STEPPING UP

For many people, January is the start of something new, stepping into a new adventure. Something positive and exciting.

For other people it is a time to escape. For some, escape is forced upon them. For others it is their own conscious, liberating choice.

Times are hard for many people. We only have to turn on the television, read a newspaper or go on social media and we see stories and images of war, disaster and dismay. Many people stay to weather the storm or not. Others choose to get out while there is still time.

Whether to stay or leave a terrible situation must be one of the most difficult decisions for anyone to make. This is the case whether it’s someone in an abusive relationship, a terrible job or in the midst of a war.

There is no certainty that the disaster will continue and people always hope that it will come to an end. Which in most times, it will. I just wish that those who think they will gain some advantage from wreaking havoc realise that any victory is only temporary, rarely providing any long-term benefit. There are no victors in wars for example – all are losers. Except maybe demagogues and arms-dealers. Yet still the carnage goes on.

I’ve been watching the Netflix series Life on our Planet which features the destruction caused by mass extinctions. It’s a stunning production and demonstrates how the world is built on repeated periods of annihilation.

There have been at least five major extinction events in the last 500 million years (some experts think there may have been up to 20) where almost all life was wiped out. The series really brought the impact of these extinctions home to me. And we are probably undergoing a sixth mass extinction caused by mankind.

But what struck me even more forcefully is how, despite these catastrophes, life clung on by its finger-tips and then resurged, although always in a different form. It makes me realise that one of the species which may become extinct in the sixth extinction is Homo Sapiens. And yet the earth will rumble on, oblivious of our disappearance, acting as an incubator for new lords of the planet.

Incidentally, we should stop saying that anything outmoded and tired is a dinosaur. They lasted for 150 million years – we Homo Sapiens have clocked up 150 thousand at most.

But despite the fact that life in some form or another will probably survive future catastrophe, let’s not be sanguine about the planet. We should stop shooting ourselves and other creatures in the foot.

I know that some people say, ‘The little things we do as individuals won’t make a difference to anything.’ But I’m convinced that the little deeds of individuals will make a difference. Travelling by train instead of plane, by bus instead of a car, on foot or a bicycle will help. Turning down the thermostat or changing our diet will. We certainly can’t rely on politicians or big business to do the heavy lifting.

Talking of individuals, I often ponder how individuals make a difference to the affairs of the world. What would have happened if Hitler had been killed in the trenches? Or if Winston Churchill had been killed by a New York taxi driver by the name of Edward F. Cantasano. In 1931 Churchill was hurrying across a wet road in Manhattan and forgot that Americans drove on the right and not the left. The taxi ploughed into him. At first it was thought he was dead but he was taken to hospital and recovered, fortunately for Britain and the world. Hitler and Mussolini would have viewed his survival in a different way.

Contasino felt so bad about the accident that he phoned the hospital almost daily to inquire about Churchill’s condition, and several times went to try to apologise. Hearing of this, Churchill asked to see him, concerned that the accident might prevent him from finding work.

Contasino finally visited on December 20th, a week after the collision. He spent more than half an hour chatting with Winston and his wife and daughter. Mrs. Churchill offered to help him financially but he politely declined. Before he left, Churchill presented him with a copy of his new book, The Unknown War.

Five days later, despite Prohibition, Churchill’s surgeon gave him the following prescription. Perhaps he succumbed to his oratorical skills.

And here’s the thing. Churchill used words to inspire the British to engage in what appeared a near forlorn defiance of Nazi Germany. Yet Adolf Hitler could so mesmerise people that he was able to launch a war which caused 65 million deaths and countless others wounded, traumatised and damaged irreparably for life. And to what purpose? He was not the victor; the German people certainly weren’t. And nor were all those people who he drove towards the abyss.

So, if we ever doubt that one person can have an impact on the world, think of Hitler, think of Lenin, think of Churchill, think of Gandhi and think of the New York cabbie, Edward F. Cantasano. Little acts can have massive repercussions. I try not to live on auto-pilot and I try to think about how I can live my life in a less damaging way. Not easy but not impossible either. Says he, who has just come back from a trip to America. Whoops.

I have several books which deal with the hell which Hitler unleashed on the world. One of my favourite characters is Miriam Rosenfeld, a 15-year-old Jewish girl whose parents are killed by Nazis and has to flee Vienna with her brother Oscar who has Downs Syndrome which makes him vulnerable to the Nazis.

As well as their attacks upon Jews and Romany people, the Nazis launched a programme to eliminate people with physical and cognitive disabilities, often moving them from asylums to clinics where they performed experiments on them or allowed them to starve to death. They were referred to as useless eaters or life unworthy of life. It’s estimated that almost a quarter of a million adults and children were killed between 1939 and 1945.

So, it was imperative for Miriam to get Oscar to safety, no matter how difficult a task.

Of all my characters, Miriam is probably my favourite. My late wife Janine said that all of my heroes were based on me - I sometimes think that Miriam was based on her. As a social worker Janine was always fascinated that some children were incredibly resilient no matter how terrible their experiences. Her favourite phrase was ‘Stepping up to the plate’ which she did a lot. And it’s the central theme of Miriam’s story.

Miriam and Oscar’s father had been killed and their mother severely injured to save Oscar being taken by the police. They sought refuge in the home of their teacher who organised their escape from Vienna, providing funds and the services of an engaging young man by the name of Dittrich to escort them to their aunt in Athens. Miriam little realised how much she would have to step up to the plate.

Bold, Bright Spirit

January 1941

Herr Zweig bade them farewell and hurried off, his eyes searching everywhere for suspicious looks.

Miriam watched him go with a heavy heart. He seemed like the last link to her previous life. The last link to her Mama and Papa.

‘We must go,’ Herr Dittrich said. ‘The train will leave in five minutes.’

Miriam pushed the brim of Oscar’s cap low over his eyes. He complained but she told him it made him look grown up and he acquiesced.

The inspector at the gate studied the tickets and their papers. He gave Miriam and Oscar a thoughtful look. ‘Where are you taking the children?’ he asked Dittrich.

‘To their aunt in Budapest. Their mother is unwell, and she asked me to accompany them. I’m their godfather.’

The inspector grunted, stamped their tickets and returned them to Dittrich. Miriam heaved a sigh of relief as they walked on to the platform. The train had half a dozen carriages and Dittrich led them towards the third class one directly behind the locomotive.

Oscar had never been on a train and he was delighted to see the huge locomotive. ‘It’s like a panther,’ he said. ‘All hot and sweaty and panting.’

Dittrich looked astonished. ‘Your brother knows about panthers?’

‘He knows about every animal.’ Miriam said. There was a rare sound of pride in her voice.

‘But I thought he was mentally defective.’

Miriam bristled at his words. It was not for a stranger to criticise her brother, not even one as good-looking as Herr Dittrich.

‘He is a little slow,’ she said. ‘But his progress is promising.’ She decided to add a small fib, perhaps to make herself look better in the young man’s eyes. ‘He can read, actually, quite well.’

‘He must be able to if he knows about panthers.’

He held open the door to the carriage. Miriam went first but Oscar had trouble negotiating the step. Miriam panicked and hissed at him to hurry up. A policeman strolled down the platform in their direction.

‘Herr Dittrich,’ she cried in alarm.

Dittrich followed her gaze and then scooped Oscar up in his arms and jumped on board. He found an empty compartment and almost pushed Miriam into a seat at the window facing away from the corridor. He sat down beside her, squeezing Oscar in between them.

‘Is the policeman looking for us?’ she breathed.

Dittrich turned towards her, a look of sympathy shining from his face. ‘I doubt it, Fraulein. Our Austrian police like to feel important. Swaggering is more important than doing their job.’

‘They like to kill people,’ she said.

An inspector blew his whistle, the locomotive gave a deep gasp and the train pulled out of the station. ‘Can I sit by the window, Mimmy?’ Oscar said.

‘Not yet,’ Dittrich answered. ‘We have a long time on the train and I promise that after the first stop you can always have the window seat.’

Miriam smiled to herself. He was such a gentleman.

The train travelled east, crossing the border into Hungary two hours later. Shortly after it pulled in to Hegyeshalom Train Station. ‘We have to get off here,’ Dittrich said. ‘But be careful. There will be Austrian officials here and we have to go through customs.’

Miriam pulled the brim of Oscar’s cap even lower over his face.

The customs hall was a large, airy room with one long counter. Hungarian officials stood behind it, examining passports and checking people’s luggage. A solitary Austrian policeman stood by, gossiping with a Hungarian counterpart.

Dittrich steered them towards the shortest line and handed over the papers. The man scrutinised them carefully. ‘Why are you going to Budapest, Herr Dittrich?’ he asked.

‘The children’s mother is ill and I’m taking them to stay with their aunt. I’m their godfather.’

The man gave the papers back to him and waved them through.

They were stopped by a second official who opened Miriam’s suitcase and rummaged through it. Finally, he found the tin box containing her father’s money and held it up to her face.

‘That’s for my sanitary pads,’ Miriam said.

The man could not hide a look of distaste and dropped it back in the case. Miriam just about managed to suppress a smile of triumph. The man gestured them to go through.

There was only one train at the station. The signs on the windows read Vienna to Istanbul in English, French, German and Hungarian.

‘All aboard,’ Dittrich said, shepherding them to a door.

‘But we want to go to Athens,’ Miriam said, ‘not Istanbul.’

‘We are only going as far as Budapest,’ Dittrich said. ‘Then we change to another train to Belgrade. And from there we go to Thessaloniki in northern Greece.’

‘Why so many trains?’

‘They’re the quickest way to get you out of Austria. And Rabbi Kellner thought that changing trains will make it harder for the Austrian authorities to keep track of you.’

Miriam was horrified to hear this. ‘Would they try to follow two children?’

Dittrich shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose so but the rabbi is an extremely cautious man so I thought it best to humour him.’ He lay his hand on her hand. ‘In any case, you have me to protect you now.’

Miriam blushed and she turned away to hide it from him. Her skin seemed to still retain the heat from his hand. It felt wonderful.

Dittrich chose a compartment which contained a Turkish couple in traditional costume. The woman made a fuss of Oscar and the man moved from the window and gestured to him to sit there.

As the train pulled out, Dittrich spoke to Miriam in a whisper. ‘It was clever of you to say what you did about the little box.’

Miriam blushed with pleasure. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ She leaned closer to him. ‘It actually has my father’s money in it.’

Dittrich held up his hand to silence her and his eye slid towards the Turkish man.

Miriam clamped her mouth shut and giggled.

The journey through Hungary was uneventful apart from the arrival of the ticket inspector. He was a skinny man in his forties and smelled of alcohol. He gave the tickets a cursory examination, was abrupt with the two Turks and cast lascivious eyes on Miriam. She was mortified. She had never thought that she was anything other than an ordinary schoolgirl and certainly never considered herself pretty. She felt sullied by his stare.

The Turkish woman leaned over the moment the inspector left and touched her gently on the arm, commiserating with her. Miriam thanked her and brushed away a tear. She missed her mama.

A couple of hours later the train pulled into Budapest.

‘I’m hungry,’ Oscar said, rubbing his tummy.

‘We’ll get some lunch,’ Dittrich said. ‘We have an hour to kill.’

They entered a very swish café and Dittrich bought them each an omelette and an apple pie. He contented himself with a bite-sized pastry and then lit a long black cigarette which Miriam thought incredibly exotic.

‘It’s time to go,’ he said, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. He led them out to the waiting train and selected a quiet compartment. He was about to put their suitcase on the rack above them when he asked if they wanted anything from it.

‘I want my book,’ Oscar said. ‘My birdy book.’

Dittrich smiled and handed Miriam the suitcase. She got out Oscar’s book and the tattered Greek -English dictionary.

‘I’ll put it on the rack,’ Dittrich said.

‘You’re very kind,’ Miriam said, blushing furiously.

‘It’s my pleasure, believe me.’

He lifted the case onto the rack above her seat. It seemed rather a struggle, and it took him some time. ‘There’s not much room on the rack,’ he explained.

The whistle blew. Dittrich stepped into the corridor and peered out of the window. The train began to pull out. As it picked up speed, he opened the door and jumped onto the platform, slamming the door behind him.

Miriam ran to the window in alarm. Dittrich held the money box up to the window and blew her a kiss. She gasped in horror and tried to open the door but an elderly man restrained her.

She stuck her head out of the window and watched as Dittrich disappeared from view.

Miriam had always blamed Oscar for any misfortunes which had befallen her. Now, for the first time, she realised that she could not do so. It was not Oscar’s fault that Dittrich had stolen the box; it was she had boasted to him that it contained money.

She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. She’d been so impressed by Dittrich’s good looks and debonair ways that she wanted to appear clever and sophisticated to him. How could she have been such an idiot?

She glared at Oscar. He was engrossed in his bird book and was not the least bit concerned about anything. The rabbi had been right. Everything relied on her now. And she hadn’t made a good start.

WHAT I’M WATCHING

Life on our Planet, Seinfeld and Frasier.

WHAT I’VE BEEN READING

Battle of the Bigtop by Les Sandiford. A fascinating history of the American circus which fascinated me ever since going to the Ringling Museum in Sarasota.

The Essex Serpent. Sarah Perry’s wonderful evocation of late Victorian England.

As I Walked out One Midsummer Morning. A wonderfully poetic account of Laurie Lee’s wanderings in Spain just before the Civil War.