Pennies For Hitler (13 page)

Once again Aunt Miriam made cocoa. They sat on the sofa together and drank it. It was almost cosy, the blackout curtains drawn in case a chink of light seeped between the boards. You couldn’t see the wood now, or the flames outside.

At last Aunt Miriam set her alarm for an hour’s sleep before she had to go to work. ‘Stay here tomorrow,’ she said to Georg before he went to bed. ‘I mean today. Don’t leave the flat unless the siren goes.’

He nodded, too tired to ask why.

She was gone when he woke up. He washed — they had filled bowls with water in case the taps stopped working, but it seemed the bombs still hadn’t damaged the water pipes.

He made toast for breakfast, with jam but no butter, in the dimness of the boarded-up kitchen. The paper said that there’d be sugar rationing soon. He would have liked to have a glass of milk, but even though that wasn’t rationed yet, of course the milkman hadn’t come. He had a glass of water instead, and turned the wireless on, then off. He didn’t want to listen to it now. He didn’t want to hear of horrors far away. His brain could only deal with
here
and
today
.

He had just washed up the dishes when he heard the key in the lock. Aunt Miriam took off her hat and coat, then sank onto the sofa. ‘George?’ She patted the seat next to her. ‘George, I’m sorry. I have some news you won’t like.’

‘Mutti?’ His voice seemed hardly there.

She looked at him blankly. ‘No, nothing from your mother. There’s no way she can get a message to us now. No, this is something different.’

‘What?’

‘My office is being sent into the country. Tomorrow in fact. We’ve been given twenty-four hours to get our affairs in order.’

The country! No bombs. Chickens maybe. Cows. A dog, he thought. A cottage with roses and quiet nights.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I can’t take you with me.’

‘What?’ He stared at her, unbelieving.

‘We’ll be living all together, the women in one room. I can’t take a child.’

‘I’ll be here alone?’ No, he thought. Not in the darkness of the blacked-out nights. He’d had a lifetime of darkness in the suitcase. He couldn’t stand to be alone in the black now.

‘Of course not. I’ll make sure you’re safe.’

‘How …?’ Realisation came slowly. ‘I’m to be evacuated?’

To a stranger, he thought. Up in Wales maybe. One of the boys who had briefly been at the church school had been sent to Wales. They spoke another language there, and it was cold. The boy knew another boy who had been beaten when he couldn’t bring in the sheep, but one of the girls said her foster family had been nice, just strange.

‘Not to the country. Not here, anyway.’ Aunt Miriam tried
to find the words. ‘I’ve managed to get you on a ship going to Australia.’

‘Australia?’ He stared. The pink splodge on the map at the bottom of the world! Where Mrs Huntley’s daughter lived. Where there were butterflies and … and what else? The English had sent convicts there long ago, and now they played cricket and some had black skins and boomerangs.

‘But … but why?’

‘George, things are going to get worse in England. Much worse. Most people have no idea how bad things will be. This bombing is going to go on and on. The Germans could invade at any time. There are stories of what happens when they invade countries — what they do to Jews, even to children. Australia is far away. As far as you can go across the world.’

‘I know,’ he whispered.

She tried to find a smile. ‘You’ll be safe there. In England there are so many evacuees, it’s hard for people to cope. But over in Australia there are lots of families who really want to help. One ship has taken children there already. All the reports say they are settling in well.’ She hesitated. ‘I have a new passport for you. I told the official your old one was damaged in the blast. It’s only a little change — you are “George” now on your passport too.’ Just one letter changed, he thought. An ‘e’ to make me English for the Australians.

‘Australia,’ he said again. It was hard to get to England from Germany. Impossible for Mutti or Papa to get to Australia in war-time. No way even to let Mutti know where he was.

‘I can’t look after you,’ said Aunt Miriam quietly. ‘Even though I’d like to.’ He thought that almost was true. ‘But my job is important. Every job is important if we are going to win this war.’

He was silent for a while. She let him think. Aunt Miriam wasn’t good at some things but she was good at giving you time to think. At last he asked, ‘When do I go?’

‘The boat train leaves at two o’clock this afternoon. I don’t know when the ship sails — things like that aren’t public any more in case a spy tells the enemy. But I think it will be tomorrow or the day after.’

She stood up. ‘You’d better pack your suitcase — all your clothes and your passport. There’ll be other papers to fill in that you’ll need to keep to give to your foster family too. Toothbrush, soap. A book.’

‘Only one?’

She tried to smile. ‘The list said only one. I don’t think they’ll notice if you take more. Just one suitcase though.’

He had hoped he would never have to touch the suitcase with its tiny holes again. Now once again it would be his companion on another uncertain journey.

It had seemed so far from Germany to England. He thought of the vast stretches of blue on the map between England and Australia. How many submarines crept stalking beneath those waves? Storms, whales … The ocean was frightening. But he knew that those who stayed here faced worse dangers.

‘Can we say goodbye to Mrs Huntley?’

‘Of course,’ said Aunt Miriam, still trying very hard to smile. ‘Of course.’

Already it seemed strange to be going to a train station when there wasn’t a raid to shelter from. They walked across the park
to the library first, Aunt Miriam carrying his suitcase. They had reached the pond when Aunt Miriam stopped.

The library was gone.

In its place was a heap of rubble, just like any other heap of rubble. A few pages fluttered about, but apart from that you’d never have known it had been a library, and not a house or shop.

‘It must have been hit last night,’ said Aunt Miriam tightly. ‘Mrs Huntley would have been at home.’

In her shelter in her backyard, thought Georg, with her husband and the photos of her children and grandchildren. But not with her dog.

He hoped that the shelter had kept her safe, but there was no way to find out, not this afternoon.

There had only been two nights of raids so far. What would London be like if the raids went on for weeks, or months? No Aunt Miriam at the flat. Now no library either. Mutti, Papa, home, even Elizabeth. Would everything he ever loved vanish?

‘I’m sure Mrs Huntley is safe,’ said Aunt Miriam, in the too-firm tone that adults — even Aunt Miriam — used when they knew you’d never know if what they said was true or not. There was no time now to even try to find Mrs Huntley. What could he say if he did, except goodbye?

They turned back towards the station.

Chapter 16

They stood like a tiny army, almost a hundred boys and girls, some as young as four or five. He was one of the oldest; he was twelve now, though his two birthdays had gone unnoticed by Aunt Miriam.

There were no parents. Goodbyes had been said back at the station. Instead they stood silently, each in a coat, a hat, a scarf, with papers in one hand, a single suitcase in the other. Some of the little ones sobbed, but most stared dry-eyed and defiant, as though they dared Hitler to make them cry.

Around them soldiers bustled, sentries with rifles and bayonets to guard the port; and even more sailors in blue uniforms saluting, marching, purposeful. The few adults not in uniform had clipboards and showed their passes every few minutes as they marshalled the children towards the ship. There were grey-painted guns everywhere — giant ones, pointed at the sea and sky.

Georg glanced down at the strips of sea visible between the big grey ships. It looked oily, black and cold, like the darkness of the suitcase. He forced himself to look at their ship instead.

It was a big ship. Georg was glad. They were going to face a big ocean, with German U-boats below as well as bombers above. In front of their ship was the long grey destroyer that would accompany them beyond England, into the safety of the oceans beyond the usual shipping lanes where, the adults hoped, the circling U-boats and bombers wouldn’t find them.

The escorts lined them up in two rows. Two of the escorts were nurses, in white veils and blue dresses under white aprons. Two others were chaplains, in clergymen’s collars. The others were women in ordinary clothes. He supposed men couldn’t be spared these days to take children across the world. The women were neither young nor old. They looked a bit like Aunt Miriam, not in appearance, but in the way they dressed — sensible heels and thick skirts and leather gloves — and the calm competency with which they moved.

‘Come on, step lively,’ called the shortest of the chaplains. ‘Left right, left right. Let’s show the navy how British children can march.’

Georg thought the sailors had better things to think about than how well kids marched. None of them even glanced down as the escorts marched them aboard and then down the stairs, into a large room. Their names were called out, they were put in groups of five or six and then each group marched to a cabin.

There were six bunks in his cabin. He stared at the other boys. They stared back at him, and at each other. They’d been flung together by the mysterious workings of adults.

‘Now, I’m sure all of you will soon be friends,’ said their escort a bit too brightly. Her name was Miss Glossop, and Georg had the feeling she might be in charge of the whole shipment of children. She looked at her list, then back at them. ‘Now this is
Harris. Harris is five.’ Harris had a sticky nose and swollen eyes. He knuckled away his tears.

‘This is Joe Pondley. You’re seven, aren’t you, Joe?’

‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Joe.

‘And Joe McIntyre, he’s eight. And George and Jamie, you’re both twelve, so that means you’re in charge of the younger ones.’

Jamie and Georg glanced at each other in hope and suspicion. We’re stuck with each other, thought Georg. At least Jamie didn’t look unfriendly.

‘Keep an ear out for the whistle,’ said Miss Glossop. ‘One sharp burst means get into bed, or lights out if you’re already in bed, or time to get up. Two long whistles means you have five minutes to make sure you’re dressed properly and come and stand in the corridor.’

‘What do we do then?’ asked Jamie.

‘Wait,’ said Miss Glossop crisply, ‘till someone tells you what to do. Three whistles means put on your warmest clothes and sturdy shoes and coat and grab your life belt,’ she gestured to the life belts on the wall, ‘then stand in the corridor.’

‘What happens then?’ asked Jamie again.

We sink into the cold dark sea, thought Georg.

‘Someone will take you to your lifeboat. But it’ll be just a practice,’ said Miss Glossop brightly. ‘We’ve the big ship to look after us, and then, well, it’s a big ocean. The enemy will never find us there.’

Then why do we have to practise with life belts? thought Georg. He wondered how long a life belt would keep you floating. What if you drifted off, in the sea, and no one ever found you? What if the torpedo blew up half the ship and there was no one to tell them to go to the lifeboats? Would the children
stand outside their cabins, like the guards outside the Palace, not moving as they sank under the waves?

‘What does being in charge mean?’ Jamie gestured at the two Joes and little Harris. Georg was glad Jamie asked the questions, not him.

‘Make sure they brush their teeth and go to bed when they are told and especially don’t try to climb the mast or up on the rails,’ said Miss Glossop. Georg had the feeling she was used to boys. She handed him and Jamie a typed sheet. It was the weekly timetable with clearly marked meal times and physical training and games times and lessons.

‘Any more questions?’ asked Miss Glossop.

‘When’s dinner?’

‘When the whistle blows twice you —’

‘I know. We stand out in the corridor and wait.’

Miss Glossop looked like she was going to correct Jamie for interrupting. But she didn’t.

‘You’ll like the food.’ Miss Glossop sounded resolutely cheery. ‘There’s bangers and mash tonight.’ She bent down and whispered, ‘And red jelly.’

‘I feel sick,’ said little Harris.

‘There’s a basin under the bottom bunks,’ said Miss Glossop. ‘Bathroom is down the corridor and down the stairs — they’re called a companionway on a ship, so I suppose we should also start saying that, just like real sailors. What do you think?’

‘I feel really sick,’ said little Harris.

‘It’s going to be a wonderful voyage,’ said Miss Glossop, smiling grimly. ‘Now I’ll see you all later.’ She shut the door.

The boys stared at each other. ‘Can I be sick now?’ asked Harris.

But he wasn’t. Instead he curled up like a hedgehog in winter on one of the bottom beds — the older boys decided they’d have the top ones and the youngest the bottom, and put their coats on the empty bunk in the middle.

Georg lay on his bunk and pretended to read. So did Jamie. He thought the two Joes were crying, but he knew they wouldn’t want him to look.

It was dusk when Georg felt the rumble of the ship’s engines.

‘We’re moving,’ said Jamie. He sat up. His eyes looked red, but they stared fiercely at Georg, daring him to even think that he’d been crying too.

Suddenly the whistle blew — once, twice.

‘Well, at least we’re not sinking yet,’ said Jamie. ‘That were a joke,’ he added, as the smaller boys stared at him.

‘Out into the corridor,’ said Georg.

They lined up against the wall, as one by one the other children came out of their cabins too. The escorts moved among them, lining them up, then two by two they marched along the corridor. The escorts called out ‘left right, left right’ as the children marched up the companionway and out onto the deck. Sailors strode here and there, doing whatever it was that sailors did.