Two men emerge from a covered passageway next to a tailor’s shop just in front of me. The windows, like so many others, have been broken and some boys, no older than fourteen, are grabbing piles of cloth from inside. The two men cry out and jostle past me as they rush forward to save their possessions. I huddle, frozen in fear, against the wall as other men push past. A crowd rolls in, surrounding the men, hiding them from view.

These men, no longer fathers, brothers, sons, are wild creatures, smelling blood and power and chaos. The veneer of civilisation is shattering, revealing the true nature of man – wild and dangerous; beast.

I watch, my feet stuck like glue to the road. I had half expected some sort of army of Jews out on the streets, locking arms with the National Socialist defenders. Not this. This is just thugs, running amuck, belligerently smashing up shops.

I should leave. It isn’t safe and surely Walter isn’t here?

I turn to retrace my steps, but see up ahead, on the right, a sign for Keller & Co. It’s stupid and unlikely that he’s there, but I don’t know where else to go. I make my way slowly down the crowded, narrow street. Another window is smashed. Shrieks of victory. The smoke-filled air is choking and hot.

What the hell am I doing here?

And hell-like it is. All these men, high on violence and destruction. My bowels shift. I should just turn back, go home. Poor Bertha, risking all she has for me. Even if I find Walter, what could I possibly do?

A movement catches my eye. A youth. Something familiar about his shape, the way he lunges forward. I look again.

Tomas.

Tomas, but not in uniform as he should be when on HJ business. Tomas, full of fury, wielding a pickaxe. He’s amongst a group about his age, some younger. It’s his Schar, but why in civilian clothes? He shouts something and the mob attack the window of a department store. He turns, as though he senses me watching. He shouts to me, but I don’t hear what he says. I stay rooted and he drops his axe and runs to me.

‘Hetty! What the hell are you doing? You must go home, it’s not safe out here.’

I nod dumbly.

‘Does your father know you’re out?’

‘No! I mean, yes. I-I was with friends, but I heard all this commotion and came to see…’

‘C’mon, I’ll take you home.’ Tomas wraps his arm around my shoulder and begins walking me up the street. I let him guide me, suddenly weak, limp, as though I can’t hold my own weight.

‘Why are you here, Tomas? What’s happening? Why aren’t you in uniform?’

‘Orders.’ He taps his nose, as though it’s all subject to secrecy. ‘Destroy or be destroyed, that’s the choice, Hetty. I should get back there, but I’ll see you safely home, or at least onto a tram first.’