大象传媒

LOST AND WAITING TO BE FOUND

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CHAPTER 1 - LOST AND WAITING TO BE FOUND

CHAPTER 2 - A RESUME OF MY FEELINGS DURING A TRIP BACK TO TEREZIN

CHAPTER 3 - SIX MILLION AND ONE

CHAPTER 4 - THE LETTERS FROM THE PAST

CHAPTER 5 - MOURNING IN MINSK

CHAPTER 6 - MY VERY LAST HOPE

CHAPTER 7 - THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM NEARLY CAME TRUE

1. LOST AND WAITING TO BE FOUND

Thirty years ago a boy at school made a statement to me which was that I had been adopted. On the surface this was not very earth shattering news at 10 years old, but I didn鈥檛 realise then that this revelation was only the beginning of a lot more drastic news to come and that it was going to take me right up to the present day to find out.

When I confronted my parents with what I had been told, they were speechless, and after a while, with tears in their eyes, confirmed that this news was true. I can remember quite clearly that seeing both my parents so upset in turn made me cry and we all cuddled each other. I said to them that it didn鈥檛 matter and that I still loved them, but I cannot recall whether any other information was forthcoming.

I gradually began to understand what being adopted meant, and it now became clear to me why I had always had a feeling of being different from other children. I could remember back to when I was five years old, playing with lots of boys and girls, and one day some of us were ushered forward to meet two people, a young man and woman. They wanted to take us out for a ride in the country. One day I was to go alone with these people to stay with them for a few days and obviously that visit was to lead to my being adopted.

Every so often I tried to question my parents, where was I born, where were my real parents? But they usually fobbed me off with the statement that they loved me very much and that was all that mattered. On retrospect my adopted parents were behaving in a protective way, they did not want me to be hurt, but I started to become increasingly frustrated. I noticed that at school if I were naughty the teachers would tell me off in the nicest possible way and even apologise for hitting me. This seemed very strange and I quickly began to realise that I possessed a lever, which enabled me to get my own way with my parents, providing I didn鈥檛 ask questions. Looking back I can see that I was thoroughly spoilt.

I was enrolled at the local Synagogue to learn Hebrew, and for a while life carried on as usual, except for the fact that I had recurring dreams. One of them was about a big house, which backed onto a racecourse, and there were lots of big pointed trees. Another dream was about a lovely view of green hills and pretty lights and I seemed to be very high up looking down. One of the other dreams was frightening, there were giant waves coming towards me and lots of water everywhere. When I told my mother that I kept on having the same dream over and over again she said that everyone had dreams like that.

At thirteen years old my name was changed by deed poll, from Jacky Yanofsky to Jack Morris Young. The explanation for this was that 鈥淵anofsky鈥� was too long a name, regarding my other two names I really cannot remember what was said about them. I had been very busy studying for my Barmitzvah, this means growing from boyhood to manhood, and my parents made a big celebration party for me and we all had a very happy time.

One afternoon I went along to visit my grandmother. Usually I accompanied my father on these visits, but this time I went alone and it was on this occasion that she told me that I was not from England. So where am I from I asked her? She told me that I had been born in Austria. Armed with this information I went home and casually mentioned this to my mother, she immediately snapped back at me, 鈥渨ho had told you this?鈥� Seeing her so angry I declined to inform her, as I didn鈥檛 want to get my Grandmother into trouble. 鈥淲ait until your father gets home鈥� she shouted. Later that evening my father verbally attacked me by repeating a list of names. He wanted to know which one of them was the culprit. My Grandmother鈥檚 name was not on this list so I confidently said none of them. I was enjoying all the fuss and chuckling to myself remained silent for a while. All I wanted to know was if the information was true, but instead of telling me right away, both my parents were only interested in finding out who had told me, so if they kept on at me to tell them I was not going to. My father was so angry; he said whoever has told you is my worst enemy. Now I couldn鈥檛 wait to tell him that it was his very own dear mother. He was flabbergasted to say the least. Now I said will you tell me, is it true, was I born in Austria? He more of less admitted it and then hastily brushed it aside.

I was afraid to pursue the matter further. I had mixed feelings about my new-found information. I desperately wanted to know why I had been sent to England. Part of me wanted to cry and part of me wanted to laugh. I also felt extremely sorry for myself and then suddenly I began to feel as if I was somebody special. I must have been because every time I found out something about myself it caused such a commotion. I was treated as though I was special, although I was completed puzzled within myself.

For a time I settled down again. I belonged to a youth club and made lots of friends and involved myself in various activities.

At fifteen years old I left school to become an apprentice hairdresser and I can remember giving my adopted mother some of my first weeks wages, but she never got anymore thereafter. I practised on her hair and finally made it to being a fully-fledged hairdresser. After another few months I contracted very bad dermatitis and had to stop work for a few weeks and when my hands cleared up I went back to work only to get bad hands again. This time it was decided that I would have to give up hairdressing altogether. It took six months to get my hands better again, and I had plenty of time to think. Before long I began wondering about my past again. I couldn鈥檛 figure out why I should be in England. I spoke English without any accent, so I must have come when I was very young and where were my real parents, where they alive or dead? I tried once again to question my adopted mother. As I was much older now maybe she would tell me, but no, as usual I got nowhere, she just kept on saying, what are you trying to do to me, I am your mother. So once again I had to push everything into the background and now that my hands recovered I had to find another job.

I started work in an electrical retail shop, but soon got fed up with carrying televisions around all day. Then I got a job in a menswear shop as a sales assistant, but I was very unsettled and my father suggested that maybe I would like to learn about his business. He was a Bookmaker and so he took me to the Office to show me what he did. Before long we both found out that I was not cut out for figures and anyway I didn鈥檛 like the work.

It was at this time that I noticed a lovely looking girl at a dance, and I knew that she was the girl for me. I had been out with girls, but this particular girl was extra special and as luck would have it she turned out to be the sister of one of my friends. Before long I was going round to my friends house every single day hoping that his sister would be at home. Gradually we got to know each other and fell in love. I was nineteen at this time and she was twenty-one when we got engaged. I had to have a job and so it was decided that I would go on the Knowledge to become a London taxi driver. During our eighteen months engagement, my fianc茅e encouraged and helped me to learn the streets of London. Before long I told my fianc茅e about myself and she was very interested and understanding.

Three months before our marriage we had to go along to the Jewish Board of Deputies with relevant documents for them to sanction that our marriage could take place in the Synagogue. Together with my adopted mother and my fianc茅e鈥檚 mother we went to the Offices, whereupon my mother handed over the deed poll papers showing the change of our name, and also a shortened version of my Birth Certificate.

The secretary remarked to me, so you were born in Austria, he then addressed my mother and asked her if she also born there, no she said. I could see that she was going to try and hide the fact that I was adopted and so I said to her why don鈥檛 you tell the man the truth about me, that I am adopted. In that case he said I must have proof that your natural mother was Jewish. My adopted mother assured him that she was and that the document was in the safe deposit box and couldn鈥檛 he take her word for it. Certainly not, he said, you will have to go and get it. He then turned to me and asked whether I was circumcised and Barmitzvahed, I answered yes to both these questions. My mother was arguing with the man and by now we were all becoming upset. My fianc茅e interrupted and said that we had had enough of all the hassle, it didn鈥檛 matter, and we would get married in a Registry Office. My mother wanted us to be married in the Synagogue and she could see that dealing with bureaucracy she would have to produce the document.

We all went to the safe deposit and I just could not wait to get my hands on those papers. I wanted to see what my mother was trying to hide. I begged her to let me look at them, but crying and shouting she held on to them. On returning to the office the Secretary looked over the papers and told us they were in order. He appeared to be completely without compassion. I snatched the papers away as he handed them back to my mother and to my utter astonishment saw that I had been in a Concentration Camp. My real name was Jona Jakob Spiegel and my mother鈥檚 name had been Elsa Spiegel, born 1909 in Vienna. I had been brought to England on a bomber. We all stood there dumbfounded and I was hysterical. I had heard about these terrible places and couldn鈥檛 accept that I was involved. My mother kept repeating that it was a very long time ago and that I was only a baby. I shouted at her, 鈥渨hy couldn鈥檛 you tell me before? I always find out from other people.鈥�

Absolutely shocked we left the office and went home. Later in the day when my father came home he echoed my mother鈥檚 words, that it all happened a long time ago, that I was only a baby and didn鈥檛 know what was going on, that they both loved me more than if I was their own son so I should try and forget about it. I didn鈥檛 know how I was going to forget about this revelation and I took this opportunity to ask my father where he had adopted me from, reluctantly he said from a place called Lingfield.

I knew that there was a racecourse called Lingfield and one of my recurring dreams had been about a racecourse, maybe there was a link. So one afternoon soon after, my fianc茅e and I went off to Lingfield. We found the local Police Station and I described this large house in my dreams and low and behold we were told where to find it. Driving through the large gates and up the driveway my dream melted into reality. This house must have left a big impression on me. I could see the big pointed trees all the way down the large garden. We knocked on the front door and a young woman came out. When I explained to her why we had come she hastily invited us in and made us tea. She told us that the house was called Weir Courteney and that lots of children had been brought there in 1945.

It was this event, our going to Weir Courteney that day, which was to be the opening of a lot more information to come, but I was going to have to wait another seventeen years to get it.

That same evening I told my parents where we had been, so thrilled with myself that I had managed to find this place through my dreams, but they were displeased. You may wonder why I told my parents knowing full well they would disapprove, but they had brought me up to always tell the truth and now that I was about to be married I considered that if I kept secrets from them I would become as inward looking as they were.

Surely they realised that the curiosity about my early years was not going to go away. I also wanted them to understand that whatever I found out, good or bad, I wanted to share it with them. I loved them just as much as they loved me, nothing could ever take away the fact that they had brought me up and that they were the only mother and father that I knew. But it was hopeless; they would not co-operate with me at all.

Soon after this I was reading in a newspaper about finding missing relatives appertaining to Concentration Camp survivors and also how to go about compensation for lost possessions and suffering. Together with my fianc茅e we went to the United Restitution Office and there we found a very nice lady who listened to what I had to say. She said that as I had been adopted a search must have already been carried out to see whether there were any surviving relatives, but that she would get in touch with the Records offices in Vienna to make sure. A few weeks later we were asked to go along to the United Restitution Office as they had some information for me. I was given a small slip of paper. On this paper was the fact that my mother鈥檚 occupation had been a Milliner, her name, date of birth and the dates of our deportations, me to Terezin and her to Minsk, from where she never returned. From these dates we could work out that I had been taken away from my mother when I was five and a half months old and she was deported immediately after this and I was deported three months later. As for any other relations there were no records. An amount of 拢383 compensation was going to be paid to me. No amount of money could ever compensate for my loss and I felt that the people who had done this terrible thing to me were brushing me aside with a pittance. When I finally received the money I felt that I wanted to tear it to shreds and throw it away. This money represented the mother I never knew and under the circumstances I couldn鈥檛 use the money to enjoy myself, neither did my fianc茅e want it.

I virtually wasted the money. On telling various people about the compensation that I had received, they never believed me and over the years I was always being told about the so-called fortune you are supposed to get.

I was standing under a Canopy in the Synagogue and I could see the reflection of the girl I was about to marry coming up the aisle and the Rabbi leaned towards me and whispered that she looked very beautiful. We had a lovely wedding reception, went on honeymoon to Torremolinos and then settled down in a flat in Hampstead.

I was now equipped with my badge to drive a taxicab and off I went full of happiness, with my past safely tucked at the back of my mind.

Ten months later we had our first baby daughter and naturally we were overjoyed. Two years and nine months later our second baby daughter was born to complete our happy family. It was at this time that I had a deep desire to name this second child with my natural mother鈥檚 name. This had occurred to me the first time around, but I thought it would cause trouble with my adopted parents. However, this time I told my parents of my intentions, after all I was a married man with responsibilities, surely I could do what I wanted. To put it in a nutshell they objected very strongly and so I complied with their wishes to a degree. My wife and I chose the name Elisa instead of Elsa and a second name Gabi, but when I went to register the birth, I added the name Elsa to the other two names. Now she would be called Elisa Gabi Elsa.

You could condemn my parents for their short-sightedness. Whilst I was eternally grateful for the good upbringing they had given me they always made me feel that I was doing something wrong, but to my way of thinking, being a father now myself, it seemed perfectly logical and a very nice way of remembering the mother whom I never knew. She had died in the most tragic circumstances at the age of thirty-two and why should she be forgotten.

It was my adopted parent鈥檚 attitude of never understanding me that rekindled an enormous surge to know more about my background. I had explained to my parents over and over again that nothing could ever change the love I had for them. They often recalled their past memories and yet I was supposed to drop the first five years of my life and forget about it.

I tried to put it to my mother that had she been my natural mother and the same tragedy had happened to her, would she have liked to be remembered or forgotten, she immediately replied, remembered and just for an instant she practically understood. Then she reverted back again, telling me that I had a good wife, two lovely children, lots of relations, that I was only a baby and it happened a long time ago. It was like talking to a brick wall, she just didn鈥檛 want to understand.

It was soon after this latest episode that I was informed that some more compensation was coming to me, a further amount of 拢311. Once again, I frivolously wasted it and looking back, wonder why I didn鈥檛 give it away to an Orphanage, or to some other deserving charity. Because of the frustration I was under, I acted on impulse.

A short while later on reading an article in a newspaper, I saw that an Exhibition of drawings and poetry from the Prague Museum was coming to the Swiss Cottage Library in London. These drawings had been preserved from Terezin. I visited the library together with my wife and children, and it was then that I found out the out of 15,000 children sent to Terezin, under 100 survived. One of them was me! We looked over the drawings and read the very sad poems over and over again. Most of the children were aged between 10-15 years old and had been transported onto Auschwitz to perish. I was stirred up again. It was very difficult to come to terms with all these facts and figures and sometimes I felt completely alone in the whole world. I would look at different people and think to myself, I wonder if they could be a true relation of mine, surely out of an entire family somebody else must have survived and could be around somewhere, but I had to pull myself together.

Around this time we added an Old English Sheepdog to our family and ten years went by very happily with nothing untoward happening, except for deep pangs inside myself every so often - I very much wanted to know my roots. Suddenly, something sparked me off that I must go to Vienna and satisfy my curiosity. I had been to several European countries on holiday, why on earth hadn鈥檛 I thought of going to Vienna where I was born. I suppose since the past was such a taboo subject this aspect had not occurred to me. I would have liked my wife to accompany me, but decided that I would only be gone for two days. Secretly I was worried that something bad may happen to us, and I would rather she stayed behind with our girls.

Equipped with the last known address of my mother and very little knowledge of the German language, off I went. I found the address and stood outside a large block of flats, which had one central doorway. I felt rather miserable, but I also felt completely alien to my surroundings and after all this journey didn鈥檛 even enquire further. Strangely enough all I did was take some photographs and then I went to a very expensive shop and bought a big Russian looking fur hat. My mother had been a milliner and so that I why I must have done this. Then I rushed back home to London to find my wife and children waiting at the airport to meet me. I did feel better for satisfying my curiosity, but there was a horrible feeling inside of me that would not go away.

Five years ago I lost my father. Despite his obstinate ways I loved him dearly and knew that he had loved me. At the time of mourning him I felt I was mourning my natural parents at the same time. I had always had to suppress my past and maybe that is why I was muddled within my mind and had to keep on bringing it up to the surface every so often. I now know quite definitely that what I needed to do was grieve over my lost family.

Four years ago I was faced with a very irate mother waving a letter and shouting I would be the death of her. When we calmed her down we found out that she had been holding on to a letter for three months, but her conscience had got the better of her and she decided to give it to me. It was from two German ladies, who by some coincidence had heard about my visit to Weir Courteney seventeen years earlier. Since they were told that I was interested in my past, thought they should contact me in order to give me some photographs and to tell me about the year I had spent with them when I had come to England. As far as they knew from their own enquiries they thought I was still a ladies hairdresser and they searched the salons of London for six months trying to trace me. Finally, they had no option but to write to my adopted mother asking her to put us in touch.

Naturally, it took quite some time to persuade my adopted mother that I wasn鈥檛 going to run off and leave her for these two ladies and what鈥檚 more, I told her how I would have liked to take her with me to visit them.

Why couldn鈥檛 she understand that I needed to fill in the gaps of my first five years of life and she should be proud of the fact that she had been the one to adopt me? Her point of view was that they had no right whatsoever to contact me, but I argued that they only wanted to give me some photographs. After a lot more arguing she did a complete turnabout and said that she would come with me. By this time no way would I take her along. I couldn鈥檛 take the chance that she would make things very uncomfortable for all concerned.

I telephoned these ladies and that coming Sunday afternoon, together with my wife, two children and dog when to Sussex to visit them. I was thrilled and delighted at what they had to tell me, namely that I was a very inquisitive little boy, I spoke both German and Czech and that it was their task to teach me and the five other youngest children English before going on to join the other older children at Weir Courteney. Apparently I was the eldest of these five children and there was a very close comradeship between us. These ladies didn鈥檛 know much about us, only that we had been in Terezin, our behaviour was sometimes very erratic, we didn鈥檛 know how to play with the toys that had been given to us by well wishers and we looked after each other. For instance, if one of us had been offered a sweet, until all the others also had one we would not eat it and if one of us had been naughty and was told off we would all cry. But very soon we all settled down to become 鈥榥ormal鈥�, happy children.

Later that day the ladies took us to see a house called Bulldogs Bank, where we had stayed for one year. This house had been given over to us by a very kind titled Lady and to my amazement, as soon as I set eyes on it, I could see that this house on a hill was where I could see the lovely view from in one of my dreams. Before leaving to go home I thanked these two ladies very much for looking after me and also for getting in touch with me now and giving me the photographs and information. They said that they would write an article about me in the local magazine as all the villagers would be most interested, as they had all turned out to welcome us in 1945/6.

When we returned home I was very excited. A lot of people take things like I had learned that day for granted, but I can鈥檛 impress upon you enough how important and satisfying it was for me to see that I was a 鈥榥ormal鈥� looking child with lots of friends. The ironical thing was that I spoke German and for the last few years had been trying to pick up the language, but my concentration had not been too great. That night I slept with the photographs close at hand and kept on looking at them.

I tried to show the photographs to my adopted mother in the hope that she would be interested. She had been having trouble with her eyesight and this was put forward as an excuse, she couldn鈥檛 see a thing she said. She became obstinate again and tried to convince me that I was doing something terrible to her, she had done her best for me and all I could do in return was upset her. This outburst was all over a few photographs of happy children playing in a beautiful garden. My wife tried for hours to explain to my mother how we all loved and respected her, she could visit us whenever she wanted to, as much as she wanted to, but she had to understand that I needed to know things about myself when I was little. Even now there were three and a half years that I would never know. My mother still would not give in and my wife lost her temper completely and had to leave the room.

I now tried to get through to her again, I said I could understand her point of view to an extent, but how did she think she could hide the past from me. I realised only too well that there was no set or perfect way to reveal the harshness of my past to me, but in her and my late father鈥檚 endeavour to protect me, only delayed the action. I wished they had had the confidence in themselves and in me, however painful, to have told me as much as they could instead of which I had always had to hear it from other people. This recent information was helpful to me, why hadn鈥檛 she ever told me about myself when she first adopted me? She said that I was too young to understand and I agreed, but said that now I did understand and she was making a big fuss over some photographs. We went round and round in circles and all of us, including the children, ended up crying.

A few weeks later I was going out to work at 7pm when my wife said wait just a minute and see who is on 鈥楾his Is Your Life鈥� (a TV programme about people who have had an interesting and successful life). The camera finally rested on an elderly lady in the audience and I turned quite pale, I recognised her, but couldn鈥檛 think where from. All was to be revealed during the next half an hour.

This lady was the Matron of Weir Courteney where I had spent about six months prior to my being adopted. Some of the older children, who were now grown up were there to pay tribute to her and then one of the ladies who we had visited just a few weeks before was there. She must have known about this programme when we had seen her, but since it is top secret she hadn鈥檛 told me about it. It was amazing that I had listened to my wife and waited to find out whose life it was going to be. I practically shot out of the house and went straight to the TV studio. I had to meet this lady. After the programme finished they had a party and showed a video of it.

I forced my way in and she recognised me immediately. 鈥淗ello Jacky鈥� she said 鈥渉ow did you get here鈥�? Guess what, she lived just around the corner from my adopted mother. She had seen my mother from time to time and had enquired after me. My mother had always been polite to her, but very cagey as to my whereabouts. At this point, I must admit that I can understand that having adopted me, my mother just wanted to bring me up happy ever after and for her to keep on having interruptions, one way and another, was not easy for her to tolerate. However, as you know by now, from my side of the fence things looked altogether different. On speaking to some of the grown up former children, all they wanted to know was where had all my curls gone 鈥� need I say more!

After this episode I began to feel uneasy again, my past, which I wanted to know so badly, was finally catching up with me and it seemed very odd that everything fitted into place. Although I had a time of great excitement, it quickly turned to resentment. Why had such a thing happened to me? How could I lose an entire family? What I wanted so much was to meet someone who could tell me details about my natural mother and her background and I would love to have a picture of her. To sum this all up, I had a terrible feeling of being totally lost.

My wife and children, all my close relations and in-laws have stood by me, giving me a tremendous amount of love and support before and during this time and without them I think I could easily have gone over the edge and into the depths of despair.

I knew that I had a very good life now and yet when it was pointed out to me that I must be 鈥渟pecial鈥� to have survived, I completely changed my early way of thinking that I was somebody 鈥渟pecial鈥�. I now felt a sense of guilt, strange as it may seem, that I should survive and 15,000 should perish.

It was soon after this that I was to hear about a World Gathering of Holocaust Survivors Reunion, to take place in Israel in June 1981 and I felt that this was virtually my last and only chance left to go and seek out further information. There was going to be a central computer where everybody would be registered and people could find each other through it. The fee for this was 拢45 and I arranged this immediately, before even booking the trip.

Needless to say, my first stop when we arrived in Israel was to the computer. Can you imagine the tension and my utter frustration when the young girl fed all my details in and then told me that I had not been entered yet - what a huge disappointment. I couldn鈥檛 understand it, if there was anybody there and they were seeking me out how were they going find me? I complained to the organisers and they said that there had been numerous people to deal with and they hadn鈥檛 been able to enter them all in yet. As it turned out, I was entered into the computer after my return from Israel.

Our next visit was to Yad Vashem, the memorial to the Holocaust and there I was introduced to a fellow countryman from Vienna. I explained the predicament that I was in and he said when I returned to England, I should forward on to him as much information as possible and he would try and help me. I told him the entire information was on a small piece of paper that I was holding. You could say he looked in amazement and laughed. He said 鈥渉ow can I find anybody without names dates and places?鈥� I pointed out that he would have to do better than Sherlock Holmes! We shook hands and he promised to do his best. Deep down I realised that it was a hopeless task.

We met lots of survivors from all over the World and the majority of them were very friendly. It seemed impossible to believe that they had come through such horror and degradation. They looked a picture of health and happiness, dressed in their smart clothes, laughing in the sunshine with their friends and families.

We heard some fantastic stories of reunions which were taking place right there in Israel through the gathering, but not for me. I wanted at least to meet someone who had looked after me in Terezin, although I knew that these people were constantly being changed, as one lot after another were transported on to Auschwitz. Surprisingly enough we did meet some survivors who between themselves discriminated as to how bad one concentration camp was to another and when Terezin was mentioned, they said 鈥渙h that was one of the good ones!鈥�.

I must tell you that I was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable - how was I going to be noticed? I approached several TV crews and asked whether they would be interested in interviewing one of the youngest survivors, but they were not. The whole theme was to pass the Holocaust down to the second generation and have discussions about preventing it ever happening again. I knew this aspect was extremely important, but apart from my name tag, which I wore bearing my real name, what was I going to do?

On the fourth day there was to be a closing ceremony in Jerusalem and the Israeli Prime Minister, Menachem Begin, was going to be there. This was the biggest gathering of people at any one time, about 6,000 and my frustration was mounting. Somebody there could possibly have known my family. I couldn鈥檛 stand it any longer. We had already been seated for three hours whilst all the people came and settled themselves.

Finally I got up from my seat and proceeded towards the stage where they were testing the sound equipment. This had been going on since we had got there. With trembling legs and a very shaky voice I virtually begged them to put out a short message. I said instead of saying 鈥渙ne, two, three testing鈥�, could they please say 鈥渄oes anybody recognise the name Elsa Spiegel, from Vienna and that I would be waiting by the side of the stage. They said maybe they would try, but then they said that other people would want to do the same thing. Then I had a brief encounter with a man who came up to me and questioned my validity of being on the stage and with rather a scornful face he looked at my arm searching for a number. I took this as an insult and I pointed out that my number was not on my arm, but in my heart. He quickly apologised. I was extremely distressed by this time and needless to say my short message was not put out. I returned to my seat and had the attention of the row in front and the row behind all trying to comfort me.

My wife had been telling them about me and one lady said to me that she would be my mother. They just didn鈥檛 know what to say to me. By now my wife and children and several people were all weeping. We sat through the proceedings whilst six very large candles were lit to represent the six million people who had died. After each one there was a very long speech and a symbolic handing down of responsibility to the next generation that nobody should ever be allowed to forget the Holocaust.

The next day, on looking through the folder which had been given to me I found a letter inviting anybody who had been involved in Terezin to go to the Kibbutz, Givat Haim, where there was to be a meeting. We went there and found that a building had been built in memory of all the people who had died and passed through Terezin. A very nice gentleman came over to me and when I told him who I was he was very surprised. He said that he had been in charge of the transport after the liberation in 1945 and to his knowledge there were no young children. I began to wonder, not for the first time, whether there could possibly have been a mistake after all. We went into a room where the records were kept and I gave the man my name and date of birth and very quickly he found the registration card with the transport no. 1236 from Vienna on it. At this point I broke down, now I believed it, there was no mistake. There was also a very large book and he found my name in that. I saw that there was several people called Spiegel and wondered whether any of them were anything to do with me. Without full names, dates and places, once again it was impossible to tell. The gentleman was very helpful and understanding and he gave me a chance to speak to the crowd of about two hundred people.

I could hardly control my tears, but battled through with my message. Lots of people tried to help me and then one man in particular said he was from Vienna. He had been fourteen at the time and he had also lived in the same block of flats as my mother and maybe he could remember her. I gasped and almost collapsed. This was what I had been waiting for all my life, at last I thought. But my hopes were soon to be dashed when he admitted that his memory was vague and he couldn鈥檛 remember after all. My wife told me afterwards that she had experienced the most awful feeling when he claimed to know my mother, right away she sensed that this was not true.

I then met two young ladies who told me that they lived in America. One of them was three months younger than me and was sent to Terezin with her Grandmother and the other young lady was seven years old when she was sent to Terezin with her mother and father. Fortunately they all survived, except for her very best friend who had shared a wooden bunk bed with her. She had been transported onto Auschwitz where she was killed. This young woman had just looked up her friend in the records to find out what had happened to her and she was now very upset. How the choices were made between who was to be transported and who was to stay, I have yet to find out. We exchanged names and addresses and had our photos taken together and now I began to feel a little bit easier.

We spent another week in Israel and tried to relax and enjoy ourselves in the sunshine, but all the time I was secretly hoping that something would still turn up, it did for other people, why not for me? Alas this was not to be.

When we arrived home there was a letter for me from Yad Vashem, in Israel, to say that they had been in touch with the records office in Vienna and that they would get in contact with me very soon. A few weeks later, to my delight, I received a letter from Vienna together with my birth certificate. I did already have this, but this particular one had my mother鈥檚 signature on it, also it stated that I was born at 11.45am. They had also found my mother鈥檚 birth certificate, on this there were two more names, my Grandmothers and my Grandfathers. On looking at my Grandparents name, which was also Spiegel, I realised that my mother must have been unmarried or she would have had a different name. You will appreciate that these documents were in German, but I could make out what they were.

On showing them to a friend who could understand the language, he told me that in the corner of the certificate it said unmarried. This didn鈥檛 altogether surprise me, but I wondered why nobody had mentioned this fact before. I had asked often enough and furthermore, why hadn鈥檛 I been given my mother鈥檚 birth certificate before now when the United Restitution Office had carried out a search for me. My wife rang up the lady at the Office and on telling her what we had found out she owned up and said she had known all the time, but she didn鈥檛 want to hurt the poor boys feelings. She had decided, together with someone else, to withhold this information. She added that she would very much like to see me again, it had been years since our visit and yet a soon as my wife had mentioned my first name, she knew immediately who I was.

We did go to see her soon after and asked whether she was hiding any more information. We now wondered how many other people there were who were doing the same thing. She said that she was not and we assured her that whatever we found out, good or bad, it was all a bonus and was helping to fill in the gaps of my life. At least I could see that I had belonged to a family. My Grandmother鈥檚 name was Emilie nee Schwarz and Leopold Spiegel was my Grandfather鈥檚 name. I did remember seeing these names in the record book in Israel and so I wrote a letter to the very kind gentleman there and asked him to check whether there was any connection. He wrote back to say there were three Leopold Spiegel鈥檚 and none of them had been on the same transport as myself. He had managed to find out the names of the other people on the same transport and he said there were fifteen other children without parents and only I had survived. He could not say to whom, or to what we owed this miracle and if I ever found out, or if he found out, to be sure and contact him as he was most interested.

I told my adopted mother about my latest information and she said, so you are still looking, why can鈥檛 you forget it already. I was hoping that by now she would have come to terms with the fact that no way was I every going to forget what had happened. What鈥檚 more, even if I wanted to there was not a week that goes by without some mention of Hitler, nazis etc on the television or in the media and anyway this had to be remembered in the hope that there would never by another war.

The one thing that hurts me so much is that there is a small fraction of present day youth who follow a so called doctrine which caused the Holocaust and they choose to believe that it never really happened. Here I am, after forty years, still trying to piece together the story of my missing years.

On reaching the age of forty my wife made me the most wonderful celebration party for just our very closest family and my adopted mother was in the midst of it all. I think she may finally understand me.

I have one more task to perform and that is to go to Terezin and have a look around to see for myself what it was like. Funnily enough the other day I had a delivery to make to an advertising firm in Bond Street. I ran up the stairs and delivered the package and on the way down came right outside the Czechoslovakian Booking Office. I felt that this was an omen, so I went inside and made enquiries. When I got home I told my wife that I was feeling uneasy again and that I must go to Terezin and couldn鈥檛 wait any longer. I said I鈥檇 go alone, as I wanted her to look after our two girls. I was afraid that if something was to happen to the both of us then my girls would be left alone. Her mind went back to the time when I rushed off to Vienna on my own. Not this time she said, I am coming with you, after all our daughters are nearly eighteen and fifteen and quite capable of looking after themselves for four days. My wife is going to share my ups and downs just as she always has and what鈥檚 more she is going to make me write down my feelings as we go along on our trip to Terezin.

Maybe this will release the tension in me鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��..

2. A RESUME OF MY FEELINGS DURING A TRIP BACK TO TEREZIN

Friday 2 April 1982, 6.20am

A few years ago, to catch a clich茅, a famous General said 鈥淚 shall return鈥�, well I am not famous, or a General, but I am returning with apprehension, my tail between my legs and a big lump in my throat. Here goes, I am on my way to the airport.

8.40am

Arrived at airport and have checked in. Lita and I have jumpy tummies. On and off it has taken years of consideration whether to undertake this journey back to Terezin where I was imprisoned for two years and eight months from 1942-1945, being nine months old to three and a half years. My mind has been extremely troubled recently and I am hoping to release this terrible feeling within myself by going and seeing this place. I am feeling a sense of unreality at the moment and am fairly nervous and getting worse as we progress.

12.15pm

Well this is me sitting in the plane looking out of the window enjoying the view and the sunshine and beside me is the best girl in the world. I am slightly less perturbed now and looking forward to landing.

We made it with a bump one hour late, the weather is quite warm. Having checked into the Hotel, the first place I must get to is the Cedok Office in the centre of Prague, to find out how to get to Terezin. We both wore ourselves out getting to the Cedok Office only to find it just closing at 4.15pm so we went into the Intercontinental Hotel to make enquiries. They told us to catch a bus at the station and that the journey would take one and a half hours.

So glad Lita came with me.

8pm

Back at the hotel having had supper and a look round the centre of Prague. Just can鈥檛 wait for the night to pass for the big day tomorrow.

Saturday 3 April, 7.45am

After a restless nights sleep and with great anticipation off we go on the bus to Terezin. With a great deal of discomfort we have now been standing on this very dirty bus for nearly one hour. A man has just given up his seat to Lita and I feel a strong urge to tell him where I am going, but cannot pluck up the courage. One half of me wants to recognise the place, but the other half doesn鈥檛 鈥� I am feeling very nervous. We will be there in twenty minutes. The weather is dull and drizzly rain and fits the occasion. Well here I am sitting on a bench at 8.55am slightly worse for wear after a very uncomfortable trip on the bus. Mind you, the journey thirty nine years ago, by all accounts, must have been much worse in a cattle truck.

On looking around me I am wondering which way to go and feeling slightly worried, but have come this far okay. So in a minute we will proceed towards the Fortress which we passed on the bus a quarter of a mile back. I am very pleased Lita is with me, I think I would have been much more upset without her. Have just come up to a large cemetery, Lita is writing for me, as I am feeling disbelief that I am here and am walking around in a stupor. Now going through the gate of the walled Fortress. Have spoken to a Guard who fortunately speaks a little English and he tells us that this Fort is where the Political Prisoners were kept, both men and women. He told us that all the children were housed around the square where we got off the bus and that the wooden huts had to be burnt down because of a Typhus epidemic, but we could look at the surrounding buildings which also housed a lot of the children.

On telling the Guard who I was he asked me to sign the memorial book and put my feelings down. I wrote 鈥楯ona Jakob Spiegel, am glad to be alive鈥�.

By the way, we had to pay the equivalent of 20p to get into this place. What about that!

My feelings are rather bad at this moment and are getting worse as we are now going to watch the original propaganda film, which was used to show what a lovely time prisoners had in Terezin.

The film has finished and we learn that all the people in the film were killed soon after. Now I have just bought a book of drawings, which were done in secret by the children of Terezin. Some of these drawings depict horrible sights and others show the memories of the children鈥檚 former homes.

On shaky legs we are now going back to where we got off the bus. Around 2,500 people live here now, but in 1941 140,000 people passed through. There is a big Jewish cemetery here, but it isn鈥檛 open yet as the season hasn鈥檛 started.

Apparently, on May 8th every year they have a very large ceremony in remembrance of all those who died here and flowers are put on every grave.

The cemeteries are kept impeccably well, the rest of the town鈥檚 buildings look rather derelict except for the big block I am now looking at which was the Nazi Headquarters, but is now a Police Museum. I am going in to see what I can find out. Inside are big crystal chandeliers and marble floors. I have explained to two men who I am and one of them is going to show us around outside. The whole area was surrounded by a moat and very high walls on top of which was electrified barbed wire. The man is showing me a hundred foot wall on the side of the building which has got superimposed drawings on it done by the children and this is a memorial to them. Am now walking around the blocks of buildings and am pleasantly surprised to see a bride and groom coming out of the Town Hall. This has brightened up the day.

Feeling okay now and don鈥檛 recognise anything except maybe the water all around and the big walls seem to ring a bell.

Three Hours Later

Well, I came, I saw, I conquered and I don鈥檛 feel too bad now. We have been into the Town Hall and a very nice lady has shown us the room where the marriages take place. It is very grand with lovely carvings and paintings everywhere and yet the office and staircase look very drab. We have eaten luke warm soup and rolls and cheese in the only hotel here. I am very pleased that I decided not to stay in this hotel, it is very sparse, dreary and old fashioned. The time is 12.30pm now and we have to wait one hour for the bus back to Prague. Am very anxious to leave here.

Sitting in this large square I feel very chilly and there is nothing more to do. It is very quiet and only a few people are about, all that can be heard are the birds chirping. Not a flower in sight and the trees even look dead. Maybe because it is such a dreary day it looks so dismal. Considering the language difficulty, the people we have spoken to have been as helpful as possible. At last the bus is coming and two men from the Police Museum are waving to us.

On the bus and Lita is writing. So glad Jacky is feeling better now, a great weight has been lifted from his mind and he doesn鈥檛 have to try and remember what Terezin is like anymore. He has taken it very well. Also, when asked whether he wanted to see the Torture Rooms and Execution Yard, he declined and I am very pleased as we can both do without that imprinted on our minds. The literature we have is quite sufficient. It is a shame we couldn鈥檛 get any flowers to leave by the memorial, the only flowers to be seen were three carnations and a couple of tulips which the bride had. Never mind.

3.45pm

We are back in the hotel room, we both have a very strong feeling to go home now.

So pleased it is all over. Sunday, going on tour of Prague, Monday home 鈥� HURRAY!

I am now going to shower and on reflection of this morning I have spent over an hour washing and reminiscing spending two years eight months in a hell hole, which doesn鈥檛 look all that good now and am trying very hard to wash it all off from my body and mind.

Thanks Mum for giving me such a lovely life.

Sunday Morning

Tour of Prague, very impressive buildings, but a shame such a lot of them have scaffolding up to protect people from falling masonry. Lots of restoration to do. Looks a beautiful City, but the trams are very dirty on the outsides, the people are very friendly.

Sunday Afternoon

Saw three very old synagogues, also all the original drawings which were done in Terezin are here. Have looked very carefully through to see if one had been done by me, but couldn鈥檛 find any. In a glass case there is a very ragged stuffed toy dog. On looking around some of the people have tears running down their faces while reading the poems which the unfortunate children transported onto Auschwitz had written. I have a strong urge to shout out that I am a survivor of Terezin. I did finally tell two or three people and they shook me by the hand and said I was lucky, very lucky.

Monday

Left hotel at 10.30am and went to Intercontinental Hotel to leave suitcases there while we went across road back to synagogue museum to check original records. A very old lady looked in the cabinet and said she couldn鈥檛 find it and asked was I sure I was there. As it is, in my previous experience of trying to find out if I was whom I am supposed to be, I have always come up against a certain amount of doubt that I was actually involved. On going to the World Gathering of Holocaust Survivors Reunion in Israel in June of last year, I came up against the same thing, even at the Kibbutz, Givat Hiam, where the copy records are kept and where they were finally found, was extremely traumatic for me. Anyway, on explaining this and on looking through the files myself the dreaded card with my name on it was there. Once again it brought a lump in my throat to see this confirmation.

In the records there were quite a few Spiegel鈥檚 from Vienna, but there is no way of knowing whether any of them were to do with me.

Had a nice lunch at Intercontinental Hotel and am now going to have a short walk up to the bridge before getting a taxi to the Airport. Am on one of the bridges crossing the river and on impulse decided to throw in some money over my back and make a wish.

Even though I have resigned myself to never finding any relative or friends who could tell me about my family, one always lives in hope and my wish was that someone one day will turn up. My dear wife has also made a wish, which she told me later was that I should have peace of mind now.

My feeling as I stand here is that I am lost and waiting to be found.

June 1987
3. SIX MILLION AND ONE

Six million and one. Although I am a survivor of the Holocaust I am thinking maybe rather selfishly of my lost family as being the 鈥榦ne鈥�. It is very difficult to identify with statistics of this magnitude and it has been pointed out to me by lots of people 鈥渋t happened to millions, there are lots of survivors in the same predicament as you鈥�. These statements do not help me to feel any easier about losing my entire family.

Now that I have reached middle age I am increasingly aware that my chances of ever finding someone with information about my roots are slipping further and further away and this fact fills me with a haunting pain. I look at my wife and two beautiful daughters and wish with all my heart that I could put my past to rest, but it seems I am not in control.

Shortly after our trip to Terezin in May 1982, I went to my doctor to seek help. He had known me for over twenty years and after reading my short story 鈥楲ost and Waiting to be Found鈥�, sympathised with me, but he thought that up to now I had coped remarkably well. I had investigated all over the world for information, written my thoughts and feelings down (which had been therapeutic) and now with a short course of tranquillisers and continued love and understanding from my family I would soon cope again. I was not so sure, but together with my wife that same afternoon we decided to take some positive action. We destroyed taped documentaries, literature, reports and several letters. We were both afraid that one day, feeling as low as I did right then, going over all the terrible agonies that so many people had suffered, including myself, would completely envelop me into the depths of despair and maybe I would never be able to rise above it. I kept my mother鈥檚 birth certificate and a letter from the Vienna Records Office and also a book of drawings and poetry written by the unfortunate children in Terezin, who perished.

Soon I was to learn that having destroyed nearly everything was not going to stop more literature coming my way, mostly by sheer coincidence.

After about two weeks the depression lifted very slowly. My wife kept encouraging me that my natural mother would have wanted me to be happy.

Driving about in my taxi one day I got a job to pick up a Mr Martin Gilbert, and take him to Bush House, the 大象传媒 World Service, in the Strand. I felt certain that my passenger was the author of the book 鈥淎tlas of the Holocaust鈥�, which I had read. I very much wanted to speak to him, but how could I interrupt, Mr Gilbert had another gentleman with him and they were deep in conversation? Half way through the journey there was a tap on the window and the other passenger wanted to get out of the taxi and now of course I had the opportunity to speak to Mr Gilbert.

He asked what my interest was in the subject of the Holocaust and I told him briefly about myself. Much to my surprise he informed me that he was working on another book called 鈥淭he Holocaust, The Jewish Tragedy鈥�, which has now been published and that he was researching Maly Trostenets, near Minsk, the place where my mother had been deported to. I offered him my story to read and he in turn said he would try and find out as much information as possible for me.

The next day I received a telephone call from Mr Gilbert, he was very moved by my story and asked if I would like to visit him to talk. I took my wife along and he made us very welcome. His room was full of books and he offered to lend me two books about Terezin. Strangely enough I had known that there were books about the town, but I had only seen them in German and I had tried London book shops and also written to Israel, but was unable to get an English translation. Mr Gilbert said he would like to include details about me in his new book and maybe someone, somewhere would recognise me. You never know鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��.up to now nothing at all鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��..

The books were about the day to day running of the town Terezin. The conditions were very crowded and deportations to Auschwitz regular. I didn鈥檛 find much reference to any small children except that their basic needs were taken care of with bits of rag, there were no toys and there was not time to play with them.

Whist my depression was lifting, my wife took it upon herself to write, one last time, to Elisabeth Weiss, in Vienna, since bits and pieces of information came in dribs and drabs, maybe she could drag out a bit more!

14 October 1982

Dear Elisabeth

It is a long time since our last letter to you, 18 July 1981, and I am writing to you again in the hope that you can help my husband, Jona Spiegel. You very kindly sent us his mother鈥檚 birth certificate and he was very pleased with the information on it. I know that my husband told you on the telephone that he hoped to come to Vienna again, but unfortunately we have not been able to fulfil this wish yet. My husband would like to have details of his natural family, however small, happy or unhappy and most of all a photograph of his mother.

When he enquires as to whether there is any information available he does so very casually, but I must tell you that over the last year he has become totally taken up with the events of forty years ago and is now desperate to find out more about his family. He knows how lucky he is to have survived and he has me and our lovely daughters, but he yearns for information.

I am enclosing an article which was put in the Jewish Chronicle recently and am sorry to say only one man responded, only to say that he knew the street where Jona lived.

Can you possibly find out something? I am now very worried that he is going to have a nervous breakdown. In May this year he got it into his head to go to Theresienstadt and so I went with him for a four day visit. He felt that if he could see this place then he would stop wondering about it. I made him write down his feelings and this helped greatly, but now he has started again.

I know it is very difficult for you Elisabeth, but I really do not know how else to help him, except to let you know how he feels and how desperate he is and maybe somebody in Vienna knows something.

Yours sincerely

9 December 1982

Dear Mrs Young

With many thanks I acknowledge the receipt of your letter and believe me I tried nearly everything, but I couldn鈥檛 find out almost anything about the family of your husband. Nothing what could help him. Let me tell you the few details that I have. First of all the mother of your husband, Miss Elsa Spiegel, should have been a very courageous woman 鈥� she never and nowhere mentioned the name of the man who was the father of her son. As she never mentioned it, it is sure that he was not a Jew and in those times a relation of a non-Jew with a Jewish person was highly dangerous, combined with peril of life. So she never told his name. Maybe the father not even learned that he has a son Jacob Jona. It was the Jewish hospital 鈥淩otschild-Spital鈥�, in Vienna, Wahringer Gurtel 97 (today it doesn鈥檛 exist anymore), where she gave birth to him on 18 December 1941 at 11.45am. Only on the 16 January 1942 she went to the Registration Office to registrate her son, probably she wanted to go by herself and before that date she was not able to do this.

At this time she was a hat maker and as her address she gave already the known Schregasse 12/6. From here 鈥� as you know 鈥� she was taken into a concentration camp on the 2nd June 1942, to Minsk 鈥� and alone. Nobody ever returned from Minsk, - a part of the people the Nazis killed there, part of them they took in other concentration camps.

I understand from the papers that Jacob was deported to Theresienstadt on 24 September 1942 (that was about three months after his mother鈥檚 deportation) and from another address, Vienna 11. Mohapelgasse 3. The parents of Elsa Spiegel were Leopold, who was born in Blaschko, which is a very small village in (now Czechoslovakia) Mahren, near to the town Olmutz and Emilie born Schwarz, but about her we don鈥檛 know anything. As to the papers, they were married on 11 March 1900 in Gewitsch, which is as well in Czechoslovakia, a small town near to Brunn. About the death of Mr and Mrs Spiegel, there are no dates and I could not find any records either in the papers of our cemetery, or in the deportation lists. I found out all the places where Elsa Spiegel lived during her short life.

1. Till 1926 together with her father in Vienna 20 Greiseneckergasse 16/16.
2. Then alone in Vienna 20. Wallensteinstrasse 36/12.
3. Alone Vienna 2 Obere Donaustrasse 45/15 and lastly in 2 Schreigasse 12/16.

Madame, I am really unable to collect more information about the family. I frankly made my best. Maybe you can bring up the money and come to Vienna with your husband, it might help him to see the house where he or his mother lived. I am helpless, all traces end in the sand. Believe me I feel with you, you both have all my compassion.

Very truly yours.

Well here was a bit more information and Lita wrote and thanked Elisabeth Weiss for all her hard work and told her that if we went to Vienna we would like to meet her.

In 1982 a book called 鈥淟ove Despite Hate鈥� was published in America, it was about child survivors of the Holocaust and their adult lives. It had waited patiently for the book to arrive, at last I could read about all the other survivors and find out how they had coped with the situation.

In July 1979 I had received a letter from Mrs Sarah Moskovitz, asking if I would be interested in talking about myself, of course, I said yes. For the first time in my life, apart from my wife, a lady was willing to listen about my past. I wondered how this lady had found out about me. It turned out during research Sarah went to Lingfield and the people at Weir Courteney informed her about my visit with Lita in 1962. Those same people knew the Dann sisters and it was that visit which led to them tracing me to give me child photographs. The book was also about Alice Goldberger, the Matron at Weir Courteney and through her records Sarah found all the other children and she would have found me through the records anyway.

Through Sarah giving a party in London I was able to meet up with some of the children, now grown up of course and talking to them I have found that we have all been marked by the past. Every so often we have a get together and always end up going over the same frustrations which we share.

It is amazing how events work out. My adopted parents had wanted to protect and shield me from my past and yet, one way or another, the terrible secrets emerged bit by bit. Even if the Dann's wouldn鈥檛 have contacted me, I saw and recognised Alice Goldberger on 鈥淭his is Your Life鈥� on television. If I would have missed that, Sarah came along to research her book.

On one of Sarah鈥檚 visits to England we took her to meet my adopted mother, who did not take too kindly to the book, but like it or not I still continued to persuade her to accept my past and share my ups and downs. On talking to Sarah, my obstinate mother denied that we had a problem between us. After publication of Sarah鈥檚 book I received a letter from a Hilda Katz, living in America. She had been a young girl of twenty and had helped look after the small children at Weir Courteney. She had read the book and recognised some of us. Another coincidence was that she was visiting London and hoped she could visit us. Furthermore, she was going to stay with her sister who lived within walking distance of us.

Whilst I was very disappointed about not receiving any letters with information about my family, I looked forward to meeting Hilda. Immediately after arriving from America she came to see us, it was a very emotional meeting. She remembered me, but I didn鈥檛 recognise her and yet I felt a tremendous amount of warmth and sincerity. We saw her a few more times and now we write to each other.

Over the next year nothing very much happened. I continued to get depressed every so often and managed to overcome it.

October 1984

I felt I would like to return to Vienna with Lita and show her around the city of my dreams. We went for five days and like most tourists put in a lot of mileage on foot. First we visited all the addresses that Elisabeth Weiss had stated in her letter and we looked around the outside. The last address was where my mother had lived with her father. Somehow we visited this one last, although it was actually the first address in the letter. The whole block was under re-development and most of it had already been modernised, except the last end terrace, which we were making for. We stood quietly looking, there were signs saying demolished and Lita very gently pushed me through the open double doorway onto a landing, there was a small sink by the window looking out into a courtyard. On the floor there were yellow mosaic tiles, mostly cracked and broken. This was reality, probably the same as when my mother had lived there. My feelings were very unreal and if Lita hadn鈥檛 of pushed me in maybe I wouldn鈥檛 have had the courage. After a few minutes we left and once more I thought, well I am pleased we came, but after all there was still no comfort in the exercise. I just felt empty and miserable, but now I must make an effort to enjoy the rest of our stay.

We thought it would be nice to go to Mr Leon Zelman鈥檚 Travel Agency and say hello. We had met him in Israel a few years before and he was the Welcoming Party for Jewish people visiting Vienna. He was out at the time, so we walked around the lovely ultra clean shopping mall. The shops were very chic and very expensive, the atmosphere was really friendly.

All of a sudden I recognised Mr Zelman walking along and he remembered us, we shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and he went on his way.

We thought it would be nice to phone Elisabeth and tell her we were in Vienna and would like to meet her. On phoning, she quickly said she was not in the records office anymore and I assured her that we only wanted to meet her and so it was arranged that we would meet outside the Europa Caf茅 on the Graben at 6pm that evening.

We bought a box of chocolates for Elisabeth and at 5.45pm went to wait for her. We waited and waited and whilst standing outside the doorway, Mr Zelman came along, he knew Elisabeth and we told him that she was quite late. Don鈥檛 worry he said, I will go and phone and see if she has left the office. About ten minutes later he returned and told us that she had indeed left and should be arriving shortly. He suggested we go inside and have a coffee and he hurried off. Two hours later she still had not arrived and we were very puzzled by the whole situation. It seemed odd the way Mr Zelman hurried backwards and forwards and strange that we couldn鈥檛 reach Elisabeth on the telephone to find out if anything had happened to delay her. The next day she was not available either and so we decided not to pursue the matter further.

After special permission (due to strict security) we visited the Synagogue and were allowed to look inside. Here was I, a complete stranger in the city of my birth, once again I had a language problem. Most of the Jewish inhabitants were not even from Vienna, but from neighbouring countries.

Just around the corner from the Synagogue was a lovely Jewish restaurant, Arche Noah, and the Manager was from London so we had a long chat. The food was delicious and we went there quite a lot. I knew that Mr Simon Weisenthal, the Nazi Hunter, had an office nearby and prompted by some Americans we met, phoned up to make an appointment to see him, but he was out at the time.

We enjoyed our stay in Vienna, but on the plane coming home I felt very distressed that whilst wanting to go home, I was also uneasy that probably I would never return. After all, what would be the point.

About a week later, once again I had to pick up a very important passenger, Mr Simon Weisenthal! He was in London. I would meet him after all. We had a little chat.

There is a group called the Second Generation and their aim is to remember and pass down the Holocaust. I went along a few times alone and a couple of times with Lita, but we both felt that it was too depressing. As long as the Holocaust is in the history books and is being taught to the children in school I feel that is okay, but to constantly talk about erecting more memorials and arranging service after service, in my opinion is not necessary.

Just the other day I heard on the radio, via Israel, about a man who had spent one and a half million dollars on a large memorial in memory of one and a half million children. He commented that after all it didn鈥檛 make him feel any better for it. There is the Holocaust Garden in Hyde Park, memorials in America and Israel and in various other places. What is the use of more money being spent on the dead? Instead I would like to see it going to the living, research and suchlike.

My two grown up daughters know all about me and I do not want them to carry on the burden of the Holocaust by going to meetings and forever thinking about it. For myself, it is a part of my life, but even I must put it aside to the best of my ability 鈥� I have done all I can.

In 1986 Alice Goldberger died. A few months after her death one of my friends, who was very close to her, had found reports about my adoption and she has since given them to me.

There are letters to and from my adopted mother and Alice. It appears that I was separated from my mother at three and a half months, not five and half months, which I had previously been told. Oh well, I must just leave it at that. On reading the letters and reports written by Alice, about my upbringing with my adopted parents, I can see how difficult it was for them, they spoilt me and I had control over them instead of the other way round.

It has crossed my mind to try a method of regression through hypnosis and I am now at this present time about to pursue this. I have had two sessions, but unfortunately feel very tense and unable to relax and the Hypnotherapist feels it could take maybe six times before he gains my confidence. As usual, true to form, I have given up this idea. I felt this was another avenue of hope and maybe if I could experience the traumas again, through regression, it would help, but now I realise that I am still clutching at straws.

Recently I went along to a meeting advertised in the Jewish Chronicle for survivors to talk about themselves. All of them were having problems in their latter years, many have never talked about their past and were now suffering anxieties because of it. They were given the advice to forget and keep quiet all those years ago and sure enough it has caught up with them. So maybe being one of the youngest child survivors I can help and comfort some of these older people.

The social worker was very interested to read my story and I told her about the monthly progress reports on the six youngest toddlers. Since I had destroyed them, now I had to get them back again. I had given copies of them to another child survivor and she let me have them copied again. My friend also gave me another report, which I had not seen before. On this the children鈥檚 names had been changed to protect them, but I quickly identified myself and to my amazement found conflicting information. It said I was an only child from Orthodox Jewish parents, who had been deported to Poland and killed. Where had this information come from? Could it be a typing error stating 鈥榩arents鈥� and not 鈥榩arent鈥�, the place Poland instead of Minsk? It was so frustrating, my original details had come direct from the Vienna Records Office and sometimes I wonder if the whole story has been made up.

And now the final episode is that I have just been informed by a friend that all information concerning me can be obtained for a fee of 拢20 from the Central British Fund, who were responsible for getting the children to England in 1945. They have only recently agreed to release the information, on request of course.

Now I have to wait four to six weeks for the information and whilst trying to remain calm and patient, what will I find? Which information is correct? Will there be more details and if so why couldn鈥檛 I have been given these before now? I think this must surely be the last of a long drawn out process.

There was a television programme, July 1987, about Nazis living in England, one in particular living in Scotland and the Russians want this man deported to face sentence. During this programme they showed film of Maly Trostenets, near Minsk and this man had been involved in the killings. I had never seen this place where my mother was deported mentioned anywhere before and now I watched as bodies were dug up from pits, men and women hanging by their necks. Which one of these bodies was my mother?

Today I visited the Czech Embassy in London and enquired as to whether they could send a letter on my behalf to the Records Office in Czechoslovakia to find out if my Grandparents had any other children. They said they would be happy to do this for me. I now face a wait of three to four months.

My search continues鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��.

As you can see, each time I put the matter to rest it comes straight back at me one way or another. Finally I have resigned myself to the fact that I can put my past aside some of the time, but it is going to be with me until I die and the dust will not settle until I am ashes.

September 1987
4. THE LETTERS FROM THE PAST

My wife and I are waiting patiently in the office of the Central British Fund World Jewish Relief, Drayton House, London. It has taken a few weeks because all details had been sent away to be put onto microfiche so that it could be stored for evermore. Very shortly we are handed a big brown envelope containing quite a thick sheaf of papers. I am afraid to look inside and just want to go home, but Lita cannot wait. As soon as we reach our car she insists that we take a look. She flits through the papers almost frantically hoping to find some hidden secret, but to no avail. There, staring us in the face is a paper saying:-

Jonah Jakob
Born Vienna, 18.12.41
Austrian
Date of arrival in England - 14.8.45
Father - unknown
Mother - dead
Language - Czech, German

and all the other details of my comings and goings together with my foster parents address and telephone number. Now Lita spots a note saying: Mr & Mrs Young do not wish to make a claim for compensation, either Austrian or German, as they do not want the boy to know anything about his being adopted and furthermore they did not want any correspondence whatsoever to be sent either to the boy or to them. This was not a surprise to me, but seeing this statement in black and white was very harsh. Supposing a relation had searched for me, how would it have been possible to make contact? Lita is very angry and also very sad. All these years had passed with hassle and conflict between my adopted mother and us, pushing us both further away. If only she could have shared my pain and given me comfort I could have been much closer to her. Lita has had to wrestle with her conscience, sometimes she feels we are starting with an elderly lady, but on the other hand it would not be right to do things behind her back with everyone else knowing about it and not her. Honesty is the best policy. Both of us must keep trying to get through to her.

Sorting through the papers we have come across a foster father in Terezin called Bruno Szapla, apparently the Central British Fund did try to find out about this man, who in turn could have given details about my health, but unfortunately there was no trace of him. There is an extract from a letter from Martha Wenger, who looked after young children in Terezin:-

鈥楯acky Spiegel: His right name is Jona, as all Jewish children had to have Jewish names. He had measles, whooping cough, chicken pox, impetigo. His parents came from Vienna to Poland.鈥�

This statement 鈥榝rom Vienna to Poland鈥� was different to the other details I had.

The rest of the papers were reports about how I was progressing.

April 1947 鈥� Extracts taken from report:-

鈥楯acky is one of our youngest ones.

Jacky is very delicate, good looking boy with beautiful eyes and an expression on his face showing much intelligence. He has a quick apprehension, is very observant, logical and thorough in his way of putting questions and always interested in the outside world. Physically and emotionally he is not as well developed as intellectually. He is a very sensitive child, easily offended and ashamed if reproached, but otherwise he has a cheerful and friendly disposition, is a good mixer and popular with children and adults.

He attaches himself very strongly to people and has suffered by separations. When one of the helpers left Bulldogs Bank, he got difficult and aggressive and took some time to overcome this shock. When he joined our community, in September 1946, he had to adapt himself to a new situation, as he had been the oldest of the group of six at the old place and found himself now as a little one among the older children in Lingfield. He was very eager to join the bigger boys of seven and eight, whom he admired a lot. Now he has formed a strong friendship with a boy of ten, who is also very fond of Jacky. Now 鈥榯he little one鈥� has found his place here. He sleeps with the younger ones as he needs more rest, but also shares all activities with different age groups and is liked and accepted by everybody, therefore, he feels very happy and content.鈥�

Further reports were about visits made by Alice Goldberger, to my perspective adopted parents about how we were getting on together.

September 1947 鈥� Extract taken from report:-

鈥楯acky is very attached to the family, especially to the father. They make many mistakes by spoiling him. Overloading him with presents, pay much attention to his good looks and on the other hand threaten him often, without every fulfilling their threats. Jacky is well looked after physically. Mrs Yanofsky (later changed to Young) is very fond of the boy and Mr Yanofsky adores him. Though there is a danger that Jacky develops into a self-centred, egotistic person in his surroundings and the education he is likely to get there, a separation would mean a great shock now and the boy is very sensitive and has suffered by separations in the past.鈥�

Reading all these facts really confirmed what I had managed to work out for myself.

Further reports remarked strongly on my behaviour of being spoilt.

December, 1949:-

On another visit by Alice, it is noted that Mrs Yanofsky describes Jacky as being boisterous, but during observation noticed that most of his behaviour was provoked by her. Still they are very keen to legalise the adoption. Adoption finally made legal August 1950.

It seem enquiries were still being made by the Central British Fund to obtain official documents with the exact dates of my comings and goings and it was stressed again in a letter from the Jewish Refugees Committee to the United Restitution Office, that my adopted parents did not want to keep the documents in case I found them. They asked for them to be kept in such a way that nobody would have access to them. Now I have come across a letter dated October 1964 - a spanner in the works. This is when Lita and I decided to go to the United Restitution Office to claim for compensation. There is a hand-written note saying 鈥榯hat now married with one child, wishes to make a claim 鈥� will not tell him of his parentage, documents for Restitution Office only.鈥�

It seems that my parents were not the only people afraid of dealing with the truth, now someone who doesn鈥檛 even know me has decided to do the same 鈥� withhold information.

It has taken me the whole twenty-five years of my married life to gain access to my personal papers which I badly needed to know. Of course, I wouldn鈥檛 have been able to deal with it when I was a child, but at least on my visit to Woburn House, that day to satisfy them with all the necessary details in order to get married, my adopted parents could have explained their fears to me then and given me comfort and understanding. To this day, although I know my father loved me and I him, I wish so much that we could have communicated better. Too late 鈥� now he has been dead for the past twelve years.

So no new revelations have been found contained in all those papers.

June 1988

At the 40th Anniversary of the Anschluss, which took place at the Weiner Library, I met some interesting people. One lady in particular asked me about myself and I gave her a copy of my story to read. It was suggested that I give it to the Weiner Library for the archives and as it so happened this had been my intention. The very kind lady telephoned me a few days later and told me that she was a frequent visitor to Vienna and she asked me if I could provide her with another copy of my story, which she wanted to give to the Archive Library in Vienna. Of course, I agreed.

On her return from Vienna the lady telephoned my wife to tell her that she had been to the block of flats where my mother had lived as a young girl and furthermore, she spoke to people living there. They had been there at the same time as my mother. Unfortunately, as so frequently happens, they do not like to talk about those times and also being elderly their memories were a bit vague. Then the lady spoke to a young man. He had been born around the same time as me and suggested that the lady could probably find out what she wanted to know from a woman who had recently gone to live in an old aged home. Apparently she was the local busybody who knew everyone. On arriving at the old aged home my lady friend was told that the woman had died two weeks previously.

The lady did not want to raise my hopes, but she has taken it upon herself, together with someone else in Vienna, to circulate 200-300 leaflets around the district to see if anything comes of it. Lita does not like to keep anything from me and so she did tell me about it. The lady J.B, has been extremely kind to put herself to so much trouble for me. If only thirty or thirty five years ago this could have been done, the chances of finding information would have been much greater.

1988 鈥� ten months later

What about that letter which I wrote ten months ago to the Czech Embassy, about details of my Czech grandparents. As time has passed I have thought to myself, oh well forget it, no reply means no details, but my curiosity always gets the better of me. What if they have written and the letter has gone astray. So off goes another plea.

November 1988

At long last a letter has arrived via the Czech Embassy in London, one year and three months later.

鈥楾he state archives detailed research concerning your grandparents hadn鈥檛 been successful and the entries into the relevant register hadn鈥檛 been traced.鈥�

I am not too sure what this meant, why at least wasn鈥檛 it confirmed that they were married there. It will have to remain a mystery. So once more my search comes to AN END.

In the meantime, during the months of waiting and hoping for the impossible dream to come true that one day the telephone would ring bringing me news that somebody had read Martin Gilbert鈥檚 book, in which I am featured, or, Sarah鈥檚 book, 鈥楲ove Despite Hate鈥� - about the young child survivors - or heard about my visit to Israel and entry on the computer, but nothing came. I think the time has come to stop clutching at straws. The matter must be put to rest.

Having attended family burials and having been to the Holocaust memorial in Hyde Park, whilst feeling sad and trying to mourn my lost family at the same time, the realisation dawned on me 鈥� how could one mourn ones family in the wrong place at the wrong grave? I MUST GO TO MALY TROSTENETS, where my mother鈥檚 remains are buried 鈥� this is definitely what I must do.

Around ten months previous I had thought of this prospect and had gone full circle, visited the travel agency, the Red Cross in London, written to the Red Cross in Russia and been to the Russian Embassy. I had been passed form one to the other and finally given up. This time I am determined to persevere. I start with The Foreign Office and they tell me to repeat the procedure again and if I still get nowhere then they will see what can be done.

The letters were going back and forth as the months passed and just last evening I have heard that Mr Gorbachov is going to visit London and meet with our Prime Minister. Right, I will write to Mrs Margaret Thatcher and see if she can have a quick word with Mr Gorbachov to hurry things along. Of course, I gave her a run down of why I wanted to go. Unfortunately there was a big earthquake and Mr Gorbachov cancelled the visit for the time being, but nevertheless within a few days I received a reply from 10 Downing Street, that very shortly I would be hearing from them again. Even with her very busy schedule I received a further letter saying that Mrs Thatcher had written to the British Embassy in Russia and had asked them to deal with my enquiries.

During the next five months letters are going to and fro between the Red Cross in London and The Red Cross in Russia. Now they want to have all my details and also want to know how I have obtained the information concerning my mother鈥檚 whereabouts. I tell them from the Records Office in Vienna.

April 1989

I have just been woken up by Lita, to hear the good news. The letter has arrived to tell me that I have a moral right to visit Maly Trostenets, where my mother is buried. There are two memorials there, but no individual graves as the numbers of people were too numerous. Neither are there any names.

I feel very emotional after having waited almost two years for this day.

5. MOURNING IN MINSK

Friday 19 May 1989

Six weeks have passed and the confirmation of the booking has finally come through. I would have liked to go the next day to Russia, as soon as I had the necessary permission, but there are no short cuts. As it was the Intourist Office had rushed it through, usually they like to have at least eight weeks notice.

Now we are going to the Isle of Dogs (Docklands) to pick up everything we need and of course to pay. It has been a tense few days, we didn鈥檛 know until yesterday that the visas had been granted. Now we know for sure that we will be going on Monday 22nd May.

When we arrived at the office and announced ourselves, the Manageress informed us that the courier had been sent first thing to collect our tickets from the Aeroflot Office in Piccadilly and should be back shortly. We were given coffee and as it was such a lovely sunny day we thought we should pass the time by going for a walk. We bought some sandwiches and ate them by the river.

About an hour later we returned to the office, but the courier had still not come back yet. Patiently we waited a further hour and at last the courier arrived. To everyone鈥檚 amazement our tickets were incomplete, the internal flight to Minsk had not been issued. The Manageress was embarrassed and went off to make a telephone call to Aeroflot. In the meantime, we thought maybe it would be better if we went to Piccadilly ourselves to collect the tickets, we couldn鈥檛 face waiting again all afternoon whilst another courier was sent. Half an hour later we were handed a big brown envelope marked 鈥榲ery urgent鈥�.

Thirty five minutes later we arrived in Piccadilly and Lita stayed in the car. I didn鈥檛 expect to be very long and there was nowhere to park. Hurriedly I entered the office and handed over the envelope, which, by the way, also contained other tickets for somebody else which were also incorrect. I had said I didn鈥檛 mind acting as a courier service since I was going there anyway. I am told by a young girl that Independent Tickets are not made up until 3.30pm and that Intourist should have told me this. The time now was 2pm, we had been at the office 10am that morning and now I am fed up and annoyed, each office blaming the other for the mistakes. After insistence and three quarters of an hour later I had the proper tickets.

The trip is from Monday to Thursday. Fly to Moscow and one night spent there. Tuesday fly to Minsk, on arrival arranging to go to Maly Trostenets. The night spent in Minsk, and the following afternoon return flight to Moscow, spending the night and leaving first thing for the flight home to London.

I have two copies of the Russian letter from the Red Cross, one in my pocket and one Lita is keeping. All the trouble getting the tickets has unnerved me and I am very anxious. I hope we will not encounter any obstacles when we arrive in Minsk.

On the eve of our departure my adopted mother鈥檚 family have telephoned to wish me well. Also Lita鈥檚 family have expressed their concern.

Monday 22nd May 1988

The time has come, I am very edgy, but very pleased and excited to be carrying out this one last task. I am extremely positive that I will gain peace of mind. In my bag I have a stone from our garden, on it I have written 鈥楾o Elsa, With Love, Jona 1941鈥�. As soon as I had received the permission, the first thing I did was to get the stone from the garden and write on it. We were both very emotional and Lita said 鈥減ut my name and Nicole and Elisa on the other side鈥�, whereupon I put 鈥楶TO鈥� first before turning the stone over and Lita, despite herself, fell about laughing and said, 鈥渢hat is Jacky, only he could put 鈥楶TO鈥� on a stone鈥�. This had eased the tension, I laughed along with her.

Over the years we have had many laughs over particular situations, even at my lowest times, which goes to show what a loving and understanding marriage we have. However bad or sad one feels a sense of humour is paramount in keeping your sanity.

My eldest daughter, Nicole, has just handed me a poem to take to Elsa.

To mummy and daddy
An early start will get you on your way
To Moscow you go on a lovely day
Please dad, tell Elsa we love her
As much as you do
For giving us the best daddy
Who was one of the lucky few

We feel happy and sad at the thought of you there
But know it鈥檚 a cross that you have to bear
We love you both, don鈥檛 you forget it
And can鈥檛 wait for your return to hear all about it

Love Nicole and Elisa xxxxxxxxx

I left a note for my daughters to say I would certainly tell Elsa about my two precious, loving and caring girls.

8.15am

We are sitting in the departure lounge waiting for the announcement to board the plane, I have a strange sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can鈥檛 believe I am going at last on a journey of destiny with my past, which I hope will finally put the seal on my life story. I certainly couldn鈥檛 handle these events by myself and I know Lita will help me as always.

Over the Tannoy our flight is being called, a rise of tension washes over me, my hands are clammy. Off we go. First we have to get on the bus, weaving in and around the terminal we are passing a few planes, one more turn and there right in front of us the large Russian Aeroflot plane is waiting. The emotion is evident between us as we glance across at each other.

We have been flying for twenty minutes and are talking about the fact that here I am, a middle aged man, going to the grave of a young mother and it is a very strange sensation. She would have been almost eighty years old by now and yet I can only think of her as a young girl deprived of life.

We have arrived on time, but our case has not come through on the carousel. Everybody else has their luggage and so we go and report it to an official. We are shown into a small room, on the door is a large notice LOST AND FOUND. We wait, a bit apprehensive and one hour later our little red suitcase turns up. We find the Intourist desk and meet up with the taxi driver who is going to take us to the hotel.

We look out of the car windows at the huge motorways. There are twelve lanes of traffic, six one way and six the other. The buildings are very impressive. There are lots of green trees and people going about their business.

There was a bit of a mix up when we first arrived at the hotel. We were taken to block two, as stated on our voucher, but the receptionist told us we had to go to block one, which was a very short distance away. They, in turn, informed us that they were full up and we must return to block two again. More news, there is no hot water. Never mind, that is the least of our worries. If this is the start of more mishaps, what lay in store?

We have now been messing around for two hours and as we will not be in Moscow long, we are eager to go straight out to at least see a few of the sights. One of the receptionists speaks English and she tells us that the Metro is a short walk away. She gives us a map and on telling her where we want to go she circles two stations. Apparently the restaurant which has been recommended to us is five stops and then Red Square a further two stops.

We have been told it is 5 Kopek (5p) which has to be inserted into a machine, but which one? It is huge in the Metro with a whole wall full of machines. Instead of observing the other people before making rash decisions, Jacky, as usual, rushes to put the money in the first machine, nothing happens. He tries the next one, still nothing. There was a young boy standing there and Jacky asks him falteringly how to get a ticket. The boy walks to the end of the machines up to another one right in the corner. He puts the money in, pulls a lever and out comes a Russian newspaper. 鈥淣o鈥� said Jacky, 鈥渁 ticket for the Metro鈥�. In the meantime, a man comes along and grabs the paper out of the machine, it was his lucky day! We stood laughing and rather perplexed. Then we noticed that the thing to do is to put your money into a slot at the entrance to the escalators, there is no need for a ticket. If you try to walk through without putting the money in, two bars clang shut before you, giving you a big fright! It is so easy when you know how.

The Metro is very beautiful, marble decorates the walls and there are lovely paintings on the ceiling. We got on a train not even knowing if it was going the right way. Miraculously it was. We counted the stops and matched up the names on the map with that of the station. We found the way out. The escalators are very fast and go on four times longer than ours in London.

Once outside there was a very cold wind blowing and we were very hungry. I went up to a policeman and pointed to the map and he directed us with hand signals which way to go. We found the restaurant. Lita was absolutely gasping; she had a very dry cough recently. We were shown into a small cubbyhole. Of course, the menu was in Russian and we asked if there was someone who could explain it to us. The owner came and asked what we would like. Jacky said soup and meat and potatoes, and fish for me. It seemed to take ages and then a dish of fish came. It looked like it was for two people, but Jacky only tasted it and I ate it nearly all. Then the cabbage soup came. It had bits of meat in it and a big dollop of soured cream. Jack said don鈥檛 eat it all as probably two meat dinners would come and that I would be too full up to eat it. I said I was already full up having also eaten about four slices of black bread. But still I had not had a hot drink. Another large plate arrived with a big fish on it decorated with peppers and cucumber. Jack tasted it and didn鈥檛 like it and I tried it, it didn鈥檛 have any flavour and anyway I didn鈥檛 want any more fish. So as not to offend anyone I messed it about a bit to look as if it had been eaten. Still no meat and potatoes for Jacky. We were given the bill. It was hilarious, Jacky had hardly eaten anything and I was full up. As it was now already 9.45pm we decided not to order anything else, who knows what would come!

We walked back to the Metro and went the wrong way and to the wrong platform and had to come all the way back up again and down the other way. Two stops on the train and the names on the map matched that of the station. Again we turned left and began walking, not knowing if it was the right way. We seemed to feel left was the way and lo and behold after about a hundred yards, on looking down a turning, there before us was Red Square. It was very impressive and very large. Luckily it was still light. We walked across the square to the other side to marvel at the Domed Church; it was like something out of Fairyland. We saw the Kremlin and Lenin鈥檚 tomb. We didn鈥檛 stay there long, as we were very cold.

We got back to the hotel around 11pm desperately in need of a hot drink. Unfortunately the bar had just shut so had to suck a barley sugar instead.

The next morning the taxi was going to call for us at 7.30am. Since breakfast was at 8am, it was arranged for us to have it at 7.20am. The three blocks of the hotel were interconnecting and we had been told to go to block one on the first floor, or was it block two on the second floor? By now time was running out and we decided to forget it.

It was one hour to the airport and we thought we could have something to eat when we got there. We had to board the plane at 9.10am and the caf茅 didn鈥檛 open until 9am. There was a big rush for the coffee shop; the other people must have missed their breakfast too! Jacky waited patiently whilst two ladies busied themselves filling up jugs with ice cubes. I couldn鈥檛 see anything to eat. Then I spotted a packet of biscuits and signalled to Jacky to get them.

We have a lovely cup of coffee and a couple of biscuits and now we must hurry to board the plane. Jacky is talking to a man from Sheffield and we are having a good laugh about the different situations that have happened to us and to him. We have almost arrived in Minsk after a flight of one hour and fifteen minutes and Jacky is now suffering deep pangs of tension again as we are getting closer.

12noon and the taxi has met us to transfer us to the hotel. There is no traffic in front or behind us on this huge motorway. There are forests either side. Spoke too soon, we have got stuck behind a couple of taxis and a lorry! Up ahead there is a group of cyclists spread out all over the road and the traffic is creeping along behind them. They are now turning off to the left and we have picked up speed. One hour later we reach the hotel.

Usually Lita leaves me to do the asking whenever we are in a foreign place, but today, seeing that I am tense, she takes charge. She gets out the Russian letter right away, asks for someone who speaks English and asks for a car as soon as possible to take us to Maly Trostenets. The receptionist reads the letter and says she hasn鈥檛 heard of this place and doesn鈥檛 know if it is possible today, she will find out and maybe tomorrow. Oh no Lita says, I know it is thirty minutes away from here, we have been waiting two years for permission to go there, please, it is very important that we go this afternoon. I now challenge Lita. This lady lives here and doesn鈥檛 know where it is and you are telling her it is thirty minutes away 鈥� how do you know? Well Lita is very tense and agitated also and can鈥檛 remember how she knows, she just does. 鈥淭rust me鈥� she says. We are told to go to lunch whilst the necessary enquiries are made and to come back in a couple of hours.

The menu has an English translation and Lita would like some Borsht followed by cheese pancakes and cream - neit neit comes the reply from the waitress 鈥� not on the menu today. So an omelette and chips is the next choice. I order chicken soup and sippetts. I haven鈥檛 a clue what they are 鈥� here it comes 鈥� they are toast with melted cheese. Next I would like roast beef - neit neit - and so I have assorted meats with chips. All through the meal we argue as to why I challenged Lita on the whereabouts of Maly Trostenets, we are both in a state of high anxiety.

We make our way back to the desk after an hour and the receptionist is smiling 鈥� 鈥渢he car will be here soon, it is thirty minutes away鈥�. 鈥淗ow long will you be staying there?鈥� Jacky answers, 鈥渙ne or two hours, maybe more, maybe less鈥�.

It is now 2.30pm and we are sitting in the car. We are quiet, each in our own way thinking of what lies ahead.

2.55pm. Away from the huge motorways now there is little traffic. Both of us are looking out for the sign saying 鈥楳aly Trostenets鈥�. We must be nearly there. I notice it first, 鈥渢here it is Jacky, on the right鈥� I say to him softly. My heart quickens and there is a lump in my throat. I glance worriedly at Jacky, concerned about how he is going to react to the coming ordeal.

The car pulls over to the left and the driver points to a lane between the surrounding trees. We get out of the car hurriedly. A chill is in the air. I pull my shawl tightly around my shoulders as Jacky links his arm through mine and pulls me close.

Very slowly we begin to walk up the narrow path crying softly. Either side the trees are gently swaying in the wind. A short distance away through the trees on the right looms a tall monument.

We stand looking at the plaque, the inscription is in Russian and we can only make out the figures 鈥� 201,500. A lot of people are buried here. The monument stands on the grass mound with steps leading up to the base. It is absolutely quiet. We are by ourselves in this lonely, desolate place. We go up the steps to walk around the base to the other side, here there is another plaque. With a big sigh and a gasp, Jacky鈥檚 cries get louder, 鈥渁t long last I am here鈥�. Whilst he pours his heart out, it has started to drizzle. I take the glass with the candle in it out of the bag, together with the stone and the poem. With trembling hands, together we make several attempts to light the candle. Then we burn the poem from our girls. Jacky takes the candle and stone and places them side by side on a sloping ledge up the side of the monument.

Arm in arm we walk around the monument talking to Elsa. Jacky telling her all about himself, all these years searching for relatives, he tells her he must stop clutching at straws, that we live a long way away, but had to come to her resting place to be as close as possible to her. He hopes that she loved and wanted him, who was his father? Lita tells her that she would have been very proud of him. That he is a wonderful husband and father. Jacky tells of being in Terezin and about being adopted by two loving parents who wanted to protect him from his past, but unfortunately this made his task more difficult. We tell her about the family he has and also the little nephews and nieces. Finally, he tells of his anguish at the thought of such a young woman having to give up her baby, suffering that terrible journey from Vienna to Minsk and then to be murdered. How he would love a photograph of her. Both of us spare a thought for the other poor people and we tell them that the world knows about their suffering and that they will never be forgotten. We tell them to rest in peace, together with Elsa.

We go back down the steps and there is a big oblong bed of yellow and mauve pansies surrounded by a low wall. At the opposite end burns an eternal flame. We walk around the area talking to each other.

How comforting and beneficial this has been, releasing all the pent up grief. After a while Jacky is ready to leave. We have taken photographs and have found a pink stone to take home with us to put in our garden. We walk quickly back up the path to the waiting car, the driver is snoozing. As we pull away round the bend, Jacky takes more photographs from every angle. The driver notices this and stops the car gesturing to Jacky, if he wants to get out. Jacky jumps out and runs back a little way to take one last shot of another lane with a monument way in the distance. There are a few people in the lane. We leave Maly Trostenets.

Back at the hotel room we talk over again what has been accomplished. Jacky feels a great weight has been lifted from him, he feels much better. Now he can look forward to the future and so can I. It was something really wonderful that we shared that afternoon. The feeling was electric, being at the right place and carrying out symbolic gestures. We were very pleased that there was no one else about at the time.

Wednesday, the following day, we go to the War Museum in Minsk. There are groups of children arriving with their teachers. We ask the usual question 鈥� does anybody speak English? Jacky tells a young woman teacher why he has come and asks whether there is anything about Maly Trostenets here. She shows us to a room and explains to the young children about Jacky.

The original gate with electrified barbed wire is there and Jacky reaches out to touch it. There is an original sentry box and various photographs of horrific scenes. In the centre of the room there is a box covered with a blue velvet cloth. This was uncovered by the guide to reveal ashes and bones of the victims. It is very eerie. There had been six hundred people there in the barracks to deal with the burning of the bodies as they arrived from all over Europe. A gentleman who is something to do with the museum finds a book about Maly Trostenets, it is an old copy and is in Russian, but he gives it to Jacky.

We leave and walk back. It is a lovely sunny day, yesterday whilst as Maly Trostenets it was raining lightly, we thought the candle had gone out. On looking at the photographs through a magnifying glass we can see the candle is alight. That makes us very happy. We fly back to Moscow later in the afternoon.

鈥楾he Mourning in Minsk is over鈥�.

1996
6. MY VERY LAST HOPE

Adopted mother became ill in 1993 and from being a very powerful woman with a character so strong she would get the attention of whomever she wanted. Over eighteen months she gave up her strong personality and shrunk into a very quiet, weak individual. She wouldn鈥檛 walk or help in anyway with the carers who looked after her. Our visits to her were passive, not the battling we had endured over the years. Finally, my mother passed away in January 1995.

I think of her often and disregard her silliness towards all the incidents that I feel she handled badly. On looking at other people鈥檚 wrongdoings, my parents were no worse. Some people agreed that they wouldn鈥檛 have been much different and others feel my parents acted without compassion for me. Ultimately, I am sure that I have been much better off for having been adopted and having a so-called 鈥榥ormal鈥� North London upbringing.

Reading the studies that were documented on all six children and our very special bonding with each other, experts are impressed by this and are always interested in talking to us to see if this bond still exists. From my point of view, I like to keep in touch with them occasionally, knowing that they share a similar pain as myself, but that is as far as it goes.

Having been to a reunion in 1990, in Los Angeles, did not really get anything out of it. The theme was to introduce us young survivors to everyone else, but unfortunately the workshops were constantly going over the horrible aspects of being a survivor, reading very said poems and suchlike, whereas us younger ones wanted to enjoy ourselves, tell jokes, dance etc. Being morbid all the time makes for misery and depression. Also, the so-called experts, who say they understand us also make mistakes and do not always listen properly to what we are saying. Therefore, there are some inaccuracies in their reports.

I became so upset over the treatment of my lovely wife, who kept quiet and in the background and was made to feel in the way and unwanted, that when I came to air my views I completely dried up as to what I wanted to say and just cried and cried, making a very poor show of myself. If experts can behave in this way and be irrational, my parents were no different. I must add that apologies were profusely made at a later date.

Telling another so-called expert that now I am ready to look towards the future and leave the past tucked away, she responded by telling me emphatically, 鈥測ou must not forget鈥� 鈥� how stupid a statement.

Without the counselling of my wife, who used plain common sense, I have to cope with the future, otherwise I will destroy our lives together. Now we have a wonderful, thoughtful son-in-law and an adorable baby grandson, whose middle name is Leo, after my maternal grandfather, suggested by my delightful eldest daughter. Adding also the happiness that our younger daughter brings to us, this is too much to give up.

I will always carry the pain of never knowing my natural father, or having details of my lost mother and family, but I have made up a fantasy story of a handsome young Austrian man, falling in love with a very attractive Jewish hat maker. As he was probably not Jewish the love affair had to be secret. He did not want to go to war and kill Jews, but in order to help undercover, he rose to become a high ranking Officer, which gave him certain privileges and this is how he managed to arrange for this firstborn baby son to be saved. Alas, he was unable to do the same for his girlfriend.

This story in my mind helps me to accept that I was wanted and loved and hopefully not the outcome of a rape.

In 1993 I was sent a letter from the Austrian authorities that I could apply for an Austrian passport. This I did and I am very pleased that I have got something back again that was taken away.

Also, I am to receive some compensation 鈥� approximately 拢4,000 in 1997. On reading papers which I now have going back to when I was adopted, my parents were asked if they wanted to claim compensation for me, they declined. They wanted no correspondence coming to the house which I might see and they wanted everything destroyed so that I would never know anything about my past. Also, very naively on their part, that I should never shed a tear.

Writing the story, 鈥楲ost and Waiting to be Found鈥�, Lita put it to my adopted mother that she would like her to give her side of the story. There is always two sides to any story, but all she would say was that they were extremely happy with me and that she understood me. This was not enough to write about.

Going back over my papers, it says how fond I was of my adopted father and that my mother was not needed. I feel my father was very much to blame for this. I cannot recall him ever telling me that this was very wrong. I can see that it was not easy looking after me in those early days, they thought if they gave me presents and my own way, that I would settle down. It states in one of the reports that my behaviour was very boisterous, usually provoked by my mother.

You can see so clearly I was in control and wanted lots and lots of attention. I totally clashed with my mother and can remember the tantrums. Seeing naughty children when we are shopping, I say to Lita, that was me. I still like attention now and do overpower sometimes. Lita keeps me in check though.

Lita has also had a great deal to cope with. On reading 鈥楬istory of the Jews in Europe during the Second World War鈥�, before our trip to Russia, she became very nervous and wondered how she would have reacted to the terrible things that went on. Would she be able to take in a family and hide them risking her own family鈥檚 lives. If ones family is threatened would you tell on your neighbours? Lots of people have easy answers as to what they would do in a similar situation, but unless you are put to the test it cannot be imagined.

Going where there are crowds of people, for example, waiting for an appointment at the hospital, Lita would think who she would select for deportation and gradually one starts to pick our people who do not appeal to you. Lita felt she had to read the entire book. Luckily she got on top of the problem as we had to go to Russia.

After our visit to Maly Trostenets, which was such an amazing experience, I felt better, but Lita spent that night in a state of extreme fear. She had had to be strong for me and now it was over she wasn鈥檛 sure that I would carry on feeling alright.

Whenever we have a family occasion Lita cannot totally enjoy herself, because she always worries about how I feel. We hope that our daughters are not affected by my past. On asking them, they say that when the signs are there that I am miserable (although I try to hide it), they in turn are miserable. I do apologise for having burdened them with all these problems. Lita says she is glad that she has got me and wouldn鈥檛 change me. I have a great deal to be thankful for.

We have met two lovely young German girls who have studied all the reports on the young survivors and they are in the process of writing a documentary about our lives. They also have problems of dealing with the previous generations and what they got up to in the war.

In 1993, the German government also offered compensation for anyone being imprisoned for at least 6 months. I applied and three years later received a reply that I do not fit the criteria and should have put in a claim in the 1960鈥檚.

On writing back to them I asked for a more detailed explanation. What more criteria did they need than losing an entire family. Four and a half months later they replied just repeating that I still do not fit the criteria. I will just leave it rest.

My friend, who is also a child survivor, has persevered to get information on her family and has succeeded in getting incredible details. So we have made one last effort:

路 Mormon Church 1994 checking ourselves through records. Nothing.
路 February 鈥�95 made enquiry to records in Vienna to tie up loose ends. Why did Elisabeth Weiss not turn up that day to meet us at coffee bar? Could they advise us who to write to as regards grandparents 鈥� what happened to them? Reply said couldn鈥檛 help as regards Elisabeth Weiss, she was retired and as for information about grandparents we should write to Central Archive in Prague, as now all records were being released. November 1995 reply came back. Nothing available.

路 Wrote to Dr Zelman, in Vienna, regarding Elisabeth Weiss, he knew her and that particular day had told us to have a coffee and that he would phone to see where she was, then came back and said she was on her way. Asked him if he could possibly tell us why she didn鈥檛 turn up. He is the Jewish Welcoming Committee. No reply received.

路 Extract from Martha Wenger鈥檚 letter (Martha looked after us in Terezin) in 1946 to Mrs Lauer, who accompanied us to England says my parents were orthodox Jews who came from Poland. I have no evidence of this information being true and it is different to everything else that I have. Further, when my youngest daughter visited California she asked Sara Moscovich if she could have Martha Wenger鈥檚 address in Australia where she now lived, as she was on her way to Australia and would like to contact her. Sara was not forthcoming.

The mysteries remain. This is definitely my last chapter鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��...

13 December 1998
7. THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM NEARLY CAME TRUE

The phrase 鈥榥ever say never鈥� is so true. There is another chapter to my story.

In 1997 I was contacted by two German girls who wanted to come to London and interview me, with a view to making a documentary about the young survivors of the Holocaust that they had read about in the book Love Despite Hate. These girls were in social and welfare work and they had entered a competition with a project about bonding and behaviour. The outcome was that the project won first prize and they were given the funding to proceed further.

I decided to meet them and gave my permission to be filmed. We were visited on a number of occasions and found the girls to be very warm and quite emotional at times. They met with our family and the film is nearing completion anytime now.

In June 1998 I was informed that a lady from the Red Cross was going to talk about searching for lost relatives at a club where survivors meet for afternoon tea.

Every so often I visit the centre if there is something of interest to me. In the back of my mind I thought maybe there could be a very, very small chance that I could learn something to my advantage if I went along to listen to the talk.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and I nearly didn鈥檛 go, thinking that probably I would be wasting my time and I could be sitting in my garden enjoying the sunshine.

It is a good thing that I decided to go as the lady told the congregation about incredible reunions that had taken place from very little information. After having a private word with her she sent me some forms to fill in and told me to also do a search on myself. She did warn me that it could take quite a few months before receiving any details and that I mustn鈥檛 get my hopes up just in case nothing could be found. I thought there wasn鈥檛 anything to lose and filled out the forms and sent them back to the Red Cross. In my heart I really didn鈥檛 expect to receive any information, although there is always that very great hope that there would be.

Wednesday 9 December 1998 the telephone rang and a very friendly voice said 鈥淗ello Jack, this is the lady from the Red Cross.鈥� She said that she had been on leave for a few weeks and during her absence a letter had come in from the Austrian Red Cross giving details of my family.

My mother, Elsa, had had a sister called Hilde Neumann and her intention had been to leave Vienna for England. I was very excited. This meant that I had an aunt and that she was married. She said that now she would have to get in touch with the various organisations to see if anybody with this name had entered the UK. Having pre-warned me of this information, she said she would send me the letter in the post with the details.

Now I waited to see this letter with great anticipation. I was very guarded and hoped that there had not been a mistake. I had asked on several occasions to the various record offices in Vienna and even begged the United Restitution Office to have another look to see if they could find names of my family, but they had said there wasn鈥檛 anymore information.

I tried to remain calm and waited for the letter to arrive. Even if Hilde Neumann had survived she would now be 96 years old, apparently she was 6 years older than my mother Elsa was. Maybe she had children and therefore I would have cousins.

I heard the post come through the letterbox and my heart jumped. I went slowly down the stairs only to find a pile of junk mail, but two hours later more post came and I flew down the stairs. There was the letter.

I couldn鈥檛 open the envelope myself and handed it to my wife to open and read it first. Lita started to read and yes it was true; there was the name, address in Vienna and date of birth. I could not believe it there were more details of my grandfather, Leopold, he had also been transported to Terezin from an old peoples home. My grandmother, Emilie, had died in Vienna, details unknown. I was scanning the letter over Lita鈥檚 shoulder and I couldn鈥檛 believe it, there staring me in the face was another name. My mother Elsa, had had a brother, Rudolph Spiegal. He had been the first born and had been sent to Nisko in Poland for slave labour (fate unknown).

On telephoning the lady at the Red Cross, to thank her, she was concerned about me having too much information at once, but I assured her that my family had increased by 100%.

Now that I had dates and places we paid a visit to the Weiner library to look in the book about Terezin, to see if my grandfathers name was in it. It seemed that his name and date of birth was mixed up with somebody else with the same name and so we do not really know what happened to him. We found a Jacob Spiegel, from Warsaw, but not Jona Spiegel and we think that this clears up the mystery that Alice Goldberger, the Matron of Weir Courtney, had found this name and thought it had been me. There are bound to be some mistakes when dealing with thousands of entries. Jona Spiegel, alias Jack, was not even in this book.

The Central British Fund, now known as Jewish Relief, was just around the corner to the library and we were told that they have a list of survivors who entered the UK. On telephoning them first to see if we could look at the list, the answer was no. But after being put through to three different people, a lady said she would look to see if Hilde Neumann, from Vienna, was listed in the files.

On arriving home there was a message on our answer phone 鈥� sorry, no, your aunt is not on our lists.

We sent a copy of the Red Cross letter to Yad Vashem, in Israel, to see if they had any entries of Hilde Neumann going there.

On 5th February 1999 the lady from the Red Cross telephoned again to say that she had contacted the Austrian Red Cross again to make sure that there was no dates concerning Hilde leaving Vienna. Lo and behold a letter came back saying that Hilde鈥檚 husband was Siegmund Neumann and that he had left Vienna in March 1939 and that Hilde had left two weeks later. She also asked was there a photo of Elsa somewhere? No, there wasn鈥檛 a photo.

The search goes on. Did they come to England, or did they change their minds and go somewhere else?

My wife鈥檚 brother-in-law has put all my newfound information on the Internet and has had quite a few replies, but not the information that I so desperately want. Also, we put a search notice in the Association of Jewish Refugees, a magazine that goes all over the world. So far I have had one reply from a man in Stanmore, London, who lived at the same address in Vienna, but he was much younger and didn鈥檛 remember the names.

My aunt, Hilde, would have been 36 years old in 1939 and wouldn鈥檛 have known of my existence, having been born in 1941. Apparently, there were no children of hers registered in Vienna.

It鈥檚 2nd March and at last the reply has come from Yad Vashem. A great disappointment 鈥� the Archives department have not even answered our enquiry, but have sent pages of Testimony from the Hall of Remembrance for us to fill in and send back to them. Furthermore they haven鈥檛 the time to carry out searches, we would be welcome to do so ourselves and then they would assist us.

Enquired back to World Jewish Relief regarding Hilde鈥檚 husband鈥檚 name and whether they could look once again to see if he is on the registration lists. In a few days she would come back to me.

Today, Wednesday 3rd March, World Jewish Relief telephoned to say that there is no entry for Siegmund Neumann, but that he had a sister, Lena Neumann, who came to England in 1939 and became a British subject. Lena had carried out a search for him in 1949. The file is closed for Lena.

On pressing for more details about Lena, it emerged that she went to live at 30 Marchmont Street, WC1. We took a ride there, but now a huge block of flats is there.

We went to the Public Records and both Lita and I looked through forty-four Register books on marriages, spanning eleven years, to see if Lena Neumann married 鈥� no luck.

The Red Cross called to say that Lena Neumann died in 1988, aged 81. They will check to see if a death certificate can be found and maybe it will be signed by a next of kin. Although Lena was not my family, if she was Siegmund鈥檚 sister and he was married to my mother, Elsa鈥檚, sister, Hilde, she would have known Elsa and maybe have photos.

I had a meeting with the lady from World Jewish Relief and thanked her for the latest information and gave her a copy of my story. She tells me that it was very moving and that she has another couple of registration papers I might like to have.

Today, 20 April 1999, I telephoned the Red Cross to see if there was any news concerning the death certificate for Lena. I was called back an hour later to say that the death certificate had just arrived a short time after my call. Whilst waiting anxiously for the information, living in hope that there would be a next of kin on the certificate and that I could make a connection with them, alas, this was not to be and the ray of light went out. The dream is not going to come true.

Lena married a Mr Switalski, who died 3 months before her. She was cremated at Golders Green Crematorium, London. No next of kin. A Mr B.H.S. had arranged the funeral and his address was on the certificate. I was able to get the telephone number and fortunately was able to speak to Mr S. Apparently he was a neighbour and had got to know Lena and her husband when they became ill. There had been no mention of their background, only that Lena had come from Austria. They just exchanged pleasantries, but Mr S was able to tell me that there were no photographs displayed in the house and that there was no one at the funeral. How very sad.

The only suggestion Mr S could give me was that Barclays Bank in Raynors Lane handled their affairs and maybe they would have held some personal affects that could verify this was the Lena we had been looking for.

28 April 鈥� I have had an answer from the Bank in reply to my letter and without an account number they cannot possibly trace back any archival records. I have telephoned and explained the importance of the situation, but as usual the answer is still no.

The irony of it all is that Lena had lived in Wembley, London, within 6 miles of my home and was cremated within walking distance. I have a strong feeling that this Lena was the person we were looking for and now I have to come to terms with the fact that this is truly the END.

The war BROKE MY HEART and my wife, Lita, and daughters, Nicole and Elisa, put it back together.

There always seems to be bad news running alongside good news. The very sad news is that my dear mother-in-law has suffered two strokes over the past 2陆 years and it has been very painful watching her decline and deteriorate.

The very good news is that we are to get another son-in-law. Elisa Gabi Elsa is getting married in August 1999.

The End.

These notes were not included in the story.

After a few months of being engaged, adopted mother encouraged us to go away for a few days to Belgium. She had won some money at bingo and wanted to treat us. The real idea was to get us out of the way whilst she made some enquiries about me.

After about three days she telephoned and said we were to return immediately, she had been in touch with various people who knew me and they told her how extravagant I was and we must not get married as I would ruin Jacky. I must be after his money (which by the way I still haven鈥檛 found, even after twenty-five years of marriage). My parents were summoned to Moreland Court (where they lived) to be told the marriage must not take place. My parents informed both her and her husband that if I loved and wanted Jacky then the marriage would still take place.

We arrived back as soon as possible and I faced both adopted parents and asked them that if they were worried about me whey couldn鈥檛 they speak directly to me. They had already known me for eighteen months. Because my mother made my dresses and I had plenty of them, I was given the name extravagant. I told them it was despicable to go behind my back.

When I had a few months previously been asked to pick out a diamond, in order to have an engagement ring made, I remember clearly saying I knew nothing whatsoever about diamonds. As there were different sizes and prices and since I didn鈥檛 know what Jacky could afford, I had discussed it with them. As it so happened, Jacky鈥檚 father was going to pay for it. So how could they think I was uncaring. It ended up with them telling me that I had passed the test.

Even though my adopted mother-in-law has been generous with money and has given me her own engagement ring and a beautiful gold bracelet, I still today hold a lot of anger towards her. I would have preferred her understanding about Jacky鈥檚 past. I have always taken a lot of time and effort to explain things to her and on the one hand she would say she understood and then would put the blame onto other people, that they didn鈥檛 agree with what we were doing. I have never given up with her, but feel very strongly that we could have been close if she would have allowed it.

When Jacky went to Vienna for the first time, he had told his parents of his intentions and although they disapproved he decided he must go. He telephoned them from the airport and his mother said 鈥渢hat鈥檚 another nail in your father鈥檚 coffin鈥�.

From my point of view, if only she could have given Jacky some comforting words and shared his turmoil the conflict would not exist between them. It is so sad that all these years have passed with hassle. Now we have finally persuaded her that going to Maly Trostenets is the best thing to do for peace of mind. After the usual arguments she thinks it is wonderful as well. At last!

August 1996

Over the years Anne would say how sorry she was for doing what she did during our engagement. When she was ill in 1993 and had to be in hospital, I bought her the things she needed with her money and she said to me 鈥淚 am sorry to put you to the test鈥�. I replied, 鈥渟o have I passed another test?鈥� She now was unable to look after herself anymore and wanted to go into residential care 鈥� she didn鈥檛 mind where.

We knew that a Jewish home would be better for her and now I had the task of selling her entire possessions in her flat where she had lived for so long. I kept a few things for her - she left me to decide. She never entered into the flat again and I found the whole matter, very, very sad and felt enormously guilty at having to get dealers in to take everything away for the small sum of 拢200. All the trappings she had kept for all those years.

This lady, in my opinion, found it very difficult to accept that we wanted her, she sometimes called herself an outsider, although she was included in everything. She attended our daughter鈥檚 tea dance wedding in July 1994 in a wheelchair with a carer to look after her. She was very distressed, but happy 鈥� a contradictory statement I know.

In our dining room we have a few photographs of my mother in-law and father in-law alongside photographs of my own mother and father, our two daughters and our grandson.

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