A Childhood Memoir

It could not have been much after seven when I left the building. A little early but I was always eager to get to school even if that did not start till eight and even if I dawdled at snail’s pace it would not take me longer than half an hour. But there was nothing to keep me at home a moment longer: everything was so sad. And neither Papi nor Mutti were at home and Trudel was still in bed. I liked meeting friends outside school and chatting. Trudel managed well enough on her own by now with crutches. My poor sister; she was always in some scrap or another. She had been the only one of us who had contracted the dreaded disease diphtheria which we were told could be fatal. But as ever she weathered the storm and I thought she was splendid no matter what she got up to. In fact, there were times I wanted to be just like her as she was never in danger of being a bore.

The streets were remarkably still and silent this morning, with hardly anyone about. But it was early. I walked leisurely through the familiar residential area I could have traversed in my sleep. No shops, just fine old grey brick apartment houses. No one least of all school mates. These back-streets were rarely busy at the best of times but this morning they might have been a grave-yard, the silence was so stark. It was not particularly chilly yet the day was grey as on a bleak winters’ day.

I thought I detected a faint smell of burning that became stronger the closer I drew to my school at the main junction leading past the Hotel VIER JAHRESZEIT in the KONIGSTRASSE joining on to the corner of the HERZOGRUDOLFSTRASSE. My eyes were beginning to smart from the smoky atmosphere with bits of grit flying about, darkening the air even more. No vehicles, still not a single pedestrian as I crossed the road to reach the HERZOGRUDOLFSTRASSE with its corner sweet shop that had for years eased even the most reluctant Jewish student’s load.

For a moment I stood stock still. I was bewildered more than deterred by the billows of smoke obscuring the latter part of the street where my school was situated.

“What on earth are you doing here?” boomed the familiar voice of the owner from inside the little store. “Go home—this is no place for you to-day!”

The generally genial big Bavarian woman sounded cross as she rushed out and stood on the threshold to face me.

“I—I’m going to my school.” I told her tears welling in my eyes as much from the smoke and grit as reaction to her unusual gruffness.

“Ach KLEINCHEN,” she said in a softer tone, “don’t you know—there won’t be any school to-day. Go home as fast as you can. You shouldn’t be out. What were your parents thinking of!”

“My Papi isn’t here” I began instantly on the defensive as I shook my head. “And Mutti—I want to go to my school.”

As I made my way further down the street the crippling stench of burning and smoke all but overwhelmed me. I came to a halt right opposite the school. There was no mistaking it—my school was aflame!

“My school is burning!” I exclaimed to no-one in particular as there was no one close by excepting two brown-shirts further down the road staring straight ahead, entirely ignoring me. “My school is burning and they are not even trying to put out the flames!” I mumbled with tears in my eyes. But as far as the brown-shirts were concerned I might just as well have been just another piece of grit.

I do not know how long I stood there watching the smoke and flames gorging themselves on the greatest joy and influence of the last three years of my life. It did not occur to me that the main target of this outrage was actually the Synagogue behind our school building, the OHEL JAKOB SYNAGOGUE. As it was not the family Synagogue I had never consciously thought of it as part of my school although in reality it was a portion of the senior school building behind the smaller junior building. Pupils whose parents were not affiliated with the Synagogue were therefore hardly aware of it, especially the youngest. Though The Old Testament was an integral part of the curriculum, religion was not. Our sole required qualification was of course being classified as Jewish. To me until now that had always seemed something to be proud of even if magical occasions like Christmas had to be sacrificed.

I stood a long while alone unable to move, as though my feet were glued to the ground. I do not know for how long as no-one joined me there at any time. Not a single other student. And I do not know just what I felt excepting a searing sense of loss and sadness. I kept shaking my head. I still shake my head at the memory of the scene as real and vivid to-day as then.

At some stage I must have decided to make my way back up the road. I met no-one. When I reached the sweet-shop the woman came running out again.

“Good Lord, are you still here child!” She exclaimed. “I couldn’t see you for all the smoke.”

“My school is burning and no-one has sent for the fire-brigade.” I complained as if she were at fault. She stroked my cheek nodding.

“Please get yourself home as fast as you can. Don’t you know what happened last night? I’m really surprised your parents let you come out to-day.” She reached for my right hand and deposited a handful of Marzipan potatoes in it. She knew they were my favourites. I shook my head. I didn’t want them but she closed my hand into a fist.

“Eat them on your way home.” She heaved a sigh. “Auf Wiedersehn!” She called after me without conviction as I walked aimlessly away.

I made my way home through the same deserted streets I had come early that morning. The stench from the smoke had become a part of me. In my clenched fist were the marzipan potatoes beginning to melt. I opened my fist and dropped them one by one into the gutter. I experienced a sensation of misery that gripped my entire being. Shocked I could feel that way I wept very softly the rest of the way.