In the documentary film entitled ‘Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport (2000), there is a scene where an elderly woman is questioned about her experiences as a Jewish child sent abroad before the start of the Second World War to the UK for safety. The British government accepted 10,000 such children. There were strict conditions about age and background and parents were excluded. So these youngsters were transported across Europe from Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia and Poland to the UK. Thanks to the actions of the UK Government some of these children would be the sole survivors of entire Jewish families by the close of the war.
This sweet old lady spoke in gentle whispers about her experience. Of her fear on the train on being separated from her family. How her father ran alongside the train at the station waving goodbye and she a young child, not understanding the horrendous situation, sulked and refused to hug or speak. To her she was being forced abroad and she was angry, confused and very frightened. They were allowed only one small case and at the border German guards entered the train of the scared children and searched them and their small cases terrifying them. When they crossed the border at the very next stop complete strangers handed in through the windows chocolate and sweets to welcome them. She could remember both the cruelty of the German guards and the shocking unexpected kindness at this first station outside Germany. The taste of the chocolate was sweet and unforgettable. A taste of freedom and she remembered the children cheering.
Later, she arrived in a hall in England where she awaited a family to give her a home. People came and chose a child at lunchtimes in the village hall where they were all eating. She remembered not been chosen week after week. Watching others being picked on all sides. After a month a couple eventually chose her and she was so excited and so grateful she could barely speak. Aged eight she arrived at a strange home and was shown her bed in the small room upstairs. Grateful for this family choosing her at last, she tried to show her feelings by giving them a hug before going to bed. She had memories of her parent’s good night routine. In a gentle heartbreaking voice almost a whisper, but still wounded, she described how the woman told her “None of that soppy stuff here!” and pushed her away. It did nothing to reduce her gratitude to the couple but as the weeks and months passed she realised they had wanted a servant. Her role was to clean and work not receive kindness and love.
Her disappointment, even now, fills her voice, her eyes, the room, the screen and all eye watching. Unbearable in its longing for something more. You want to reach in and hug that eight-year-old, ease the pain of her rejection. Why are such simple memories so vivid and so raw? Why do they reach across the decades and make us long that things were different? Her gentle acceptance, her resigned tone, awakens you to the sweet child still confused by the world’s unkindness. Your heart feels whittled and besieged by the unfairness. These days when refugees again stream across Europe may we all fare better than this mean spirited example. But remember, although devoid of love or tenderness, that couple did save a young life. Perhaps, they claim a far higher moral ground than us today? Now, that thought chills the very heart.
