There is a moment between waking and sleeping or vice versa when reality is blurred, or too real. When you hear or see things you don't believe yet you know you ought too.
I've had strangers tell me for years that I was the owner of Auschwitz.
"What would you do if you were the owner of Auschwitz castle?" they ask. They seem to think I would run away.
"The German government has been looking for you for years, it isn't known where you came from, perhaps you are a Jewish child who survived in the cellars or in the camp."
I don't know what to answer. My mind is blocked. My early years are a mystery. I have memories so fragmented. I remember the poetry game with my father, his voice. An old testament Bible verse is mentioned. I remember we went to Paris. I spoke French well. I don't remember my mother.
Then I had lots of homes in England. I remember explaining how many names I'd had to the Bee's. I was very small, I wore white socks and red shoes. I never had any before. They were a present. I never had any again. I was in the same class as their oldest daughter. I wasn't after I went to live with them. She was said to be older than I was. I was very small. Half the size of anyone said to be my age.
They liked me so they took me on. Mr. Bee said I was a relation to him. At first they were kind to me. Mr. Bee was very proud of me. He had instructions to follow, one of his jobs was to make me grow up. One home said they couldn't have me anymore because I stayed the same age forever. I have no idea how old I am really.
Even when things went wrong as they do in families he still did care some. I became a part of their family over the years until Mrs. Bee came home from Germany and threw me out. "Isn't it time you went?" she said. I negotiated with my father for a few more months, so that I could take my 'O' levels. So that my brother had time to adjust to the idea.
That same night, I came downstairs and she was going out. Peculiar talk...
"I had to do it," she claimed bitterly, not looking at either of us, "You were being headhunted, and they have your name as sold. It was either her or you. it's the only way out of it."
Dad put his head in his hands, "I did that to save her in the first place," he said, "Not to sell her later on."
"It's done now," she said in a fury, "We have the money for it. It's a pity that she didn't come and join me when I asked. It would have been all over now."
I left, the house I used to call home, when I was eighteen, it took me extra years to do the exams because it took so much time to look after my father and the other four children. I had to watch out for him, he used to put on odd socks, needed amusements for his mind. I ended up with CSE's and GCE's and RSA's and Pitman's shorthand and a good reputation.
After a while, because there had to be a break, I took to ringing home at around 3:30pm when the children were home from school and they, the parents, weren't in. I got to talk to my brother that way, and he stopped crying every night.
Eventually Dad caught me; perhaps one of the others let it slip. He was upset because he knew I was avoiding them both. I knew then that he still cared for me, despite our differences that had come to a head during that strange time in Elfast.
I asked to come home; I had saved enough money to cross the water from Heshire. My brother was looking forward to it.
"Wait a minute," he said, "I'll have to ask Loris."
There was a pause, then he came back, "No you can't, we're leaving shortly, it's better for you to visit us there."
I never went back to Elfast. I had a good time there, the school, (we went to rangefield secondary modern) was fair, when Mum went in to tell them her tale, they refused to believe her. Claimed they judged pupils on what they found while you were with them. They re-estabiished my psychological status, and had their library refurbished.
The Arish sang "Nobody's Child" for me. I taught it to my brother so he could fit in at school. Yet years later I still love the idea of seeing it again. The Mauseleum; the ghosts that helped clean, the attic bedroom, the blood that dripped from the ceiling in the hall until we learnt to ignore it. The reception rooms, one half wooden panels. The kitchen where I used to shut the door and dance Top of the Pops each night. Where I'd take my brother to make jam tarts and he'd sing, I'd make a noise, being tone deaf.
This morning between sleeping and waking, I heard shouting. Then I saw people shouting at each other in fury. One was in denial. The other a man shouted back. He was shouting in German. Der Kommandant... He said, "Her identity we shall have to keep silent."
She said, "It's a good thing she doesn't know ?we have her papers."
My mind keeps on taking the German and translating it to English.
I was in a panic. The man's voice I remembered running away from. I ran and ran and hid and hid. It had been my home. It was safe then. A vibrant beautiful place. Large stone blocks in the walls.
"What would she do with Auschwitz anyway?" he argued bitterly. "She's English now."
"We have all the money," said the woman, "We done most of the old wills here, because some are German. They won't belong to the Queen. We can have Cyn instead," she argues.
I wonder which Cyn, they've had a huge army of helpers here, claimed they came from Iverpool, up north. We never lived there, we onced for a while lived in Elfast, across the water. A lot of people here are from there. A lot of people here are Romanies, or Irish travellers.
They use a psychic system: almost, it requires them to link up and mind read each other, It's hugely annoying, when they do it to you to gain control of your bank account. It's not telepathy. The woman said that the wills they take always mention the word 'telepathy' which is why they are never taken. Here as well as in Germany, people are not keen to tell others.
So they are doing me, by either trying to make me out to be dishonourable, by discrediting me, or by taking my job, or by pushing my memories in order to take old wills. It doesn't matter who I am. Just that they get whatever it is.
It doesn't matter if I own Auschwitz or not: If this is what the Germans are like, how callous they are, I'm proud I am British. I'm glad I was brought here, and grew up with strangers. It's a relief to me that I will never have to run away from that voice again. Perhaps the Germans are not like that anymore. Perhaps I was German? Perhaps Dad owned Auschwitz; he said he'd leave the estates to me in his will. He said it was unlikely anyone would ever get them back, he also said if anyone could it would be me. The family has never let me have a will to see.
Since I woke up some of my early memories have come back. I remember the cellars at Auschwitz (if I was there) I remember people going down there and not coming back. I remember my family trying to stop it. I remember that they didn't come back. My father was the only one left in the end. He was in the army? A uniform? We walked away one day and went to Paris. We picked up jobs as we went. I was a spy-child.
I remember that I used to wake up screaming and screaming for years and years. I would wake up to Mr Bee holding me in his arms until I could stop. They were not sure who I was. I think Mrs. Bee might have found out when she was recuperating in Germany.
There was some wild talk after she came back, about her selling me abroad, because someone wanted to experiment on my brain. I've a rare kind of mind, not brain; it shows up in psychological tests. She told my father, that it wouldn't matter because I wouldn't last long anyway. She'd been assured that they wouldn't touch me while I had children. Then it would be payback time. Even though I hadn't agreed to it. He cried. He tried to warn me about the Head-hunters. Grandfather used to call them the Alien Hunt. "Go to bed and shut all doors and windows, don't even think." he said.
When I saw them in England again, my brother had grown up, the children got this from their Mother,"Shhh, remember not to tell her what happened in Elfast after she left."
We went into the garden, they were so pleased to see me. It was as if I had come back from the dead.
The team have threatened to kill us all; all my family so that they can never be threatened. The Northern Arish Link is from Mrs. Bee's side, she had two girls out there that she described as being her "Second cousins twice removed." it's been said that one of them used to boast of being a Queen in exile. They try to tell people they represent me: on the radio, they don't.
If I suffer an untimely death, or am discovered headless, does this mean I am the owner of Auschwitz castle?