‘I know. Maybe he’ll find us,’ Greta replies brightly. ‘I’m sure we’ll get to see him again.’

I don’t know if she really believes it but the thought of him padding along, following us to wherever we’re going, cheers me a little.

‘Move!’ one of the guards yells so suddenly it makes me jump. ‘Go!’

The group lumbers on down the road. We are somewhere around the middle and, now we are in this wide street, people have begun to spread out enough that at least we can walk without bumping into anyone.

Soldiers march along on both sides of us. There seem to be more of them than ever this morning. All wearing rifles over their shoulders, swastika bands on their arms and the fiercest expressions on their faces.

They glance into the crowd, barking at people as we walk. Instinctively, Greta and I stop talking, keep looking ahead and walk as briskly as we can. We’ve learned how we have to act in order to not draw attention to ourselves.

After what feels like hours of walking, my legs are tired. I want to stop and rest. I need water, my stomach is growling for food. But I daren’t say anything. I saw a man a few rows ahead of us ask if he could stop a little while ago and one of the guards grabbed him by his arm and dragged him away. I don’t know where they took him. I didn’t dare look. But it was enough to make sure I won’t be stopping to ask for anything.

Eventually the pace starts to slow. We’re approaching the train station and as we get closer we can see that people seem to be gathering in a group up ahead.

‘It’s the old junkyard,’ Vati says, in a low voice so the guards won’t scream at him for talking.

‘What are we going there for?’ Otto asks.

‘I have no idea,’ Mutti replies. As we get closer, we see a line of long tables with all sorts of things on them. It reminds me of the square in Vienna on market days.

The guards push us and prod us and direct us to file past the tables. People are stopping in front of them in groups of twenty or so at a time.

When our turn comes, SS guards stand all around us. ‘Open your cases here!’ one of them shouts. ‘Anything valuable goes on the table. Necklaces, bracelets, rings – all of it on these tables.’

The four of us look at each other. Mutti’s face has drained of colour. ‘What does he mean?’ she hisses. ‘What valuables do we still have, even? Have they not already taken everything we own? My life is in this one bag. I have nothing valuable!’