Page 131 of The Gathering Storm

‘I’ve had a phone call from my father in Switzerland. Your blessed country has agreed to allow unaccompanied Jewish children under seventeen to refugee to Britain without visas. Papa says they’re talking about five thousand initially. It’s the reaction to Kristallnacht, of course. And, wonderfully, the Germans have agreed to let them go. Papa’s helping to finance the operation, because of course they won’t. And my aunt Lotti – Lotti Kaufmann, she’s only a sort of step-aunt-in-law, but she and Papa played together as children – she’s helping to organise things in Germany, and he wants me to go and assist her. So we have to go, right away.’

‘Now? This minute?’

‘You can have enough time to pack a bag, but otherwise, yes, this minute. The Germans are in favour of the scheme at the moment, but there’s no knowing when the bastards might change their minds, so every hour counts.’

‘I have a job, you know, unlike you. I’ll have to get permission from Hélène,’ James said.

‘Not permission, just tell her you’re going. This is more important than any job. Don’t stand there arguing, go and pack! We’ll get a taxi and call at Hélène’s on the way. I’ll telephone Aunt Lotti from the station to tell her what train we’re taking, and she’ll meet us at the station in Berlin.’

He urged James into his bedroom and stood fidgeting in the doorway, watching him pack.

‘You know I don’t speak German, don’t you?’ James said.

‘You’ll pick it up. I’ll teach you some phrases on the train. Anyway, I speak it fluently. I’ll be your translator.’

‘Then what am I for?’

‘Another driver, for one thing. Another body to do the paperwork. Another child-handler. Also, and specifically, you are tall, fair, blue-eyed and handsome, and you’ll appeal to the Nazi officers who have the power to make things difficult, much more than short, dark me. Put in that blue pullover – it brings out your flaxen milkmaid complexion. And don’t forget your passport.’

Unexpectedly, Hélène made no objection. The international reaction to Kristallnacht had been instant and condemnatory, and the world of fine art, which was her milieu, contained many Jews. After the horrors of the pogrom, it was coming to be understood that there was no future in Germany for Jewish people, and the question was only when and how they might get out, not if they would have to. But getting out, and finding a place to go, was hard.

Hélène listened to Emil, and said at once, ‘Of course you must go, James. This may be the most important thing you ever do. But be careful, both of you. These are not rational people you will be dealing with. They can turn on you at a word. You have enough money, Emil?’

‘My father has arranged an unlimited draft on his bank for expenses for both of us.’

‘You had better have some cash to be going on with. Bring me my bag, James.’ She took out her purse and extracted a wedge of banknotes. ‘An advance on your salary,’ she said, pressing it into his hand. ‘You can stop at the bank on the way and change it.’

‘That’s too generous,’ James protested.

‘No. I would go myself if I were a man. Go save people. And come back. Your job will be waiting for you.’

It was in the taxi on the way to the station that James caught up with all the words that had been said. He turned to Emil. ‘Unaccompanied children?’ he queried. Emil only looked at him. ‘But will the parents let them go?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Emil said.

On the train, Emil said suddenly, ‘You know I am, don’t you?’

‘You are what?’

‘Jewish.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ James frowned. ‘You don’t go to synagogue or anything, do you?’

‘No, but it doesn’t matter to the Nazis. To them Jewish isn’t a religion, it’s a race. The Nuremberg Laws say if you have three or four Jewish grandparents, you’re a Jew.’

James thought about it. ‘Are you scared?’

‘Not for me. You and I have two of the three safest passports in the world.’ He stared out of the window for a moment. ‘If I was German, I would be,’ he said, after a while.

Lotti Kaufmann was a woman in her forties, smart, energetic, efficient. She was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, her face made up to enamelled perfection, her clothes fashionable but businesslike – expensive suits, silk blouses, hand-made but practical shoes – and she smoked incessantly with a short ivory cigarette-holder, using it to punctuate her speech. Her English was excellent, as was her French. She seemed one of those fortunate beings who could not only learn a language easily but master the idiom and accent as well.

She had been working for a Jewish refugee agency for some time, and had developed a good relationship with German officials in various positions.

‘They want the Jews out,’ she told James briskly. ‘All of them. And most of the Jews are now willing to consider going. The difficulty is finding somewhere to send them. Countries that sympathise aren’t always eager to admit them. We had been settling a lot in Mandatory Palestine, but that hasn’t been so easy lately, with the Arab unrest there. It’s different with children. The British are the first to offer, but there are murmurs now from Switzerland, Sweden and Japan. The idea is that they’ll eventually go back, so it’s only a temporary resettlement. Remarkably, almost every parent we’ve asked was willing to let their children go. They have a high degree of trust in the United Kingdom. But we have to work quickly. We have a window of opportunity here, boys. We don’t know when it will shut.’

Though he never spoke of it afterwards, James never forgot those days. The solemn, bewildered children – so many round dark eyes in pale faces, tracking from adult to adult, trying to understand what was going on. The older ones trying to comfort the younger ones. The youngest frightened, in tears. So many hand-knitted woolly hats pulled down over small ears; so many home-made gloves and mittens; the rubbed collars on the ‘best’ overcoats; the skinny, stockinged legs ending in stout, scuffed boots. It was late November, bitterly cold, the cleared streets edged with packed grey ice. The fog made everything grey, shrouded the tops of buildings, hung in dripping veils from bare trees, made twilight of midday; in the grey cities under the grey skies, the only colour was the bloody red of the swastika flag.

And the parents, trying to be glad: the fathers stoical, resigned, the mothers bright-eyed, trying to smile, being brave for the children. The hugs and kisses – oh, the lingering embraces, the lingering hands pulling a knitted hood straight, wiping a nose one last time. It’s only for a little while, they told small Hansi and Minnie and Leni and Willi. Just for a little while, then you’ll come back. A nice lady will look after you. Just be good, do as you’re told, say please and thank you. It’s only for a little while.