Enduring Ripples of War , livre ebook
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2019
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114
pages
English
Ebook
2019
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Publié par
Date de parution
06 décembre 2019
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781913227388
Langue
English
Publié par
Date de parution
06 décembre 2019
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781913227388
Langue
English
The Enduring Ripples of War
Kathryn Cowling
The Enduring Ripples of War
Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2019
Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com
info@theconradpress.com
ISBN 978-1-913227-38-8
Copyright © Kathryn Cowling, 2019
The moral right of Kathryn Cowling to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.u k
For my beautiful daughters, Leigh and Emily, they have made me the person I am today.
1
Germany
November 12 1930
Leonard Rosenthal
I stood just outside the living-room door listening to Phineas, my father, and Hana, my mother, as they sat discussing their worries about what was happening in our home country, Germany. They didn’t know I was there. I heard my father sigh as he recalled how bad the persecution of Jewish people had been; in the past. He hoped that now we lived in more enlightened times, the oppression would cease, but with the election of a new chancellor; that was becoming increasingly unlikely.
I didn’t tell my parents because I thought they had enough to worry about, but I was frightened too. Life was rapidly turning into a living nightmare. Our neighbours and people who we thought of as friends spat in our faces as we walked past them down the street where we’d lived happily all our lives. We had known these people for many years and they’d frequented our little pawn shop on many occasions.
Our family had shared the trials of their lives with them, celebrated their births and mourned their deaths. Father often helped out some of our customers financially; if they were struggling, and he was happy to do this if he could. He told me many times that, in his view, that’s what friends were for. Now these people had turned on us and, for, seemingly, no reason at all, began to treat us as though we were rabid dogs at all.
I heard, through the gossip at my village school, how some of the Jewish people living in the big cities were suffering physical abuse on a regular basis and I was frightened that it would be our turn next. I didn’t want to believe that the townsfolk who I’d known and cared about all my life could be so cruel but they were. Some of our closest friends began to hiss vile names when I passed them on my way to or from school and sometimes they shoved me to the ground.
Many of our German friends and neighbours turned a blind eye. The new chancellor seemed, at first, to be an asset to our country, but now things had taken a chilling turn. He talked about building a country with a master race of blue-eyed blonde-haired people. Germany was no longer a safe place to live in, and we knew the situation would get worse as long as this man was in power.
My father had a brother and sister-in-law who ran a bakery in a little village some twenty miles from us. They’d written to tell us that they’d had bricks thrown through their shop windows and the words ‘filthy Jews’ painted across their front door. They were hopeful the situation would improve as they didn’t want to leave the country they loved; my father and I were not optimistic. The needless violence seemed to be spiralling out of control, and we were powerless to stop it.
My uncle went onto tell us that they were relieved that their only daughter Gerta now lived in Ireland and was safe. The ultimate idea was for me and my family to join her but, unfortunately, my father had lost touch over the years, and he was desperately trying to find her exact whereabouts. He believed our lives depended on it, and I thought he was right. Germany was becoming more unsafe for any person of Jewish origin who stilled remained in the country.
I heard my parents discuss how utterly terrified they were as they sat, talking in whispered tones, about their plans for our family. As I eaves-dropped, I still felt as though it didn’t seem possible that our lives had turned into this hideous nightmare in such a short time. I’d lived in Germany all my life and regarded it my patriotic home. My parents tried to shelter us two boys from what was happening, but they couldn’t hide the harsh reality.
My younger brother, Maciej, had just turned eleven-years-old and was an anxious, sensitive boy, so I could understand my parents wanting to keep him ignorant of the situation. It would terrify the poor child, and that would be of no help to anyone. I, however, was twelve–and-a half years old and carried a much older head on my shoulders, so I felt a little annoyed that my parents had not seen fit to include me in their plans for our future survival. Nevertheless, it was not my place to question what my father had decided, and this was how I came to be loitering outside half-open doors trying to listen to how we would all escape to Ireland.
I strained my ears to listen as my father outlined his plans to my mother. I imagined their tired eyes in the flickering candlelight. My father explained that his eventual plan was for us to travel across Germany until we reached the border to France, then cross over in whatever way we could and then, travel through France and ultimately get a boat over the channel into England. My parent’s pawn shop was small but profitable. It enabled my parents to make an adequate living, but little money was left over, so trying to save money for our escape would take many months. This frustrated me because I believed the sooner we could leave the better it would be.
I knew my father would also have preferred us to flee straight away, but we would have to wait until enough funds had been saved for the hazardous journey. My mother fed the family as cheaply as she could and mended clothes many times over to enable money to be squirrelled into the small, metal strong box that would pay for the journey. The box also contained a map of our escape route. Mother and father pored over the plan many times to decipher the quickest and safest route possible.
Gerta played a key part in our escape, as Ireland, was the place in which we hoped to make our home. Father had told me how he’d written to the Red Cross to ask them for help in locating the cousin he’d not seen for many years. The only information he’d managed to ascertain was that Gerta had married an Irish man, named Pat Coleman, when she was seventeen years old and moved to her new husband’s native country. If we could make contact with her then she may be able to provide a safe haven for our small family.
I managed to get a part-time job delivering groceries for our local shop, and soon, even Maciej was earning money by running errands for the local traders. Father had explained to Maciej that we were to leave as soon as possible, but he’d not told them him the reason so as not to frighten him. I knew exactly how perilous our existence was and was aware of the importance of a swift escape. I encouraged Maciej to work and make as much money as he could on the pretence that we could save up for a new bicycle and that thought spurred him on nicely.
Over half a million Jews lived in Germany, and both my father and mother had pondered many times as to why the oppression of the Jewish people reoccurred throughout history. My mother listened as my father ranted about being unable to understand how a human being could turn on his fellow man for no determinable reason. I vehemently agreed with him. We both longed for our family to exist in a life without fear. The only way to achieve that aim was by moving away from the place where we’d had lived for many years and which we thought of as home.
2
Germany
August 25 1932
Leonard Rosenthal
O ne night, all of us, mother, father, Maciej and I, were in the little flat above the pawn shop sleeping peacefully. I remember feeling safe and warm and comfortably cocooned in my bed. At first, the sounds of smashing glass didn’t register, but finally it made its way into my unconscious mind, and brought instantly awake.
Throwing my bedclothes aside, I walked towards my small bedroom window that overlooked the street and was terrified to see a rabble of men and young boys outside. I recognised them as school friends and neighbours, but their faces were twisted in a mask of hatred and bloodlust.
I watched as the crowd stood in front the house of my elderly schoolmaster, who lived across the street from us. One by one, they smashed every window at the front of his property. They then smashed down the front door and, they pulled the old man and his hysterical wife out onto the street in their nightclothes. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. The baying mob callously set fire to the house as the occupants watched helplessly. I watched, hid behind the curtain, paralysed with shock and incredulity.
The group of men then began to beat the schoolmaster and his wife tried to protect him. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to help the couple but I was frozen with fear and unable to properly comprehend what was happening. Somewhere in the house, I heard my father telling my mother to rise quickly, dress and pack a few belongings.
He then shouted out to me and Maciej, repeating the same words, adding that we must put our belongings in our school satchels. I shook myself into action, still in a state of shock and bewilderment. I did as I was told, then strode into the living room and watched as my father grabbed the tin box from the back of the sideboard drawer. He’d shown it to me several times over the past couple of years and had talked me through the journey we’d be taking.
Once we were all ready for the outdoors, my father silently mouthed for us to follow him quietly down the narrow stairway at the back of the shop and out into the small alley behind. The little lane was unlit, and we
