Frank Beck "Refugee child"
Then came 9 November 1938.
I was at school as usual, when my mother came during an afternoon class to bring me home.
We also fetched another Jewish boy whose parents had asked my mother for help.
On our walk across the town we saw buildings on fire, and mobs rampaging.
Old people were being made to scrub the pavements on their knees and other people were being beaten.
My mother tried to protect my eyes by covering them with her hand,
but I was able to peep between the fingers.
She tried to shield her child from the awful scene,
but I saw enough to be a witness to it during the rest of my lifetime.