Remember Me (6 page)

Marianne hesitated outside the dining room. She rubbed the sore place on her thumb, where she’d bitten the skin. Then she walked in and stood in front of Aunt Vera.

“I am very displeased with you, Mary Anne. I understand that you miss your mother, but I cannot allow you to make a nuisance of yourself. You embarrassed me,
and
my friends. What you did is like begging.”

“It is wrong to try save my parents?” Marianne asked softly.

“Don’t exaggerate, Mary Anne. They must wait their turn like other refugees. It is not a question of saving, but of good manners. Now, I am waiting for an apology, and a promise not to behave like this again in my house.”

“Sorry,” said Marianne.

“And, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your hands.”

“They are quite clean, Aunt Vera. I brush them.”

“You must stop biting your nails, and the cuticles. It is an ugly habit. Try harder in everything, Mary Anne. Now go and finish your homework. Goodnight.”

Instead of doing her homework, Marianne began a long delayed letter to her cousin Ruth. She’d emigrated to Amsterdam with her parents last November. Uncle Frank was a furrier and had a job to go to in Holland. That’s why they’d got a visa and been allowed to leave Germany.

Marianne had just sealed the envelope, when she heard the doorbell. Footsteps came running up the stairs. A moment later,
Bridget knocked at her door. “Ready for your English lesson? I brought Pa’s
Times
– you can practice reading from it.”

“Bridget, I have a great idea,” said Marianne.

“What?” asked Bridget.

“Promise no word to Aunt Wera,” Marianne said.

Bridget groaned. “Vera, V like vampire, W is like in water. Yes, I promise.”

“I have to find work for my mother. I will knock on doors and ask. Aunt Vera must not find out. Will you help me write what to say?” Marianne asked her friend.

“It’s a brilliant idea – of course I will,” said Bridget.

“Sank you,” said Marianne.

“
Th
, put your tongue between your teeth like this, thank you,” said Bridget.

“Thank you,” said Marianne. “Is better?”

“Much,” said Bridget. “We can put the advertisements under doors, even if no one’s home.”

“Hurry, Bridget, I can’t wait longer,” said Marianne.

“Let’s look what they say in the
Times
under
DOMESTIC SITUATIONS REQUIRED
. You read it, Mary Anne. It’s good practice for you.”

Marianne said, “This one’s from a girl in Berlin! From
Turinerstrasse.
Listen: ‘I am a girl of eighteen who likes dressmaking and is fond of children.’ We can write like this for my mother?” She almost shouted.

“Easy. Just change the words a bit. I’ll write it down for now, and type it up on Pa’s typewriter later. I’m a bit slow, but I’m
accurate. We’ll go together. Two’s much better than one, and if there are watch dogs, I have a great affinity with animals,” Bridget declared.

Marianne and Bridget jumped up and down in excitement.

Gladys came hurrying up the stairs. “Mrs. Abercrombie Jones wants to know if you are deliberately trying to give her a headache?”

“I’m very sorry, Gladys, please tell Aunt Wera.”

Gladys closed the door behind her.

“Listen,” said Bridget. “Gifted Jewish dressmaker …” she started to write.

“Say good cook, no, wery good cook,” said Marianne. “Love the children.”

Bridget interpreted this as: “Gifted Jewish dressmaker, excellent cook, fond of children, wishes to come to England as a domestic.”

“Now, what about your father – what can he do in the house?” asked Bridget.

“Nothing. Vati cannot boil water for coffee. He only likes to read.” Marianne smiled, thinking of her father.

“No problem,” said Bridget. “We’ll say ‘Husband works as a gardener / handyman.’ That means he cleans shoes, and cuts grass, rakes leaves, that kind of thing.… Now give me the address, and I’ll say ‘Please write immediately to.…’ ”

Marianne printed her mother’s name and address. “Thank you, Bridget.”

“I’ll start right away. How many do we need?” Bridget asked.

“More than one hundred?” Marianne asked hopefully.

“Tell you what – I’ll begin with twenty-five, and we’ll see how many replies we get.”

They ran downstairs.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Abercrombie Jones. I’ve finished Mary Anne’s English lesson. I have to go now,” said Bridget.

“Thank you, Bridget. Please give my regards to your parents.”

“I will,” said Bridget. “And Mother sends her regards to you, too.”

“You would never know that child comes from Irish stock. She has beautiful manners. You may go and help Gladys bring in the tea things.”

“Yes, Aunt Wera … Vera.”

Marianne heard Mrs. Abercrombie Jones say, “Do you think she does it on purpose, Geoffrey?”

O
n Saturday after lunch, Marianne and Bridget set off to deliver the first batch of
DOMESTIC SITUATIONS REQUIRED
.

“We’ll start at the top of Avenue Road – those big houses looking over the park. We’d better go to the back, where it says
TRADESMEN’S ENTRANCE
,” Bridget said.

“You think we look like tradesmen?” Marianne giggled to cover up her nerves.

“Mary Anne, we’re not doing anything wrong. It’s not like we’re asking for money.”

Bridget had this knack of knowing what Marianne was really thinking. “I’ll do the first one,” she said.

“No, I must do it. Look, this house is number five, my lucky number,” said Marianne. “Even when I was small, I used to make bargains with myself. I would make a kind of promise. Walk to the corner, keep head up. If men in uniform come, if I keep walking, if I’m brave, something good will happen.”

“I do that all the time too. Alright, you ring this bell; I’ll do the next one.”

There was no reply, though they heard the wireless playing though the kitchen window. Marianne pushed the note under the door. The next two houses were closed up, the milk crates sitting empty on the back step.

Then they got three answers one after the other. In one house a very grand butler wearing a striped green waistcoat said, “I will make sure this gets delivered, young ladies.”

“Let’s do one more,” said Bridget, and then walk over to Gloucester Place. “We don’t want to put all our eggs in one basket.”

“Sometimes,” Marianne said, “English drives me mad. Where is the basket with the eggs?”

Bridget’s face went red and she laughed so hard the tears streamed down her face. “It means we’ll have a better chance of success if we don’t concentrate on only one street,” Bridget said, when she could speak again! “It’s a figure of speech – understand?”

Marianne groaned. “Thank you,” she said, exaggerating the
th
sound.

She took the last note for Avenue Road, rang the bell, waited a moment, then pushed her paper under the door. It opened suddenly and she almost fell over the threshold.

“Little girls, vot you doink here?”

Marianne straightened up to face a plump young woman with dark hair tucked under a maid’s cap. She wore a pinafore over her striped uniform. Their advertisement was in her hand.

“Come inside, it is cold. My name is Miriam Levy. I vork here.”

Bridget hesitated, but Marianne pulled her arm. “It’s alright. Trust me.” To the woman in uniform, she said, “I’m Marianne Kohn from Charlottenburg, Berlin. I’m trying to bring my parents to England. Do you speak German?” Then she put out her hand and the woman shook it, nodding her head. Marianne saw that she was only a few years older than they were.

Miriam replied in German, “I’m so glad to meet you. I came to England at the end of last October. I’m trying to bring my mother over too. My father was arrested after I left. My brother is in Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. He is only seventeen.” She pressed her hand against her lips to stop their trembling.

“My father was there for a while. I don’t know where he is now,” Marianne said.

Bridget coughed several times to remind them of her presence.

“Oh, Bridget, I’m so sorry. It was rude of us not to speak English, but Miriam’s a refugee too. Miriam, this is my best friend, Bridget O’Malley. She’s helping me.”

“I am wery pleased to meet you. Come sit. I just now was making the coffee. Madam is shopping. I pour you a cup, or you like better tea?”

“Tea, thank you, Miriam,” Bridget replied.

“Coffee, please,” Marianne said gratefully. The smell instantly brought back memories of home: poppy seed rolls on the blue and white plate; Mutti and she drinking coffee (hers mostly milk); Mutti’s look of mixed horror and amusement as Marianne confessed to walking down
Kurfürstendamm
, watching the elegant
ladies perched outside on little gold painted chairs at the pavement
Konditorei
tables; imitating the waiter’s voice as he offered them whipped cream on huge portions of apple cake – “
Mit Schlag Gnädige, Frau?
”; the chestnut trees in blossom in spring, rows and rows of them; the lights that never went out in the city; the words of the language she was born with that she didn’t have to struggle with every minute. Marianne looked at Miriam.
Does she feel this kind of homesickness, too? For what we’ve lost, for what we’ve never had because we aren’t Aryans?

Miriam offered them biscuits from a tin.

“You go ahead, speak German. I don’t mind,” said Bridget.

Miriam said, “No, I never vant, but perhaps some words – if I don’t know how to say.”

Marianne asked her, “How did you manage to come over?”

Unconsciously, Miriam replied in her native tongue, “I met Mrs. Smedley in Berlin in 1936. She was on holiday with her husband, for the Olympic Games. I was eighteen. She asked me for directions to her hotel. I walked with her, then she invited me in. I explained it was not allowed because I was Jewish. She took my arm and said, ‘I am an English tourist; no one will stop me.’ So brave! We had coffee in her suite. She told me if I ever wanted to go to England, if things got worse, to write to her. When my father’s business was taken away, and I lost my job as his bookkeeper, my mother told me I should write to Mrs. Smedley. It was an opportunity. I did, and she sponsored me. She is very kind. I make mistakes, but she makes allowances for me. My friend Hannah lives in London too, but she lives in one little
room. When she wants a bath, she must pay sixpence for the hot water.” Miriam poured more coffee. “She works in a house-hold where they are mean to her. I think she is often hungry.”

“Why don’t the Jews in England do more to help?” Marianne burst out in German. “Sorry, Bridget, just this one question.”

Miriam said, “They help all they can, but there are so many of us trying to get out of Europe. Mrs. Smedley says in England less than one percent of the population is Jewish. A few are rich, but most are like us – poor, or immigrants, trying to bring their relatives to England. I’ll keep this paper, Marianne. I might hear of a place for your mother.”

The front doorbell rang.

“That will be Mrs. Smedley. I must go.” This time she spoke English.

“Good-bye. Thank you,” the girls said, and went out the back way.

On the way home, Bridget said, “You looked funny in there.”

“That’s not very polite.” Marianne was offended.

“I didn’t mean funny ‘funny,’ only different. I haven’t heard your name said like that before. Marianne, it sounds nice. Look at the time – Pa has fits if I’m home after dark.”

“Thanks for coming with me, Bridget.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Bridget grandly.

They went all the way back without stepping on the cracks of the pavement even once. It couldn’t hurt, and it might help bring Marianne’s parents over to England more quickly.