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When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit
Judith Kerr


Partly autobiographical, this is first of the internationally acclaimed trilogy by Judith Kerr telling the unforgettable story of a Jewish family fleeing from Germany at the start of the Second World WarSuppose your country began to change. Suppose that without your noticing, it became dangerous for some people to live in Germany any longer. Suppose you found, to your complete surprise, that your own father was one of those people.That is what happened to Anna in 1933. She was nine years old when it began, too busy with her schoolwork and toboganning to take much notice of political posters, but out of them glared the face of Adolf Hitler, the man who would soon change the whole of Europe – starting with her own small life.Anna suddenly found things moving too fast for her to understand. One day, her father was unaccountably missing. Then she herself and her brother Max were being rushed by their mother, in alarming secrecy, away from everything they knew – home and schoolmates and well-loved toys – right out of Germany…


























First published in Great Britain by William Collins and Sons and Co. Ltd in 1971

This edition published by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Text and illustrations copyright © Kerr-Kneale Productions Ltd 1971

Note from the author copyright © Judith Kerr 2008

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Cover illustration © Judith Kerr 2017

Judith Kerr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007274772

Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780007380466

Version: 2017-06-15


For my parents

Julia and Alfred Kerr


Contents

Cover (#u09d33a42-4684-5654-b4dd-42cd34b3689f)

Title Page (#u01588dc2-8e34-5b45-914d-39d83c2f6585)

Copyright (#u72fb1459-c9da-5e8f-99dd-da7b28075770)

Dedication (#u997bede9-1d19-56bf-bc79-d791c3ea9741)

Chapter One (#ud4a1bec6-1613-55d3-a8e1-501efef7ec3a)

Chapter Two (#u0b08a51e-ec6a-56a9-9570-2c9f099cc66d)

Chapter Three (#u72515e02-b130-5d86-bd13-1c4f5d85b97e)

Chapter Four (#uc7254653-d2ad-5619-8a77-6da1c3fb88fa)

Chapter Five (#u489dca9f-206b-5604-b35b-106267534fc5)

Chapter Six (#uc8dc5a4c-f651-55e3-a6dd-262af8cc4f72)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Note from the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)









Chapter One (#ulink_1c8e6fbc-1673-5853-bd11-714f63106ec7)


Anna was walking home from school with Elsbeth, a girl in her class. A lot of snow had fallen in Berlin that winter. It did not melt, so the street cleaners had swept it to the edge of the pavement, and there it had lain for weeks in sad, greying heaps. Now, in February, the snow had turned into slush and there were puddles everywhere. Anna and Elsbeth skipped over them in their lace-up boots.

They both wore thick coats and woollen caps which kept their ears warm, and Anna had a muffler as well. She was nine but small for her age and the ends of the muffler hung down almost to her knees. It also covered up her mouth and nose, so the only parts of her that showed were her green eyes and a tuft of dark hair. She had been hurrying because she wanted to buy some crayons at the paper shop and it was nearly time for lunch. But now she was so out of breath that she was glad when Elsbeth stopped to look at a large red poster.

‘It’s another picture of that man,’ said Elsbeth. ‘My little sister saw one yesterday and thought it was Charlie Chaplin.’

Anna looked at the staring eyes, the grim expression. She said, ‘It’s not a bit like Charlie Chaplin except for the moustache.’

They spelled out the name under the photograph.

Adolf Hitler.

‘He wants everybody to vote for him in the elections and then he’s going to stop the Jews,’ said Elsbeth. ‘Do you think he’s going to stop Rachel Lowenstein?’

‘Nobody can stop Rachel Lowenstein,’ said Anna. ‘She’s form captain. Perhaps he’ll stop me. I’m Jewish too.’

‘You’re not!’

‘I am! My father was talking to us about it only last week. He said we were Jews and no matter what happened my brother and I must never forget it.’

‘But you don’t go to a special church on Saturdays like Rachel Lowenstein.’

‘That’s because we’re not religious. We don’t go to church at all.’

‘I wish my father wasn’t religious,’ said Elsbeth. ‘We have to go every Sunday and I get cramp in my seat.’ She looked at Anna curiously. ‘I thought Jews were supposed to have bent noses, but your nose is quite ordinary. Has your brother got a bent nose?’

‘No,’ said Anna. ‘The only person in our house with a bent nose is Bertha the maid, and hers only got like that because she broke it falling off a tram.’

Elsbeth was getting annoyed. ‘Well then,’ she said, ‘if you look the same as everyone else and you don’t go to a special church, how do you know you are Jewish? How can you be sure?’

There was a pause.

‘I suppose …’ said Anna, ‘I suppose it’s because my mother and father are Jews, and I suppose their mothers and fathers were too. I never thought about it much until Papa started talking about it last week.’

‘Well, I think it’s silly!’ said Elsbeth. ‘It’s silly about Adolf Hitler and people being Jews and everything!’ She started to run and Anna followed her.

They did not stop until they reached the paper shop. There was someone talking to the man at the counter and Anna’s heart sank as she recognised Fräulein Lambeck who lived nearby. Fräulein Lambeck was making a face like a sheep and saying, ‘Terrible times! Terrible times!’ Each time she said ‘terrible times’ she shook her head and her earrings wobbled.

The paper shop man said, ‘1931 was bad enough, 1932 was worse, but mark my words, 1933 will be worst of all.’ Then he saw Anna and Elsbeth and said, ‘What can I do for you, my dears?’

Anna was just going to tell him that she wanted to buy some crayons when Fräulein Lambeck spied her.

‘It’s little Anna!’ cried Fräulein Lambeck. ‘How are you, little Anna? And how is your dear father? Such a wonderful man! I read every word he writes. I’ve got all his books and I always listen to him on the radio. But he hasn’t written anything in the paper this week – I do hope he’s quite well. Perhaps he’s lecturing somewhere. Oh, we do need him in these terrible, terrible times!’

Anna waited until Fräulein Lambeck had finished. Then she said, ‘He’s got ’flu.’

This provoked another outburst. You would have thought that Fräulein Lambeck’s nearest and dearest were lying at death’s door. She shook her head until the earrings rattled. She suggested remedies. She recommended doctors. She would not stop talking until Anna had promised to give her father Fräulein Lambeck’s best wishes for a speedy recovery. And then she turned back in the doorway and said, ‘Don’t say best wishes from Fräulein Lambeck, little Anna – just say from an admirer!’ – before she finally swept out.

Anna bought her crayons quickly. Then she and Elsbeth stood together in the cold wind outside the paper shop. This was where their ways normally parted, but Elsbeth lingered. There was something she had wanted to ask Anna for a long time and it seemed a good moment.

‘Anna,’ said Elsbeth, ‘is it nice having a famous father?’

‘Not when you meet someone like Fräulein Lambeck,’ said Anna, absent-mindedly setting off for home while Elsbeth equally absent-mindedly followed her.

‘No, but apart from Fräulein Lambeck?’

‘I think it’s quite nice. For one thing Papa works at home, so we see quite a lot of him. And sometimes we get free theatre tickets. And once we were interviewed by a newspaper, and they asked us what books we liked, and my brother said Zane Grey and the next day someone sent him a whole set as a present!’

‘I wish my father was famous,’ said Elsbeth. ‘But I don’t think he ever will be because he works in the Post Office, and that’s not the sort of thing people get famous for.’

‘If your father doesn’t become famous perhaps you will. One snag about having a famous father is that you almost never become famous yourself.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. But you hardly ever hear of two famous people in the same family. It makes me rather sad sometimes.’ Anna sighed.

By this time they were standing outside Anna’s white-painted gate. Elsbeth was feverishly trying to think of something she might become famous for when Heimpi, who had seen them from the window, opened the front door.

‘Goodness!’ cried Elsbeth, ‘I’ll be late for lunch!’ – and she rushed off up the street.

‘You and that Elsbeth,’ grumbled Heimpi as Anna went inside. ‘You’d talk the monkeys off the trees!’

Heimpi’s real name was Fräulein Heimpel and she had looked after Anna and her brother Max since they were babies. Now that they were older she did the house-keeping while they were at school, but she liked to fuss over them when they came back. ‘Let’s have all this off you,’ she said, unwinding the muffler. ‘You look like a parcel with the string undone.’ As Heimpi peeled the clothes off her Anna could hear the piano being played in the drawing room. So Mama was home.

‘Are you sure your feet aren’t wet?’ said Heimpi. ‘Then go quickly and wash your hands. Lunch is nearly ready.’

Anna climbed up the thickly carpeted stairs. The sun was shining through the window and outside in the garden she could see a few last patches of snow. The smell of chicken drifted up from the kitchen. It was nice coming home from school.

As she opened the bathroom door there was a scuffle inside and she found herself staring straight at her brother Max, his face scarlet under his fair hair, his hands hiding something behind his back.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, even before she caught sight of his friend Gunther who seemed equally embarrassed.

‘Oh, it’s you!’ said Max, and Gunther laughed. ‘We thought it was a grown-up!’

‘What have you got?’ asked Anna.

‘It’s a badge. There was a big fight at school today – Nazis against Sozis.’

‘What are Nazis and Sozis?’

‘I’d have thought even you would know that at your age,’ said Max, who was just twelve. ‘The Nazis are the people who are going to vote for Hitler in the elections. We Sozis are the people who are going to vote against.’

‘But you’re none of you allowed to vote,’ said Anna. ‘You’re too young!’

‘Our fathers, then,’ said Max crossly. ‘It’s the same thing.’

‘Anyway, we beat them,’ said Gunther. ‘You should have seen those Nazis run! Max and I caught one of them and got his badge off him. But I don’t know what my mum is going to say about my trousers.’ He looked dolefully down at a large tear in the worn cloth. Gunther’s father was out of work and there was no money at home for new clothes.

‘Don’t worry, Heimpi will fix it,’ said Anna. ‘Can I see the badge?’

It was a small piece of red enamel with a black hooked cross on it.

‘It’s called a swastika,’ said Gunther. ‘All the Nazis have them.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’

Max and Gunther looked at each other.

‘D’you want it?’ asked Max.

Gunther shook his head. ‘I’m not supposed to have anything to do with the Nazis. My mum’s afraid I might get my head cut open.’

‘They don’t fight fair,’ agreed Max. ‘They use sticks and stones and everything.’ He turned the badge over with increasing dislike. ‘Well, I certainly don’t want it.’

‘Put it down the what-not!’ said Gunther. So they did. The first time they pulled the chain it would not flush away, but the second time, just as the gong went for lunch, it disappeared very satisfactorily.

They could still hear the piano as they went downstairs but it stopped while Heimpi was filling their plates and a moment later the door burst open and Mama came in.

‘Hello, children, hello, Gunther,’ she cried, ‘how was school?’

Everybody immediately began to tell her and the room was suddenly filled with noise and laughter. She knew the names of all their teachers and always remembered what they had told her. So when Max and Gunther talked about how the geography master had flown into a rage she said, ‘No wonder, after the way you all played him up last week!’ And when Anna told her that her essay had been read out in class she said, ‘That’s marvellous – because Fräulein Schmidt hardly ever reads anything out, does she?’

When she listened she looked at whoever was talking with the utmost concentration. When she talked all her energy went into it. She seemed to do everything twice as hard as other people – even her eyes were a brighter blue than any Anna had ever seen.

They were just starting on the pudding (which was apple strudel) when Bertha the maid came in to tell Mama that there was someone on the telephone, and should she disturb Papa?

‘What a time to ring up!’ cried Mama and pushed her chair back so hard that Heimpi had to put out her hand to stop it falling over. ‘Don’t any of you dare eat my apple strudel!’ And she rushed out.

It seemed very quiet after she had gone, though Anna could hear her footsteps hurrying to the telephone and, a little later, hurrying even faster up the stairs to Papa’s room. In the silence she asked, ‘How is Papa?’

‘Feeling better,’ said Heimpi. ‘His temperature is down a bit.’

Anna ate her pudding contentedly. Max and Gunther got through three helpings but still Mama had not come back. It was odd because she was particularly fond of apple strudel.

Bertha came to clear away and Heimpi took the boys off to see to Gunther’s trousers. ‘No use mending these,’ she said, ‘they’d split again as soon as you breathed. But I’ve got an outgrown pair of Max’s that will just do you nicely.’

Anna was left in the dining room wondering what to do. For a while she helped Bertha. They put the used plates through the hatch into the pantry. Then they brushed the crumbs off the table with a little brush and pan. Then, while they were folding the tablecloth, she remembered Fräulein Lambeck and her message. She waited until Bertha had the tablecloth safely in her hands and ran up to Papa’s room. She could hear Papa and Mama talking inside.

‘Papa,’ said Anna as she opened the door, ‘I met Fräulein Lambeck …’

‘Not now! Not now!’ cried Mama. ‘We’re talking!’ She was sitting on the edge of Papa’s bed. Papa was propped up against the pillows looking rather pale. They were both frowning.

‘But Papa, she asked me to tell you …’

Mama got quite angry.

‘For goodness’ sake, Anna,’ she shouted, ‘we don’t want to hear about it now! Go away!’

‘Come back a little later,’ said Papa more gently. Anna shut the door. So much for that! It wasn’t as though she’d ever wanted to deliver Fräulein Lambeck’s silly message in the first place. But she felt put out.

There was no one in the nursery. She could hear shouts outside, so Max and Gunther were probably playing in the garden, but she did not feel like joining them. Her satchel was hanging on the back of a chair. She unpacked her new crayons and took them all out of their box. There was a good pink and quite a good orange, but the blues were best. There were three different shades, all beautifully bright, and a purple as well. Suddenly Anna had an idea.

Lately she had been producing a number of illustrated poems which had been much admired both at home and at school. There had been one about a fire, one about an earthquake and one about a man who died in dreadful agonies after being cursed by a tramp. Why not try her hand at a shipwreck? All sorts of words rhymed with sea and there was ‘save’ to rhyme with ‘wave’, and she could use the three new blue crayons for the illustration. She found some paper and began.

Soon she was so absorbed that she did not notice the early winter dusk creeping into the room, and she was startled when Heimpi came in and switched on the light.

‘I’ve made some cakes,’ said Heimpi. ‘Do you want to help with the icing?’

‘Can I just quickly show this to Papa?’ asked Anna as she filled in the last bit of blue sea. Heimpi nodded.

This time Anna knocked and waited until Papa called, ‘Come in’. His room looked strange because only the bedside lamp was lit and Papa and his bed made an island of light among the shadows. She could dimly see his desk with the typewriter and the mass of papers which had, as usual, overflowed from the desk on to the floor. Because Papa often wrote late at night and did not want to disturb Mama his bed was in his workroom.

Papa himself did not look like someone who was feeling better. He was sitting up doing nothing at all, just staring in front of him with a kind of tight look on his thin face, but when he saw Anna he smiled. She showed him the poem and he read it through twice and said it was very good, and he also admired the illustration. Then Anna told him about Fräulein Lambeck and they both laughed. He was looking more like himself, so Anna said, ‘Papa, do you really like the poem?’

Papa said he did.

‘You don’t think it should be more cheerful?’

‘Well,’ said Papa, ‘a shipwreck is not really a thing you can be very cheerful about.’

‘My teacher Fräulein Schmidt thinks I should write about more cheerful subjects like the spring and the flowers.’

‘And do you want to write about the spring and the flowers?’

‘No,’ said Anna sadly. ‘Right now all I seem to be able to do is disasters.’

Papa gave a little sideways smile and said perhaps she was in tune with the times.

‘Do you think then,’ asked Anna anxiously, ‘that disasters are all right to write about?’ Papa became serious at once.

‘Of course!’ he said. ‘If you want to write about disasters, that’s what you must do. It’s no use trying to write what other people want. The only way to write anything good is to try to please yourself.’

Anna was so encouraged to hear this that she was just going to ask Papa whether by any chance Papa thought she might become famous one day, but the telephone by Papa’s bed rang loudly and surprised them both.

The tight look was back on Papa’s face as he lifted the receiver and it was odd, thought Anna, how even his voice sounded different. She listened to him saying, ‘Yes … yes …’ and something about Prague before she lost interest. But the conversation was soon over.

‘You’d better run along now,’ said Papa. He lifted his arms as though to give her a big hug. Then he put them down again. ‘I’d better not give you my ’flu,’ he said.

Anna helped Heimpi ice the cakes and then she and Max and Gunther ate them – all except three which Heimpi put in a paper bag for Gunther to take home to his mum. She had also found some more of Max’s outgrown clothes to fit him, so he had quite a nice parcel to take with him when he left.

They spent the rest of the evening playing games. Max and Anna had been given a games compendium for Christmas and had not yet got over the wonder of it. It contained draughts, chess, Ludo, Snakes and Ladders, dominoes and six different card games, all in one beautifully-made box. If you got tired of one game you could always play another. Heimpi sat with them in the nursery mending socks and even joined them for a game of Ludo. Bedtime came far too soon.

Next morning before school Anna ran into Papa’s room to see him. The desk was tidy. The bed was neatly made.

Papa had gone.









Chapter Two (#ulink_b552847e-641d-5de8-8cd5-6c802adf3a1e)


Anna’s first thought was so terrible that she could not breathe. Papa had got worse in the night. He had been taken to hospital. Perhaps he … She ran blindly out of the room and found herself caught by Heimpi.

‘It’s all right! Your father has gone on a journey.’

‘A journey?’ Anna could not believe it. ‘But he’s ill – he had a temperature …’

‘He decided to go just the same,’ said Heimpi firmly. ‘Your mother was going to explain it all to you when you came home from school. Now I suppose you’ll have to hear straight away and Fräulein Schmidt will be kept twiddling her thumbs for you.’

‘What is it? Are we going to miss school?’ Max appeared hopefully on the landing.

Then Mama came out of her room. She was still in her dressing-gown and looked tired.

‘There’s no need to get terribly excited,’ she said. ‘But there are some things I must tell you. Heimpi, shall we have some coffee? And I expect the children could eat some more breakfast.’

Once they were all settled in Heimpi’s pantry with coffee and rolls Anna felt much better, and was even able to calculate that she would miss the geography lesson at school which she particularly disliked.

‘It’s quite simple,’ said Mama. ‘Papa thinks Hitler and the Nazis might win the elections. If that happened he would not want to live in Germany while they were in power, and nor would any of us.’

‘Because we’re Jews?’ asked Anna.

‘Not only because we’re Jews. Papa thinks no one would be allowed to say what they thought any more, and he wouldn’t be able to write. The Nazis don’t like people to disagree with them.’ Mama drank some of her coffee and looked more cheerful. ‘Of course it may never happen and if it did it probably wouldn’t last for long – maybe six months or so. But at the moment we just don’t know.’

‘But why did Papa leave so suddenly?’ asked Max.

‘Because yesterday someone rang him up and warned him that they might be going to take away his passport. So I packed him a small suitcase and he caught the night train to Prague – that’s the quickest way out of Germany.’

‘Who could take away his passport?’

‘The police. There are quite a few Nazis in the police.’

‘And who rang him up to warn him?’

Mama smiled for the first time.

‘Another policeman. One Papa had never met – but who had read his books and liked them.’

It took Anna and Max some time to digest all this.

Then Max asked, ‘But what’s going to happen now?’

‘Well,’ said Mama, ‘it’s only about ten days until the elections. Either the Nazis lose, in which case Papa comes back – or they win, in which case we join him.’

‘In Prague?’ asked Max.

‘No, probably in Switzerland. They speak German there – Papa would be able to write. We’d probably rent a little house and stay there until all this has blown over.’

‘Heimpi too?’ asked Anna.

‘Heimpi too.’

It sounded quite exciting. Anna was beginning to imagine it – a house in the mountains … goats … or was it cows? … when Mama said, ‘There is one thing more.’ Her voice was very serious.

‘This is the most important thing of all,’ said Mama, ‘and we need you to help us with it. Papa does not want anyone to know that he has left Germany. So you must not tell anyone. If anyone asks you about him you must say that he’s still in bed with ’flu.’

‘Can’t I even tell Gunther?’ asked Max.

‘No. Not Gunther, nor Elsbeth, not anyone.’

‘All right,’ said Max. ‘But it won’t be easy. People are always asking after him.’

‘Why can’t we tell anyone?’ asked Anna. ‘Why doesn’t Papa want anyone to know?’

‘Look,’ said Mama. ‘I’ve explained it all to you as well as I can. But you’re both still children – you can’t understand everything. Papa thinks the Nazis might … cause us some bother if they knew that he’d gone. So he does not want you to talk about it. Now are you going to do what he asks or not?’

Anna said, yes, of course she would.

Then Heimpi bundled them both off to school. Anna was worried about what to say if anyone asked her why she was late, but Max said, ‘Just tell them Mama overslept – she did, anyway!’

In fact, no one was very interested. They did high-jump in Gym and Anna jumped higher than anyone else in her class. She was so pleased about this that for the rest of the morning she almost forgot about Papa being in Prague.

When it was time to go home it all came back to her and she hoped Elsbeth would not ask her any awkward questions – but Elsbeth’s mind was on more important matters. Her aunt was coming to take her out that afternoon to buy her a yo-yo. What kind did Anna think she should choose? And what colour? The wooden ones worked best on the whole, but Elsbeth had seen a bright orange one which, though made of tin, had so impressed her with its beauty that she was tempted. Anna only had to say Yes and No, and by the time she got home for lunch the day felt more ordinary than she would ever have thought possible that morning.

Neither Anna nor Max had any homework and it was too cold to go out, so in the afternoon they sat on the radiator in the nursery and looked out of the window. The wind was rattling the shutters and blowing great lumps of cloud across the sky.

‘We might get more snow,’ said Max.

‘Max,’ said Anna, ‘do you hope that we will go to Switzerland?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Max. There were so many things he would miss. Gunther … his gang with whom he played football … school … He said, ‘I suppose we’d go to a school in Switzerland.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Anna. ‘I think it would be quite fun.’ She was almost ashamed to admit it, but the more she thought about it the more she wanted to go. To be in a strange country where everything would be different – to live in a different house, go to a different school with different children – a huge urge to experience it all overcame her and though she knew it was heartless, a smile appeared on her face.

‘It would only be for six months,’ she said apologetically, ‘and we’d all be together.’

The next few days passed fairly normally. Mama got a letter from Papa. He was comfortably installed in a hotel in Prague and was feeling much better. This cheered everyone up.

A few people inquired after him but were quite satisfied when the children said he had ’flu. There was so much of it about that it was not surprising. The weather continued very cold and the puddles caused by the thaw all froze hard again – but still there was no snow.

At last on the afternoon of the Sunday before the elections the sky turned very dark and then suddenly opened up to release a mass of floating, drifting, whirling white. Anna and Max were playing with the Kentner children who lived across the road. They stopped to watch the snow come down.

‘If only it had started a bit earlier,’ said Max. ‘By the time it’s thick enough for tobogganing, it will be too dark.’

At five o’clock when Anna and Max were going home it had only just stopped. Peter and Marianne Kentner saw them to the door. The snow lay thick and dry and crunchy all over the road and the moon was shining down on it.

‘Why don’t we go tobogganing in the moonlight?’ said Peter.

‘Do you think they’d let us?’

‘We’ve done it before,’ said Peter, who was fourteen. ‘Go and ask your mother.’

Mama said they could go provided they all stayed together and got home by seven. They put on their warmest clothes and set off.

It was only a quarter of an hour’s walk to the Grunewald, where a wooden slope made an ideal run down to a frozen lake. They had tobogganed there many times before, but it had always been daylight and the air had been loud with the shouts of other children. Now all they could hear was the soughing of the wind in the trees, the crunching of the new snow under their feet, and the gentle whir of the sledges as they slid along behind them. Above their heads the sky was dark but the ground shone blue in the moonlight and the shadows of the trees broke like black bands across it.

At the top of the slope they stopped and looked down. Nobody had been on it before them. The shimmering path of snow stretched ahead, perfect and unmarked, right down to the edge of the lake.

‘Who’s going down first?’ asked Max.

Anna did not mean to, but she found herself hopping up and down and saying, ‘Oh please – please …!’

Peter said, ‘All right – youngest first.’

That meant her because Marianne was ten.

She sat on her sledge, held on to the steering rope, took a deep breath and pushed off. The sledge began to move, rather gently, down the hill.

‘Go on!’ shouted the boys behind her. ‘Give it another push!’

But she didn’t. She kept her feet on the runners and let the sledge gather speed slowly. The powdery snow sprayed up all round her as the sledge struck it. The trees moved past, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The moonlight leapt all round her. At last she seemed to be flying through a mass of silver. Then the sledge hit the hump at the bottom of the slope, shot across it, and landed in a dapple of moonlight on the frozen lake. It was beautiful.

The others came down after her, squealing and shouting.

They went down the slope head first on their stomachs so that the snow sprayed straight into their faces. They went down feet first on their backs with the black tops of the fir trees rushing past above them. They all squeezed on to one sledge together and came down so fast that they shot on almost to the middle of the lake. After each ride they struggled back up the slope, panting and pulling the sledges behind them. In spite of the cold they were steaming inside their woollies.

Then it began to snow again. At first they hardly noticed it, but then the wind got up and blew the snow in their faces. All at once Max stopped in the middle of dragging his sledge up the slope and said, ‘What time is it? Oughtn’t we to be getting back?’

Nobody had a watch and they suddenly realised that they had no idea how long they had been there. Perhaps it was quite late and their parents had been waiting for them at home.

‘Come on,’ said Peter. ‘We’d better go quickly.’ He took off his gloves and knocked them together to shake the caked snow off them. His hands were red with cold. So were Anna’s, and she noticed for the first time that her feet were frozen.

It was chilly going back. The wind blew through their damp clothes and with the moon hidden behind the clouds the path was black in front of them. Anna was glad when they were out of the trees and in a road. Soon there were street lamps, houses with lighted windows, shops. They were nearly home.

An illuminated clockface showed them the time. After all it was not yet quite seven. They heaved sighs of relief and walked more slowly. Max and Peter began to talk about football. Marianne tied two sledges together and scampered wildly ahead on the empty road, leaving a network of overlapping tracks in the snow. Anna lagged behind because her cold feet hurt.

She could see the boys stop outside her house, still talking and waiting for her, and was just going to catch them up when she heard the creak of a gate. Something moved in the path beside her and suddenly a shapeless figure loomed up. For a moment she was very frightened – but then she saw that it was only Fräulein Lambeck in some sort of furry cloak and with a letter in her hand.

‘Little Anna!’ cried Fräulein Lambeck. ‘Fancy meeting you in the dark of the night! I was just going to the post box but did not think to find a kindred spirit. And how is your dear Papa?’

‘He’s got ’flu,’ said Anna automatically.

Fräulein Lambeck stopped in her tracks.

‘Still got ’flu, little Anna? You told me he had ’flu a week ago.’

‘Yes,’ said Anna.

‘And he’s still in bed? Still got a temperature?’

‘Yes,’ said Anna.

‘Oh, the poor man!’ Fräulein Lambeck put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. ‘Are they doing everything for him? Does the doctor come to see him?’

‘Yes,’ said Anna.

‘And what does the doctor say?’

‘He says … I don’t know,’ said Anna.

Fräulein Lambeck leaned down confidentially and peered into her face. ‘Tell me, little Anna,’ she said, ‘how high is your dear papa’s temperature?’

‘I don’t know!’ cried Anna, and her voice came out not at all as she had meant but in a sort of squeak. ‘I’m sorry but I must go home now!’ – and she ran as fast as she could towards Max and the open front door.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Heimpi in the hall. ‘Someone shoot you out of a cannon?’

Anna could see Mama through the half-open door in the drawing room.

‘Mama!’ she cried, ‘I hate lying to everybody about Papa. It’s horrible. Why do we have to do it? I wish we didn’t have to!’

Then she saw that Mama was not alone. Onkel Julius (who was not really an uncle but an old friend of Papa’s) was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room.

‘Calm yourself,’ said Mama quite sharply. ‘We all hate lying about Papa, but just now it’s necessary. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it weren’t necessary!’

‘She got caught by Fräulein Lambeck,’ said Max who had followed Anna in. ‘You know Fräulein Lambeck? She’s ghastly. You can’t answer her questions even when you’re allowed to tell the truth!’

‘Poor Anna,’ said Onkel Julius in his high voice. He was a gentle wispy man and they were all very fond of him. ‘Your father asked me to tell you that he misses you both very much and sends you lots of love.’

‘Have you seen him then?’ asked Anna.

‘Onkel Julius has just come back from Prague,’ said Mama. ‘Papa is fine and he wants us to meet him in Zurich, in Switzerland, on Sunday.’

‘Sunday?’ said Max. ‘But that’s only a week. That’s the day of the elections. I thought we were going to wait and see who won, first!’

‘Your father has decided he’d rather not wait.’ Onkel Julius smiled at Mama. ‘I do think he’s taking all this too seriously.’

‘Why?’ asked Max. ‘What’s he worried about?’

Mama sighed. ‘Ever since Papa heard of the move to take away his passport he’s been worried that they might try to take away ours – then we wouldn’t be able to leave Germany.’

‘But why should they?’ asked Max. ‘If the Nazis don’t like us, surely they’d be glad to get rid of us.’

‘Exactly,’ said Onkel Julius. He smiled at Mama again. ‘Your husband is a wonderful man with a wonderful imagination, but frankly in this matter I think he’s off his head. Never mind, you’ll all have a lovely holiday in Switzerland and when you come back to Berlin in a few weeks’ time we’ll all go to the Zoo together.’ Onkel Julius was a naturalist and went to the Zoo all the time. ‘Let me know if I can help with any of the arrangements. I’ll see you again, of course.’ He kissed Mama’s hand and went.

‘Are we really leaving on Sunday?’ asked Anna.

‘Saturday,’ said Mama. ‘It’s a long way to Switzerland. We have to spend a night in Stuttgart on the way.’

‘Then this is our last week at school!’ said Max.

It seemed incredible.









Chapter Three (#ulink_f49bd9ba-d0df-596a-a50e-05e8f4fb97db)


After that everything seemed to go very quickly, like a film that has been speeded up. Heimpi was busy sorting and packing all day long. Mama was nearly always out or on the telephone, arranging for the lease of the house or for the storage of furniture after they had gone. Every day when the children came home from school the house looked more bare.

One day Onkel Julius called while they were helping Mama to pack some books. He looked at the empty shelves and smiled. ‘You’ll be putting them all back again, you know!’

That night the children were woken up by the sound of fire engines. Not just one or two but about a dozen were clanging their bells and racing along the main road at the end of their street. When they looked out of the window the sky above the centre of Berlin was brilliant orange. Next morning everyone was talking about the fire which had destroyed the Reichstag where the German Parliament met. The Nazis said that the fire had been started by revolutionaries and that the Nazis were the only people who could put a stop to that sort of thing – so everyone must vote for them at the elections. But Mama heard that the Nazis had started the fire themselves.

When Onkel Julius called that afternoon, for the first time he did not say anything to Mama about her being back in Berlin in a few weeks’ time.

The last days Anna and Max spent at school were very strange. As they still were not allowed to tell anyone that they were leaving they kept forgetting about it themselves during school hours. Anna was delighted when she was given a part in the school play and only remembered afterwards that she would never actually appear in it. Max accepted an invitation to a birthday party which he would never be able to attend.

Then they would go home to the ever emptier rooms, the wooden crates and the suitcases, the endless sorting of possessions. Deciding which toys to take was the hardest part. They naturally wanted to take the games compendium but it was too big. In the end there was only room for some books and one of Anna’s stuffed toys. Should she choose Pink Rabbit which had been her companion ever since she could remember, or a newly acquired woolly dog? It seemed a pity to leave the dog when she had hardly had time to play with it, and Heimpi packed it for her. Max took his football. They could always have more things sent on to them in Switzerland, said Mama, if it looked as though they were going to stay there a very long time.

When school was over on Friday Anna went up to her teacher and said quietly, ‘I shan’t be coming to school tomorrow. We’re going to Switzerland.’

Fräulein Schmidt did not look nearly as surprised as Anna expected but only nodded and said, ‘Yes … yes … I wish you luck.’

Elsbeth was not very interested either. She just said she wished she herself were going to Switzerland but that this was not likely to happen because her father worked in the Post Office.

Gunther was the hardest person to leave. Max brought him back to lunch after they had walked back from school together for the last time, though there were only sandwiches because Heimpi had not had time to cook. Afterwards they played hide-and-seek rather half-heartedly among the packing cases. It was not much fun because Max and Gunther were so gloomy and Anna had a struggle to keep down her own excitement. She was fond of Gunther and sorry to leave him. But all she could think was, ‘This time tomorrow we’ll be on the train … this time on Sunday we’ll be in Switzerland … this time on Monday …?’

At last Gunther went home. Heimpi had sorted out a lot of clothes for his mum in the course of her packing and Max went with him to help him carry them. When he came back he seemed more cheerful. He had dreaded saying goodbye to Gunther more than anything. Now at least it was over.

Next morning Anna and Max were ready long before it was time to leave. Heimpi checked that their nails were clean, that they both had handkerchiefs – two for Anna because she had a bit of a cold – and that their socks were held up properly by elastic bands.

‘Goodness knows what state you’ll get into by yourselves,’ she grumbled.

‘But you’ll be with us again in a fortnight,’ said Anna.

‘There’s a lot of dirt can settle on a neck in a fortnight,’ said Heimpi darkly.

Then there was nothing more to do until the taxi came.

‘Let’s go right through the house for the last time,’ said Max.

They started at the top and worked down. Most of it no longer looked like itself. All the smaller things had been packed: some of the rugs had been rolled up and there were newspaper and packing cases everywhere. They ticked off the rooms as they went through them, shouting ‘Goodbye, Papa’s bedroom … goodbye, landing … goodbye, stairs …!’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Mama as they passed her.

‘Goodbye, hall … goodbye, drawing room …!’

They were getting through too quickly, so Max shouted, ‘Goodbye, piano … goodbye, sofa …!’ and Anna took it up with, ‘Goodbye, curtains … goodbye, dining table … goodbye, hatch …!’

Just as she shouted, ‘Goodbye, hatch’, its two small doors opened and Heimpi’s head appeared looking through from the pantry. Suddenly something contracted in Anna’s stomach. This was just what Heimpi had often done to amuse her when she was small. They had played a game called ‘peeping through the hatch’ and Anna had loved it. How could she suddenly be going away? In spite of herself her eyes filled with tears and she cried, idiotically, ‘Oh Heimpi, I don’t want to leave you and the hatch!’

‘Well I can’t pack it in my suitcase,’ said Heimpi, coming into the dining room.

‘You’re sure you’ll come to Switzerland?’

‘I don’t know what else I’d do,’ said Heimpi. ‘Your mama has given me my ticket and I’ve got it in my purse.’

‘Heimpi,’ said Max, ‘if you suddenly found you had a lot of room in your suitcase – only if, mind you – do you think you could bring the games compendium?’

‘If … if … if …’ said Heimpi. ‘If my grandmother had wheels she’d be a bus and we could all go for a ride in her.’ That was what she always said.

Then the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of the taxi and there was no more time. Anna hugged Heimpi. Mama said, ‘Don’t forget the men are coming for the piano on Monday’, and then she too hugged Heimpi. Max could not find his gloves but had them in his pocket all the time. Bertha wept, and the man who looked after the garden suddenly appeared and wished them all a pleasant journey.

Just as the taxi was about to drive off a small figure rushed up with something in his hand. It was Gunther. He thrust a parcel at Max through the window and said something about his mum which they could not understand because the taxi had started. Max shouted goodbye and Gunther waved. Then the taxi went up the street. Anna could still see the house, and Heimpi and Gunther waving … She could still see a bit of the house … At the top of the street they passed the Kentner children on their way to school. They were talking to each other and did not look up … She could still see a tiny bit of the house through the trees … Then the taxi went round the corner and it all disappeared.

It was strange travelling on the train with Mama and without Heimpi. Anna was a little worried in case she felt sick. She had been train-sick a lot when she was small and even now that she had more or less outgrown it Heimpi always brought a paper bag just in case. Did Mama have a paper bag?

The train was crowded and Anna and Max were glad that they had window seats. They both looked out at the grey landscape tearing past until it began to rain. Then they watched the raindrops arrive with a splash and slowly trickle down the glass pane, but it became boring after a while. What now? Anna looked at Mama out of the corner of her eye. Heimpi usually had a few apples or some sweets about her.

Mama was leaning back in her seat. The corners of her mouth were pulled down and she was staring at the bald head of the man opposite without seeing him at all. On her lap was her big handbag with the picture of a camel on it which she had brought back from some journey with Papa. She was holding it very tight – Anna supposed because the tickets and passports were in it. She was clutching it so hard that one of her fingers was digging right in the camel’s face.

‘Mama,’ said Anna, ‘you’re squashing the camel.’

‘What?’ said Mama. Then she realised what Anna meant and loosened her hold on the bag. The camel’s face reappeared, to Anna’s relief, looking just as foolish and hopeful as usual.

‘Are you bored?’ asked Mama. ‘We’ll be travelling right through Germany, which you have never done. I hope the rain stops soon so that you can see it all.’

Then she told them about the orchards in Southern Germany – miles and miles of them. ‘If only we were making this journey a little later in the year,’ she said, ‘you’d be able to see them all in blossom.’

‘Perhaps just a few of them might be out already,’ said Anna.

But Mama thought it was too early and the bald man agreed. Then they said how beautiful it was, and Anna wished she could see it.

‘If the blossom isn’t out this time,’ she said, ‘can we see it another time?’

Mama did not answer at once. Then she said, ‘I hope so.’

The rain did not let up and they spent a lot of time playing guessing games at which Mama turned out to be very good. Though they could not see much of the country they could hear the change in people’s voices every time the train stopped. Some were almost incomprehensible and Max hit on the idea of asking unnecessary questions like, ‘Is this Leipzig?’ or ‘What time is it?’ just for the pleasure of hearing the strangely accented replies.

They had lunch in the dining car. It was very grand, with a menu to choose from, and Anna had frankfurters and potato salad which was her favourite dish. She did not feel train-sick at all.

Later in the afternoon she and Max walked through the train from end to end and then stood in the corridor. The rain was heavier than ever and dusk came very early. Even if the orchards had been in blossom they would not have been able to see them. For a while they amused themselves by watching the fleeing darkness through their reflections on the glass. Then Anna’s head began to ache and her nose began to run as though to keep pace with the rain outside. She snuggled back into her seat and wished they would get to Stuttgart.

‘Why don’t you look at Gunther’s book?’ said Mama.

There had been two presents in Gunther’s parcel. One, from Gunther to Max, was a puzzle – a little transparent box with a picture of an open-mouthed monster drawn on the bottom. You had to get three tiny balls into the monster’s mouth. It was very difficult to do on a train.

The other was a book for both children from Gunther’s mum. It was called They Grew to be Great and she had written in it, ‘Thank you for all the lovely things – something to read on the journey.’ It described the early lives of various people who later became famous, and Anna, who had a personal interest in the subject, leafed through it eagerly at first. But the book was so dully written and its tone was so determinedly uplifting that she gradually became discouraged.

All the famous people had had an awful time. One of them had a drunken father. Another had a stammer. Another had to wash hundreds of dirty bottles. They had all had what was called a difficult childhood. Clearly you had to have one if you wanted to become famous.

Dozing in her corner and mopping her nose with her two soaked handkerchiefs, Anna wished that they would get to Stuttgart and that one day, in the long-distant future, she might become famous. But as the train rumbled through Germany in the darkness she kept thinking ‘difficult childhood … difficult childhood … difficult childhood …’









Chapter Four (#ulink_49d05b12-5d1a-5122-867d-806c39111730)


Suddenly she found herself being gently shaken. She must have been asleep. Mama said, ‘We’ll be in Stuttgart in a few minutes.’

Anna sleepily put on her coat, and soon she and Max were sitting on the luggage at the entrance of Stuttgart station while Mama went to get a taxi. The rain was still pelting down, drumming on the station roof and falling like a shiny curtain between them and the dark square in front of them. It was cold. At last Mama came back.

‘What a place!’ she cried. ‘They’ve got some sort of a strike on – something to do with the elections – and there are no taxis. But you see that blue sign over there?’ On the opposite side of the square there was a bluish gleam among the wet. ‘That’s a hotel,’ said Mama. ‘We’ll just take what we need for the night and make a dash for it.’

With the bulk of the luggage safely deposited they struggled across the ill-lit square. The case Anna was carrying kept banging against her leg and the rain was so heavy that she could hardly see. Once she missed her footing and stepped into a deep puddle so that her feet were soaked. But at last they were in the dry. Mama booked rooms for them and then she and Max had something to eat. Anna was too tired. She went straight to bed and to sleep.

In the morning they got up while it was still dark. ‘We’ll soon see Papa,’ said Anna as they ate their breakfast in the dimly-lit dining room. Nobody else was up yet and the sleepy-eyed waiter seemed to grudge them the stale rolls and coffee which he banged down in front of them. Mama waited until he had gone back into the kitchen. Then she said, ‘Before we get to Zurich and see Papa we have to cross the frontier between Germany and Switzerland.’

‘Do we have to get off the train?’ asked Max.

‘No,’ said Mama. ‘We just stay in our compartment and then a man will come and look at our passports – just like the ticket inspector. But’ – and she looked at both children in turn – ‘this is very important. When the man comes to look at our passports I want neither of you to say anything. Do you understand? Not a word.’

‘Why not?’ asked Anna.

‘Because otherwise the man will say “What a horrible talkative little girl, I think I’ll take away her passport”,’ said Max, who was always bad-tempered when he had not had enough sleep.

‘Mama!’ appealed Anna. ‘He wouldn’t really – take away our passports, I mean?’

‘No … no, I don’t suppose so,’ said Mama. ‘But just in case – Papa’s name is so well known – we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves in any way. So when the man comes – not a word. Remember – not a single, solitary word!’

Anna promised to remember.

The rain had stopped at last and it was quite easy walking back across the square to the station. The sky was just beginning to brighten and now Anna could see that there were election posters everywhere. Two or three people were standing outside a place marked Polling Station, waiting for it to open. She wondered if they were going to vote, and for whom.

The train was almost empty and they had a whole compartment to themselves until a lady with a basket got in at the next station. Anna could hear a sort of shuffling inside the basket – there must be something alive in it. She tried to catch Max’s eye to see if he had heard it too, but he was still feeling cross and was frowning out of the window. Anna began to feel bad-tempered too and to remember that her head ached and that her boots were still wet from last night’s rain.

‘When do we get to the frontier?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Mama. ‘Not for a while yet.’ Anna noticed that her fingers were squashing the camel’s face again.

‘In about an hour, d’you think?’ asked Anna.

‘You never stop asking questions,’ said Max, although it was none of his business. ‘Why can’t you shut up?’

‘Why can’t you?’ said Anna. She was bitterly hurt and cast around for something wounding to say. At last she came out with, ‘I wish I had a sister!’

‘I wish I didn’t!’ said Max.

‘Mama …!’ wailed Anna.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop it!’ cried Mama. ‘Haven’t we got enough to worry about?’ She was clutching the camel bag and peering into it every so often to see if the passports were still there.

Anna wriggled crossly in her seat. Everybody was horrible. The lady with the basket had produced a large chunk of bread with some ham and was eating it. No one said anything for a long time. Then the train began to slow down.

‘Excuse me,’ said Mama, ‘but are we coming to the Swiss frontier?’

The lady with the basket munched and shook her head.

‘There, you see!’ said Anna to Max. ‘Mama is asking questions too!’

Max did not even bother to answer but rolled his eyes up to heaven. Anna wanted to kick him, but Mama would have noticed.

The train stopped and started again, stopped and started again. Each time Mama asked if it was the frontier, and each time the lady with the basket shook her head. At last when the train slowed down yet again at the sight of a cluster of buildings, the lady with the basket said, ‘I dare say we’re coming to it now.’

They waited in silence while the train stood in the station. Anna could hear voices and the doors of other compartments opening and shutting. Then footsteps in the corridor. Then the door of their own compartment slid open and the passport inspector came in. He had a uniform rather like a ticket inspector and a large brown moustache.

He looked at the passport of the lady with the basket, nodded, stamped it with a little rubber stamp, and gave it back to her. Then he turned to Mama. Mama handed him the passports and smiled. But the hand with which she was holding her handbag was squeezing the camel into terrible contortions. The man examined the passports. Then he looked at Mama to see if it was the same face as on the passport photograph, then at Max and then at Anna. Then he got out his rubber stamp. Then he remembered something and looked at the passports again. Then at last he stamped them and gave them back to Mama.

‘Pleasant journey,’ he said as he opened the door of the compartment.

Nothing had happened. Max had frightened her all for nothing.

‘There, you see …!’ cried Anna, but Mama gave her such a look that she stopped.

The passport inspector closed the door behind him.

‘We are still in Germany,’ said Mama.

Anna could feel herself blushing scarlet. Mama put the passports back in the bag. There was silence. Anna could hear whatever it was scuffling in the basket, the lady munching another piece of bread and ham, doors opening and shutting further and further along the train. It seemed to last for ever.

Then the train started, rolling a few hundred yards and stopped again. More opening and shutting of doors, this time more quickly. Voices saying, ‘Customs … anything to declare …?’ A different man came into the compartment. Mama and the lady both said they had nothing to declare and he made a mark with chalk on all their luggage, even on the lady’s basket. Another wait, then a whistle and at last they started again. This time the train gathered speed and went on chugging steadily through the countryside.

After a long time Anna asked, ‘Are we in Switzerland yet?’

‘I think so. I’m not sure,’ said Mama.

The lady with the basket stopped chewing. ‘Oh yes,’ she said comfortably, ‘this is Switzerland. We’re in Switzerland now – this is my country.’

It was marvellous.

‘Switzerland!’ said Anna. ‘We’re really in Switzerland!’

‘About time too!’ said Max and grinned.

Mama put the camel bag down on the seat beside her and smiled and smiled.

‘Well!’ she said. ‘Well! We’ll soon be with Papa.’

Anna suddenly felt quite silly and light-headed. She wanted to do or say something extraordinary and exciting but could think of nothing at all – so she turned to the Swiss lady and said, ‘Excuse me, but what have you got in that basket?’

‘That’s my mogger,’ said the lady in her soft country voice.

For some reason this was terribly funny. Anna, biting back her laughter, glanced at Max and found that he too was almost in convulsions.

‘What’s a … what’s a mogger?’ she asked as the lady folded back the lid of the basket, and before anyone could answer there was a screech of ‘Meeee’, and the head of a scruffy black tomcat appeared out of the opening.

At this Anna and Max could contain themselves no longer. They fell about with laughter.

‘He answered you!’ gasped Max. ‘You said, “What’s a mogger” and he said …’

‘Meeee!’ screamed Anna.

‘Children, children!’ said Mama, but it was no good – they could not stop laughing. They laughed at everything they saw, all the way to Zurich. Mama apologised to the lady but she said she did not mind – she knew high spirits when she saw them. Any time they looked like flagging Max only had to say, ‘What’s a mogger?’ and Anna cried, ‘Meeee!’ and they were off all over again. They were still laughing on the platform in Zurich when they were looking for Papa.

Anna saw him first. He was standing by a bookstall. His face was white and his eyes were searching the crowds milling around the train.

‘Papa!’ she shouted. ‘Papa!’

He turned and saw them. And then Papa, who was always so dignified, who never did anything in a hurry, suddenly ran towards them. He put his arms round Mama and hugged her. Then he hugged Anna and Max. He hugged and hugged them all and would not let them go.

‘I couldn’t see you,’ said Papa. ‘I was afraid …’

‘I know,’ said Mama.









Chapter Five (#ulink_c2beeb6c-a0b6-5f85-a2be-877082d0606c)


Papa had reserved rooms for them in the best hotel in Zurich. It had a revolving door and thick carpets and lots of gold everywhere. As it was still only ten o’clock in the morning they ate another breakfast while they talked about everything that had happened since Papa had left Berlin.

At first there seemed endless things to tell him, but after a while they found it was nice just being together without saying anything at all. While Anna and Max ate their way through two different kinds of croissants and four different kinds of jam, Mama and Papa sat smiling at each other. Every so often they would remember something and Papa would say, ‘Did you manage to bring the books?’ or Mama would say, ‘The paper rang and they’d like an article from you this week if possible.’ But then they would relapse back into their contented, smiling silence.

At last Max drank the last of his hot chocolate, wiped the last crumbs of croissant off his lips and said, ‘What shall we do now?’

Somehow nobody had thought.

After a moment Papa said, ‘Let’s go and look at Zurich.’

They decided first of all to go to the top of a hill overlooking the city. The hill was so steep that you had to go by funicular – a kind of lift on wheels that went straight up at an alarming angle. Anna had never been in one before and spent her time between excitement at the experience and anxious scrutiny of the cable for signs of fraying. From the top of the hill you could see Zurich clustered below at one end of an enormous blue lake. It was so big that the town seemed quite small by comparison, and its far end was hidden by mountains. Steamers, which looked like toys from this height, were making their way round the edge of the lake, stopping at each of the villages scattered along the shores and then moving on to the next. The sun was shining and made it all look very inviting.

‘Can anyone go on those steamers?’ asked Max. It was just what Anna had been going to ask.

‘Would you like to go?’ said Papa. ‘So you shall – this afternoon.’

Lunch was splendid, at a restaurant with a glassed-in terrace overlooking the lake below, but Anna could not eat much. Her head was feeling swimmy, probably from getting up so early, she thought, and though her nose had stopped running her throat was sore.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Mama anxiously.

‘Oh yes!’ said Anna, thinking of the steamer trip in the afternoon. Anyway, she was sure it was just tiredness.

There was a shop selling picture postcards next door to the restaurant and she bought one and sent it to Heimpi while Max sent one to Gunther.

‘I wonder how they’re getting on with the elections,’ said Mama. ‘Do you think the Germans will really vote for Hitler?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Papa.

‘They might not,’ said Max. ‘A lot of the boys at my school were against him. We might find tomorrow that almost no one had voted for Hitler and then we could all go home again, just as Onkel Julius said.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Papa, but Anna could see that he didn’t really think so.

The steamer trip in the afternoon was a great success. Anna and Max stayed on the open deck in spite of the cold wind and watched the other traffic on the lake. Apart from the steamers there were private motor launches and even a few rowing boats. Their steamer went chug-chugging along from village to village on one side of the lake. These all looked very pretty, with their neat houses nestling among the woods and the hills. Whenever the steamer was getting near a landing stage it hooted loudly to let everyone in the village know that it was coming, and quite a lot of people got on and off each time. After about an hour it suddenly steamed straight across the lake to a village on the other side and then made its way back to Zurich where it had started.

As she walked back to the hotel through the noise of cars and buses and clanging trams Anna found she was very tired, and her head felt swimmy again. She was glad to get back to the hotel room which she shared with Max. She still was not hungry and Mama thought she looked so weary that she tucked her into bed straightaway. As soon as Anna put her head down on the pillow her whole bed seemed to take off and float away in the darkness with a chug-chugging noise which might have been a boat, or a train, or a sound coming from her own head.

Anna’s first impression when she opened her eyes in the morning was that the room was far too bright. She closed them again quickly and lay quite still, trying to collect herself. There was a murmur of voices at the other end of the room and also a rustling sound which she could not identify. It must be quite late and everyone else must be up.

She opened her eyes again cautiously and this time the brightness heaved and swayed and finally rearranged itself into the room she knew, with Max, still in his pyjamas, sitting up in the other bed and Mama and Papa standing close by. Papa had a newspaper and this was what was making the rustling sound. They were talking quietly because they thought she was still asleep. Then the room gave another heave and she closed her eyes again and seemed to drift away somewhere while the voices went on.

Someone was saying, ‘… so they’ve got a majority …’ Then the voice faded away and another – (or was it the same one?) – said, ‘… enough votes to do what he wants …’ and then unmistakably Max, very unhappily, ‘… so we shan’t be going back to Germany …’ Had he really said it three times? Anna opened her eyes with a great effort and said ‘Mama!’ At once one of the figures detached itself from the group and came towards her and suddenly Mama’s face appeared quite close to hers. Anna said ‘Mama!’ again and then all at once she was crying because her throat was so sore.

After this everything became vague. Mama and Papa were standing by her bed looking at a thermometer. Papa had his coat on. He must have gone out to buy the thermometer specially. Someone said, ‘A hundred and four’, but it couldn’t be her temperature they were talking about because she couldn’t remember having it taken.

Next time she opened her eyes there was a man with a little beard looking at her. He said, ‘Well, young lady,’ and smiled and as he smiled his feet left the ground and he flew to the top of the wardrobe where he changed into a bird and sat croaking, ‘Influenza’ until Mama shooed him out of the window.

Then suddenly it was night and she asked Max to get her some water, but Max was not there, it was Mama in the other bed. Anna said, ‘Why are you sleeping in Max’s bed?’ Mama said, ‘Because you’re ill,’ and Anna felt very glad because if she was ill it meant that Heimpi would be coming to look after her. She said, ‘Tell Heimpi …’ but then she was too tired to remember the rest, and the next time she looked the man with the little beard was there again and she didn’t like him because he was upsetting Mama by saying, ‘Complications’ over and over again. He had done something to the back of Anna’s neck and had made it all swollen and sore, and now he was feeling it with his hand. She said, ‘Don’t do that!’ quite sharply, but he took no notice and tried to make her drink something horrible. Anna was going to push it away, but then she saw that it was not the man with the beard after all but Mama, and her blue eyes looked so fierce and determined that it didn’t seem worth resisting.

After this the world grew a little steadier. She began to understand that she had been ill for some time, that she still had a high temperature and that the reason she felt so awful was that all the glands in her neck were enormously swollen and tender.

‘We must get the temperature down,’ said the doctor with the beard.

Then Mama said, ‘I’m going to put something on your neck to make it better.’

Anna saw some steam rising from a basin.

‘It’s too hot!’ she cried. ‘I don’t want it!’

‘I won’t put it on too hot,’ said Mama.

‘I don’t want it!’ screamed Anna. ‘You don’t know how to look after me! Where’s Heimpi? Heimpi wouldn’t put hot steam on my neck!’

‘Nonsense!’ said Mama, and suddenly she was holding a steaming pad of cotton wool against her own neck. ‘There,’ she said, ‘if it’s not too hot for me it won’t be too hot for you’ – and she clapped it firmly on Anna’s neck and quickly wrapped a bandage round it.

It was terribly hot but just bearable.

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ said Mama.

Anna was much too angry to answer and the room was beginning to spin again, but as she drifted off into vagueness she could just hear Mama’s voice: ‘I’m going to get that temperature down if it kills me!’

After this she must have dozed or dreamed because suddenly her neck was quite cool again and Mama was unwrapping it.

‘And how are you, fat pig?’ said Mama.

‘Fat pig?’ said Anna weakly.

Mama very gently touched one of Anna’s swollen glands.

‘This is fat pig,’ she said. ‘It’s the worst of the lot. The one next to it isn’t quite so bad – it’s called slim pig. And this one is called pink pig and this is baby pig and this one … what shall we call this one?’

‘Fräulein Lambeck,’ said Anna and began to laugh. She was so weak that the laugh sounded more like a cackle but Mama seemed very pleased just the same.

Mama kept putting on the hot fomentations and it was not too bad because she always made jokes about fat pig and slim pig and Fräulein Lambeck, but though her neck felt better Anna’s temperature stayed up. She would wake up feeling fairly normal but by lunch time she would be giddy and by the evening everything would have become vague and confused. She got the strangest ideas. She was frightened of the wallpaper and could not bear to be alone. Once when Mama left her to go downstairs for supper she thought the room was getting smaller and smaller and cried because she thought she would be squashed. After this Mama had her supper on a tray in Anna’s room. The doctor said, ‘She can’t go on like this much longer.’

Then one afternoon Anna was lying staring at the curtains. Mama had just drawn them because it was getting dark and Anna was trying to see what shapes the folds had made. The previous evening they had made a shape like an ostrich, and as Anna’s temperature went up she had been able to see the ostrich more and more clearly until at last she had been able to make him walk all round the room. This time she thought perhaps there might be an elephant.

Suddenly she became aware of whispering at the other end of the room. She turned her head with difficulty. Papa was there, sitting with Mama, and they were looking at a letter together. She could not hear what Mama was saying, but she could tell from the sound of her voice that she was excited and upset. Then Papa folded the letter and put his hand on Mama’s, and Anna thought he would probably go soon but he didn’t – he just stayed sitting there and holding Mama’s hand. Anna watched them for a while until her eyes became tired and she closed them. The whispering voices had become more quiet and even. Somehow it was a very soothing sound and after a while Anna fell asleep listening to it.

When she woke up she knew at once that she had slept for a long time. There was something else, too, that was strange, but she could not quite make out what it was. The room was dim except for a light on the table by which Mama usually sat, and Anna thought she must have forgotten to switch it off when she went to bed. But Mama had not gone to bed. She was still sitting there with Papa just as they had done before Anna went to sleep. Papa was still holding Mama’s hand in one of his and the folded letter in the other.

‘Hello, Mama. Hello, Papa,’ said Anna. ‘I feel so peculiar.’

Mama and Papa came over to her bed at once and Mama put a hand on her forehead. Then she popped the thermometer in Anna’s mouth. When she took it out again she did not seem to be able to believe what she saw. ‘It’s normal!’ she said. ‘For the first time in four weeks it’s normal!’

‘Nothing else matters,’ said Papa, and crumpled up the letter.

After this Anna got better quite quickly. Fat pig, slim pig, Fräulein Lambeck and the rest gradually shrank and her neck stopped hurting. She began to eat again and to read. Max came and played cards with her when he wasn’t out somewhere with Papa, and soon she was allowed to get out of bed for a little while and sit in a chair. Mama had to help her walk the few steps across the room but she felt very happy sitting in the warm sunshine by the window.

Outside the sky was blue and she saw that the people in the street below were not wearing overcoats. There was a lady selling tulips at a stall on the opposite pavement and a chestnut tree at the corner was in full leaf. It was spring. She was amazed how much everything had changed during her illness. The people in the street seemed pleased with the spring weather too and several bought flowers from the stall. The lady selling tulips was round and dark-haired and looked a little bit like Heimpi.

Suddenly Anna remembered something. Heimpi had been going to join them two weeks after they left Germany. Now it must be more than a month. Why hadn’t she come? She was going to ask Mama, but Max came in first.

‘Max,’ said Anna, ‘why hasn’t Heimpi come?’

Max looked taken aback. ‘Do you want to go back to bed?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Anna.

‘Well,’ said Max, ‘I don’t know if I’m meant to tell you, but quite a lot happened while you were ill.’

‘What?’ asked Anna.

‘You know Hitler won the elections,’ said Max. ‘Well, he very quickly took over the whole government, and it’s just as Papa said it would be – nobody’s allowed to say a word against him. If they do they’re thrown into jail.’

‘Did Heimpi say anything against Hitler?’ asked Anna with a vision of Heimpi in a dungeon.

‘No, of course not,’ said Max. ‘But Papa did. He still does. And so of course no one in Germany is allowed to print anything he writes. So he can’t earn any money and we can’t afford to pay Heimpi any wages.’

‘I see,’ said Anna, and after a moment she added, ‘are we poor, then?’

‘I think we are, a bit,’ said Max. ‘Only Papa is going to try to write for some Swiss papers instead – then we’ll be all right again.’ He got up as though to go and Anna said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t have thought Heimpi would mind about money. If we had a little house I think she’d want to come and look after us anyway, even if we couldn’t pay her much.’

‘Yes, well, that’s another thing,’ said Max. He hesitated before he added, ‘We can’t get a house because we haven’t any furniture.’

‘But …’ said Anna.

‘The Nazis have pinched the lot,’ said Max. ‘It’s called confiscation of property. Papa had a letter last week.’ He grinned. ‘It’s been rather like one of those awful plays where people keep rushing in with bad news. And on top of it all there were you, just about to kick the bucket …’

‘I wasn’t going to kick the bucket!’ said Anna indignantly.

‘Well, I knew you weren’t, of course,’ said Max, ‘but that Swiss doctor has a very gloomy imagination. Do you want to go back to bed now?’

‘I think I do,’ said Anna. She was feeling rather weak and Max helped her across the room. When she was safely back in bed she said, ‘Max, this … confiscation of property, whatever it’s called – did the Nazis take everything – even our things?’

Max nodded.

Anna tried to imagine it. The piano was gone … the dining-room curtains with the flowers … her bed … all her toys which included her stuffed Pink Rabbit. For a moment she felt terribly sad about Pink Rabbit. It had had embroidered black eyes – the original glass ones had fallen out years before – and an endearing habit of collapsing on its paws. Its fur, though no longer very pink, had been soft and familiar. How could she ever have chosen to pack that characterless woolly dog in its stead? It had been a terrible mistake, and now she would never be able to put it right.

‘I always knew we should have brought the games compendium,’ said Max. ‘Hitler’s probably playing Snakes and Ladders with it this very minute.’

‘And snuggling my Pink Rabbit!’ said Anna and laughed. But some tears had come into her eyes and were running down her cheeks all at the same time.

‘Oh well, we’re lucky to be here at all,’ said Max.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Anna.

Max looked carefully past her out of the window.

‘Papa heard from Heimpi,’ he said with elaborate casualness. ‘The Nazis came for all our passports the morning after the elections.’









Chapter Six (#ulink_b6227167-d7b9-58d9-b122-dd9a7d613eda)


As soon as Anna was strong enough they moved out of their expensive hotel. Papa and Max had found an inn in one of the villages on the lake. It was called Gasthof Zwirn, after Herr Zwirn who owned it, and stood very near the landing stage, with a cobbled courtyard and a garden running down to the lake. People mostly came there to eat and drink, but Herr Zwirn also had a few rooms to let, and these were very cheap. Mama and Papa shared one room and Anna and Max another, so that it would be cheaper still.

Downstairs there was a large comfortable dining room decorated with deers’ antlers and bits of edelweiss. But when the weather became warmer tables and chairs appeared in the garden, and Frau Zwirn served everybody’s meals under the chestnut trees overlooking the water. Anna thought it was lovely.

At weekends musicians came from the village and often played till late at night. You could listen to the music and watch the sparkle of the water through the leaves and the steamers gliding past. At dusk Herr Zwirn pressed a switch and little lights came on in the trees so that you could still see what you were eating. The steamers lit coloured lanterns to make themselves visible to other craft. Some were amber, but the prettiest were a deep, brilliant purply blue. Whenever Anna saw one of these magical blue lights against the darker blue sky and more dimly reflected in the dark lake, she felt as though she had been given a small present.

The Zwirns had three children who ran about barefoot and, as Anna’s legs began to feel less like cotton wool, she and Max went with them to explore the country round about. There were woods and streams and waterfalls, roads lined with apple trees and wild flowers everywhere. Sometimes Mama came with them rather than stay alone at the inn. Papa went to Zurich almost every day to talk to the editors of Swiss newspapers.

The Zwirn children, like everyone else living in the village, spoke a Swiss dialect which Anna and Max first found hard to understand. But they soon learned and the eldest, Franz, was able to teach Max to fish – only Max never caught anything – while his sister Vreneli showed Anna the local version of hopscotch.

In this pleasant atmosphere Anna soon recovered her strength and one day Mama announced that it was time for her and Max to start school again. Max would go to the Boys’ High School in Zurich. He would travel by train, which was not as nice as the steamer but much quicker. Anna would go to the village school with the Zwirn children, and as she and Vreneli were roughly the same age they would be in the same class.

‘You will be my best friend,’ said Vreneli. She had very long, very thin, mouse-coloured plaits and a worried expression. Anna was not absolutely sure that she wanted to be Vreneli’s best friend but thought it would be ungrateful to say so.

On Monday morning they set off together, Vreneli barefoot and carrying her shoes in her hand. As they approached the school they met other children, most of them also carrying their shoes. Vreneli introduced Anna to some of the girls, but the boys stayed on the other side of the road and stared across at them without speaking. Soon after they had reached the school playground a teacher rang a bell and there was a mad scramble by everyone to put their shoes on. It was a school rule that shoes must be worn but most children left them off till the last possible minute.




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