In the dying light of autumn, the golden trees and flags of Hamburg waved goodbye. She gave a lingering smile to the city which had brought her happiness, love, culture and family. Fear and foreboding now overcame the land, but those treasured happier memories would always be with her.
‘Till the next time, Hamburg. I will return, God willing. Deus Volente, I will return,’ she said to the breeze, and it cast her words landward.
She made her way unsteadily towards her cabin as the ship lurched towards the open North Sea. As she passed cabin number 227 she stopped. She listened. She made a note of the cabin number then returned to her own cabin swaying as if she was drunk.
That night in the restaurant she ate alone, noticing a dearth of single travellers aboard. She managed to spill some soup on to the clean white tablecloth. A waiter arrived promptly to wipe and clean the offending spot.
‘Soup is possibly not the best choice on a night like this,’ she said by way of apology.
‘Perhaps not,’ he replied. ‘You might like me to serve you the soup in a cup?’
‘An excellent solution, thank you.’
The soup arrived promptly. It was filling, but she needed a further layer of food to settle her stomach. That would serve two purposes. It could quell the movement of the ship for her, and go some way towards giving her confidence for what she had in mind.
After a plate of haddock, mashed potato and peas, she returned to her cabin and opened her black box. She dampened the double reed then left her room, retracing her steps unsteadily until she reached cabin 227. She knocked on the door and the German chatter inside fell silent. She waited a few moments, and then knocked again. This time the door opened an inch or two.
‘Good evening. I hope you don’t mind me calling.’
‘What have you there?’ The young girl asked, clearly curious.
‘It’s my oboe. I brought it because I thought I heard music coming from this cabin earlier.’
‘You are German?’
‘No. I speak German, but I am Scottish. I am returning home.’
The door opened wider. She entered. Three children sat on the top of the bunk bed with their legs dangling and swinging back and forth. Their mother was behind the door, gripping a dark brown shawl tightly around her shoulders.
The parents remained cautious. Hilda understood how they must have felt. She had to show she was no authority figure plotting to have them returned to Germany.
‘You are safe here. I mean you no harm.’
There was a pause. The father’s instinct of suspicious towards the visitor was understandable. That was why she had reassured them that she was not German. The ship was also now underway, and that was reassuring too. Hilda raised her oboe for his inspection.
‘I am Hilda Richter. I am a widow returning to Scotland. My parents are there.’
The father relaxed and smiled. It was a signal for the rest of the family.
‘My name is David Hortowski,’ he said ‘My wife Anna, my son Konrad and daughters Lilli and Petra.’ He pointed proudly to each member of his family.
‘You are right to leave Germany at this time,’ Hilda said.
‘We had no choice. We decided and planned to leave Vienna the day after the Anschluss,’ said Anna.
‘Ah… 12th of March,’ said Hilda.
‘You remember it well. I am not surprised. It pleased the German people,’ said Anna. Her husband shook his head sideways and frowned.
‘Yes, I can remember it very well indeed,’ Hilda said. ‘In fact, I can never forget that date. It was the day of my husband’s funeral.’
Anna emitted a quiet apologetic gasp and Petra bit her lip.
‘I am sorry,’ David said.
‘I am sorry too, for the way your people have been treated,’ she replied.
David nodded thoughtfully. ‘These are difficult times.’
‘Very true. However, we can make some moments happier. Who was playing the clarinet?’ asked Hilda, looking at the children.
Lilli raised her hand.
‘My daughter Lilli was a pupil of the Mozarteum in Salzburg. It was her final year, but she could not finish her studies because we are Jewish,’ said her father.
Hilda looked at Lilli sympathetically. ‘Perhaps we can play together?’ she suggested.
Lilli’s eyes shone brightly, and with a smile as wide as the Danube, she brought her clarinet to her lips. Her eyes were dark, playful and bright.
‘Perhaps “Bist du Bei Mir”? suggested Lilli.
‘Johann Sebastian Bach?’ Hilda confirmed.
‘Yes.’
The performance, which followed, was pitch perfect, and a delight. Hilda’s oboe, an octave higher, played in harmony with the clarinet; Lilli proved to be a gifted player. When they finished, the family gave them an enthusiastic round of applause.
Anna was a little apprehensive.
‘We’ve not applauded for several months, even years,’ she said and added, ‘I hope we haven’t drawn attention to ourselves.’
‘It must be a great relief for you all to have left Germany behind,’ Hilda said.
The family exchanged nervous glances.
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘But perhaps Bach’s “Be With Me” suggests there might be hope for brighter times one day?’
‘Brighter, yes. But will it be a Germany without any Jews?’ asked David. They all pondered the question for a few moments, then Petra asked her brother, Konrad, to hold up another piece of music. It was unfamiliar to Hilda.
“Zemir Atik” is one of my favourite Yiddish songs. I learned this tune when I was young. I used to play it when I was happy because it is a dance tune. I have not played it for several years. I feel free to play it now we are sailing away. Can you play it too?’
The only thing Hilda knew about Yiddish music was that it was often played in a minor key. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, feeling adventurous.
She soon picked up both the timing and the melody as she glanced at the written music, and the family clapped in unison. She looked around the cabin at their smiling faces and saw their tension dissipate after years of pent-up anxiety and fear. She could not help but be happy for them.
The increasing motion of the sea made her and David unsteady on their feet, and the impromptu concert came to a sudden end, amid laughter.
‘May I ask what your plans are when you arrive?’
‘We will get a train to Manchester where we have relatives. We will stay with them a while, before crossing the Atlantic to America,’ said David.
‘What an adventure,’ she replied, smiling with delight.
David opened his arms wide. ‘It is our fate. We are a people constantly on the move.’
‘And do you all speak English?’
‘I do,’ said Petra, her legs still swinging from her position on the bunk bed. ‘So does my father, but not the rest of the family, yet.’
‘The voyage is not long enough for me to give you some lessons,’ Hilda apologised.
‘We will make do. We adapt easily,’ said David.
‘Well, if I can find my feet I think I should now return to my cabin and get ready for bed. Perhaps sleep is the best way to deal with a rough sea. Shall we have breakfast together tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes please,’ said Lilli and Petra together, their faces lighting up. Anna nodded her agreement.
‘It would be our pleasure, Frau Richter,’ said David, clearly pleased to have met a friendly fellow traveller. ‘Eight thirty then?’
‘Eight thirty it will be. Good night.’
Hilda returned to her cabin, holding on to the corridor walls to steady herself. On deck, it was now ink-black dark. She did not intend to look back for a final view of light on the German coast. Instead, she turned on the walnut-cased radio bolted by her bedside, hoping to hear Henry Hall play some popular dance music. A singer, Miss Beatrice Lillie, sang the “Yodelling Goldfish”. Then, humming along to Henry Hall’s music, she prepared for bed. She climbed into the fresh white linen sheets, laid her head on the marshmallow pillow and let her dreams waft her away with the music still playing.