Free Last Telegram by Liz Trenow

who we are and why we are here. They want to know where we’re from and if we can help. What they mostly seem to want to know is if we can take them to Piccadilly Circus,” he laughed. “They’re desperate for a bit of the high life, and who can blame them?”
    At last an adult appeared, pushing his way through the gaggle. He was short, prematurely balding, and scruffily dressed in workmen’s jeans and a thick jacket, so different from the crisply intimidating holiday camp staff of my childhood memory. I warmed to him immediately.
    â€œYou must be John and Lily Verner? Welcome to Sunnyside. Name’s a bit ironic on a day like today, don’t you think? I’m Leo Samuels. They call me duty manager, though that’s just a posh title for chief muggins.” He beamed as we shook hands. “Now, what can we do for you, or rather, what can you do for us? Come into the office and let’s keep warm while we talk.” To the boys he said, “ Geduldig Sein , be patient.”
    As we walked, he apologized for the way they had pestered us. “You understand, they’ve been through terrible times, and being out here in the wilds of Essex isn’t helping. They need to get settled as soon as possible.”
    One of the larger chalets at the end of a row had a hastily painted sign: Kindertransport All Enquiries . Up two steps, a wooden balcony led through glazed double doors into a small living area next to a kitchenette, with what must have been bedrooms on either side. Leo gestured to a table covered in a chaos of papers and dirty mugs and went to fill the kettle. “Do sit down. Tea or coffee? How do you take it?”
    He chattered cheerfully as he rinsed out three mugs in a cluttered basin, waiting for the kettle to boil. “Sorry for the mess, but we’re on a shoestring here,” he said, pushing aside untidy piles of papers and boxes on the table to make space for the tray.
    â€œWe’re all volunteers, and it’s a bit hand-to-mouth, to say the least. Of course, we’re dead lucky they’ve let us have this place for free. You probably know that the boss is Jewish; that always helps. Otherwise we’re totally dependent on charity, and right now people have other things on their minds than helping a bunch of German children.”
    He sighed. “We’re doing what we can for the poor little blighters. Most have sponsors, but this lot have been let down for one reason or another. So not only have they been through some terrible things and been sent away by their parents, but when they get here, no one wants them. It’s ruddy awful, if you’ll excuse my French, Miss Verner.”
    I cradled my cold fingers around the hot mug, struggling to imagine what it must feel like for these children, being so doubly rejected. No words, even coarse words, could come close to describing it.
    â€œI was in Austria last year,” John said, “and I saw what was happening.”
    Leo shook his head sadly. “It’s so much worse now.”
    â€œI was afraid it would be,” John said. “So when we heard about your work, we had to do something.”
    â€œIt is very good of you,” Leo said simply and took a sip of his coffee. “So, how do you think you can you help us?”
    â€œOur family runs a silk mill, in Westbury. Do you know it? About thirty miles from here,” John started.
    â€œSilk, eh? How interesting,” Leo said, listening intently.
    â€œWe’d like to take on three new apprentices,” John went on. “And we wondered if you had some older boys, sixteen, seventeen maybe. Preferably bright lads, who’d be capable of learning a skilled trade.”
    â€œThey’ve got to be mature and sensible types too,” I added. “They’ll be living in a rented house and will have to learn to look after themselves.”
    Leo sat back, scratching the sparse hairs on his head. “This