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950: Liberation of Majdanek July 1944: Majdanek concentration camp is liberated by Soviet troops. Rose Lebor, age 4, was there with her mother: Rose Lebor 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 Rose Lebor's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2015 • Learn More → Rose Lebor Concentration Camp Liberation Majdanek Telling The Story Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland See Locations Full Text July 1944: Majdanek concentration camp is liberated by Soviet troops. Rose Lebor, age 4, was there with her mother: At liberation I was four. All the executions, the beatings that they had to watch. These are things that my mother could never bring herself to tell me directly. She was lucky to have survived, but she made her own luck. Which I think some people did. They found a way, a little niche, a little something to say or to do, that would make them survive another day. She managed to get one of the Kommandants to let her out of the camp and go & work in a family in Lublin, who would give her scraps of food. It allowed us to have a little bit more & survive another day. One day at a time. She kept me with her all the time. The roll call, she would put me under the bench, then she would go out. She would stand near German women, that were not Polish, here in prison for other reasons. That probably helped her not to be selected. So it was each time hoping that she wouldn’t be selected. Hoping she can go out & do a little work & bring back a little scrap of food. Having survived such horrors, who wants to talk about it? You really want to forget about it. In ’44, when the war was nearly finished, she said that she realised that something big was happening, because all the Germans were in the courtyard burning documents. But it all happened so very quickly; they didn’t have time to burn the documents. Then all the inmates were put on trains to be taken to Auschwitz. They were emptying the camp in this way. She then pretended that she was ill. That she couldn’t possibly stand on her feet. So she was allowed to go in the van that the German was driving with the seven remaining children. This is really what saved our lives, because instead of going by train directly to Auschwitz, he went by road. And, as they were crossing, outside Krakow, in the woods the Russian tanks came through. So when the German saw the red flag, he knew his time was up. So he took out his gun & just shot himself, next to my mother. And the tank drove into this van, thinking that it was probably full of German soldiers, but it wasn’t. It was the few children & one wounded woman by that time, because she got wounded by all the glass, the splashing that happened. They didn’t know what to do with us, so they took us out of there. Put us on the side of the road. [half-laughs at the absurdity] The tank drove off. They must have gone into Krakow & told the Red Cross. Because they came & took us to an assembly place in Krakow itself, where they put everybody that they could find there, & where later on, people would search for their families. Little bits of bread. That’s all there was. Nobody had much food. A lot of them just died of hunger. They died of overwork, they died of hunger, they died of disease. She said, 'I was ill, but I got over it'. So… yes, surviving was luck, and surviving was also that I had a very strong mother. A very, very strong woman. 950: Liberation of Majdanek Rose Lebor Edited from Rose Lebor's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2015 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Hannah Wurzburger, age 5, was on the last Kindertransport from Berlin. She left on September 1, 1939, and arrived in Britain on September 2: It's a bottomless pit. So absolutely appalling. Children are so vulnerable. Especially when they're separated from their family. I don't know how they can do this. The whole thing is just a nightmare. Terrible. It took a long time to... accept the situation that I had gone through. Hannah's parents & most of her family were murdered in the Holocaust. I left Berlin when I was 5, so I don't have much recollection there. I do remember coming downstairs & saying, “Hello!” to my mother. And she said, “Oh you don’t have to say hello.” My father teaching me a few things in English: “Let me broom the kitchen”, for instance. I was on the last Kindertransport. It was September, a couple of days before they declared war here. I don't remember the journey. I seem to have a picture—whether it's made up or not—of being with lots of children. This train—I think I had actually a teddy bear. My mother I remember, I think, at the station. I don’t know how they got me there. It may be an imaginary thing. I don't know. What you think you remember is probably more important than what actually happened. I don't remember anything of the journey or arriving here. I had an aunt over here. A little while after I left Berlin there was a letter from my mother. A card perhaps with a photo. I can't remember exactly. But that was it. That was all. My aunt went regularly to the—was it the Home Office where you went, to inquire about refugees? Who had escaped & managed to come over? They had lists of names. She went there regularly. She was not worldly, she had such a struggle, she did really quite a lot. But she—she didn’t come up with any family names. I didn't understand my situation. I wasn't very worldly. I mean I just took everything that was thrown at me & there was quite a lot! You accepted it & relied on your fellow sufferers, if you like, for friendship & talking & so on. There was no... It all seemed to be very... narrowed down & concentrated…" If I hadn’t been forced to leave. I think I would have probably learned to play some musical instrument from my parents, both of them. It's fascinating to think about. My life would have been totally, totally different. No one's life follows a smooth path, does it? We're all going all over the place. But. My life certainly would have probably been more stable. I do think Britain should take more child refugees. They seem to have the size & space. But there's this backlash of native people who say, “We get all these refugees, all these bloody foreigners.” They're afraid they're going to impact on their lives, take away their jobs & whatever. But I think there's still room in this country for many more. They've just got to be gradually assimilated at the beginning. You can't just throw them in. But you have to remember, there's no such thing as blue-blooded Englishman, never has been. They've always had foreigners. 976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger 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 976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Hannah Wurzburger Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Hannah Wurzburger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2018 • Learn More → Hannah Wurzburger Close Family Murdered Kindertransport Not Remembering Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Hannah Wurzburger, age 5, was on the last Kindertransport from Berlin. She left on September 1, 1939, and arrived in Britain on September 2: It's a bottomless pit. So absolutely appalling. Children are so vulnerable. Especially when they're separated from their family. I don't know how they can do this. The whole thing is just a nightmare. Terrible. It took a long time to... accept the situation that I had gone through. Hannah's parents & most of her family were murdered in the Holocaust. I left Berlin when I was 5, so I don't have much recollection there. I do remember coming downstairs & saying, “Hello!” to my mother. And she said, “Oh you don’t have to say hello.” My father teaching me a few things in English: “Let me broom the kitchen”, for instance. I was on the last Kindertransport. It was September, a couple of days before they declared war here. I don't remember the journey. I seem to have a picture—whether it's made up or not—of being with lots of children. This train—I think I had actually a teddy bear. My mother I remember, I think, at the station. I don’t know how they got me there. It may be an imaginary thing. I don't know. What you think you remember is probably more important than what actually happened. I don't remember anything of the journey or arriving here. I had an aunt over here. A little while after I left Berlin there was a letter from my mother. A card perhaps with a photo. I can't remember exactly. But that was it. That was all. My aunt went regularly to the—was it the Home Office where you went, to inquire about refugees? Who had escaped & managed to come over? They had lists of names. She went there regularly. She was not worldly, she had such a struggle, she did really quite a lot. But she—she didn’t come up with any family names. I didn't understand my situation. I wasn't very worldly. I mean I just took everything that was thrown at me & there was quite a lot! You accepted it & relied on your fellow sufferers, if you like, for friendship & talking & so on. There was no... It all seemed to be very... narrowed down & concentrated…" If I hadn’t been forced to leave. I think I would have probably learned to play some musical instrument from my parents, both of them. It's fascinating to think about. My life would have been totally, totally different. No one's life follows a smooth path, does it? We're all going all over the place. But. My life certainly would have probably been more stable. I do think Britain should take more child refugees. They seem to have the size & space. But there's this backlash of native people who say, “We get all these refugees, all these bloody foreigners.” They're afraid they're going to impact on their lives, take away their jobs & whatever. But I think there's still room in this country for many more. They've just got to be gradually assimilated at the beginning. You can't just throw them in. But you have to remember, there's no such thing as blue-blooded Englishman, never has been. They've always had foreigners. 976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger Edited from Hannah Wurzburger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2018 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Scotland Greenock Memories 952: Interned On My 16th Birthday John Goldsmith In 1940, on my 16th birthday, I was writing an English essay & looking through the window & I saw a policeman... Previous Location Next Location

Austria Vienna 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!' 939: How To Bake A Stuffed Pike Fred Barschak The building still exists. Right next to the Prater, the great playground. But when I went back 25 years later I was disappointed... 956: Getting To Grips With It Gerti Baruch On Sundays in Vienna my father used to take me to Café Siller, along the Promenade. He used to read the paper... 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... 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... 994: Grass Snakes At The Beacon Lilly Lampert All I know: I wanted to come to England to be with my sister Gertie. I didn't know I wasn't going to see my parents again... 995: Father's Shop Harry Bibring BEM It was perfectly OK to try & obtain Jewish property by purchasing it at a peppercorn price... Previous Location Next Location

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

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

Ruth Jackson, aged 13, came to Britain on a 1939 Kindertransport from Berlin & was sent to Red Oaks boarding school in Essex: I was led upstairs to an empty dormitory & told that the very end bed was mine & I should have a bath & come down to tea. I felt miserable. It was empty & cold & horrid-looking. There must have been 10 rows of beds on either side. I went to the bathroom & sat there in floods of tears & I thought what would my mother be doing now & how did she get back home, & is everyone alright & tears were just running down my face & there’s nobody to scrub my back. Then there was a knock on the door, ‘would I please hurry up & come down’. So I hastily got out of the water & my daydreaming, put clean clothes on, & a schoolgirl showed me the way down, there were a few girls still there, & we sat down to what was called High Tea. I was given my first cup of tea with milk which I thought was horrible. I couldn’t eat anything & they looked at me. Some of them tried to talk to me. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I felt a bit like an animal in the zoo. I wished they wouldn't talk to me at all. But, anyway, finally the meal was over and they all went home. I seemed to be left there & nobody else in this empty school for the summer holidays. Teachers had gone, there were a few domestic staff there. One of the maids showed me round the garden & showed me the library. The Headmistress then called for me & said I ought to write a letter home to say I’d got there alright, would I show her the letter before I sent it? So I did & I thought she probably doesn’t understand any German, but anyway I showed her the letter. I suppose she posted it. I had a look at the library, at the books about Australia, & I thought: maybe one day I’ll go there. Then I had to go to bed in this forlorn dormitory, & I couldn’t go to sleep, & I just lay there under the bedclothes sobbing away thinking why on earth did I have to come here, why did all this have to happen? Eventually I did fall asleep, only to be woken by one of the maids to say it was breakfast time & that there were some children coming from the East End of London, for the holidays. We got friendly, & somehow we could understand one another. It was good to have some children there. They took us to the pictures in Epping. I’d never been to the pictures before. It was Old Mother Riley, which I thought was terribly stupid, & Bandwagon. It wasn’t my sense of humour. But what impressed me was that in the interval little trays of tea went round & people had little cups of tea in the interval which I thought was amazing. What worried me was that the teacher had taken me to the cinema. Because I as a Jewess wasn’t allowed to go to the cinema in Germany. She kept saying yes it’s alright. I thought, I hope she doesn’t get into trouble, you know. It hadn’t left me. One day the Headmistress called for me to come to her. It must have been the beginning of September. We’d already been given gas masks. I didn’t like those because I couldn’t breathe in them. The Headmistress said: ‘I’ve got a letter here from your sister, she’s going to come to England soon’. All the letters had been opened beforehand. My sister had written to say that I’d only be alone for another few days because she’d got a visa & would be leaving Germany on the 4th of September. So I thought, Oh good, it’s only next Monday, I can just about cope until then. Then of course she called me in again on the Sunday morning & said in a very matter of fact way ‘Well your sister won’t be coming now because we are at war with Germany’. I felt; well, like somebody closing the door in my face. I just didn’t know what to think. I felt devastated. Then a week later, she called for me again & said ‘You’re to go to London, to another school. So pack your things & the maid will take you to the station" Ruth went to stay with the Yardley family in Letchworth. From the point of view of money, education, & everything else, I couldn’t grumble, I did much better than a lot of them. But the one thing that I needed was love. One day there was a football match going on in the fields beyond where we lived, & there was a policeman standing outside our gate, & I saw him. To me, he’d come for me. I knew he’d been posted there so I couldn’t leave the house. I didn’t think that he’d been posted there because of the crowds of people coming after the football match. Anyway, it was teatime, & Jean called me for tea. I stood behind the curtains watching that gate & I said I couldn’t come. So Mrs Yardley said go & drag her down to tea, see what’s the matter. She came up to my room & said ‘Mother says you are to come down to tea’. I said ‘I can’t’. Why can’t you? I looked out & said: he’s standing there, he’s going to come in for me. So she went down & told her mother. Then to my horror, Mrs Yardley went out of the front door, down the long drive, to the gate. She talked to the policeman & he came in with her. I thought: I thought she was a nice person, I thought she was on my side, & now she’s actually getting this policeman in, & making it easier for him to get me. So I certainly wouldn’t go downstairs. After a lot of persuasion I finally did go downstairs. They sat having a cup of tea. And Mrs Yardley said, ‘This is Inspector whatever’, & he gave his name, & I thought, well, that’s a funny thing. So he said ‘Well thank you very much, Mrs Yardley, for the tea, nice to have met you, Ruth, bye, bye. I’ve got to go out to make sure that we haven’t got too many people up in the fields misbehaving. I thought: how funny. And how clever Mrs Yardley had been, that she’d called him in to have a cup of tea. To show me that I needn’t be afraid of the police. 998: Red Oaks Boarding School Ruth Jackson 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 998: Red Oaks Boarding School ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Ruth Jackson Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Ruth Jackson's interview with Helen Lloyd for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2004 • Learn More → Ruth Jackson Boarder Food Foster Family Homesick Kindertransport Not Allowed To Visit Cinemas Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Ruth Jackson, aged 13, came to Britain on a 1939 Kindertransport from Berlin & was sent to Red Oaks boarding school in Essex: I was led upstairs to an empty dormitory & told that the very end bed was mine & I should have a bath & come down to tea. I felt miserable. It was empty & cold & horrid-looking. There must have been 10 rows of beds on either side. I went to the bathroom & sat there in floods of tears & I thought what would my mother be doing now & how did she get back home, & is everyone alright & tears were just running down my face & there’s nobody to scrub my back. Then there was a knock on the door, ‘would I please hurry up & come down’. So I hastily got out of the water & my daydreaming, put clean clothes on, & a schoolgirl showed me the way down, there were a few girls still there, & we sat down to what was called High Tea. I was given my first cup of tea with milk which I thought was horrible. I couldn’t eat anything & they looked at me. Some of them tried to talk to me. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I felt a bit like an animal in the zoo. I wished they wouldn't talk to me at all. But, anyway, finally the meal was over and they all went home. I seemed to be left there & nobody else in this empty school for the summer holidays. Teachers had gone, there were a few domestic staff there. One of the maids showed me round the garden & showed me the library. The Headmistress then called for me & said I ought to write a letter home to say I’d got there alright, would I show her the letter before I sent it? So I did & I thought she probably doesn’t understand any German, but anyway I showed her the letter. I suppose she posted it. I had a look at the library, at the books about Australia, & I thought: maybe one day I’ll go there. Then I had to go to bed in this forlorn dormitory, & I couldn’t go to sleep, & I just lay there under the bedclothes sobbing away thinking why on earth did I have to come here, why did all this have to happen? Eventually I did fall asleep, only to be woken by one of the maids to say it was breakfast time & that there were some children coming from the East End of London, for the holidays. We got friendly, & somehow we could understand one another. It was good to have some children there. They took us to the pictures in Epping. I’d never been to the pictures before. It was Old Mother Riley, which I thought was terribly stupid, & Bandwagon. It wasn’t my sense of humour. But what impressed me was that in the interval little trays of tea went round & people had little cups of tea in the interval which I thought was amazing. What worried me was that the teacher had taken me to the cinema. Because I as a Jewess wasn’t allowed to go to the cinema in Germany. She kept saying yes it’s alright. I thought, I hope she doesn’t get into trouble, you know. It hadn’t left me. One day the Headmistress called for me to come to her. It must have been the beginning of September. We’d already been given gas masks. I didn’t like those because I couldn’t breathe in them. The Headmistress said: ‘I’ve got a letter here from your sister, she’s going to come to England soon’. All the letters had been opened beforehand. My sister had written to say that I’d only be alone for another few days because she’d got a visa & would be leaving Germany on the 4th of September. So I thought, Oh good, it’s only next Monday, I can just about cope until then. Then of course she called me in again on the Sunday morning & said in a very matter of fact way ‘Well your sister won’t be coming now because we are at war with Germany’. I felt; well, like somebody closing the door in my face. I just didn’t know what to think. I felt devastated. Then a week later, she called for me again & said ‘You’re to go to London, to another school. So pack your things & the maid will take you to the station" Ruth went to stay with the Yardley family in Letchworth. From the point of view of money, education, & everything else, I couldn’t grumble, I did much better than a lot of them. But the one thing that I needed was love. One day there was a football match going on in the fields beyond where we lived, & there was a policeman standing outside our gate, & I saw him. To me, he’d come for me. I knew he’d been posted there so I couldn’t leave the house. I didn’t think that he’d been posted there because of the crowds of people coming after the football match. Anyway, it was teatime, & Jean called me for tea. I stood behind the curtains watching that gate & I said I couldn’t come. So Mrs Yardley said go & drag her down to tea, see what’s the matter. She came up to my room & said ‘Mother says you are to come down to tea’. I said ‘I can’t’. Why can’t you? I looked out & said: he’s standing there, he’s going to come in for me. So she went down & told her mother. Then to my horror, Mrs Yardley went out of the front door, down the long drive, to the gate. She talked to the policeman & he came in with her. I thought: I thought she was a nice person, I thought she was on my side, & now she’s actually getting this policeman in, & making it easier for him to get me. So I certainly wouldn’t go downstairs. After a lot of persuasion I finally did go downstairs. They sat having a cup of tea. And Mrs Yardley said, ‘This is Inspector whatever’, & he gave his name, & I thought, well, that’s a funny thing. So he said ‘Well thank you very much, Mrs Yardley, for the tea, nice to have met you, Ruth, bye, bye. I’ve got to go out to make sure that we haven’t got too many people up in the fields misbehaving. I thought: how funny. And how clever Mrs Yardley had been, that she’d called him in to have a cup of tea. To show me that I needn’t be afraid of the police. 998: Red Oaks Boarding School Ruth Jackson Adapted from Ruth Jackson's interview with Helen Lloyd for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2004 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: There were two girls who often turned up with their BDM—their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war. There were five Jewish girls in a class of 40. The five of us were in a little bunch. The other 35 were in their larger circle. It didn’t bother us, it kind of seemed normal & it didn’t mean that I didn’t talk to the others ever. I didn't think about them until the article in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about the Kindertransport & my visit to Munich. She read this article & rang the editor who gave her the address of the woman who wrote the article who rang me up & said could she–I said yes, you can give her my address. So she didn’t want to wait to write, she got onto directory enquiries & got my telephone number. The telephone rings: “Is that Mrs Green?” This is in German. “Ja.” I’ll tell it in English. “Were you the Beate Siegel?” Yes. Ah, she said. I remember, you were sitting in the front row by the door & you used to go & look out for the teacher. When he or she came, you used to dash back into the classroom & say: “Er kommt, er kommt” “He’s coming, he’s coming” But you were so quick that you were sitting down before he actually came to the door & I admired that because it was so courageous. After all this I said to her, but who are you? She told me her name. Now, the next bit came straight out, without going through the filter of my head, came straight out from wherever my soul is: 'But why are you ringing me I thought you were a Nazi?' Boom. Moment silence. Then she said: how can you say that, I was so shy. 'But you used to turn up in your BDM uniform'. Then she said that there was a good reason for that: 'I can explain it.' Her explanation was that her father was a civil servant accused of anti-Hitler sentiments, so she was making up for it. And I believe her, she’s decent. She said, but “Ich hab’ die Treffen immer geschwänzt”: I always played truant when it came to the meetings of the Hitler Youth by saying I have to practise my piano. She is now a professional pianist. You know, it rang true, I believe her, & we are in touch even now. When you hear stories like that, you get a view of history where you have to distinguish between the real bastards & those that kept quiet when they shouldn’t & those who kept quiet when they perhaps had no choice. She told me a good story also about the Director of my school. During the war, after I'd left & was in England, in German schools, whenever Hitler made a speech, all the children had to listen to the speech, so they were all taken into the big assembly hall. She told me the director had a pact with the janitor who fiddled with the radio. It crackled & crackled. The janitor would say every time “Sorry but the radio’s broken” & they all clapped & went back to the classroom, never listening to Hitler’s speech. Little anti-Nazi tricks & a director who was courageous enough to do it & a janitor who worked with him. And the girls who didn’t object or didn’t go home & denounce the director. So this went on in Germany throughout the war. 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green 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 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Bea Green MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2006 • Learn More → Bea Green MBE Hitler Youth Resistance Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Bea Green MBE went to secondary school in Munich: There were two girls who often turned up with their BDM—their Hitler Youth uniform. I stayed clear of them. One of them found me after the war. There were five Jewish girls in a class of 40. The five of us were in a little bunch. The other 35 were in their larger circle. It didn’t bother us, it kind of seemed normal & it didn’t mean that I didn’t talk to the others ever. I didn't think about them until the article in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about the Kindertransport & my visit to Munich. She read this article & rang the editor who gave her the address of the woman who wrote the article who rang me up & said could she–I said yes, you can give her my address. So she didn’t want to wait to write, she got onto directory enquiries & got my telephone number. The telephone rings: “Is that Mrs Green?” This is in German. “Ja.” I’ll tell it in English. “Were you the Beate Siegel?” Yes. Ah, she said. I remember, you were sitting in the front row by the door & you used to go & look out for the teacher. When he or she came, you used to dash back into the classroom & say: “Er kommt, er kommt” “He’s coming, he’s coming” But you were so quick that you were sitting down before he actually came to the door & I admired that because it was so courageous. After all this I said to her, but who are you? She told me her name. Now, the next bit came straight out, without going through the filter of my head, came straight out from wherever my soul is: 'But why are you ringing me I thought you were a Nazi?' Boom. Moment silence. Then she said: how can you say that, I was so shy. 'But you used to turn up in your BDM uniform'. Then she said that there was a good reason for that: 'I can explain it.' Her explanation was that her father was a civil servant accused of anti-Hitler sentiments, so she was making up for it. And I believe her, she’s decent. She said, but “Ich hab’ die Treffen immer geschwänzt”: I always played truant when it came to the meetings of the Hitler Youth by saying I have to practise my piano. She is now a professional pianist. You know, it rang true, I believe her, & we are in touch even now. When you hear stories like that, you get a view of history where you have to distinguish between the real bastards & those that kept quiet when they shouldn’t & those who kept quiet when they perhaps had no choice. She told me a good story also about the Director of my school. During the war, after I'd left & was in England, in German schools, whenever Hitler made a speech, all the children had to listen to the speech, so they were all taken into the big assembly hall. She told me the director had a pact with the janitor who fiddled with the radio. It crackled & crackled. The janitor would say every time “Sorry but the radio’s broken” & they all clapped & went back to the classroom, never listening to Hitler’s speech. Little anti-Nazi tricks & a director who was courageous enough to do it & a janitor who worked with him. And the girls who didn’t object or didn’t go home & denounce the director. So this went on in Germany throughout the war. 966: I Thought You Were A Nazi Bea Green MBE Edited from Bea Green MBE 's interview with Sharon Rappaport for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2006 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Budapest: Stephen Nagy was nine and a half in September 1944: I contracted scarlet fever, at that time a very serious illness. You had to go to an isolation hospital for six weeks. On October 14th I got a phone call from my father saying to get my clothes together: the next day I'd go home. But the next day was October 15, when the right-wing fascist Hungarians under Ferenc Szálasi took over. So, I was stuck in hospital. At first, I felt reasonably safe. I had a friend there who called me, in Hungarian, büdös zsidó, which means “smelly Jew” which the Jews were called. I wasn't pleased. But he wasn't very nasty about it. I didn't understand why I was still in the hospital. I later learned that first of all no one could come for me because the Germans blew up the bridge. Also, my family arranged through connections with the hospital director that they keep me there until further notice. I heard guns. The Russians were getting nearer. Then on December 21, suddenly this gentleman called Mr. Bujdosi, I remember the name, a lovely gentleman, came with a car. And I was taken to an International Red Cross house. There were a lot of Jewish children there. Conditions were reasonably normal. There was food. I was quite ignorant of what was going on except I knew there was a war. I knew the Russians were coming nearer. I knew that there were daily air raids, the siren sounded. We had to go down to the shelter. The house escaped because there was obviously a Red Cross marked on the roof. I was pretty frightened. I wasn't a happy bunny. But I was 9½ & reasonably streetwise. I was already on my own for nearly two months. I was fending for myself. I found it a relatively normal thing. There were 2 or 3 adults in charge. One woman was a rather old battle axe, not very pleasant to us. Then, soon after Christmas, suddenly, the adults disappeared. I was curious what was happening & went down in the shelter. I found lots of old Jewish people, including my father's second cousin. When she saw me, she just said, 'My God. What are you doing here? Don't go back upstairs. Stay downstairs with me. We've still got some food.' So I stayed. "Then on January 18, after weeks of awful bombing suddenly there was eerie silence. I woke up on a straw mattress next to the lady. She said 'Don't go outside!' but I did & found we were 'free'. The same day, my relative’s daughter came for her & found me there & took me back to their flat. I had my first decent meal there. A potato dish. What happened after that—I never forgave her—was that the daughter took me to a Yellow Star house, saying she didn't know anything about my parents but that my uncle & aunt were there, which they weren't. So I was stuck there alone for another 4 weeks. The remaining Germans tried to dig a tunnel & escape but were all annihilated. So there was lots of bombs. Sadly, my older relative, who was at the International Red Cross house, was in the street & was killed by a shrapnel. Eventually my uncle & aunt arrived. It was ice cold. The Danube was frozen over. My job was to go down with a saucepan & bring up water from the ground floor because there was no pressure. I carried this water up, stopping after each floor because by this stage I was quite weak. One day, February 1, I was carrying water, I heard a strange voice, which I thought may have been my brother's but it's gone a bit deeper than what I remembered. I went up there & found my mother & brother in the flat. They'd escaped from Old Buda. They were in a house where Germans moved into the lower ground floor. But on the 31st of January, suddenly these Germans disappeared. So next day, my mother & brother went down to the Danube, where it narrows & was thick ice. They had taken the dog, who was very close to my 7-year-old cousin. Several times, my brother gave it a kick to go back but it wouldn't. They managed to cross the Danube & decided to write a little note, “We crossed the Danube at Ujpest. Come after us.” And my brother gave the dog a huge big kick & it found a way all the way back to the house. And as my cousin put her arms around the dog & kissed the dog she found this note. So the next day, my aunt, with my father & my cousin, came the same way & arrived at my uncle & aunt's yellow star house, where we all were. So that was the family reunion. 929: Fending For Myself Aged 9 Stephen Nagy 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 929: Fending For Myself Aged 9 ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Stephen Nagy Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Stephen Nagy's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2019 • Learn More → Stephen Nagy Arrow Cross In Hiding Jewish House Liberation Nerves of Steel Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Hungary See Locations Full Text Budapest: Stephen Nagy was nine and a half in September 1944: I contracted scarlet fever, at that time a very serious illness. You had to go to an isolation hospital for six weeks. On October 14th I got a phone call from my father saying to get my clothes together: the next day I'd go home. But the next day was October 15, when the right-wing fascist Hungarians under Ferenc Szálasi took over. So, I was stuck in hospital. At first, I felt reasonably safe. I had a friend there who called me, in Hungarian, büdös zsidó, which means “smelly Jew” which the Jews were called. I wasn't pleased. But he wasn't very nasty about it. I didn't understand why I was still in the hospital. I later learned that first of all no one could come for me because the Germans blew up the bridge. Also, my family arranged through connections with the hospital director that they keep me there until further notice. I heard guns. The Russians were getting nearer. Then on December 21, suddenly this gentleman called Mr. Bujdosi, I remember the name, a lovely gentleman, came with a car. And I was taken to an International Red Cross house. There were a lot of Jewish children there. Conditions were reasonably normal. There was food. I was quite ignorant of what was going on except I knew there was a war. I knew the Russians were coming nearer. I knew that there were daily air raids, the siren sounded. We had to go down to the shelter. The house escaped because there was obviously a Red Cross marked on the roof. I was pretty frightened. I wasn't a happy bunny. But I was 9½ & reasonably streetwise. I was already on my own for nearly two months. I was fending for myself. I found it a relatively normal thing. There were 2 or 3 adults in charge. One woman was a rather old battle axe, not very pleasant to us. Then, soon after Christmas, suddenly, the adults disappeared. I was curious what was happening & went down in the shelter. I found lots of old Jewish people, including my father's second cousin. When she saw me, she just said, 'My God. What are you doing here? Don't go back upstairs. Stay downstairs with me. We've still got some food.' So I stayed. "Then on January 18, after weeks of awful bombing suddenly there was eerie silence. I woke up on a straw mattress next to the lady. She said 'Don't go outside!' but I did & found we were 'free'. The same day, my relative’s daughter came for her & found me there & took me back to their flat. I had my first decent meal there. A potato dish. What happened after that—I never forgave her—was that the daughter took me to a Yellow Star house, saying she didn't know anything about my parents but that my uncle & aunt were there, which they weren't. So I was stuck there alone for another 4 weeks. The remaining Germans tried to dig a tunnel & escape but were all annihilated. So there was lots of bombs. Sadly, my older relative, who was at the International Red Cross house, was in the street & was killed by a shrapnel. Eventually my uncle & aunt arrived. It was ice cold. The Danube was frozen over. My job was to go down with a saucepan & bring up water from the ground floor because there was no pressure. I carried this water up, stopping after each floor because by this stage I was quite weak. One day, February 1, I was carrying water, I heard a strange voice, which I thought may have been my brother's but it's gone a bit deeper than what I remembered. I went up there & found my mother & brother in the flat. They'd escaped from Old Buda. They were in a house where Germans moved into the lower ground floor. But on the 31st of January, suddenly these Germans disappeared. So next day, my mother & brother went down to the Danube, where it narrows & was thick ice. They had taken the dog, who was very close to my 7-year-old cousin. Several times, my brother gave it a kick to go back but it wouldn't. They managed to cross the Danube & decided to write a little note, “We crossed the Danube at Ujpest. Come after us.” And my brother gave the dog a huge big kick & it found a way all the way back to the house. And as my cousin put her arms around the dog & kissed the dog she found this note. So the next day, my aunt, with my father & my cousin, came the same way & arrived at my uncle & aunt's yellow star house, where we all were. So that was the family reunion. 929: Fending For Myself Aged 9 Stephen Nagy Edited from Stephen Nagy's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, March 2019 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Scotland Carnoustie Memories 968: How To Talk Without Crying Ida Skubiejska Everybody was killed in Auschwitz: my parents, my sister, all my uncles, aunts & cousins. Absolutely everybody except my other sister & my cousin... Previous Location Next Location

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

Belgium Antwerp 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... Previous Location Next Location