Bound by the Scars We Share Page 8

  After two weeks had passed, Harvey left to go back to his medical practice in Liverpool and Zoshia departed for Antwerp to return once more to her family. This brief visit to London had proved to be more than she could ever have hoped for. After Robert, Zoshia thought she would never be able to fall in love again. However, she had met Harvey; someone who had enveloped her whole being. He had told her he loved her and she had reciprocated his feelings.

  Zoshia returned to Antwerp a much more content person. Having left home, Zoshia felt that her world had come to an end! No one would have thought that she would meet another man who would open the doors to life once more as Robert had done. And yet here was Harvey, though much older in years, who had stirred something within her which she thought had died. She felt alive and finally had something to live for. While relating her experiences in London to her family, Smule and Zara were delighted to see the happiness radiate from their daughter. Hannah, though very envious of her younger sister finding love before she had, begrudgingly congratulated her. Yes, she felt resentful, but glad of her sister’s joy.

  “I love him so much,” Zoshia told her parents, with an excitement she had never felt before. This time she could share her feelings with her family, which reinforced the validity of her emotions. Yes, the true love she had felt for Robert was powerful but this was even more intense and she did not have to question whether or not her family would approve because she knew that they too would feel a strong affection for him. The cards had been dealt and this time she had won the jackpot. The word happiness, which she had seldom been able to utter, had now overtaken her soul. This was why she had survived the horrific persecution, so that she could experience the meaning of true love. This was all that mattered.

  “Zoshia, is that the doorbell?” Zara shouted as she stirred the goulash which she had prepared for lunch.

  “I will answer it, Mushki,” replied Zoshia who had just had a bath and had dressed herself ready for lunch. As she opened the door, she could hardly breathe. She could not speak. She pinched her arm tightly to check that she was not asleep dreaming this…

  Harvey had travelled to Antwerp to surprise Zoshia and with the intention of asking Smule and Zara’s permission to marry their daughter. He had been very anxious for the whole of his flight, constantly practising how he would first request Zoshia’s parents to allow him to become her husband and then how he would propose directly to Zoshia herself. He loved her so much and could not imagine the rest of his life without her. He knew that coming to Antwerp was a terrible risk as he had not informed the Freedmans of his visit, or the purpose of his sojourn.

  As she opened the door, Harvey blurted out, “If you don’t agree to marry me, I will give up my medical practice and I would no longer wish to live. I love you to the depths of my soul. You cannot say no,” he begged in earnest.

  With tears falling down her cheeks, Zoshia slowly uttered in the affirmative voice, “Yes.” They both knew that this would be for life, as they rushed to ask her parents’ permission. Smule and Zara agreed immediately and were so happy as this handsome man was a perfect match for their precious daughter. Hannah smiled and wished them well, yearning inside to be the one who was planning a wedding.

  Their wedding was a quiet affair and took place at the Hollandse Synagogue in Antwerp on the 28th July 1950. Harvey’s family attended and Zoshia’s family were present. Zoshia’s uncle and aunt came over from London and the Pilkingtons attended as well. Zoshia was ecstatic and so grateful that she had found a true escape from her previously unhappy life. Now she had broken away from the continual dominance of her sister who had suppressed who she was. With Harvey, she knew that she would learn to become whole. To love and be loved; she was able to do this. She hoped to live happily in England and finally be free from the years of persecution she had endured during the Holocaust. She felt positive; a feeling that was new to her. At last Zoshia had real hope for the future.

  Grace 8

  Freedom tasted so sweet to Grace. Although she did not have much money, except for the small amount which her father had given her, she felt independent. There was enough to get by and she enjoyed the release from Edward’s tyranny. Grace had found a job working in a flower shop, which she loved. Designing bouquets appealed to her creative sensibilities. It was inspiring to make choices of colours and shapes and compose them into the finished product. Grace felt very pleased when customers congratulated her on her arrangements. She was utterly content living in the guest house belonging to Moira’s aunt. Peggy was an ample, cheerful woman with a large mop of curly red hair and a smile that consumed her face. She did not charge the girls too much rent and her cooked breakfasts were enough to satisfy the most ravenous appetite.

  London life suited Grace. She loved to visit the numerous coffee shops and savour the coffee aroma and the friendly ambiance. Grace was intoxicated by the intense vibrant chatter and laughter. She found the smoke hazes that enveloped the rooms completely enticing. There was such intrigue when she listened to the groups of young beatniks, with their long hair and beards, discussing the arts. Gradually, after several visits, she started to sit with them directly and as her confidence grew, she gradually discovered that she had a voice and an opinion. Delighted with the responses she received and the respect her ideas conveyed, Grace at last felt her intelligent brain was being fed. Her isolation and sense of loneliness had diminished, and it was within these intellectual friendships that she found a sense of belonging. As a woman, she had started to feel a sense of parity with the male sex. Intellectually Grace was able express her views. It was her enquiring mind that impressed others as it was often difficult to respond to some of her obscure questions. The freedom to openly question ideas was exhilarating; throughout her life Edward had always prevented her from doing this and she had been forced to submit to his beliefs.

  It did not occur to Grace to consider entering into a permanent relationship with anyone. She enjoyed her freedom, something which was new to her. However, there was the sound of her father’s voice somewhere in the back of her mind, saying that she should be married before the age of twenty-one. It was unfortunate that she began to listen to this imagined comment more frequently, resulting in her attempting to analyse her male friends as potential husbands. Why did her father have such a strong influence on her? Was it because of his unmoveable adherence to the role of women in society as being subservient and not particularly important? She knew he looked down on women. Grace understood this was his subconscious anger at his mother leaving him and the power of the pain that controlled him as a result. Grace’s generation understood their position was to be married at a young age and bear children and not to focus on their own potential as career women. Did she really want this role? Grace knew she was continually under the spell of her father’s doctrine and therefore there was an intense inner utterance where he dictated her thoughts and actions. There was this hidden feeling, however, that maybe she could have both worlds and would not have to submit to the traditional paradime of a woman’s life to which most of her gender would have gladly yielded.

  A young beatnik, Victor, who had studied music at Cambridge University became besotted with Grace. He adored her innocent beauty which reminded him of Eve. Victor loved the way she discussed all the arts, in particular, her passion for ballet and her love of reading. So their shared interests created a close intimate relationship. He loved her to the depths of his soul. Grace was unsure. She didn’t quite know why. Maybe their difference in social class worried her and of course she knew her father would sneer at his background, even though he was educated. Grace just knew that to be kind, she would have to curtail their relationship for Victor’s sake as well as her own. She told him that their relationship would have to remain platonic and Victor was devastated. He could not believe that the girl he cared for so much, could not and would not return his love. There was no more friendship and Victor disappeared into hiding.

  Grace
was offered a job as an au pair in Hampstead. As a live-in nanny, she would have to leave Peggy and Moira which was upsetting, yet thrilling at the same time. She would be living with a celebrated family in a very large house and of course she felt she would have responsibility for the safety and care of two children. There was Jenny, who was six years old, with auburn ringlets framing her petite elfin face. She loved to be cuddled as her mother, Laura, an actress was often too busy with her theatrical roles. Her father, Brian, was also a very successful actor and had little time to show enough affection to his adorable child. Michael, aged eight, with his dark brown curls, was a mischievous imp who would love to play and tease people. The emotions that Grace felt were so new, and she felt a warmth rise up inside her as the children created a feeling of tenderness that had been lacking all her life. Grace was content in her new role. She was often able to visit her favourite Italian coffee bar and chat with her friends there when the children were at school or in the evenings, when their parents weren’t performing. On one of these occasions, Grace was sitting at a table enjoying a coffee and a Chelsea bun, when she was attracted to a striking looking man sitting opposite to her. He was alone and gazing intently at her with a smouldering stare. He looked very serious and there was no sense of joy in his face. His look was inviting and Grace felt herself shudder as he rose from his seat and walked very slowly and determinedly towards her table. Grace’s heart was beating, something that she would become very familiar with. He asked quietly, “May I please sit down at your table?” Grace could not reply. She just nodded silently and submissively, as he moved the chair and sat down brusquely beside her. The paths in life have many routes and her future would be changed permanently from this moment.

  Peter Kempson was a tall dark-haired architect. His appearance was commanding. He had the look of a military officer, somewhat like Errol Flynn. Grace was fascinated by his self-confident intelligence. His parents had moved from London to Grimsby when Peter was fourteen years old. His father was in shipping and his mother was a dressmaker. As a young boy, Peter loved drawing and continually amazed his teachers with his designs of cars, buildings and lorries. Having gained a scholarship to the University of York to study Architecture, Peter excelled at this subject, achieving a distinction and consequently found himself a job as an architect in Hemel Hempstead in Hertfordshire. For him, everything had to be in order. Peter loved neatness. Beauty and perfection were his ideals. Control was essential, as this enabled him to feel a sense of mastery of his world. The life of Peter Kempson revolved around his producing perfect plans on the pages of this architectural papers. This discipline reigned supreme within his life where he practised self-restraint in all things: harmony, symmetry and classification ruled his actions. When he attended meetings, he was always one step ahead. He had just been to an important conference at his head office in London’s Baker Street and had walked the city streets to concentrate his mind. Passing the coffee bar, he saw a waif-like young woman sitting alone at a table. “She’s for me,” he muttered to himself, smiling inside at the thought of catching her.

  Grace was completely overcome by his charm. She was extremely impressed as he told her about his career. He displayed all the credentials that her father had instilled into her; he was clearly the kind of man that Edward would have approved of. This handsome debonair gentleman seemed to really like her and so Grace used all her charm to keep him interested.

  They saw each other as often as they could and their relationship was very physical and passionate. In her naivety and innocence, she relished his strength of character, which made her feel safe and secure. This sense of security, she realised, was something she had always yearned for. No criticism. No coldness. When he held her tightly and told her that she belonged to him, she believed that he would cherish and take care of her.

  Victor still loved Grace and felt desperately unhappy that she had rejected him. Once more visiting their coffee shop, he helplessly watched her relationship develop with this man who he despised. He continually tried to warn her against marrying Peter. Grace just assumed that Victor was jealous and consequently took no notice of his words. One day when Grace was waiting for Peter, Victor sat down beside her. She wanted him to leave but he insisted on saying one thing to her. Victor uttered in a quiet tone, “Grace, you are a rose about to bloom, but my sweet flower, Peter is not a gardener. I beg of you for your own sake, please, please don’t stay with him. He will leave you with nothing but thorns, having plucked your petals bit by bit.” With those words he left and that was the last time she ever saw him.

  Peter’s hold on Grace was very strong and she was powerless to resist. When he proposed to her with a ring at a restaurant, she did not hesitate and agreed to marry him. He insisted on a quiet wedding with just the two of them plus Moira and Peggy as witnesses. Peter decided that they should not invite their parents as this would only cause complications. “You are mine,” he said with whispered strength.

  Wearing a white flowing dress and fresh white flowers in her hair, Grace resembled an angel on her wedding day. The sunlight peered in through the stained-glass windows of the registry office in Hemel Hempstead and the beam of light created a halo around Grace’s blonde curls and as she looked up at Peter, a shadow fell across them both. It was as if she was a ray of starlight in a stormy sky. In the silvery light of the sun, Grace looked radiant and unveiled by any possibility of darkened clouds.

  So, Grace glided into marriage in a blissful shroud of happiness, adoring the man who would promise everything that she had ever wanted. She would be married and command the respect of her parents and maybe even her estranged brother would hold her in high regard too. The future was hers and Peter’s. She would be twenty-one soon.

  Zoshia 9

  It was a brief honeymoon, but Zoshia had never felt happier. How fortunate she was to have met Harvey, she thought to herself. Bruges seemed to be the perfect setting for their special time together; a fairytale medieval town, which had been preserved in time with beautiful squares that were surrounded by doll-like houses. They walked through cobbled alleyways framed by brick archways; sat at the edge of the canal watching the milk-white swans swimming leisurely past them; visited the many historic sights and romantically rode in a horse and carriage. Zoshia had never experienced the joys and delights of a holiday, and to be there with Harvey, was more than she could ever have dreamed of. Their world together was as one and this helped Zoshia to dispel her inner pain. Harvey had unlocked her heart and the misery from within seemed to have escaped.

  Liverpool in 1950 was still suffering the effects of World War II. The sustained bombing had been heavy because Liverpool was a large port and was a valuable asset. The city centre remained scarred and full of bombsites and large areas of the town had been flattened. There were small dilapidated tenements huddled together all in desperate need of care and attention. Liverpool’s heart had been crushed by air raids and many buildings were left damaged beyond any form of repair. Whatever had been left behind through bombing had been disembowelled by fire. Despite this aftermath, there was optimism, and even though there was rationing and poverty, people were determined and hopeful of better times ahead.

  Many parts of the outer regions of Liverpool had been left intact and Harvey had bought a house in a smart suburb and he and Zoshia were blissfully happy. He would work hard all day and his new wife took delight in creating recipes for his meal when he returned home. Even though restrictions of rations intensely limited the outcome of her cooking, they were both living each day in the contentment and warmth of their strong mutual love. Zoshia had lived on a lot less in her life and this seemed luxury in comparison.

  It was, however, a huge culture shock for Zoshia to arrive in a city that had never actually been invaded by the Germans. Living in the provinces where no one understood the extreme persecution she had been through, Zoshia found great difficulty in relating to other housewives in her neighbourhood. She felt that some
how people blanked the fact that so many Jews had been sent to death camps or had their lives stolen from them while having to run away from persecution. She knew though that Liverpool had been bombed and that those living in the city centre and not in the suburbs had endured much hardship. Zoshia tried to attend coffee mornings so that she could meet and become acquainted with people. On occasions, Zoshia reached points of utter frustration in her mind; it was as if no one understood or sympathised with her disastrous experiences. She felt as if she was boring others with her discourse and therefore began to refuse many of the invitations which she received.

  Old feelings of insecurity started to build up inside her as Zoshia began to feel as if she was an outsider once more. She was a foreigner living in a strange city with people who even thought that she, herself, was from Germany. As she was unable to drive, she had to walk at least two miles to the nearest shops or wait for long periods of time for the bus. Sometimes she preferred the wait at the bus stop, because she loved to chat to strangers who seemed to Zoshia, to display a more keen interest in her. She felt that no one really cared about what she had been through and she found this very difficult to bear. Zoshia was very happy in her marriage and this happiness was clearly evident when Harvey arrived home from work with lots of stories to tell her about people and events that had happened that day. Sometimes during the evening, she would answer telephone calls for him, which made her feel more useful and important. If there were no calls, then they would sit and chat or play music together. If he had to go out then Zoshia would sit and read. She did often feel lonely, despite her love for Harvey, as she had no real outlet for her intellect. Harvey would not allow her to work as he felt it was his duty to care and protect her. Reading was a wonderful companion for Zoshia as she waited for her husband to return home so they could be together and she would envelop herself inside the warmth of his love.