~ The Silver Necklace ~
~ Bianka ~
Oberramstadt, Germany, November 9, 1938
Bianka awoke because of the smell. An acrid, burning stench had drifted into her house. She
shed her nightgown, replaced it with a sturdy dress, put on her coat to fend off the early
winter chill and opened her door.
The orange glow of fire sliced through the night’s darkness. Men and women ran
every which way, and were chased by people in brown uniforms. The pursuers brandished
batons and hammers. At short intervals Bianka heard a crunch as windows, doors and entire
walls were broken. Parts of a piano and a radiogram were thrown through a gaping hole in
the house beside her. Others attacked the Jews instead of the houses. Her neighbour was hit
on the head and a woman she always saw at synagogue was showered with glass. She
couldn’t understand – was the German town of Oberramstadt under attack?
“Juden Raus! Out with the Jews!” someone cried. And she realised Germany was not
under attack – only its Jewish people were.
Bianka dared to venture further onto the street. And then she saw it. The synagogue
was on fire. Gargantuan plumes of smoke puffed and fumed into the sky like waste from a
crematorium. Stones blackened and toppled from the great stone structure of her faith,
turning to ash, which was snatched away by the wind.
What had become of her jewellery store?
She ran down the street, her slippers crunching over the broken objects strewn across
the road. The glass display windows of her up-market jewellery store had been smashed to
pieces so she gingerly stepped inside. A man was in her treasured shop, a Nazi-German man,
with his curtained blonde hair and blue eyes.
~2~
“Looks like I’ve found myself a Jude,” he said, regarding Bianka’s long dark hair,
narrowed dark eyes, and costly-looking coat. The man had a thick neck and in his meaty fist,
he held a finely worked bracelet. She’d crafted that two weeks ago.
“Get out of my shop.” She hated the way her voice trembled.
“Juden Raus! You get out, Jew!”
Then he smashed a display case with his baton. A piece of the glass flew at Bianka
just under her eye. Blood welled like a teardrop from the wound.
The German took what he pleased, stuffing her lovingly made jewellery into his
pockets or stamping on the pieces that didn’t take his fancy. There was nothing she could do
against his might. She ought to leave her shop behind, leave Germany behind, before it
became worse for Jews. The day Adolf Hitler had become Führer, the leader of her country,
she had known it would come to this. But she couldn’t leave before she took her most
precious item with her. As she reached for it, the robber snatched it from its display case. He
paused to admire the necklace in his hand.
Each chain link had been individually made from purest silver, and it was so fine it
felt like little more than thread. The centrepiece was a chunk of silver, chiselled perfectly to
look like a smooth stone. This necklace took far more skill than all the other jewellery in the
shop. Bianka’s mother had made it during her final weeks. As her body wasted away from
fever, she had set herself to making her best ever piece. The silver carved stone represented
an ancient Jewish belief that people’s legacies would never die. Neither would a stone. That
was why most Jewish graves had a simple stone on them. Her mother had made this for
Bianka so she would never forget her.
Bianka seized the necklace from the German’s grasp and cradled it. She wouldn’t let
him take this. Not the silver necklace.
“Give me that.” The German reached for it.
~3~
Bianka closed her fist. “You’ll never lay hands on my necklace.” This time her voice
was steady and unwavering.
“I’m taking it, whether you like it, or not,” he said.
So Bianka ran. Her leg brushed against the jagged edges of her ruined glass panes but
she didn’t stop. Clutching the sacred necklace to her breast, she made it onto the footpath and
took one step onto the road before the Nazi wrenched her back. People rushed all around but
none stopped to save the Jewish woman from her fate.
If she couldn’t have her necklace, then this thief couldn’t either. She bunched the
silver chain of the necklace together then hurled it far across the street, amidst the fleeing
crowd. The necklace caught the moonlight for a moment as it hung suspended in the air and
Bianka was certain many eyes lingered on it.
The German hesitated, most likely deciding whether he wanted her or the necklace
more. He chose the necklace. Scrabbling on the footpath where she’d thrown it, his hands
came up empty.
When Bianka saw he couldn’t find it, she allowed herself a small smile of victory.
She hoped the last memory of her mother was in the good hands of someone who had run
past at that moment, in better hands than that German.
Bianka fled Oberramstadt, leaving the silver-stone necklace far behind.
~4~
~ Elsie ~
Warsaw Ghetto, Poland, 1941
Elsie felt the reassuring curves of the silver-stone necklace beneath her shirt collar. For two
years the necklace had been her companion. It reminded her of her hometown, Oberramstadt,
and the terrible night where the persecution of Jewish people had begun. She’d been running
down the town’s main street and the moonlight had caught something on the ground. She had
stooped down and realised the shiny object was a most beautiful necklace. Ever since, it had
been hidden under her blouse.
Elsie and her family had fled Oberramstadt and spent the better part of a year looking
for a safer place. The necklace had been her only comfort. Finally they’d settled at Warsaw,
the main city of Poland with a Jewish population of over 350 000. But they’d been naïve to
think there would be any safety in numbers.
The Nazis had created the ghetto in the October of 1940. Jewish people in Warsaw
were ordered into the designated area of the town, dragged from their homes and told to wear
the star of David at all times. Hundreds of thousands of Jews were forced into the area. The
ghetto was sealed off from the rest of the city and they were unable to leave, except for doing
hard labour guarded heavily by Germans.
As the cruel winds of Poland’s winter set in, Elsie’s family found themselves living
on the ghetto’s streets. No amount of blankets or fires kept out the cold. Already they had
found the frozen remains of others who had suffered that fate. But her family had survived.
They weren’t the same soft banking family they’d once been.
Elsie clutched the necklace now in fear, but also hope. After weeks of planning, they
were finally escaping. There’d been rumours that soon an action was to take place - Jews
would be taken from the ghetto and sent to the war camps. Already, people had begun to
~5~
disappear, taken for days at a time, to return battered and bruised. Others that were taken had
not returned. Her family had no intention of waiting for such a fate so they made a plan to get
past the SS guards and the high walls of this accursed place. Now it was time to play her part.
She and her mother were blonde and blue-eyed, but the rest of her siblings and father
had limp brown hair. It was up to Elsie and her mother to get them all past the gate. Elsie was
fifteen, the eldest, and it would look plausible for a girl of her age to drive a wagon of food
with her mother. Her father, brother and sister hid in the back, covered in empty crates.
Elsie knew their plan was flimsy, but prayed it would work. The Germans would kill
her if they caught her escaping, but she would die if she stayed here.
“Guten morgen, Herr,” Elsie’s mother said to the SS officer at the gate, putting on a
Polish accent.
The SS soldier had a soft jaw, faded blue eyes and the customary Wehrmacht
curtained haircut of all Nazis. He looked to be only a few years older than Elsie. A swastika
armband stretched across his upper arm but unlike ordinary Nazi officers, he didn’t wear a
brown uniform. His was all black with a peaked cap, identifying him as a Schutzstaffel, or an
SS officer, the worst kind. They were the Nazi elite who made it their personal mission to
capture anyone against Hitler’s regime.
“Good morning Frau,” the Schutzstaffel officer replied less warmly.
They’d drawn closer and now Elsie could see his rifle resting against the wall in easy
reach. The ten foot high wall winked at her mockingly as the barbed wire caught the hazy
sunlight. Two Germans marched along the interior of the wall, guns slung across their chests.
“We’ve just brought in a wagon of food for these people and now would most
graciously like to get back to our home,” Elsie’s mother said. Elsie almost winced at how
weak their story sounded.
“A wagon of food, you say?” the German mused.
~6~
“That’s right, Herr,” Elsie said, surprised she could speak with such a dry mouth.
“We came in this morning and all the food was gone a few hours later. You know what these
people are like - always hungry.”
She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. Of course everyone in the ghettoes
was hungry. The Germans only allowed them 154 calories per person while Nazis had an
allowance of over 2,000 calories. Elsie knew they were basically on starvation diets. It was
only a matter of time till the food stopped coming altogether.
The SS officer pursed his lips, deliberating. “Okay, come forward.”
Her mother pulled on the reins and the mule and cart trundled closer. He inspected the
back of the wagon with a cursory glance, taking in the empty crates. Picking up one, he ran
his fingers down the rough-hewn timber but put it back once his interest dwindled.
“I’ll need your documents, of course,” he said.
Elsie kept her hands by her side, trying not to fiddle with her necklace. Her mother
fumbled inside her coat and then produced their Kenkarten. It was a small piece of paper with
signatures and a photograph. They’d spent 500 złotys buying these fake identity cards from a
professional forger.
The coldness of the silver necklace brushed Elsie’s neck, calming her as the SS man
examined the papers. A Kenkarten was coloured depending on race – a Jew’s or a gypsies
were yellow, while a Pole’s was grey. This one was grey. The SS man took in the flowing
blonde hair of the two women astride the wagon. Jews were not pure, he’d been told, and
therefore could not have blonde hair, because it was the same colour as the Aryan race.
“You may go,” he said, handing back the papers and stepping aside.
The mule and cart moved forward once more and the gate was opened for them. They
were free. They wouldn’t die in the ghetto, nor be taken to whatever other horrors the
Germans had in mind. Elsie stroked the silver-stone necklace in relief.
~7~
“Wait!” the SS soldier called.
He approached their cart like a wolf stalking its prey. He knew. Somehow he knew.
He came eye to eye with Elsie and her mum and hefted his rifle. Elsie felt panic rising.
“What’s that around your neck?” he said. Was he smiling?
She looked down and realised her treasured necklace had come loose from under her
blouse. And he’d seen it.
“It’s nothing.” She stuffed it back under her clothes.
“That’s not nothing,” he said. “That’s a most beautiful piece of jewellery. I’m sure
it’ll win many a woman’s heart.” He reached forward and tugged the chain to the front of
Elsie’s shirt once again. His eyes never left the necklace’s silver intricacies. “It might win me
a particular woman’s heart.”
“I’m sorry, Herr, but you can’t have it.”
The Schutzstaffel soldier cocked his head. “You’re not the one to decide, girl. I’m the
commanding officer here. Now give it to me, or I’ll have to take it.”
Elsie didn’t move. He reached for it angrily. She leaned back to escape his grasp but
fell off her seat to land in the back of the wagon amid the empty crates. The Nazi yanked the
necklace up over her head but she held onto it. They were locked holding either end for a
moment. But he was much stronger. She was dragged across the crates and forced to let go.
He had the silver necklace. She felt so vulnerable without it.
Then the SS man cried out in alarm. In the scuffle, Elsie had swept off a few of the
empty crates. And her father, brother and sister were spotted in the bottom of the cart.
The Germans guarding the wall ran toward the cart, raising their guns. Elsie’s family
scrambled away but her brother was too slow. Bullets pounded him. Elsie cried in anguish.
As the Germans primed their guns her mother dragged her to the gate. Her father almost
~8~
made it but then fell and grew ominously still. A Nazi caught her sister and shot her at point
blank range.
Elsie and her mother made it through the gate. Her blonde hair caught the tears from
her eyes. In three short seconds all but one member of her family had been slaughtered. Her
mother was all she had now.
Then she noticed her mother was no longer beside her. Turning, she saw her mother
on the ground. She wasn’t moving. The Germans’ rifles were pointed in Elsie’s direction. A
bullet hit the ground in front, spraying gravel. Elsie ran on, leaving her dead family behind.
She was alone in the world.
All because of that beautiful silver necklace.
~9~
~ Christoph ~
The City of Warsaw, Poland, 1941
The silver necklace stuck to Christoph’s clammy hand. He placed it carefully in his coat
pocket. It’d been a pure stroke of luck this necklace had led him to discover those people
were actually Jews, trying to escape the ghetto. He’d been completely fooled. All the other
Nazis had laughed behind his back. He was a Schutzstaffel officer, meant to be elite, better
than all the common Nazis, and he’d almost let those Jews slip through his fingers. Almost.
Only the girl had got away.
But the necklace lifted his mood. It was a beautifully made thing, and he’d got it for
free. That was one of the perks of his position. He could take what he wanted and pick out the
best things for Sabina.
When he stopped at a florist shop he found all the flowers were wilted. He asked the
Polish florist if she had any flowers a bit more...alive.
“Certainly. Let me just check the back…” Her voice trailed off as she saw his black
SS cap. “Actually, I think I’ve run out.” She hadn’t even glanced behind. He was tempted to
punish her but instead left without a word.
What else could he get Sabina? He needed something to sweeten his visit other than
the silver necklace. Were he in Berlin, he would have bought her a jar of marmalade. It meant
she would have to invite him to stay for tea. Then, after a nice snack with mirth and charm he
would present the necklace. But in Poland marmalade wasn’t readily available. Nothing was
anymore. Everyone was starving here almost as badly as the Jude in the ghettos. So he had to
settle for the necklace and nothing else.
Christoph picked his way through the city and the rubble from the bombings of 1939,
till he reached 13 Józefów Street apartment 2a, where Sabina lived. His boots made a staccato
~ 10 ~
noise as he went up the concrete steps. At the second level he paused to look at the winding
staircase. He had a fear of anything higher than two storeys ever since Schultz. Dispelling
that thought, he smoothed back his hair, dusted the top of his uniform then rapped on the
door.
Sabina opened it, her long blonde ponytail swishing as her head moved. Her skin was
pale and unblemished and her body curved just the way it should. Her lips were thin but a
deep pink, pulled tightly into a frown when she saw him.
She tried to slam the door but he jammed his foot in, and shouldered his way inside.
He took off his black peaked cap and hung it on the hat rack.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I’ve been dying to see you.”
She said nothing.
“I was thinking about you today, you know. When I was working.”
“Were you now?” Her voice was a monotone.
“I was. And I thought perhaps I could treat you to dinner tonight. I can pull some
strings and get us some of the better wartime rations - soups. How about that? And some beer
like the first time we met?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry, I can’t go out tonight.”
“You sick?” Christoph ventured. “Because you can’t afford to get a cough or a fever
these days, what with typhus running rampant.”
“No, it’s not that.”
He waited but she didn’t elaborate. “Oh. Okay. Maybe another night?”
“Maybe.”
Christoph raked his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t understand why she was
acting like this. It was time to give her the necklace. That should get her talking again.
~ 11 ~
“I found this today,” he said.
He pulled the silver necklace from his pocket and laid it flat on his palm for her to
inspect. She picked it up carefully and despite her apparently bad mood, gasped in delight.
The perfectly carved silver-stone sparkled and its delicately made chains winked at Sabina.
“Where’d you find it?” she asked breathlessly, enchanted by the necklace.
“In an empty house. No-one owned it, so I figured it may as well be put to good use.”
He didn’t know why he lied. Was he ashamed to say he’d taken it from a Jew?
“It’s so pretty,” Sabina said. She held it under her neck. “I think it works with my
eyes. What do you think?”
“I think it looks as good on you as I imagined.” The smile on her lips matched his
own. His Sabina, the lively girl he’d met at a bar and chatted with all night, was back.
She looked up at him and her smile withered like the dead flowers in the florist shop
as she took in his SS uniform and swastika emblem. “Well, I’ll see you round.” She moved to
the door.
“What’s wrong, Sabina?” Christoph blurted.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Why are you acting like you hate me? What about the night we met? What’s
happened since then?”
Her eyes turned as hard as the silver of the necklace. “Are you seriously asking?”
“Yes,” Christoph said, looking at her the same way Schultz had looked at him. He
was a puppy, pleading to understand.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Sabina said. “I saw you in your uniform. In your Nazi
uniform. And above all, an SS uniform. I realised you were Schutzstaffel.”
“That shouldn’t make any difference between us,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t change
that night we met, and the other times and…”
~ 12 ~
“It changes everything, Christoph. I thought you were a good man. A good, Polish
man. Not a Nazi.”
He opened his mouth to defend himself, to say all he did was follow orders, and how
he wasn’t to blame for Germany’s agenda. But she wasn’t done.
“Three months ago you SS scum took my brother away. Because he was protesting.
Schutzstaffel dragged him down the street to join hundreds of other Poles. They were pushed
into trains with scarcely enough room to stand.” She paused. “I don’t imagine I’ll see him
again, will I?”
Christoph wanted to tell her of course she’d see her brother again. But he could not.
Because he knew where all those people had gone. To a concentration camp called
Auschwitz, where political threats like her brother were eliminated quickly and quietly.
“That wasn’t me!” he said instead. “If anyone’s to blame for your brother, it’s
himself. He should’ve known not to mess with Nazi power. Us Schutzstaffel just follow
orders.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“You think it’s my brother’s fault for having his country invaded and being taken
away in the dead of the night by you SS to be tortured to death?”
“Well –”
“Get out!” she screamed.
“What about the necklace?” he asked stupidly.
“You want the necklace back?”
Christoph opened his mouth to correct her; he didn’t want it back, he just wanted to
remind her of his kindness. But it was too late. Sabina had already hurled the beautiful
necklace out the window onto the street below. She slammed the door in his face and he
wasn’t even able to grab his hat off the rack.
~ 13 ~
On the street people stared at him. His cheeks burned. They’d heard the shouting. And
they’d seen his necklace hurled from the window. He bent down in the dust and swept the
silver thing into his pocket. At least he still had the necklace. He could get some decent
money by selling it, but he was loathe to part with it. It was such a well-made thing. Sabina
had thought so too...until she threw it out the window. The memory made him burn with
embarrassment.
Christoph decided he would request to move posts. He didn’t want to spend a second
longer in Warsaw. Perhaps he would go to Auschwitz. More SS were needed there every day.
He may even teach Sabina’s brother a lesson. He pushed the vengeful thought aside.
Someone on the street muttered: “Schutzstaffel scum.” He continued, past other Nazi
soldiers, clad in their brown uniforms, and nodded their way. They turned their heads,
ignoring him. He bunched his fists and felt the muscles in his neck tighten. Even his own
brothers in arms, fellow Nazis, hated him. Because he was a Schutzstaffel officer, superior to
them in rank. He thought of his parents. They’d been moved to a secure area, because all SS
soldiers were privileged to keep their loved ones safe. However, a spy had given the enemy
their location and they’d been bombed. None had survived. All because they hated
Schutzstaffel soldiers.
And he thought of Schultz, his beloved puppy. He’d been ordered to throw Schultz
out of a third-storey window to prove he was Schutzstaffel officer material. Never would he
forget Schultz clinging to his arm, digging his claws in so desperately he had pierced
Christoph’s skin. The scar was a constant reminder.
Christoph took a deep breath to calm himself. Drawing closer to Royal Castle Square,
the hub of activity in Warsaw, he sensed unfriendly stares as people recognised his SS
uniform. A swarthy little boy barged into him and didn’t even apologise.
~ 14 ~
Christoph would go to Auschwitz, where SS officers were valued for what they were,
not hated by all. At least he still had the silver necklace. He reached into his pocket. And
frowned.
The necklace was gone.
~ 15 ~
~ Tamás ~
The City of Warsaw, Poland, 1941
Tamás slipped his light fingers into the SS officer’s pocket. A great treasure awaited him
there. He’d first seen it thrown from a window and had been too slow to take it from the
ground. So he’d followed the Schutzstaffel soldier and picked his pocket at the first
opportunity.
Tamás unfolded his little fist and peeked at the prize inside. As he’d suspected, it was
a beautiful thing. A necklace, with a silver-stone as its centrepiece. He was only a boy, and
mainly appreciated the necklace for how much he could get for it. His family would be well
pleased. It was too fine a thing to shove in with the rest of his stolen items, so he tucked it
into his back pocket then continued stealing. His thieving hands got a full workout, flicking
in and out of shops’ merchandise and lifting heavy purses from rich Poles’ pockets. He’d
stuffed just about as much as he could into his loose trousers and decided it was time to
deliver this lot so he could get on with taking more.
Tamás slipped down a few side streets of Warsaw till he found his family’s horsedrawn caravan. They’d travelled all over Europe since the war began. The only constant in
his life had been that caravan, with its canvas sheets, mats for sleeping on, and the two
horses. His family were Roma gypsies and travelling was how they survived. Some called
them Zigeuner and Tamás’s father always took offence, letting loose a few fists. Nadya, his
sister, told him Zigeuner meant ‘untouchable,’ hinting the gypsies were tainted and shouldn’t
be touched. Tamás still didn’t really understand. He was only eight, after all.
“Look what I got, daddy!” he said, emptying his pockets. He had jewellery,
handkerchiefs, purses, pipes, and even a pocket watch.
~ 16 ~
“Not in front of everyone, Tamás,” Daddy rebuked, pushing the stolen goods from
sight. His family were pedlars, but what most people didn’t know was that they obtained the
majority of their wares through theft. Tamás looked hurt and his daddy sighed then rubbed
his tuft of hair affectionately.
“Now I’ll go get some more!” Tamás declared, forgetting the necklace in his back
pocket.
“It’s too late to get anymore now, son. When the rest of the rabble get back, we’re
getting out of here. We’ve outstayed our welcome.”
“I like it here,” Tamás complained. “Why do we have to go?”
“There are certain people in Warsaw…who don’t want us around,” Daddy said.
Tamás was confused, so he fiddled with a pipe and imagined smoking it one day.
More of his family arrived at the caravan bearing their own ‘liberated’ goods. Tamás had a
big family - two aunts, five cousins, a sister and brother, as well as his parents. He’d had an
uncle as well, but about a year ago, he went out on business and never returned. They’d left
without him.
They rode out of Warsaw. After finding a ditch a suitable distance away from the city,
they parked the caravan and huddled beneath their blankets.
The gypsies went back to their usual routine, never staying at a place for more than a
few days. Before the Germans came, they hadn’t needed to travel quite so much, but now
their horses were always moving. They headed north, bound for the Baltic States, drawing
closer each day. Tamás would help set up shop in the morning but by the next sunrise they
were gone. When people hissed at them, Tamás couldn’t understand. He only spoke Romani,
the native tongue of Roma gypsies, but his eldest sister Nadya could speak Polish.
“What are they saying?” he asked.
“Nasty things.”
~ 17 ~
“Tell me what they’re saying!” he demanded.
“Never mind.”
Tamás was eight and Nadya was seventeen and she always treated him like a baby.
He hated that!
After weeks of travelling, they stopped at another town. The people here weren’t rich
and Tamás was disheartened because he only nicked a few handkerchiefs that weren’t even
made of silk. When morning turned to afternoon he made his way back to the caravan. He
almost walked right past the crouched form of Nadya on the street corner.
“What are you doing? Have you done something to annoy Daddy?” Tamás said
gleefully.
“Shhh,” Nadya said.
“You can’t shush me! Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean…”
Something caught Tamás’s attention - voices, high-pitched, foreign voices yelling at
daddy. He couldn’t understand their garbled Polish words.
“Who’s with Dad? Some Pole asking where their jewellery went?” He grinned.
His sister didn’t return the smile. “No. That’s not Polish. They’re speaking German.”
“So?”
“It means there’s Nazis down there,” Nadya said.
Within half an hour the rest of the family came past. Nadya and Tamás stopped them
from turning the corner. He didn’t know what all the fuss was about so began to fidget as the
evening dragged on.
“Stop it,” his mother hissed as if he were an insolent, unknowing child. His anger
grew. He would show them. When they weren’t watching him closely he peeked round the
corner.
~ 18 ~
Tendrils of flame consumed the wooden walls of the caravan, his home. And there
was a noise, a mixture between a pop and a bang. His ears still rang moments later.
“What was that?” he asked. “A gunshot?” He’d heard gunshots before, but never so
close. No-one answered. Tears streaked down his mamma’s and Nadya’s face. Why were
they crying?
Silently, his mother walked away and the others followed.
“We must leave this place for good,” Mamma choked out, dabbing her wet cheeks
with a handkerchief.
“What about all our things? All our złotys? And Daddy?” Tamás demanded.
No-one answered.
They stumbled around well into the night until they finally found a barn on the
outskirts of the town. He was told to lie down and sleep on the straw, while the adults had a
“grown-up” conversation outside. It was the first time he had tried to sleep outside their
caravan. But the straw was too scratchy and he fumed at not being involved in the adult talk.
“We’ve got no money, no food, only the clothes on our backs,” he heard Nadya say
through the barn walls. “We’re not gonna make it to the Baltic States at this rate.” Tamás
pressed his ear against the wood to hear more.
“There’s a man I’ve heard of round here. Jakub, I think he’s called. And he’s said to
help people who want to escape the Nazi Regime. He can give us forged Kenkarten, and even
transport to get away. But only if we pay.”
Shouting followed his mamma’s words as his family argued over how to get the
money. His brother said they should return to their jobs as pedlars, though there was nothing
to sell. His cousin said they should simply flee now; waiting for a better opportunity would
only increase their chance of getting caught.
~ 19 ~
Tamás pondered the money problem while smoothing down his trousers to make
them more comfortable amidst the rough straw. He felt a lump in his back pocket. The silverstone necklace! How could he have forgotten? He’d stolen it all those weeks ago from that
SS man who looked near tears. All this while the answer to their problems had been in his
pocket.
They paid Jakub with the silver necklace. In return, they received papers, clothing,
blankets, food and a cart. It was nowhere near as comfortable as their caravan but would have
to do. Tamás reckoned Jakub was hiding others in his estate. Two smoky blue eyes peered up
at him from the ground through a tiny crack in the floorboards. He crouched down and the
blue eyes disappeared, swallowed by the darkness. Tamás stared through that gap until they
left.
“When we reach the border to the Baltic States, you need to keep your mouth shut,”
his mamma told him. “We already seem suspicious because of our dark look and we can’t
afford to give away that we’re Roma. Because they may do bad things. Like what they
did…” She couldn’t finish.
“I’m not a little child Mamma,” Tamás said, annoyed at her babyish tone.
The sound of an automobile on the road made them all pause. Who had enough
money for a car in these times of war?
The Germans.
There were four of them in the car. They were Nadya’s age, maybe older. And they
held guns. They pulled up right before Tamás’s cart and mule. The Nazis filed out.
“Wo machst du?” one Nazi said. “Co cię tu sprowadza?” he said, switching to Polish.
It didn’t give Tamás any more idea of what they spoke.
His mamma replied in Polish. The Germans seemed to believe it was her common
tongue. The lead one among them talked for some time while the other three stood to
~ 20 ~
attention, surveying the bedraggled family. Tamás’s mamma produced their Kenkarten. The
lead German looked them over then shot a lot of questions at her.
“What are they saying?” he asked Nadya. The Nazi on the end swivelled his head in
Tamás’s direction. He marched over to the boy.
“Co powiedziałeś?” the German spat at Tamás. He stared blankly at the German.
Mamma babbled faster but the German paid no mind. Instead he asked again. Again Tamás
could offer no reply.
“The little child isn’t Polish,” the German said to his comrades. “He spoke Romani.
The language of Zigeuners. These are gypsy scum.” The four Germans raised their guns.
Tamás’s mamma was shot first, straight through the head. Gunfire peppered the
others. Tamás’s aunts, cousins, and brother were murdered till just he and Nadya remained.
He was too shocked to cry, too shocked to do anything. Blood had sprayed onto his trousers.
The back pocket, which had held the beautiful silver necklace, was now sticky with his
mamma’s blood.
“They won’t kill you, Tamás. You’re only a little child,” Nadya whispered. For once
he didn’t argue. He was just a child in this big bad world.
The Nazis raised their guns and fired one last barrage. Tamás was a little boy, a child,
but it made no difference to them.
~ 21 ~
~ Elsie ~
Poland, late 1942
Darkness was Elsie’s only companion.
She hated the dark. She’d been hiding in this dark space below the floorboards ever
since her escape from Warsaw.
She’d chanced upon a man named Jakub in one of the remote towns she’d begged at.
He told her he’d complied with the Nazis, never resisting their rule in Poland. But it made no
difference. His daughter was physically disabled, bound to crutches for the rest of her life.
They’d shot her dead and burned her body in his front yard. After that he’d sworn to resist the
Nazi regime however he could. So he had helped Elsie. He took her back to his house and
sheltered her beneath the floorboards along with countless others. Fifty or more all hid in the
blackness, cramped in the filthy space below his house. Directly above her was a little
opening, allowing her to glimpse the world beyond her hiding place.
Elsie felt the loss of her silver necklace keenly. It was the last token she had of her
family. But a greedy Nazi had taken that and got her family killed in the process.
People came to Jakub’s house every day seeking help of different kinds - forged
papers, food, safe passage or places to hide. The most frightening was when the Nazis came,
their boots shaking the foundations above her head and causing invisible dust to fill her eyes.
They searched everywhere. Elsie always moved as far from that little crack in the floorboards
as she could. She worried the smell of fifty people’s filth would give them away, but Jakub
owned a pig farm, and their pens were right next to his house, masking the odour.
More visitors came in today. Gypsies, she guessed from their swarthy appearance.
She’d made eye contact with the little boy before receding into the darkness. But it was
~ 22 ~
enough time for her to recognise the thing he clasped in his hand. The silver necklace, with
its smooth silver carved into the shape of a stone. She would recognise it anywhere.
A tiny panel in the wood of the house could be moved, and people crawled out that
way if they needed to relieve themselves. It wasn’t encouraged to go out for fresh air,
because all it would take was one Jew to be discovered and it would give them all away. In
front of the panel was also where Jakub placed the scraps, which were their only food. If any
Germans came, they assumed it was discarded pig scraps, when in reality it was what stopped
those hiding from dying of starvation.
Elsie crawled out, careful to replace the wood panelling. The sunlight momentarily
blinded her. She walked around the back of the house and was glad Jakub was out. The only
people around were his farm hands, and they were with the pigs. His mansion was all but
empty. A moment of guilt engulfed her as she rifled through his drawers searching for the
necklace. But Jakub was a rich man. He didn’t need the necklace and she did.
She found her necklace stuffed in a drawer full of other jewellery. It stood out as the
most beautiful piece there. She draped it around her neck and tucked it safely under her
clothes. The sound of the door turning alerted her to Jakub’s arrival. Behind him walked a
squad of German soldiers.
Of all the times to be out in the open, she thought, as she rushed outside and pressed
herself against the bricked wall of the house. She dared not move nor breathe.
“Where are they?” a German hissed from inside the house.
Elsie knew it was a bluff; Nazis had come here before pretending they thought Jews
were hiding, but Jakub had stuck to his lies.
“Might I remind you of what will become of your wife if you displease me?” the Nazi
pressed.
Elsie froze.
~ 23 ~
“I repeat, where are they?”
A pause. She felt her shoulders relax. Jakub would never betray them.
“Underneath,” he answered.
There was an awful clicking noise, one she was all too familiar with – the sound of
guns being primed. Then gunfire shattered the silence. Bullets sprayed the floor of Jakub’s
house, killing the people below. Elsie shook. Jakub had given them up. If she hadn’t left to
get the necklace, she could have been just another dead Jude. She clutched the necklace. It
may have got her family killed but it had saved her life today.
Those who survived the first round of bullets streamed out along the fields. She was
surprised the Nazis didn’t give chase or shoot at them as they fled. Maybe she should join
them before she was discovered here.
The decision was made for her as one of the Germans went out the back door for a
smoke. She stood less than a metre away from the man. If he turned his head he would see
her. But he was busy with his task of putting the tobacco into the pipe’s chamber. After
lighting the pipe and inhaling, the man sighed with satisfaction. Then he turned her way.
The soldier dropped his pipe in shock. He reached for his pistol and Elsie needed no
more encouragement. She took off across the fields, following the others. No bullets followed
her and no other escapees were in front of her. She didn’t have time to ponder this; she was
just thankful to be alive after that close encounter.
As she crested a hill she found out why. An entire squad of Germans rounded up the
Jews like sheep. They saw her and forced her in line with the others. She hadn’t escaped.
For four days they were marched with little food, water or rests. The cold was
relentless. They combined with other miserable groups - Jews, Gypsies, disabled people,
soviet prisoners and Poles who had spoken out against the Nazi Regime.
~ 24 ~
The Nazis prodded everyone with batons to make them move forward. Elsie couldn’t
see anything except the dark hair of the man in front. Where were they being led? Were they
going to be shot where they stood? She’d heard that kind of thing went on further north in the
Baltic States.
Then it was Elsie’s turn at the front and she saw trains. They were being forced into
cattle trains. There wasn’t much room in the carriage, but by working together a few people
could sit down. Two buckets were in the corner. She hoped there was water. Perhaps they
could all survive this.
But the Germans kept shoving more people in. And more. She reckoned there were at
least 100 in a space for 30. There was so little room that they all had to raise their hands in
the air to fit. A great scraping noise echoed around the compartment as the door was closed
and locked. Darkness enclosed her in its vile embrace once again.
The death train began to move.
Elsie herself could not move. People pressed against her from all sides. A baby cried
and its mother couldn’t even console it with a gentle touch. When exhaustion overtook her
and others like her, they simply fell into a nightmarish sleep right where they stood. There
was a bucket for use as a toilet but they were too jammed together to pass it around. Instead
they had to urinate and defecate in their clothes.
Her tongue was leather in her mouth, her lips cracked, her throat like baked clay. She
needed water.
She could tell when they passed towns, because the babble of voices outside rivalled
the screams on the inside of the train. “Brudny zid,” the Poles outside yelled. “Dirty Jews!”
They pummelled the train’s carriages with stones. She couldn’t fathom this. The Poles had
never resented the Jews - most of the Jews here were Poles. But like everyone else, hate had
infected them like a contagious disease.
~ 25 ~
Three days into the journey, the man beside her died.
She’d never seen a dead person so close. Judaism didn’t explain what happened in the
afterlife. They didn’t believe in heaven nor hell. But she had chosen to believe her parents
and her siblings were in a better place.
Yet down here, in this train compartment, the man’s body sickened her. More death
followed. Those near the door slumped permanently. Soon the carriage was thick with their
foul odour.
Elsie was sick of it. She just wanted to meet her family again. She missed them
terribly. The dead man pressed against her, another woman soiled herself again, the darkness
closed in all around. This place was like a coffin. Why should she cling to life anymore? Her
hope drifted away like the black steam from the train.
Something tickled Elsie’s collarbone. Her gaze snagged on the silver necklace. She’d
forgotten about it for the last few days. She fondled it now. It had got her this far. It had
saved her from being shot under Jakub’s house, and had somehow made its way from its
owner at Oberramstadt into her hands, then into the SS officer’s hands, and then to the little
gypsy boy who had stood above her hiding spot. This necklace was a survivor, and so was
she. It had almost been four years since the Nazis acted on their atrocious ‘Aryan Race’
ideologies yet she was still standing. Because she could survive this.
Her will drove her on. There was no water left in the bucket, as she had known. But
she needed water today otherwise she would die like so many others. Pushing through the
swamp of bodies and feeling their warm or cold skin brush her own, she reached the edge of
the carriage, close to the barred window. Outside, the terrain blurred past and the dark sky
rumbled. It was going to rain, she realised. She felt her life ebbing away from her, but she
gripped the bars of the window in one hand and the necklace in the other. Finally it rained.
~ 26 ~
Elsie drank the droplets. It quenched her thirst and made hope burn in her fiercely.
Water trickled from the roof, finding cracks to pour inside, and the occupants of the carriage
rejoiced.
Elsie didn’t know how many days she spent on the train. All she knew was that
without the necklace and the rain, she wouldn’t have survived. When the train stopped and
the iron doors finally slid open, the light blinded her at first. But she welcomed it.
Those still alive swarmed from the trains and Elsie ran with them. The necklace
chafed against her skin and she touched it for courage as she spied a building complex with
wickedly sharp barbed wire and SS guards patrolling the gate with raised guns. Overhanging
the gate was a sign that read: “Arbeit Macht Frei,” – “work makes you free.”
“Welcome to Auschwitz,” one of the SS officers boomed.
Elsie was pushed inside.
~ 27 ~
~ Auschwitz Extermination Camp ~
Auschwitz Extermination Camp, 1942
Elsie waited for her turn in the selection.
“Right. Left. Left. Left.” The Polish man in front of her was chosen for the right line.
The mother and child before her were picked for the left line. A disabled man, who walked
with a strange lilt, was also placed in the left line. Then it was Elsie’s turn.
“State your age,” an SS officer said. Another man was beside him, dressed in the
black SS uniform. He had a superior attitude and held a clipboard and pen. His eyes were
cold. The talking SS officer seemed uneasy around him.
“My name’s Elsie Co-”
“Just your age, girl,” the man growled. “The name doesn’t matter. You’ll be assigned
your number soon.”
“I’m...sixteen, I think,” she said. She didn’t even know if her birthday for this year
had passed yet.
The German officer lifted up her arms and felt her skinny wrists. She bit back a cry as
he prodded her skin. After so long without any food on the train, and a year of only pig
scraps, Elsie was emaciated. Her face was gaunt and the cheekbones evident but her eyes still
glinted with hope.
“For the Kinderblock? The children’s section?” the officer asked his superior.
The man with the cold eyes just shook his head, his gaze still fixed on her.
“I suppose she could work well enough,” sniffed the Nazi, still getting no response.
“Right line.”
Elsie went to the right line. She didn’t know what the lines were for but this one was
full of those who were able-bodied. Further up, people were forced to wear striped garments.
~ 28 ~
All valuables - not that any of these people had any – were placed in one of the allotted piles.
She grasped the necklace; she wouldn’t give it up.
“Wait!” the cold-eyed German called, the one who’d only watched her like she was a
piece of meat. His voice was nasal. “What’s on her leg?”
Elsie didn’t know what he meant. He marched to her and groped the back of her calf.
She screamed in pain. It hurt so much. She couldn’t understand why until she looked. A huge
cut ran down the length of the leg, and now blackened flesh and pus matted in the gash. She
must have got the wound at some stage during the train ride. And it had festered.
“Go in the left line,” he growled. “You’ll be getting a disinfecting shower.” A shard
of ice shot through Elsie at hearing those words, but she didn’t know why.
Christoph watched as people filed through for the ‘disinfecting showers.’ He hated this job.
He’d come to Auschwitz and been put on the worst post in the whole camp - the death watch.
Anyone not able to work was sent here. The children from the Kinderblock were in
this group, as well as those less able from a new batch of trains. The injured and sick had also
been sent along. After all, the gas chambers could fit 800 people. It was not efficient to settle
for any less by Nazi standards.
“Take your clothes off, put them in a locker and remember your locker number!” he
called repeatedly. He had to make them think there was hope, that they were coming back, or
there might be rebellions at this point.
He knew as soon as they entered their hair would be shorn. Their striped pajamas
were removed to be reused on the new arrivals. When everyone entered the gas chambers,
they would be bare-headed and naked.
A blonde girl with blue eyes shuffled along the line and Christoph stared. That was
very unusual for a Jew; most had dark hair and dark eyes. He wouldn’t have thought any
~ 29 ~
more of it but a memory resurfaced. Of a blonde Jew escaping the Warsaw ghetto, only days
before he changed posts. He remembered now. She had that beautiful necklace; the one
Sabina had thrown out the window. Oh yes, he remembered. As she walked past he peered at
her closely and to his astonishment, she had a chain around her neck – the same necklace.
How in God’s name had she got it back?
Christoph didn’t know how but he did know he wanted the necklace. This Jewish girl
would be dead soon if she was in this line - she wouldn’t need it anymore. He would take it
from her pile of possessions before anyone sorted through them. Entering the locker room, he
secretly watched where she put her stuff. After her hair was shorn she made her way to locker
733. As she took off her clothes, Christoph left, but he planned to return for the necklace.
Bianka woke up at dawn, like normal, but nothing else about the day would be normal. She
was marched for five kilometres, barefoot, alongside fifty other women. They began their
menial tasks of digging pits. She hated digging the pits because she knew what they were
used for. The bodies. One day she knew she’d end up in one of the graves she dug.
It was Bianka’s job to climb into the trench and shore up the sides. But in one grave, a
mini landslide happened and she didn’t have time to move. Her leg was trapped. When she
was dug out, she saw bone poking out. The Nazis didn’t bother sending her to the hospital –
they sent her straight to the ‘disinfecting showers.’
Bianka was put in line but couldn’t keep up. She hopped awkwardly to reach the
entrance. SS officers sneered at her. One even hit her with their baton telling her to hurry up.
I will not cry, she thought, reciting the mantra she had lived by since the Nazi Regime took
over.
~ 30 ~
Christoph watched the woman hop toward him. The number 1313 was printed across her
striped pajamas, and he guessed that same number was etched permanently onto her forearm.
The Star of David was on her shirt. He saw bone poking out from her leg. As she struggled
along, a Schutzstaffel officer he’d never much liked taunted her. Something made his heart
give way.
An SS man came and put his shoulder around Bianka’s arm. He acted as a crutch for her. The
sniggering of the others faltered as they saw one of their own helping a Jew. Her hair was
already closely cropped, sitting on her head in short tufts. It didn’t need to be shorn like the
others. Instead Christoph took Bianka straight to one of the lockers. He was drawn to locker
733 where he’d go later to get the silver necklace. The SS soldier left Bianka at the locker.
Bianka took off her striped rags. She stood naked in the locker room with others who
would share her fate. She shivered from the cold and also the humiliation.
Locker 733 was full, so she just put her clothes on top of someone else’s stuff. She
could see the person before here had not been here for long. They had free clothes, not striped
pajamas, so she assumed they had come from a death train. As she lifted her hand away her
leg buckled and she flung her arm wide to keep herself upright. Something fell from the
locker. She stretched her arm forward to pick up whatever had fallen. It was something shiny.
She closed her fist around it and brought it up to her face.
It was a silver necklace, with carefully made links and a smooth piece of silver carved
into the shape of a stone. Bianka’s necklace. Her mother had given it to her, and she had lost
it all those years ago in Oberramstadt. And now it had come back to her.
Bianka entered the gas chamber with the rest. Crying and wailing penetrated the
perfect silence she’d been enveloped in.
~ 31 ~
She clasped the silver necklace close to her heart. Soon she would join her mother.
But in her last moments, she felt her mother’s warm embrace through the necklace. The tears
rolled freely now.
Elsie dared to hope against all else. She hadn’t come all this way, had not been united
with the silver necklace against all odds, to die here.
Christoph forced himself to watch for the first time, to watch the evil he had lost
everything for.
Bianka held onto the silver necklace, wondering how many had lived and died for this
piece of jewellery. She died with it in her hand.
~ 32 ~