The Children of Willesden Lane: Beyond The Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival by Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen
Authors: Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen
Tags: BIO004000
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daily. You may attend if you wish.”
“Ooh!” Gina said in mock fury, and chased her up the stairs.
10
M ORNINGS WERE HURRIED . Gina and Lisa developed a routine of holding each other’s places in line for the bathroom, then dashing in together to spend as much time as possible in front of the mirror before the other girls banged on the door. Gina showed Lisa how to achieve the fashionable pin curls that would best survive the scarves and hairnets required at the factory.
At breakfast they drank warm tea and milk and gobbled down bread and jam. Lunch items were laid out, and Mrs. Glazer helped them assemble brown bags to take with them. On lucky days, there were cookies or shortbread as a bonus.
Platz & Sons was organized by floor, women’s garments on the third, men’s on the second, offices on the first.
Lisa was assigned to men’s trousers, considered a good place for a beginner. She was surprised by the speed of the work, having been used to her father’s meticulous style of double stitching and finished seams. Clearly, the goal at Platz & Sons was quantity, not quality. Lisa was given the machine next to Mrs. McRae, a quiet woman who patiently explained the intricacies of the job.
Panels of fabric were stacked on her left, and she was to sew them together exactly three-quarters of an inch from the edge. Every panel was exactly the same size and exactly the same color. If she went too slowly, there would be a pileup.
As Mrs. McRae put it: “Mr. Dimble will be here quicker than you can skin a cat, and you’ll be in for it.”
By the end of a day, Lisa’s arms ached and her fingers were sore, but she was grateful that the difficult work demanded her total attention—that way she had no time to worry obsessively about her family or whether a sponsor for Sonia had been found.
Later in the week, Lisa decided to go by Bloomsbury House in the West End. Gina came along to window-shop on Oxford Street; her favorite store was Harvey Nichols, where window after window of elegant mannequins with cigarette holders gazed out arrogantly at passersby.
Lisa loved the hats. “Ooh, that’s the one I want,” she cooed to Gina, eyeing a soft felt masterpiece with a swooping brim, which projected forward over the mannequin’s forehead. A matching-color cord tied in the back. It was the essence of chic. She read aloud from the card at the base: The hat was called “the Margo” and came in “Amethyst, Eau-de-Nil, and Dawn.”
“What does that mean?” Lisa asked.
“Purple, green, and tan, silly.”
“Why don’t they just say that?”
“Because it’s fashion. Don’t you know anything?” Gina scoffed, happy to enjoy a moment of superiority.
The chaos at Bloomsbury House was still in full swing. More children were arriving on the twice weekly trains— almost ten thousand had come already. Young boys in tweed jackets and ties and girls clutching dolls wandered the hallways. Lisa was again assured that Sonia was on the list, but there was still no word on a sponsor.
Mr. Hardesty’s secretary handed her a letter that had just arrived from Vienna—the stamp on the front had a picture of Adolf Hitler. Lisa quickly ripped into the envelope, both to get to the cherished letter within and to destroy the picture of that hateful man.
“Dear Liseleh,” she read in her mother’s familiar handwriting, “I am afraid I have no good news to report, except that, other than your father’s arthritis, we are in good health. Sonia is anxious to join you soon, and it is with difficulty that we have patience to await our turn for the train. Rosie and Leo, too, are trying to come up with plans to join you. I pray they succeed. I hope you are practicing your music. I will send remembrances from home so you do not forget us. Love, Mama.”
Tears were running down Lisa’s cheeks. Forget them! How could she forget them? They were her very soul.
That night, Lisa sat next to Gunter and Gina at dinner, and they saw how
“Ooh!” Gina said in mock fury, and chased her up the stairs.
10
M ORNINGS WERE HURRIED . Gina and Lisa developed a routine of holding each other’s places in line for the bathroom, then dashing in together to spend as much time as possible in front of the mirror before the other girls banged on the door. Gina showed Lisa how to achieve the fashionable pin curls that would best survive the scarves and hairnets required at the factory.
At breakfast they drank warm tea and milk and gobbled down bread and jam. Lunch items were laid out, and Mrs. Glazer helped them assemble brown bags to take with them. On lucky days, there were cookies or shortbread as a bonus.
Platz & Sons was organized by floor, women’s garments on the third, men’s on the second, offices on the first.
Lisa was assigned to men’s trousers, considered a good place for a beginner. She was surprised by the speed of the work, having been used to her father’s meticulous style of double stitching and finished seams. Clearly, the goal at Platz & Sons was quantity, not quality. Lisa was given the machine next to Mrs. McRae, a quiet woman who patiently explained the intricacies of the job.
Panels of fabric were stacked on her left, and she was to sew them together exactly three-quarters of an inch from the edge. Every panel was exactly the same size and exactly the same color. If she went too slowly, there would be a pileup.
As Mrs. McRae put it: “Mr. Dimble will be here quicker than you can skin a cat, and you’ll be in for it.”
By the end of a day, Lisa’s arms ached and her fingers were sore, but she was grateful that the difficult work demanded her total attention—that way she had no time to worry obsessively about her family or whether a sponsor for Sonia had been found.
Later in the week, Lisa decided to go by Bloomsbury House in the West End. Gina came along to window-shop on Oxford Street; her favorite store was Harvey Nichols, where window after window of elegant mannequins with cigarette holders gazed out arrogantly at passersby.
Lisa loved the hats. “Ooh, that’s the one I want,” she cooed to Gina, eyeing a soft felt masterpiece with a swooping brim, which projected forward over the mannequin’s forehead. A matching-color cord tied in the back. It was the essence of chic. She read aloud from the card at the base: The hat was called “the Margo” and came in “Amethyst, Eau-de-Nil, and Dawn.”
“What does that mean?” Lisa asked.
“Purple, green, and tan, silly.”
“Why don’t they just say that?”
“Because it’s fashion. Don’t you know anything?” Gina scoffed, happy to enjoy a moment of superiority.
The chaos at Bloomsbury House was still in full swing. More children were arriving on the twice weekly trains— almost ten thousand had come already. Young boys in tweed jackets and ties and girls clutching dolls wandered the hallways. Lisa was again assured that Sonia was on the list, but there was still no word on a sponsor.
Mr. Hardesty’s secretary handed her a letter that had just arrived from Vienna—the stamp on the front had a picture of Adolf Hitler. Lisa quickly ripped into the envelope, both to get to the cherished letter within and to destroy the picture of that hateful man.
“Dear Liseleh,” she read in her mother’s familiar handwriting, “I am afraid I have no good news to report, except that, other than your father’s arthritis, we are in good health. Sonia is anxious to join you soon, and it is with difficulty that we have patience to await our turn for the train. Rosie and Leo, too, are trying to come up with plans to join you. I pray they succeed. I hope you are practicing your music. I will send remembrances from home so you do not forget us. Love, Mama.”
Tears were running down Lisa’s cheeks. Forget them! How could she forget them? They were her very soul.
That night, Lisa sat next to Gunter and Gina at dinner, and they saw how
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