Bound by the Scars We Share

  About the Author

  Vivien Churney is an author, poet and artist, who lives in Liverpool. This is her debut novel.

  Copyright © 2021 Vivien Churney

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: books@troubador.co.uk

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  Grace’s story is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental. Zoshia’s story is a fictional reconstruction of the author’s mother’s life. Names, dates, places, events and details have been changed, invented and altered for literary effect.

  This story should be considered as a work of literary fiction.

  ISBN 9781800469167

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  This novel is dedicated to my brave and dear mother, to my father and to all my family and friends who have supported me. I would like to also dedicate this book to those who have struggled for freedom, especially women.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Zoshia 1

  Grace 2

  Zoshia 3

  Grace 4

  Zoshia 5

  Grace 6

  Zoshia 7

  Grace 8

  Zoshia 9

  Grace 10

  Zoshia 11

  Grace 12

  Zoshia 13

  Grace 14

  Zoshia 15

  Grace 16

  Zoshia 17

  Chapter 18

  Prologue

  Good fortune is a fleeting breeze,

  Flighty and fidgety as a child.

  It makes you calm and feel at ease,

  But its gentle touch soon leaves you behind.

  Alas, sorrow clings and holds on tight,

  And does not seem to want to depart.

  The feeling stays like an endless night,

  And remains there like a dagger through your heart.

  Vivien Churney

  A woman’s strength comes from within.

  Her intuition is bold and her love is fervent.

  The strength of a woman’s sadness ripples like her happiness.

  Her strength is gentle, yet mighty; ethereal and realistic.

  A woman with strength in her soul is a blessing.

  Vivien Churney

  Zoshia 1

  It would soon be Shabbos, the Jewish Holy Day. The afternoon sky made subtle shifts in light and shade, darkening slowly as the distant, hazy clouds lazily drifted towards the watery, winter sun. Two days previously, snow had fallen heavily onto the paving stones in the winding streets of Warsaw and its frozen impact metamorphosised into small hillocks of sleet that, in miniature, resembled the icy glacial formations of the Carpathian Mountains which surrounded the Polish city. The Jewish quarter. Footsteps of its inhabitants were rushing hurriedly through the corridors of roads, trying to carve out their lives amongst the sculptures of snow before the setting of the sun. Figures filled the atmosphere with their cloudy breath, as if they too contributed to the life forces in their freezing surroundings. Lining the streets were erect domains, with their first-floor windows open at different angles, to allow the last of the fading sun to penetrate inside and warm the tiny rooms which were inhabited by many of the city’s Jewish population.

  It was three fifteen in the afternoon. A bearded Jewish man, bent doubled, was walking precariously in slow motion through the deep sludge, carrying a heavy burden which could not be seen. He was a wise man, clutching his books which embodied the learnings of generations. As it was not yet Shabbos, Smule Freedman sat by his small window staring at the cobbled pavements filled with activity – each person was an instrument trying earnestly to play the melody of his life. He could see the vendors; the poor pedlars who would buy and sell whatever they could to make a living. A bit here – a bit there – anything to keep the humanity within their souls in one piece. Each day, the load was carried forward to the next. Smule watched his fellow Jewish people who enlivened the snow-covered streets. Into his view came the learned Rabbis, the grubby beggars; a wooden cart which contained an elderly man who’d had his legs amputated many years ago and was being pulled by his brother; the busy workers, keen to finish and close their shops and the groups of shivering, shawled women brusquely dashing home through the biting weather to prepare Shabbos for their families. He noticed the wealthier men in their fur hats and long coats – well protected from the coldness around them – chatting excitedly under the unlit, blackened lampposts. It was Poland with its slums and markets, businesses and shops, juxtaposing both hope and despair for the future. To Smule, each face revealed a story, a risk, a promise and a destruction. Just at that moment some young, beautiful girls walked slowly past his window, smiling and desiring romance and love from the world; from life, like nightingales singing their sweetest songs just before the darkest hour.

  It was Shabbos. The setting sun had faded into shadow and had been devoured by the earth itself. Nightfall had arrived bringing with it the sacred day of rest for all Jewish people. Zara Freedman, Smule’s wife, had laid the table according to Jewish tradition for their evening Sabbath meal. The aroma of freshly baked ‘Challah’ bread purveyed the small sitting room as the wine was opened. Smule, Zara and their beautiful dark-haired, brown-eyed daughter of seven began to partake in the prayer ritual of lighting the Shabbos candles and giving thanks, before eating their lovingly-prepared supper. In the dim candlelight, Zara’s saddened face appeared anxious and worried. She felt unable to utter the right words to her beloved little daughter; words which would change everything for her for the rest of her life. Smule sensed his wife’s fear and immediately took control. “Hannahla, your mother and I have something very important to tell you. We have been blessed. You are going to have a little sister or brother very soon. It is important that you behave like a good girl and help to take care of the new baby,” he gently whispered.

  “But I don’t want you to love anyone but me,” Hannah’s childish voice screamed in disbelief. “Please… No… I don’t want a brother or sister… I don’t” …as her tantrum became a whimper.

  Hannah Freedman was the centre of her parents’ world. She was an only child and it was she alone who had received their unconditional love. So it was a devastating shock when her young life was threatened by the imminent arrival of someone who would intrude on their perfect family. At seven years old, sharing was unknown to her. Zara adored little Hannah and doted on her utterly. Tantrums were pacified tactfully and the spirited child always felt that it was she who won any battles with her mother
. This time was different however, Hannah was certain that this baby would take her place in her parents’ affections.

  It was a surprise to Smule and Zara to discover that they would have another child, as they were completely content living in Warsaw with their beloved daughter. Despite the shock, they relished their good fortune and were excited for the forthcoming birth. They had waited a long time before telling Hannah, as they knew what her reaction would be. “I can’t believe it, Smule. Another child!” Zara cried to her husband in disbelief. “There will be no more peace for us,” she added allowing a smile to appear on her face. Zara was not a physically strong woman and this made her feel some trepidation about the impending birth. “Oh Smule! Do you think I will survive childbirth? I had such a difficult time with Hannah and I pray that it won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t worry, Zarala! I will be here to look after you all, you can be sure of that!” he replied protectively, taking her hands lovingly into his own and kissing them.

  Smule was a tailor who fashioned garments for both men and women. His stylish designs and quality of fabric cemented his reputation and many people from across Warsaw would come to him to have their clothes made. Short in stature with mocha coloured hair and a determined look in his chestnut eyes, Smule was a popular man with his friends and colleagues. Always direct in his approach, he made others aware that his words were sincere and genuine. A practical man, Smule had learned his trade from his father Nachum. This helped him to earn a living for his wife and family and to save money for the future. Smule was also a scholar and he loved reading; his home was filled with books comprising of an ample variety of texts. He had a well informed and intellectual understanding of humanity, resulting in his ability to be sensitively aware of people’s needs. He cared for others and would often bring complete strangers into his home for his wife to feed. Zara would be exasperated but admired her husband’s philanthropic nature. She too was a very caring person, who did not have patience with flippancy or silly behaviour. A strong looking woman in her external appearance hid her rather delicate, inward, physical stamina. With her mahogany, thick hair pulled severely from her face and tied in a chignon at the nape of her neck, Zara projected a stern outward manner but inwardly she was a good natured, compassionate soul. She was a strong support to her husband in his business, by attending to the accounts. Her nimble brain mentally recorded how much each customer had paid. Now she was expecting another child and was extremely nervous about the outcome.

  Zoshia Freedman was born on the 1st January 1926. It was an extremely difficult birth which left Zara feeling exhausted and utterly weak. The severe pain of the delivery left a lasting impression on Zara, making it impossible for her to look after her new-born daughter. She could never have imagined the intensity of the agony she had endured; the birth of Hannah had been troublesome but not like this. What had she done to deserve a baby that would cause her so much torment? Unable to take care of Zoshia, Zara hired a local girl, Agata, to help with the burden of her tiny daughter.

  Agata Wojcik was eighteen years old and very sweet natured. She loved children and was delighted when Smule and Zara chose her above all the other applicants for the post of nursemaid. Agata relished being in charge of caring for the new-born and made the necessary preparations. When her blue eyes met those of her charge, her heart melted. She felt a sadness for Zara who was trying to cope with the shock of the trauma of her childbirth and yet she enjoyed the time she spent looking after the little one.

  So it was a stranger who cared for Zoshia in her early weeks while Zara struggled to bond with the new arrival. How could she love her when all she could think of was the physical suffering that she had caused? The poor infant would often cry, craving the motherly affection that she so desperately needed. But Zara would not heed her daughter’s call and pressed her hands to her ears to muffle the shrieks that were so piercing. It was as if Zoshia’s lifelong struggle had begun at the moment of her birth, a struggle which would seem to pursue her with a strangled grip. For Hannah, her sister’s entrance into her world was unbearable and she was totally consumed by jealousy. Something inside made her hate this intrusion and was determined, at seven years old, to keep control over her parents.

  Even though Agata was besotted with Zoshia, she knew that she needed her mother at this early formative time and so she helped Zara tend to her daughter’s needs. Zara’s initial coldness to her baby gradually disappeared as her maternal instincts took hold. Love and warmth closed the distance between mother and child. She could see lots of herself in Zoshia even then and her heart slowly warmed to those beautiful eyes staring longingly back at her and, as time passed, Zoshia experienced the tenderness and affection which exuded from the kisses and cuddles which the growing baby had yearned for. Zoshia grew into a happy young child who constantly craved physical contact with Zara. But she was always at odds with her sister who would often win the battles in the war for their mother’s favour.

  In time, these personal issues became secondary to the persecution that Jews had begun to endure from the Polish authorities. Zara and Smule, knew that life as Jews in Poland could no longer be an option. “We have to leave this country, Zara. It is becoming too dangerous to live here. Who knows what may happen to us and the kinder,” Smule stated earnestly to his wife, putting his arm around her affectionately and kissing her.

  “I know,” Zara replied in a trembling voice. “We have to leave for all our sakes. We are being persecuted for just being Jewish. We do not harm anyone, yet we are hated. Why is this happening Smule?” Jews were made to feel separate and inferior, a life which Smule could not bear for his family. He was strong and forceful with a fierce protection of those he loved. His impeccable judgement forced him to make decisions in an instant. Zara, who worshipped her husband, had become weak after Zoshia’s birth, and prayed for the persecution to be over. The separateness which they endured seemed impossible and never ending. Although mentally strong, her physical energy was depleted, and the thought of emigrating was overwhelming. She knew in her heart however, that they would have to leave. Europe was the promised land for many Jews and Smule knew that this was the best choice for his family.

  Since World War 1, Poland had become an independent state inhabited by many minority populations. However, increasing Polish nationalism made it a hostile place for Jews. A series of pogroms and discriminatory laws were signs of growing antisemitism. Smule had found that his livelihood was threatened because of the growing anti-Jewish policy of the state, where the tax system discriminated against Jewish factory owners and merchants. Smule’s tailoring business suffered because buyers and customers boycotted his efforts, as they did all Jewish concerns. It was not just Smule and his family who were leaving; many Jews in Warsaw were also prepared to escape from the persecution in Poland and hoped to commence a new life elsewhere.

  Smule made arrangements to leave Warsaw, and emigrate to Antwerp in Belgium; the Jewish population there had been growing slowly for a number of years and Smule believed this would be a safe haven to live as free Jews. Smule’s friend, Alek Kaminski, was able to help him acquire the necessary papers for the Freedman family to leave. Smule began to make plans to depart from his sacred homeland, a place which had been tainted for him. He wanted to live a peaceful life and take care of his loved ones. Smule had saved money from his successful tailoring trade and this would enable him to settle elsewhere. Zara respected his plans and knew that she could rely on him to make the right decision. Although she was scared for her family and devastated at leaving her beloved Warsaw, she knew it was the best choice. The love of her country had been killed by the suppression of the Jews who were treated like second-class citizens.

  Smule and his family settled into a tranquil existence in Antwerp. His knowledge of textiles allowed him to establish himself again in the fabric business which would provide for his family. Zara and Smule felt at last that they belonged once more and were part of a commu
nity, being no longer made to feel different. They were settled at last and peace seemed to finally embrace them.

  Zoshia grew up feeling separate from a young age as her mother poured lavish affection upon her elder daughter to keep her placated. Zara loved her younger child, but did not seem to have time or energy to show her this. Little Zoshia would climb on her mother’s knee trying to gain her love and attention. “Mushki,” she would cry mournfully. “Can I stay here on your knee and cuddle you?”

  Zara would reply in an exasperated tone, “I’m busy now. Can’t you see that my Hannah needs me? Later! Now please stop whining!” Hannah ruled the household and Zoshia quickly learned to get used to it and instead found comfort in her toys, which replaced human affection for her.

  As time passed, Zoshia emerged as a clever and talented child who excelled at school; placed in a class with older children, Zoshia became mature beyond her years. She would rush home to tell her mother about her academic achievements in the vain hope of getting some recognition, but continued to be tortured by feelings of rejection when her mother seemingly ignored her. On the odd occasion Zara would praise her calling her a clever girl and Zoshia would beam with pride and happiness in these moments of approval – her blue eyes would sparkle with glee, as if her whole being would explode. But this affection would never last for long as she was constantly overlooked in favour of Hannah.

  Hannah grew into a very beautiful teenage girl, with her dark complexion and her coal-black hair, but she still held resentment for her younger sister who she thought had taken away everything from her. Clever and talented, her sister seemed to make her parents proud in ways that she never could. Hannah could not discard her powerful envy even though deep down she did love the little girl who played the piano so beautifully. But unable to master the instrument herself, Zoshia’s sister felt inferior and incapable in comparison. In order to compensate, she lured her parents’ attention whenever they appeared to focus their interest upon her sister. Zoshia soon realised the extent of control Hannah had over them.