Authors: Mona Golabek,Lee Cohen
Tags: #BIO004000
“I’m so sorry, but we mustn’t be late for the train,” Mrs. Bates said, taking Sonia’s hand.
“I promise! Sonia,” Lisa cried reassuringly as the three of them walked away. She watched them disappear, then broke down, tired of being brave beyond her years.
The next morning, at eleven-fifteen, the residents of 243 Willesden Lane put aside their chores and huddled again around the wireless to hear Prime Minister Chamberlain announce formally what everyone had long suspected—that Britain was declaring war on Germany. “It is evil things that we shall be fighting against—brute force, bad faith, injustice, suppression, and persecution, and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.”
Lisa sat on the couch next to Johnny, reassured by the weight of his large, strong presence but wishing she were as certain as the voice on the radio that “right would prevail.” She had mixed feelings about the coming of war— hopefully it would mean an end to the Nazis and would mean that she could return home. But when would that be, what would happen to her family in the meantime? Looking around the room at the worried faces, she knew that everyone shared her feelings—and that in their hearts they feared things would get worse before they got better.
The rest of the day was spent preparing a bomb shelter in the basement of the convent next door. Everyone pitched in, carrying sandbags and buckets of earth to use in case of fire and stocking the cellar with first aid supplies—the packages of antiburn cream, plasters, and bandages. Finally they dragged down their mattresses and linens and set up cozy corners to sleep in.
So they could have a second entrance to the convent, the boys made an opening in the fence, careful not to trample the hyacinths that Sister Agnes so loved.
At six o’clock they were called again around the radio. This time it was King George who spoke: “It is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet this challenge . . . to this high purpose I now call my people at home and my peoples across the seas. I ask them to stand firm and united in this time of trial.” His voice was more soothing than Chamberlain’s, and Lisa wondered secretly where the princess was and what she was doing.
Mrs. Cohen rarely spoke after the broadcasts, but tonight she switched off the wireless and stood up awkwardly. “Please, listen for a moment, children. I know you might be frightened, but it is now more important than ever for you to be courageous. You must try your best to be examples for the others around you here in Britain. Let us say a prayer of gratitude to the good people who have taken us into their country and help them in any way we can—especially by being extra obedient and courteous. We will go about our daily activities—you will go to your jobs as before, and we will put our trust in God.”
Lisa looked over at Paul, whose face was drawn and lifeless. He’d been given the news that afternoon that no more transports would be allowed to leave “greater Germany.” No more sisters and brothers would be coming until the end of the war.
Lisa had been the lucky one—Sonia had arrived on the very last train.
B
RITAIN READIED
itself for the German attack. Posters were slapped on subway walls, some showing dashing air force pilots in leather jackets, others showing German soldiers parachuting from the sky—“How to Recognize the Enemy,” they said, and described the German eagle-wing insignias to watch out for. Londoners walked around looking up, convinced the Nazis would be arriving at any moment.
The London Zoo brought its animals inside, stuffing boa constrictors and cheetahs into sturdy crates. Antiaircraft guns were set up in Hyde Park, and in a confusing attempt to throw the enemy off guard, road signs were uprooted throughout the city. Lisa was grateful she already knew her way around.
The assembly line at Platz & Sons was immediately switched over to the full-time production of uniforms, and Lisa’s floor now cut and stitched trousers for the Royal Navy. Flared bell-bottoms flew out of her machine, and she let her mind wander to the brave midshipmen who would soon be wearing them. Perhaps even Monty would get a pair.
One day, Mrs. McRae, the line manager, seemed less chatty than usual, and at lunch, Lisa overheard the other girls talking about the news.
“Mr. McRae has been shipped to France already! Did you hear? Last night, real sudden-like, with no warning at all. For God’s sake, don’t they have any concern for the missuses?”
“Now, how are they going to keep a secret if we know about it? U-boats’d get ’em ’fore you count to ten.”
“Guess you’re right. But they’re going to smash them stinkin’ Jerries, aren’t they. It’ll be over before Easter.”
Lisa listened to their conversation but didn’t feel enough at ease to join in. They talked so fast with their Cockney accents, it was all she could do to catch half of what they said. She imagined the dark expanse of the English Channel, the gray sky she had seen almost a year ago now, and pictured the men setting out to sea.
She was so grateful they were going; she’d sew a million uniforms for them if that’s what was needed!
Now that she’d become a permanent member of the hostel, Lisa was given her own drawer in the bureau which she filled with her music, the hairnets she needed for the factory, and several new scarves that she had sewn for herself during lunch break. The scarves were just pieces of cloth she had rescued from the boxes of donated clothes, but they gave her a fashionable flair, and made her think of her older sister, Rosie. Rosie! Where was her beautiful older sister now? Was she safe?
The hour from six to seven was a favorite time for everyone to gather in the living room and listen to Lisa practice. Since the gift of Mrs. Cohen’s sheet music, she no longer had to play only the pieces she knew by heart. Part of every session was an adventurous struggle through difficult new pieces, and she longed for her mother’s guidance. When the effort to learn something new was too tiring for her already exhausted fingers, she would lapse into her favorite, the Grieg piano concerto. She played the unforgettable first bars, Dum dum, da dum dum, and invariably, someone from the “committee” would hum the musical response: Dum dum dum da dum. The heroic and tender passages of the Grieg piano concerto had worked their way inside everyone’s heads, and the musical response to the opening bars had become the call to arms for a committee meeting. Aaron had been the first to do it, and the habit had stuck.
Sometimes, Gunter would sit on the piano bench to be closer to the beautiful music. His round, horn-rimmed glasses made him look a bit like a junior version of Professor Isseles. As Lisa had gotten to know Gunter, she had come to love his sweet and gentle manner. He had grown up in Cologne, where his father had owned a hardware shop, and he loved to play chess. Lisa liked his company on the bench and sometimes shared the images of the music that her mother had instilled in her.
“Hear that? That’s the sound of the deep blue of the fjords.”
Gunter smiled.
“Grieg was from Norway, so I picture this as a summer’s night when the sun never sets. Can you see it? Low in the sky.” She played the end of the elegant slow movement, then exhaled quickly and launched into a staccato dance.
“Ta ta ti da, ta ta ti da,”
she hummed along. “Those are the peasants dancing.”
“Must be exhausting,” Gunter said, making her laugh. Promptly at seven Mrs. Glazer announced dinner, and the children rushed to the dining room. As Lisa tidied up her music, she noticed that Johnny “King Kong” still sat in the corner. She looked over at him, and he put his notebook down and clapped. She smiled back and hurried to join the others.
Gina’s and Lisa’s beds were next to each other, and the two girls whispered confidences after lights out. One night Gina suddenly asked, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“Of course not!” Lisa blurted out honestly.
“I did,” Gina said in a conspiratorial voice.
“In Vienna?”
“Uh huh.”
“What was his name?” Lisa asked, riveted.
“Walter.”
“Did he get out, too?”
“He didn’t have to. He wasn’t Jewish.”
“You had a gentile boyfriend?” Lisa asked, scandalized. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Lisa didn’t say anything. Sometimes Gina was too confusing to her.
Gina continued her story. “He came to the train to say good-bye and brought me a flower.”
Suddenly Gina bounded out of bed and fumbled through a drawer in the dark, coming up with a sweet-smelling box. Lisa peered at it through the almost total darkness but made out the form of a dried flower.
“I can still see him standing there when I left. His pants were really wide and they were flapping in the wind—they made so much noise.”
“Do you miss him?” Lisa asked.
“Not really. I don’t really remember what he looks like anymore,” came the matter-of-fact answer. Gone was the scattered gossipy air about Gina that had bothered Lisa in the beginning. Now they were closer than ever—she had found “a best friend,” someone to help fill the hole of not having her sisters near her.
“Do you like Gunter?” Lisa ventured.
“I don’t know. He seems kind of soft.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing. I bet you he’ll make a lot of money when he gets older.”
“You think so?”
As the girls whispered, they heard humming coming from outside the door and down the stairs—it was unmistakable.
“Dum, dum, da dum, dum.” The opening bars of the Grieg!
Shivering in delight, they scuttled out of bed, trying not to wake Edith as they slipped their coats over their nightgowns and jammed their bare feet into their shoes.
The humming came again, followed by a quick whistle. Tiptoeing down the stairs into the dark foyer, they saw the front door was open. Gunter and Aaron were standing on the porch, peering at the sky through binoculars.
“What are you doing?” Gina asked excitedly.
“We’re spotting German planes,” Gunter said with importance.
“Follow us! Quick!” Aaron said, sticking a matchbook in the door as it closed so it wouldn’t lock them out.
“It’s after curfew,” Lisa whispered.
“We’re official plane spotters, come on, hurry up.”
“Where did you get the binoculars?” Lisa asked, not convinced.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Ooh, don’t say that, it makes me nervous!”
“We got them from the air raid warden. We’ve been asking every night, and finally he let us be spotters,” said Gunter.
The girls were led to the unlocked front door of the convent next door and up two flights of stairs. A ladder lay waiting under an open hatch, and they clambered through it onto a large flat portion of the slate roof.
“Mein Gott im Himmel!”
Lisa exclaimed, looking up at the extraordinary sight. The blackout of London had produced a wondrous celestial show rivaling the greatest planetarium. The moon had not yet risen, and the white band of the Milky Way seemed close enough to touch; the brightest stars twinkled like fairy dust.
Aaron got proudly to work. There were several blankets on the roof already, and he stretched one out and lay down, putting the field glasses to his eyes.
“We’re looking for two kinds of bombers, the Dornier Do 17 and the Heinkel He 111,” he said, scouring the heavens.
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Know-it-all?” said Gina.
“The Dornier looks like a pencil, the Heinkel is rounder.”
Gunter spread out another blanket and all four of them lay side by side, looking straight up into the sky.
Nothing moved. They looked and looked.
“What happens if you see something?” Gina asked. “You blow this whistle and the block air raid warden will hear you.”
Gina and Lisa shared an impressed look.
“Let me try,” Lisa said.
Aaron handed her the binoculars and showed her how to focus. She put them to her eyes and waved them around unprofessionally.
“You look like you’re chasing mosquitoes.”
Lisa slowed her motion and her vision came to rest on a close-up of a human face. She screamed, dropping the glasses. Everyone stared in the direction of her gaze. A neighbor, perched on the roof three houses over, waved at them. All of London was pitching in.
From then on, the “committee” met on the roof every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes Paul joined them, but often not; he had become more withdrawn since the failure to get his brother out of Germany. Lisa worried about him.
“Go back and get Paul,” she pressed Aaron as they trekked across the lawn.
“Oh, let him sleep,” Aaron said.
“No! I want you to get him.”
“I’ll go,” offered Gunter, ever the gentleman.
One night it was colder than usual, and all five huddled close under blankets.
The evening’s chatter was usually organized by Gina, who either told gossip from the factory, made observations about the royal family, or introduced a challenge, as she did tonight.
“Let’s each tell something embarrassing.”
Gunter groaned. “You go first.”
“All right, I will.” Gina launched into a rambling account of the time when she’d been a servant and had made some arcane faux pas that the others didn’t understand. Her stories always ended by making the point that her family was very wealthy and she knew more about silver service in particular or culture in general than the English upper class.
“That’s not embarrassing,” complained Lisa.
“Then you tell us something,” Gina countered. “Remember I told you about the castle? I was caught once throwing out the nappies, because they were so disgusting I was going to vomit.”
“You already told me about that, it doesn’t count!” Gina said.
“I’ll tell you something,” Aaron said, his voice taking on a seriousness it usually didn’t have. “I’ll tell you something, if you want.”
“Of course we do,” said Gina.
Aaron rolled onto his back, staring into the sky. “When I first came to England, I was sent to a little town near the Scottish border—to work in the stables. It turned out the lady who sponsored me had a little dairy farm. It was freezing all the time. I had to sleep in the barn on a cot, but I piled straw all around it, so I guess it wasn’t so bad. When everyone was called up, her husband joined the army—the day after he left she had me move inside.”