| |
Bristol, UK—April, 1943
After a day-and-a-half at sea, a deckhand removed the hatch to their hidden compartment. He winced at the horrible smell. He said, “We’re pulling into Bristol Harbour. You can come up on deck now. How about you blokes bring up the buckets and empty them overboard.”
Phyllis explained to Frieda that they were sailing along the River Avon and coming into the port of Bristol, in England. She told her that she would help her to find out where to go. The passengers stood on deck, breathing fresh air, and watching their boat dock in the bustling harbour. Frieda walked off the boat with her baby, toward freedom and uncertainty. A deckhand carried her valise down to the dock. During their long walk to the Immigration Hall, Phyllis found a street vendor selling Cornish pasties, which Phyllis described as hand-held meat pies. Phyllis bought one for Frieda, since she had some British currency. Frieda found her pasty to be so delicious that she started to feel hopeful. When they arrived at the Immigration Hall, Phyllis sat Frieda down while she went to make some inquiries.
Frieda watched the people coming and going in the great hall wondering who they were and what they were all up to. After about half an hour, Phyllis returned and told Frieda to follow her. They went down a hallway into a large room filled with immigration clerks and hopeful immigrants. Phyllis brought Frieda right to the desk of the head clerk, where she was asked for her identity papers. There was some discussion between Phyllis and the clerk. The clerk gave Frieda back her papers, and asked her to fill out two additional forms, one for Frieda and one for her baby. Phyllis helped her with the forms. As they left the office, Phyllis said in German, “You’ve been given a visa to stay in Great Britain as a domestic worker.”
Phyllis walked with Frieda to a nearby bank to exchange her currency. They then took a taxi to the Temple Meads train station. As they rode along, they saw some areas that had been heavily bombed in air raids. Phyllis said, “I’m going to put you on a train to Glasgow, which is in Scotland. I was told that there are too many refugees coming into London and Manchester these days. Glasgow will be more welcoming and it will be easier for you to find work there.” They arrived at the train station and Phyllis bought Frieda two tickets. She pointed to one of the tickets and said, “This is the number of your train from here, and it leaves from track seven. You’ll have to change trains in Birmingham to this train, here,” pointing to the other ticket. “Here, I’ve gotten you a map of Glasgow. I’ve circled the train station where you’ll arrive and this here is the Garnet Hill Synagogue. If you go there, you will find Jewish people who speak German and will help you get settled. I’m sure you’ll get extra help because you’re really only a child yourself. I’ve written my name, Phyllis Hahn, and my telephone number here on your map. Please call me if you need help.”
Frieda hugged Phyllis tightly. “Thank you so much. Phyllis, why were you on that boat?”
“Oh, it’s my job, dear. I’m a spy.” Frieda’s eyes went wide.
It was evening by the time Frieda’s train arrived at the Central Train Station in Glasgow. Once outside, she checked her map and the nearby road signs, and got her bearings. Carrying her baby, her valise, and her handbag, she headed toward the synagogue. She passed a church along the way, looked all around, and saw no one. She quietly entered the church and carefully placed Rebecca inside the doorway, wrapped up in her blanket, asleep. Then, she quietly left and did not look back.