Free The Children of Willesden Lane: Beyond The Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival by Mona Golabek, Lee Cohen

ominously.
    “Don’t be running anywhere just yet.”
    Lisa’s heart was beating furiously. “Give me my bike.” But the man stood still, smiling menacingly. She stepped quickly into the middle of the road, looking frantically up and down, but it was completely deserted. When she looked back, she saw the man wheeling her bike behind the hedge.
    “Let me show you something, good-looking,” he said, wheeling the bike farther and farther away from the road.
    Lisa forced herself to keep her wits about her. She considered running away, but everything she had in the world was in the suitcase strapped to the bike. She had to stall until a car came down the road.
    “Wait! I can’t walk, I’ve hurt my foot,” she said, throwing herself back to the ground near the edge of the road. “I think I have broken my foot.”
    The man looked at her skeptically but wheeled the bike back to where she sat on the ground.
    “Come talk to me,” Lisa said, smiling flirtatiously. “Do you work near here?” The man nodded and came over, leaning against the hedge. He brought out a hand-rolled cigarette and lit it.
    “I work very near here,” Lisa pressed on. “Perhaps I could meet you later.”
    Every minute that went by was an eternity but she hid her terror and made false promise after false promise about a fictitious rendezvous. Luckily, the man was gullible and arrogant, nodding his head and smiling. Finally, ten agonizing minutes later, she heard the noise of a vehicle in the distance.
    As it approached, she jumped up and lurched into the road, waving her arms frantically. A military jeep pulled to a stop in front of her.
    “Sorry, miss, no riders, government orders.”
    Before Lisa could even explain about her attacker, the man had fled into the field and disappeared. Trembling, she thanked the soldier, got on her bike and pedaled as fast and as far as she could.
    She entered the outskirts of the city of Brighton at nightfall and followed the signs to the train station. Her muscles were shaking as she got off the bike and limped up to the ticket master’s booth.
    “The next train to London?” she asked wearily.
    “Not till morning, six-eighteen, track four.”
    She fished for the required shillings and pence from her pocket, and was handed a ticket.
    “Is that your bicycle?”
    Lisa nodded.
    “You’ll have to wait for the afternoon train, then; no bikes allowed on the commuter express.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Rules are rules.”
    Lisa hung her head and wheeled her bicycle through the station, finally finding the ladies’ room, grateful to see a small wooden bench inside. She lay down on it and put her head on her suitcase. She was too tired to dream.
    The sound of the flushing toilet woke her up. Two giggling teenage girls in school uniforms were putting on lipstick and laughing, oblivious of Lisa’s presence. “Hurry up!” one of them yelled to the other. “You’ll miss the train.”
    Lisa hurried, too, grabbing her things and running onto the platform. The train doors were open and inviting. She glanced back at her red bicycle, said good-bye, and boarded.
    The compartment was crowded, but she found a seat next to a group of teenage boys with green duffel bags. She supposed they were being called up for the draft as part of the national mobilization. Their faces were soft and young; one of them was covered in pimples. She didn’t think they stood a chance against the steely-eyed Nazi soldiers she had seen at home, and a dark mood of worry seized her. Lisa tried to distract herself by looking out the window at the lush green countryside, steering her mind onto a more cheerful path of thoughts about the big city ahead of her.
    Waterloo station was filled to the brim with travelers. Whole families were on the move, and porters were wheeling huge carts overflowing with suitcases. The warm smell from a bakery stall made her stomach ache, and she went and ordered a hot-cross bun. She made herself eat slowly so she