Book Extract | The Piano Player of Budapest by Roxanne de Bastion

Book Extract

Excerpted with permission from the publishers The Piano Player of Budapest Roxanne de Bastion, published by Little, Brown/Hachette India
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……reading together my grandmother’s first-hand account of the horrors my family had been through.

The lengthy letter is written to her brother, who had settled in England after studying in Leeds, missing the war back home. Written on 10 March 1946, Edith’s shock and grief are raw, which makes her ability to recount the horrors so eloquently and, in part, poetically, all the more remarkable.
Reading the letter was painful then, but now that I have lived more of a life, have experienced grief and am all too aware of the horrific, historical context of her words, it hurts my head as much as my heart. I share Edith’s letter almost in full. It is too rich in detail and too poignant to omit. This is her story and that of Laslo, her children Elizabeth and Peter (whom she refers to by their respective Hungarian nicknames Muci and Pistike) and her family. Its purpose becomes abundantly clear towards the end – Edith writes this letter to ask for help getting her and her family out of Hungary.

My dearest brother,
I was glad to read your letter dated February 12th, from which I understand that, at long last, you received a letter from me. The three parcels containing medicines arrived as well, for which many thanks. It is a thrill for us to know that you did not suffer and that you did not have to endure the same horrors as was our lot, life has spared you all this, God helped you and everything worked out for you according to your plans. You cannot possibly imagine how proud we are of you, for having been able to create your future and organise your life in a foreign country without any help or assistance.

I now would like to describe to you all that happened to us since we parted; it won’t be easy, but I shall try. When the war broke out, we had our worries and forebodings, but we were not really afraid, we knew we were young and hoped that God would help us.

Laci was called up in September 1940. He was serving in Transylvania for three months; I was managing the business during his absence. This meant no great hardship for me, because I had learned the routine and understood the business to a certain extent, since I had been in the shop constantly. Laci got out of the army in December and everything continued normally. However, by that time the anti-Jewish tendency started taking shape seriously and one strict decree was promulgated after the other. In August 1941, our qualification as textile wholesalers was taken away, in spite of all our petitions and all the fight we put up. This meant that our stock was seized from one hour to the next. They took possession of it and passed it over to Christian wholesalers at prices much below its actual valuation. I cannot possibly describe to you what severe loss this meant to us financially. This was the first big slap in the face for the simple reason that we were Jewish. It meant the end of textiles for us. We were left with braidings, drapery and rugs. In these, for the time being, we could still deal since they were not touched by the regulations. You can imagine how difficult it was for Laci to switch over the entire business from one day to the next. But he would not have been Laslo Somogyi had he gotten afraid. He worked more than ever, and business expanded. It was as if God would have intended to take care of us in advance, so that we will have something to live on during the next four to five years. But I do not want to forestall events. Whatever was nice in my life came to an end. Dearest, I was very happy; the children developed beautifully, Laci worked successfully, we had a lovely home and Father was proud of us, because we could live so well. Who needs bigger happiness? Nobody does, right? I had everything. And I always prayed to God not to deprive me of this beautiful happy life.

He was called up again and on the 26th of November, they escorted him to death. We were most aware already then that he who is taken out there will not return. This was no secret. The aim obviously was to exterminate the Jews. My calvary started when I last saw him in the wagon as they took him away. It was horrifying. And I cannot describe to you how much I suffered at the beginning. But in spite of everything I had hope, because he was so strong and because he so solemnly promised to me that he will come back even if he has to cross China. These were his words, and I can hear them to this day. Thereafter, work was my only pleasure, apart from the children of course. I buried myself into the business and wanted to prove that I can stand my ground. I wanted to prove worthy of Laci so that he may be proud of me when, with God’s help, he will come back home. I worked an awful lot and everything went on the same way as if he had been around. Father was very proud of me. And people could not stop being amazed that I was able to conduct that big, important business. At that time, business still was important and serious. Of course, this was not as easy a task as people believed it to be – I was without any help and or support. Dearest, please take this as I say it: I had no help or support.
There was nobody next to me from whom I have got any advice.

In 1943, the fronts crumbled completely and I started worrying for Laci greatly, because I had no news whatsoever from him since January. At that time, I sent you a telegram asking that you try to investigate about him, but already then, I felt that he may have become a prisoner. This is how the year 1943 came to pass in sadness. Alas, how these worries got dwarfed during the years to follow. Never would I have believed that I may have a deeper pain and worry than the fact that Laci is not by my side! But this is exactly what happened. As you know, on March 19th 1944, the Germans invaded us, and this marked the end of a secure, calm life, and we lost our personal freedom. Dearest, I shall never be able to tell you and you will never be able to grasp (thank God!) what it means to live under German hegemony. Only those who were involved can measure up the terri- ble fright and suffering we went through. And an outsider, even when having heard about it all, cannot possibly judge the situation. So the suffering started then and there – every day brought new regulations, which gradually deprived us of all our belongings. It started with the business last April: we had to shut the premises and leave behind the entire stock, such as it was. You can probably imagine how painful this was for me. The beautiful work and its result was annihilated and turned into nothing.

What I missed most was the work itself. It was terrible to get up in the morning and not go to work, but sit at home, locked up, because after the decree concerning the wearing of the yellow star, another decree was promulgated, restricting going out. This meant that one was permitted to walk in the streets only between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. Even the two children had to wear the star, because they were over the age of six. This was followed by regulations concerning the apartments. Certain houses were designated as ‘Jewish dwellings’. The buildings themselves had to be marked with a star. Fortunately, Falk Miksa Street 12, where we lived at the time, was made one of those star houses. Because I had a four-room flat, I had to accept three more families to come live with us – ten to twelve people lived in each room. It was dreadful. It was probably the mildest of the tortures, but at the time, it proved to be the most difficult to endure and the most nerve-racking.

Meanwhile, summer arrived and we were living in complete uncertainty, not knowing what actually is in store for us. At that time, the deportation of Jews from the provinces had started already, and we learned with trepidation that our relatives and acquaintances were taken to Germany. Seventy to eighty people locked in one railway car: what their fate would be thereafter, we did not know at the time. We realised that, unless some miracle does save us, the same fate will befall us too and we were desperately trying to figure out – grasping every blade of straw, figuratively speaking – just how we could save our bare lives.

There were those who acquired false personal documents and went into hiding. This was not an easy undertaking either. It was risky living since, in case someone recognised them or found them suspicious, they would be denounced, which would mean the end. Although the risk was great, it was worthwhile, because there was pretty little hope that one could win the game in an honest way. I was constantly racking my brain as to how I could protect the children, so that they at least can stay alive. At that time, I was still hoping that with God’s help Laci will return at the end of the war and can find them. At that particular time the situation was such that provided Laci was imprisoned he was probably in the best position. And of course you, my darling, we were thinking of you longingly, how fortunate it was that you were out there, not knowing of anything. And that at least, you will be the only survivor of the entire family.

After serious scrutiny, I decided to send the children to the provinces with false papers. I secured Christian papers for them for money. I taught them their new names. They were so clever and grasped the situation so well, that my task was not too difficult. Uncle recommended someone who was willing to take them in for money. It was a very hard decision for me, but since I had no other choice, I went ahead and parted with them with a bleeding heart. I figured that in a village, in the fresh air, they will be far better off than being locked up in a room, that they will have better nourishment and, what is most important, that they will have a chance to survive. Unfortunately, I could not go with them, because my features would have created suspicion. The local gendarmerie, who were watching out for everyone who seemed the least bit suspicious, would have detected the Jewish descent and I thus would have caused trouble for the children. They themselves do not look Jewish at all, and hopefully God will protect them.

I parted with them in June and started working in and moved to a factory, which was designated a war enterprise. Father, Mother, Uncle and Aunty were there as well. We all thought that this was the most secure refuge for the moment. Would you want to know what I did in that factory? Imagine, I worked in the kitchen! Aunty was the head cook and I myself, together with four other kitchen maids, helped her. Regular military severity and discipline reigned there. We lived in common quarters and slept on straw sacks. We were locked up, just like in military barracks. Cooking was done for seventy people, workers and leaders. Father and Uncle were employees, just as ourselves, with the sole difference that they had separate sleeping quarters – four to a room. Sometimes, undetected, we slipped up to their place and in secret ate a few better bites, which was smuggled in for Father and Uncle to the factory. But this relatively quiet life did not last long, because when the first Jews of Budapest were gathered and deported in railway cars, we became very frightened. With permission of the head of the workshop, we all left the factory. This was our good fortune since a few weeks later all the Jewish workers and their Jewish superiors at the factory were deported.

The summer of 1944 ended with a lot of trepidation. The children had to be brought back to me, because they were in danger. The gendarmes examined my Pistike and things became suspicious. They had to be helped to flee to avoid the gendarmes and you can imagine what I went through emotionally until I had the children by my side again. At that time, I lived with my mother and, had she not been with me, I would have very likely gone crazy. All this time, we lived through horrible air raids. I don’t think I have to elaborate here about this, since you out there had similar experiences. There were days when we had four to five raids, entire rows of buildings collapsed as a result.

The sufferings did not end. And now I have to come to our financial status. We had to surrender all our jewellery and all valuables or at least declare them all. For example, as I had mentioned before, the business was seized together with the entire stock, buildings, and everything – it all had to be declared, which meant that one could not touch anything and certainly not sell anything. What actually had we been living on for more than half a year? I had a bit of money hidden away with one of my Christian employees, and he brought me some money whenever I needed funds. Furthermore, the bank where the business account had been kept was entitled to pay a very small amount per month from a ‘frozen’ account just so that we will not starve. Furthermore, I placed the majority of my jewellery with various friends and acquaintances and whenever I had to face a bigger expense, I covered it by selling something.

And then, October 15th came upon us. What had happened before was child’s play and a festivity compared to what was in store for us thereafter. Believe me, all we had gone through was horrible enough, but you must realise that even bad things can get worse. October 15th was the day when Hungary intended to surrender. Horthy declared that we shall not fight any longer, that the Germans misguided us, the Russians reached our borders, we cannot possibly fight them and Germany does not offer sufficient help. Therefore, we are willing to dispose of arms. How happy we were – oh my God, we believed all our suffering over the war was at its end, at least for us. But unfortunately, this was not the case. How disappointed we were, how horrible it was to be informed over the radio that the Germans passed over the power and the leadership to the Arrow Cross, for them to continue the fight. This is how the entire country was ruined, deprived and robbed of everything, whilst the Jews, those few who were still around – in the provinces there were no Jews left and only a handful who lived in Pest – were deported or simply killed. Now there started a race for life. We were running hither and thither like pursued wild animals. We did not know just what to do. A few buildings were designated as sheltered houses for Jews with foreign safe papers. We were in possession of such a document and we tried to find accommodation in one of those buildings. So many of us were thrown together that there were thirty-five to forty people per apart- ment. Father procured for us three of the Swiss safe papers. This was the name of the document which was issued by foreign embassies. Mother did not have one yet and I got her one overnight for a golden box, because these could be obtained only for money or jewellery. This way I could take Mother with me whilst the children were taken care of by the Red Cross. Pistike was taken to a boys’ institute, the Collegium Josefium, while Muci was sheltered with nuns at the Convent of the Mercy. This way I hoped to save their lives. I never trusted for a moment that we in the sheltered accommodations would be spared. This seemed a transitory stage and we had to wait and see what follows. Forty of us lived in that sheltered house in a three-room flat, and we were trembling, awaiting future developments. Mother was in care of the kitchen. We cooked together for everybody. Mother organised everything very well. This was our only activity and this is how we spent all our time.

I used to have an extremely decent helper in our business. He was an honest, reliable, simple, Christian man, father of two children, and he helped me a great deal, always provided us with food, even at the time when it was already forbidden for us to have contact with Christians. This helper of mine by the name of Jeno came to see me daily. He constantly said that he will provide me with Christian documents and that I will have to go into hiding since I have to be saved for the sake of my two children. I have to stay alive, because Laci will return and he must find us amongst the survivors. He loved Laci and wanted to save us all, at all cost. I did not have too much faith in his suggestions and was not courageous enough to go into the proposed dangerous game. But gradually I realised that he was right and that there is no other solution for me than to follow his advice. A few days later, he brought me the papers of his own sister, the marriage certificate of his own parents, and the baptismal certificate of his parents, which were all excellent documents. The best one could possibly obtain. I did not know what to do. Uncle had a Christian sister-in-law, who accepted that I live with her as a tenant under my pseudonym. And since everything was well prepared, there was nothing left for me to do than to muster enough energy and go into hiding. On the evening of December 1st, I stealthily fled from the sheltered house where I had been living for two weeks. Not even Mother knew about it. She had happened to be in the kitchen preparing supper. I still heard her voice as I was slipping out of the corridor: ‘Edith, Edith, where is that child? Has anyone seen her?’ These were the last words I heard from her. It was awful. I almost burst out crying. But I could not possibly go and take leave from her because others would have noticed and my plan would have fallen through. This was how I left her. And at that moment I did not realise that I shall never see her again. Very often, when I remember this, I’m full of remorse and accuse myself, thinking that had I not left her then the poor soul would probably still be alive and would not have been taken away. That I was the cause of her misfortune. But then again, I think that God’s intentions are imponderable and that who knows whether we would have survived had I stayed. This much is certain: she did know about my plan and she always encouraged me to go for the sake of the children without worrying about her, because she would not stay there anyway. Grandma and family were living in a sheltered house at number 6 Tatra Street and she intended to move there. We ourselves were not far from them. But prior to coming to Mother’s tragedy, I have to tell you what happened to the Jews while we were in the sheltered house, and even before we moved there. A few days after the Arrow Cross gang came to power i.e. after October 15th, all men between the ages of sixteen and sixty-five were collected from the Jewish houses. I mentioned before that Jews had to live in special houses marked with a yellow star. Thus it was not difficult to find them and herd them together. Of course, they could only take those who were still around, since most age groups, mainly eighteen to forty or even fifty, had been called up earlier. They were taken partly to the Russian front in 1942 and later, they had to do compulsory labour in Hungary. They took away even those who happen to have returned. In other words, they took all menfolk away in railway cars and many of them on foot. They all were taken out of the country. They then reached the Nazi death camps, and the majority of them perished there. The next step concerned women between the ages of eighteen and forty. Everybody had to go and the fact that I was left out can solely be described as a stroke of luck. It would be too lengthy to give you all details. Suffice it to say that these unfortunate women were dragged out of the country as well, partly on foot, partly squeezed into railway cars, same as the men. Their destinations were the German death camps, too. You may have heard about them. Ninety per cent of the Jewish population was dragged away in October/November. A few of us who lived in sheltered houses escaped the worst for the time being. But the Arrow Cross gangsters were still not satisfied. Once we had already congregated in the sheltered house, they started to vacate those and dragged away people one after the other. Some were taken to the ghetto. By that time, the ghetto had already been installed; it was located between Kiraly Street, Karoly Ring, Erzsebet Ring and Dohany Street. This territory was designated to be the ghetto: those who were still home and were not living in sheltered houses had to move there. These were mostly old folks and all those who by chance were left out of the masses that were dragged away. When I saw that living in a sheltered house means no protection, I decided to leave but I thought I would somehow get a hold of papers and accommodation for Mother as well, so that I can put her into hiding too. But after I had left, Mother had no will to stay. She wanted to join Grandma at all costs. And when a few days later, I sent Aunty Jolan to her (this was the Christian sister- in-law of Uncle, with whom I lived by then), Mother persuaded her to accompany her to number 6 Tatra Street to Grandma’s. She packed her rucksack marked with the yellow star. And this proved fatal. She started out to join Grandma; Aunt Jolan accompanied her because Mother was very short-sighted, and in those days it was most dangerous to walk in the streets since the Arrow Cross gangs grabbed everybody and either threw them into the ghetto or worse. Later on, when deportation became impossible because the Russians closed the frontiers, people were herded and tied together in the streets and simply thrown into the river Danube. This fate befell Bela Bodor and Teri. Thus Mother started off with Aunt Jolan to proceed to Grandma’s, but when she reached the gate, she remembered having forgotten her overshoes upstairs and sent Aunt Jolan back up to fetch them. She said she herself would meanwhile go ahead slowly so that Aunt Jolan could catch up with her. But when Aunt Jolan reached downstairs again Mother was nowhere to be found. She looked for her everywhere. She ran to Grandma at number 6 Tatra Street, but she was not there either. As we later found out, this is what happened. Hardly had Mother taken a few steps, she ran into a group of Arrow Cross gangsters. Noticing the yellow star on Mother’s rucksack, they dragged her into the ranks, stating that this is where she belonged. Dearest, it is gruesome to write about this. I suffered terribly, the thought of what she must have gone through . . . It is most painful to think about it. How much more awful must it have been to experience it? This happened on December 6th, and on the 8th, they closed her up in a railway car and deported her from the country. She was first taken to Gunskirchen and from there to Bergen-Belsen, where she disappeared without leaving any trace. And up to this day we don’t know anything about her. These things were relayed to me by Janice Schwartz. You may remember him – he is the youngest son of Laci’s sister, who by chance found himself in the same railway car as Mother. They were together up until Gunskirchen, where they were ‘distributed’. He returned home around June 1945 and it was he who told me all this, but this is all he knew. All searches proved fruitless. Nobody who managed to get back from there knows anything about her, except for a girl who says she saw her in Bergen-Belsen in February ’45. She says that at that time, Mother was still relatively well–she still owned her dress and her coat. But this particular girl got taken away from the camp in February and knows no more about Mother’s fate. I myself only found out all this in March 1945. When Buda was liberated, and I could come over to Pest – up until then, I thought Mother was taken to the ghetto, because nobody dared tell me anything else so that I should not get distressed even more. This was the time when I found out what had happened to Father. I did not know anything about him between December 1944 and March 1945. This was so because, since I was in hiding under a false name, I could not be in touch with anybody. Except through Jeno, my shop assistant, because according to the papers, I was his younger sister. Only he could visit me. I did no walking around so that I will not get caught. So as I mentioned before, the children were in various institutions and Jeno kept visit- ing them, too. And this way, I had news about them. Jeno was extremely decent. He took the children home to his family every Sunday, and it was there that the two of those poor souls could see each other. You can imagine what they suffered emotionally. They had to go through so much. They had not seen me for over four weeks by then. That is when Christmas arrived. It was Jeno’s wish that Christmas can be spent together, the children and myself, and he planned to steal me over to Buda, where they lived. This was a most daring enterprise, since many Arrow Cross gangsters lived in that building. But he was adamant to do everything so that during the holidays, at least, we could be together. And he brought the children to his house and then under the cover of night, he guided me across. We made the journey, trembling and in fright. But God helped us and we made a crossing successfully. You can imagine how glad the children were and what happiness I felt to be able to see them again and spend a few hours quietly as a family. Those simple people were so good to us, that I can state bravely never to have experienced so much kindness and love than on this particular occasion. I am indebted to them for the life of my children and of my own, because just when I was over there, on the evening of December 24th, the long-awaited attack of the city started. At long last the Russians surrounded the city, and the big battle began, which lasted until February 12th. This is what we had been waiting for all along for weeks on end, because we knew that this is the only way for us to be saved. The only miracle that could help us was the Russian attack, provided the Russians got here on time. They would liberate us and then maybe there would be no time to exterminate everybody. So the attack of Buda began on Christmas Eve. It appeared then that Buda would be liberated in a matter of days. But Buda was so strongly defended by the Arrow Cross gangs, that what actually happened is what we least believed possible: Pest was liberated much earlier, on January 18th, while Buda had to suffer another month of battles fought there. The few surviving Jews are indebted for their lives to the fact that the Russians finally reached Pest and started their attack. Had the storming lasted for less time, more of us may have remained alive because there would have been less time to exterminate us. Not even during the storming could the Arrow Cross gangsters be halted and even during late December and the first days of January, many unfortunate people lost their lives. Jeno and his family took an enormous risk by hiding us, since when Jews were found in a Christian home, the Christian families were put to death together with their protégés. You can well imagine that we were trembling. When the great attack started on 24th December, it was impossible to cross over to Pest the next day, and thus neither the children nor I myself could be slipped back to Pest anymore. But this may have been our good fortune. Because this way we could stay together and could live through the horrors in each other’s company. You cannot imagine how horrible the storming proved to be. First, electricity was cut off. Then bombardments and many direct hits at various buildings. One had to spend most of the time in the cellar. For six weeks. We were locked up, nine of us in that small shelter. There were four children, two of mine and two of Jeno’s wife, his sister, the latter’s daughter-in- law, a young woman and myself. After a while we had no more water. Whenever there was a bit of calm, one had to quickly run out some- where in the neighbourhood. Meanwhile, the bombardment started afresh. It was horrifying. Then the reserve food ran out. This was the worst, the poor children were very hungry. Eventually we got food from the soldiers, sometimes from Hungarian soldiers, at another time from German ones. All the time we lived in fright that someone may find out that we were Jewish, but God helped us and we lived to see the end. And on 12th February, the entire city was liberated. The Russians had captured Buda as well. Pest, as I mentioned before, was liberated on 18th January already. All bridges were demolished by explosives by the Germans that night after they had crossed over to Buda to defend that part of the city further. But all their efforts were in vain. They were vanquished by the Russians and finally, all the suffering came to an end. I cannot describe what I felt when after six weeks I emerged from the cellar as a free human being and could resume being Mrs Laslo Somogyi instead of Jolan Wippner, whom I impersonated for so long. Can you fathom my feelings when I saw the sky, the sun, for the first time again and realised that I am alive, free, a human being and not a persecuted animal any longer. What I saw was awful, ruins around me everywhere. More and more ruins all around. Mud, filth, blood, corpses in the streets, which were not streets but battlefields for weeks on end. Corpses of the horses and German soldiers were lying on top of each other in the mud, but I could not care less. WE are alive. The three of us, my two children and myself, and of course, Jeno, and his family. Thank God we all escaped the worst. We were hugging and kissing one another and could not get enough of the feeling of freedom, which we had been deprived of for so long. There is no more danger. Everything is over. Now let us go and start living again.

Unfortunately, we had to stay in Jeno’s flat for more than a month since there were no bridges, and it was most dangerous to cross the river by canoe. But I started to get some news from home. I learnt about Father and that my family were all right, that my place of business was completely robbed and that my apartment, although devastated by a nearby bomb explosion, was still there and that I should not worry. My family were waiting for us patiently. For them, life started again in Pest – we were told who survived, who disappeared. But there was no news to impart about Mother. This worried me a great deal. Only on the night before I was finally able to cross over, Jeno told me not to look for her, since she had been deported in December. This is the way I found out . . . You know, don’t you, what I felt? She was your mother as well, but please don’t begrudge me, it was I who loved her more and her loss was very, very painful for me. And as long as I live, I shall feel remorse for perhaps having sacrificed her life to save mine. I left her. Had I not done so, both of us may have stayed alive right there. As I found out later, nobody from that particular sheltered house was taken away. People either escaped the way I did or stayed there and those who did were liberated. Who could have foreseen how it would all be?

Father suffered a lot, too. I believe he wrote you that he was in hiding with Aunty in Pest. They were caught by the Arrow Cross gangsters and taken to one of their houses, where Aunty committed suicide. Father was saved miraculously, you cannot fathom what state he was in . . . When we first met, he was so weak from hunger and from being beaten that he was unable to stand on his own two feet for quite some time to come. But as time passed, and spring arrived, ‘Joie de Vivre’ returned. I started working again. I reopened my plundered shop where amongst lots of rubbish I found a few pieces of value, remnants of my immense stock. I started working again in my own little business, and I was free. I could go wherever I wanted, whenever the fancy took me – nobody stopped me in the streets for identification, asking why I wasn’t wearing the yellow star. People started to put behind them the memory of the past and the horrors. We were looking forward to welcoming back those who had been deported. But unfortunately, very few of them came and no news reached us concerning Mother. Nothing could be found out about the prisoners either, which was a great disappointment to me. Slowly our life started to take shape again. By the end of May we had electricity again. By June, we had gas for the kitchen. The tramway circulated, they started to restore the city, which was in shambles. Only our hearts cannot find peace. Ever so many miserable people are walking the streets. It is not just me. Everybody seems affected. The husband of one, the parents of the next and the children of the third one are missing. There are so many people who were left completely alone. I have to thank God for having saved my two children and Father. But we shall never reconcile the loss of our dear mother. Are you surprised, darling, that after all the foregoing, I ask you in this, my first letter, to help us to get away from here? Can one be happy here, where every building, every street is full of sad memories? I have to walk along Tatra Street every day, and think that my poor mother was taken right here to her death. I have to see the river Danube which became the grave of so many unfortunate people who were thrown into it, and I have to live among the killers, the criminals who are walking about in freedom, as very few of them were caught and executed. Is it possible? Is it worth living here? Is it worth my while creating a new existence only for it to be taken away from me again in a few years' time? I’m sure you are not surprised that I would like to flee this place. To go to any place in the world where they will accept us, where I intend to work honestly, just as I did here, and where I can raise my children. Nothing in the world holds me here. There is not even a graveside where I could have a good cry. God alone knows where my poor mother is buried. I still don’t know whether my husband is alive, or whether he too is rest- ing in Russian soil somewhere. I don’t know and I don’t hope for anything, except for the possibility that with God’s help, I shall get out of here. And now I shall bring this to a close. Forgive me, my dear, for the length of this report. There is a lot I left out. I could have written twice as much. Even so, I have been writing this letter for a month in at least five instalments because there is little time in my life for such pursuits. It is almost midnight. I am rather tired and I have to get up early in the morning. What I am afraid of is that this letter will be weighty and that it will not reach you. Let us hope it will though. At any rate, I wrote it in two copies, and if the first one should get lost, I shall prepare another copy. Before I finish, let me tell you that the three of you are our only joy. Every one of your letters means a holiday for us. You make me most happy when you write. So let me ask you to write frequently. We had to be silent for such a long time. Let us tell each other everything. It is such a good feeling for me to have you at least; we loved each other very much always. I was missing you so very much during the last eight and a half years, ever since you left here.

I think about Edith’s mother, my poor great-grandmother Ilona, often. I learned at a young age that she died in the concentration camp of Bergen-Belsen. What haunts me is the thought of her innocence. I picture a short-sighted, well-meaning woman smiling on the street, walking straight into the arms of the Arrow Cross. Her short-sightedness was caused by a rare, hereditary eye condition. I have it too and can relate to not being able to make out whether someone approaching is friend or foe.

We had only ever had this story, never definitive proof of what happened to Ilona at the concentration camp. I remember one day, my mother was watching a documentary on the Holocaust. She jumped up from the sofa to grab the remote. With a loud exclama- tion of surprise, she paused the broadcast: ‘Look!’ she shouted, wide- eyed. On the paused screen, the camera is caught panning over a logbook of names, a list of those killed in Bergen-Belsen. There, in the middle of the alphabetised column, is her name: Reich, Ilona (Budapest).
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Roxanne de Bastion, The Piano Player of Budapest Little, Brown/Hachette India, 2024. Pb. Pp.288

This is a story about a piano and its most prodigious player — how it, along with him, survived.

When her father died, singer songwriter Roxanne de Bastion inherited a piano she knew had been in her family for over a hundred years. But it is only when she finds a cassette recording of her grandfather, Stephen, playing one of his compositions, the true and almost unbelievable history of the piano, this man and her family begins to unravel.

Stephen was a man who enjoyed great fame, a man who suffered the horrors of concentration camps in WWII, a man who ultimately survives — along with his piano. By piecing together his cassette recordings, unpublished memoirs, letters and documents, Roxanne sings out her grandfather's story of music and hope, lost and found, and explores the power of what can echo down through generations.

Roxanne de Bastion is a singer-songwriter and artist advocate. She has released two critically acclaimed albums that have been championed by the likes of Iggy Pop and Steve Lamacq. Her music has garnered praise in the Observer, NME, Record Collector and Rolling Stone Germany, and her pioneering DYI artistry and activism have been featured in the Metro, Huffington Post, LBC and Sky News. Roxanne has toured opening for Katie Melua, Howard Jones, Lambchop and Martha Wainwright and has performed at Latitude, Glastonbury and Cambridge Folk Festival. In 2018, she self-published her tour diaries Tales from the Rails and in 2021, she was the first artist to embark on a virtual UK tour when the pandemic hit. Roxanne sits on the board of the Featured Artist Coalition (alongside artists such as Dave Rowntree of Blur and Imogen Heap) and the PPL Performer Board, where she represents artists' rights. She is the founder of the independent artist conference FM2U (From Me to You). Roxanne has held talks at Brunel University, Reeperbahn Festival and re:publica on topics such as 'Designing your Own Future' and 'Female is not a Genre' and has been invited to speak on panel discussions at international music industry conferences such as The Great Escape, Folk Alliance and the English Folk Expo. Roxanne also hosts a radio show on North London's Boogaloo Radio. The Piano Player of Budapest is her first book.