Read Online The Children of Willesden Lane: Beyond The Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival by Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen
Tags: BIO004000
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speaking in their native German—and missed their voices.
The wind reminded her of the last movement of the Chopin Sonata in B Minor. She got up and crept to the distant room where the piano was. She sat on the bench, lifted the lid, and put her fingers to the keys. Everyone was away, but still she was frightened—so she played the keys with silent strokes, not making a sound. Her fingers flew over the familiar patterns and for a moment she felt a great joy, connected to her music and to her family, even if it was only in her imagination. This was what her mother had begged her to do, so she played for her mother, and she played for herself, for the joy of it, until she could hear the sounds of the footsteps returning. Then she crept secretly back to her room.
The next day Lisa was polishing the two-toned open-toed pumps in the walk-in closet off the lady’s bedroom. The lady had seemed upset about many things—about the baby’s colic, about the Home Guard officers’ cigar smoke, about the perfume she had spilled—about the day in general. She called Lisa into the boudoir, where she was seated at the mirror.
“I’ve talked to the captain,” she said. “Unfortunately we won’t be able to take on another person . . . I’m sorry.”
The words fell heavily on Lisa and seemed to fall heavily on the lady as well. “You see, he’s given half the house to the government and he feels he’s done his duty.”
“Thank you for asking him,” Lisa said softly.
The woman kept powdering her face, and Lisa turned to go.
“Lisa? How old are you?” “I’ll be fifteen.”
“That’s a wonderful age. I wish I were fifteen again.” The woman’s voice was distant, unhappy. Lisa didn’t know how to respond. “When I was fifteen, I thought the world was my oyster. I thought I was going to make something of my life. . . .” She looked directly into Lisa’s eyes. “I’m sorry. . . .”
The lady’s voice trailed off. “Lay out my green jacket, would you?”
“Make something of yourself.” The phrase ran through Lisa’s mind as she ironed the jackets, pressed the skirts, and polished the shoes. Over and over came the calm voice of her mother—its gentle insistence invading her thoughts. Whom could she look to for guidance if not her mother?
That night she slept fitfully, tossing and turning as the summer rains beat down on the slanted roof close to her head. In the morning, she was awakened by a rap at the door.
“Are you coming or not, sleepyhead?” Gladys yelled. She dressed hurriedly, opened the drawer, and grabbed the envelope that held the money she had saved from her wages, stuffing it into her pocket.
The weekly trip to town didn’t have the same carefree air it normally did. Gladys and Monty seemed sad, sitting close to one another but saying nothing. Was it a lovers’ quarrel? Lisa had never had a boyfriend, and it seemed so mysterious. She watched Gladys lean her head on Monty’s huge shoulder; there were tears in her eyes.
Lisa helped Gladys pick through the parsnips and celery while Monty headed for the high street with a purposeful stride.
“You’re watching the last steps of a free man,” the head maid said, watching him go. “The big lout is signing up for the navy today.”
“The navy?” Lisa asked, filled with wonder.
“There’s a rumor that the mobilization is going to be announced any minute; he wanted to beat them to it.”
Lisa, filled with emotion, kept staring at Monty.
In an uncharacteristic gesture, Gladys put her arm around Lisa. “He’ll show those Germans, you’ll see . . . it’s going to be all right.” But Gladys started to cry. “I’m sorry, luv, look at this silly blubbering.”
They finished the shopping and Lisa carried the heavy vegetables to the truck.
“May I do an errand, ma’am?”
“Go ahead, of course you can.”
Lisa doubled back around the corner and found the secondhand shop. She summoned up all her courage and walked in.
“I
The wind reminded her of the last movement of the Chopin Sonata in B Minor. She got up and crept to the distant room where the piano was. She sat on the bench, lifted the lid, and put her fingers to the keys. Everyone was away, but still she was frightened—so she played the keys with silent strokes, not making a sound. Her fingers flew over the familiar patterns and for a moment she felt a great joy, connected to her music and to her family, even if it was only in her imagination. This was what her mother had begged her to do, so she played for her mother, and she played for herself, for the joy of it, until she could hear the sounds of the footsteps returning. Then she crept secretly back to her room.
The next day Lisa was polishing the two-toned open-toed pumps in the walk-in closet off the lady’s bedroom. The lady had seemed upset about many things—about the baby’s colic, about the Home Guard officers’ cigar smoke, about the perfume she had spilled—about the day in general. She called Lisa into the boudoir, where she was seated at the mirror.
“I’ve talked to the captain,” she said. “Unfortunately we won’t be able to take on another person . . . I’m sorry.”
The words fell heavily on Lisa and seemed to fall heavily on the lady as well. “You see, he’s given half the house to the government and he feels he’s done his duty.”
“Thank you for asking him,” Lisa said softly.
The woman kept powdering her face, and Lisa turned to go.
“Lisa? How old are you?” “I’ll be fifteen.”
“That’s a wonderful age. I wish I were fifteen again.” The woman’s voice was distant, unhappy. Lisa didn’t know how to respond. “When I was fifteen, I thought the world was my oyster. I thought I was going to make something of my life. . . .” She looked directly into Lisa’s eyes. “I’m sorry. . . .”
The lady’s voice trailed off. “Lay out my green jacket, would you?”
“Make something of yourself.” The phrase ran through Lisa’s mind as she ironed the jackets, pressed the skirts, and polished the shoes. Over and over came the calm voice of her mother—its gentle insistence invading her thoughts. Whom could she look to for guidance if not her mother?
That night she slept fitfully, tossing and turning as the summer rains beat down on the slanted roof close to her head. In the morning, she was awakened by a rap at the door.
“Are you coming or not, sleepyhead?” Gladys yelled. She dressed hurriedly, opened the drawer, and grabbed the envelope that held the money she had saved from her wages, stuffing it into her pocket.
The weekly trip to town didn’t have the same carefree air it normally did. Gladys and Monty seemed sad, sitting close to one another but saying nothing. Was it a lovers’ quarrel? Lisa had never had a boyfriend, and it seemed so mysterious. She watched Gladys lean her head on Monty’s huge shoulder; there were tears in her eyes.
Lisa helped Gladys pick through the parsnips and celery while Monty headed for the high street with a purposeful stride.
“You’re watching the last steps of a free man,” the head maid said, watching him go. “The big lout is signing up for the navy today.”
“The navy?” Lisa asked, filled with wonder.
“There’s a rumor that the mobilization is going to be announced any minute; he wanted to beat them to it.”
Lisa, filled with emotion, kept staring at Monty.
In an uncharacteristic gesture, Gladys put her arm around Lisa. “He’ll show those Germans, you’ll see . . . it’s going to be all right.” But Gladys started to cry. “I’m sorry, luv, look at this silly blubbering.”
They finished the shopping and Lisa carried the heavy vegetables to the truck.
“May I do an errand, ma’am?”
“Go ahead, of course you can.”
Lisa doubled back around the corner and found the secondhand shop. She summoned up all her courage and walked in.
“I
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