He turned away, looking serious. ‘Poland was no place to be a Jew, Bobby, with Germany and the Nazi party so close at hand. Only a fool could not see what was coming. Jolka and I, we did not wish our children to grow up in a world where they were not free – where they would be hounded and persecuted. And so we left.’
‘Are you Jewish?’
‘I am, although my wife is not. My faith now, however, is Roman Catholic, like my wife’s. But my family are Jews.’
Bobby regarded him curiously. She had never met anyone Jewish before. Teddy had told her he was a small fraction Jewish from his great-grandfather, but she didn’t suppose that counted. Except perhaps to the Germans.
Piotr smiled. ‘You see, on the outside we look much like everyone else.’
Bobby flushed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gawp at you. I’m not prejudiced, I promise – I never learned to be.’
‘When I meet those who are prejudiced, I remind them that the Marx Brothers are also Jews. And who does not like the Marx Brothers? I like Harpo.’
‘I like Groucho.’
‘Well, Groucho is good also.’
Bobby smiled. ‘Sorry if I was rude before. I’ve just never met anyone Jewish.’
‘How do you find us? Are we so very frightening?’
‘You’re quite charming, Piotr, and not at all frightening.’
‘I did not think so. We frighten none but those with small minds.’
‘Your family – are they in Poland still?’
He shook his head. ‘My mother and brother were all the family I had. They both came with us to England, along with Jolka’s father, and here we have made lives for ourselves.’
‘I’m glad of it,’ she said, feeling genuine relief to know they were out of harm’s way.
‘As am I. I wish it could have been the same for all Jews in Poland, and all those who will suffer under this evil fascism. Alas, all we can do is keep fighting and hope one day soon all will be free.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Now tell me, Miss Bobby Bancroft, how you came to be on top of a mountain when I and my friend Tadeusz lay there dying. I have waited, hoping you might come, so I could ask you to tell me your story.’
She smiled. ‘If I tell you my story, will you tell me yours? Before you answer, I ought to warn you that I am here on a job. I’m a writer for a magazine and my editor asked if I’d write an account of the rescue mission. That’s if you agree.’
He squinted at her. ‘A journalist?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you a good journalist?’
‘I like to think so,’ she said, a little shyly.
‘Then I shall tell you my story for your magazine. But you must go first.’
‘I didn’t do all that much,’ she said. ‘Everyone seems determined to give me the credit for the whole thing, but all I really did was wave a rattle.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘A rattle?’
She nodded. ‘I’m one of the ARP wardens in the village nearby. I was on duty and I saw your plane crash into the mountain at high speed and burst into flames. So I took my wooden rattle that’s supposed to be used for gas attacks and I raised the alarm. I organised the men who volunteered into parties to bring down survivors and I arranged for you to be received here at the hospital. That was really all the part I had in it.’
‘Not all the part. You climbed the mountain too, to save us.’
‘I knew I didn’t have the strength to do much good but I felt like I had to go up, since I was the one who saw the crash. And… I needed to see for myself if anyone had survived.’ She paused. ‘Although often I wish that I hadn’t.’
‘Ah. You saw, I think. What was in the fuselage.’
She nodded. ‘Your comrades… I often think about it. The men in the plane and your friend Teddy, when we first brought him down and his injuries looked so horrific.’
