Mark Kneale: “A big contrast to Germany”

Aside: Whereas my memory of recent events is becoming poorer, my memory of 70 years ago is strong and clear.

I lived with my father and mother in Berlin and was 7 years old, when on 9th November 1938 we returned home on the underground and were startled by huge red headlines in the evening paper. These said that a Jew had assassinated a German Diplomat in Paris. My father went white; we rushed home and my father immediately disappeared, and went into hiding: I hardly ever saw him again.

That night was what they called Kristallnacht. The Nazis had organized a brutal revenge. The synagogues were burnt and Jewish shops were smashed and looted. The next day I went to school as usual and saw the remains of our still-smouldering synagogue and many destroyed shops. School closed early and I was sent home mid-morning. There were many Hitler Youth and brownshirt gangs still on the rampage, causing mayhem.

A kind civil policeman, in green uniform, took me by the hand and said “You should not be out in this – go home at once”. There followed 3 months of waiting with my mother, in seemingly endless queues, trying for an exit permit while being shouted at by irascible officials – all in an atmosphere of fear, gloom and doom. My father was in hiding; my mother tried to teach me some English, but her heart wasn’t in it – she was too distraught..

On Thursday 15th March 1939 I was put on a train at the Berlin Zoo station together with perhaps 400 other children of all ages. My parents were not there: I suppose they could not face the moment of separation, or perhaps father was still hiding. I was unaware of what was going on and did not understand the sad scenes and wailing farewells at the station.

We were soon at the Dutch/German border. The train stopped and the German Border-police came on. They were very nasty, and frightening, bullying everyone particularly the young women in whose charge we travelled. I still have the special exit permit I needed. (exhibit1) After an agonizing delay we were shunted over the border into Holland and were met by some very kind and cheerful ladies of the Red Cross, and some Quaker ladies who came on the train distributing sweets, drinks and cakes. A wave of enormous relief and happiness resulted in tears, laughter and sudden singing. We caught the overnight ferry to Harwich. The North Sea was rough and I and many others were sick. Then by train to Liverpool Street, which was huge, smoky and noisy, where I first saw strange, tall Policemen: Bobbies in strange helmets. They, too, were very kind and smiling ( a big contrast to Germany). Soon we were collected by our new English family the Schlesingers and lodged in a splendid hostel in Highgate. Thereafter I met nothing but kindness in England.

In 1942 my parents were deported to Riga and murdered by the Nazis. I was notified by the Red Cross but another kind lady, the headmistress of my school, withheld the news until I the war was over. I became naturalized as a war orphan when I was sixteen.

Mark Kneale
Welshpool, Powys