Window to the Soul by Sue Rhodes-Thompson - February 2008
“Sit down Mrs Hart. I’d like to chat to your son Matt”.
“What you want to talk to him about? Whatever it is, he didn’t do it. You filth are all the same. Trying to pin something on my boy. Well..”
“Stop right there Mrs Hart. Wind your neck in. All I want to do is talk to him at this stage,” said the policeman.
“Ah, here’s Matt now,” he continued as a hooded figure slouched into the room.
Mrs Hart immediately set upon her son. “You little shit, what the bloody hell ‘ave you been up to now. Haven’t I got enough on my plate without you creating merry ‘ell”.
The sallow boy slunk into an armchair. He did not utter a word but every pore of his adolescent body was oozing resentment.
“Right Matt,” said P C Saddler, “I’m here to talk to you about the death of Mr Goldbloom, or Nodder as I believe he was referred to.”
“What that dirty old pervert,” spat Mrs Hart. “My Matt didn’t have nothing to do with that, but if he had I’d be the first to pat him on the back. Bloody menace that bloke was. The perv used to creep around the streets at night. We all knew what he was after.. Well bloody good job he’s copped it or someone round ‘ere would have sorted him out. Permanent like Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
P C Saddler stared at the woman for a moment, then averted his gaze as if the sight was utterly distasteful.
He turned to the boy.
“So Matt, I’ll make this easy for you, yes or no question. Did you break old Nodders’ window?”
He glared at the policeman. “Yeah I did it, I broke the old pervs’ window.”
P C Saddler sat in silence, twisting his wedding ring round and round. Minutes passed before he said quietly, “You were the one who killed him then.”
The policeman waited until the mother and her son had finished ranting before he continued.
“I think you’ve done a great injustice to a man who you knew nothing about. I think it’s only fair that I give you a bit of background on the man you’ve killed.”
Staring at his hands he paused for a moment.
“Mr Goldbloom was a Jew, a bit of a giveaway I suppose with a name like that. But no one bothered to find out his name did they? At the outbreak of war he was living in Germany with his wife and two daughters. It seems he was an ordinary sort of bloke, worked as an engineer at the local factory. But, as you know, this was not a good time for anyone Jewish. He carried on working for a while, I suppose he didn’t think that the people he worked with would treat him any differently, but I guess they were scared as well. He was persuaded to quit his job. The Nazis had begun taking Jews to camps. Mr Goldbloom and his family tried to keep a low profile, but it didn’t work. One night the soldiers came and took the family away. The daughters were only three and six, he wrote in his diary how his family were split up. They were put in one carriage of a train, scared and crying, he was put in another. They travelled through the night and most of the next day. He wrote how awful the conditions were, men were messing themselves where they sat, but all he could think about was his family. When the train stopped he stared through the planking of the goods carriage. He thought he saw them, shouted out to them to be strong, but there was so much noise and confusion he didn’t know if it was them or not. Then the doors were slid open and he, with the other men were frogmarched to their destination – not one of the well-known concentration camps, another more hastily built affair.
All the mean were taken to a separate section where they lived, if you can call it that.
He wrote that he knew what was going to happen when they were marched out into the woods. It happened on a weekly basis. Men were taken away, then the sound of gunfire, then they never came back. He wrote that in one way it was a relief to walk to his death, he knew that it was quicker than starvation or disease. But, he was so angry, angry that he had no news of his family. He didn’t know if they were dead or alive.
So, he walked into the woods. The trees thinned into a clearing where deep pits had been dug. The men were lined up on the edge and then the soldiers fired.
It was the pain that brought Mr Goldbloom to. The soldiers had covered the bodies with a thick layer of lime and he could feel it burning his skin. He realised that somehow he’d survived, but he dare not move, he didn’t know how much time had passed you see. There were bodies on top of him, but he had to wait and keep himself still, it was his only chance. He didn’t know how long he lay there but eventually he knew that if he didn’t move soon he wouldn’t have the strength to push the bodies away that lay on top of him. So slowly, and expecting to be shot at any moment, he pushed his way out. He never knew how he survived the next few months, he had a head wound, which he could feel but could not see, had to scavenge off the forest to live. Eventually he managed to escape and the long and the short of it – he ended up in England. They treated him for his head injury, but couldn’t do much. A bullet was lodged in his brain, not doing a lot of harm they reckoned, just made him nod all the time.
After he’d gained his strength he found work and managed one way or another until he retired. He never had a lot of money, well you saw the state of the place, but he always kept a car in the garage with a fully tank of petrol, so he could escape if the Nazis came back for him.”
Mrs Hart butted in, but quietly, almost whispered.
“What about his wife and kids, what happened to them?”
“I’m coming to that,” replied the policeman.
“As I was saying, Mr Goldbloom retired, but his mind was going. He had never given up you see, the Red Cross, all the organisations, everyone tried to help and find his family. The trouble was that there were so many people that died in those camps. Mr Goldbloom always believed thought, believed they had made it. He thought that perhaps at the end of the war they might have moved to another country and made a new life, you see to all intents and purposes he was dead, did not exist, so they wouldn’t know to look for him. But he always thought they would be reunited.
He kept his diaries going up until a few years ago. He wrote everything down so that when he found his family they could share his time through his memoirs.
I’ve spoken to his social worker, she confirmed that he wasn’t all there in the last few years, they tried to get him in a home, but it didn’t happen.
It seems as though things took a turn for the worse though, he thought he was back in Nazi Germany. Too scared to go out in daylight, he was found rummaging in bins looking for food. I think social services didn’t really know what to do with him.
But the strange thin was, he started his diaries again. It seemed to help him to write down how scared he was. That’s how come I know you killed him Matt. You might as well have stood him on the edge of a pit and shot him yourself.
You see he killed himself in the end, but he wrote a letter to his wife.
I’ve got a copy here.”
He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket.
Darling Greta,
Please forgive me.
They are closing in on me. I cannot even go out at night now. I see them standing watching me. Last night they broke the window, I hid but I know they will be back.
You will find money in an old paint tin in the garage. The car is ready for you and has a full tank of petrol. Be strong my darling and get the girls and yourself to safety.
I will always wait for you. I love you all.
May God forgive me.
Your husband
Stefan
“So Mrs Hart, good riddance to bad rubbish eh..?”
