, ‘You two go the other side, you'll see your mother later. Let them come with me, the children, your younger brothers.’ He spoke German, my mother spoke German, I speak German. I understood what he was talking about. So, that was, that was the last time I saw my mother. We were sent into a barrack, our clothes were ripped off, our hair was shaved off. A German woman called an ‘Aufseherin’ said: ‘You come to this B1 Lager, B2 Lager.’ ‘Lager’ are camp, they called it ‘Lager’, ‘And you go to C ‘Lager’. I was taken away with my sister, we couldn’t recognise each other because we had no hair. We stood naked for two hours. They threw some old rubbishy clothes at us. We were bewildered, we just don’t know, what’s this all about? We look at each other. What’s next? When will we see our mother, when we meet later? When the light came we could look through the window. This terrible smell of burning. The sky was red from all this smoke. A horrible smell. We didn’t know what it was. A woman said, ‘Don’t ask questions!’ I said, ‘When can we see my mother?’ She said, ‘I can’t guarantee you are going to see her.’ That was the answer. And I wouldn’t believe her. 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg Edited from Judith Steinberg's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2005 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat 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 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat ← 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 Attempted Humiliation Helped By Non-Jews In Hiding Yellow Star Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat 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

Italy Naples Memories 932: A Cigarette For An Iron Cross Harry Weinberger A very young lieutenant in charge of us told me that the British Army will fight to the last alien, to the last foreign soldier... Previous Location Next Location

The memories were edited from lengthy oral history interviews conducted by the AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive between 2003-2024. An interviewee would answer questions about their past posed by an oral historian or trained interviewer. These interviews were filmed. Later, the filmed recordings were transcribed... About The memories were edited from lengthy oral history interviews conducted by the AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive between 2003-2024. An interviewee would answer questions about their past posed by an oral historian or trained interviewer. These interviews were filmed. Later, the filmed recordings were transcribed. To learn more about this process and the people involved, and find out how to watch the interviews, read more here . For social media, extraordinary moments from the transcripts were selected and edited to be shared alongside family photos and interview portraits. The editing usually involved shortening texts to remove repetitions, turning questions and answers into single narratives, and bringing together references to the same event from different parts of the interview. This site represents the afterlife of the social media project. It preserves and safeguards the edited memories by storing them away from social media platforms in a new home. This work has been done by Zeptobox , a design practise that creates digital archives and resources for unique projects and people. With great thanks to the interviewees for sharing their words. For 1000 Memories Archive: Curator & Memory Text Editor: Susanna Kleeman Original historical advisor: Dr Bea Lewkowicz OBE Archive Design: Zeptobox Source Archive: AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive For AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive: Director: Dr Bea Lewkowicz OBE Main Interviewers: Dr Bea Lewkowicz, Dr Anthony Grenville, Dr Rosalyn Livshin, Dr Jana Buresova Transcription: Jayne Reich, Business Friend Archival researcher and database manager : Kristin Baumgartner

England West Sussex Memories 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE My mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told... Previous Location Next Location

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Dorothy Bohm came alone to Britain from Memel, Lithuania, in June 1939. Her parents and younger sister were forced into exile in Siberia: My sister was one when I left. 22 years later I saw her again. We had no language in common. Hers is Russian. No memories in common, no childhood. Nothing. She’s a wonderful person. But it’s been very strange. In 1957 I heard the news about my parents & sister being alive, that they still were together. The Red Cross, I don’t know how they found me, because I’d changed my name. My father was allowed out of his Siberian camp, after Stalin’s death, but had to stay in that area with that dreadful climate, & had to report to the police every day. The stories he had were amazing. Solzhenitsyn’s book, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich came out. My father read it & said to me could he be in touch with Solzhenitsyn? I said ‘Why Papa?' He said 'I would like to tell him it was so much worse'. I didn’t of course. Once my husband & I knew the three of them were alive we started to help. They survived mainly because of the parcels we sent. If you saw pictures of what my parents looked like then. My sister worked in the most terrible conditions as an economist. I saw my parents again in 1961. I went to Riga. Before I was called to the Foreign Office. They explained that if I went & anything happened to me there, they couldn’t help. But we went. We took our daughter. I thought having a child with me would somehow soften… I was 14 when I left them. I came back as a married woman with a child. As we sat in the car, my husband turned around and said ‘You look so much like your father’. You see. He had obviously changed a lot. I have a photo of our reunion. The picture looks quite normal, the conditions were not normal. Fear & anxiety the whole time we were there. We were being shadowed & followed. When we came back to our hotel one night we saw somebody with a torch looking through our things. But my father had a tremendous sense of recovery. He still believed in life, that there is good. Even some things in Communism. He said sometimes they made him change quarters: they said that things were too good for him, & the young official who took him apologised. Small things like this helped him survive. And he built his own house in Riga, & he was as proud of that as of having built his own factory. It’s that sort of survival sense he had. My mother took it in quite a different way. What was it like to see them again? Let me explain it like this: when I was in Manchester there was a family that was very nice to me, a Jewish family, used to invite me, I was at college with their daughter, when I went there, she was calling them Mummy & Daddy, I just couldn’t bear it, I stopped going there. I only mixed with people like myself who didn’t have a family. So my relationship in many ways changed. Instead of being the child with parents, I became the parent. I had to look after them. And I did. We worked for ten years trying to get permission to get them to come out. Eventually we had the chance to get a letter to Wilson, who was meeting Khrushchev. Within 3 days permission was granted for them to come to Britain. I had to go on TV. The press besieged the house. But they survived & had a few years of life, they managed to live. I took my father to see various specialists, they said he has no right to be as well as he is. He’s got a hole in his lung, etc. He wanted to live. He started to paint. There’s an interesting story. In Siberia, one of the chaps was somebody who could tell fortunes. Father told me that at the worst time, he went snow-blind, all sorts of terrible things happened. This man told him he'd survive, he'd see his family again, he'd travel by aeroplane across the world. It all came true. Extraordinary thing. I don’t believe in these things myself. 930: Reunion After 22 Years In Siberia Dorothy Bohm 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 930: Reunion After 22 Years In Siberia ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Dorothy Bohm Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Dorothy Bohm's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2004 • Learn More → Dorothy Bohm Finding Out Forced Soviet Emigration Nerves of Steel Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Soviet Union See Locations Full Text Dorothy Bohm came alone to Britain from Memel, Lithuania, in June 1939. Her parents and younger sister were forced into exile in Siberia: My sister was one when I left. 22 years later I saw her again. We had no language in common. Hers is Russian. No memories in common, no childhood. Nothing. She’s a wonderful person. But it’s been very strange. In 1957 I heard the news about my parents & sister being alive, that they still were together. The Red Cross, I don’t know how they found me, because I’d changed my name. My father was allowed out of his Siberian camp, after Stalin’s death, but had to stay in that area with that dreadful climate, & had to report to the police every day. The stories he had were amazing. Solzhenitsyn’s book, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich came out. My father read it & said to me could he be in touch with Solzhenitsyn? I said ‘Why Papa?' He said 'I would like to tell him it was so much worse'. I didn’t of course. Once my husband & I knew the three of them were alive we started to help. They survived mainly because of the parcels we sent. If you saw pictures of what my parents looked like then. My sister worked in the most terrible conditions as an economist. I saw my parents again in 1961. I went to Riga. Before I was called to the Foreign Office. They explained that if I went & anything happened to me there, they couldn’t help. But we went. We took our daughter. I thought having a child with me would somehow soften… I was 14 when I left them. I came back as a married woman with a child. As we sat in the car, my husband turned around and said ‘You look so much like your father’. You see. He had obviously changed a lot. I have a photo of our reunion. The picture looks quite normal, the conditions were not normal. Fear & anxiety the whole time we were there. We were being shadowed & followed. When we came back to our hotel one night we saw somebody with a torch looking through our things. But my father had a tremendous sense of recovery. He still believed in life, that there is good. Even some things in Communism. He said sometimes they made him change quarters: they said that things were too good for him, & the young official who took him apologised. Small things like this helped him survive. And he built his own house in Riga, & he was as proud of that as of having built his own factory. It’s that sort of survival sense he had. My mother took it in quite a different way. What was it like to see them again? Let me explain it like this: when I was in Manchester there was a family that was very nice to me, a Jewish family, used to invite me, I was at college with their daughter, when I went there, she was calling them Mummy & Daddy, I just couldn’t bear it, I stopped going there. I only mixed with people like myself who didn’t have a family. So my relationship in many ways changed. Instead of being the child with parents, I became the parent. I had to look after them. And I did. We worked for ten years trying to get permission to get them to come out. Eventually we had the chance to get a letter to Wilson, who was meeting Khrushchev. Within 3 days permission was granted for them to come to Britain. I had to go on TV. The press besieged the house. But they survived & had a few years of life, they managed to live. I took my father to see various specialists, they said he has no right to be as well as he is. He’s got a hole in his lung, etc. He wanted to live. He started to paint. There’s an interesting story. In Siberia, one of the chaps was somebody who could tell fortunes. Father told me that at the worst time, he went snow-blind, all sorts of terrible things happened. This man told him he'd survive, he'd see his family again, he'd travel by aeroplane across the world. It all came true. Extraordinary thing. I don’t believe in these things myself. 930: Reunion After 22 Years In Siberia Dorothy Bohm Edited from Dorothy Bohm's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2004 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

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