Bound by the Scars We Share Page 7

  “My darling, I can’t marry you. I will remember this moment forever. Please, please forgive me for hurting us,” she pleaded, crying with hopelessness, but at the same time trying not to embarrass herself. Marriage to Robert would have been her dream, yet, despite his pressured persistence, the relationship ended that evening. Zoshia was alone once more and drinking from the cup of her own suffering.

  Robert returned to England, a broken man.

  Zoshia was devastated. What had she done? She felt that she had ruined both their lives. While Robert was with her, Zoshia felt whole and now there was nothing. Only emptiness. Her job at the trials was over and her year of love had finished too. Desolation encompassed her as a huge, black cloud. The intense heartache she felt was kept inside, as she was unable to confide in her parents. No one knew her excruciating pain and she found it extremely difficult to cover up her immense unhappiness, but she did. The only thing that cheered her was the fact that her parents’ health had improved, although she knew that they would never be the same again. Zoshia had been like a caged bird who had been set free and now she was returning home to her family to beat her wings against the apparent captivity which would confine her to her birthplace once more. Having arrived at her parents’ residence, life seemed unbearable as Hannah took centre stage with her problems. Having a romantic relationship with someone, and being away from home, Zoshia was less aware of Hannah’s influence and her constant, continuous, criticism and torment. Now her suffering seemed relentless. She had to leave once more.

  A huge decision was made. Smule’s brother, Max Freedman, lived in London and it was agreed that Zoshia would stay with him and her Aunt Isobel. Leaving Antwerp for London allowed her to abandon the anxiety and suffering that she constantly felt. She hoped that staying in Britain’s Metropolis would create an alternative future. This time, she told herself, she would truly escape.

  Grace 6

  Grace blossomed into a beautiful and creative eighteen-year-old young woman. She had continued with her ballet lessons and had appeared in many amateur performances. Still sustaining her dream of becoming a professional dancer, Grace practised every day. Her other passion was art and she continued to pursue her love of painting and drawing. Having passed her Higher School Certificate, she was offered a place at St Martin’s School of Art in London. She had worked so hard at producing a portfolio of work to show them and now, at last, she truly believed that one of her dreams had come true.

  When the letter arrived, she rushed in anticipation to open it. Having read it, she showed her father and mother who were eating breakfast. “I am so pleased. I have been accepted by St Martins Art School, father,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement.

  “Well, young lady. Listen to me. You have indulged yourself far too long. It’s time you found an appropriate position that befits a daughter of mine. You are not going to mix with the worst in society at one of ‘those’ establishments,” he stated, impassively yet emphatically. “I will not pay, nor will I pay for any more ballet lessons. Forget those ideas once and for all.” He continued calmly to spread the jam on his toast, as he dispassionately destroyed Grace’s dreams.

  “But please, father! Please, please don’t do this!” Grace cried. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, as her father and mother continued to eat their breakfast in silence. The stifling of Grace’s needs was overwhelming. She felt persecuted and let down by her parents. She knew how much they had supported her brother and would never ever thwart his ambitions so hard-heartedly.

  Out of loneliness, Grace joined a progressive Christian church in order to find comfort. With the people there, she found solace. At last she felt she belonged and was needed; a feeling that she had never experienced before. Grace was so happy to be able to join in with a community spirit. She made friends and no one questioned her. It was as if she was liked for who she was and she relished this new experience. This communal singing seemed to be intoxicating as the hosts of happy voices sang their immortal magic. Even this group of people were subject to criticism by Edward. Jean always nodded in agreement. She would never usually express a point of view. “You are trying to mix once again with unsatisfactory people. I am certain that the object of the exercise is for you to be able to flirt with the male members in the group,” Edward remarked in an angry voice.

  At this time and surprisingly, Jean added, “Grace, you’re acting like a young floozie.” Their daughter could not believe what was uttered from her parents’ mouths. She could not reply. This was one of the many arguments that she had to endure, which made her feel utterly worthless; her misery growing more intense with each day.

  It was nursing that gave Grace new hope. She was accepted by Westminster Hospital in London to train as a nurse. Grace was extremely delighted by this and it seemed that her father was satisfied with this choice of occupation; one which, he thought was suitable for a woman. She was sent to a children’s ward where many young patients were suffering from tuberculosis. Grace found it extremely distressing yet ultimately rewarding. She would tend the sick children and help them to find some sort of comfort from their physical distress. A number of them inevitably died from the disease and every loss was hard for her to bear, particularly as she could not help becoming attached to them. This was something that she was told not to do but her heart ached for these helpless victims.

  In her first year of studies, Grace excelled at the course which involved drawing aspects of the human body. Grace loved this part of the schedule and together with her obvious nursing skills, she achieved a distinction after the first year. Her life was seemingly falling into a pattern of contentment and progress but fate soon intervened and dealt Grace a crushing blow. The course became more difficult. Mathematics had always been difficult for her at school and despite studying earnestly and with dedication and commitment, she failed this part of the curriculum. Her failure was compounded by having to work in the men’s wards, which she found embarrassing and upsetting. There was a feeling of bitter helplessness once more, even though she had tried so hard to succeed, particularly to please her father. She knew that others thought that she was a good and capable nurse but this was not enough.

  Unfortunately, her feelings of insecurity gathered momentum when she became subjected to an attempted seduction by a senior night sister. Bertha Burke had noticed this slip of a girl for some time and hoped that in befriending her, they might become close. During a night shift, as Grace was washing her hands in the bathroom, Bertha entered and brusquely put her arm around Grace’s waist. “We are friends, aren’t we Grace?” Bertha uttered very softly, hoping for a positive response.

  “Of course, we are friends,” replied Grace innocently, though wondering why she needed to ask such a question. “Good girl,” replied Bertha as she moved in closer and attempted to kiss Grace on the mouth. “What are you doing? No… Stop!” Grace shrieked. At this point Bertha left the room, leaving Grace dumbfounded.

  For days afterwards, Grace felt as if she was in a mental stupor. There was no one she could confide in. Why would Bertha try to kiss her? Grace had never given her senior sister any affection other than as a friend. Hurt and confused, Grace made her decision about her career. She felt that this was the final straw in a year of great difficulty. She had to give up nursing. There were too many obstacles for her to overcome. She felt stripped of her initial success. Why did it have to come to this? Grace felt that she was being punished for no reason. She had always tried to be a good person and help others, but it seemed to her that there was no respite from personal suffering. This was a turning point in her life. When she told her father, he was cold in his response. “It seems, Grace, that you do not have the capability to amount to anything in your life. What a disappointment you are.” Grace wept at her father’s words. Emerging from within was a sense of hatred. She no longer believed that anyone or anything, despite her prayers, could help her. The only person she could rely on was herself. All her
religious beliefs seemed futile and pointless, so Grace abandoned her faith.

  Fortunately, she had managed to save some money and because of this Grace ultimately decided to leave the family home. “Go, you foolish girl. It might do you good to fend for yourself and realise all we have done for you. Yes, go!” Edward stated impassively and gave her a cheque. Their daughter was very grateful for this unusual display of support from her father. Jean said nothing. So, at the age of eighteen years old, Grace arranged to share a room with her school friend Moira with whom she had kept in touch. At school, Grace and Moria had been very close and this continued into adulthood. They would often talk on the phone and chat about their lives and their problems. Moria Mitchell was a girl with a very happy disposition. She was round in shape, but her large green eyes smiled on their own. Always caring about humanity, she showed genuine concern for her close friend’s difficulties.

  As she sat in her bedroom, Grace pondered her life with her family so far. Yes, she had been granted opportunities to study as she wanted but somehow, despite this, she had never felt the emotional love that a growing child needed from her parents. Materially, she had wanted for nothing and so she had never experienced financial hardship. But her unhappiness was compounded by the sorrow she felt with no physical love; no embraces; no praise; no encouragement. Despite this, she did love her mother and father and part of her was sad to leave them. Looking around the room that had been part of her life for so long, Grace felt anxiety overtake her whole being. The pretty yellow and green flowered wallpaper had been her companion every night as she traced the shapes of the flowers with her fingers. Grace remembered how, during her childhood, she had she stared at the brown wooden doors of her wardrobe and could see the patterning of the wood becoming lions’ faces. She loved her green and yellow tweed carpet which she had kneeled on to do her drawings or to practise her ballet steps. This was home – her life – and now she was leaving to an unknown future. She knew she had to, as it was much too difficult living with her parents. Before she went to sleep that night, Grace opened the window to breathe in the fresh air as usual from outside. Staring at the navy sky, and the moon, which seemed to be smiling at her, Grace remembered many other nights, other skies and other moons. It was as if that sky had been a cloak that had shielded all her sorrows when she had looked at it throughout her young life. But now she was discarding it and hoping that her future would be daytime.

  So, it was with much sadness that on a rainy morning she said goodbye to her father and mother to embark on a new part of her existence as a young, independent woman. Edward muttered that she should be very wary of others who might want to take advantage of her. He carried on reading his paper and did not look up. Jean accompanied her daughter to the front door and Grace was certain that she saw a tear in her mother’s eye. “Goodbye, my dear. Keep your wits about you and remember all that we have taught you,” Jean instructed solemnly. Her daughter walked with suitcase in hand to the bus stop trying with difficulty to remember what they had taught her.

  With Moira, Grace moved to a guest house in Camden, London, which belonged to Moira mother’s sister, Peggy. She was a kind-hearted, lovely woman who welcomed them both. Grace was very pleased to have this threshold of a new beginning where she could be herself, without the criticism from her father; the nonchalance of her mother and the uncaring attitude of her brother George, who had made no attempt to have any kind of sibling relationship with her. She had escaped. Freedom looked very inviting and exciting as she felt that the world was there for her at last to enjoy.

  Zoshia 7

  Zoshia could see that everywhere she went in London had been heavily bombed, and destroyed buildings were a familiar sight. Ariel bombings had devastated commercial districts and the industrial and residential parts of London. Bombardment affected the historical heart of the city and the port of London had been demolished and wrecked. Transport was reduced, which affected the availability food supplies. People were extremely shocked at the havoc that had destroyed a large number of buildings and which created shortages of all essentials and necessities. Many people were homeless or displaced. Despite the devastation that had been created, the war was over and everyone was grateful. Post-war London, seemed like paradise to Zoshia. She had escaped both mentally and physically from the external oppression that she had been subjected to all her life. Although she had not forgotten her beloved Robert, and never would, she felt that this was a new start for her. She had to be positive. This was a new country, with new people; a world that could open up endless possibilities.

  Zoshia stayed in a small apartment near Regents Park, which belonged to her Uncle Max and Aunt Isobel Freedman, who had moved to London before the war. Max was also a very well-respected tailor and earned a good living making clothes for the elite in the city. He and Isobel had been fortunate to have missed the persecution in Europe yet unlucky to never have had children. They loved Zoshia and she was made to feel very welcome. Her aunt was an affectionate and kind woman who Zoshia felt she could confide in. Each day they would take long walks in Regents Park and Zoshia would look at the green gardens and the majestic lines of trees, which seemed to welcome her with their beauty. At one with nature she gradually began to heal her inner torment and though her pain would never be forgotten, Zoshia, felt strengthened and at peace.

  However, she could not forget Robert, who was ingrained in her being. She remembered their mutual love for each other and the deliriously blissful times that they had spent together. His touch, his gentle touch. Oh how Zoshia wished that she could contact him. But no. The pain would be unbearable. She mustn’t. Was being in England the reason why she felt so close to him? Strength was needed. No, she would use all her inner resilience to force herself not to think of him and, as the time passed, Zoshia felt herself thinking less and less about Robert and more about the future and how she could change her life.

  Her relatives would often invite their friends for dinner and Zoshia would enjoy entertaining them by playing the piano. She adored the emotional music and delighted in the freedom of engaging an audience with her talent. She hoped that one day she would be able to achieve her ambition of being a concert pianist. On one such evening, her adept capability immediately captured the attention of a young doctor, Harvey Spencer. He had come to London from Liverpool at the invitation of his friends for the weekend. A General Practitioner, he had bought a surgery in the city having achieved distinction in his medical studies in Cardiff and had successfully completed years of training.

  He had previously joined his brother Hayden in a practice in Tonypandy, South Wales, and together they had worked hard to build up a reputation. The local patients respected and admired them, but Harvey was restless. He wanted the freedom to run his own surgery and when he found one for sale in Liverpool he had jumped at the chance.

  Having come from Bargoed, in the Rhonda Valley in South Wales, Harvey found it very difficult at first coming to live in a large city, where he knew very few people. Harvey was convinced, however, that he had made an excellent purchase and felt in his heart that he would earn a good living. A clever, intelligent man, who had a very caring nature, he would certainly make an excellent doctor for his future patients. For now, though, he was in London gazing at this beautiful girl, who clearly was much younger than he. Harvey was transfixed by her.

  He was struck by her delicate beauty and an ethereal quality which she exuded by her smile as she played the notes on the piano with such intense passion and love. He too adored music; Chopin in particular. His love of playing the violin made him very aware of Zoshia’s sensitivity. He had to meet and talk with her. Holidaying in London, he had been invited to Max and Isobel’s home that evening with some friends of his: Emma and Nigel Pinkerton who had known Zoshia’s aunt and uncle for many years. Fate has a way of affecting and changing lives and on this night, destiny dictated that Zoshia’s life would be completely altered as she became entranced by the handsome, s
lightly older gentleman who stared so intensely at her with his mesmerising green eyes.

  Harvey was introduced to Zoshia by Emma Pinkerton and it was easy to sense that their attraction to each other was, in an instant, magnetic. When he complimented her on her piano playing, Zoshia looked at him spellbound. Easy to talk to, she found Harvey comfortable to be with. As they chatted, time seemed to stand still. They discussed a mutual love of so many things; politics, literature but above all music. As Zoshia spoke fluent English, she was able to communicate with Harvey easily. Even though he had studied medicine at Cardiff University, his heart was always filled with the love of music. His father, Immanuel, and his mother, Ruth, had insisted that he should follow an academic route to a profession rather than pursue his love of music as a career. Like all his siblings, he was forced to work hard. Harvey had studied medicine and had become a doctor, but his true soul was elsewhere. When Zoshia played the piano, it was as if she was reaching into his deepest self. Her attraction to him was more than his outward appearance. She found his analytical mind fascinating and stimulating and she adored to listen intently to him speaking in his musical Welsh accent. Harvey was Jewish and this meant everything to Zoshia. There were no religious obstacles to overcome as there had been with Robert.