The Bravest Voices by Ida Cook

Author:Ida Cook
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2020-11-13T14:46:01+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

One morning early in December, 1938, I was called to the telephone to speak to one of the officials of an Austrian refugee organization. Did I, she asked, know any of the British consuls in Germany really well? Well enough to persuade him to reverse the earlier decision of another consul?

I said I knew the Frankfurt Consul and Vice-Consul, but only from interviews concerning various refugee cases. I added that I hardly thought one consul would have the power to reverse the decision of another, even if so inclined. But what was the trouble?

The case concerned a mother and daughter in Vienna. Mrs. Bauer and her daughter, Ilse, had both tried to obtain domestic permits to come to England. In the daughter’s case, the papers had gone through all right. But at the last moment, the mother had been refused, on the grounds that she had rheumatism of the knee and would not, therefore, make a good domestic. Strictly true, no doubt, but a bit hard since she must die if she could not get out.

Now they were practically penniless, living on sufferance in a friend’s flat. If something could not be done soon, they must literally starve. Everyone’s nerves had been screwed one peg tighter by the violent events of the previous month, when, after the Paris shooting of the German official, the reign of terror had begun in earnest.

They were just two of the countless thousands of human beings who had suddenly—in Austria—or gradually—in Germany—found themselves deprived of every elementary human right. They could not take any employment, draw benefit from any insurance or pension, live in any house or apartment that looked on a main street, stay in any hotel or boardinghouse, or enter any restaurant, café, theatre, church, synagogue or public place. The old people might not sit down on a public bench, nor do the children play in the public parks. And, if they wanted to sell anything to eke out a wretched existence, they were allowed to do so only at official valuation—which meant about a tenth or twentieth of any genuine value. They had only two rights left to them. They might starve or, if they had the money to pay for it, they might turn on the gas.

I knew the situation so well by now that I hardly needed to exert my imagination at all in order to visualize these two unfortunate women, and since they had been brought to my attention, I knew I must do something. Again, I considered the only consulate where I could expect even a personally interested hearing was in Frankfurt, and I had grave doubts of anyone being able to help there, whatever the inclination.

“However,” I added, “if this mother and daughter are prepared to take a chance and come to Frankfurt—which would be on their way to England, anyway—I will undertake to go to Frankfurt, take them to the Consulate and tell the best story I can.”

This rather doubtful offer was accepted with a fervour that told me it was their only hope.

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