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

946: Being Stateless Is An Advantage Benno Stern Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Benno Stern: My father, by a great stroke of fortune, was made stateless by Poland because he’d fled the country. In Germany, he was stateless; he never took German citizenship. When Germany sent Polish Jews back to Poland he was not sent back, because he was stateless. In England, my father wasn't interned in the Isle of Wight because he was stateless. It worked to our advantage. My father came to England with my sister & myself after Kristallnacht. My mother stayed on in Essen for a week. Why, I’ve never really been able to fathom. They thought it was safer to travel separately rather than together. She stayed on for a week. The tragedy of that particular case was firstly, the Gestapo came for my father. He wasn’t there. They said, 'Where is he?' She said, 'He’s gone to Berlin to get visas. He won’t be back till Monday.” They said, 'If he’s not back Monday, we’ll take you instead.' She'd had the forethought to throw her passport out of the window into the courtyard. They searched for the passport & said, 'Have you got a passport?' She said, 'No'. After they went she closed the flat up & left in the clothes she was wearing. Stayed with friends & then came on. The other tragedy was: when he got to England, my father telephoned my mother's mother who was living in France to say that he & the children had arrived safely. So my grandmother said, 'Where’s Esther?' He said, 'She’s on her way. She’s OK.' Her mother said, 'No I don’t believe you. You never would have left Germany without Esther.' And she had a stroke while he was on the phone to her, & she never spoke again after that. She died a little while later. Funny what you remember as a child. Our local rabbi in London came to see my mother & broke the news to her. I can remember my mother crying. Sad days. A tragedy. But my mother did arrive. She had quite a horrendous journey in the train. She only had 10 marks, nothing else. At the border the police collected all the passports & didn’t return them until the very last moment. People were shouting & screaming: 'Where are our passports?' In the end, they threw all the passports through the open train window. People were treated very badly. They took her money; she arrived penniless. But she didn’t have much anyway. I remember our journey. We left Hachestraße at dawn. Light was just breaking. I had a particular comforter blanket. The station was immediately opposite our flat so we had a very short walk. The train journey is vague but I remember the ferry. I was one of the few people who was not sick. The sea was rough and I saw everyone else being sick. We then arrived by car to Ealing, in the evening. I remember lights. My uncle had a huge dog which I now know was a border collie. I was so frightened of this dog, whose name was Dinkie. I was so scared. I could only speak German. They offered me some lemonade which I’d never seen before. Coloured lemon lemonade. That was what I remember. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Benno Stern's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2016 • Learn More → Benno Stern Encounter With Nazi Officials Hiding Valuables Nerves of Steel Polenaktion Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

930: Reunion After 22 Years In Siberia Dorothy Bohm came alone to Britain from Memel, Lithuania, in June 1939. Her parents and younger sister were forced into exile in Siberia: Dorothy Bohm 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 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

976: Coming To England Alone Aged 5 Hannah Wurzburger Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close 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. Previous Memory 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 Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

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

Germany Chemnitz Memories 963: Experiencing Antisemitism Stella Shinder I had a little umbrella with red stripes. A little schoolmate of mine said, 'Is that the blood of German babies that the Jews are killing?' Previous Location Next Location

France Normandy Coast Memories 961: Having My Revenge Willy Field I was a refugee from Nazi oppression. I wanted to have my revenge & I had my revenge. That was a wonderful feeling... Previous Location Next Location

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 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 974: How To Recover ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Susan Pollack OBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close 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

Not Allowed To Use Swimming Pools Memories 963: Experiencing Antisemitism Stella Shinder I had a little umbrella with red stripes. A little schoolmate of mine said, 'Is that the blood of German babies that the Jews are killing?' Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

Soviet Union Novosibirsk Memories 975: Life In A Siberian Labour Camp Izak Wiesenfeld 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..." Previous Location Next Location

977: The Cruel Guardian Maria Ault came to Britain with her younger sister Birgit on a Kindertransport in May 1939: Maria Ault 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 Maria Ault's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, May 2024 • Learn More → Maria Ault Attempted Humiliation Domestic Service Food Foster Family Kindertransport Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Maria Ault came to Britain with her younger sister Birgit on a Kindertransport in May 1939: My first guardians were fine But when we were evacuated in September 1939, we stayed with a very, very, very, very bad person who used to hit us. She didn't feed us properly. But who could we go to in Melton Mowbray? There was no Childline. She should have known better. She was a minister's wife. I was used as a cheap maid. One day, I was only 12, I was getting a lunch ready for a hotpot, which meant I had to peel onions & potatoes & carrots. And because I used the same knife for the potatoes & the onions, because I didn't change my knife, she hit me. Really hit me hard & said, ‘I've had enough of you, get out.’ It was raining. I took my sister & we walked through Melton Mowbray hand-in-hand. We had nowhere to go, nowhere at all. So, in the end, we were soaked. We went back & I think she was quite pleased to see us. I didn't tell anybody. How they ever found out, I think it might have been through my headmistress who used to have me in her study to give me extra lessons. I had my arm in a sling because my guardian was so cruel to us. I had very bad abscesses under my arm & I had my arm in a sling one day. My headmistress said, ‘Maria, what's – why are you wearing a sling?’ So, I told her. She said, ‘Let me look.’ So, she looked… She didn't ring that person up who I was staying with, she rang the doctor & said, ‘I'm taking Maria straight to the hospital.’ They said if I had – I wouldn't have lived if I had – not a few hours, because I was – it was blood poison. So we were moved, to a very nice house. But again, I was taken in as a maid. I had to leave school & be taken in as a maid. And one day I thought: is this my life? Because my parents were in Sweden, we didn't even know whether they were alive. Maria grew up in Hamburg. I was a very privileged little girl. We were brought up in a nursery with a nanny. Our house was always full of people & music. My mother was a singer & had a choir, they used to meet. And when they’d finished their tea up, my brother & I went down to the kitchen & took the cakes & ate them, which was lovely. I was strictly brought up, which was so good because when I came to England, there was no money. The very first memory I have of having a meal, they gave us fish paste sandwiches. My sister & I looked at each other & she took my hand & we went upstairs & cried our eyes out. Not because of the sandwiches, but because we’d just left our parents. But to cry over fish paste sandwiches, I laugh now, but I didn't laugh at the time. I'm so happy and so lucky that I've got a character where I say, this is what happened to you & you get on with life. But my sister was different. When she was very happily married, they emigrated to Canada. She had 2 children. And one day she couldn't stand it anymore. She had memories of when she was beaten. She used to faint, when we had that awful woman looking after us in Melton Mowbray. My sister used to be beaten & then she'd faint & it was just awful. She couldn't take it. So, unfortunately, two years ago, she wrote me a goodbye letter. We used to talk on the phone every week. We used to talk about our past & she just couldn't stand it anymore. She asked the doctor in Canada: can you take your own life? She was allowed. He gave her an overdose & she passed away two years ago, because she just couldn't stand it. It was definitely because of what happened to us. Because when she went to the psychiatrists the first time she tried to do it, he said: ‘It's all because of what happened to you in Melton Mowbray.’ I'm so happy and so lucky, so grateful that it hasn't happened to me. I remember when we first came over, in the dining car from Harwich to Liverpool Street. We were given porridge. One thing I couldn't stand was porridge, & nor could she. Her tears were rolling down her cheeks. So, when she wasn't looking, I took this porridge & ate it for her. She said, ‘I'll never, never forget it. I’ll never...’ 977: The Cruel Guardian Maria Ault Edited from Maria Ault's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, May 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Czechoslovakia Karlovy Vary Memories 963: Experiencing Antisemitism Stella Shinder I had a little umbrella with red stripes. A little schoolmate of mine said, 'Is that the blood of German babies that the Jews are killing?' Previous Location Next Location