The Children of Willesden Lane: Beyond The Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival by Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen Page B
Authors: Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen
Tags: BIO004000
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neat pleated skirt walked up and down the streets of Golders Green, knocking on every door she could, but the answer was always the same: “We wish we could help, but . . .” These doors had been knocked on many times before, she realized; there had been many refugees before her.
It wasn’t just that families didn’t want to take an extra child, it was that the children of London themselves were being organized to evacuate. Houses were being boarded up and toddlers were being shipped to the country.
Sometimes, as Lisa made the clanking noise to unlatch a gate, she could see a person in the upper story lift a curtain and peer out. The shade would then be drawn, the bell not answered. They knew in advance what the pretty young girl would ask them and couldn’t bear to say no again.
The newsboys called out the evening’s headlines, which always included the words
Hitler
or
Poland.
Sandbags were piling up in front of store windows; there was a sense of urgency in the air.
Lisa had begged the people at work, but they were all as poor as she was. She knocked on shops near the factory, and never thought of giving up; she just resolved to approach things more systematically. She would find every Danziger in London if that was what it took.
When her stomach told her it was dinnertime, she would find the nearest underground station and make her way back to Willesden Green station. At the fish and chips shop, she picked up her pace so as not to be tempted to spend any of the few shillings she had saved.
After dinner Lisa would go to the piano, happy to lose herself in music. The late summer evenings were long and warm, and the large bay windows were left open onto the front lawn. Neighbors and passersby enjoyed a concert of classical culture from old world Vienna.
Before the evening was over, the five friends, Paul, Gunter, Aaron, Lisa, and Gina, would have a “committee meeting.” Paul reported that he had secured a sponsor for his little brother, but that so far there were no seats available on the Berlin Kindertransport—too many families were fighting for a chance to save their children.
Lisa had the opposite problem—a space on the train and still no sponsor.
At the end of yet another unproductive afternoon, Lisa walked up Riffel Road with her head bowed, on her way back to the hostel. A voice stopped her.
“Young lady, come here a moment. Please.”
It was the strange neighbor lady in black, leaning on a large wooden-handled rake. With her long dress and high-button shoes, she looked like the witch in Grimms’ fairy tales.
“I have too many cucumbers and tomatoes this week, would thee take them to Mrs. Cohen for me on your way?”
“Of course,” Lisa said politely, surprised at the strange English.
“I’ll get thee a bag. Please start under there,” she said, pointing to a dark green plant. Lisa hesitantly lifted the large leaves and was surprised to find half a dozen cucumbers waiting. She snapped them off and piled them on the lawn next to a neat stack of already picked tomatoes.
The woman still hadn’t come back. Lisa waited. Overcome by temptation, she reached for a juicy tomato, and bit in. The woman came out the door just as the warm juice exploded over Lisa’s chin and blouse.
“My, my! Look at thee!”
It was just an overripe tomato, but after a day of frustration and exhaustion, and doors shut in her face, Lisa couldn’t control herself and burst into tears.
“It’s nothing to worry about, I’ll get thee a towel.” When the woman returned, Lisa was still crying. She was ashamed of her tears in front of this stranger, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop sobbing.
“You poor dear. Things must be so difficult . . . difficult for all of thee,” the lady said kindly, making Lisa cry even harder.
The woman handed her a plain handkerchief, and Lisa gradually calmed herself.
“Tell me, what’s the matter, dear?” the lady asked with concern.
Lisa didn’t say
It wasn’t just that families didn’t want to take an extra child, it was that the children of London themselves were being organized to evacuate. Houses were being boarded up and toddlers were being shipped to the country.
Sometimes, as Lisa made the clanking noise to unlatch a gate, she could see a person in the upper story lift a curtain and peer out. The shade would then be drawn, the bell not answered. They knew in advance what the pretty young girl would ask them and couldn’t bear to say no again.
The newsboys called out the evening’s headlines, which always included the words
Hitler
or
Poland.
Sandbags were piling up in front of store windows; there was a sense of urgency in the air.
Lisa had begged the people at work, but they were all as poor as she was. She knocked on shops near the factory, and never thought of giving up; she just resolved to approach things more systematically. She would find every Danziger in London if that was what it took.
When her stomach told her it was dinnertime, she would find the nearest underground station and make her way back to Willesden Green station. At the fish and chips shop, she picked up her pace so as not to be tempted to spend any of the few shillings she had saved.
After dinner Lisa would go to the piano, happy to lose herself in music. The late summer evenings were long and warm, and the large bay windows were left open onto the front lawn. Neighbors and passersby enjoyed a concert of classical culture from old world Vienna.
Before the evening was over, the five friends, Paul, Gunter, Aaron, Lisa, and Gina, would have a “committee meeting.” Paul reported that he had secured a sponsor for his little brother, but that so far there were no seats available on the Berlin Kindertransport—too many families were fighting for a chance to save their children.
Lisa had the opposite problem—a space on the train and still no sponsor.
At the end of yet another unproductive afternoon, Lisa walked up Riffel Road with her head bowed, on her way back to the hostel. A voice stopped her.
“Young lady, come here a moment. Please.”
It was the strange neighbor lady in black, leaning on a large wooden-handled rake. With her long dress and high-button shoes, she looked like the witch in Grimms’ fairy tales.
“I have too many cucumbers and tomatoes this week, would thee take them to Mrs. Cohen for me on your way?”
“Of course,” Lisa said politely, surprised at the strange English.
“I’ll get thee a bag. Please start under there,” she said, pointing to a dark green plant. Lisa hesitantly lifted the large leaves and was surprised to find half a dozen cucumbers waiting. She snapped them off and piled them on the lawn next to a neat stack of already picked tomatoes.
The woman still hadn’t come back. Lisa waited. Overcome by temptation, she reached for a juicy tomato, and bit in. The woman came out the door just as the warm juice exploded over Lisa’s chin and blouse.
“My, my! Look at thee!”
It was just an overripe tomato, but after a day of frustration and exhaustion, and doors shut in her face, Lisa couldn’t control herself and burst into tears.
“It’s nothing to worry about, I’ll get thee a towel.” When the woman returned, Lisa was still crying. She was ashamed of her tears in front of this stranger, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop sobbing.
“You poor dear. Things must be so difficult . . . difficult for all of thee,” the lady said kindly, making Lisa cry even harder.
The woman handed her a plain handkerchief, and Lisa gradually calmed herself.
“Tell me, what’s the matter, dear?” the lady asked with concern.
Lisa didn’t say
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