Kindertransport by Olga Levy Drucker Read Free Book Online Page A

some stinky soap out of my burning eyes. “Not yet! I’m not done with you, young lady! There will not be a single louse left on you when you go to your new place, if I have anything to do with it.” With that she scrubbed harder than before. I felt as if somehow the whole business had been my fault.
    But I had recognized a word: louse . In German the word sounds the same: Laus . Now I knew what I had caught from Lydia. I was mortified. I lowered my head
obediently into the smelly sink and let Mrs. Liebman scrub away.

    On Monday morning a shiny black limousine parked outside the dreary basement flat of the Liebmans’. I watched from behind the sooty lace curtains as a chauffeur opened the car door. A slender leg in silk stockings and high-heeled shoes emerged. Mrs. Gordon had come to fetch me.
    My head still felt sore from the delousing. But at least it didn’t itch anymore. Mr. Liebman was already sleeping. Mrs. Liebman, much to my surprise, kissed me on the cheek. Lydia pinched my arm one last time. I quickly stepped on her foot. Then I was off and away.
    Through the limousine windows I watched London fly past us. Cathedrals. Department stores. People rushing about. Women with umbrellas and shopping bags over their arms. Men swinging umbrellas and briefcases. Little dogs straining on leashes, as little dogs will. Lines of children snaking along in twos, a teacher in front and one in back to catch the stragglers. Suddenly I thought of my real school in Stuttgart, and even of Herr Schüler. A huge wave of homesickness threatened to drown me.
    I was very quiet. After some time we left the busy city behind. After more than two hours’ drive through the English countryside, we came to another city.

    â€œNorwich,” explained Mrs. Gordon. It was the first thing she had said since we had left London.
    More old buildings, black with age. A cathedral. People rushing about. Children. Dogs. My breath was steaming up the windowpanes, as we hurriedly drove past.
    Soon we came to the suburbs. Wrought-iron fences and tall hedges hid the houses behind them. At first they were quite small, semidetached and all alike. Gradually they became larger, more opulent. At times they could barely be seen from the road. They stood, like palaces, at the end of long, tree-lined driveways. Tall, graceful Elizabethan chimneys emitted smoke, the only sign that people lived there.
    Our limousine turned into one such driveway and pulled up to the entrance of what looked to me like a castle. The chauffeur came around to open the door for Mrs. Gordon and me.
    No sooner was I out of the car than a girl about my size hurled herself out of the house and threw herself at her mother.
    â€œMummie! Mummie! Where were you so long? I wanted to come with you! And we have to get to the stables by half past two, have you forgotten?”
    I was beginning to recognize one or two words here and there, but she was certainly speaking much too fast. All I got was: “Mummie,” “Come with you,” and “half past two.” I checked my watch. It was only eleven.

    Her mother said something reassuring to her, dismissed the chauffeur, and led the way inside.
    My eyes nearly popped out of my head. The cool, marbled foyer was filled with great pots of flowers. At home, Mama also kept flowers in the house, but only in summertime. I had never heard of flowers before May, at the earliest. This was only April. Where had they come from? I learned later that in back of the garden were greenhouses, where gardeners coaxed flowers and tropical plants to grow all year round. But I didn’t know that then. I was very impressed.
    Again I had to share a room, this time with soft, frilly beds, neatly made up. I wondered briefly what Mama was using my blue room for these days. This room was all pink and white. Blue, I thought, would have been better.
    The girl’s name was Jill. She was quite pretty. Her long yellow curls fell softly