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Falcons' Flight

by Linda Linton

166 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0050; ISBN 1-55212-649-8; US$20.00, C$22.95, EUR16.50, £11.50

Falcons' Flight is more than a memoir. It's a World War II adventure based on the true story of a couple's escape from the Nazis as told to their family for the first time on their 50th wedding anniversary.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Every family has its secrets, its stories. I discovered ours one beautiful July weekend when my family gathered at a hotel in Hamilton, Bermuda, ostensibly to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. When the sun went down that first evening, my parents surprised us all as they began to tell us for the first time what had happened to them 50 years ago. Amazed and astonished, we listened to them recount the details of their escape from Europe during World War II. Listening to these adventures, I was like a child entranced by a bedtime story. The heroes became more than my parents. They were Alfred (who was Jewish) and Laurette (who was Catholic), a young couple in love, whose world was suddenly blown apart the day the Germans invaded Belgium. Alfred was forced into a crowded cattle car and hauled off to an internment camp while Laurette remained behind in occupied Brussels with no idea of the whereabouts of her husband. The story of how the couple survived-- how Alfred escaped from the camp and Laurette left her family and everything she owned to join him in France, how they hid in a brothel in Lyon, escaped across the Mediterranean by freighter only to be detained in Morocco--- all this was beyond my imagination. My father had chosen Hamilton, Bermuda as the place to reveal their tale because it was the first harbor in the "New World" where he and Mom had landed after their long ordeal of running from the Nazis. As we were to discover, however, the landing in Bermuda was by no means a safe ending to their journey...

About the Author Linda Linton, pictured here with her parents, Alfred and Loretta (the main characters in this story), is a Personal Historian, Consultant/Trainer and founder of StorySharing™ (www.storysharing.com). The author resides in Morris County, New Jersey with her husband and his daughter.

Sample Excerpts

The police station was mobbed. Everyone was talking about the air raid and about the war. Most of the faces were unfamiliar to Laurette and Alfred, and they were all tense with worry. No one knew what to expect. Names were being called over the din of nervous chatter.

"Edlemeyer ...Frankel ...Goldblum ..."

"Frankel!" Laurette suddenly sat very straight." I went to school with someone by that name. Oh, Alfred, what is going to happen?"

"Don't worry." He tried to comfort her." I know the Police Chief of the district very well. He will process me quickly and this will all be over in no time." Laurette wasn't so sure. Even though Alfred had many good connections in the city government, no one knew what to expect or even whom to trust.

"Liebermann ..."

"Wait here," Alfred said to his wife." I won't be long."

Then he kissed her and held her for a brief moment. He seemed so confident while Laurette was shaking.

Alfred walked through the double doors along with dozens of other men.

"Pawlowski ...Rabinsky ...Rosenfeld ...Schmidt ..."

Alfred's friend Joseph Schmidt walked by and squeezed Laurette's hand. Laurette smiled at the young man they had always called Schmidt.

"Don't worry,mon amie," he said to Laurette," Everything will be all right. I'll keep an eye on Fredo and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. We'll be back out in time for dinner, you'll see." Then Laurette watched her husband's friend filing behind the others.

There was something in his tone that seemed to say he wasn't so sure they would be back at all.

Laurette sat and stared at the double doors. The stream of men seemed to go on forever. Laurette tried to sound optimistic as she made idle conversation with the other wives, girlfriends, mothers, and children.

"This is only a formality," said one woman." They must follow the rules carefully to avoid having to make any explanations. This morning's air raid was only a warning."

"I think the war is nearly over already," said one young girl. "Hitler is losing his influence in Germany. The French want nothing to do with him. He won't be in power much longer. Then things will go back to the way they were."

Laurette wasn't so sure she believed anything these people were saying. She glanced around the room. Some of the children were playing games on the floor. Several older women were sitting together in a circle staring blankly at the few small windows near the ceiling. Their knitting needles were clicking madly. Many were reading the newspaper. A few had even brought a book to read.

Laurette wished she had brought some of her needlepoint. It was frustrating to sit for so many hours, worried about what was going to happen to Alfred, with nothing to keep her nervous hands busy. Nearly five hours had passed since Alfred had gone in to register. And not one of the people who had gone in through the double doors had come back through them. Nor had any official come out to report on what was going on.

Laurette began to hear rumors that those who had gone through the doors to register would be kept overnight.

"I must run home and pack a rucksack for Alfred," she began planning as she quickly said goodbye to those who were waiting around her.

Laurette had no idea what was to happen, but if she could at least get a change of clothes to her husband, he might feel a little bit more comfortable through this seemingly interminable waiting period. And she, at least, could temporarily quell this awful feeling of helplessness by doing something.

"Let's see,underwear, a fresh shirt, socks, what else?" Laurette fumbled through drawers in a daze.

"I know, I should pack him something to eat. I have no idea if they have fed anyone." She ran to the kitchen and grabbed some cheese and bread, a bunch of grapes, and an apple.

Then Laurette hurried out the door and ran back down the five flights of stairs. Her heart was pounding with fear and excitement. She didn't even think to stop to take the elevator. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because Alfred had the key in his pocket and Laurette would have been unable to use the elevator without that key.

Winded and perspiring, Laurette pushed passed the crowd that was still awaiting the return of their loved ones at the police station. She approached a guard by the door.

"My husband was here to register early this morning and he is still inside. I have brought him something to eat. Could you please see that he gets this? His name is Alfred Liebermann."

The guard looked at Laurette with slight amusement. She was so young, too young to be married, he thought. She was quite attractive, though obviously distraught.

"Oui,Madame," he said taking the rucksack from her. "Monsieur Liebermann. I will see that he gets this."

The guard disappeared behind the door, momentarily avoiding many of the others who were pleading for information about their family members.

Several more hours crept by. Laurette had begun to doze in the late afternoon sunlight that was piercing through the small window by the benches where she and the others had been waiting.

"May I have your attention please." It was the guard who had taken the rucksack.

"Those people who have gone in to register today will be detained here until tomorrow. Anyone awaiting a relative or friend is encouraged to leave and return in the morning."

Laurette's heart sank. She slowly filed out behind the others feeling dejected and exhausted. She could hear several of the others speculating on how long it would be before these people would be released.

"Certainly it will all be over by morning," said one older woman.

"Mommy, where have they taken Papa?" cried a little girl with long brown hair and a small pink bow.

"He is going to be away for a while," her mother said, then tried to comfort the child.

"We're going to go home and pack him a nice suitcase with all his favorite things, okay, little one?"

Laurette began to think about the rucksack she had given to the guard. There was barely enough in there for one day. If the police were planning to hold these people until things quieted down, it could be days, maybe even weeks.

As she began to climb the five flights of stairs to her apartment, Laurette felt terribly alone.

Early the next morning, Laurette carried a large suitcase filled with whatever she could fit of Alfred's clothes, toiletries, and food down the five flights and over to the police station. Thirty or forty others were already there. Soon the station would once again be jammed with anxious faces. Rumors were flying now that the "prisoners," as many called them, were taken to the local garrison across from the railroad station. For the first time, Laurette began to think about the work camps like the one from which they had rescued Alfred 's father. She began to visualize the wretched conditions. The fleas and the lice. The cramped quarters with little or no food. The dysentery and the lack of toilet facilities.

"Dear God," she whispered, "Please don't let them send him to one of those camps in Poland or Germany."

The hours crawled by even more slowly than they had the day before. Laurette read a little, but had trouble concentrating. She had some sewing with her, but soon finished whatever projects she had brought.

Finally, her stomach started to growl. She hadn't eaten for nearly ten hours. She was beginning to feel faint from lack of food and little sleep.

"Come on Laurette, you've got to eat something."

One of Laurette's friends, Monique, had been walking past the police station with her husband and had stopped in when they saw so many familiar faces.

"Why don't you come home with us and have some supper?" Monique pleaded. "I'm sure nothing critical will take place while we are gone. You'll feel much better after a meal."

Laurette was too tired to argue. And the thought of eating actually began to revive her.

"A quick bite and we'll come right back?"

"Absolutely," Monique assured her. Laurette was only gone for an hour. All kinds of rumors were spreading now of the whereabouts of all the people who had "registered," and the moment she walked back in the door of the police station, she could sense something had just happened. In the confusion and noise, Laurette was able to learn that the group had been spotted at the garrison, as some had feared. The prisoners were preparing to board a train and if their loved ones hurried, they could pass the suitcases to their husbands and sons over the fence outside the garrison as they filed by.

Laurette quickly followed the crowd onto the trolley and over to the garrison. As she stepped down from the trolley, she could see the men lined up behind the fence. She caught a glimpse of a small man with a blue rucksack.

"Alfred!" she yelled. People turned around to look. She thought he might have heard her, but she wasn't sure. He seemed to be close to the gate, but no one was moving. Some of the men, including Joseph Schmidt, did have a suitcase. It was evident that their wives had been able to pass them over the fence. But it was too late for Laurette to get the suitcase to Alfred. She could just see his small frame as a freight train roared in and stopped right in front of the group, blocking her view completely. It was impossible to reach him.

The row of cattle cars looked endless.

"Cattle cars," Laurette gasped." They are going to force all of these people into those horrible boxes! Oh, my God."

The men were herded into the cars and the train slowly pulled out. The engine grunted and spat smoke as it began to gain speed. Car after car went by in a dizzying blur. Chugga chugga, chugga chugga. It was already a considerable distance down the track when the engineer blew the long whistle. Laurette had a momentary flashback to another train, the train that had separated her from her first love. How trivial the pain of that first separation now seemed! Now, at age 19, she stared blankly at the huge moving boxes, one of which carried her husband to who-knew-where.

And then there was the ugly, deafening silence.

For years I had read about the cattle cars that were used to transport people during World War II. I had seen documentaries of the brutal conditions, the horrible treatment by the soldiers and the unthinkable destinies of the thousands upon thousands of innocent people, many of them Jews, who suffered through those train rides. I had no idea my father had been one of those people! We were oblivious to the absurd contrast of sitting in a luxury hotel room in Bermuda as we sat transfixed listening to him recount his story. I felt at the same time fascination and disbelief. Imagining my own father under those conditions was nearly impossible for me.

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