me.
“You see? There are lots of kids here who are younger than you,” Mamu said quietly.
I didn’t answer. Since she had turned in the ship tickets and I knew there was no way around it, I felt old. Mamu was counting on me. I would get my parents out of Germany. That was the only thing that made the pain tolerable.
Bekka’s reaction had made me uneasy. “The two of us, in the same kindertransport? That would be a miracle,” was her opinion. “We have to be happy if we get to go at all.”
I wouldn’t have dreamed that so many parents would send their children away. The sight of the line of people waiting made my throat tighten up.
“You know what would be the best?” Bekka had added with a crooked smile. “If you got my spot!”
“I’d like to travel together with a friend,” I said to the man who introduced himself as Herr Weitz and took my application. “Rebekka Liebich. She signed herself up last week already.”
“What about your father, Franziska?” he asked. “Is he still in Sachsenhausen?”
“Yes, even though we had tickets to Shanghai at one point. They just won’t let him out.”
Mamu, who was sitting next to me, nodded at me as if I had given the right answer on a test.
“The fact that your father is in a concentration camp improves your chances of getting a spot,” Herr Weitz commented. He had a pale, tired face and deep, dark circles under his eyes.
“If my father weren’t in the concentration camp, I wouldn’t need to go in the first place,” I replied indignantly. Surprisingly, a smile flickered in his exhausted eyes.
Mamu, who hadn’t seen it, couldn’t stand it anymore. “We are very, very grateful to the Refugee Children’s Movement for their efforts!” she interjected.
“It’s okay, Frau Mangold,” Herr Weitz said. “I know how hard it is. My daughter is on the list too.”
How we survived the following weeks, I couldn’t say. I was with my mother, and at the same time, I wasn’t anymore. In my thoughts I was in England, and yet I couldn’t be, since I didn’t know what it looked like, nor if I would ever really arrive there. Mamu kept herself perpetually busy, spent much too much money on new clothes for me, and sewed little strips of cloth with my name on them into everything. I felt uncomfortable in her presence and had the impression that she felt the same way. Soon I was just as scared that I wouldn’t get a seat on the kindertransport as I was of getting one.
For the first time, I received a letter from my father addressed only to me.
Dear Ziskele,
It looks like you will soon be on your way to England to try to do for us what you can from there. You’ll learn a new language and—I’m sure—meet warm-hearted, wonderful people. Just think, somewhere in the world there are still women and men who don’t watch what happens to us indifferently, but instead take us into their ownfamilies! I hope that I can thank your host parents in person someday.
Don’t forget that we, your mother and I, are only letting you go to make sure that you are safe. And don’t think that you are alone: We will be with you in our thoughts, hour by hour, and we know that you won’t forget us either, but will do your utmost so that the three of us can be together again soon. The stronger you are, the stronger we will be. I am so proud of you, my Ziskele.
May you be well cared for and blessed always, that’s my wish for you.
With a thousand kisses, your father,
Franz Mangold
I read the letter over and over again. It was so formal that I felt very important. From Mamu I knew that Sachsenhausen had a better reputation than the concentration camp at Buchenwald. I couldn’t quite imagine my father working on a construction site, but he optimistically wrote that this way he was gaining experience in a practical field.
The thought that my father felt stronger because of me made me happy. My mother sent him packages, clothes, and money, and ran around tirelessly
“You see? There are lots of kids here who are younger than you,” Mamu said quietly.
I didn’t answer. Since she had turned in the ship tickets and I knew there was no way around it, I felt old. Mamu was counting on me. I would get my parents out of Germany. That was the only thing that made the pain tolerable.
Bekka’s reaction had made me uneasy. “The two of us, in the same kindertransport? That would be a miracle,” was her opinion. “We have to be happy if we get to go at all.”
I wouldn’t have dreamed that so many parents would send their children away. The sight of the line of people waiting made my throat tighten up.
“You know what would be the best?” Bekka had added with a crooked smile. “If you got my spot!”
“I’d like to travel together with a friend,” I said to the man who introduced himself as Herr Weitz and took my application. “Rebekka Liebich. She signed herself up last week already.”
“What about your father, Franziska?” he asked. “Is he still in Sachsenhausen?”
“Yes, even though we had tickets to Shanghai at one point. They just won’t let him out.”
Mamu, who was sitting next to me, nodded at me as if I had given the right answer on a test.
“The fact that your father is in a concentration camp improves your chances of getting a spot,” Herr Weitz commented. He had a pale, tired face and deep, dark circles under his eyes.
“If my father weren’t in the concentration camp, I wouldn’t need to go in the first place,” I replied indignantly. Surprisingly, a smile flickered in his exhausted eyes.
Mamu, who hadn’t seen it, couldn’t stand it anymore. “We are very, very grateful to the Refugee Children’s Movement for their efforts!” she interjected.
“It’s okay, Frau Mangold,” Herr Weitz said. “I know how hard it is. My daughter is on the list too.”
How we survived the following weeks, I couldn’t say. I was with my mother, and at the same time, I wasn’t anymore. In my thoughts I was in England, and yet I couldn’t be, since I didn’t know what it looked like, nor if I would ever really arrive there. Mamu kept herself perpetually busy, spent much too much money on new clothes for me, and sewed little strips of cloth with my name on them into everything. I felt uncomfortable in her presence and had the impression that she felt the same way. Soon I was just as scared that I wouldn’t get a seat on the kindertransport as I was of getting one.
For the first time, I received a letter from my father addressed only to me.
Dear Ziskele,
It looks like you will soon be on your way to England to try to do for us what you can from there. You’ll learn a new language and—I’m sure—meet warm-hearted, wonderful people. Just think, somewhere in the world there are still women and men who don’t watch what happens to us indifferently, but instead take us into their ownfamilies! I hope that I can thank your host parents in person someday.
Don’t forget that we, your mother and I, are only letting you go to make sure that you are safe. And don’t think that you are alone: We will be with you in our thoughts, hour by hour, and we know that you won’t forget us either, but will do your utmost so that the three of us can be together again soon. The stronger you are, the stronger we will be. I am so proud of you, my Ziskele.
May you be well cared for and blessed always, that’s my wish for you.
With a thousand kisses, your father,
Franz Mangold
I read the letter over and over again. It was so formal that I felt very important. From Mamu I knew that Sachsenhausen had a better reputation than the concentration camp at Buchenwald. I couldn’t quite imagine my father working on a construction site, but he optimistically wrote that this way he was gaining experience in a practical field.
The thought that my father felt stronger because of me made me happy. My mother sent him packages, clothes, and money, and ran around tirelessly
Similar Books
