Elsa

Ill Treatment

Spring, 1946

As she climbed the two dimly lit flights to her flat, Elsa could hear the voices of some of her neighbours. They sounded disgruntled.

When she reached her landing, she saw that a short queue had formed outside her door. Mrs Rosenwasser stepped forward and touched her arm. ‘Ach Fräulein Hirschfeld,’ she said plaintively. ‘We thought you would never come!’

Elsa sighed as she juggled her bags and unlocked the door. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Please just let me put the food away.’ Throwing a triumphant glance at the others waiting in the hall, Mrs Rosenwasser hurried into the flat, closing the door behind her.

‘Now, what can I do for you?’ Elsa asked the plump little woman, putting away coat, gloves and scarf as she spoke, then washing her hands at the sink. She longed to sit down and close her eyes for a few minutes; usually, she arrived home from work at five, unless she went to the shops. Today it had been nearly six as she let herself into the house. ‘Go on, please. I am listening,’ she said, while putting meat and milk into the tiny larder.

Mrs Rosenwasser sank into a chair. ‘I have such a population again!’ she said piteously, putting a hand to her chest. ‘Since this morning. And I can hardly breathe. The stairs they are killing me.’

‘Perhaps,’ Elsa said, trying to conceal a smile, ‘if you have palpitations again, you should go and see your doctor. He will certainly examine you. And he may wish to do some tests as well.’

Her visitor jumped up again alarmed. ‘Dr Weil? No, no. I don't need him. I will have to pay him for nothing. He only tells me I must eat less and stop the coffee.’

‘Perhaps he would be right. He is a medical man after all.’

‘I don't need doctors. You are better than any doctor. You are the same. Only a few exams they wouldn't let you finish. If it was not for Herr Hitler’ − here she spat on the floor − ‘you would be a doctor too. You understand my body better than anyone.’

Elsa took the woman's pulse. Then she went to the bedroom and brought out a small suitcase. Here she rummaged for a moment, watched by her patient. Reading labels, Elsa extracted a tiny brown bottle. Opening it carefully, she shook a few white granules into the lid. These she tapped gently into Mrs Rosenwasser's mouth.

‘Remember, Frau Rosenwasser. No food or drinks for at least an hour,’ she told her, before escorting her back into the hall. Here three other ladies were patiently waiting.

Ushering in the first, Elsa had a moment of despondency. ‘What will happen when I have used all my supplies?’ she asked herself. ‘When I can no longer help people? Then I will have nothing left except my sewing.’

When the group had dispersed, disappearing into their own rooms, she briefly examined the offerings left on her windowsill. She had refused, from the beginning, to accept any money. But her patients invariably showed their gratitude for her services − which were sometimes no more than sound advice − in other ways.

Here was a tin of tomato soup, bought with precious food points from a ration book, there a bar of Sunlight soap. Even half of someone's cheese ration lay wrapped in its greaseproof paper. And two slices of Gugelhupf, yeast and sultana cake, made with dried eggs but doubtless none the less delicious for that. Yes, the war may have been over for a year, but there was no knowing when rationing would end.

Elsa was touched as always. It was a close community. All the ex-refugee tenants of number 79 Goldhurst Terrace shared news and hardships but nevertheless remained on a formal footing. European style, they rarely addressed one another by first names. She was always Fräulein Hirschfeld, never Elsa.

Clutching her hot water bottle in bed that night, Elsa offered up her usual prayers to a God she still felt existed, in spite of what had happened to her family. Her last thoughts were, as always, of her beloved friend and mentor, Dr Hermann. How indebted she was to this man who had so helped and encouraged her, from whom she had gained so much knowledge. And whom she had loved almost as much as the father who had stayed behind and perished. In her dreams she sometimes confused the two. Both had called her mein Kind, both had cared for her. Now she reached for the photo of the old doctor, holding it against her heart before she lay down.

But tonight she was unable to sleep for a long time. Memories of her arrival in England haunted her. It seemed like only a short time ago that she had landed, a terrified refugee, in this foreign country, one battered suitcase holding all the possessions she had been allowed to take. In her handbag was her passport with the giant J stamped on it. And the Domestic Service permit and visa which had made possible her flight from Vienna. The bag had been a birthday gift in happier, pre-Nazi days, and bore a gold-lettered label inside. This stated that it was made in Austria and manufactured from the finest leather. Not once had she let go of it throughout the entire, nightmare journey.

Sometimes, when she woke, she imagined finding herself still in the narrow bed, with its inadequate covering, in the Carters' household. It had been a child's bed that her English employers had given her, one that the children had outgrown. Elsa was not exceptionally tall, but her feet hung over the end, and the sheets and blankets were all too short. On waking, she would start up to look at her clock to make sure she had not overslept. She had the fires to make up and the breakfast to prepare.

Had they never realised, she had often wondered since, that she was not much more than a child herself? She would not have even tried to tell them that her own parents had had a maid and cook; they would never have comprehended that their good fortune in obtaining a maid in 1939 was due to the tragedy that had befallen her.

That first night she had been told to ‘come down for tea’ as soon as she had unpacked. Timidly she had joined the family in the cold dining room. Homesick and exhausted she had attempted to eat what was put in front of her. She was very thirsty after her long journey. But when she raised her cup with its brown liquid to her lips, she gagged.

In spite of the vile taste, she remembered what she had been told at home: ‘Be polite, eat and drink whatever is given to you. Some of the food may be strange at first.’

‘More tea?’ Mrs Carter asked in surprise, seeing the empty cup. ‘No thank you,’ Elsa had managed to say. So, that was tea then! With milk in it, she noted.

It was now Saturday and Elsa had no need for her alarm clock. Weekends always seemed a long time in coming. She stretched luxuriously then put one foot tentatively on the lino floor and shuddered. It was freezing. She moved quickly across the room to put a shilling from the little pile of coins on the mantelpiece into the meter. The gas fire burst into life.

Max was coming for tea today. Since she had first met him two months ago, at the Austrian Centre in Swiss Cottage, he had become a regular visitor. Was she glad or apprehensive? He could be good company but had lately become too serious. Was he going to pursue his theory about the benefit of two people sharing a home?

‘It makes economic sense,’ he had told her in the dry voice of the lawyer he hoped eventually to become. ‘One could soon save enough money to be able to improve one's standard of living.’ He made it sound not like a proposal, but a Communist manifesto. Not personal or even vaguely romantic. Nothing that she could turn down, as yet.

She longed for Max to suggest something frivolous like going to a tea dance. Where she could wear her new John Barnes pleated skirt that had cost more than she had planned to spend. Then he would have to put his arm round her waist and she could see how it felt to be touched by him.

A ring on her door, before she had even had time to wash and dress. Throwing her old flannel dressing gown round her shoulders, Elsa, still barefoot, opened her door a crack.

Little Freda stood outside, shivering. ‘Please Miss Hirschfeld, Mama asked if you could come up. She has been sick all night. She said you would know what to do.’

‘Come in, my child, sit there − I will dress quickly and come and look at Mama,’ she told her visitor. All thought of hot, fragrant coffee to start her day had fled.

Up in the Rosenwassers’ flat, Elsa examined the groaning woman. The room smelt acrid. ‘Please give me something for the sickness!’ the woman pleaded.

Elsa gently pressed the plump stomach and her patient jumped. ‘Does this hurt, Grete?’ she asked, using the name for the first time. She was aware that she was dealing with someone prone to hypochondria and must put her at ease. Grete Rosenwasser's face was ashen.

‘I cannot give you anything until you have been seen by the doctor,’ Elsa said firmly. ‘Please rest until I am back.’

A knot of concerned neighbours had gathered in the hall as she passed. ‘Frau Bauer,’ she said to the nearest, ‘would you please go to the phone and call Dr Weil or whoever is in the surgery today. Tell them it is urgent. I must get your friend ready in case she has to go into the hospital.’

Frau Bauer nodded and hurried to the communal telephone on the lower landing. Several people handed her coins as she went.

In her own flat, Elsa gathered up cloths, bowl and the bottle of 4711 Eau de Cologne that had come from Vienna with her. She had used it sparingly but today the last drops of it might have to be sacrificed to mask the sour smell of the upstairs flat for the doctor's visit.

She worked quickly; the sheets in the upstairs bed and the night clothes of its occupant were changed with Frau Bauer's help, the window opened. Still, the young man who was led in by Freda took a step back as he entered the room.

None of them had met Dr Weil’s locum before. Dr Jordan looked alarmingly young and English, unlike Dr Weil, the old German physician. He was very businesslike too, not stopping to chat or apologising for his cold hands when he examined the patient. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked her. ‘And have you taken any medication during the last few days?’

Grete stopped her soft moaning to answer him, concentrating on this last question. ‘I think,’ she said, trying to recollect, ‘it was Thursday evening. Miss Hirschfeld gave me some pills. I am sure they did nothing to hurt me. They usually make me feel better. It was only during this night that I started being sick.’ And here the moaning resumed.

Dr Jordan looked round at the small gathering to identify Miss Hirschfeld. ‘Are you a doctor?’ he asked her courteously.

Elsa flushed. ‘No. I am not.’

‘So, how is it that you gave Mrs Rosenwasser tablets? Were they bought in a chemist's shop? Recommended by the pharmacist perhaps?’

Mrs Bauer appeared to be holding her breath. The patient was suddenly still. Elsa’s voice, when it came was very soft.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I was a medical student in Vienna. I had to leave in my second year. Because I was Jewish. I have been unable to resume my studies.’

The young doctor cleared his throat. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps you would tell me what kind of tablets you have been giving this lady. And’ − he looked about him −‘perhaps to some of your other neighbours?’

‘I have been dispensing homeopathic medication. I was trained by Dr Hugo Hermann. Perhaps you know of him?’ She turned to him hopefully.

‘I know little about this kind of so-called medicine, Miss Hirschfeld,’ Dr Jordan replied. ‘If Dr Hermann has a medical degree then he and not you should have been dispensing pills to those who believe in homeopathy.’ He said the word disdainfully

.

‘But he has been dead for two years,’ Elsa said helplessly. ‘And he bequeathed his supplies to me, with full instructions, when he became ill. He had confidence that I understood how to use them.’

‘And may I see these … medicines?’

‘Of course,’ Elsa replied. ‘But should we not first arrange transport for this lady to be taken to the hospital?’

‘ I think you may safely trust me to look after my patient. She does not require such urgent attention. A few more minutes will not make any difference.’ He made a sign to Mrs Bauer. ‘Her friend will stay with her while I accompany you to your room.’

A defeated Elsa led the doctor out of the flat and down to her own. Once again she felt as if she were in the hands of the Gestapo. She could neither disobey nor escape. The injustice of the situation made her fight to hold back the tears.

Dr Jordan remained standing while Elsa went to the bedroom. She came out with the brown case and held it out silently. He lowered it onto the table and opened it. He examined a few of the bottles, shaking some of the granules onto his open palm, wrinkling his nose at an imaginary smell.

Then he pronounced: ‘These contents are probably highly toxic. They must not be used again, therefore it is my duty to confiscate them all. I should report this, and may discuss it with the other doctors with whom I work.’ He paused. ‘I will now go back to my patient and decide whether she needs to go to hospital or not. If she does I will take her in my car. You need trouble yourself no further.’

He asked her for a paper bag, into which he emptied her precious collection of medicines, gave her a nod and left. As he did, a distraught Elsa collapsed onto a chair and buried her face in her hands.

Max

Two weeks had passed and Elsa had heard nothing. She was still fearful of every letter, started each time the telephone on the landing rang. Once, as she opened the front door to leave for work, the sight of a policeman across the road made her scuttle back inside, heart thumping. She was sure he was coming to arrest her. She waited, trembling, but no one came and she had missed her bus. Late for work she nevertheless felt this only as another reprieve.

Meanwhile Grete, now her old self but six shillings poorer because of the doctor's fee, still asked Elsa's advice. The others also knocked at her door, though less frequently. Life resumed a pattern and Max visited every week.

He rarely suggested taking her out, but they went for walks along the Finchley Road, or, more adventurously to Golders Hill or Regents Park. They might sit for an hour over a cup of coffee, sometimes ordering a slice of cake. Max invariably accepted Elsa's timid offer of sharing the bill for these treats. On the few occasions that they went to the cinema he let her pay for her own ticket. In the darkened auditorium Elsa sat stiffly in her seat, acutely aware of his body next to hers, waiting to see if he would take her hand or put an arm round her. He never did.

In her flat they would sit companionably on either side of the gas fire, listening to the old German radio that she had inherited together with the homeopathic supplies. The fact that along with these Dr Hermann had also left her his modest savings was a secret she hugged to herself

.

She was a good listener. Max liked to talk about his expectations of a career in law, his evening studies, and his job as a clerk. He was confident of reaching his goals eventually. When Elsa attempted to tell him of her own plans for the future, the medical studies she hoped sometime to be able to resume, he was patronizingly dismissive.

‘My dear girl,’ he said, ‘you must be realistic. It is almost impossible as it is, for a woman to get a place in medical school. You must be aware of the quotas. And as for a foreign girl with a limited knowledge of English − well!’ He held up his hands and smiled to show how ludicrous he thought the very idea was.

Elsa was surprised at the strength of her indignation. How could he be so unfair and unsympathetic? Unused to contradicting him, she responded with some spirit:

‘I have enrolled in evening classes to improve my English. I am going to work very hard. I will try and pass the exams. It may take some time I know – I am not as clever as you. But I shall read only English now.’ She pointed to the library books next to the radio.

Attempting to hide his annoyance at this outburst, Max rose from his chair, went over to the window and looked out. Then he moved over to Elsa’s chair. He put a hand briefly over her head as if to stroke her hair while she held her breath. But he sat down again without touching her.

‘I congratulate you, my dear. That’s a good beginning. But of course this will all take time. It is no bad thing to learn