Each of the six million men, women and children who died in the Nazi concentration camps during the Second World War was a human being with dreams of their own. The few who survived all had stories to tell of their desperate fight to survive, physically and mentally. Most can never forget the 'Last Goodbye' as they saw loved ones for the last time. In the summer of 1944, with the Russians advancing, the whole Ghetto population of Lodz including Edith Hofmann were herded into cattle trucks and sent to Auschwitz. She was aged only 17 and one of the lucky ones. For the majority it was their final journey. A small group of people were selected for work. So, with her hair shaved off and deprived of all her possessions, she travelled to Kristianstadt, a labour camp in Silesia to work in an underground munitions factory. In January 1945, with the Russians approaching again, she was sent off on a Death March across snow covered Germany to Bavaria. There cattle trucks were waiting for her. Spending a week in crowded conditions without food or water she arrived in Bergen Belsen on 15th March. A month later she was liberated. In 1946, after the liberation and destruction of the death camps, she came to England, studying and becoming a teacher in London. In the 1970s she went to art classes, which inspired her to interpret her memories in a more visual way. Her paintings are reproduced in her book The Last Goodbye, accompanied by some equally powerful and emotive poems. Edith now lives with her husband in Hereford. She has three children and six grandchildren

When Edith Hofmann sat down to write this book, she was a 19-year-old coming to terms with the fact of her own survival. It is a story which describes a struggle; the struggle to come to terms with a haunting past, the struggle to survive, and the struggle to unburden a broken heart. It also embodies a struggle to form, in language, that which at times all but defies linguistic form. When Hofmann started writing this book she had only been speaking English for two years, and yet she wanted to convey her experiences, in English, to those with whom she had made her home. The cruel reality was that no one really wanted to hear. She poured out her soul, only to be told that 'no one was interested in the war any more'. This was 1950. Some fifty years later she revisited the manuscript, wondering whether such a text would have any value. For fifty years her text had lain in her drawer, waiting to be read. Her story is a novel, but it certainly is not a fiction. Scared for her own safety, Hofmann chose to write in the third person rather than pen a memoir. Every page is bound up with the intricate details of her life, those whom she loved, and those whom she lost; the echoes of those terrible years, and the memory they imposed. In compiling this text, she decided neither to change it, by removing discrepancies or updating anything, which Hofmann wrote in the late 1940s, nor to improve her English, but rather to leave it as a raw and indelible testimony not only to her survival but to her bid to survive survival. You will be moved; not only by what she has written, but by the fact that she wrote at all.