Mary Boyd – “There was no sign of any train at Victoria”

What had we to offer? A safe area in the Cotswolds. My two oldest brothers had completed their studies and were immediately called up, so two bedrooms were empty and available. What “jobs” could we offer to refugees – not paid, only subsistence?

My father had joined a committee in London of clergy and similar, hoping to help by offering accommodation. A family, from Vienna, of a skilled Jewish lawyer: his wife and eight-year-old son could be helpful in the kitchen with extended numbers of people. I had just left school, taken exams, and could help the eight-year-old boy to learn English ways, but what could the lawyer do? He couldn’t help in the garden as we already had an elderly gardener who needed to earn part-time. Perhaps the lawyer could be chauffeur to my father, to get about our small village; our car was only a second-hand Austin 7. Should he wear a chauffeur’s cap? Or a country cloth cap? We laughed at the problem, but the need was desperate. My father went up to London to suggest this, and his offer was thankfully accepted. Next day, he carried a copy of The Times to identify himself as coming to meet the family, but there was no sign of any train at Victoria station. A BBC broadcast told us that Hitler had marched into Vienna the night before. We never had further word from them. Had they fled over the mountains? Or had they been sent to the nearest concentration camp?

We never knew. I have always wondered what happened to the eight-year-old boy.

Mary Boyd
Bridport, Dorset