May 1944
At dawn on Sunday morning, while we were still in our dormitory, a female prison guard appeared and read out a list of names for immediate deportation.
‘…Fritzi Geiringer, Eva Geiringer…Our hearts sank as we heard our names called out. Franzi was also included.
Nervous and upset, we made arrangements to leave. Those remaining were extremely relieved that they had been able to prolong their stay in Holland but they did as much as they could to supply us with extra food, clothing, blankets, suitcases, even shoes — anything that might aid our survival on the journey and after. Exactly four days after we had visited Pappy and Heinz in their ‘safe’ house we were being deported. We assumed we were on our way to Auschwitz but in reality we had no idea.
Hundreds of us walked towards the railway sidings. As we made our way to the cattle trucks, carrying our cases and jostling against each other, Pappy and Heinz suddenly appeared close beside me. When I looked around for Franzi she had disappeared in the crowd.
As we drew nearer to the train we could see the front part already filled with gypsies — unkempt-looking men and women carrying babies and toddlers, with older children hanging on to their mothers’ skirts. Pappy, Mutti, Heinz and I clung together, too, so that we would not be separated. We pulled and pushed each other onto the boards of the truck with little dignity and handed up our cases and blankets. The wagon was so tightly packed that we could not sit down and we huddled against each other in a corner. Pappy’s arms were tight around me, and Mutti held Heinz. The only comfort was that we were still together.
As I looked up I could see two tiny barred windows near the ceiling of the truck. I also noticed two iron pails standing in the far corner. That was the only provision made for our needs.
Many people from the Westerbork camp had come down to see us off and give us courage. We waited for about an hour until, on a shouted command, the doors were slammed shut and bolted from the outside.
Now there was so little light in the truck that we could hardly see each others’ faces. It was like descending into Hell. The wagons shuddered and the cattle train began to move. As the journey went on, people took turns to stand so that others could have a little more space to stretch out on the boards. We did what we could to help one another but there wasn’t much we could do.
During the day the doors were opened once, the buckets changed and some bread thrown in — it was like feeding animals in cages. Several people became violently sick and that added to the stench and stress in the carriage. Among us was a pregnant woman who was panic-stricken; if she went into labour during the journey who would help her with her baby?
Each time the doors were opened we tried to communicate with the guards, pleading for compassion and help but all requests were ignored by the impassive and stony-faced SS men. Vicious dogs barked at us and rifles were pointed into the truck. The impulse to try to escape was very strong but we knew there was little chance of succeeding. We were unarmed, defenceless civilians and would doubtless be shot in the back if we tried to run away.
When we said anything at all to our captors the only words spat back at us in German were, ‘Halt das Maul, Saujuden’ (‘Shut up, filthy Jews.’)
At one halt, when the doors were opened, we were faced with machine guns trained against the carriages. Guards shouted at us to hand over all the valuables we still possessed, including wedding rings and watches. They threatened to kill anyone who did not comply. After that stop we did not even know the time.
As the train rolled on day and night merged. There were two, maybe three days of intermittent travelling. Sometimes we could sense that the train had stopped on a siding where it remained for hours. Without movement the trucks became unbearably hot and airless. The stench from the buckets overpowered us, making many more people feel extremely ill.
After about three days of this existence the train jolted to a halt and we could hear shouting outside and doors grating open. Violent commands were issued in German. Many could not understand but I was born in Austria and was nine years old when I left. German was my mother tongue.
As our doors were pushed open we could see lorries waiting next to the train. The SS were shouting, ‘If there are any ill people or some too tired to walk a long way, they can now go on the lorry to the camp.’
With great relief many people climbed down and walked straight over to a lorry, shouting back to their relatives, ‘We’ll see you there!’
The rest of us watched them being driven away. Much later in the camp we learned that these people had been driven directly to the gas chambers.
We could see German guards with guns and dogs, ordering us to get out. There were few guards compared to the many Jews and gypsies but we were so subdued that we never dreamt of doing anything but obey all their commands. I don’t know why. Perhaps we truly thought that our conditions were going to improve. It seemed that nothing could get worse.
Just as I was about to climb down Mutti handed me a long coat and a grown-up looking felt hat. ‘Put this on,’ she instructed.
‘I don’t need it,’ I protested. It was a boiling hot day and just to be outside in the air would be a relief.
Put it on,’ she insisted. ‘It may be all that you’ll be allowed to take in with you. They may take our cases.’
At that point more commands came in German. ‘Get out, put all your belongings next to the train and stand in rows of five.’
Very reluctantly I put the coat on. I was sure I looked silly in the hat. It was brown felt and far too grown-up for me. I would never wear such an awful hat by choice.
‘You look a smart young lady now,’ Pappy said, trying to encourage me.
Heinz gave me a weak smile. He looked petrified, his face white with fear as he jumped down from the truck but he turned to help me. As I sprang down into his arms I found mine around his neck. Suddenly we were squeezing and hugging each other as if we would never see each other again.
It took about an hour of unloading and organization before the women were ordered to walk towards the front of the platform whilst the men were separated and marched towards the back.
Pappy grabbed hold of my hands, looked deeply into my eyes and said, ‘God will protect you, Evertje.’
Mutti clasped Heinz close to her, running her fingers through his hair and kissing his face. Then my parents embraced for the last time before being forced to turn and walk away from each other.
We moved along in lines of five for about ten minutes until we came to a group of SS men. They were dividing the line into right and left. All the old people and children up to about fifteen had to go to the right whilst the rest of the women were directed to the left.
Sometimes a mother had to relinquish her young child to an older person who was sent to the right. As we came towards the selectors, the young woman in front of me began first to cry and then to scream wildly as she was forced to give her infant son of eight or nine months into the arms of a stranger, an elderly woman, whose eyes were filled with tears.
‘I’ll look after him,’ she said. Her arms were almost too feeble to hold him as he twisted back to grab at his mother.
‘I want to go with him!’ the mother was screaming out, but she was pulled back roughly. The baby started to howl pitifully.
‘I won’t recognize him again,’ she pleaded, trying to calm down and make a reasonable protest. ‘He’s growing so quickly.’
The guards looked on impassively.
‘Please... please don’t take my son away!’ She began to scream again and tried to grab the baby back while the guard pushed the old woman on and stood between them.
I watched helplessly, but then Mutti stepped forward and put her arms around the sobbing woman’s shoulders.
‘Even if you don’t recognize your baby,’ she said, ‘the old lady will remember you and will know who to hand him back to.’
This story seemed to pacify her. Her resistance faded, she became quiet and moved on in the line. No matter how much people began to protest or cry, or try to go to the other side to be with their families, it was to no avail. The process was relentless. Thus families were systematically torn apart. At this stage, though, we still did not realize what ‘selection’ really meant.
Then it was my turn. The SS officer looked me up and down and indicated left. Mutti was quickly able to come and stand beside me in line, holding on to my arm. I was only just fifteen. I noticed much later that I was the youngest person by far in our transport line. Many mothers had lost daughters of my age. Ridiculous though it had looked on me, that hat and the long coat had saved my life. Pappy’s prayers had once more been answered.