‘Hallo?’

  ‘This is Ricky Roskov.’

  An old man rasped, ‘I am Michael Roskov, now sixty-seven years old, my father was Eric Roskov. His cousin was Mikkel Alfred Roskov.’

  ‘That’s my grandfather. How did you see the show early?’

  ‘My son was in the audience. His wife is Swedish, he called me and then sent you this email thing - which I don’t understand.’

  ‘How did your father survive?’

  ‘He fled to Sweden, then to Israel after the war.’

  ‘You’re visiting Denmark?’

  ‘No, we came back, forty years ago.’

  ‘Why did a Jew leave the new Israel for Denmark?’ I puzzled.

  ‘My father wanted to claim his land and business, and he did. 1954.’

  ‘Just so that you know, I’m not religious, I was raised a Christian. My grandfather was taken as a child, and he was raised Christian and told about his past when he was twenty years old.’

  ‘This happened a lot, yes.’

  ‘What’s the phone number of your son, please?’

  ‘Hold on …’

  I wrote it down. ‘I’ll talk to him, and visit you soon, we want to get the full story.’

  ‘I have some of it, not all of it.’

  ‘Some is better than none. We’ll talk again soon, but what relation am I to you?’

  ‘Perhaps … third cousin.’

  Call ended, they were waiting. ‘My grandfather’s cousin survived, his father got him to Israel, then they came back to claim their land in Denmark, 1954. His son married a Swedish lady.’

  I called the number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Ricky Roskov, you speak English?’

  ‘Yes, I studied in England.’

  ‘I just spoke to your father, your grandfather was cousin to my grandfather in Copenhagen. You married a local girl?’

  ‘Yes, we now live here, two daughters that have not stopped freaking out about you.’

  ‘How old are they?’

  ‘Thirteen and fifteen.’

  ‘They’re at that age, yes. Can you come around, with the family?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I handed the phone to Rolf, who gave the address.

  Call ended, Rolf told me, ‘They are not far.’

  I stepped away called my father. ‘I was just contacted, by surviving Roskov relatives.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘One in Copenhagen, one here in Stockholm, who was sat in the audience of a chat show we just did. Your father’s cousin made it, to Israel and then back to Copenhagen to claim the family land. Guy is sixty-six now.’

  ‘Well … I’m … interested from a historical point of view, never wanted to go to Israel or anything.’

  ‘I want to get the full story, not turn all Jewish. The chat show discussed my heritage so … the British tabloids might pick up on it.’

  ‘When you became famous I thought they might.’

  ‘If they hound you, let me know.’

  ‘We’re safe here, and not listed anywhere.’

  ‘Get Bonza if someone is at the gate. And let me know if the tabloids get hold of the story.’

  The family were soon here, the father quite tall and maybe forty years old, the wife being a tall blond and good looking, the two daughters beaming as I welcomed them in, the snow wiped off.

  The twins adopted the teenage girls straight away, and they sat with Olesya chatting.

  ‘You were in the audience?’ I asked the father.

  ‘With my wife, yes,’ came accented. ‘And we had wondered about the name before now.’

  ‘Must have been a shock to be sat hearing it from me.’

  ‘Yes, a big shock.’

  Ingrid made hot drinks for us all as we stood in the big kitchen.

  I told the new family, ‘Ingrid’s grandfather was stolen, but she doesn’t look very Jewish.’

  ‘You have dark hair,’ he noted. ‘But you look more Italian than Jewish.’

  ‘Do you practise?’

  ‘Some, not so much,’ he admitted.

  ‘Your lovely wife?’

  ‘Christian,’ she answered.

  ‘Your work here?’ Rolf asked.

  ‘Marketing consultant. My wife is a nurse.’

  ‘Which consultancy?’ Rolf asked.

  ‘KKL.’

  ‘Ah, Peder Holgarten.’

  ‘He is the principal partner.’

  ‘I know him twenty years,’ Rolf told them.

  I turned my head to Rolf. ‘Can we squeeze in a trip to Copenhagen?’

  ‘I need to go, some issues with the house there. We can go by train and ferry, car and ferry, or fly.’

  ‘Fly, it will be quicker,’ I suggested. ‘If it was summer I would want to drive and see some of Sweden.’

  ‘Of course, a beautiful drive.’

  The father put in, ‘We need to go also, we can go with you. We had planned to go next weekend.’

  ‘Great,’ I agreed. ‘But we might be photographed, so … do you mind the publicity?’

  ‘Before, we help make a documentary for Israel, about my grandfather, so we are used to it.’

  ‘When are you free to travel?’

  ‘Any time, the girls have school holidays.’

  I faced Rolf. ‘When do we go?’

  ‘We can go tomorrow, quick flight, a day or two and back.’

  The family rushed off to pack an hour later, the daughters excited, and I told them to call me “Cousin Ricky”. The father was called Henrick, the mother was Elsa.

  Rolf took a call as we packed cases. He finally told me, ‘You are on the 10pm news, your grandfather. Here they like such stories. Sweden was neutral in the war, something that some regret, and they hide their Nazi affiliations. When they have stories about rescued babies it eases the national conscience.’

  ‘And modern day Denmark, and their view of Jewish survivors?’ I asked.

  ‘They tried to protect the Jews in the war, they don’t feel bad about what they did.’

  Packed, we sat downstairs with cups of tea, discussing this odd turn of events, the twins happy to have new friends.

  To Ingrid I asked, ‘You don’t know anything about your grandfather?’

  ‘He arrived as a baby in 1943, that is all we know. With him were twenty other babies. The historians here think he was in a batch of rescued babies from dissidents, and that they paid to have the babies sent away.’

  In the morning we met the new family at the airport, and we walked straight into three snappers. I halted my new family and we posed, happy smiles, and I put my arms around the daughters.

  To the snappers I said, ‘We’re off to Copenhagen to see the rest of my extended family if you wish to join us.’

  ‘They did, and they rushed to buy tickets.’

  After checking-in, we moved through security, and to a lounge to wait, soon boarding an SAS Airbus 320, passengers smiling at us but not bothering us. Last to board were two snappers.

  ‘Did those reporters have passports?’ I asked Rolf.

  ‘ID card is enough, internal EU flight.’

  The flight was just an hour, but we bounced around in bad weather. Landed, and exiting, I waved at the snappers and they fell into line.

  Luggage collected, and we found a line of polite snappers and journalists.

  I told them, ‘We’re happy for you to follow us and meet my new extended family.’ I faced Henrick. ‘Do you mind if they have your mobile number and not mine?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ He detailed his number a few times, and gave the address of his father’s house, asking that they not knock on the door. British tabloid reporters would have kicked the door in.

  Grabbing two minibus taxies, we headed north, not that much snow here, and we journeyed to Frederiksberg, arriving at one of Rolf’s houses, his old family home. It was a big house, four floors, and it sat shoulder to shoulder with similar houses.

  The new family pulled up behind us, but they would go to the father’s house. We would dump luggage and join them in half an hour.

  Inside Rolf’s house, he turned on the heating, but it was not that cold.

  ‘You keep the heating on?’ I asked.

  ‘I have people to look after it, or it would be damp and freezing.’

  Luggage dumped near the stairs, and he led us to the kitchen.

  Ingrid explained, ‘The twins were raised here, the first few years. We had gates on the stairs always.’

  ‘We had a big play room,’ Rita told me.

  Kettle on, gas turned on to warm up the kitchen, and it was all expensively done out and very nice.

  ‘Four floors?’

  ‘The top was my study, and that kept me fit, to walk up there. The twins used to make paper planes and throw them out the window from up there.’

  Olesya took in the house, not having seen it before. Cup of tea in hand, we sat in the lounge as I took in the family photos on the wall, the twins when they were young.

  ‘My god, so chubby and fat then,’ I loudly noted, the twins embarrassed. ‘Look at those legs.’

  ‘We grew tall,’ Rita told me.

  Rolf explained, ‘At age eight they started to grow quickly.’

  Olesya had a look at all the photos. ‘Rolf, you look young and handsome.’

  I laughed. ‘Rolf, what happened?’

  ‘I spent many years raising daughters, that ages you.’

  ‘Genetically, what are the chances of the twins producing more twins?’

  ‘High,’ he told me with a look.

  Ready, we called a taxi and set off, a short trip past canals and tall houses, and to a large old house set alone. Outside were our two snappers from Stockholm, so I shook their hands, two ladies with notepads waiting politely.

  At the door, the daughters were waiting, but I asked Henrick about the reporters.

  ‘It is OK, we expect this.’

  The snappers were allowed in, all four of them, and I took in the dated stairway. A fat old man walked out of a side room using a walking stick, a grey old lady with him, small and skinny – she appeared unwell.

  I shook his hand. ‘I’m Ricky Roskov.’

  ‘No mistaking you.’ He turned. ‘My wife, Leah.’

  I shook her hand. ‘Did you come from Israel?’

  ‘No, we had spent the war in England and came back in 1949.’

  They led us to a large lounge, and I asked if it was OK for photographs. We lined up, both sides of the family, and the two snappers flashed away for a minute,

  Rolf had his digital camera, so we took snaps of just the Roskovs, not his side of the family.

  Sat as a large group facing inwards, Elsa and the daughters making hot drinks for everyone, I began. ‘Do you know what happened to my grandfather’s family?’

  ‘None survived the camps. There were twelve all together, your grandfather taken as a boy from the train, my father leaving with myself and a sister. She lived in Israel, married, dead now.’

  ‘And the authorities here, did they help the Nazis?’

  ‘No, they tried to hide us, and some helped my father get to Sweden by boat.’

  ‘And the authorities in Sweden?’

  ‘There were Nazi spies around, asking questions, but some Swedish families protected us and hid us.’

  ‘You had to hide, even in Sweden?’

  ‘Some of the Swedish police and military sided with the Nazis, and as I said - they had their spies.’

  ‘When your father came back to Denmark, did he have to fight to get his land back?’

  ‘No, the neighbours welcomed him, and some had kept this house in good shape, and the garden. The Nazis had taken over his factory, our family factory, and when he came back it was empty but not destroyed.

  ‘The foreman of the factory came back on day one and started to clean it, and to recruit the men from before, and for a month they worked with no pay.

  ‘In only three months the factory was working, a loan from a local bank, and they desperately wanted more jobs – the government here.’

  ‘Who were my grandfather’s parents?’

  ‘Joshua and Anna, but they came from Latvia. They escape the Russians.’

  ‘Siblings of my grandfather?’

  ‘An older sister, Mary, who died young from fever, an older brother, Henrick, who died swimming in a canal.’

  ‘You have just one son?’

  ‘Yes, my wife fell ill and could not have more children.’

  ‘Is it OK if the Rasmussens visit you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Rolf was born here in Copenhagen, still has houses here.’

  Rolf exchanged a few sentences in Danish, the old man nodding.

  The old man finally turned to Ingrid. ‘Your grandfather was stolen as a baby?’

  ‘We think it was a group of twenty dissidents that sent their babies to Sweden, they paid for it.

  The old man nodded. ‘It was not only the Jews escaping, no.’

  I put in, ‘We have a letter from the German officer who took my grandfather, and he escaped to England in late 1943.’

  ‘If he escaped to England in 1943, then he was no Nazi supporter, so maybe he asked to take the boy, not stole it.’

  ‘He says that the parents gave him the boy, to save the boy.’

  ‘Yes, some had an idea then of the death camps. People went but never came back.’

  ‘Do you have any old photographs?’ I asked.

  ‘Some, not many.’

  The old lady fetched them and I had a look.

  The old man told me, pointing, ‘That is your grandfather as a boy, with his parents.’

  ‘I … don’t think of myself as Jewish, I was raised Christian, but I think I would go back in a time machine and try and help them. The same for Olesya and her family. But I hope my being here doesn’t get reporters bothering you.’

  ‘Here is not like England, they are not so aggressive. Reporters bothering an old couple would be fired from their jobs.’

  I handed the photo to Rolf. ‘Can you take an image of it?’

  He stepped to the windows for more light and snapped it, the reporters wanting to copy it as well. I faced the reporters, who had politely sat quiet taking notes. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  They fired a few questions in Danish for five minutes, the old man answering. They finally asked me, ‘You don’t see yourself as being Jewish?’

  ‘No, not at all, I was raised Christian. To be Jewish you must follow the practices, and to be Jewish you must want to be Jewish. I had this debate with my father; can someone be born to a Jew or Arab and then be raised without any religion be a Jew or Muslim?

  ‘Can I call myself Jewish by bloodline, when many babies were taken and raised as Christian? No, I don’t think so, I think being a Jew you have to love your religion and your tribe, you have to feel a part of it.’

  The old man rasped, ‘I have met others, who came from a Cohen or Levi, now with different names and different culture.’

  ‘Can they claim Jewish heritage?’ I asked.

  ‘They can claim a bloodline and adopt Judaism. Can they call themselves Jews and not go to Temple? No.’

  ‘How many Jews are here now?

  ‘Not many, a few thousand.’

  ‘Yet you think of Copenhagen as home?’ I pressed.

  ‘There were never many Jews here, and yes – this is home all my life and my father’s life apart from a few years, and I have Christian friends here.’

  ‘No desire to live in Israel?’

  ‘We have visited, but we found them arrogant and difficult.’

  ‘Are there more Roskovs in Israel?’

  ‘We found some, from Latvia, family yes. You will visit?’

  ‘I’m interested in the history, I won’t be adopting Judaism. I’m a citizen of the planet, all races equal, no flag waving.’

  ‘They say that you are nineteen years old…’

  ‘Yes, but with an old head.’

  ‘A very old head, yes, but young people today are more international, less of the flag waving as you say. Maybe a good thing.’

  ‘I’ll stay in touch with your son in Stockholm for sure, and I love this old house so I would visit if you invited me. My father may visit, I get my love of history from him.’

  ‘He never sought his heritage?’

  ‘He knew about it, but was never interested in Judaism. He is … neutral in most things, a scientific mind. But in England I have a friend, a Cohen, and a proud Jew – so he says. Yet he never goes to Temple, he loves pork, never studied the Torah.’

  ‘I have met many like that, Jew in name only.’

  ‘You have time for such people?’ I pressed.

  ‘I don’t send them away, but I don’t ask to see them. Better to be one thing or another, not sat halfway.’

  I faced Henrick. ‘You are a proud Jew?’

  ‘Yes, but I was a rebellious son. I went to study in England against my father’s wishes, I wanted to travel, I met and married a Swedish lady.

  ‘But then when I had a family of my own I realised what I had put my father through, and we grew closer afterwards. He was pleased when I brought the girls to see him, and we visit more now.’

  ‘Will you raise the girls as Jews?’ I asked.

  ‘I will not force anything on them, they decide for themselves, but they are interested and they study some.’

  I faced the old man. ‘Were you glad to get your son back?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and now grandchildren, and when he has children he realises what it is to be a parent.’

  I addressed the old lady. ‘Do the daughters look after you?’

  ‘They are sweet, no trouble, always cards and gifts for me. I would have liked to have daughters, but it was not to be. Now I have my girls, and they come for a few weeks in the summer.’

  ‘Well, you now have my extended family if you want them to visit, and the girls are well behaved as well. Have you seen any of the Mercedes adverts?’

  ‘When we heard the name, Roskov, we look out for them and see you, and we wonder if you are related. Some spell it with two “F”, some as you. Most Roskov come from Russia.’

  I faced Olesya. ‘We could be distantly related.’

  ‘I had friends in school, Roskoff – two “F”.’

  I turned to the old man. ‘I don’t want to take too much of your time -’