This story is also available in the following languages: Italian
The train journey seemed endless. I did not touch the lunch my mother had packed for me. I planned to save it for the journey back to Harrislee. As soon as possible, I would flee and return home to my family. There were many of us children who were lifted out of the train with our suitcases in Brande. The cardboard signs with our names were read eagerly by the people who were waiting. I cried when a red-haired man took my hand and my suitcase after having read my name. I refused to go with him. He said something unintelligible to me, patted me on my cheek and lifted me up in his strong arms.
It is an autobiographical narrative.
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