The Air Raid Book Club(27)

It was something of a surprise, therefore, that the main obstacle in securing passage for the Fischer family came from the British government. The reply to Gertie’s letter was curt, to say the least.

“We regret to inform that we are unable to assist in your request.”

“We’ll see about that,” she told Hemingway with a frown.



Gertie dusted off her best suit, a scratchy damson-colored affair that was too hot for the time of year but seemed like the correct kind of armor when dealing with officialdom. She also wore her mother’s cameo brooch for courage. Gertie didn’t mention the letter or her plan to Hedy. This felt personal. It was as if her principles were being challenged and Gertie was the only one who could stand up for them.

She left Betty in charge of the bookshop, much to Miss Snipp’s annoyance, and caught the train to London. Gertie checked the address on the letter, swallowing down her nerves as she made the short walk to the government offices. The imposing white building shone in the morning sunshine, giving off an air of imperial confidence with its Union Jack flag fluttering in the breeze. Gertie took a deep breath as she pushed open the glossy black door.

The receptionist sat at a heavy oak desk flanked on all sides by dark wood-paneled walls, which gave the hall a suffocating atmosphere. She peered at Gertie over the top of her gold-rimmed spectacles. “May I help you?”

Gertie cleared her throat. “I’d like to see Mr. Wiggins, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I have a letter.” She held it out for the woman to see.

The receptionist frowned. “It clearly states that Mr. Wiggins is unable to help you.”

“Please,” said Gertie. “I’m trying to unite a Jewish girl with her family.”

The woman’s face softened slightly. “Give me a moment.” Gertie’s spirits rose as she disappeared into Mr. Wiggins’s office. She reappeared moments later. “I’m sorry. He’s very busy this morning.”

Gertie glanced over toward the office. The door was ajar. Something stirred inside her. Deeds not words, Gertie. She dashed forward before she had a chance to change her mind.

“You can’t go in there,” called the woman after her.

But Gertie had already slipped through the gap and pulled the door shut behind her.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried the man behind the desk.

Gertie faltered. Now that she had taken action, she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I had to come. I sent you a letter about a Jewish girl who is staying with me. Her family is trying to leave Germany. They have visas and positions here. All they need is the British government’s permission.”

“Mr. Wiggins? Are you all right in there?” called the receptionist, rattling at the door. “Should I call the police?”

Mr. Wiggins looked Gertie up and down before replying. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Meredith.” He turned to Gertie. “Please. Take a seat.”

She did as he asked. Mr. Wiggins had the pale and weary appearance of a man who couldn’t quite believe the hand life had dealt him. He gestured toward a pile of documents that reached the height of his shoulder. “Do you know what these are?”

Gertie thought the question unusual but decided it best to answer honestly. “No.”

“They are applications from Jewish families and individuals requesting to come to Britain.”

“I see.”

“And these have arrived only today.”

“But surely—” began Gertie before Mr. Wiggins cut her off with a raised hand.

“And there will be the same number or possibly more tomorrow. And the day after. And so on.”

“But surely this means that they need our help.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. . . . ?”

“Bingham. Gertie Bingham.”

“Yes. Mrs. Bingham. I’m sorry, but we can’t give carte blanche to everyone.”

Gertie cast her eyes behind Mr. Wiggins to the portrait of King George VI gazing benevolently at her. She remembered a photograph she’d seen of him laughing with the little princesses. “Do you have a family, Mr. Wiggins?”

A flicker of irritation darted across the man’s face. “Yes, of course, but I’m not sure what that has to do with—”

It was Gertie’s turn to cut him off. “I am asking because I wonder how you would feel if you were sent away with no hope of seeing them again.”

Mr. Wiggins frowned. “The British government has and is still offering refuge to thousands of Jewish children.”

Gertie sat bolt upright in her chair. “But what about their parents? What about their siblings? Do they not have a right to live free from persecution too?”

“Please do not raise your voice in this office, Mrs. Bingham.”

Gertie was on her feet now. “When should I raise my voice then, Mr. Wiggins? When people start to be killed because of their race or religion? Because I can guarantee that this is already happening.”

“I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

An adjoining door toward the back of Mr. Wiggins’s office opened. A pristine man appeared, wearing an Egyptian-blue suit and mauve silk tie with matching handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket. He exuded the air of private school and privilege. “Is everything all right, Mr. Wiggins? Miss Meredith said there had been something of a kerfuffle.” He flashed a brilliant smile at Gertie. It gave her the courage to speak before Mr. Wiggins could deliver his version of events.