Guided

I was only young, a girl of maybe 10 or 11 when the soldiers came, and it’s funny now that I think back to those days, I can only remember them through the eyes of a child.

But where to start? Well, I suppose with the most important part.

I remember my mother, with her coppery red hair and slight frame always working hard on the farm. I remember my father, big and strong, working out in the field. Looking back now I find it strange that I was not blessed with brothers and sisters, but I think it was not for lack of trying. I remember a plot of garden with several wooden crosses lovingly laid with flowers.

Sometimes in the evening I would sneak a peek out of the window and see my mother crying in the garden. She would compose herself before her return, but when she tucked me in at night and kissed me so gently, I could feel that her face was still wet.

One night my mother called me to her and we sat in front of the hearth. She pulled me up on her lap and she told me a story.

She said that all would be well because I was not a ‘Jewish’ but that some soldier’s were coming and that it was best that we were away when they arrived. She told me not to worry, but her brow was furrowed.

I asked where my father was and she said he was seeing a man about a secure passage. I had no idea of what any of these things were, but some of the boys in the neighbouring village had started playing soldiers some time ago and they did lots of hitting, and shouting and shooting with guns, so I agreed to be a good girl and take a passage, whatever that may involve.