Chapter 35

When the time for departure arrived, the whole camp was ready for the move. Everybody felt that, once we left Switzerland, conditions would improve.

Again we boarded trucks, which took us to the station. From there the International Transit train, with a destination of Marseilles, France, waited for our arrival.

We boarded the long train ... no more pushing or shoving. The four of us had a compartment to ourselves. We made ourselves comfortable. As our train rhythmically rattled on the rails past the picturesque French landscape to its Mediterranean destination, we glowed in the freedom we now experienced. Looking out of the windows of the fast-moving express, we reminisced about the experiences that we left behind: the pre-war days with Daddy, and when the Nazis entered our town. We remembered the four bombs dropped in the vicinity of our villa, the hardships, the evictions, the lack of wholesome food.

Again, I recalled the fear of bartering for food supplies, my fearful encounters with the German police, the unsuccessful visit to my husband's camp and, the worst, my arrest. Then the joy after two years of separation and the various camp experiences, the arrival of my daughters, mother, sister and niece at Liebenau. Finally, there was the elation over the present transport of more than 1,000 refugees to the United States. All these were topics now just lightly touched upon. Why? We were now on our way to a better life.

There was no chance of feeling hungry, either. As we were comfortably seated in the railroad coach, relaxing, an American soldier opened the sliding door of the compartment and greeted us with "Anyone here hungry?" He handed each of us a carton of food. We thanked him profusely and quickly tore open the containers, as children do upon receiving gifts.

Our eyes opened wide with surprise. "Mom," Dana screamed with delight. "Look what's in here! A ham sandwich neatly wrapped in cellophane, and how much of it; the bread is nice, and soft, and white; no more dark, chewy bread for us ... Some cookies also tucked in cellophane, a small carton of fresh, cold milk, and a banana."

"Whoever put milk in a carton?" said Irene in surprise. "But since the container isn't wet, it's probably alright."

After examining all the items in the box and smelling them for their tempting aroma, we decided to enjoy our delicious lunch. With every bite, there were loud exclamations of rapture and the joy rose.

Now it would be different. At least we were now free. Since before the war, we had not eaten such delightful, soft, white bread. While we consumed the delectable goodies, the International Transit train sped on to the port of Marseilles.

As our express thundered on, our hearts fluttered with the thought of the approaching adventure. Boarding the S.S. Gripsholm, which lay anchored at the pier in the French port, was to be our next experience.

We reached our destination. Slowly we alighted from the train and there, in its immensity, stood the ship that would ultimately take me back to the land of my birth after 24 years of living in Europe -- to the final goal -- the United States of America.