The Runaway Family Read online

  Herbert had returned her stare. “Then you’ll be on your own, Ruth. I’ll have done everything I can for you, and it’ll be up to you.”

  “Will they let you take your money with you?” she’d asked a little later. “I thought you weren’t allowed to take anything valuable with you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve thought of that,” Herbert replied. “I’m not taking it in actual cash. I’ve converted it into something more portable; something easier to hide. I’ll get it out all right.”

  Ruth didn’t ask what, or where he would conceal it. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know how much he was taking, or how. She simply asked, “When do you go?” She knew that whatever she said or did, Herbert would leave and she and the four children would be on their own.

  “I collect my ticket tomorrow,” he replied, “and then take the train to Hamburg. The boat leaves next week.”

  So this time tomorrow, Ruth thought, it’ll just be me and the children.

  She fought to keep the rising panic at bay. She fought the tears of frustration and desperation that threatened to overwhelm her. This was no time to give way to tears. It was only her strength that was going to keep them alive.

  Herbert had spent much of the night packing. Ruth could hear him moving round his bedroom, opening and closing drawers and the wardrobe. There was the occasional creak of bedsprings, and then as the grey of a false dawn lightened the sky, one final groan of the bed as Herbert lay down.

  Ruth wondered if he had actually managed to go to sleep, or whether he, too, was lying in the dark, afraid of what the future might hold.

  Next morning he ate his breakfast in silence, paying no attention to the chatter of the children, and they, picking up the strange atmosphere, gradually slipped into silence. As soon as they had finished eating, Ruth sent them to their bedroom, telling them to play in there until she called them to do their lessons.

  Herbert looked at his sister-in-law across the table. “I’ll be off soon,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of notes and handed them across to her. “This should keep you going for a while,” he said. “As I told you, the rent is paid until the end of the year. You’ll have a roof over your heads until then at least.”

  Ruth nodded, and reaching for the money put it into her pocket. “Thank you for that,” she said, getting to her feet. “I wish you the best of luck in your new life, Herbert.”

  “As soon as I get settled there, I’ll be in touch. Kurt can bring you all over to join me… and,” Herbert paused as if not knowing quite how to phrase what he wanted to say next, before continuing awkwardly, “and, if he hasn’t come back by then, perhaps you should consider joining me anyway… to keep the children safe.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “Yes, well…” Herbert turned away and went into his bedroom. Ruth was still standing beside the breakfast table when he reappeared a few moments later, wearing his overcoat and a felt hat and carrying a large suitcase.

  “Obviously I haven’t been able to take all my clothes with me,” he said. “Kurt can have them when he gets here.” For a moment he gave his sister-in-law a long look, then he put the case on the floor and reached out to take her hand. For a moment Ruth thought he was going to put his arms round her, but he simply shook her hand and said, “Goodbye, Ruth. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ruth nodded. She knew that she should be thanking him properly for the money, for housing them all for so long, for making sure they weren’t hungry and homeless. She knew that he had done all he could for them, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt so bereft at his leaving, she could only let him shake her hand before he laid his keys on the table and, without another word, walked out of the apartment. As the door closed behind him, and she heard his feet on the stairs, Ruth looked at the keys, and finally accepted that Herbert wasn’t coming home again. No man who thinks he might come back leaves the keys to his home on the table. She moved to the window and looking down into the street watched him walk away, suitcase in hand, his head bent against the late October drizzle.

  “Goodbye, Herbert,” she whispered. Then with a deep breath she turned back to the room and slowly and methodically began to clear the breakfast table. When it was done she called the children to come and do their lessons.

  “Uncle Herbert’s gone away for a holiday,” she told them. “He says you girls can use his bedroom while he’s away. That’s kind of him, isn’t it?”

  “Will he want it back when he comes home again?” asked Inge.

  “Of course he will,” said Laura. “It’s his room.” She glanced across at her mother and added, “But it will be nice to sleep in there for now.”

  When they had finished their lessons, while Ruth made up Herbert’s bed with clean sheets, the girls moved their few possessions into his bedroom. They moved the clothes he had left behind into one corner of the wardrobe and began to settle in.

  Ruth made the other bedroom more comfortable for the twins, deciding that she would continue to sleep on the sofa in the living room. That way everyone had a little more space. She had counted the money Herbert had given her, and she had to admit he had done his best. If she were careful she could make it last for two or even three months. They would not eat well, but they would not starve either, as they waited for Kurt to come. She divided the notes up into several smaller bundles, which she hid in different places in the apartment. One crammed between the lavatory cistern and the wall, another buried in a tin of flour in the kitchen, a third under the mattress in the twins’ room, and a fourth, the largest, tucked into her own underwear. The rest she put into the cashbox with the passports and other personal documents that was locked in their suitcase. Ruth did not know why she felt compelled to do this. It was unlikely burglars would break into a third-floor apartment, but she remembered how important the cashbox buried in the garden had been, and although there was no garden in which to hide it here, she was determined not to have all her money in the same place. She told Laura where the money was hidden. It was Laura, after all, who had remembered the box buried in the garden.

  “If anything should happen to me,” she said gently, “you’ll know where to find the money.”

  Laura stared at her in horror. “You won’t leave us, will you, Mutti?” she whispered.

  Ruth gathered her into her arms and said, “No, darling. I won’t leave you, but we have to look after the children now, you and I, and if there was an accident or something…” Ruth’s voice trailed off as Laura’s arms tightened round her and she buried her face in her mother’s neck. For a long moment they hugged each other close. “You are my strength, now, Laura,” Ruth said. “You must help me with the younger ones.”

  After lunch, they all trailed down the stairs and out into the autumn wind. The earlier drizzle had stopped, but there was a distinct chill in the air, and Ruth realised that it wouldn’t be long before she had to find the children warmer clothes if they were going out of the apartment at all. Ruth led them briskly along the street, away from the gardens, towards the canal that carried sluggish brown water behind the apartment buildings. There was a path on either side, joined by two bridges that spanned the water giving pedestrian access to the neighbourhood beyond. The children loved to walk by the canal, running ahead of their mother to drop sticks from one bridge into the slow-moving water, and rushing to the other bridge to see them arrive there.

  Ruth had been afraid to let the twins play this game at first, for fear that they might fall into the canal as they raced along the path, but, holding the hand of each, she too ran between the bridges, encouraging the sticks they had dropped. It was harmless fun, it gave the children some exercise, brought a little colour to their cheeks, and laughter to their lives. Nowhere was there a sign banning Jews from the towpath.

  Today when they returned from this excursion, climbing the stairs to the apartment, it felt to Ruth, for the first time, as if they were coming home. She unlocked the door and the children tumbled inside, the
girls rushing into their new bedroom, the twins stumping across to the window to watch the streetlamps come on in the quiet street below.

  For the first time since they had arrived in Munich, that night Ruth lay down upon the sofa, and drifted off into an easy sleep. Things were still going to be difficult, she knew that, but as she said her prayers, praying as always for Kurt to come and find them soon, she thought that maybe God was listening to her after all, and she knew the glimmerings of hope. Herbert had left them, but they had a roof, some money and each other. As she had stood beside the children’s beds, the twins, curled up together in the bed like kittens in a basket, Inge flat on her face, one arm thrown over her head and Laura, almost invisible under the quilt, she felt a sudden and overwhelming flood of love for them. Whatever happened, it was her job to protect them.

  The first crash on the door made it shudder. The second splintered the wood around the lock and the third made it swing open drunkenly on its hinges. The noise set the children screaming, and Ruth shot to her feet, her heart hammering. Two men burst into the room, shouting. “Out! Out! Out!”

  At first they were huge, dark figures, bursting into the apartment, making the children scream with terror, but then they were revealed as long-coated, jackbooted storm troopers, carrying guns.

  Behind them was Frau Schultz.

  Ruth and the children had just finished their midday meal and were still round the table.

  One of the men strode through the apartment, peering into each room while the other marched over to Ruth and grabbed her violently by the hair.

  “You’ve got ten minutes to pack,” he growled, yanking at Ruth’s hair so that she gasped in pain. “This place is too good for Jews. Out! The lot of you! Out! Out now!”

  “Where? Where shall we go?” faltered Ruth, leaning towards her captor to try and ease the tearing at her scalp. Her words were almost drowned by the screams of the children, and the other man suddenly backhanded a slap across Inge’s face.

  “Shut up!”

  Inge’s hysterical screams stopped abruptly, and were replaced by a soft whimper. A white-faced Laura gathered the boys into her arms, doing her best to soothe their terrified cries, while struggling to stop her own.

  “You’re terrifying the children,” Ruth stammered. “Please leave them alone. We’ll go if we must, but let me collect their things together.”

  “Ten minutes.” The man released her hair. “And you can only take what you can carry.”

  Frau Schultz walked across to the sofa and sat down, her back erect, her handbag on her knees, watching. Her eyes gleamed with triumph as she said, “And don’t take anything that belongs to me!”

  “To you?” Ruth couldn’t help herself. “Belongs to you?”

  “All this belongs to me now. I’ve earned it!”

  Earned it? Somehow Frau Schultz was taking over Herbert’s apartment. How had she earned it? Ruth’s mind was in a spin, but there was no time for further exchange, let alone explanation, the ten minutes were ticking away, and the two Gestapo were standing waiting, waiting for an excuse to strike again.

  Released from the man’s grasp, Ruth hurried into the boys’ bedroom, and pulled the suitcase from the wardrobe. The old deed box was still inside it. Hurriedly she threw the boys’ clothes into the case, covering the box, but with the man watching from the door, she didn’t dare retrieve the money she’d hidden under the mattress.

  “Laura,” she called, putting her own clothes in on top of the boys’, “get your things. Bring them here.” The man glanced over his shoulder into the living room, but there was still no time to reach under the mattress for the money.

  Laura came into the room, her arms draped with the few clothes she and Inge had between them, her precious diary tucked in among them. The man watched as Ruth piled them into the case and closed the lid.

  “Good girl.” With force of will, Ruth managed to keep her voice calm though fear was coursing through her and she was shaking. Suppose the men decided to search the case? She looked across at the younger children. Inge was sitting on the floor, whimpering like a whipped puppy. Hans and Peter stood together, wide-eyed, no longer crying, but staring, almost rigid with fear, at the men in uniform who towered over them. “Now, take the boys to the bathroom while I finish packing our things.”

  Laura stared at her for a moment and then nodded. Grasping a twin with each hand she dragged them into the bathroom and began to help them with their trousers. Hoping to distract the watching Gestapo from what Laura was doing, Ruth went into the kitchen, picked up her shopping basket and began to pack food into it.

  “What are you taking?” demanded Frau Schultz, leaping to her feet and peering round the kitchen door. “What are you stealing? All the food in that fridge is mine.”

  “Just a little flour, and some rice,” replied Ruth shakily. “Some bread and a few apples. I must have something to feed the children. I beg you.”

  One of the Gestapo gave a cruel laugh. “Yes, dirty Jew! Beg! On your knees! Go on! On your knees. Beg!”

  Gripping the precious basket tightly, Ruth forced herself onto her knees. “Please, Frau Schultz, let me take this basket of food for my children.”

  Frau Schultz shrugged, and turned away, and Ruth made as if to get up, but the trooper kicked out, sending her sprawling.

  “You haven’t begged me, yet,” he jeered. “Beg me, on your knees!”

  Ruth begged.

  The second man came to the door and yet again she had to beg, but at last, tiring of the game, they let her get up and carry her basket to the door. As she passed the Gestapo man, he took hold of the basket, and reaching into it selected an apple, biting into it with sharp white teeth before he let go of the handle again, and allowed Ruth to hand the basket to a white-faced Laura.

  “You carry this, Laura,” she said. “I’ll get the suitcase.” She went back into the bedroom and picked up the case that now held everything that they had left in the world. She didn’t know if Laura had remembered the money hidden in the bathroom, and could only pray that she had, and had managed to retrieve it. The cash under the mattress would have to remain there. No doubt Frau Schultz would find it soon enough.

  She gathered the children together and was helping them put on their coats, when Hans suddenly looked at Peter and saw he was clutching Flop-Ear, the rabbit Herbert had given him. Hans let out a wail, “Where’s Bunnkin? I want Bunnkin.” Pulling free of Laura’s restraining hand, he darted back to his bedroom to find his own rabbit. Diving among the tumbled bedcovers, he retrieved the rabbit, still dressed in his striped trousers and hugged it to him.

  “Wait a minute!” One of the Gestapo grabbed Hans by the scruff of the neck and lifted him clean off his feet, snatching the rabbit from him as he did so. “Better make sure you’ve nothing hidden in this.” He dropped Hans unceremoniously to the floor and ripped the head off the rabbit. Pulling out the stuffing, he peered into its insides before tossing it aside. Hans, grabbing the remains of his rabbit, began to scream, and immediately Peter joined in.

  “Get them out of here! Out! Out!” The Gestapo man pointed at Laura. “You, take them out.”

  Terrified, Laura grabbed at the boys, and still clutching the basket of food dragged them out of the apartment. Inge, moaning softly, clung to her mother, her face buried in Ruth’s skirt.

  “You’re lucky,” remarked one of the Gestapo. “You’re free to go. Your brother-in-law has been arrested.”

  Ruth stared at him. “Arrested?” she echoed faintly. “Herbert? Why?”

  “He was caught,” replied the man. “Smuggling diamonds out of the country.”

  “Diamonds? Herbert?”

  “Yes!” smirked Frau Schultz, “and now he’s been caught… and it’s all thanks to me! I’ve been watching you,” she went on gleefully. “I’ve been watching all of you. I saw him sneaking round, going to different jewellers, buying precious stones. I saw him getting ready to run. I saw him buying his ticket… and I reported him. They too
k him yesterday when he went to collect his ticket… and he had diamonds in the heels of his shoes!”

  One of the Gestapo gave a scornful laugh. “In his shoes! It’s the first place we look!”

  “And now I have my reward for being a good German,” crowed Frau Schultz. “I have a new home and you are back where you belong… in the gutter!”

  “And if I see you anywhere round here again,” the Gestapo man said grimly, “you’ll find yourself in prison and your children in an orphanage. Now get out.”

  Ruth picked up the suitcase in one hand, and pulling Inge along with the other, walked out of the flat, down the stairs, to where Laura and the twins were waiting for her in the street.

  5

  The night he had been arrested, Kurt had been frog-marched along the street to a waiting tarpaulin-covered lorry. There, along with several other men, he had been forced into the lorry, already so full of crushed humanity that it seemed impossible to cram in any more. Kurt stood, his arms pinned to his sides, with his face pressed against shoemaker Martin Rosen’s back. Manfred Schmied, the tailor from along the street, leaned heavily against him, and Rudy Stein, who had once been a teacher at the local school, was actually standing on Kurt’s feet. More and more were pushed into the lorry at gunpoint, until finally even the Gestapo could see there was no room for more. The engine roared into life and with a sudden jolt the lorry pulled away. In the back men cried out as the movement tipped and twisted them, crushing them violently against their fellows. Someone’s bladder failed and there was a strong smell of urine close to where Kurt stood. Someone began to sob quietly to himself, and the noise of general lamentation filled the lorry.

  Kurt lost track of time as the lorry rumbled and bounced its way out of the town. He could no longer feel his feet. He could hardly breathe, for the smell of sweat, urine and faeces that had filled the covered lorry was almost tangible. Others had been overcome by it and the stench of vomit was added to the mix. When they finally stopped, Kurt had no idea of how long they had been travelling in the nightmare vehicle. The stop was only for a moment or two. Outside they could hear shouted orders and then the lorry jerked forward again, bumping across an unpaved surface, before it came to a halt once more, and at last the canvas flaps were thrown up, letting the warm night air flood in. They were still unable to move, but gradually those at the back either fell or were hauled out, and the crush began to lessen.