Tomy's Last Journey

By James Pastouna

In this remarkable and unforgettable novel covering the underrepresented topic of Kindertransport for young Jewish Children during WWII, Tomy's Last Journey, which is based on real life events, explores when Nazi law cast a dark shadow over Berlin. The Apfelbaum family and others reveal their most innermost thoughts and observations. Their memories recall their struggles to survive.

What was life really like in the terrifying and endlessly changing Nazi world? Some loved it, some hated it and some wished time could fly. The Apfelbaum family navigate a world of fateful encounters as Nazi terror unfolds. Their children are in the gravest danger, when a British recuse efforts offers hope. Eva is the first to leave, Tomy to follow. Vivid testimony bears witness to lives lived on the edge. The characters experience the terror of indiscriminate carpet bombings, the Russians advancing in Berlin and many other perils.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Passionate People Publications
• Release date: Feb 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224992867

Book preview

Tomy’s Last Journey

James Pastouna

Based on true events

Passionate People Publications

Tomy's Last Journey

Published by Passionate People Publicationsin

Germany2024

https://tomyslastjourney.com/

Copyright ©James Pastouna2024  

All rights reserved.

Tel: [phone]

Typesetting and Cover Design by: Levellers.

For my mother and father and my brother            

Andrew

Introduction

In this remarkable and unforgettable novel, Tomy’s Last Journey, which is based on real life events, Nazi law casts a dark shadow over Berlin. The Apfelbaum family and others reveal their most innermost thoughts and observations. Their memories recall their struggles to survive.

What was life really like in the terrifying and endlessly changing Nazi world? Some loved it, some hated it and some wished time could fly. The Apfelbaum family navigate a world of fateful encounters as Nazi terror unfolds. Their children are in the gravest danger, when a British recuse efforts offers hope. Eva is the first to leave, Tomy to follow. Vivid testimony bears witness to lives lived on the edge. The characters experience the terror of indiscriminate carpet bombings, the Russians advancing in Berlin and many other perils. German POWs in Britain bring back memories for Eva.

TOMY

Shorter the better? Mum thinks better the shorter and called me Tomy like ‘Toe-Me', not Thomas. And one day, mum cut her hair short and put on a hat called Garbo. It made me so sad, to see her silky curls lying on the kitchen floor all alone for ever and ever and ever.

You know, Mum’s Greta Garbo hat and pixie cut makes lots and lots of people angry. I know they hate bubble gum, girls wearing trousers and people dancing like chickens, dad told me. Mum hates Dad telling me aged seven and a bit this stuff. Secretly, I’d love to tryjust once a bubble, bubble, bubbly gum. Just once, I say.

Mum and ‘sis’ my sister love sitting at the dressing room table, it’s their special place. Dad and I wouldnever ever sit there. Never! Mum’s putting on dark red lipstick then makes a loud smack noise. Eva my little sis wants to make the same sound as Mum but she can’t.Eva sounds smacky spitty, like she’s softly spitting out a cherry pip.

Eva’s four years and a little bit old. She secretly loves princesses and frogs. I’m going to catch one for her one day and surprise her. Not a princess, a frog! You know what my secret is? I wish unicorns were real and I could talk with them. But that is a deep-down secret. Boys are not allowed to have girls’ secrets.

Eva’s looking in the mirror for the thousandth time. When she’s having a little peep, she stares and stares like it’s the first time ever, she’s seen herself. Eva my sis likes to think she’s grown up, she always does what mumdoes. She’s a real copycat, is my sis.

Mum and Dad think my little sister is the most beautiful girl ever born. She’s not only beautiful, she’s clever,fearlessandbetterthananyboy,butmeof

course. She glitters and sparkles like a big shiny diamond. She loves her big blue velvet bow on her white dress, just like mum loves her Garbo.

Mum tilts the floppy hat bit lightly forward over her eyebrow. Mum’s a spy with lots of secrets. Then, dad says:

‘Just like, Greta Garbo!’

‘Greta Garbo, I love her so much. No one ever, ever bosses her about,’ mum says.

We’re going out, dad puts on his bow tie. It’s Eva’s job to help dad.

‘Mr Dickie Bow wants ten to four,’ says Dad. Eva plays at knowing the time.

‘Ten to three, daddy ten to four, Mr Dicky Bow,’ she says.

‘You finished twiddling?’ says Dad.

‘Yes, daddy I’m not twiddling ever again,’ says Eva. ‘You are a good little twiddler,’ says Dad.

I loved twiddling my dad’s bow but I’m not a baby anymore.

‘Great tiddler you are,’ I say.

‘Am not a tiddler,’ says Eva. ‘Are.’

‘Not.’

‘Stop right now, you two!’ says mum.

I know, we’re going somewhere really, really special when dad wears his spotty silky bowtie. I know, it must be Café Krone. They have the best cakes in Berlin, in the whole wide world.

Today, I know it’s Saturday 1st April 1933 becauseDad gave me pocket money. I’m thinking non-stop about cakes and football. Cakes are my big big secret. I’d never tell my pals I love cake and what’s more I love loads and loads of cake. I can eat the sweet stuff all in one big bite. Whytakelittlebits,Isay.Atschoolmeandmypalslove

to talk about sausages. It’s like we’re allowed to talk about bangers and mash and girls not. Girls talk about cakes. Deep, deep, deep, deep down, boys are dreaming too of ‘Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte’, Black Forest Cherry cake with whipped cream and cherries, just like girls do. We’re not so different after all, I say. Now mum wantsme to call cake ‘gateau’, she doesn’t like me saying cake. And mum does not like me at all to watch football. Mum thinks I’ll learn bad words. Mum told me, footballers never ever, ever say gateaux.

In Berlin loads and loads of girls are walking with tilted Garbo hats covering their left eye, just like my mum. On the way to Café Krone, mum and dad suddenly stop outside Mr Baehrs’ clothes shop because they see soldiers wearing brown shirts, holding big signs. Then they start staring at mum and she looks at them very angry. Then a Brownshirt hangs a big poster with large black writing on the shop window.

Mum likes to shop at Mr Baehrs, he told mum I’m tall enough for long trouser and Eva called him Mr Bear and he burst out laughing and said to her, he’s a nice bear. I like Mr Baehr. He loves kids, because he has none. Mum told me. I see Mr Baehr through the window, he’s sitting, with his head in his hands. The shop girl’s shaking and crying buckets and buckets. Then, Mr Baehr gets up,goes to her and puts his arm round her.

Why are they so horrible and mean? Mr Baehr’s a very kind grown up. What did he do bad?

A Brownshirt is painting big white stars on the window. Dad and mum can’t stop staring at the painted white star. I count six points.

‘Dad, why are the soldiers standing outside Mr Baehrs clothes shop, is he bad?’ I say.

‘Tomy, they are not soldiers. Granddad was a soldier, Mumshowedyouhismedal,theIronCross.No,Mr

Baehr is not bad, most definitely not,’ says Dad.

A red fat face Brownshirt stares for ages at my mum’s hat, really rude he is:

‘That’s a ‘Bolshy’ hat,’ he says. Mum whispers to me:

‘Don’t look at them.’

I want them to leave us alone. We then walk away but three of the Brownshirts surround us. Then, the redfaced man points at mum’s Garbo, he’s jabbing a fingerin my mum’s face and shouts very loud:

‘Only shit Bolsheviks wear hats like that!’

Then mum looks him straight in his eyes and says in a loud voice:

‘How dare you speak to me with those words in front of my children. They do not know such language and bad behaviour.’

The Brownshirts say nothing and stare at the floor. ‘We are going home, right now,’ says Dad.

Then a Brownshirt bends down, towards Eva. I want to stand between them because dad told me I must always protect my sister because she’s little. Dad holds me tight by the arm. The Brownshirt smiles at my sis, he has rotten teeth and smelly breath. Eva sucks her thumb, like she’s scared of the dark.

‘It’s bed time for the little ones,’ says Mum.

The Brownshirt speaks, sounds like he’s growling at my sis.

‘You’ll be tall and strong Miss big blue eyes, but not a scaredy-cat,wehope.Wedon’twantGermanscaredy

-cats, do we!’

Then these Brownshirt monsters laughed very loud and left.

We didn’t go to Café Krone, we went home.

I hate to be happy, then sad. I am scared to be happy because something horrible may happen.

Evelyn

Karl didn’t want me to go out wearing my Garbo hat but he’s no right to tell me, how to dress. It’s no secret the Nazi’s hate bobbed hair and the Garbo cloche hat and see us as trouble makers. Maybe the real reason is that Greta Garbo does not approve of Adolf Hitler and he’s obsessed with her. I’ll never again hurt my babies and put them in harm’s way. They are too young to understand why the Brownshirts daubed a crude Star of David on the shop window. Why they held a poster with the words:

‘Germans! Defend yourselves! Don’t buy from Jews!’

How can you explain this to children? Tell me? How?

In my hand is a letter from Maninka, the wife of my brother Ferdinand, Eva’s favourite aunt. She writesabout a crime she witnessed in Munich. What she saw was not in the papers or even on the radio, this disturbs me. I am convinced that horrible crimes against people are committed and not reported. Was it considered not newsworthy? Was it considered not important enough? To be honest, I would rather she hadn’t written about what happened but ignoring a vicious horrible criminal act is very wrong. It is also dangerous to be blind to evil.

Maninka writes, last week Dr. Michael Siegel a lawyer went to the police station to file a complaint on behalf of his client who told him that Nazi stormtroopers smashed the windows of his business. On entering the police station, Dr. Siegel was taken to the basement and then assaulted by Nazi storm troopers,like those Brownshirts in front of Mr Baehrs clothes chop. DrSiegel was hit so hard he lost two teeth and sufferedarupturedeardrum.Theythencuthistrousers

and put a sign around his neck. He was forced to walk with this sign, bare footed through the streets of Munich, on it was written: ‘I am a Jew and will never again complain to the police.’ Many onlookers in the street laughed at him, others looked away in shame. The thing is you see, no one helped him, none came to his aid. Could it be that the larger the crowd, the less likely people are to come to the help of a defenceless citizen in danger? What would I do? Of course I like to think I would have helped the man but I would have probably done the same. Acted as if nothing happened.I have a family and I’m Jewish.

We live a life of disappointment and suffering, the Nazis are in power and no one dare protest, they’re poisoning us very slowly with hatred, drip by drip, week by week, I see it, I feel it. I don’t want our children to live a dreary awful life full of terror with no dreams or hope, I don’t want them to be poisoned.

I notice a change in Maninka’s hand writing. Fingers write feelings, her writing is no longer matter of fact, it is untidy and almost chaotic. Maninka is writing quickly, like she wants to get this part of the letter over and done with. She wants to finish the letter as it’s so depressing.

Maninka knows Dr. Siegels wife. She writes Dr. Siegel’s daughter Beate, aged eight happened to not be at school on that very day, when her father was beaten. She had a bad cold and was in her bedroom. When she heard the key turn at the door she thought her mother had returned from shopping. Then, Beate felt uneasy because her mum didn’t come to her room as expected.

Beate left her room to look for her and saw blood stains on the floor and blood splattered clothes. For a moment she was extremely frightened, not knowingwhat happened. Then her father came to her using a towel to hide his blood stained face. He told Beate he had

an accident.

When I told Karl about Dr. Siegel his immediate reaction was to tell me that Maninka must not send such letters in the post. It’s not worth the risk, we must be careful, we are living in a police state. Karl sees I’mupset, my husband’s after all a lawyer. Imagine if that happened to him?

Karl tells me that the Bavarians are not like us in Berlin. Munich is basically an overgrown village and the Bavarians have a rural mind-set and very strong conservative politics. We must hope for the best and be optimistic. There are after all so many people inGermany who value good over evil. They will protect us.

I’m worried about Eva. My baby’s scared to sleep alone, she wants to sleep with us. Tomy’s such an angel, we didn’t even need to ask him, he slept in Eva’s bed. I hope she forgets what happened outside the clothesshop.

Eva

Ihate the scary shadow in my room. It is a scary Brownshirt monster. It is horrible, I hate it. It’s smelly like the horrible man. I hide under the bed, am all alone. I am a sleepy rabbit in my little rabbit hole and no one will ever find me.

Then Tomy came in my room.

‘Sis, you’re a scary cat, the biggest one in the whole wide world!’

I’m a good ‘hider’ but Tomy finds me. ‘I’m not a scary cat,’ I say.

‘Under bed is silly,’ he says.

I get in bed. Tomy wants my side. I fight him very hard, he giggles.

‘Look what I got,’ he says.

I see Charley Chimp, Tomy’s toy monkey. ‘He loves you,’ says Tomy.

I want to hold Charley Chimp for ever and ever. Tomy put Charley Chimp on the floor, I hope he’s not scared.

‘Under the bed he fights the monsters. They hate him and run away We are safe for ever and ever,’ he says.

I play at sleeping. Tomy wants me to move but I stay still. I want to move but don’t.

‘You sleepy lion,’ he say.

Tomy knows I play at sleeping. I see he has a big scary picture in his jim jam pocket. He opens it ever ever so slowly.

‘Look,’ he says.

‘Stop Tomy, stop please Tomy, I’m scared,’ I say. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he says.

It’s a scary picture, I see the top bit and that bigbrown shirt monster with angry face. The bad man who was horrible to me and mummy.

I hide under the blankie. ‘Look,’ he says.

I have a little peep at the bottom bit of the picture and see the brown shirt monster man is wearing undies and they have big red spots all over them! I’m not scared. My big brother is here.

Karl

So now we have the Sturm Abteilung the SA, commonly known as the Brownshirts thinking they are political soldiers. They are all over the place. A thousand strong army of Brownshirts in Berlin. Dr. Siegel was brutalized by thugs just six weeks after the Führer came to power. It was the start of what was to come.

Discussion and analysis of law is a big part of Jewish culture, it’s part of our tradition. This explains, I think, the large number of Jewish lawyers. In Berlin over half the lawyers are of Jewish origin. Me included! We think of ourselves as German lawyers not Jewish lawyers. The Nazis think of us as Jewish lawyers who should be excluded from the German legal system. Admittedly some members of my legal profession are very left wing. But most of us I would consider to be liberals, making a modest living in extreme circumstances.

The Nazis have the power to remove who they consider to be ‘undesirable’ from the medical, teaching and legal professions. Undesirable means those considered not to be racially pure. Jews do not belong to the so called master race the ‘Herrenvolk’ the German and northern European people. We belong in their eyes to an inferior subhuman race and culture.

The Nazis have a lot of hellish plans in store for us using lawlessness and the law to discriminate against Jews in the legal profession. The public are told not tosee us for legal help. Posters in Munich are pasted to Jewish legal offices with advice to the public: ‘Don’t go to Jewish lawyers’.

Anti-Semitic decrees and legislation restricting our public and private lives are being passed. We are now instructed to apply for readmission to the bar, the legal profession. Non Aryan lawyers face disbarment from the practice of law and there are only few exemptions. A date for my re-registration application arrived in the post, just weeks after Dr. Siegel’s’ humiliation.

With hundreds of other lawyers, I’m standing outside the Berlin bar association in the pouring rain, under the watchful eyes of Brownshirt thugs. We are let in ever so slowly. One by one.

LawyerswhofoughtintheFirstWorldWarand

lawyers who received their licences before 1914 survive the legal cull. I was admitted to my profession in 1913. Meanwhile my younger colleagues are not pleading on behalf of their clients but for their lives. Having practiced and studied German law for the entirety of their short lives they’re re-admittance applications are denied. All those years of study and work for nothing. With this lawa generation of younger lawyers are no more.

If I want to continue working as a lawyer, I have to sign a statement of allegiance to the government. Noneof us older lawyers accept this legal situation but our signature means we legally do. We accept the legal framework of thugs who consider themselves to be the master race. It is awful, it tears me in half. I sign the document. The Nazis are discriminating against us and amongst us Jews.

Guilt is a terrible burden to bear.

Miss Kramer

Before the start of school term, I prepare my classroom. My desk is very important, I like it to be orderly. A tidy desk set’s a good example. Behind is the blackboard and I write the classroom rules and procedures. In big writing I write, Rule 1: ‘NO TALKING’. Before lessons start I’ll tell my children the ‘no talking’ rule also means no singing, whispering or making noises. With a class of thirty children, I have no choice but to be very strict. Boys and girls sit separately, even twins. The little ones must understand from day one, my classroom is a place of learning.

Soon the parents arrive. I walk along the empty corridors to the stock room. I gather my supplies for the term. The curriculum books, chalk pencils and a cane. I take the cane. You see it’s been used and I’m obliged to take this thing. If not, the headmaster must be informed. And I mean ‘must’ not ‘should’!

The cane manufacturer has put much effort and time into the design of each specifically made implement. It’s hard for me to understand that each teacher is supplied with a specially designed cane for punishment. The Otto- Hahn-School uses two types of cane. One of them is specially made for my year group. It is designed to not harm the four-or-five year olds so there’s no severe physical injury. But if it’s used excessively, I shudder to think what happens. For little children this particular cane has specific manufacture specifications. It’s made of light grade rattan palm wood, it’s very strong and flexible. This recommended primary school cane is not meant to be a severe implement like the other cane. However, as I understand it does give a vicious sting. For the elder children the canes are longer and a littleheavier with a denser grade of rattan which leaves severe bruising on a pupil’s body.

I can’t believe that a company manufactures such horrible weapons. This is what they are after all. What sort of person designed this instrument of pain? Knowing it’s used for beating children.

The headmaster recommends four strokes for boys and two for girls. For a very serious misdemeanour sixfor boys and four for girls. Now I’m breaking school rules! I place the cane in my clothes locker. I don’t want children to see it. I like good behaviour but think you can teach by setting an example not by beating a human being. I would never hurt my children and I’ll always protect them as if they are my own.

One time I dreamt of having babies, lots of them but I never had the chance to smell, touch and love my very own little human being. Sixteen years ago, in 1917, I was engaged to be married to a wonderful young man. We met through our love of music. He was the only person with whom I sang in harmony. Harold sang baritone to my mid alto voice. Our songs were rich warm and delicate. We fell madly in love and wished ever so much to have a family. I wanted so much to have beautiful babies from the only man, I ever loved. Then one day my young life changed so horribly. I did not expect this to happen. Call it fate if you like or having an unlucky card in life, many of us women folk were dealt in the First World War a bad hand so to speak.

You arrive home and you know and feel a truly horrible powerful force. Why was my mother in law atmy parents’ home? For a split second I thought Harald was home. Then that gut feeling when unexpected terrible news is about to unfold. I knew. My beloved fiancée died in the First World War. I didn’t want to know the details of what happened. What use would that be? A bomb blast, a bayonet in your body, been shot. A part of my life was over. My dream of having a family with the man I love is over. Some years later Harold’s mother told me, he was gassed by the German army. Killed by mistake from his own regiment, you see that day the wind was strong. I never told this to anyone, I am not convinced that this was Gods wish. How could it be? It just happened one day.

His mother gave me a little medal to remember him by. I hate war, I want my children here to have no such experience. I want them to be peace loving people and have a life of joy, none should suffer like Harald and hundreds of thousands of other men. I love teaching four tofiveyearolds.Iseeitasthetimeacaterpillarchanges

to a butterfly. I like to think, I make a difference to their lives.

It’s the first day of school. In the playground new children stand very close to their worried mothers. The little ones are anxious. With my list I go through all names and ask the children to stand in a long line. I notice a mother with misty dark sorrowful eyes.

‘Don’t worry, what’s the name of your little one?I’ll keep an eye on her,’ I say.

‘Eva Apfelbaum, I’m so worried,’ she says then abruptly turns and disappears. Other parents are lingering around for a final glimpse of their precious child.

In the classroom the children sit on a long bank, boys one side, girls the other. When I explain the rules the they are silent, that’s a good sign. I give a text book to each child, on the first page is a picture of the Führer. Before starting the first lesson I lighten the mood, I want my children to like me.

‘Who’d like to sing?’ I say.

A little hand shoots in the air. Belongs to a pretty girl sitting next to Eva.

‘I’ll sing, Miss!’ She says. Her voice is very clear and confident.

Katherina Simmler’s her name. Her mother told me she likes to be called Kathi. She’s not a shy child, loves to sing. Her voice has potential. She sings, ‘Good evening, good night, bedecked with roses.’

What a lovely voice, I thanked her. Eva next to her has large doe eyes and is shy. I think they’ll be good friends these two.

During break time that I notice something that really disturbs me. The elder boys, the nine year olds were not playing Cowboys and Indians’. But their very ownversionofthisboy’sgame.Twoboyswerehittingand

shoving a smaller boy. I was about to intervene when the child clearly distraught came to me.

‘Please Miss, they always make me play the Jew. It’smy turn to be the Aryan.’

‘What are you playing?’ I ask.

‘AryansandJews!Weplayitathomewithmy brothers and sisters,’ he says.

I must talk to the headmaster about this.

Eva

Tomy, Tomy, he’s not in my bed. I want to cry but he told me, I must be brave. I hear a big scary noise, I dive under my blanket. Where’s Tomy? I have a tiny peep through my blankie and see Tomy with shush fingers on his lips.

‘Shhh, move ever so slowly and come here,’ he says.

I’m angry with Tomy, he left me all alone. And Tomy hasmydrinkingglassonmyfavouritebookaboutcats.

He ever slowly puts my book on the table ‘Look, don’t be scared,’ he says.

I go to the table and see in my glass a creepy crawly. It moves quick and can’t get out. I look away.

‘Look, Spider in the Looking Glass, what shall we call her? Let me guess! He says.

‘Alice,’ I say.

‘Open the window quick,’ he says.

The window is stiff. I push hard and harder. It goes up very slow. Tomy hold up my glass.

‘Isn’t she pretty?’ He says. I see a big black spider. ‘She’s so pretty,’ I say.

‘WewouldneverhurtMummySpider,wouldwe?’ Says Tomy.

‘Never, ever,’ I say.

‘MissSpider,youwereverygoodandyournameis Alice. I let you free for ever and ever,’ says Tomy.

TomyputsAliceoutsideandshutsthewindow.

Tomy’s talking spider talk with a very squeaky voice. ‘I’m free, I’m freeeeee, I’m so fweeeee,’ he says.

Tomy gives me a big hug.

‘Now we do the spider dance, only known by Princess Eva,’ he says.

Tomy and I love to dance, it’s our big secret. He loves to sing and makes songs. I love to hear him sing:

Mrs. Spider, Mrs Spider,

My name is Alice

And I live in a palace I never tell lies

And eat lots of flies.

Eight legs, eight arms I’m getting wider

Mrs Spider my dear Mrs Spider, we surprise her I’m getting wiser.

When Tomy sings ‘Eight legs’ I criss cross my legs, for ‘wider’ I stretch out my arms. For wiser, I point at my head. We are giggling very hard. The door opens. Daddy hears us.

‘What are you two up to?’ Says my daddy. ‘Nothing,’ we say.

‘Tomorrow’s your first day of school, you must go to sleep.’

Today’s my first day of school and now I’m a school girl, daddy told me. Mummy and Tomy take me to my new school. He holds my hand for a tiny little bit but he see’s big boys in the playground. He hates boys to see him holding my hand. Big boys who play football.

‘Come on Tomy, we need a goalie,’ a boy shout very loud.

‘Mum, can I go?’ he says.

Mummy is not smiling. Tomy is quiet as a fish.

This lady comes and she has the same hat as my mummy. I want a Garbo too, when I grow up. The big lady say her name is Miss Kramer and tells me to standin a long line with other boys and girls. I want to be with my mummy. The teacher is very nice to my mummy.

We follow Miss Kramer to a big classroom with a big long seat and I sit with girls. I hate to sit with boys, they are silly and rough. I like to play with girls and Tomy. We sing and Miss Kramer claps. I am sitting next to Kathithe best singer. In break time Kathi and I build a house with wooden blocks. Kathi has walking fingers and they talk about our little house. She says we are sisters. My fingers walk and I ask if Tomy can visit. Kathi says he may come, when he likes.

Kathi wants a play date. I love school.

Johann

Ican’t understand fathers who think their child is a burden rather than a joy. My children mean everything to me. Kathi’s only little but I make a point of listening to her and I never lecture her. Hans and I are very close, I really think one day he’ll be a great artist. It’s his destiny. Only nine years old he’s already got the ‘eye’. His daddy’s eye. I’m not strict with Hans like my father was with me. When I was a teenager I wanted to be an artist but my father was dead against it, he was the artist in the family and no one else. Look what may have happened! Our newly elected leader is an artist! Not particularly good, I’ve seen his work. his water colours are a bit drab.

My son’s a kind boy, he’s sensitive. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I mean that literally! I saw Hans capture a fly in an upturned glass. Canyoubelievethat! Iaskedhimwhyhedidn’t swot that damned thing and he told me, it’s wrong to kill insects because they look ugly. I worry a bit, Hans won’t fight to defend