Retracing The Echoes
It was like magic. There was Lilly; a princess in her fairy coach, riding
high above the London traffic; gesturing to her subjects; the treasures of
Oxford street laid at her feet. Her new boots squeaking with delight as she
pointed and stretched her toes; the tickling warmth and conforting smell of the
little fur collar on her coat; ... and the doll .. oh the doll! How she held her
close, the starched white lace of her dress and those blue china eyes - the very
best in Selfridges.
It had been like a dream - but was it only a dream? One moment sitting in
the front parlour in Lincolnshire, practising her scales with Kitty; leading a
happy ordered existence with the Shapiros who always seemed more like an
adoptive family than owners of a tiny private boarding school. .. And the next
moment - along comes a mother you hardly know; who bundles you up and whisks you
away to an absolute land of enchantment - toys, clothes, wonderful food -
Christmas and birthdays all rolled into one -
"Lilly!" the sound of mother's voice shattered the illusion..
' No!; Go away! - There's nothing to wake up for; let me sleep' she
thought as fragments of dream fell away leaving dangerous gaps where reality
crept through.
'Why did she do this to me? .. Why did we leave that magic world? ..
Where are we?? . Why did she take
me away from Lincoln .. For this!?'
The trip to Oxford street had been wonderful, but as an auspicious start
it was not fulfilled by subsequent events. In fact, it seemed as if everything
had been downhill from then on.
'Just wait and see, Lilly' Her mother had promised. 'We're going to a new
country - somewhere where everything is new and exciting - there are so many
opportunities - we can build a new world and you can be part of it!'
There was not much to pack - a small bag each - everything would be
provided for in this brave new world. then a train to Dover or Southampton and
the sea - endless, rough cold sea; towering waves; bitter wind. Thank goodness
for the new coat - God how that coat had to last!.
"Lilly! Go and get washed"
'Oh no; time to get up ... Slowly, I won't open my eyes yet' She sat up,
wriggling her toes and flexing her fingers to relieve the stiffness of the cold
night. She allowed her senses to tune in gradually, unable to take the full
onslaught of her situation.
She stretched; .. and recoiled as her hand brushed the rough canvas of
the adjacent empty bed. 'Oh, Erika, Erika. Why did you leave me?
Your face was so cold when I touched you yesterday - you were pale, so
white and your dark eyes didn't see me - will they carry me out like that
someday? I told them you had stopped coughing and they covered you with the
sheet and took you away.
.. Are you going to get better? Oh, Erika, Mamma says you died because
you didn't eat enough - but you ate the same as me - and you had the same pain
in your belly that only goes when I'm asleep - Is that the start of dying? -
will my face go cold too, like the ice on the window?'
"Lilly!"....
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"Mossy, it hurts"
"Don't think about it - just keep walking" he replied, turning his head
away from his younger brother to hide the pain in his eyes. The throbbing in his
toes had stopped and he could hardly feel anything at all below his knees. At
least his ears didn't burn so much , now that he had found some rags to wind
around their heads - wasn't it strange that cold air could burn like that? The
wind mercifully had been weaker but now, as the rediculously short day drew to a
close, it began to intensify and bite through their inadequate clothing. "Let's
make for the trees".
They stumbled on. Worn shoe-leather that had stretched and grown with
them over the past year threatened to crack in the cold. The path was icy and
rough where stones broke through the early snow. it had drifted on the open
ground and against the forest edge. Beneath the trees clear patches showed
darkly silhouetting the pallor of the wood.
As they entered the forest the last rays of sunlight faded completely and
left them blindly moving forward, groping for branches, tripping in piles of
leaves and scratching their faces on twigs reaching to them like bony fingers
wickedly gouging their skin.
Freddy moved closer to his brother clutching at his arm for fear of being
lost for ever in the dark. Silent tears made tracks on his dirt caked face as he
tried to be brave and not let Mossy see he was crying. A mist of ice crystals
enveloped them as the wind blew snow out of the branches. In those temperatures
dislodged snow does not slump to the ground but rather seems to hang in the air
reassuming particulate form before falling once more to earth.
The wind blew a hole in the clouds and the moon shone through
illuminating the scene. "Mossy, look! Ghosts! - ghosts all around us - quick
hide - Mossy hide!"
Mossy shivered - fear moving him where the cold now left him unmoved. The
Siberian forest was that particular type of overgrown Birch known as silver fir
- Gaunt pale trunks rose narrow and willowy to a canopy in the sky - their
silver spectral forms mirroring the moonbeams.
"I don't think they'll touch us Freddy, They're just trees"
"Yes, Just trees in the day-time, Moss, but at night I think maybe they
do come alive"
"Well, if so we've not done anything to hurt them - maybe they'll leave
us alone."
"I wish I never broke any twigs off, I could have hurt one - it might
break my arm"
"No, Freddy. Don't be silly - Don't think about scary things - we have to
get to a house or we'll die. Keep walking, keep on - we must"
"I can't look at them Mossy".
"Close your eyes and hold my jacket. I'll lead you. Don't look."
It had started as a summer camp. The first band of young pioneers to be
taken away for the long summer days of 1918 - The first summer of peace since
the Revolution - or so it was thought. It had been a special privilege for two
London born Jewish boys to be included in this group, a privilege earned in
Highgate by their mother and her lover Muscat hosting the prerevolutionary
planners, and by their brother now employed as guard to the homecoming Lenin.
and her lover Muscat hosting the prerevolutionary planners, and by their brother
now employed as guard to the homecoming Lenin.
How could it have gone so wrong? Fighting broke out between red and white
Russian armies - the one hundred children, dispersed and cut off from their
lines of support were left wandering, living on their wits and many did not
survive.
The boxing gloves saved them. A Christmas present with a very special
destiny. One of the last presents given to them in England.
Mossy thought a bit of friendly sparring would be fun at the Dacha. He
wanted to teach Freddy a few Jack Dempsey style moves - little did he know what
those moves would prove to be! When the fighting broke out it was everyone for
themselves - the meagre food supplies and summer clothes became the property of
the strongest. Any weakness brought out the primitive pack instincts of the
disintegrating group. Survival of the fittest the weakest going to the wall -
all the macabre cliches of a 'Lord of the flies' existence.
The starving brothers postured and shaddow-boxed, were never seen without
their protective necklace of boxing gloves hung around their slender shoulders.
Thus they maintained an illusion of toughness - not to be meddled with - and
while there were weaker pickings, other's pockets to be looted - their tactic
worked.
With the passage of time their toughness became a reality. Their soft
limbs became wiry rods of iron, their empty bellies tough receptacles of
anything remotely edible, their pale English faces weather worn and stained;
their inseparable clothes bound to their skin - added to by whatever came their
way.
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...
But Isadora, to me, she was like a goddess. I think children say that
first impressions are very strong impressions. But with Irma, ...I was never
really impressed by her at all .. she was,
well ... I thought she was ailing, she was twenty one and looked much older than
her age, ...but Isadora looked beautiful.
And her kindness to the children you could always sense. The way she used
to stand us. She might say 'Sit down' or 'Stand up' or 'Children, listen to the
music, put your hands there, get to know the music and try to express yourself'.
Now that, my first impression of Isadora, never left me, all the years that I
knew her, for her softness and her charm ... Oh she was so charming, when she
walked; when she talked to anybody; when she approached you; ...it was always
continuous, it was never kind of ... there were never any rough movements, it
was always flowing. It was how she portrayed music, exactly in the same manner
as she was in everyday life. It was remarkable. And what is so strange is that
whenever anyone writes about her, books, articles .. nobody actually wrote what
she was like. It's only when you are with a person, like we were; when she
taught us dancing and she was with us a lot - because she adored children, she
really did ... we could see that." if you want to read
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