The Children's Train: Escape on the Kindertransport Read online

  The Children’s Train

  © 2015 Jana Zinser. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Published in the United States by BQB Publishing

  (Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)

  www.bqbpublishing.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-1-939371-85-0 (p)

  978-1-939371-86-7 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015940363

  Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com

  Cover design by Ellis Dixon

  I could not put this book down. These children’s stories take an unbelievable journey through gut-wrenching sorrow and horrifying pain, yet explode with their raw courage and brute determination to survive and hang on to hope. This book is inspirational, informative, interesting, and should be read by all ages.

  —Charles J. Weber,

  Weber Communications, Los Angeles

  The Children’s Train takes the reader on a wide-eyed, unflinching ride through hell. Like The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, the novel reenacts the atrocities suffered by innocent victims of Hitler’s Germany, through the eyes of its youngest casualties. You’ll weep, you’ll cheer, you’ll stay up all night reading. This book will give you a deeper understanding of the scope of one of history’s most egregious horrors.

  —Suzy Vitello,

  author of The Moment Before and The Empress Chronicles

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  His Music Will Save the Jews (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 2

  The Fuhrer Is Here (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 3

  Times Have Changed (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 4

  The World Turned Out Its Light (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 5

  Fearless German Hero (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 6

  A Nazi Is a Nazi (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 7

  The Night of Broken Glass (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 8

  They’re Hunting Jews Tonight (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 9

  Bruno the Dog (November 1938)

  CHAPTER 10

  A Plea for a Father (December 1938)

  CHAPTER 11

  The Packing of a Life (December 1938)

  CHAPTER 12

  The Betrayal (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 13

  Boarding the Train (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 14

  The Train Whistle Blew (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 15

  To the Holland Border (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 16

  Are We Allowed In? (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 17

  We Suffer for God (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 18

  Mutti Still Remembers You (January 1939)

  CHAPTER 19

  Do Something (January/February 1939)

  CHAPTER 20

  No Bread (March 1939)

  CHAPTER 21

  The First One to Kill Hitler Wins (April 1939)

  CHAPTER 22

  Far Away from Germany (June 1939)

  CHAPTER 23

  The Right to Be Different (August 1939)

  CHAPTER 24

  A Change of Plans (September 1939)

  CHAPTER 25

  War (September 1939)

  CHAPTER 26

  Doctors Save Lives (September 1939)

  CHAPTER 27

  Bamboo Stick (February 1940)

  CHAPTER 28

  Hitler’s a Madman (April/May 1940)

  CHAPTER 29

  A Tremendous Battle (May/June 1940)

  CHAPTER 30

  Head for Cover (September 1940)

  CHAPTER 31

  The World’s Attention (November 1940)

  CHAPTER 32

  The Weight of the Nazis (May 1941)

  CHAPTER 33

  Just Like Rabbit Hunting (December 1941)

  CHAPTER 34

  Sparks Flew (June 1942)

  CHAPTER 35

  Let the Boy Drive (August 1942)

  CHAPTER 36

  God Has Not Forsaken Us (October 1942)

  CHAPTER 37

  The End of the Line (October 1942)

  CHAPTER 38

  The Violin Wolf (October 1942)

  CHAPTER 39

  Don’t Think of Them as People (May 1943)

  CHAPTER 40

  Hate Is Hard to Kill (May 1943)

  CHAPTER 41

  The Final Showers (July 1943)

  CHAPTER 42

  The Dull Gray of Death (January 1944)

  CHAPTER 43

  Press Forward on All Fronts (June 1944)

  CHAPTER 44

  Be Bold (January 1945)

  CHAPTER 45

  A Heart’s Liberation (January 1945)

  CHAPTER 46

  Victory (May 1945)

  CHAPTER 47

  Lost and Found (June 1945)

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  It is with great passion that I tell the story of these children who lived in a time of tremendous evil and had to be bold just to stay alive. Although the children in my story are fictional, they represent both the many children who rode the Kindertransport and those who were not lucky enough to get a seat on the train. Since the moment I heard their historic tale, they have not left my mind. The Kindertransport children came to live in my conscience and would not leave until I told their story.

  The Nazis killed six million Jews. One-and-a-half million of those Jews were children. Peter and Becca represent two of the more than ten thousand children who safely escaped to England on the Kindertransport. Most of the Kindertransport children never saw their parents again. All of them survived in their own ways and found their own paths
in the world. If their tragedy taught them anything, it was that as long as there is life, there is hope, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, love.

  The children who survived these times are now in the twilight of their lives. But, in each, I imagine the heart of a child still lives and remembers what it was like to face the fear and sorrow that no child should ever know. They have shown us how valuable life is—and how hope can push us to survive beyond anything we thought we could bear. If we have learned anything from the struggles of their young lives, we will not be silent and stand by when evil comes calling. We will fight back.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  Although The Children’s Train: Escape on the Kindertransport is inspired by actual historical figures, events, and places, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or incorporated in a fictitious way. The camps, ghettos, and many towns in the book are fictional, but are representative of real places.

  For more information on the real events and children of the Kindertransport, contact The Kindertransport Association at www.kindertransport.org.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is with enormous gratitude that I acknowledge the support and encouragement that has allowed me to write this story. I want to thank Lisa Zinser, Lee Zinser, Jill Davidson, Celia Zinser, Branden Fox, Josh Fox, Conner Fox, Lanae Fox, Leslie Fox, Billie Evans, Christin and Buddy Lynn, Rabbi Aryeh Azriel, Dianna Gordon, Marc MacYoung, Amy Stephens Photography, Eric Woolson, and Robert Gosnell (author of The Blue Collar Screenwriter).

  CHAPTER 1

  HIS MUSIC WILL SAVE THE JEWS

  (November 1938)

  Peter Weinberg, with the gray, piercing eyes, was eleven when he had to face the truth that the world was filled with evil, and there was nothing he could do about it. The Nazi monster, Adolf Hitler, had risen to power in Germany, and he didn’t like Jews, not even the small ones.

  That day in November, 1938, Peter pushed back his sun-streaked blondish-brown hair and swept the butcher shop floor, chasing down even the tiniest speck of dust. “A clean floor shows German pride,” his father Henry said. “If you work hard, you can make your own luck.”

  “Yes, Father,” Peter said as he put the broom away. But Peter wasn’t sure luck could be made. Not in Germany anyway.

  Peter lived with his father, mother, and two younger sisters in a small cozy apartment above their butcher shop in Berlin. Peter’s father, Henry Weinberg, a tall handsome man who walked with a cane, was a good butcher who only sold the best cuts of meat in his downstairs shop and cared for his customers like his family.

  “Watch, Peter. It’s all in the motion and the sharpness of the blade,” his father said. He showed him how to wield the meat cleaver and make perfect cuts of meat, the sharp metal slicing through meat and bone in one swift, precise cut. “Set your mind and focus only on the cut.”

  “And keep your fingers out of the way,” Peter teased.

  His father smiled. “Yes, a butcher’s first lesson. You will be a fine butcher some day.”

  Peter cringed inside but practiced his cleaver technique to please his father. He had become remarkably good. However, he preferred to line up the pieces of meat neatly in the display case to make a symmetrical design. Peter thought quality and presentation were a butcher’s focus.

  Peter felt comforted by the order of the meat lined up in precise rows in the spotless glass case, waiting to be sold. He loved the consistency of routine, and although he would much rather be listening to music, he enjoyed being with his father in the butcher shop. He could name the cuts of meats before he was four, and he often quietly recited them to calm himself.

  Although the Jewish way of slaughtering animals was banned in Germany back in 1933, Peter knew his father continued to use the shechita method. His father told him that he would rather have Hitler mad at him than God.

  The door swung open. Frank Soleman, the balding policeman, walked into the shop. The bell on the shop door tinkled right before Bruno, Frank’s German Shepherd, trotted in behind him and barked at the small swinging bell, like he did every week.

  “Good morning, Frank,” Henry called out from behind the counter.

  “Hello, Henry,” Frank said, smiling.

  Peter walked over to pet Bruno, whose bushy tail swung wildly with anticipation. The big dog nuzzled Peter, almost knocking him over. Bruno was tan, with a black face and a patch of black on his back that made him look like he was wearing a dog-size dinner jacket. “Guten Tag, Bruno,” Peter said and laughed, scratching behind the dog’s pointed ears. “Did you come for your bone today?”

  Frank smiled at Peter. “Bruno comes to see you. The bone is just a bonus.”

  Peter liked Bruno. The dog didn’t care that Peter was Jewish. To the dog, religion was irrelevant. Peter wasn’t allowed to have a dog in the small apartment with his mother’s oversized furniture, or in his father’s shop filled with meat. So he loved it when Frank brought Bruno with him each week. Peter would play with the good-natured, big dog and pretend Bruno was his pet.

  Sylvia Weinberg, Peter’s mother, tucked a loose strand of hair into her swept-up do and hurried over to the meat counter. “Frank, Henry saved you a nice beef loin roast. I’ll get it,” she said, smiling and nodding. It was hard not to be happy around Sylvia. Although Henry was the butcher, the customers were really Sylvia’s.

  “Danke, Sylvia. I was hoping you’d say that,” Frank said.

  “Of course. We’re only the best butcher shop in Berlin,” Henry said.

  “That’s why I come here, and also because I live close by.” Frank laughed.

  Peter got a big meaty bone for Bruno, threw in some scraps of meat and fat, and wrapped it in shiny white butcher paper he ripped from the huge roll. He tied it closed with a string and handed the package to Frank. “Here is Bruno’s bone, and a little something extra.”

  “Thank you, Peter, and Bruno thanks you,” Frank said. “So, how about a song today?”

  Six-year-old Becca, Peter’s sister, skipped around the meat counter, carrying Gina, her doll. A dark-haired girl, Becca had defiant eyes and a sassy walk. As much as Peter sought refuge inside himself, Becca was outgoing, spirited, and unbridled. She rolled her eyes. “All he cares about is his stupid violin, and Bruno.”

  “Well, all you care about is your stupid doll,” Peter shot back.

  “Violins are stupider.” Becca flipped back her curly hair.

  “Play him a song, Peter,” Sylvia coaxed. Baby Lilly, Peter’s rosy-cheeked one-year-old sister, sat in a play area in the corner. The butcher shop was truly a family business.

  Peter went into the back of the shop and came back with his beloved violin. Once he placed it under his chin, he felt transformed into another person, a bold person of great confidence and emotion. He could imagine doing great and daring things when he played the violin. His small hands orchestrated the melodies that were born from wood, string, and the depths of his soul. The music gave him a feeling of unfettered freedom and unsurpassed bravery, neither of which he felt like he had in real life.

&
nbsp; He played a tune called “You Are Not Alone.” It was a song his mother sang to him at night. It helped him go to sleep, kept away his nightmares of the monsters hiding in the corners, and banished that terrifying feeling of hurtling through darkness with no direction and the fear of what would happen when it stopped.

  Sylvia smiled and nodded. “That’s my Peter. His music will change the world someday,” she bragged to Frank.

  Peter turned away, hiding his face as he continued to play. His face flushed with embarrassment, but he couldn’t hide his smile or the dance of his nimble fingers over the strings.

  Frank nodded at the small maestro. Bruno, entranced, thumped down on his hind legs, with his huge tongue hanging out, and watched Peter’s bow seesaw across the violin. The dog’s ears, which always looked like they were saluting, twitched. He was a dog in a dinner jacket that appreciated good music and meaty bones.

  Henry, in his white butcher’s apron, leaned on his meat counter. “Maybe your music will save the Jews from Hitler,” he said, smiling at Peter.

  A shadow crossed the storefront window where the weekly meat specials were advertised. Frank looked over.

  Policeman Karl Radley stood looming in the store window, blocking the sun as he glared at them. Radley, a tall man, about the same age as Henry and Frank, had short blond hair and a very small, thin, turned-up nose that always made him look like he smelled something foul.

  As Radley stared through the window, he pointed at Henry and made a slashing gesture across his throat. He turned abruptly and stomped away.

  Frank stiffened. He quickly paid for his meat and hustled Bruno out, without waiting for the song to end. Peter, who swayed with the music seeping from his pores, didn’t even notice their abrupt departure. The door bounced shut from Frank’s hasty retreat, and the bell tinkled. Peter kept on playing, locked in his own world where he was in control.

  “You shouldn’t have mentioned Hitler,” Sylvia scolded Henry.