Even though it was almost dark when we arrived in Greenock the next day, dozens of people were waiting on the dock. News of our miraculous rescue had travelled fast. They all cheered as kindly volunteers whisked us away. In the confusion, I lost track of Freddy and Fiona, but I was determined to find them before they were sent home.
Mama, Peter, Bibi, and I went to a big hotel in the centre of town. When we walked in the front door, almost the first people I saw were Freddy and Fiona. They were eating sandwiches and drinking tea in the foyer with some of the other children from the evacuation programme.
“What’s happening?” I asked Freddy, as Mama made her way over to the front desk, Bibi and Peter in tow.
“They say they’ll put me and Fiona and some of the others on a train to Chelmsford as soon as they can,” he said in between bites. He pointed at a large platter on the table beside him. “Have a sandwich.”
My stomach was growling. I took two. One egg, the other, cheese. As I wolfed them down, a man approached us. He carried a big boxy folding camera in his hands.
“What kind of camera is that?” I asked in between bites.
“It’s a Graflex.” He held it out so I could see. It had a flashbulb attachment on one side. “You interested in cameras?”
I finished my sandwich in one gulp, wiped my hands on my trousers, and pulled my Agfa out of my coat pocket. “I got it for my birthday. One day I’m going to be a photographer and travel all over the world taking pictures for news magazines like Picture Post and Illustrated.”
“It’s a nice little camera,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “Were you two boys on the Somerville?”
“We were,” I said, feeling important.
He handed my camera back. “Can you tell me what happened?” He sat down across from us.
I looked at Freddy. Should we say anything? Freddy, his mouth full, shrugged. Why not?
“I’d like to hear your stories,” the man said. He looked at me. “What’s your name?”
“Käfer Avigdor.”
He got out a pen and notebook. “How do you spell that?” I spelled it for him. “What kind of a name is that?”
“Dutch.” I was beginning to think I really was Dutch, though I’d been born in Berlin.
“So what happened?” he asked. I told him about being woken by the alarm in the middle of the night, getting dressed, and going up to the boat station.
“Tell him about the jewels,” Freddy said, taking another sandwich. I’d recounted the story to him the day before when we were trading confidences.
“Jewels?” The man looked at me, a curious glint in his eyes.
I hesitated for a moment. I was pretty sure Mama wouldn’t want anyone to know about her jewels, but she’d never know. The man seemed so interested. And I’d been awfully brave. I told him how Mama had left her jewels behind in her trunk, how I’d run back to her stateroom, found the key, and retrieved them, only to discover the lifeboat was already being lowered over the side, so there was nothing to do but jump! It sounded terribly exciting as I related it.
He interrupted me a few times with questions, but mostly he just let me talk while he scribbled away. When I finished, he asked if he could take a photograph of me, and before I could say yes or no, he snapped one.
Then he turned to Freddy, as I reached for another sandwich. “What about you? What do you remember?” But just then, the escort who was accompanying him to Canada appeared. She was young and plain looking, with unruly brown hair tied back from her face. The hazel eyes that looked out from under her dark brows were shrewd.
“Who are you?” she asked the man, glancing at his camera before looking at his face. Her tone was sharp.
“John Armstrong,” he replied. “I’m a reporter with the local paper,” he added, when it was clear she expected more than a name.
I nearly choked on my tea.
“I don’t think the boys have anything to say to a reporter,” she replied. “You shouldn’t talk to them without a parent or guardian present.”
He didn’t argue, just nodded at her, got up quietly, and started to move away.
A newspaperman! I thought he was with the evacuation programme. Suddenly, I felt queasy. I should never have said anything about the jewels. He wouldn’t print it, would he? Papa, especially, would be angry with me if he did.
“Are you feeling well?” the escort asked, peering at me closely.
I nodded, swallowing hard. But I was far from all right.
***
I stewed about it all evening. If Papa ever found out I’d told a newspaper reporter private family affairs, I’d been in terrible trouble. I pictured his face, his expression a combination of anger and disappointment. My stomach churned. Just when I’d finally managed to make him proud of me a few weeks earlier by helping to capture four German spies on the beach near Folkestone.
At one point, Mama asked if I was ill and put her hand to my forehead to check my temperature.
“I think you’re just exhausted,” she declared. “You need some sleep. You all do. Hop into bed. I’m going down to the front desk to try and place a telephone call to Papa.”
After she left, Bibi said softly, “You’re not yourself, Käfer. What’s wrong?”
“I think I’ve done something dumb,” I confessed.
“You’re always doing stupid things,” Peter said, swatting me hard with his hand. I didn’t have the fight in me to hit him back.
“Stop, Peter,” Bibi entreated. “Can’t you see that Käfer is really upset?”
She looked back at me, her big brown eyes full of empathy. “Tell me.”
So I did.
“I can see why you’d be worried,” she said when I’d finished. “But I think it’ll be all right. Really. The escort told him he shouldn’t have talked to you without Mama there. He won’t publish your story. He’ll be afraid to. It could get him into trouble.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Peter, who’d been listening. “Papa will be furious if it’s in the newspaper.”
“But it won’t be,” Bibi insisted, giving my hand a squeeze. “It’ll be all right.”
“What will be all right?” We hadn’t heard Mama return to the room.
“Did you talk to Papa?” Bibi asked, to deflect her attention. It worked.
“He didn’t know anything about the ship being torpedoed. The news hasn’t reached London. When I told him what had happened—and that everyone on board had been rescued—he couldn’t believe it at first. He wants to hear all about it when we get back.”
“When will that be?” I asked. The sooner we left Greenock, the better.
“Maybe late tomorrow or the next day. We’ll have to see. Train tickets for children who are here without their parents, like Freddy and Fiona, need to be arranged first.”
“Will we take another liner to Halifax, Mama?” Bibi’s voice quavered.
“I don’t know yet.” She gave Bibi a comforting hug. “Papa might decide it’s too dangerous. Now let’s all turn in. I’m exhausted.”
***
By morning, I had put the whole incident out of my mind. I’d had a good sleep in a warm bed and I was wearing clean clothes donated by people in the town. I was looking forward to a hearty breakfast—the smell of bacon wafted up from the kitchen—and in a few days, I would be back in London. Things were looking up.
When we reached the foyer, Freddy ran over, a newspaper in his hands.
“Look, Käfer!”
My good mood vanished. There on the front page was the headline: Children’s Ship Torpedoed—All Saved. To the right, my face stared out beside another headline: Boy Saves Mother’s Jewels, then Himself.
There was no hiding it from Mama. Pretty well everyone in the hotel had seen the story. Freddy clapped me on the back and declared me a hero. Fiona looked at me in awe and hugged me. The other children stared open-mouthed. The adults, for the most part, appeared disapproving.
“Käfer, what have you done?” Mama’s face was white and the hand that held the newspaper shook slightly.
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the escort who had come to fetch Freddy the night before appeared.
“Mrs. Avigdor, I’m Ann Reynolds. I’m so sorry. I feel as if this is somehow my fault. I saw the reporter with the boys and told him he shouldn’t speak to them without a parent present. I didn’t realize he’d already talked with your son or I would have let you know.”
“You’re not to blame,” Mama replied, colour slowly returning to her cheeks.
“The boys thought he was with the evacuation programme. It wasn’t until I arrived that he identified himself as a journalist.”
Mama still looked unhappy.
“You’re really going to get it his time,” Peter murmured. I wanted to kick him, but there was no point in making matters worse. Mama was rarely displeased with me—and she nearly always defended me when Papa was—but when she was angry, it was best to retreat. I shrank back.
“He shouldn’t have left the boat station once he was there,” Miss Reynolds conceded in her clipped voice. “It was dangerous, and I’m surprised one of the crew didn’t stop him. I assume they were too busy to notice. But it worked out in the end. He’s a brave young man. If a somewhat foolhardy and overly chatty one.” She gave me a brisk nod. “But then, if we all made the right decisions at the age of ten, we’d hardly need parents.”
Mama’s eyebrows rose. I wasn’t sure how she would react to a complete stranger being so frank—and someone younger at that—but then, surprisingly, she smiled at Miss Reynolds and tousled my curly brown hair, which was so like her own. “He knows better than to talk to strangers about private family affairs,” she said. “But what’s done is done. No sense dwelling on it. And I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Käfer?”
I nodded solemnly. I was certain Papa wouldn’t be nearly as forgiving.