Remember Me Page 6

  If Marianne complained to Aunt Vera, she knew she’d be told not to fuss, so she said nothing. She discovered that if she slid under her icy sheets at night and went to sleep before she got warm, her feet didn’t keep her awake.

  The shoes she’d brought from Berlin were getting awfully tight. They hurt her toes and she couldn’t straighten them.

  Last Sunday on the way to church, Uncle Geoffrey, who hardly ever noticed her or made personal remarks, said, “Mary Anne, you’re hobbling about like an old lady. Put your head up, shoulders back.” Before she had a chance to explain that her shoes pinched, the vicar was greeting them. Aunt Vera didn’t refer to the incident and Marianne didn’t like to ask for new shoes.

  Tomorrow there was a jumble sale. Marianne decided she’d donate her outgrown shoes. The sale was for a really good cause – for the Spanish villagers who’d been bombed by the Fascists.

  Next day she put her shoes in the box marked JUMBLE. On Friday, school finished an hour early, so they could all go to the gym. Marianne had sixpence to spend. Perhaps she’d be lucky and find a pair of shoes to fit her.

  The gymnasium was crammed full – students, teachers, parents, and relatives. One table was doing a huge trade serving tea poured from a big metal urn, at a penny a cup. Marianne made her way to the used-clothes stall. Next to it was a table with secondhand books. She’d just take a quick look. Bridget’s birthday was next month. Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons was lying at the back of the table, half covered by a Latin dictionary. Marianne picked it up. It was in really nice condition, and only cost twopence. She leafed through it quickly, and came to the part where the children got a telegram from their father: BETTER DROWNED THAN DUFFERS, IF NOT DUFFERS WON’T DROWN.

  The first time she’d read that, she couldn’t find a translation for “duffers.” Now she knew it meant ‘someone useless.’ It was the kind of thing her father might have said to her in his joking way. Wasn’t she like Roger and Kitty and the others? All alone, and she was making decisions as best she could. She had to buy the book for Bridget’s birthday. They’d both read the library copy, and Bridget had said, “I’d love to have my own.” Bridget had become such a good friend, always doing things for her. This could be something Marianne could do to please her. Sometimes Marianne worried that when Bridget went to grammar school, she’d find another best friend, that things wouldn’t stay the same between them.

  “Are you going to read the whole book before you buy it?” Her math teacher was smiling at her.

  “Sorry, Sir,” said Marianne and gave him a threepenny bit.

  “How much change would you like, Mary Anne?”

  “One penny, please,” she replied.

  Teachers could never resist a chance to teach, even after school.

  Mr. Neame said, “Well done,” and handed her the book and the change. That left fourpence. It didn’t seem much to buy a pair of shoes. Even the worn-out ballet slippers were sevenpence.

  “What are you looking for?” the woman helper at the shoe stall asked her.

  “Walking shoes, size, um … three (that was the size of her Wellingtons) … or three and a half. Thank you,” Marianne said.

  “There’s a big box of shoes under the table; I haven’t had time to price them yet. Have a look and see if you can find what you want.”

  Marianne rummaged through them, finding nothing in her size.

  “How about this pair? They should do you, nice leather, and only a bit scuffed. They’d soon brush up. They’re hardly worn. Let you have them for ninepence.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve only got fourpence left.”

  “Sorry, dear. I don’t think I can let them go for that. Tell you what, if I haven’t sold them by the time we close at 7:00 P.M., I’ll let them go for a bit less. Come back then.”

  Marianne did some quick calculations: she had fivepence at home, but she needed stamps and toothpaste. She stood there undecided.

  Mr. Neame called her over. “Mary Anne, is there a mathematical difficulty I can help you with?”

  Suddenly Marianne felt the whole gymnasium go quiet as if, at that moment, everyone was listening. How can I explain that I have no shoes, that there’s no one to tell what any mother would know? She could feel herself blushing.

  “It’s … that I did not bring enough money to spend, Mr. Neame. It doesn’t matter, thank you. I must go now.” Marianne started to edge away.

  Mr. Neame said, “Do you know what a short-term loan is, Mary Anne?”

  She shook her head.

  “Suppose you want to buy a shop, but don’t have quite enough money to pay for it. You could borrow the money from a bank, and sign a paper to promise to pay the debt by a certain date. Now, how much do you need for your purchase?”

  Marianne thought, He’s a kind man. He does not use the word “shoes,” and he is pretending that we are having a math lesson. She said carefully, “I have fourpence here, and I have fivepence at home, but I’m saving it.”

  “If you want to buy something, as it is for a good cause, I am prepared to make you an indefinite loan. I am sure you will repay me as soon as you can. Do you think your parents would approve?”

  “I think so. One day they’ll come to England,” said Marianne.

  “I’ll be happy to meet them,” said Mr. Neame. “Here is sixpence.”

  “Thank you very much, Sir,” said Marianne, and gave him one penny change. She handed over her money to the woman behind the shoe table. Marianne put her purchases in her schoolbag, and walked out of the gymnasium. She told herself she had nothing to feel ashamed of. Marianne ran all the way back to the house. The shoes might have sold if she’d waited till seven, and she did need them.

  Gladys opened the door. “You’re to wash your hands and brush your hair and go into the sitting room. There’s someone to see you,” she said.

  Marianne knocked at the door.

  “Come in, dear,” said Aunt Vera.

  Dear? She never calls me that. This must be someone pretty important.

  “Mary Anne, this is Miss Morland. She has come from the Children’s Refugee Committee to see how you’ve settled in with us.”

  Marianne said, “How do you do.” She knew that no reply was expected.

  Miss Morland said, “Well, Mary Anne, you are a lucky little girl to have found such a beautiful home. Mrs. Abercrombie Jones tells me your English is greatly improved. Is there anything you would like to ask me? No? Well, then, I really must go. I have one more visit to make today. The Kindertransports are arriving almost weekly now, Mrs. Abercrombie Jones. It’s hard to place so many children. We are so grateful to people like you.” Miss Morland stood up.

  Marianne asked, “May I walk Miss Morland to the gate, Aunt Vera?”

  Mrs. Abercrombie Jones hesitated, and then said too brightly, “Of course you may.”

  Marianne opened the front door. Perhaps she could talk to Miss Morland properly now.

  Miss Morland said, “You were one of the early arrivals, weren’t you? That must have been exciting.”

  Marianne said, “Yes. I am wondering about the orphans in Harwich and … and did the other children go to Jewish homes, or -”

  Miss Morland interrupted her, “You all seem to be settling down nicely. That’s what it’s all about. Fitting in, and learning to be English girls and boys. Now I really have to go. Good-bye, dear.”

  Miss Morland shut the garden gate behind her, and walked briskly down the street.

  Aunt Vera stood in the doorway.

  “What were you and Miss Morland talking about, Mary Anne?”

  “I asked her about something. It’s not important.”

  Her chilblains started to itch. She’d changed into her almost-new shoes before going into the sitting room.

  “Where did you get those shoes?” Aunt Vera uttered each word precisely.

  “I bought them at the jumble sale,” said Marianne.

  “You did what?” Aunt Vera’s voice went a notch higher. “Where di
d you get the money?”

  “I had some left, and Mr. Neame lent me the rest. Aunt Vera, my shoes were too small.”

  “Do you realize what you’ve done, Mary Anne? You have made a spectacle of yourself. Again. Shamed me in front of everyone. People will say I am not taking proper care of you. You are an ungrateful, thoughtless girl. Why didn’t you tell me? I will not tolerate this underhand behavior. Go to your room.”

  “I am sorry, Aunt Wera … Vera. I did not mean to be ungrateful. Are you going to send me away?” asked Marianne. She picked at her thumb.

  “That possibility has crossed my mind. However, I accept your apology. You people do not behave in the same way as we do, I suppose,” Aunt Vera said a little more calmly.

  Marianne said again, “I am sorry to offend,” and went upstairs.

  Back in her room, Marianne hugged her bear, and looked out at the sky for a long time. Here, in this room at night, all the loneliness that she pushed away during the day settled around her like the fog that was so much a part of London.

  • 12 •

  “Be patient a little longer”

  Marianne usually passed the postman on her way to school. Today he had a letter for her. “Good news from foreign parts I hope, Miss,” he said.

  Marianne tore off the corner of the envelope with the stamp on it and gave it to him for his little boy’s stamp collection.

  She read the letter in the playground and was almost late for registration. She got a bad mark for dictation, which she was usually good at, because she’d missed out two sentences.

  After school she and Bridget walked to Bridget’s house in silence. The girls sat in the kitchen, as they often did. Finally, Bridget spoke. “Why are you so upset?”

  “What kind of mother sends letters like this?” Marianne said, spots of anger on her cheeks.

  “Like what? Why don’t you translate it?” Bridget asked.

  Marianne read:

  Hafenstrasse 26,

  Düsseldorf, Deutschland

  March 22, 1939

  Dear Marianne,

  Whenever one of your letters arrive, Opa, Oma, and I sit at the kitchen table, and I read it aloud several times. It’s wonderful to hear of your good progress.

  (Bridget rolled her eyes.)

  “Well, I can’t help it, you asked me to translate,” said Marianne.

  Oma and I are still struggling with the th sound. We pretend that we are English ladies in a tea shop and practice saying “the tea, the cake,” but I don’t think we’re improving very much.

  “That’s nothing to get angry about,” Bridget interrupted.

  “Wait – you’ll see,” Marianne said.

  Yesterday, when I came back from the consulate, I found a letter from England. Did you give someone my name, darling? A lady is looking for a cook / housekeeper. She asks if I am interested in the position.

  Bridget jumped up and began singing and dancing “The Lambeth Walk,” the dance that was sweeping England. She put her hand through Marianne’s arm and they twirled round the kitchen.

  Any time you’re Lambeth way

  Any evening, any day

  You’ll find us all doin’ the Lambeth walk.

  Everything’s free and easy.

  Do as you darn well pleasey.

  “If we could ‘do as we darn well pleasey,’ everything’d be alright. Stop it, Bridget. I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Sorry.” Bridget sat down and nibbled a biscuit.

  Marianne continued:

  I asked Opa’s friend to translate for me to make sure that I understood properly. The lady writes that her mother lives in a country village outside Farnham. She is elderly and needs someone to take charge of the household. Naturally I wrote back at once and told her this sounded a perfect situation for me and I would let her know as soon as possible. I’m trying to contact David to ask his advice.

  Since you left, restrictions have been tightened. Jews may no longer use the town library, drive cars, own radios, telephones, or pets, and may shop for only one hour a day. How will Oma and Opa manage without me? If I come, I may bring only one suitcase. I’d arrive with nothing, like a beggar. Yes, you did it too, but you are a child. How will I be able to send for Oma and Opa? It’s too big a decision to make overnight. Try to understand, darling, and be patient a little longer.

  “Why must I be the one to understand?” said Marianne. “It’s about time someone remembered me. What’s she waiting for – a written invitation from the king?” Marianne stopped, too angry and upset to continue.

  Bridget looked down at her plate. She crumbled her biscuit.

  “I don’t believe she’s saying these things. She promised. And now she’s making all these excuses.” Marianne’s voice trembled.

  Bridget looked up. “She can’t just pack a bag and hop on a train.”

  “Why not? If she says yes, then she’ll get her visa, and come, and I’ll have a mother again, like everyone else.” Marianne was close to tears.

  “Not everyone. There’s a girl in my class at school whose mother died last year,” said Bridget.

  “Of natural causes, not on purpose. There’s going to be a war. Don’t you ever look at the news headlines? Even Uncle Geoffrey mumbles, ‘Bound to be a war.’ Everyone will be killed. My father in Prague, my mother and grandparents in Germany, my aunt and uncle and cousin in Holland. They’ll all die and I’ll be left alone.”

  “You’re being melodramatic, Mary Anne. You know you’re exaggerating,” said Bridget.

  “And you know nothing!” Marianne was almost shouting.

  Dr. O’Malley came into the kitchen. “I’ve got ten minutes before my next patient. I was looking for your mother to make me a cup of tea.”

  “Ma’s shopping. I’ll make it,” said Bridget.

  “That’s my good girl,” said her father.

  Marianne burst into tears. It’s not fair – why don’t I have a father to make tea for? “I’m sorry, I have to go,” said Marianne, pushing back her chair.

  “Sit down, Mary Anne,” said Dr. O’Malley, “you’ll ruin my reputation. People will say, ‘That Dr. O’Malley must be an awful bad doctor. Did you see that pretty little girl with the light brown hair leave the surgery crying?’ Pour us all a cup of tea, Bridget, my love.”

  So they all had cups of tea and ate ginger biscuits.

  “Good gracious, look at the time. Mrs. Briggs will be waiting, and complaining. ‘I haven’t got all day, Doctor dear,’ she’ll say.” Dr. O’Malley tweaked Bridget’s curls, smiled at Marianne, and was gone.

  “Sorry, Bridget,” Marianne mumbled, ashamed.

  “It’s that loudmouthed Hitler who should be sorry, messing up people’s lives. I heard Pa say that the world hasn’t got a chance till we get rid of the fascist swine.”

  “Bridget O’Malley, don’t let your mother hear you use words like that,” said Marianne.

  “I’m only quoting what my father said. Listen, Mary Anne, can I tell you something?”

  “You’re going to anyway,” said Marianne.

  “I think your mum is right to try and talk to your father. I mean, she can’t just disappear. My mother doesn’t even buy a hat without asking Pa’s advice,” Bridget said.

  “But she doesn’t know where he is. And with the Nazis in Prague, how can she talk to him?” Marianne tried to keep her voice steady.

  “They’re bound to have friends who can smuggle messages. Well, it’s only polite to discuss something big like going to England. And then there’s your grandparents. I expect she needs a bit of time to prepare them, or something. You know what old people are like,” said Bridget.

  “I never even got a chance to say good-bye to Opa and Oma,” said Marianne.

  Bridget replied, “That’s the way it is. We’re children. No one asks us what we want to do. Don’t you feel proud that your idea worked? You’re eleven years old and you got your mother a job! Cheer up – let’s have a game of cards. What about Old Maid?”

 
“Better not. I can’t be late for tea. I never thought I’d be at Aunt Vera’s this long. I really thought Mutti would come over in a couple of weeks.”

  “Stay a bit longer,” coaxed Bridget.

  “I can’t. I’ve got to copy out my composition for the headmistress. Wonder why she wants to see it?”

  “Probably wants to show off the brilliance of her star German pupil to the school inspector,” said Bridget.

  “One, I’m the only so-called German pupil in the school, and two, don’t call me that. I don’t call you Irish.”

  Bridget opened the front door for Marianne, and suddenly hugged her. “Now its only because I’m Irish I’m doing that. Those cold fishes, the English, would shake hands and they’re not too keen on doing that, either. Good-bye, Miss Marianne Kohn,” Bridget said, pronouncing her name the German way. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sure you will,” said Marianne in her best imitation of an Irish brogue.

  On the way home, every time she avoided stepping on a line on the pavement, she said, “Mother’s coming.” By the time she reached her corner, it had turned into a refrain: “Mother’s coming, Mother’s coming, Mother’s coming.”

  • 13 •

  “Skolership”

  After tea, Marianne copied out her composition, careful to correct every word that she’d misspelt. There weren’t many red sp. signs in the margin. “Silence” was a tricky one; she’d always thought it was spelled with two s’s. That was the trouble with English – there were so many rules and just when you thought you’d learnt them all, there’d be an exception. Like receive – i before e except after c. It’d be so much easier to write “recieve.”

  Miss Martin hadn’t given them a choice of topic as she usually did. She’d said, “Sometimes people have to write about a subject, even if it’s difficult.” But everyone liked doing this one.