Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport Page #4

... for getting me onto this transport,

and for not having managed to get...

... her twins onto the transport.

There was grief and panic

and fury in that room.

There was a moment...

...that my father took me

between his knees...

...and he said:

"Now, when you get to England...

"...you must talk to all the English people

you meet and you have to ask them...

"...to get your mother and me out,

and your grandparents out."

And because this aunt was there

and had been so unhappy...

...and so angry, he said,

"And Aunt so-and-so's twins."

Before long, I had a list...

... of people whom I, at 10 years old,

had promised to save from Hitler.

The transports began in December...

... barely three weeks

after the Nazi pogrom.

Although a few children traveled by plane...

... the majority departed by train.

Some trains left during the day...

... many others in the dead of night.

Each child was given a number.

My number...

... and I still have it, was 152.

This was a number that every child...

...put around its neck...

...and a similar number

was attached to our suitcases.

There we stood, in our groups of fifty,

I think it was...

...and there was my mother and my father.

My mother kept up...

...a conversation with me

as if this was an ordinary and interesting...

...thing that was happening.

But I remember that she wore...

...a pony fur with a fox collar...

...and her face was inside the fox collar.

I remember that although her speech was

as if everything was ordinary...

... her face, I remember, was hot.

It was red and hot.

Every parent promised their child:

"We will soon come and follow."

How otherwise did the parents...

... get the little children onto the trains.

"Give us a few weeks, when things...

"...will either blow over

and you'll come back again...

"...or we'll come join you."

That was a promise

every parent made to their child.

There came the time to say to the parents:

"You cannot go to the platform.

The police will not allow it.

"You have to say good-bye here."

So I ascended a chair there...

...and addressed the people.

Where I got the courage to do that,

I don't know.

But I told the parents:

"This is your last good-bye."

They didn't want the German public

to know what was going on...

... because they had experiences

of parents weeping...

... and fainting at the platform.

So we had to say good-bye...

...groups had to say good-bye,

in an anteroom.

The scenes were pretty horrendous.

When my sister and brother left...

... all the other parents were crying bitterly.

I was so afraid.

I didn't want my mother to cry...

... because she was a very strong person.

I thought, "If she cries...

"...terrible things will happen."

I kept on looking at her, and I said,

"Don't cry. You won't cry." And she didn't.

I got to the station,

which was crowded with people.

All the children had parents with them...

...and I was sitting there all by myself.

I had no parents. Nobody.

I was just there with a suitcase.

There was nobody's shoulder

I could cry on.

All I knew was I was going away.

I was going to England.

Whatever would happen would happen.

Every day my father said:

"Pupela, I don't want you to go.

"But I want you to go

because it'll be good for you. "

The day came and we went.

My mother and dad

went with me inside the train...

...and put my suitcase up.

My seat was right at the window.

The German trains

had great big windows...

... and my father pulled that

all the way down...

... so I could be leaning out of the window.

He hugged and kissed me.

I could see my father's face getting...

...whiter and whiter.

I thought, "I only hope nothing

is going to happen to him. "

He looked so terribly, terribly pale.

My poor mother

was getting worse and worse.

I couldn't wait for the train to go...

... because I didn't want to remember that.

The guy came...

... and he waved the signal.

When the train started to go,

my father says, "Pupela...

"...let me hold your hands!"

And I held my hands and said,

"I have to let go! I have to let go!"

"No! I don't want you to go!

I don't want you to go!"

And we were already...

My father couldn't walk very fast...

...because he walked with a cane.

We went a little bit more...

...and he took me by my hands

and he pulled me out of the window.

And I fell.

I could have fallen in-between...

...the platform and the train.

There was only a small amount of space.

I didn't, but I got hurt and I was bleeding...

...and I was devastated.

Absolutely devastated.

And my father was in seventh heaven...

...that he had his little Pupela,

his little girl, back.

The parting was terrible.

That's the one thing I have never...

... forgotten in all my life.

And she had been so controlled.

She'd always been...

... a sort of solid...

... support to us.

And suddenly she showed her feelings...

... and it was terrifying, really terrifying.

We saw this face...

...which showed all the hurt...

...and agony she'd been through.

And I can still see my father that mealtime.

But I would have liked to have had

a happier image of my mother.

That's the only image...

...of this contorted...

...face...

...full of agony.

It was very sad.

I remember standing by the window

and waving good-bye...

... and just trying hard to believe...

... that we really would come back.

That it won't be for very long.

But when the train moved

and they disappeared from sight...

...both Vera and I

cried in each other's arms.

My parents ran along the train...

...on the platform.

And I still remember, sort of in my head...

...I heard that refrain,

"You're leaving! You're leaving!"

I watched their faces.

Tears were streaming down their faces...

...down their cheeks.

And I knew then...

...these people really love me.

This is why they're sending me away.

I immediately started to write

to my parents.

And I apologized

for what I had said to them...

... that they were trying to get rid of me.

In no time...

... the suitcase was gone.

The child was gone.

The other children were gone.

Just emptiness.

Then we turned around and went home.

I did not talk.

It was awful.

The children went with the hope

that the parents would follow...

... or that one day they could come back

and see them again.

I did not realize...

... and I could never have realized...

... that only a year and a half later...

...from the same railway station...

...trains would go in the other direction...

...to Hitler's slaughterhouses.

I remember all that day we sang songs.

We ate the things

that our mothers had given us.

When we got to the border,

it got very frightening...

... because the train stopped

at the last station...

... before Holland.

The big girls were very frightened

and they scared us.

They said, "Don't move."

You know what happens when you sit

and don't move?

You begin to tremble

if you tense yourself enough.

I remember that I was sitting there

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