Suddenly I find myself in Warsaw, under attack from German Stukas; Warsaw, burning from German bombs. More than sixty years have passed but I can still vividly see that young woman, me, running wildly, distractedly, through her streets, heedless of the raging fires, falling masonry and her own personal danger.

After weeks of constant bombardment, Warsaw awoke one October morning in 1939 to the unfamiliar sounds of silence - no wail of sirens, no crash of bombs, no screech of dive-bombers or shouting from the streets. People gathered in small groups, wondering at this unexpected outbreak of peace.

"Its Rosh Hashanah, after all. Adolf has decided to turn over a new leaf, in honour of his Jewish friends," said Tadusz, who fancied himself as a comedian.

"A new leaf, my eye!" replied Yitzhak. "Mr Roosevelt has turned over a new leaf for him. England, America and France have threatened to bomb Berlin if he doesn't stop this madness".

The listeners nodded agreement. Even a meshuggeneh (madman) like Hitler was not likely to call America's bluff.

The day itself was a clear, if crisp day, an example of the type of autumnal weather that Warsaw could turn on. All in all, there was little to depress the spirit on this morning. People went about their business as if the war was over. Some even believed it was. I was at home feeding my little girl, Nina.

"Hello, is anyone home?" came a soft voice from the front door.

"Oh, come in, Henya. I won't be long. Sit down and I'll make a cup of tea. Maybe we can go to the park afterwards."

"No, not the park, Faigele. I've just heard that Mottel has returned. Maybe he has news of our husbands.".

Mottel had left Warsaw over a week ago, along with many of the able-bodied men, at the urging of the Polish authorities. Since they did not believe that the city could be defended against the mechanised might of the invader, and to protect its classic architecture and sculpture. The intention was to concentrate the forces well east of the city, and retake it when the Germans had been beaten and forced to retreat. Thus, the government ordered all males of military age out of Warsaw and to report to the marshalling area around Kracow.

My husband had not wanted to go without Nina and myself, but in the end I prevailed.

Shortly thereafter, an acquaintance told us of a story he had heard from a friend, who had been with the men who left the city at the same time as my husband, Shmuel. As they headed eastwards a flight of German planes appeared and attacked the column of men and machines. There was pandemonium, and many casualties. He himself had returned to Warsaw, but as to who was living and who had died in that horrific episode, he couldn't really say with any certainty. Although I am not a pessimistic person, I could not help a feeling of dread, that perhaps I was responsible for Shmuel's death. My neighbour Henya, who's husband had also gone with that group, was in the same situation. We felt that even knowing that they were dead would have been better that not knowing anything. With a heavy heart, I recalled the circumstances of his departure.

I remembered that particular September day; September 5th, a few days after war had been declared. I was on the street when trucks carrying produce arrived. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, young men rushed towards the trucks and the nearby shops. Chaos spread everywhere. People ran, screaming. Looters attacked the trucks and the shops, their arms full of whatever goods they could carry. There were no police in sight. The mood of the mob was very ugly.

I ran home to find Shmuel asleep. He was exhausted. The previous night he had been pressed into a gang to dig anti-tank ditches to stop the German army from entering the city in force. It had been back-breaking work, and he had collapsed into bed as soon as he had been released.

Hurriedly I woke him and told him of the chaos in the streets. I feared a repeat of the "Krystalnacht", the "Night of Broken Glass", that had heralded the start of the epidemic of antisemitic fever that had swept through Germany like wildfire. It was a night when not only were Jewish homes and shops attacked, their windows smashed, and, in some instances, set alight, but there were violent attacks on Jews who had the misfortune to be out of doors that night. Many were badly beaten, some crippled and others even killed. The mob rampaging in the streets below threatened a similar ending.

It was time for the radio news. As we had a set in our home, it was a regular gathering place for friends and neighbours at this time. They came to hear the news and the news was not good. The invaders were winning the early engagements, and Warsaw could not be realistically defended. It was decreed that all men between 16 and 60 were to consider themselves as being in the army on active service, and that they should immediately leave the capital and report to the mustering point in the east. An announcement to this effect was repeated every few minutes. The women around me gasped, while the men shuddered. I knew what had to be done.

"You must go. You cannot be here when they come." I had not at this time heard anything about concentration camps or gas chambers, but I did know that the Nazis dealt very harshly with communists and Jews.

"How can I leave you here at the mercy of these animals ? If I go, you will come too".

"Really", I replied heatedly "How can I take a four-year-old child on such a journey ? We'll be fine here for the time being. You, however, will be in grave danger. Not only are you a Jew, but you have been a member of the Communist Party. For you, to stay here would mean certain death".

I had prevailed. As he left the apartment, I heard a door further down the passage open, and sensed, rather than saw, a pair of prying eyes peering around the jamb. A stage whisper to someone inside :-

"What has come over that woman ? She's throwing her husband out. At a time like this ? She's completely taken leave of her senses"

I gave Shmuel a food parcel and begged him to let me know as soon as possible where he was and what was happening to him. He left along with my youngest brother, Yossie, and I stayed behind with Nina and Shmuel's sister, Cesia. It was to be a long time before I saw them again.

Soon after they departed, a neighbour came and suggested that the three of us would be much safer if we came to stay with her. Living on the third floor of the apartment block would be too dangerous when the Germans resumed their bombing.

All this went through my mind when I heard what had befallen the menfolk on their easterly trek. Sleep was very difficult to find in those bleak times, and the constant thought that I might have been the architect of their misfortune haunted me.

Now, at last, perhaps we could learn the truth about our loved ones. Mottel would have news, one way or the other. Although I was, naturally, apprehensive as to what he might tell us, I had to know. Logic told me that I had done the right thing. When the Germans entered Warsaw, it would have gone badly for Shmuel, my brother and our other friends, but the feeling of dread for what I'd done was always there, hovering like a malignant phantom. We women were still complacent about our own likely fate. We knew that life would not be easy - it was war, after all - but was not Europe a civilised place? And the Germans a civilised people ?

So we traded our pleasant stroll in the park for a pilgramage to see Mottel. This initially created a small problem for me. He lived about five kilometres from where we were, on Mila Street. Of course, due to the bombing of the last few days, there was no public transport but being young, we could easily walk the distance in less than an hour. However, carrying a child was something else. I therefore allowed myself to be persuaded to leave four-year-old Nina behind. But where could I find someone responsible to look after her for a short time ? Luckily, my friend Esther, who lived around the corner, was home and agreed to mind her.

The reunion with Motel was emotional, more so as he assured us that both our husbands were safe in Lublin, or at least had been a couple of days earlier. My happiness knew no bounds. Shmuel was safe.

"Not," he shrugged, "that it was an uneventful trip. But God looks after his own, and we lived to tell the story."

"What story ? What happened?" Curiosity consumed us.

"Let me tell you. At one stage, we thought we were done for. We took the train to the outskirts of Warsaw, and headed out on the Lublin road. At worst, we thought, we'll walk the distance in a week without too much effort. With a little luck, maybe a truck would stop and give us a ride. Or several trucks, since there were so many of us. And so it happened. A convoy of army lorries passed, the last two stopping and offering us a lift. The truck I rode in was the last of the convoy. The driver was no more than a child. The uniform was so big on him that he looked like he was on his way to a costume party. But as he spoke, we soon realized that childhood had passed him by. All he spoke about was the war, and his own glorious role in it.

"We did not hear them coming. The world exploded before our eyes and suddenly the road was above us while the sky lay beneath. There was a terrible smell of petrol and fear. Somehow, all five of us dragged ourselves out of the wreckage as the planes, I think they were Messerschmitts, returned to finish the job. Ahead of us were the abandoned trucks, in full view of the circling aeroplanes. We quickly managed to crawl into a ditch while the remaining trucks were destroyed. Had our truck exploded like some of the others, I would not be here now."

"A miracle," nodded Henya. "Surely a sign that things won't be as bad as everyone thinks. There is still a God in this world and he will never forsake us."

Even as she spoke, a familiar sound - the wail of the air raid siren - invaded our consciousness. We rushed onto the balcony to see which area was targetted this time. I saw them first; malevolent black dots in the sky ... approaching the area from which we had come. The shriek of the dive, as always, was the overture, announcing that the attack was about to begin. And our homes, Henya's and mine, would bear the brunt of this attack. Our homes, I realized with horror, and my child. We should have realised that the Luftwaffe would vent their spleen on a Jewish area on a Jewish holy day.

"I'm going," I managed to blurt out. "I have to find Nina".

"Don't be silly. She's in good hands, probably in the shelter by now. Do you really want to orphan her by running through the streets during an air raid?" Henya tried to calm me.

"I don't know. I just can't sit here while she is in danger. I have to get back."

"All right. Let's go. You won't listen to reason so I'd better come and keep you out of trouble." Henya raised her eyes to the sky. "Come on."

We ran towards the Mila area. Smoke was already billowing into the clear blue sky. What an obscenity on such a sunny day! Fear spurred me on and Henya was having difficulty keeping up.

"Faigale, let's hold hands so we don't become separated. There are so many people rushing about".

Indeed there were. We had reached the edge of the Jewish quarter, where the infamous ghetto wall was to stand in the not-too-distant future. The planes had departed, but the evidence of their visit was all too obvious. Residents were emerging from the shelters and surveying the devastation. Some were already clawing at the piles of collapsed masonry that had been their homes. We passed an apartment building that had once stood three storeys high. It had been hit and the top two storeys were a pile of rubble. A baby's wailing could be heard from under the rubble. Air raid wardens stalked around organising the milling crowd into rescue parties, their officious manner heightening the effect of being caught in a nightmare.

"You two. Where are you going? Can't you see it's too dangerous to go through there? If you want to be buried under a falling building, that's your problem, but go do it in someone else's district. Here, I'm responsible for the safety of the people who'll have to dig you out."

A tall bearded individual who looked somewhat incongruous in his tin hat (like a saucepan without a handle) strode towards us. His armband gave him the authority of an air raid warden. A tallis protruding from a padded jacket did nothing to lessen the effect that he had walked straight out of a comic operetta. His manner, however, was grimly purposeful as he strode towards us.

"Please," I heard myself say, "my child is in there, in the next block. I have to get through to her. She is only four years old. I must go to her. Please."

"Are you mad? It's much too dangerous. Let those who are already there, look after her. We've got more than enough to do here. God will surely not desert her while her mother is saving lives here."

His expression had softened, but his resolve obviously had not. At this point Henya intervened.

"Come Faigele, he is right. Other mothers and children need help here, other rescuers are at work on Mila. You'll see, she will be all right."

As the bearded one turned towards her, I sensed my opportunity and took it. Tearing myself loose from Henya's grasp, I crossed the makeshift barricade and bolted past the flaming ruins.

Uncomprehending, I raced past corpses awaiting collection by the burial crews. Heedless of the wind, which was starting to bite despite the flames around me, and of the blisters which were plaguing my feet (since I was not wearing socks), I lurched on, aware only that at the top of the hill was my daughter, and she needed me.

The sight that greeted me as I crested that hill almost caused my heart to stop. The entire area where Nina had been was a cauldron of flames. Nothing could possibly have survived in there.

A cold evening wind ripped through my flimsy summer dress as I ran heedlessly through an unfamiliar landscape where my old familiar neighbourhood had been, fighting to keep my panic under control. Buildings blazed on either side and from time to time, the crash as one collapsed under the strain could be heard. As the breath rasped in my chest and my lungs threatened to burst, I cursed the naiveté which had separated me from my child in such circumstances. Who could say if I would ever find her again, or indeed, if she were alive. Still, I forced myself to press on, until I found my path barred once again, this time by a large policeman.

"This is as far as you go, lady. You can see that going in there is to go to your death. Why make Hitler a present of your life? Has he earned it?"

"Sir, my daughter, she's in there. She's all I have left now. My husband has left, and my Nina is all I have. I must go to her. Please understand how a mother feels."

"I'm not a mother, nor will I ever be, but I do understand. On the other hand, you can see how it is in there. Both the paper mill and fuel depot have been set alight, and nothing could possibly be alive in there. Tell me exactly where you left your daughter? It is possible she may have escaped, you know. If so, she would want her mother to be healthy, not burned to a crisp. Probably you are all she has left, too"

"Sir, she was with my friend, opposite the paper mill. An apartment block - I can't see it. It must have collapsed."

"Then there is nothing you can do anyway. But why be pessimistic? Many people escaped before the bombs hit. Can you describe your daughter to me? Maybe I will remember seeing her."

I felt my panic receding ever so slightly. To say that I was becoming calm may be an exaggeration, but the soothing manner of the officer was starting to have an effect on me.

"She is four years old, with curly red hair. My girlfriend is dark, with a mole on her cheek."

"Your daughter was perhaps wearing a blue and gold gown, or jacket?"

I nodded, dumbfounded. Relief does not adequately describe my emotion at the time. If he knew about the jacket, he must have seen her. She must be safe.

"Well, you see, there is nothing to worry about. She passed me on the shoulders of a tallish man with a moustache and wearing a check coat. They went to the shelter. Your daughter will be fine. That is where you should go to find her."

However, by the time I arrived there was no sign of Nina or her minders. Those with whom she had shared the safety of the shelter remembered her as the little girl who had sat uncomplainingly through the raid whilst the other children cried, fought and threw tantrums. But where she had gone, no one knew. My relief ebbed away. She should be here. Why was she not here? Had I not been punished enough for leaving her? I scanned the faces of those around me. Not one was familiar. Was no one I knew still alive ?

Intuition and reason told me that Nina was safe and our parting would be temporary. The worst of the physical danger was over and it was just a question of patience. So spoke reason. Unfortunately, in such an environment, the voice of reason is weak. Hysteria, on the other hand, bellows stridently and demands to be heard. All sorts of dire circumstances raced through my mind - delayed action bombs, collapsing buildings, looting brigands, a thousand and one perils that my little four-year-old might yet be facing without her mother.

I cannot remember how long I wandered the streets. The burial carts had begun their grim rounds, gathering those who would not return home tonight. Each time I passed one, I begged the wardens to let me examine their cargo, covered by dirty black cloths. Each time, I searched for a little redheaded girl in a blue jacket; each time I thanked God that I had not found her here. I had to know.

"Faigale, what are you doing? What is wrong with you? God in heaven, you are blue with cold. What are you doing out in the street so late, and so badly dressed."

I felt a coat being slipped over my shoulders. I looked up to see my cousin Lazar peering at me with obvious concern. Somehow I sobbed out parts of my story. As I was taken to Lazar's cellar room, I retold the events of the day to the gathered relatives between gulps of tea, sweetened and spiced with lemon. Did I walk there or had I been carried? I did not know. It didn't matter. I finished the tea, refused another cup and resumed my search.

Towards dawn, I saw the familiar face of a neighbour. Yes, he had been in the bunker with Nina. He didn't know where they had gone but remembered the man who had carried her. I was relieved. David was the intended of Esther with whom I had left her. He had a brother who lived outside the Mila area. Perhaps they had gone there after their own home had been destroyed.

I quickly ran to the address that my neighbour had given me, but Nina was not there. Calming me, the young man there suggested I go to Esther's brother. Though overwhelmed by fatigue, I still managed to reach that home in record time. There they were.

"Hello, Mummy. I wondered if I would ever see you again," my Nina greeted me solemnly.