Bound by the Scars We Share Page 4

  Unusually, it was Zoshia who eventually disobeyed her father. One morning, she felt compelled to feel what was outside. Slowly and silently, she crept out when the family were still sleeping. She carefully opened the door of the barn and cautiously closed it behind her. At last! Zoshia felt the warm air on her cheeks and smelt the sweet aroma of the luxurious grassland which surrounded her. The sky was a blanket of blue, enveloping her whole being, and encouraging a calmness which in turn created a sense of freedom. Its immensity combined with the energy emitted from the swaying trees, gave her a feeling that she hadn’t experienced for some time. She felt at once a sense of herself as part of the universe. The silence was deafening as she ran as fast as she could, while feeling the grassland under her feet. She ran as if she would never stop until the sound of an aeroplane flying above her, brought her back to reality. She immediately fell on the ground, hidden by the tall blades of grass. The plane seemed to hover in mid-air. Zoshia didn’t dare to breathe. As peace reappeared, she lifted her eyes towards heaven. The German pilots, who might have spotted her from the plane and landed, continued to fly into the distance. When Zoshia realised this, she crawled like a small caterpillar back to the barn. She was much too frightened to stand up. Zoshia was greeted by Madame Duchamps, who held her close and restored her to Smule and Sarah, who were so anxious that they could not reprimand her. They understood why she had gone out and she had learned her lesson the hard way.

  For months after this event, Zoshia was pensive and did not communicate with her family. The feeling of helplessness which she felt was more than she could bear. Smule had told her that many young people in France were appalled by the occupation of the Nazi government and had formed a resistance movement to help sabotage the control of the German forces. Zoshia desperately wanted to do something to assist in the downfall of the evil perpetrators of the destruction of the Jews and told her father of her intention.

  “Where have you got these foolish ideas from, Zoshela? You cannot expect me to allow you to risk your life,” Smule told her, in a voice which faltered. He knew how brave his young daughter had become. Zara stated that if Zoshia could help the French Resistance to take young children to the Swiss border, she might be allowed to stay in the country and would therefore be saved.

  “Oh yes… please Papa!! I want to help. Please I have to do something,” Zoshia implored her father. He knew the resolve which Zoshia felt in her heart and that this was what she had to do. Despite his reservations and fear of the consequences of her being caught, he eventually relented.

  The French Resistance movement was affiliated to a wide network of people who helped to transfer Jewish children across a large terrain of land which separated France from Switzerland. They were helped by a group of Swiss men and women who were prepared to defy the Nazis by using knowledge of the tracks and cliff entrances to the huge forest which was unused by the authorities.

  Zoshia was questioned by those in charge of the movement. She was accepted and trained for six weeks on all aspects of physical and mental requirements which would be needed during her journeys through the woods. Of course she was terrified, but knew that this was the right pathway for her to take. She also felt valued as being part of something so urgent and important.

  At last she was assigned to a young man, Pierre Moulin, who would be her guide in taking eight young children through the rough terrain of the Risoux forest during the icy coldness of winter. This would be a petrifying experience for her but Zoshia knew that the most important thing was that she should protect the children, who were just ten years old, and a couple of them a bit younger. Pierre would concentrate on their route, to avoid the German soldiers, who would, in an instant, shoot to kill anyone they saw.

  Zoshia had been told by her parents to try and remain in Switzerland once she had transferred the children there. She hoped this would be the case but did not dare to think about it. Although she desperately desired this haven, the thought of securing her own safety while the lives of her family were still in peril was unbearable.

  Having arrived by train at Thonon-Les-Bains Station and all with false papers, they rushed to the nearby snow-covered forest which would help to shield them from any soldiers. It was dim, cold and miserable. Zoshia found an inner resolve to be strong and courageous. She was happier when nightfall covered them with its dark veil. Zoshia knew that Pierre was familiar with the route and felt comforted by that. Encouraging the children with smiles, hugs and praise, all executed in whispers, Zoshia hoped that this would melt the ice of death which might envelop them. They walked and walked till nightfall. Zoshia ensured that her charges kept up. She did not want these children, who were blossoming seeds of life, to experience the worm of death. It was very difficult trudging through the snow, yet the children, aware of the dangers ahead, never complained.

  Suddenly there was a gunshot. Then another. Then several all at once! Had they been discovered? How? No one knew they were there. Unless someone had spotted them leaving the station and heading into the depths of the forest. Pierre told them, “Align yourself with the branches and… pretend you are one of them,” he added with a smile on his face, as though he was suggesting a game to play, and certainly not as if their lives depended on it. “I don’t think they have any dogs with them, so we are in luck,” he whispered to Zoshia with hope and encouragement.

  “Quiet, little ones,” Zoshia mouthed to the tree absorbed youngsters who had blended with nature like primitive creatures naturally content in their habitat, but hardly daring to breathe. Zoshia’s heart was beating as if she was running in a race. This was a race for life and she prayed for salvation. They weren’t going to die, and she defied fate to allow this to happen to these innocent children. She wanted them all to live. They were so young and did not deserve to have their lives exterminated in this way. As the soldiers moved nearer towards them, they splayed their torches in different directions in the hope that they would find someone. Suddenly there were thunderous shots and shrill voices shrieking. The Nazis had begun to chase some foxes. All the soldiers followed to where the sounds were coming from. It was as if they believed that other refugees were trying to escape. They ran off in the opposite direction. Pierre signalled to everyone to remain where they were in case the soldiers returned. It was a blessing they did not bring any dogs and that foxes in the woods created a lifesaving distraction.

  “OK, let’s move on,” Pierre instructed, in a false jovial fashion as the children clamoured gingerly out of the trees.

  They trampled hurriedly through the snow as faces were numbed with the icy bitterness. As the days went by, the journey seemed never-ending and rations were low. Some of the younger ones whimpered with exhaustion. Zoshia had to be strong for all of them. At one point she had to carry a tiny child on her back for some of the trek, as they could not risk stopping. They knew that the Nazi soldiers might appear at any moment, but they hoped that this would not be the case. Zoshia was amazed at her own strength and she was grateful for the training that she had been given. “Oh, please how much further?” the children asked repeatedly.

  “Not too far now,” Zoshia frequently replied, trying to keep them calm. Suddenly they heard noises, voices and gunshots. “Oh no, they’re here!” Zoshia cried.

  Pierre picked up two children. “We are nearly there, but we will have to take this route which is extremely dangerous. Run! Run as fast as you can!” he ordered, urgently. Pursued by Nazi soldiers, Zoshia, Pierre and their charges reached the edge of a twenty-foot ravine. As it was dark, it was difficult to see the depth. For all of them, except Pierre, it appeared to be a huge hole covered with snow. “Jump – Now!” Pierre commanded. They all jumped.

  They landed in deep, soft snow and stayed there hidden. No soldier would take that leap as it was too high and too risky. The Nazis left, having presumed that everyone was dead. No one moved. Silence. No one was hurt. Pierre had known before they had jumped exactly where they wer
e. He knew that this dangerous leap would not have been possible without the soft snow to break their fall. Pierre’s plan to escort the children via a different route had been thwarted by the German soldiers and the ravine had been their only option. Now they had landed across the Swiss border where a resistance worker was waiting, on duty. “Welcome to Switzerland! You are safe now. Follow me,” he said jovially. They all followed out from the darkness into the misty dawn of light and the morning rays of safety. Zoshia hoped and prayed that she would be allowed to remain too.

  The children were told they would be able to stay with families offering to host them before the Swiss Secret Service would take them inland to seek asylum. Zoshia, at sixteen years old, was refused entry. Although thoroughly disappointed, she was delighted that her children were safe. Returning through the woods was just as dangerous but she trusted Pierre implicitly and the journey, though daunting, made her realise that she would continue to help the Jewish children as long as she was able to. Zoshia continued with Pierre to help many of them to escape undetected into Switzerland until she had to return to her family for good. They were moving on.

  Smule showed his pride and joy when he saw Zoshia again. He admired her heroism but inwardly was relieved that she had come back permanently to him in one piece. Each time she had left on a mission, Zara and Smule had been overcome with anxiety. This was the lifestyle that the Freedman family had become used to as the war progressed. In order to survive, they moved across France to a number of different hiding places supported by the French Resistance Movement.

  Smule and Zara decided to return to Belgium in July 1944 as they heard that the allies were making progress in defeating Hitler’s army. They took refuge in Brussels in an apartment in Avenue Louise near to the Gestapo Headquarters. It was a huge risk but surely the Nazis would never suspect Jews to be living nearby, almost at their front door. The representatives from the Belgian Resistance in Brussels brought them food and necessary supplies to sustain the meagre life they were leading. From the attic window they could see the German soldiers entering and leaving the headquarters across the road. Zoshia would plead with her father, “Oh Papa, will we not be discovered here? We are just too close.”

  Smule replied empathetically. “It is a risk, I agree. Life is a risk in these dreadful times, but we can’t keep moving. Your mother is very weak, and she needs some stability, Zoshela.” He knew his daughter was right but felt powerless to do anything else at this time.

  However, the inevitable happened. Their dreaded nightmare was realised when from their garret room they heard a fierce knock at the front door. “This is the end, Papa. Someone must have betrayed us,” Hannah shrieked in terror and Smule covered her mouth to silence her.

  “Offne die tier!” shouted a loud, harsh, authoritative voice. This was followed by the sound of two ferocious Alsatian wolfhounds, snarling and growling urgently, smelling out their prey. Smule whispered intensely, “We must go now! Immediately! We are at the mercy of those evil beasts if we stay. Let’s go! Quick! Quick!” The silence of their escape was roaring as the four desperate fugitives stealthily clambered down the external, spiral steps at the rear of the building, having left a radio on loudly. The Nazi hunters entered aggressively through the front door which was opened by the owner of the house Alfons Wouters, who deliberately took as long as he could to answer their knocking. “Je viens. Un moment s’il vous plait,” he stuttered in fear of his life. As the SS entered the building, they pushed Alfons out of the way and searched the house, room by room. It took them several minutes before they reached the top of the inner staircase to the attic. For some blessed reason it did not occur to the soldiers to scour outside; instead they started ransacking the attic room for the victims. Meanwhile the hunted animals were able to escape. Having been unable to find the Jews they had been looking for, the soldiers began to shout loudly; the dogs growling; guns shooting aimlessly yet threateningly as they ran all over the house and into the street. The desperados had fearfully fled from this horror and took shelter at the back of a bakery shop, which was owned by a secret resistance worker. Had they been caught, it would have been instant death by shooting or a slow death at a concentration camp. They had been spared by a higher force and they all prayed with tears of gratitude streaming down their faces.

  The pressure on their lives continued to take its toll on the Freedmans. They lived in constant fear; they ate meagre rations and were continually moving to different hiding places. Living on the verge of discovery at any time was exhausting and terrifying. Smule and Zara’s health began to deteriorate. But this nomadic lifestyle was to be their saviour as Zoshia and her family survived the war and returned to Antwerp in 1945 to rebuild their shattered lives. Zoshia would often say in the future that they survived because they had constantly moved around and that others were killed because they stayed in only one hiding place and were eventually betrayed and discovered.

  “How will we recover from this experience?” Zara asked her husband mournfully.

  “We never will,” he replied blankly. “We never will,” he repeated with the same monotone sound to his voice. Their gift of survival had been transformed into guilt for being alive. Their suffering, although a nightmare could not compare with those who had experienced the death camps.

  Zoshia would continually ask, “Why were we selected to continue living when so many others had died?” Zoshia would never be able to put this thought out of her mind. It was a question no one could answer and it would haunt her always.

  The effects of their years of persecution was plain to see. Zoshia had not experienced a normal teenage life; Hannah, now a young woman, had no positive memories and Smule and Zara suffered continuous ill health. For Zoshia, feelings of panic and worry often took hold of her and all her dreams were nightmares in which she relived those years of suffering and terror. She constantly feared the authorities. She was unable to confide in her parents as they still lavished their attention on a demonstrative Hannah. Despite the war having ended, Zoshia still felt separate; something her father tried to avoid all those years ago when he left Poland. And she still felt unloved by her mother. Zoshia hated this feeling and was determined to become strong and take control of her life. She would pray for courage.

  Grace 4

  During the war years, Grace loved her life with her Aunt Margaret and Uncle Peter, safe from strife. It was a little corner of the world where, for the first time in her life, she was happy. Her parents stayed in Harpenden with her brother, George, and sent the odd letter to Margaret (never to Grace directly) with money for Grace’s upkeep. Grace pursued her passions and nurtured her talent for drawing and ballet, the latter being her true love. She adored her ballet teacher. Mrs Ellison, knowing that the child had an innate ability, continued to push her to her limit. Grace practised tirelessly and with dedication every day. At this time everything was just as it should be for Grace. She loved her aunt and uncle, who doted on her and serviced her every need. They continually praised her efforts in the arts and the child blossomed.

  The effects of war were not damaging to young, eleven year old Grace. Her relationship with her aunt and uncle gave her a sense of security she had not felt before. She was free to play with her friends on the edge of the beach and search gleefully through the rocks for different sorts of sea creatures. Grace would fill up her little pink bucket with the world. On one occasion while searching under the boulders, she heard tremendous roars emerging from the sky. Grace saw crowds rushing and running in different directions. The screams were as loud as the roars that had caused them. “We are being invaded,” somebody shouted. “Quick! Hurry! Let’s get to safety,” screamed another voice. During the panic, Grace was trying to hide. She wasn’t frightened and thought of it as a game. She ran with her friend Polly and hid underneath a boat while giant birds flew overhead. They sat and giggled under their protective shelter, not realising the danger they were in. Eventually the sounds grew dim.
No bombs were dropped. The two girls clambered out from their hideaway and ran homeward. Grace heard Aunt Margaret’s voice calling out to her, “Oh, my goodness, you’re safe.” Though not a woman to raise her voice, she was overjoyed to find her little niece safe and gave Grace an affectionate tight hug.

  The war had caused separation for the Brookfield family. Edward and Jean did not want to evacuate their children to strangers like many families were forced to do. They were secure in the knowledge that Grace was safe with Margaret and Peter. Not wanting to be parted from George, Jean had insisted that she would be able to protect him. This had been the best option for them all, despite the fact that imminent threat of German invasion was always lurking like a savage beast waiting to spring on its prey. Edward was hounded by a constant feeling of inferiority as he had been prevented from enlisting in the army due to his weak left arm. He compensated for this by his bullying tactics. He seized every opportunity to dominate someone, particularly his daughter. It made him feel in control and gave him a stronger sense of his masculinity.

  It was now the summer of 1944 when Grace’s parents visited with George, who was eight years old. This abruptly took Grace out of the idyllic world she shared with her aunt and uncle. The atmosphere completely changed. There was a coldness which purveyed the air and Grace once more turned inwards. She would receive criticism from Edward, who would besmirch her free and easy appearance. “Why can’t you be smart like your brother?” he moaned. George just sat in silence. He was a quiet, sullen boy who never ever revealed his emotions. He was tall, slim and never smiled. He could speak but this was a rare occurrence. His grey eyes gazed downwards, and his hands were always crossed, one over the other. His downturned lips seemed to convey a miserable ambiance to his demeanour. No one ever really knew what he was thinking.

  “You always seem to be running outside to play with the other urchins. If you don’t stop these distractions and stay inside to practise your ballet, I will stop paying for your lessons,” Edward added vehemently. Grace resented his constant denigration and she suppressed her growing anger which was bubbling like a dormant volcano about to erupt. “Why does father have to be so cruel to me?” she would mutter, tormentedly to herself. When her tormentor and his family eventually returned to Harpenden, Grace breathed a sigh of relief, though felt guilty at her feelings of elation.