Helen Leperere writes, “On a winter’s night in January 1941, a horrible banging on the door woke us up… Mother opened [it] and two SS men with rifles jumped in like wild dogs, shouting Bronia’s name to come out. I said… that I would go in her place. My devastated father agreed, saying that children would surely be sent back home at once. I was fourteen years of age. I dressed myself warmly in scarves and Natek’s snow boots… I never saw any of them again. Never. Ever.” Helen is incapable of writing a dull word. Humanity, passion and wry humour are her companions throughout.