大象传媒

The following extracts are reproduced, with permission from the publisher, from 鈥淢y Darling Diary: A Wartime Journal 鈥� Vienna 1937-39, Falmouth 1939-44鈥� by Ingrid Jacoby, published by United Writers, Penzance, Cornwall, 1998.

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2nd September 1939
Germany and Poland are at war. It can't be long now until England and France join in. I'm sure you're thinking, how can I write that down so calmly? Well, I'm not calm. I'm in a terrible state. But my imagination fails me for once. What will war be like? If there is really a war, will I ever see my parents again?

Hitler, I hate you even more than I hate Mrs Robins!

4th September 1939
I was too upset to write more yesterday. This is what happened:
Lieselotte was downstairs listening to the news on the radio in the morning. I was upstairs in our bedroom. Then I too went downstairs, and met Lieselotte running up to our room.

"Do you understand what has happened?" Mr Robins asked me as I came into the drawing room.

"No," I said.

"War has been declared," he said. I ran out of the room. In the bedroom Lieselotte is lying on the bed crying hysterically.

"It's war, isn't it?" I cry. No answer. "Isn't it?" I repeat. I begin to cry too. At last we both stop.

"Crying is no use, is it?" I say, and she agrees. Then we talk for a long, long time, and we both look at the photograph of our parents with the same thought in our heads: Shall we ever see them again? Then I go to the calendar and look at the date. Sunday, 3rd of September. The first day of war. At 11am it was declared and at 11.45am I was informed of it. I mark the date with a black ring round and ask myself when I shall be marking the last day of the war?

6th September 1939
First days of war. No sign of it here yet, except that we get no letters from home. I don't know what has happened to my parents in Vienna and Paris. If I am unoccupied for long the wildest thoughts oppress me and I get headaches and stomach cramps. I
think the same thoughts over and over again, but too much philosophising is not good for you.

22nd June 1940
Daddy is in Plymouth! The Germans have invaded France where he was living (in Paris) and he got away on the last boat to leave the country, leaving all his possessions behind. It is the third time he has escaped from the Nazis - first from Vienna, then from Italy and now from France. We shall probably go to visit him soon or he鈥�1l visit us here. He came to England with the B.E F We haven't seen him for two years.
When Connie and I arrived at the Odeon today, to our amazement there was no film on and it was closed. The reason - it was full of French refugees who were put up there until other accommodation can be found for them. We got talking to a French couple who, like my father, had arrived without any possessions. I gave them a bar of chocolate for their little boy which I had just bought for myself, and they were very grateful.

"Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle, merci beaucoup," they kept saying. I like to think that this good deed of mine shows my gratitude to God for saving my father.

There's a French refugee boy coming to live at St Joseph鈥檚 tomorrow, and Ilse Rosendorf, another German Jewish refugee child who goes to the High School is coming to tea. The French boy doesn't know where his parents are. Next week I must start revising for school exams.

Lieselotte doesn't have to leave Falmouth! Mr Robins arranged it. Thank God.

10th July 1940
We've had five air-raids now. One caught me in the street. I ran into a house and a lady sheltered me until it was over. The worst and longest raid was on Sunday.

9th October 1940
I have just escaped death by a hair's breadth. This is what happened: Connie and I were going for a walk as usual after homework. We felt a bit hungry and were going to buy a penny worth of chips. We were just passing the Wesleyan chapel on the Moor when we heard sssssssss, the unmistakable whistle of a bomb. There had been no air-raid warning. We heard no bang. But suddenly all around us there was rubble and people were screaming and belatedly diving for shelter. One woman and her
little girl under an umbrella came running towards us and seemed hysterical. We didn't know where the bomb had dropped until someone shouted, "It's the Chapel!" Then we saw that it was in ruins - and we were not a stone's throw from it. How had the bomb missed us? One minute we were exactly in front of the chapel, the next we were ten steps away, and in that split second the bomb fell. Thank you. God, for saving my life. But the ginger haired son of our air-raid warden, who had been inside the chapel, was killed.

We were too excited not to tell Miss Davis and Miss Kitty what had happened although we never tell them when we've been to town in the evening as I'm not allowed there then, because of the sailors and soldiers. Connie's mother doesn't mind - she's more broad minded. At first no one believed us. Then Miss Davis said:
"What were you doing in town at that time?" "I was nearly killed, Miss Davis!" I cried. "You shouldn't have been in town. You see what happens when you disobey," she said.

I still think God meant to save me, not punish me.

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