Ungerson - Four thousand lives: the rescue of German Jewish men to Britain, 1939

In loving memory of my grandmother, Lilli Jordan Gumbel,
and my mother, Annelis Lore Grete Ungerson.
Both got away and made a life in England.

CONTENTS

Many people have helped me with this project and I am grateful to all of them. Gaby Glassman introduced me to the Association of Jewish Refugees, and through the AJR I gave a number of talks at an early stage in the project and thereby met a number of widows and descendants of Kitchener men. The staff of the AJR have also been very helpful, especially Esther Rinkoff, Hazel Beiny, Tony Grenville and Howard Spier. Three archivists, Ray Harlow at Sandwich Guildhall, Howard Falksohn at the Wiener Library, London, and Hadassah Assouline at the Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem all sought out material for me and, in the case of the Jerusalem archives, catalogued the Bentwich papers. Staff at the Wiener Library have always been exceptionally welcoming and helpful, especially Bridget McGing, Marek Jaros and Toby Simpson.

Helen Fry generously introduced me to Harry Rossney and the group of old comrades who still meet at the Imperial Caf in the Golders Green Road in London. Harrys enthusiasm and support were invaluable. Helen Fry also put me in touch with Walter Marmorek when he was still, at age 98, practising as an architect in London, but who sadly died before I could complete this project, which was very dear to his heart. Adrienne Harris, Phineas Mays daughter, gave me very useful information on Phineas and Jonas Mays background and family history and took a positive interest in what I was doing, Joan Cromwell and Philip Stirups gave essential help with the translation of German documents, and Sam Warshaw ably transcribed Phineas Mays rather difficult to read Kitchener camp diary.

Others who, through conversation, letter, or more formal interview, have helped me with this book include Nikki van der Zyl, Hilda Keen, Patrick Miles, Rosa Plotnek, Katherine Shock, Howard Kendal, Monica Reynolds, Hans Jackson, Allen Sternstein, Harry Brooks, Stella Curzon, Eva Mendelson, Andrew Kodin, Ivy Kum, Pat Pay, Robert Fraser, Michael Streat, James Bird. Many others have sent me emails, often with attachments of photos or memoirs, all of which convinced me that there was a story here, well worth remembering and telling. Anne Deighton and Jane Deighton, both with memories of Sandwich summers in the 1950s, filled me in with details about an earlier Sandwich, and made insightful comments as the project progressed.

A number of people read early and late drafts. Mary Evans, Judith Friedlaender, Bernard Harris, Tony Kushner, Esther Saraga, the late A.W.B. (Brian) Simpson, Grace Tonner, Jenny Uglow, all made significant comments at crucial stages. Jean Gaffin deserves a special mention for encouraging me when I was flagging and reading all the early chapters. Towards the end of the project, a group of retired colleagues centred around the University of Kent started meeting on a monthly basis and presenting their work in progress to each other. The constructive, friendly and often forensic critique of Sarah Carter, Judith Hattaway, Lyn Innes, Jan Pahl, and Janet Sayers introduced a rigour and a rhythm to the writing process that were essential for the books completion.

Finally, at home, William Fortescue always believed in the project, and was endlessly supportive and patient. He was the mainstay and I could not have done this without him.

Clare Ungerson

Sandwich, Kent

On the morning of 10 November 1938, Fritz Mansbacher was woken by his alarm clock at 4.45 a.m. At age 16 he had recently left school and started a job at a local factory, and it was very important that he got to work on time. Many of his Jewish friends had recently lost their jobs, and he hoped that punctuality and reliability would help him keep his. Now that he was earning his own money he was almost an adult and he had moved into a separate flat at the top of his parents house in Lbeck, Germany.

That morning he was still half asleep as he dressed himself and started to go downstairs to the floors below. Suddenly he stopped:

I thought I had heard voices! Normally nobody would be up and awake at this hour. I listened. A second later I saw two Nazi stormtroopers come out of my parents apartment door. Quickly I crouched into the shadow and clung as closely to the stairwell wall as possible so as not to be seen. There I stayed quietly, not daring to breathe. Now they tramped down the stairs in their heavy boots. Now they closed the front door. Now they walked down the driveway to the sidewalk. Shortly after I could hear a car motor start up, a car door slam and a car driving away.

Once it was safe to move he ran down the stairs and into his parents flat. His mother was standing behind their front door, still in her nightdress, shaking and angry. His father was in bed: Mr Mansbacher had been ill for years, struggling with an illness that Fritz only learnt years later was multiple sclerosis:

In a stern voice, mingled with grim humour and sarcasm, my father related what had just taken place in our apartment. He said that the Nazis had come at that unearthly hour of the morning to take him away to a concentration camp. They were very rough at first. They told him that he was under arrest and to get out of bed, get dressed and follow them. My father, strong in character and afraid of nothing, jestingly told them that he would love to go with them but that he could not do so at this time. They demanded to know why not. I am sick he told them. Got a cold, I suppose, said the Nazi. No, answered my father, its worse than that; I cannot walk. Now the two got impatient with my father. Get out of that bed, you swine, and show us how well you can walk!

Fritzs father was a rational man and he thought that reason and evidence might appeal to these two gentlemen. The only thing to do was to phone his doctor and get him to talk to them, but as Mr Mansbacher picked up the receiver to make the call the stormtroopers had snatched it from him and slammed it down. Perhaps they did not want others to know what was going on, perhaps they thought it was just too much bother to drag a sick man from his bed, get him dressed and push him into their car. Something had stopped them, and in compensation for their weakness in the face of Mr Mansbachers disability they had set about wrecking the flat, searching they said for guns. Eventually they had left, just as Fritz had reached the top of the stairs.

The Mansbachers were horrified. The situation was bad for the Jews as they knew only too well, but this invasion of their house and the threat of arrest was something new. At least they were still intact as a family and they all thought it best to behave as if nothing had happened. Fritz should go to work as usual. As he rode his bicycle into town he was surprised by something else an unusual number of police cars, filled with people, driving toward the railway station. And then at the factory there was a very odd atmosphere: nobody spoke to him and everyone avoided his gaze. He began to wonder if somehow or other his workmates knew about that mornings incursion and that they felt guilty:

Finally, a fellow worker whom I knew to be a decent fellow, in spite of the fact that he was a member of the Nazi party, took me aside and asked me why I was at work. Did I not know that all the Jewish stores in Lbeck had been smashed, broken into and ransacked and that many of the owners had been badly beaten before being shipped out? And had I not heard that the Synagogue, the Jewish house of worship, had been destroyed? Of course I had not heard about all these events! And at six oclock in the morning?