WALTER FAMILY HISTORY
Deb's side of the family (the Tidmore/Walter side) has a fascinating history, too. The narrative below, from Deb's Mom, provided the core info for the Walter Family History, to which, in 2014, I was able to add a good bit of information from online and genealogical research. The completed Walter Family History narrative (18 Mb PDF), was titled "A Young Girl's Story" (in German).
To start us off, an audio tape introduced by Deb's sister, Sigrid, and recorded by Deb's Mom, Hannelore ("Pete") Walter (later Tidmore, then Wilson) ::
To start us off, an audio tape introduced by Deb's sister, Sigrid, and recorded by Deb's Mom, Hannelore ("Pete") Walter (later Tidmore, then Wilson) ::
HANNELORE WALTER | RECOLLECTIONS | 1930-1949
Here are some of Deb's Mom's recollections of growing up as a young girl in Germany, before, during and after World War II ::
Spring, 2002: My children and grandchildren have been asking me for a long time to put a record of my life on paper. I am now 71 years old and feel that time is getting shorter, and that I had better get busy! After all, I am the only one who can remember ‘way back when’, since I grew up in Germany; my parents are both long gone; and most people in my immediate family are no longer with us, or have a hard time communicating in English. So this will be a family history of what I can remember, and what has been related to me.
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My Dad’s parents, Reinhold and Clara Walter, were living in Breslau [now Wroclaw, Poland], capital of the Province of Silesia [also now largely a part of Poland]. Reinhold Walter was employed as an adviser to the mayor of Breslau, a pretty good job. My Dad was born on 11 December 1897. He had one older brother, Max, two older sisters, Grete and Clara, and one younger brother, Fritz. I don’t recall much about my Dad’s siblings; I know they all married and had children, but due to the war and absence of close communication, we all lost track of each other. I do know that Uncle Max and his wife, Tante Maria, died soon after the end of the war. They had three children, two boys and a daughter. The oldest, Helmut, became a major in the German Army during the war. He married, and to the best of my knowledge had five children. I know that after the war he joined the German Bundeswehr and was stationed near Munich.
Who is still living, I don’t know. I’m sure some of the children must still be alive. His younger son was a fighter pilot during the war and was killed during the battle of Britain early on. The daughter, Ruth, was a little older than me; she also married and was last known to live somewhere in Berlin, in what at the end of the war was the Russian sector.
My father’s sisters were all virtually unknown to me. Even during the time that I lived with my father, there was very little contact with them. His younger brother, Fritz, married and had two children, a daughter and son. They, as well as my dad’s sisters, lived in what was later to become East Germany (now, eastern Germany). I believe I met all of them as a very young child and received birthday and Christmas cards, but that all ceased by the end of the war. Uncle Fritz was an Infantry soldier during the war. He fought in terrible battles on the Russian Front, was reported missing during the later part of the war, and was never heard from again. After the war ended he was declared dead.
My Dad, according to his telling, was brought up in a rather strict home and attended all the right schools. When the First World War broke out, he could not wait to join and when he was 18 he finally entered the German Army as a 2nd Lieutenant. He saw action on both the Eastern and Western fronts, and after Germany's defeat at the hands of the Allies he was discharged. He drifted from job to job, down at heart because of the defeat, and the demoralizing times that followed. Germany went through a period of severe inflation, where any money you had was totally devalued. I remember stories where my grandparents literally picked up wash-baskets full of money at the bank, and by the time they brought it home it was worth half its value. Million Mark banknotes were common.
Dad had several jobs, none of them too successful, since all he had ever learned was soldiering. Amongst them was a stint in the Reichswehr, a sort of military police force. Through that he became involved in a coup d’etat, which landed him for a short time in jail as a political prisoner.
Before that, however, he had met my mother. From what I gather, it was love at first sight. She must have been just 16 years old, because when they were married a year later [1925] she was only 17. Her name was Kaethe Kunisch, born on 29 May 1908; thus, 11 years younger than her husband. As for their appearance, two more different people are hard to imagine. My Dad was tall [he must have been over 6 feet], very muscular and heavy boned, auburn haired, with blue eyes. My mother was the opposite: tiny, small of stature, blond hair and blue eyes. From all reports, I gather that she was the love of his life and he absolutely adored her. She was the younger daughter of Robert and Emma Kunisch. Her older sister, Gertrude [later known as Tante Trude] was born in 1905.
Her parents lived in Schmiedeberg, a popular tourist spot, located at the foot of the Riesengebirge, a beautiful medium-high mountain range that attracted wanderers from near and far. Kaethe’s parents ran a rather well-known hotel and restaurant [with mother Kunisch as head of the kitchen]; it was said to be a favorite eating place with locals as well as tourists. When Grandfather Kunisch died in 1919, soon after the end of the First World War, Emma tried to run the hotel by herself for a while. This is where, according to tales I've heard, my Dad met my mother in 1926 and the rest, as they say, is history. The hotel, which became too much for my Grandmother to run, was given up, and my Grandmother opened a small boarding house, where she served dinner to guests, especially tourists and business people.
I never knew much about my Mom's side of the family. I do know that her mother’s family owned a small farm in Pomerania, a county in northern Germany, east of the Oder-Neisse line, land which, at the end of World War II, was annexed by Poland. [These border provinces, including Silesia, have a varied history, through the centuries belonging to Prussia, Hungary-Austria, Poland, Germany and Russia (Poland, as country, came into being after 1918)]. I remember Oma Kunisch once in a while visiting ‘Ur-Oma’ and bringing back some of the best farm bread home I had ever tasted.
After a short courtship my Dad and Mother married in 1927. At that time my Dad was working as a farm machinery salesman for Krupp, the well-known steel manufacturer that later was famous, or rather infamous, as Germany’s main weapons supplier. (Today, we know it as Thyssen-Krupp; you see their name on elevators all the time.) There are some pictures of my Dad at a farm convention, posing in front of Krupp's exhibit booth. According to all information I have, it was an exceedingly happy marriage. Times were rough in every aspect, but they had each other.
Three years later, on 27 February 1930, I was born. My mother, who I called "Mutti," was not quite 22 years old, my Dad, who I called "Vati," was 33. The nurses at the hospital called her ‘the child with the child’ [this is according to Oma Kunisch, who was there at the time.] I was baptized on 19 April 1930 at the St. Trinitatis Church in Breslau and given the name Hannelore Klara Emma Walter, my two middle names after my grandmothers. Deep in his heart my Dad must have secretly hoped for a boy, for soon I was given the nickname ‘Peter’ [Pete] and the only time I was called by my given name was when I got into some kind of trouble (which was often!) and I'd hear, ‘Hannelore, where are you?’ I knew immediately what that meant.
My time in Breslau (1930-1935) is rather vague to me. After all, I was very young. Supposedly, I was beginning to live up to my nickname by being a real tomboy. We lived on the 3rd floor of an apartment house, as most European city-dwellers did at that time. I recall a big old walnut tree in the garden downstairs, and the walnuts falling each autumn. Instead of the walnuts looking the way you see them in the store, in nature they have a hard green outer shell and were hard to get open. They also really stained your fingers.
I also remember a short time before Christmas or my birthday Mutti being very mysterious about working on something, which turned out to be a wall hanging over my bed and matching runner and cloths for the Chester drawer and table, embroidered with an array of jungle animals such as monkeys, elephants, giraffes and palms. I loved it, and was fascinated by it.
It was a strange time all around. Germany, being defeated in World War I, was a country with no hope. There were no jobs; people had lost their money to inflation and armies of discontents roamed the streets, putting the staid buergers (upper-class) and others in fear of their lives. Governments toppled constantly, no one knew where one's loyalty belonged; there was no country to be proud of. Germany had been shamed before the whole world. So the time was ripe for somebody with a certain charisma, determination and ruthlessness to take over. It had started in small cells, first in Munich, and than all over the country. Bloody fights broke out, especially between the far right (the Communists) and the National Socialist Party (Nazis for short). But the latter gave people more hope, were more patriotically-minded, and promised jobs for everyone. Most importantly, they promised that Germans could hold their heads up again and take their rightful place among other countries. So on a fateful day in January, 1930, elections were held and Hitler's Nazi Party won by a big majority. Field Marshal von Hindenburg, who headed the current government, declared Hitler the new Reichskanzler [Chancellor of the country] and after a new Cabinet was formed, Hitler began with his promised Aufbau, or Reconstruction.
One of the first items on Hitler's agenda was the establishment of a modest German army, one that would later grow to gigantic proportions. My father, being a former military man, again was able to become what he wanted most to be -- a soldier. Soon my Dad entered the new German Forces as a 1st Lieutenant. He was assigned to an Infantry Regiment stationed at Neisse, a mid-sized, rather provincial town known mainly for having been the favorite fortress of Frederick the Great of Prussia, who lived from 1712-1786. Frederick was a well-beloved ruler, affectionately was called ‘Der Alte Fritz’ by his subjects. His religious tolerance was well known, and he is credited with the saying that "there are many ways to get to heaven." He implemented many social reforms and also introduced the potato to Europe. Soon after succeeding his father, he immediately invaded Silesia, then a possession of Austria, ruled by the Empress Maria-Therese. This was the time when Europe was literally ruled by three women -- Katherine the Great of Russia, Maria-Therese of Austria and the infamous Madame Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XIV of France, who was known to be the power behind the French Throne. Frederick liked none of them and called them ‘the three old petticoats.’ He waged 3 wars with Austria. The last and longest gave him permanent possession of Silesia. [Poland never owned Silesia and if all things were equal, the only state to have a real claim to it would be Austria].
But so much for my short detour into history! My Dad’s return to military service and his subsequent assignment to Neisse entailed a move for our family from Breslau. This must have been about 1934 or early 1935. We rented an apartment on a nice quite street with a small park in front of it. That is about all remember of this time because it was to be cut rather short. At the beginning of September 1935 I contracted diphtheria, in those days a very dreaded disease, since no preventive inoculations had yet been discovered. I was rushed to the hospital, where I was put in isolation and in rapid succession received two rather painful injections in my behind. I recovered rather quickly, however, and during my stay I remember looking out of my window and seeing my Mom and Dad downstairs (since I was in quarantine), waiving at me; and my receiving a bunch of beautiful hothouse grapes from them -- all for me!
Soon, I was released and sent home, but told to stay in bed for another week or so. Much to my surprise, just a few days afterward, a strange nurse came to my room, dressed me and told me that I had suffered a relapse and had to go back to the hospital. Downstairs waited an ambulance, and I found out I was not going alone, but my mother was going, too, and was obviously in bad shape. She had also contracted the dreaded disease; whether from me or someone else, I don’t know. The rumor was that I had been released too early and had infected her. What a tale to tell a young child! At the hospital my mother and I were in the same room, she obviously feeling very ill, because she would not talk to me or answer my questions.
That night, sometime in the middle, I was suddenly awakened, bundled up and carried across the yard to another building. Any questions as to why and how my Mom was doing were not answered and put aside. As I found out later, my Mom had turned critical. They performed a tracheotomy on her, but too late, and some time during the night she died. The day was the 26th of September, 1935. I remained in the hospital for another week or so, but no family members were allowed to see me, and the nurses were more than evasive about answering questions. Everybody just seemed overly nice to me.
The day came when I was told that I could go home and that my dad would come by to pick me up. I was dressed and brought downstairs where my Dad waited for me with a military coach drawn by two horses and a soldier at the reins. He also evaded my questions about my Mom, and only told me "later'’. We took a short ride out in the countryside, where he stopped the coach. We got out, walked a little, and then sat down by the side of the path. This is where he told me about my Mom. To be honest, it did not come home to me what it all meant until much, much later. At that moment I was somehow more interested in the horses pulling the coach, and whether I would be allowed to take the reins!
Then, we went home, and at the apartment I found Oma Kunisch [my Mom's mother] and Tante Trude [my Mom’s sister] waiting for us, both dressed in deep black and crying a lot. Again, I was more exited that they had come to visit and brought me a little toy wooden washtub with clothespins and some new cloths for my doll. I remember sitting on the floor and the grown-ups doing a lot of talking, but it all went completely over my head. It was decided between them that I would go home with them for a while until my future was decided; my Dad, being in the military, certainly was not able to care for a five-year-old all by himself.
Before we left, we went to the German Military Cemetery where my mother was buried. That day, and about two or three years later, are the only times I remember visiting the grave. [By the way, nothing remains of her grave site today; after Poland assumed sovereignty, all German cemeteries were flattened and erased.] There are some pictures in my photo album of the grave and the grave stone, but that is all that remains. So I said good-bye to my Dad, and boarded the train to Schmiedeberg with Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude.
Oma Kunisch had a small walk-up apartment with a really small kitchen; walk-thru combination dining and living room; a very tiny side room, like a large cupboard that was Oma’s domain; and a bedroom which Tante Trude, her daughter Sigrid [who was born in 1932, two years my junior] and I shared. So there certainly was not too much room and my coming and staying for an undetermined time must have put a strain and everybody. Times were hard. Oma Kunisch also rented 2 separate small bedrooms from her landlord, which she in turn rented out to boarders or repeat tourists, who came every year in summer to enjoy the good air and the beautiful mountains. Also, as was common in those days, there was only running cold water in the kitchen. The toilet was an outhouse. Though clean, it was terribly cold in winter, especially if you had to utilize it during the night.
The one redeeming feature of Oma's place was a beautiful large old garden that must have stretched for a mile [or at least, so it seemed to us kids]. Oma Kunisch's vegetable garden supplied a lot of fresh produce for her table and we kids had a great time playing there. Since there were quite a few other children around our age we never were bored. Our favorite game, some reason, was Cowboys and Indians. To this day I am still being accused of tying Sigrid to a make-believe totem pole, leaving her there and calmly appearing at the supper table. Somebody finally must have heard her and untied her -- and I had to pay for it! Maybe Tante Trude’s insistence that I was ‘a bad influence on my little cousin’ originated there. Anyhow, I have never lived it down, even to this day!
Occasionally, Tante Trude worked as a bank teller in a local bank. Her husband [of a very short time] died the year following my Mom's death, and she was required to support herself and her daughter. So she left every morning on a bus to get to work and returned in the evening. Oma Kunisch not only had to take care of two small children all day long, but also had to cook for her dinner guests (sometimes as may as 12) and her boarders. But we were all well taken care of. She never laid a hand on us, but when we really wouldn’t listen, as children will, she brought out her cane rug beater and that was usually enough.
In April, 1936 I started school. At that time, the school year in Germany started than in spring, usually right after Easter. Summer holidays did not start until the end of July or early August and school resumed again in September. This allowed the many farm communities in Germany to have the help of the children with the hay and grain harvest. (Also, summery weather in middle Europe does not come till the later part of the summer season, hence the later Summer break.)
The school I started in was located in a small building and housed only the first three grades. Depending on the number of children attending in a particular year, they were often taught in just one room. The teacher, at least from what I remember, looked like something out of a Dickens novel; he didn't let you get away with much. As was the custom, the first time you entered school was celebrated. You were given a cone-type container, decorated with colored paper, which contained all kinds of candies. I guess that was to help you get over being left alone at school, and to make it seem as if school was going to be a lot of fun. First grade, of course, was not hard and you soon got to know your classmates. Your backpack contained a small blackboard to which a little sponge; a small rag, attached on a string; and the chalk sticks.
I must have been been at school for several months when one day my Dad unexpectedly picked me up from school. Of course, my Dad showing up was always a wonderful surprise, because I did not get to see him too often and he always spoiled me rotten. I was even happier to learn that I was to return with him home to Neisse [where he was still stationed]. It seemed he had rented a new apartment and hired a housekeeper/governess to take care of the household, and to look after me. This lady, known as ‘Tante Edith’ turned out to be very 'correct' and very strict. I did not care for her very much, but one thing she taught me was the love of books. After coming home from school, she would sit down with me and painstakingly go paragraph-by-paragraph through a book ... and not a first-grade one, either! Mostly these were stories about knights of old and their ladies and their adventures. The books appealed to me, and before too long I made definite progress and reading became fun. Soon she could not drag me away from a book, a habit that has remained with me all of my life.
Even though Tante Edith was not the perfect ‘governess’, I still have to say thank her for introducing me to the joy of books and reading. My books helped me while away long hours spent alone. All through my life and to this day, books have been one of my greatest pleasures. No matter where I go, whenever I expect to wait for something or someone, I still carry a book with me to pass away the time.
Whether Tante Edith was the right person to bring up a young, headstrong girl is a point I am still not clear about. On one hand my Dad [when he was able to be with me] spoiled me rotten. I often went with him to his office at the garrison where he was stationed when it was Tante Edith’s day off. There I would spend my time after school, roaming the grounds and especially the stables, being looked after by his soldiers, be they Sergeant or Private, and once again, every whim of mine was indulged. Tante Edith, on the other hand, having been charged to bring me up 'proper', was very strict, often to the point of being rather unreasonable. So I quickly learned to make up any kind of stories or excuses to get my way.
With the move back to Neisse [I still remember the address: #6 Obermaehren Gasse], of course, I went to a new school. I do not recall too much about the school itself; more about the long walk to and from. In those days the safety of young children (with respect to molestation) was not often an issue, and as long as you knew your way your ability to return home was expected. Also, traffic was very sparse -- still a lot of horses and wagons around and very few cars.
This, of course, gave me great opportunities to explore. I especially remember a great empty lot I had to cross [supposedly a shortcut home] that held my interest. Over the the years people had dumped all kinds of garden trash, which after a while somehow took root and produced a virtual treasure for me. I found all kinds of different plants and flowers and had to explore them thoroughly. This often reminds me of the cartoon ‘Family Circus,’ where the little boy doesn't always take the shortest route home.
The house we lived in contained several apartments. In the apartment directly below us lived a gentleman with his family. This man owned a brewery, which was located just across the street, built on a park-like lot, with lots of trees and beautiful landscaping, all enclosed by a high fence. He also had a young daughter, about my age or a little older. Her name was ‘Ruth’, and she had beautiful dark hair and very pretty dark eyes. The two of us soon became fast friends, playing together and exploring the neighborhood, especially the park around the brewery. We knew the fence was supposed to keep people out, but Ruth, knowing the man at the gate, always managed to get us in. Knowing we should not really be there made it just so much more interesting!
Ruth even went to the same school as I did, a most welcome friend and companion on the long walks to and from school. But this did not last very long. For some unknown reason, Ruth dropped out of our school and supposedly went to attend a private school.
But we continued to see each other at home after school and played together as before, until the day that I was visiting at her place and her mother had just put out some cookies for us, when Tante Edith appeared and rather curtly demanded that I come upstairs right away and wanted to know what I was doing at their house. I was also told, for no reason what so ever, not to play so often with Ruth.
Next day after coming home from school I stopped downstairs to ask for Ruth to come and play. I never got past their maid and was told she was sick. The following day I tried again and this time somebody strange opened the door and told me that Ruth sand her family had moved away. Away in one day? This seemed even unbelievable to a six-year old. When later I asked Tante Edith what had happened all I was told that was not to ask any questions, that she did not know and I was not to mention their name again and stay away from downstairs.
Children will be children, and so I put this unpleasant and unexplained episode behind me, but deep down in my memory there is still the memory of ‘Ruth’ her mysterious disappearance. Being children we knew nothing about what was going on around us in the larger world, and as far as I knew the departure of Ruth was not connected to anything more sinister than simply "she was gone," and I had lost my only playmate at that time.
One must understand, that at that time ‘adult’ matter were NEVER discussed in front of children and even questions were mostly answered in rather evasive manners. It was not until years later that I realized that Ruth and her family were Jews, and rich Jews at that, an unpardonable sin under the regime of the Nazis. To this day I have no idea what happened to the family. I did not know their last name and only the approximate time this all happened. I can only hope and pray hat the made their escape that night and were not carted off somewhere by the Gestapo. Seeing that they had obviously some money at their disposal, and that the time for the accelerated persecution of Jews did not start until about a year later, I hope they escaped. After Ruth left I had no other close friends.
Black clouds were gathering on the political horizon, and slowly, I started to notice things were beginning to change. First, my Dad was more absent from home than ever; the ‘re-birth’ and mobilization of the German Army was beginning; and he was constantly on Maneuvers or detached duty somewhere. He had by then been promoted to Hauptman or Captain and the only real bright spots in my life were when he made a surprise visit or I was on school holiday.
All my holidays were spent with Oma Kunisch, whom I quite frankly adored, maybe because I could wind her around my little finger, just like my Dad. And Tante Trude’s daughter, Sigrid, my cousin, was like a little sister to me. We loved each other like the real sister we never had. To Oma Kunisch I was, of course, the one thing that remained of her youngest daughter. Oma Kunisch was at that time running her daily dinner table/boarding house for her paying guests, and Tante Trude had her job in the bank. At home things were very much as usual. School in the morning and afternoons and evenings with Tante Edith.
My one great joy was spending time with Vati, when ever he was home. He was a great lover of horses, and I guess I must have inherited that from him. He had several horses at his disposal for personal use, though they belonged to the Army and were stabled and cared for by them. They were all great jumpers and one of my best memories was to watch him at a spring Jagdreiten [steeplechase] and see him win a trophy. Everyone wore a sprig of oak in their lapel or, as in my case, you pinned it to your coat. I always took the oak home with me and tried to keep it green, but after a while it always dried up, and in spite of all my efforts it always dried up and turned brown. But there was always the other Jagdreiten in the fall...!
Every once in a while Vati and I were invited to his regimental commanding officer’s house for dinner or afternoon tea. I guess his wife felt somehow sorry for the poor ‘motherless’ child and somehow wanted to do something for me. They had a son, a few years older than me. Being the tomboy I was, got along just great with him and his buddies, especially after they found out that they could not scare me with frogs, spiders or such things. We all became good friends and there were very few things we did not get into. [By the way, the CO’s son lost his life during the war, and so did his father]. But at that time, we were young and untroubled, and neither politics or other worries entered our minds. One of our main enjoyments was to explore the remaining fortifications around the city of Neisse that Frederick the Great built around the town. Everything was wide open; I guess nobody than thought of the possibilities of anybody [especially children] getting lost in some of the underground passages. We had a grand time, playing the equivalent of Cowboys and Indians, only we were Prussians and Austrians.
A lady, who was introduced to me as ‘Tante Schmidthals’, came to the house a few times, ostensibly to play with us kids, especially with me. I understood her to be a Gym and Home Economics teacher who knew all kinds of neat things to keep us kids occupied. She seemed to be a friend of the family, especially of my late Mutti. Though I did not know it then, Elisabeth Schmidthals was to become one of the most important people in my life.
Tante Schmidthals and Mutti had apparently both attended some of the same schools and had shared an interest in sports, especially in gymnastics. I understood that Mutti had been quite good at gymnastics and won several prizes, a talent she certainly did not pass on to me! (I was more Vati’s daughter in that respect, one who, except for riding, did not care much about participating in sports. Of course, like all Europeans, Vati loved attending soccer matches. But, unless you were able to attend in person, you only read about it in the newspapers. No TV, and even to posses a radio was not too common back then.)
Christmas 1936 was spent at Oma Kunisch’s in Schmiedeberg with Oma, Tante Trude and Sigrid. Vati was there for the main holidays, and if I remember correctly, even Tante Schmidthals showed up with a gift for me. The Kunisch family always seemed to distance themselves from Tante Schmidthals. Why, I was to learn much later. As far as they were concerned, Vati could do no wrong. They simply adored him, and were extremely proud of their late daughter's husband, the handsome Hauptman in his smart uniform. Even in his absence he was always talked about, and still referred to by Oma as her ‘son-in-law’. I only learned later on that they secretly had hoped for a match between Tante Trude and my Vati. What a disaster that would have been! Two more different outlooks on life hardly existed -- my Vati light-hearted and outgoing, looking at the brighter side of life and, I am sure, not always following the straight and narrow ‘moral’ path. And I was, of course, very much my father's daughter, something of a rebel.
Soon after that Christmas my Dad announced that he and Tante Schmidthals were engaged and to be married the coming June. I personally liked Tante Schmidthals well enough, and anything seemed better than being with Tante Edith.
I remember a visit of Tante Schmidthals and her mother to Neisse around my 7th birthday. In hindsight, I'm sure they were there to look over the household and to see what would be needed by the new ‘mistress’ of the house. Right afterwards, my Vati was transferred again, this time to Oppeln, a rather bigger town than Neisse. This was to be my home for the next two years. Tante Edith left shortly before the wedding and on June 27, 1937 Vati and Tante Schmidthals were married in a little old fashioned church, not too far from Schmiedeberg.
Vati’s brothers and sister attended, of course, along with several people from my new ‘Mutti’s’ side of the family. The Kunisch family was absent; whether they were not invited or chose not to attend by their own choice, I don’t know. When Vati and my new 'Mutti' [as I shall refer to her from here on] left after the reception on their honeymoon, they took me along! Why, I do not know; there certainly were enough people around to look after me. With they new Mutti I had also acquired a new Grandmother, Oma Schmidthals. She and Tante Anna, her companion/housekeeper, were also living in Schmiedeberg.
Tante Anna had come as a 16 year old into the Schmidthals household when my new Mutti was born in 1904, the third child and first daughter for Oma Schmidthals and her husband. Her older brother was 14 when she was born. His name was Ernst-Walter. Her younger brother, Wilhelm, was around 10 years old when she was born. Mutti came from an old Prussian family that had, just a short time before her birth, given up the word ‘von’ in front of Schmidthals, for reasons I do not know. (That was another case where such matters were not discussed with the children.) Most of the males of the family where, or had been, in the military and all were very patriotic about the ‘fatherland’, especially under the Kaiser.
Oma Schmidthals lived through three wars, starting with the Franco-Prussian War in the late 1800s, which united Germany into one nation, when Bismarck declared Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia as Emperor of all Germany, and did away with all the little states that previously constituted German territory. Then followed World War I, and later, World War II. She really lived through some historic times.
I never met Mutti’s father or older brother. Her brother died at the beginning of World War I, and her father passed away sometime in the early twenties. Oma Schmidthals was what you would call ‘a Grand Dame’ -- every inch of her showing her breeding. She was of tiny stature and, according to the early pictures I have seen of her, must have been truly beautiful. It still showed.
Beyond that, she had a wonderful personality. Even though she was, to me, an ‘old lady’ she had a wonderful understanding of young people, especially surprising, since my generation was definitely different than hers. She grew up in the very proper and strict ‘Victorian Age’, long dresses and tight corsets and everything that went with it.
Oma Schmidthals and I had a great relationship. Many times when Mutti and I could not see eye to eye on issues [and those times came often] Oma Schmidthals would be the mediator. I also liked Tante Anna. She was a very unassuming and sweet person, who had through her own intelligence and hard work had found her place, rising from nursemaid to Ladies Companion, which was quite a climb. Eventually she became Oma Schmidthals’ best friend and equal partner.
But back to the ‘honeymoon’. Vati, Mutti and I traveled to a rather secluded hotel in the Harz Mountains. All I remember is being on my own a lot [at least I had my books] and the three of us taking what seemed to be endless walks. Upon our return to Oppeln [where Vati was stationed] we moved to a newer and larger apartment. I did not have to change schools, but my walk to and from school became longer and I had to ride a city bus part of the way. Things at home were going OK; Mutti and I got along all right, even though she was very strict and set in her ways [which never, even in her later life, was to change] -- and that eventually caused trouble.
I am sure that I presented quite a challenge. I had gone through many different hands in my seven years, and I guess I also had been quite indulged by Vati as well as Oma Kunisch along the way. The Kunisch family never actually forgave Mutti for marrying my Vati, and now I realize that the spoiling and indulgences on Oma Kunisch’s part had a lot to do with that.
But the friction that started at home went a lot deeper than just my relationship with Mutti. Vati's and Mutti's outlook on life was just oceans apart. He had married because he had to do a certain amount of repair to his reputation [I never got the whole story, just some hints that it had to do something with a certain ‘Lady’], and he also needed a mother to take care of me. So Mutti, with her spotless reputation and background, was the perfect choice. Tante Edith's presence in the home of a bachelor, even though he was recently widowed (and, from what I was told, the expectations she held) was not a good choice. So he married Mutti, but it was very obvious that, at least on his side, it was a marriage of convenience.
Both at home and in the world at large, it became apparent even to me that things were not as they should be. On the political horizon, black clouds were beginning to gather. Hitler escalated his persecution of the Jews. Internationally, as history shows, he was still presenting a peaceful face to the rest of the world. He met in Munich with English foreign minister Chamberlain and French minister Dalladier and ‘everlasting peace’ and ‘non-aggression’ was promised by all. At home, however, all the laws concerning ‘Non-Arians’ were being put into effect -- meaning, mainly, the Jews.
One morning, I was riding the city bus to school. The bus route went by a Jewish Synagogue, where a big black cloud of smoke was visible. It soon became evident that, not only had the building been set afire, but all the beautiful glass windows and door were smashed to pieces. The big copper dome on the building was tilting crazily to one side. Except some murmurs from people riding the bus, nobody said anything. When I arrived at school there was no comment. Upon arriving home and telling Mutti about it I became no wiser.
I found out later that all the Jewish places in town -- and all over Germany -- had met the same fate. It was what later became known as the Kristallnacht [Crystal Night] and was supposedly an ‘act of the people’ who were fed up with the ‘money- grabbing’ Jews. In fact, the deed had been done by members of the SA and SS. This was also the time when the real persecution of Jews began. Nothing much was ever said about politics at home; just to criticize anything that Hitler did was high treason. But I was just a young kid, who was not in any way directly touched by things that were happening.
There was enough trouble at home. Vati was constantly absent, whether intentionally or due to his being an officer in the Army, I do not know. Just less than six months after their wedding, Mutti suddenly went back to Schmiedeberg to stay with her mother who said she ‘needed’ her. Since school was still in session, I was left at home, and a young ‘au pair’ girl, came to stay with us and to take care of me. She was not only lazy and undependable, but often not even around when she was needed.
As the winter holidays began I was shipped off again to Oma Kunisch, and, since I was in the same town as Mutti, went to see her. She was apparently really sick with some kind of nervous skin problem, one that made her break out in hives all over and itched. (It was a complaint that I was to get to know quite well. Every time something upset Mutti or things did not go just her way, this re-occurred.) During the Christmas holidays Vati came to Schmiedeberg and the two of them must have come to some kind of understanding, because after Mutti was ‘well’ again, we returned to Oppeln together, in time for me to go back to school.
After that, a whole year went by, rather serenely -- at least, at home. During the summer of 1937 Germany reclaimed the Sudetenland, a strip of country located around the borders of Czechoslovakia and predominantly occupied by a German-speaking population. According to the news, many were being persecuted because of their German ancestry and had to be ‘liberated’. This came after the earlier annexation of Austria, and shortly before German troops crossed the border into the part of Czechoslovakia and occupied it. The search for more 'lebensraum’ [room to live] had begun in earnest.
Vati was transferred temporarily to a small town in East-Sudetenland called ‘Sternberg’. Shortly after arriving, he somehow injured his back and was admitted to the local hospital which was run by an order of nuns. Vati’s constant complaint was that they did more praying than looking after their patients. But that was probably just his discontent and boredom speaking. Since he was to be in the hospital over the holidays, Mutti and I went to stay with him. The nuns even arranged for beds in the same room for both of us. We spent Christmas with him. He seemed in a great deal of pain, and every so often, a nurse would appear and jab a painkiller/sleeping drug into his rear end. (Remember that I was not yet nine years old, and a lot of what I recall about these things is based on what I heard.)
I do not remember if we had a Christmas tree in Vati’s room; I do know there was a huge one in the hall. It was a strange Christmas. Mostly I recall the nuns, gliding around in their long white habits and with their large white head dresses, looking like something out of a scary movie. It was quite an experience, especially for somebody who was brought up Protestant Lutheran and until that point had no contact with anything Catholic; and who was being very much influenced in her thinking by Mutti, who strongly disliked, among other things, Jews and Catholics [in that order].
It was a strange time for me to be growing up. On one hand I had (so it seemed) finally found a stable home with both a father and mother. On the other hand, the political situation was beginning to make itself felt. Mutti was very pro-Hitler; she thought he was the long awaited ‘Messiah’ who would lead Germany back to its old glory. She was not necessarily what you would call a ‘Nazi’ [certainly her family background would vouch for that]; and she was not a follower of the party line (I know she was not a member). But she did agree with a lot of their dogmas and beliefs, especially as far as the Aryan dogma was concerned. She never believed in interracial mixing; everything not German [or of ‘Germanic’ origin] was frowned upon, and English-American culture such as music or movies was considered decadent.
By now it was Christmas, 1938. We celebrated very little. I received a a pair of skis and everything to go with them. Since the hospital had extensive grounds and there was plenty of snow on the ground, I tried them out the next day. I was not too successful at first, but had a lot of fun anyhow. (Many days, when I attended school at home, they were the only means of transportation, so eventually, I got pretty good on them.) We went home to Oppeln December 26; Vati was about to be released and joined us soon thereafter for a short time.
Vati was never home for a long stretch at a time; duty called him constantly away, mostly on extended maneuvers. The military was beginning to feel the extra pressure and the ever-present darkening political situation. Germany was definitely preparing for war. At home, the situation was still very strained because, in my estimation, Mutti's outlook on life was just so different than was Vati's.
But the New Year (1939) bought another transfer for Vati. He was a Captain by then, and was being given his first command, a small garrison located in the eastern corner of the Sudetenland. Maerish Rothwasser was a little place, not much more than a large Village, located in a valley surrounded by some of the prettiest country and mountains you could imagine. The barracks had been built by the Czech Army and consisted of many rather modern looking buildings, intended to house quite a large contingent of mounted troops. Of course, there were also stables, which were in better shape than the quarters intended for the troops!
Vati went ahead with a small detachment of soldiers to oversee the finishing of the barracks, as well as the housing intended for dependents. Everything was in a raw state of finish and it took several months to be fully completed. The base was surrounded by a chain link fence and the dependent housing was located right across from the main gate.
Finally, the big day came, and after the troops had arrived and been settled, we got the word to come and join Vati and take up residence in our new home. If I remember correctly, it was March, 1939, still miserably cold and wet; and, as you might imagine, the new and until-then-unoccupied quarters were the same. Each room was equipped with a big old-fashioned tile stove -- nice and cozy when you stood right next to it, but it took some doing to heat every room. Still, we were able to be all together again.
I went to exploring, especially in the stables, and was very disappointed when I found only one horse in residence, Vati’s personal mount, called ‘Nation’. However, it did not take long before the stables were filled with horses of all types and colors, but on that first visit she did look rather lonesome. Besides, she was always rather ill-tempered and liked to nip you when you weren't looking. Vati exercised her daily, and when I had the chance and knew where he had gone I would run as far as I could to meet him and would always get a hand up to ride home with him.
Before long we had to think about me starting back to school. In Oppeln, I attended third grade, with about a fourth of the school year to run, since the new school year started in spring. Here, being in the Sudetenland, a former part of Czechoslovakia, the school year changed in fall after the big summer holidays. So I either had to lose or gain half a year. Vati and Mutti decided to rather have me gain than lose time. In retrospect, it was probably not the best thing to do. Not only was I thrown into completely new surroundings with new teachers and classmates, I was also at least half a year behind in school knowledge, and I was also now the youngest one in the class [a fact that would show itself in later years]. As if this all was not enough, I was a complete outsider coming from ‘Old Germany’ -- the country that had, through Hitler, ‘liberated’ them, which not everyone was 100% happy about.
The local people were very much like the Austrians, with a little bit of Latin outlook on life thrown in. They were very laid back and their philosophy was if it does not get done today, it’ll get done tomorrow. This attitude did not get along well with the semi-Prussian military attitude of most newcomers. Many times I remember Vati being thoroughly frustrated when a job at the garrison needed to be finished at a specific time, but wasn't.
It took me quite while to be accepted, but once I felt like I belonged, it soon became home and has remained so till this day. I literally had to fight for respect -- I intensely disliked being made fun of, due to my different accent, ways of behavior, background and life at home. Somebody also found out about my nickname of Peter, and I was constantly teased about it, until one day I did not back down from the biggest boy in the class, and we got in a fight. We were both punished, but afterwards became the best of friends. I had gained a protector nobody fooled with.
School went slow in the beginning. I was really good in the subjects I liked, but only just passed things like mathematics or grammar. I made it to the end of the school year and was promoted to the next grade. From then on things got better; I had friends and I felt at home. The war had begun in September 1939, and within a few weeks -- I think it was the beginning of October -- Vati and his troops received orders to move. Like in times of old, they moved out, the horses pulling the wagons. It was literally ’when the caissons were rolling along’, because that is what they were: field artillery. There was not a single motorized vehicle amongst them. My Dad rode his horse at the front of the column, his officers behind him, and the rest of the troops followed. It was quite a picture. We -- that is, the families who stayed behind -- gathered all the flowers we could find and decorated all the men and horses. They were on their way to a main railway loading station several miles away.
That, and two more times in the next 2 years, was all I saw of Vati. After all the men were gone, it took a while for things to settle down at home. Everything was strangely quiet and empty. All we knew is that the men were to be posted somewhere toward the Eastern front and at that time, that meant Poland. The men were all anxious to get going ‘in case the war would be over before they became involved' [Little did anyone know what lay ahead]. The Polish campaign was short and successful for the German forces. Germany was ecstatic. Everybody listened to the radio and waited for sondermeldungen [special news bulletins] to hear of the ‘glorious’ battles the German troops fought and, at that time, won.
At home life returned to a certain normalcy. Starting in September, 1939, we had air raid drills and certain people were appointed air wardens. We had, of course, total blackouts at night. All of this was considered a kind of joke, even when we were issued ration cards for everything possible. Food and other things were abundant, even in the large cities. The war would be over before Christmas, we were told, and all the men would be home safe and sound and Germany would of course be victorious.
Soon, however, reality set in. Within the first two weeks, the first casualty reports began arriving, and many loved ones were either dead or wounded. Then, England and France joined the war on the side of Poland, and all of a sudden it was a two-front war and the first air raids started. That's when things started to get really serious. Italy, of course, had joined with Germany, becoming a member of the 'Axis Powers'. Germany quickly overran the combined forces of the 'Allies' in France, and German troops marched into Paris; German forces dug in along the Atlantic coast after heavy fighting.
The Allies had to retreat from mainland Europe, incurring heavy casualties, especially at the infamous battle of Dunkirk. Hilter literally faced England from about 2 hours away. Britain sustained heavy losses, but so did the Germans. The air battle of Britain began, and so did the sea battles. German U-boats chased everything in their sights and sank it. Most Germans were euphoric, but the war still was not over, and the Allies dug in for a bitter battle. Frenchmen organized a very effective underground force that harassed German troops wherever they could find them. And the bombing of German cities and factories began to take its toll. Even our out-of-the-way little place was soon to have its share of air raid evacuees, especially mothers with young children.
Vati and his outfit had been transferred to the Western front, though ground fighting there had ceased for the time being. An uneasy armistice had been declared; the French had a puppet government under Marshal Petain. This was the summer of 1940, and sometime during my summer holidays Vati came home for a short furlough. I was spending the summer doing my part for the war effort, working on a nearby farm every day, helping in the fields, or doing whatever chores were needed. All the ‘able bodied’ men were in the service. It was great to have Vati home, even for a short time, if only Mutti wouldn't have spoiled it.
It seemed that every time Vati visited and things were going great, she would bring up something I had done wrong during his absence. He would than feel compelled to somehow punish me, so as not to undermine her authority. Then he would try to make up for it, sharing some special ‘tidbits’ or goodies that - according to Mutti - were meant only for him. When he was out of earshot, Mutti, in turn, would let me know how much that displeased her and under no circumstances was I to do it again. As a result, Mutti and I never had the best relationship. She was too strict and often unforgiving, which in turn caused me to do things anyway, whether she was right or not. It also had me inventing a lot of stories about where I had to be (or had been); or how long it would take, etc.
One afternoon during the summer of 1940, when Vati was home on leave and everyone was having a good time, Mutti mentioned to him a transgression of mine which, to her, seemed serious. I had a piggy bank, in which were about 20 Marks -- money that had been given to me on one occasion or another. I wanted to buy something in the village store, and just liked to have some money in my pocket, so I managed -- with the help of a hair pin -- to extract 5 Marks thru the slot. Mutti somehow found out, and I was grounded for about a week. I think that happened in February, and Vati didn't come home on furlough 'til early June. So, out of the clear blue sky that afternoon, just before we were supposed to go somewhere, she informed him of my ‘thievery’ [as she called it] and told him that he had to punish me for it, or I would came to a bad end.
What was he to do? He called me to his study and told me that Mutti had advised him of what I had done and insisted he punish me. So I was excluded from going on our outing together, and restricted to my room. Even as a 10 year old, I could tell that his heart was not in it, and later he made it up to me by buying me a bicycle -- over Mutti’s objection. Soon thereafter he had to leave again, and I was to see him just once more, for a very short time. He was soon transferred to Poland, where he was to spend almost a year. According to his letters, he felt that the government had forgotten about him, but then they promoted him to Major of his battalion.
The war was at a stalemate. The only battles going on, it seemed to us, were in the air in Africa. At that time, in the Sudetenland, we were not touched very much by the war. The large cities of Germany were constantly bombed and we were receiving more and more evacuees. Ration cards became more and more short, especially items such as white flour, sugar and butter or margarine, and ‘real’ coffee. Our coffee was made from roasted barley and chicory, probably very healthy and certainly caffeine-free. But the taste? Ugh. Luxury items such as good soap and shampoos, or chocolate and of course all imported items became rare and were soon only found on the black market. Hotels and restaurants soon required that you bring your ration book with you.
Still, where we lived was kind if a backwater from the war, and since most people in the area were farmers, food was not scarce. There was almost always enough [dark] rye flour and, of course, potatoes around. More recipes, even cakes, containing rye flour and potatoes became popular. The sweetener was more often than not saccharine, often egg substitute, and of course, as fat free as possible. But, as the old saying goes: Hunger is the best cook. But those times were still plentiful compared to later years. Things, however, were soon to change.
One thing I clearly remember: During the summertime, the great pine woods surrounding the valley were plentiful with wild berries. Starting in early summer with wild strawberries, which grew along the hedges, on spots that were partially exposed to the sun; and later on, wild blueberries and cranberries, the summer ending with sweet and juicy wild raspberries as well as blackberries. When it rained there were wild, edible mushrooms just waiting for the picking. Of course, you had to have a certain knowledge of what was edible, but somehow, growing up so close to Nature, you almost instinctively knew. We would get up in the morning as early as possible, right before dawn. All the ‘mushroom pickers’ would do this -- you wanted to get to your favorite spot before anybody else did, because mushrooms are best when picked before the sun comes up. They have a tendency to get slimy later in the day.
During Vati’s summer leave in 1940, Mutti and he had decided that it would be better for my education [meaning, "stopping me from being such a tomboy and learning some deportment"] to attend an all-Girls' school about 30 km from where we lived. It was a combination junior high and high school, known for its ‘higher’ education and teaching young girls to be more like ladies. Not only did it mean that I had to leave all my friends behind, but also that I had to ride a bus every morning, and home again in the afternoon, a total of about 2 1/2 hours on the road. I would catch the bus at around 6:45 in the morning and be home by 2:00. The bus had to travel long, winding roads through the mountains, which in wintertime meant snow and ice covered roads. Why parents would send a ten-year-old on such a harrowing trip is still a mystery to me!
Needless to say, I hated the change and was determined NOT to like the school. I did not like my classmates, ‘city girls’ whose interests were completely different from mine. I didn’t like the teachers, and I think the feeling was mutual. I was probably a bit of a troublemaker. My grades began to suffer. I cut classes whenever possible, which was not hard to do; it was easy to blame being late or absent on the bus, and nobody bothered ever to check. That sojourn lasted one school year. By the fall of 1941, I persuaded Mutti to let me re-join my old local school.
As the summer before, I spent most of my vacation ‘helping’ at a neighboring farm, partially because we had to do it as a school project, but mostly because I just enjoyed being out of doors and on a farm with all the animals. I was good with horses, and many times I helped bring the full hay wagon home, leading the horses. The noon meals and snacks they served during the afternoon were beginning to look mighty good. Food was becoming more rationed, even where we lived, and we had begun to feel it. Rationing was becoming more and more strict, and certain items such as sugar, butter or margarine were getting more scarce. Still, compared to what was to happen in the coming years, we were living well.
As usual, during the summer vacation I spent about 2 weeks at Oma Kunisch’s. That was always a special treat for me. Complete freedom, and the promise of being spoiled, too! I was 11 years old, and Oma Kunisch lived about half a days train ride away in Schmiedeberg. I was put on the train at home with a book and a sandwich and my suitcase, told to change trains at a certain place and then Oma Kunisch or Tante Trude would pick me up in Schmiedeberg. Trains were often running late; troop trains or supply trains always had priority. Homeward-bound was the same story; they would put me on the train and Mutti would pick me up at the station. How different those days were! Sigrid and I played all day with friends that were also spending their summers with their grandparents.
Everything was great, except for one big problem I had with Mutti -- one that was to remain with me thru all my school years. As I have mentioned before, Mutti was a strict non- conformist, especially when it suited her purposes. No matter what my friends or classmates did or were allowed to do, I always had to be different, specially when it came to dressing. She had all kinds of reasons: My Vati was an officer in the German Army and I had to be behave accordingly, to consider my ‘background' [obviously ‘better’ than the local ‘farm girls', etc]. I had to behave in a certain manner that she considered correct, was never allowed the freedom they had when it came to go to the weekly movies, unless she approved. So we had quite a few differences of opinion and when I could not change her mind I started to find ways to do what I wanted. And of course that led to telling stories, (let's not call them lies). Whether she always knew what I was up to, I don’t know. She caught me now and then, and than the punishment was severe, in a very subtle way. And she never forgot. Years later she would remind me of things I had done wrong. I muddled along with Mutti the best I could. After all, I reasoned that since my Vati had married her, he must have had a reason I could not understand.
One more example of Mutti’s method of ‘bringing up Peter’ (me): As a home-economics project we were all to sew a very simple dress, which would teach us, amongst other things, how to use a sewing machine. The old kind, where your feet did the work, no electric machines in those days. Well, the teacher, had purchased material, a sort of check gingham, in red and blue checks. All the girls were to attempt to sew this into a dress and this was later to be worn as a sort of school uniform for our grade and on specified days we were to appear in those outfits.
Of course Mutti disagreed with the colors, the material, style and everything else. She had to buy a different type of material in a different color, and wanted a different style. This not only put me in very hot water with the teacher, but also again made me different from the rest of the class. Mutti and the teacher never saw eye to eye from the very beginning. I guess since she used to be a Home Economics teacher at one time, she knew every thing better. The teacher, a proverbial old maid, had taught at this school for more years than she probably cared to count, and was not about to be told by a ‘newcomer’ and ‘intruder' from the Altreich [‘original’ Germany, before the ‘liberation’, was called old Germany]. So I became a pawn in their power play, and that did not make it easy for me, because I could not please the teacher, no matter how hard I tried, especially with Mutti blocking everything.
Often, in later years when I was grown and out from under her thumb, I tried to figure out the reasons that made her what she was. I’m sure she loved me in her way, and I was far from perfect, but we sure butted heads. And, as I mentioned before, it caused a lot of problems and made me even more of a rebel than I naturally was. And the Kunisch side of the family did not help. There, again, I was in the middle of a power play. On Oma Kunich’s side I was considered just about perfect and spoiled rotten. They did not like Mutti at all [which will be shown even more clearly later]. Mutti just decided whatever ‘they’ said was wrong and directly meant to be said out of jealousy. The only mediators in all this were Mutti’s mother and Tante Anna. They seemed to understand me more, even though they were of a much older generation. I really loved to visit with them and listen to their stories of a very different time.
Vati had been home for a very short furlough at the end of January, 1941 and was now on the Russian front. That was when the overall picture of the war began to change. The Allies dug in, as Churchill put it: "on the beaches of England and in the air." The bombing raids accelerated and Russia had joined the war on the side of the Allies. So Germany was fighting on two fronts. The ‘glorious’ German troops made more and more ‘strategic’ withdrawals. The news from the East was bad. Just like for Napoleon, the rough Russian winter, the long, impossible supply routes and the Russian troops, who were used to the bitter cold, began taking their toll. Vati was at this time stationed about 20 km outside of Moscow. Letters from him began to arrive slower and slower, and his usually upbeat tone began to change. December, 1941 arrived and the Christmas season was just around the corner. My daily silent question was: "Will Vati be home for at least part of the holidays?" I knew the answer, but one could hope.
One night I had a strange dream; it was more like being awake. Somehow the idea came to me of what would happen if Vati got killed: I would actually be an orphan. A terrible thought for a young girl, having read all those books about poor orphans. Then came December 5, a day I shall never forget. It was a Sunday morning, around 11 o’clock, when the door bell rang. Mutti was busy with some thing and asked me to answer. At the door was a German Army officer asking to see Mutti. Being taught to ask such a caller into Vati’s study, I asked him to wait and went to get Mutti. I remember the radio in the corner was on, and as Mutti and I returned he was busy turning the sound down. Mutti was just about to ask him what he was doing when we both saw the look on his face and knew what he was there to tell us.
“I’m terribly sorry to have to inform you that on the 3rd of December your husband died a hero’s death on the field of battle”. On and on he went, how it happened, how a Siberian sharpshooter hidden in a tree hit him with a bullet right in the forehead and that he died instantly...but nothing much penetrated our mind. All I could think of was that Vati was dead and would never come home. I had indeed become an orphan. Mutti took it very hard. It took all her last energy to ask that her mother be notified, also Oma Kunisch. After he left, she pretty much shut down and just went through the motions, doing only the things that needed doing.
Her mother, including Tante Anna, arrived by train the next afternoon. As her mother got off the train, her first words were that her brother, and also her favorite cousin, had also been killed fighting in Russia. I don’t think it hit Mutti until much later what her mother had said; we were all kind of numb. Mutti had some kind of breakdown and took to her bed, leaving the running of the house to her mother and Tante Anna, who turned out to be a real rock in all that turmoil. Tante Anna went to work on getting black material and sewing several black dresses for everybody, because mourning clothes would be worn for at least a year. All the other necessities, such as notifying the paper and informing relations and friends had to be seen to.
As I recall, I stayed home from school about 10 days, maybe 'til the Christmas holidays. I had to have a black dress to wear and I also felt awkward facing my schoolmates and teachers. I think my Dad was the first casualty of the war as far as my immediate circle was concerned. I remember one of my first concerns was if we were going to have a tree for the holidays this year, and how it would all work out. Mutti, who was slowly getting over the first terrible shock assured me that she considered it her "duty as a soldier’s wife to carry on in a as normal way as possible. That would have been what he would have wished. “
Slowly, we began getting letters from the front, from Vati’s friends and comrades, assuring us what a brave and well-liked fellow Vati had been; and also more news about what had happened. Vati and some of his staff, it seems, were on a forward reconnaissance mission. [He was, by then, commanding a division of motorized Cavalry.] The Russian forces, especially the Siberian sharpshooters, had inflicted tremendous losses on the German forces, mainly amongst the high ranking officers; they were trained to seek them out above all others. As they were crossing a little meadow a sharpshooter, well hidden, high in a tree, managed to shoot Vati right in the forehead. He was supposedly dead immediately. According to reports ‘they took bloody revenge’, but little did it help his family!
He was buried in Istra, Russia, in a little German military cemetery, 20 km outside of Moscow. His personal belongings, including his wedding band, were later on sent to Mutti. From what we heard, careful maps were supposedly kept of the actual locations of the graves. But who would even have them now, I don’t know; and it does not really matter. First, the graves were all leveled when the German Army retreated. Russians were known to desecrate the graves, looking for wedding rings, jewelry etc. Russia is a big country and after all, a grave is just a grave. This is really all that I know about Vati’s death. Most of his comrades, who might, after the war, have told us more, never returned home, either they were killed or lost in some prison camp and never heard from again. We received lots of condolence letters, from family and friends and even some rather high ranking officials.
Slowly life began to resume at least an appearance of normality. The holidays came and went, a rather sad affair but everybody did their best to cope. One thing that made things appear more normal: None of the other fathers, brothers or friends were at home either. By this time only the really old, sick or young people were left on the home-front.
After Christmas school started again and so I went, dressed in deep mourning black, down to my shoes, socks and accessories. I also was not allowed to attend any sort of entertainment, be it movies or birthday parties, etc. Only affairs that had to do directly with school or the war effort were allowed. I could not see quite the reason for all this and had quite a few ‘heated’ discussions with Mutti. In school I felt like a ‘black crow' again; I was not able to conform or fit in. But it was winter time, lots of cold and snow, so except for occasional skiing you stayed home anyhow. And I had my books. I had become a very regular visitor at the local library. I brought stacks of books home each week, mostly adventure, historical or some sci-fi books. If I could just find a quiet corner and everybody left me alone, I was more or less content.
February 1942 came, and one day Mutti received a letter from the Family Court in Steinberg, a small town near where we lived that housed the District Court having jurisdiction over our local area. Much to our amazement and consternation, Mutti was ordered to appear at a certain date and show cause as to why she should continue to have further custody of me. Such a question had never been raised before. After Vati’s death, Uncle Max, Vati’s oldest brother, had been named my guardian, at least as far as Mutti was concerned. Whether this had ever been legally done, I don’t know.
In any case, Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude all of a sudden demanded guardianship. The stated reasons were that Mutti was definitely not a blood relation; her marriage had been on rocky ground; and several others. Mutti was absolutely furious, and I can’t say that I blamed her. All this came right out of the clear blue sky, nothing had ever been said about it before. Even though we had had our disagreements, even at my age knew that her approach to my upbringing was just the way she had been raised; she obviously thought she was doing her best by me. So I really felt she had been wronged. I finally persuaded Mutti to let me visit Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude in Schmiedeberg. I had to promise her to make sure that I not give anybody the impression that she had sent me or was influencing me.
I don’t quite remember what happened during that visit or what I said. I remember only praising Mutti, how well she took care of me etc. I thought I was really being ‘diplomatic’. Somehow I must have succeeded, or else it was decided that they really did not have a case. After one more visit by Mutti to the family court, the matter was quietly dropped. But one thing remained, and never really changed. The animosity was there, especially on Mutti’s side. It took many years, 'til after the war, that a certain truce came about and at that point, at least, Oma Kunisch and Mutti were coldly polite to each other. In the meantime, I still visited with Oma Kunisch and had a good time seeing them all, and they still spoiled me rotten.
It was now well into 1942, and the war was going badly for Germany. Soon after Vati’s death German troops began their serious retreat in Russia. What had been ‘tactical’ withdrawals became a daily happening. The Allies had launched their offensive and the Allied bombing raids kept taking their toll on the home front. Many people were evacuated from the big cities, mostly women with young children. The were brought to safer places in the country, much like England was doing. I was finally allowed to wear plain white clothes, especially during the summer. I had also joined the Bund Deutscher Maedel, or 'BDM'. It was actually were similar to the Girl Scouts, just a lot more politically-oriented. I proudly wore the uniform, blue skirt, white blouse and a brown Jacket. Again I encountered many objections by Mutti, about the time and frequency of meetings, inability of the leaders and many more. I had learned by now to live with it and how to get around many of her obstacles...not by always telling the truth, but what was I to do? All my friends were allowed to take part and I certainly was tired of being an outsider. Or so I reasoned.
This was also the summer that I fell in love the very first time. In retrospect it was ‘puppy love’, but nobody could have me told that at that time. Hans was 2 years ahead of me in school, so actually 3 years my senior. He was literally “tall, dark and handsome". We met by both being in the Hitler Youth movement. He carried the standard for his unit, I for mine. So we were often thrown together at political rallies and since they were usually a long way from home, he very often he saw me home.
We both rode bicycles to school and he would always wait for me at the crossing. We met during school recess and soon it was known that we were ‘an item’. When Mutti got wind of it she was literally shocked. She call me ‘boy crazy’ and other such endearing names, and I faced long lectures. She told me I was too young even to think of boys, and so on. I guess she thought I should still be playing with dolls. But never even remotely did any talk ever touch ‘sex’. In that respect, Mutti was still living in the Victorian era. Not that our relationship was anything but innocent, mind you. He never even kissed me, except one time during a school outing and then it was during an organized game. But we really liked each other. When he was occasionally away at glider school he wrote me the most beautiful letters, all hand printed and decorated like old illustrated Bibles. When Mutti found the letters, she destroyed every one of them and every contact with Hans was ‘verboten' [forbidden]. Soon he went away to another school; I saw him one more time, just before he left for military service (in February, 1945) and he came to see me. Even Mutti could not object to that. The war was taking a disastrous turn for Germany; I never heard from him again.
By the summer of 1944, Mutti had me again had me attending a different school ‘for higher education', only this time I was boarding with a family in the school town, and only came home for the weekends. The school I had attended locally did not teach English or French, and also stopped with the ninth grade. So, in order to attain a high school degree, I guess it was time for the change. But why I had to learn English and French was beyond me. We were at war with those countries and it just did not make sense! [Little did I know HOW important English was to become in my life, later on!]
During the summer holidays Mutti had hired a tutor to help me get started. The teacher was from my local school and had been my third grade teacher. She was rather young and, in retrospect, not very experienced. I went to her house twice a week for about 90 minutes and learned a little. Most of the time I managed to talk about all different kinds of subjects...anything but English or French [which, of course, I regretted later on]. I got the basics, however, especially in English. French interested me even less.
So the summer holidays came to an end, and Mutti found that family in Schoenberg, where the girls-only high school was located. We had been to the school and also visited the prospective house-parents. They were nice, had two young boys [4 and 6 years respectively], and I thought that I should be able to get along just fine. The school wasn't too far -- about 15 minutes' walking distance -- and the house, where Mutti had rented the first floor apartment, was located in a nice neighborhood. Plenty of houses around town took in students for the school term.
The plans were for me to catch the train home every Saturday at noon for the trip home to Mutti. Our school week ran every day from about 8 AM to 1:30 PM, on Saturdays school closed about 11:30 AM. Due to the war, the buses did not run any more, as they had when I attended school before. The train ride was much more complicated and time consuming. I would leave at around 12 o’clock and get home around five o’clock. Monday morning I would leave home before four o’clock a.m. to get to school in time.
Before long I discovered that a boy who was in classes with me for three years prior also attended the local ‘Gymnasium’, the Boys' High School. Though I muddled through the best I could, school itself was not much fun. Once again I felt again completely out of place, both in terms of knowledge of the curriculum, as well as being -- as the local girls called it -- ‘from the country’. This was true, not only because they were from the town, but they had been together all through school and knew each other well. Even the teachers, especially in languages and mathematics, seemed to look down on me.
The new family was OK -- we got along -- but even there I felt like an outsider. So I really just lived from one weekend to another, and used every possible way to stay home just a little longer. I sure had a lot of ‘not feeling good’ back then! Every possible way to have a sore throat, upset stomach and so on. Maybe in time that would have all changed, but I did not know then that my time at the school in Schoenberg was to be rather short.
Along came December, 1944 and we were getting close to the Christmas Holidays. Soon school closed for 3 weeks, and I gladly headed home. Christmas was a little better now. Sure, we missed Vati very much, but also nobody else had their loved ones home from the front -- not unless they were wounded and in some hospital or recuperating, or maybe at home on leave for a short time. The war had turned against Germany, especially on the Russian front. German troops were in full retreat, and the Eastern front lines had gotten closer and closer. The Allies had landed in Normandy and were pushing toward the Vaterland (Germany). Allied troops were also coming up through Italy.
The food situation had become pretty grim, even where we lived. You had ration cards, but often nothing was available, and items like sugar, white flour, meat and many other things were almost impossible to be had. Coffee was available only on the black market, as was every thing else you really wanted, if you were willing to pay the outrageous prices for it. Mutti considered it almost treason to buy things illegally, so we made do with what there was. Potatoes were always there, so was rye flour, a little milk and every once in a while some eggs from a local farmer...and with luck, even a scrawny chicken. Mutti tried to save whatever was possible. She managed a few Christmas cookies. How anybody ate them I don’t know -- no sugar, no fat, just substitutes for sugar, butter and even some egg-powder, that had never seen an egg -- but we ate every bit of them. As I said earlier, “hunger is the best cook”.
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna had braved the train ride from Schmiedeberg to spend the holidays with us, and we spent a quiet, reflective time together. Just before Christmas Eve it snowed heavily, so we definitely had a ‘White Christmas”. According to German custom, we lit the candles on the tree on Christmas Eve and exchanged gifts. I received several books [much to my joy!], some clothes and best of all -- a pair of new boots for my skis. Nothing fancy, but they fit and were new! Next day I had to try them out, there was certainly enough snow, and the skis were now a necessity. Soon, Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna left again. Little did we all know how long it would to be 'til we saw each other again.
The weekend before I was due to return to school and my ‘foster’ family, I suddenly experienced stabbing pain in my lower back and over to the sides. When I told Mutti, she first made an unbelieving face (she knew full well how anxious I was to leave). But the pains continued and she finally called a doctor from the military hospital where she did volunteer work. [Vati’s former barracks across the street had by then been turned into Reserve Military Hospital for recovering German soldiers]. A doctor came and quickly, after taking a sample for testing, diagnosed ‘acute kidney infection’. So Mutti believed that this time I was not faking it. As a matter of fact, I was in quite a bit of pain and spent most of the first few days flat on my back on a heating pad. In addition to medication, the Doctor ordered 2 days of “absolutely no water, no food” and after that, at least 2 weeks of a completely salt free diet. It worked well, and I recovered fairly quickly.
Before long, Mutti and I were making plans for me to go back to school. Then all of a sudden, we received a phone call from the family I was living with in Schoenberg: Both of their two boys had contracted Scarlet Fever -- at that time a quite serious and sometimes fatal disease -- and their house was quarantined for the next 3 weeks. Hallelujah! All of a sudden my vacation had been extended.
The good Lord must have been on my side, because soon thereafter it became too dangerous to ride the train to where I needed to go. Seventy percent of the route the train took went through Czech territory. With the war going so badly for Germany, and the Russians coming closer by the day, it became routine for the train to be attacked by underground forces or the tracks being blown up, and German passengers being roughed up or even killed. We could also begin to hear the big guns from the front, it sounded like constant, heavy thunder. Needless to say, Mutti was happy to have me with her at home.
Soon it was February, 1945, and the guns seemed to be coming closer and closer. Each day, they sounded louder and at night the sky was all lit up, like constant lightning. The military reserve hospital where Mutti worked was put on alert to expect orders to move in the foreseeable future. Mutti was given the choice to move with them, which of course included me. There was never any question that we would go with them -- everybody knew only too well what to expect when the Russian troops moved in. Our concern was not only with the Russians, but also with the Czech nationalists who were just waiting for the Russian troops to provide them with an opportunity to take revenge for the wrongs the Nazis had done to them. (And ultimately, bloody revenge did they take! Mutti’s decision proved to be right one, for from what we heard from talking to people who left after the end of the war, rape and killing was commonplace.)
So we started to pack, to be ready to go at a moment's notice. What do you take with you when all you’re allowed is what you can carry? We were luckier than many people; since Mutti belonged to the hospital staff, we were allowed a foot locker and bigger suitcases than we could actually carry. I don't know how often we packed and unpacked. I was not quite 15 years old at that time, and all of this somehow was more of an adventure; I could not quite comprehend the seriousness of it all. It seemed like an ongoing “party”, especially since all the long-stored “goodies” like canned fruit, liquors, wine etc. had to be consumed or left behind.
Too soon the day came when a small train, consisting of 3 passenger cars, about 10 freight cars and an engine appeared at the siding near the hospital compound. Most of the wounded had been moved ahead to hospitals out of the danger zone, and the few that remained were well enough to help with moving the actual hospital equipment. Early the next morning the actual loading began, and by early afternoon we were told to grab our few belongings and board.
It was a strange feeling to lock the door of our apartment for the last time, knowing we would never return. Even I had lost some of my sense of adventure. I am sure it was a hard undertaking for Mutti. Leaving all the things that still remained and reminded her of Vati -- things she knew she could never replace. But to stay was completely out of the question, so we set out on the journey of our lives.
The little train was finally loaded around late afternoon, including 4 Russian steppe ponies. They were used to haul various items, especially supplies, since the reserve hospital was not considered important enough to have any motorized vehicles (by that point, anything motorized was in very short supply).
Finally, we were under way. Little did we know what lay ahead of us. The trip was to last 15 days, traveling across the heart of what was then Czechoslovakia to end up at a little town near Nuremberg in the heart of Bavaria, in what was later to become West Germany. But I don't want to get ahead of myself...
Mutti and I were assigned to one of the passenger cars, together with the few remaining nurses. Doctors, other staff members and personnel were in the other cars. We were lucky to have a small field kitchen along, so we always got hot ‘coffee’ [the burned barley and chicory, variety, not the real thing]. Food preparation was only possible when the train stopped --which was quite often -- because troop and supply trains heading to the Eastern front had the right of way. While stopped, we also got a warm meal of soup or stew plus some dark rye bread. But when you're that hungry, anything tastes good. Rations were meager, but better than nothing.
The first night on board the train was one of the most miserable I have ever spent. Anybody who ever tried to sleep in the luggage rack of an old German train knows what I’m talking about! No matter which way you twist of turn, the wooden slats -- designed to hold luggage, not people -- poked you in the back, plus there is always the fear that you might fall out, onto the floor below. I tried it that night, and that was enough for me. Sleeping upright in the seats below did not appeal, either. I was going to find more comfortable sleeping quarters for the next night, no matter what Mutti or anybody else said.
As soon as the train came to one of its many stops the next morning, I went exploring. I soon came to the freight car where the 4 horses and their feed were stabled. Over half a car full of soft [at least compared to a wooden luggage rack] hay! Of course, I was not the only one looking for a more comfortable place to sleep! But if you did not mind the smell of horses or weren't allergic to hay, this was the place; at least you could stretch out on the hay. So, on a first-come, first-served basis, I had found myself a sleeping place. (As the trip wore on, the piles of hay became thinner and thinner, but enough remained to be reasonably comfortable.)
Toilet and washing facilities were rather primitive. There were, of course, several ‘on train’ toilets, but no way to get to them when the train was under way. So one just went behind the horses when Mother Nature called, hoping the train wouldn't move too much, or the horses didn't care about having someone behind them. Washing was done as much as possible in the morning, or when we stopped. Face, neck and hands were about the extent of it; rinse and brush your teeth when possible. A change of clothing was out of the question; there was no way to get to our luggage. So the same pair of pants, sweater and underwear simply had to do. We must have been a bedraggled-looking lot, but we did not go hungry and we were saved from the Russians.
We slowly wound our way through the heart of Czechoslovakia, often sidelined in some unknown little place for hours at a time. We could get out and stretch our legs, and once in a while get the horses out and walk them. Seven people finally ended up in my ‘cattle car’ -- two nurses, me and four military personnel connected to the hospital. The keeper of the horses, an older guy who had two daughters at home, and I became good friends. He often made sure that I got food and other essentials. We had long talks or played cards to pass the hours during the trip.
One day we were stopped somewhere and a similar train was stopped right next to us, a train that, as I later found out, had come all the way from near the Baltic Sea -- a long way off, and just like us, looking for refuge in the west. It was a larger train and carried a lot civilian refugees, mostly women and children, plus a few military personnel that were on re-assignment and on their way to the western front. A couple of nurses and I were talking and looking at the other train when one of them commented on a ‘good looking’ young lieutenant that was walking alongside the other train. I looked, and suddenly realized that I knew him! It was my cousin Helmut, my father’s brother's oldest son. What a coincidence! We had not seen each other since the war began, over five years earlier. He had been on a short leave to see his wife and their newly-born son before he went to his new assignment. His wife was from East Prussia, a province on the Baltic Sea, and like us, they were told to leave because the Front was getting near. How he managed to accompany her I don’t know and we did not have time to explain. It was good to see them. They did not know their destination either; in those days you were just glad if you were able to get away from the fighting. Time for our reunion was short and soon, everybody went on their own way.
On and on we went. We were near Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia. We had stopped to let a troop train pass, and then to spend the night. The plan was to continue in the morning. It just so happened to be the night that long-range American bombers were on a mission to take out a munition factory in the little town near the siding, so we had ring side seats for a show we really didn't want to attend!
Soon after the sirens went off, the attack began. It seemed to last forever. Actually, it lasted about 2 hours. I felt like a sitting duck on that siding, and was really scared. The railway car was rocking back and forth with each explosion. The horses where frightened and very restless. We were all waiting for the next bomb to hit us. All I could do was literally bury my head in the hay and pray for it to be over. Luckily we were not hit, but had some rather close calls. After the ‘All Clear’ signal, we checked for damage and found that everybody was all right and even though some tracks were torn up, we would be able to continue in the morning.
By this time we were about 10 days into our journey. We finally learned that our final destination was to be Forchheim, a town on the main highway between Nuremberg and Bamburg. We finally arrived without any further incidents near the end of February, 1945, just a few days before my 15th birthday. Although Forchheim was located close to Nuremberg, which was almost completely destroyed by bombs, in 1945 almost no industries or anything important to the war effort existed there. Except for constant air raid warnings, nothing much had happened in Forchheim to that point.
An incident worth mentioning happened while we were still at the train station in our 'home on wheels'. The hospital kitchen was running short of supplies. George, the man in charge of the horses and wagons was told to go to Erlangen, the only nearby supply base for military hospitals, to get the needed items. Erlangen, about 20 miles distant, could be reached with the horse team in about 2 hours; we were lucky to have our 4 Russian ponies to get around. Being more than bored, with nothing much to do, I wanted to go along. I was lucky, because when I asked Mutti if I could go with George on an errand, she was otherwise occupied and she readily agreed [not exactly knowing that we were going that far].
We took off next morning, making it to Erlangen in good order around lunchtime. After collecting our supplies, consisting of some canned goods and a wagon load of black bread, we turned back toward Forchheim. Since Erlangen is not quite 20 miles from Nuremberg, we weren't surprised to see swarms of American long-range bombers in the air, probably on their way to targets in and around Nuremberg. It was almost a daily routine in those days to see the bombers, either during the day or at night. What we had not realized that bombers were always accompanied by lots of fighter planes. Their main job, I later learned, was to fly protective cover for the bombers, always on the lookout for Nazi airplanes, ground-based guns, tanks or other threats. The fighters were equipped with multiple guns, and didn't hesitate to use them.
As we quickly found out, when there wasn't an obvious military target, the fighters would look for anything that moved and seemed worth shooting at. They would take to strafing highways; all traffic was fair game, and before we knew it, our little wagon and horses became a target. They came around, lining up with the highway we were on, and began to open fire. George tried very hard to keep the frightened team of horses under control, scrambling to reach the cover of a nearby grove of pines as fast as possible. We made it safely into the grove, and there we waited until the fighters left, looking for new prey. The bombing mission was soon accomplished, however, as we saw billowing clouds of heavy black smoke, not far away. One could only wonder what was left to bomb after the almost daily attacks.
We soon went on our way again and could actually see Forchheim, not far ahead. As we were approaching the last bridge into town, a German Army convoy passed us, consisting of troop carrier and several tankers. [One has to remember that by that time -- February 1945 -- almost anywhere in Germany could be considered the 'front line', as the war was but a few months from being over.] As the last tanker was about to cross the bridge, and we made ready to follow, what would appear but a swarm of angry hornets: The American fighters were back, and found a worthy target in the tankers. All we could do is jump out of the wagon, abandoning it and the horses, and literally 'hit the dirt' next to an embankment next to the road, where we found several of Forchheim’s other citizens already taking cover. Within minutes the tankers were ablaze; several explosions followed. We could hear the fighters' bullets striking all around us, but luckily for us, only the convoy was hit. I don’t know how long we lay there in the dirt, but the attack was probably over within a short time. When we finally arose, we discovered that neither horses nor wagon had been hit; amazingly, the little ponies had remained still. So, we got back on the wagon and headed for ‘home’, this time without any further incident.
I did not mention our adventure to Mutti, and it was not until a day later that somebody told her how lucky she was to have her daughter back in one piece; wasn’t she happy; and so on. Only than did she begin to realize what had happened. I still got a serious reprimand, but I think she also felt guilty for not listening more carefully when I'd asked if I could go. After all, I was not even 15 and really had no business going through a war zone on a wagon. But, as they say, "all's well that ends well."
Before the war, Forchheim was best known as the starting point for tourists who wanted to visit the Fraenkische Schweiz [Frankonian Switzerland], a very beautiful and popular vacation spot. Tourists from near and far came to enjoy its quiet atmosphere, with little trout streams winding through narrow valleys, surrounded by hills upon which old castle ruins could be found. Here and there were small hotels and boarding houses. Long paths wound through the woods, where in olden times poets and painters strolled. In the archives there is mention of the Kaiserpfalz, a castle that belonged to the Archbishop of Bamburg. It stands to this day, almost undamaged, and is used as a museum. Small, picturesque buildings decorated with brown woodwork are built along narrow, cobblestone streets. All this was surrounded by very fertile farm land and low, heavily wooded hills.
Forchheim was built sometime before 800 A.D. The population consisted of burghers and artisans and craftsmen and, of course, farmers -- very conservative and often narrow-minded people, who wanted to be left to alone to pursue their trades. They felt that if they more or less ignored trouble -- especially war -- it would pass them by; that included unwanted intruders. Refugees, we soon found out, were considered to be one of those ‘intruders’. Ninety percent of the local inhabitants were strict Roman-Catholics, and Protestants like us were were made to feel even less welcome.
Since it appeared that Forchheim was to be our semi-permanent home, however, the next order of business was to find a place to stay. By this time we were all a rather ragged looking lot, wearing the same clothes for so long and not having ideal washing facilities. No surprise that doors would close very quickly; "no room at the inn" was an answer we would hear again and again.
The hospital had been assigned two local high schools for its use. (Most German schools were closed and teaching was done wherever you could get some students together, not necessarily at a school -- and even then 'class' was frequently interrupted by air raid alerts at all hours of the day or night.) This was our first chance to get cleaned up and find a change of fresh clothing. Today, when I think of going without a shower or fresh clothing for so long, I shudder. But we survived, and I sure there were people in far worse situations than us. The war was definitely going badly; food became more and more scarce. We felt this in Forchheim, especially, for being strangers in this tightly-knit little town meant we were a very low priority customer at all the stores. Luckily for us, however, Mutti still working at the hospital, where at least had one hot meal each day, usually soup. But even the hospital kitchen's supplies were getting low again, too. [One day, after we had an especially hearty soup for lunch, it was rumored that one of the horses was missing!]
We finally found a small room to let in the vicinity of one of the hospitals. No running water; toilet by the stairs in the hallway of the house. The landlord was far from pleased to have lodgers, because the room that was assigned to us by the local authorities was his living room. There was not much he could say or do -- except to let us know in small, irritable ways that we were not welcome. But to us, his living room was heaven! We unpacked our few belongings and with the aid of two bunks and a few utensils, we set up housekeeping. Even that one room seamed spacious, at least for a while. Mutti enrolled me in the local high school, whose 'classrooms' were, at that point, scattered all over town, because of the use of the school buildings by the military. Between constant moving from one place to another and the constant air raid alerts, however, we did not learn very much.
By April, 1945, it became clear that the war could not last much longer. The Western front was getting closer each day. Everybody was called upon to literally ‘defend the fatherland to the last drop of blood’. Everybody, in this case, meaning old men, women and children. Barricades were built across the main highways, but what good would they do against tanks or bombs? Nobody knew, or really cared.
Mutti continued working at the hospital, and to keep me with her during the day I began to work as a volunteer in the reception office. I helped log the arrivals of wounded, or fill out release papers for discharged patients. Since we were not a surgical unit, we only were to receive wounded that already had been previously treated and were sent to us for final disposition. As the fighting came closer, however, that changed, and we began to see more seriously wounded, so I was kept busy during the days. Most nights we spent several hours in the air raid shelter. In Forchheim, the shelter was inside the old city wall, which originally surrounded the entire town. It had several entrances and was dark and cold, moisture often dripping off the ceiling. But it was thick, and we were safe.
At the last minute, the City Fathers declared Forchheim to be an “Open City’. This meant the Allied forces would be allowed to enter without resistance, and that meant no final battle. The Allies were just about knocking on our door by the time this happened, and nobody knew how effective the declaration would be. So that day, and the following night, we evacuated the entire hospital from the high schools to within the city walls. To distinguish doctors or nurses, or those who worked for the hospital, from actual soldiers (our patients), we were given Red Cross arm bands to wear.
We knew the Allies were close. It was a long, drawn-out and cold night. We tried to pass the time with cards and small talk. Sleeping was impossible since all we had was a single blanket laid on the cold, hard ground. The following morning we were not told what had happened, only that we could leave safely. That is when I got my first look at an American G.I. in battle gear. As we exited, they were waiting for us with guns drawn to escort us back to the high school. There Mutti and I stayed for several days, American guards at the doors.
Not too many days later came the long awaited for news that the war was over, that Germany had surrendered. People who ‘worked’ with the Red Cross were allowed to go home to get fresh clothing, and finally sleep again in our own beds. Each the day we returned to work. Soon the German soldiers ready for release were transported out to POW camps, and we received new patients. I still did the same work as before, only now my limited knowledge of English came in handy. When we received new patients they were of course always accompanied by American soldiers and between my limited schooled English, hand motions, etc., we could usually figure out what they were telling us.
Each day I picked up more English skills, and soon was able to communicate reasonably well. Somebody had given me a discarded American paperback book of cowboy stories. I was determined to read it and though the going was pretty rough in the beginning by the end I found myself enjoying the book, and somehow the words made sense much quicker. From then on I was on the lookout for discarded books in English, and once the G.I.s found out that I was interested in learning more, I received a big supply.
Every time a new transport came in, American Medics brought me books. Usually it was the same few guys. We got to talking, and I found out that they were really decent people, most with families and children back home. It really changed my mind about our former "enemy'’. In particular, an ‘elderly’ American ambulance driver [to me, at age 15, he seemed elderly] told me all about his family back home and how he had a daughter about my age and how much he missed them all. At long last, the war was over!
The city of Forchheim, just as with all of Western Germany, was now under the authority of a Military Government. German officials were checked out very carefully for any connection to the Nazis and many were, at least temporarily, sent to internment camps to be ‘de-Nazified’, or in many cases, sent on for further disposition. That was the time when neighbor turned often on neighbor and 'squealed' on him, especially when his own record was not quite clean. Mutti and I were also checked out and eventually given new I.D. cards. Even to travel from one town to another, you had to have a permit. This did not last more than about a year and then most of the day-to-day running of local government was turned over to ‘clean’ German authorities, under the watchful eye of the Allied command.
Food was still very scarce; bartering and the black market thrived. Offer American cigarettes, or any American goods, and anything could be had. This was the time when the average farmer had the upper hand: for people who had valuable things to trade, like jewelry, furniture, good porcelain, etc., farm products were readily available. It was said that famers' barns were literally bursting with such goods. Of course, only the local people in small towns [like Forchheim], or refugees, or those who were not bombed out had things to trade. People like Mutti and I were glad to have the few things we had, and so we "made do". We rationed everything, even heavy, dry rye bread. Eggs, sugar, fresh butter, fresh whole milk, white flour -- all were unattainable luxuries, like real coffee or tea.
I recall one day where Mutti and I had gone for a walk through the fields and came upon an apple orchard. The day before, the wind had knocked down some fruit, most of it kind of wormy and half green. So we picked a few off the ground to take home and make some applesauce. A farmer must have spotted us and came yelling and told us ‘to quit stealing my apples, those on the ground were for my pigs!’ Well, those were the times! What we actually lived on, I cannot even imagine any more. I guess it was potatoes that saved us from starving. With all the farms around Forchheim, this was one thing still available.
Everything, from food to clothing to coal was rationed, and even those small amounts were, more often than not, unavailable. How well I remember standing for an hour or more in line at a grocery store, or at the butcher’s, only to be told when it was finally my turn that they were all out; didn’t know when the next shipment would come; and to try again in two or three days. Originally, we received one meal daily at the hospital. But before long even this was discontinued, as all the patients had been released and since the shooting was over, no more new patients were coming in. So once again, Mutti and I had to find some way to make a living; in the big upheaval after the war’s end there was no pay or pension to be had.
Some body Mutti knew, a former patient from the hospital, had opened a shop selling all kinds of handmade items, such as knitted sweaters, handmade tablecloths, etc., and to create his products, hired out knitting and crochet work to be done at home. We eagerly took it. He supplied the material, or the customers brought their own hoarded wool, crotchet yarn and other materials. You soon got to know all the ‘locals’ by all the material they brought in. Even though he charged dearly for the work to his customers, he paid his employees a pittance. I guess he ran what you would call a modern sweatshop, except we worked at home, often 'til late evening. Even though the pay was not much and money did not buy much, we had to have some kind of income. Mutti received a little each month from a business in which her dead brother was a partner, so between that and the knitting, somehow we managed. But soon even that was finished, because the knitting shop went broke. For a while, on our own, we tried to find people we could do some knitting or crocheting for, but the times were hard; besides, knitting was hardly something to keep a 16-year-old fully occupied.
Schools started slowly to re-open, and Mutti wanted me to go back, but I flatly refused. She had to give in and somehow managed to at least get me something equivalent of today's GED (a work-equivalent diploma).
Through all this we still had not had any word from either Mutti’s mother or the Kunisch family. Mail, even in the post-war American-occupied Western Zone was at the best sporadic, and completely impossible for the Russian-occupied Eastern Zone. They had no idea where we were, or even if we were alive; and neither did we about them. We did know, however, that the Poles, who were now occupying Silesia, were ‘ethnically cleansing’ all of their territory. This meant, of course, that all German citizens had to choose between renouncing their German citizenship and become Poles, or leave Silesia, losing all their farms, houses or other possessions, only taking with them what they could carry.
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were well into their seventies, and we worried what that might do to them. The same, of course, was true for Oma Kunisch. The only way to find each other was through the Red Cross or by studying big bulletin boards in places were people might see a name on a list. Refugees were sent everywhere in the Western Zone. Finally, one day in the middle of 1946 we received a postcard telling us that Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were in the English Zone, somewhere near Braunschweig. Ordinarily that would probably be a 6-hour train ride. But trains were nowhere near to running on a regular schedule, yet, and you also had to get a special travel permit.
Well, I, always being of an adventurous nature, decided to go and visit them. I took my backpack and set off. I made it all right, but it took me over 2 days to get to Braunschweig. Trains were filled to absolute capacity and I had never realized how pushy and nasty people can be. It was "everybody for themselves." There were long waits in train stations. When I finally made it to Braunschweig I found out that the little, God-forsaken village where they lived was way out in the boondocks; no trains or buses went there. So I had a four-hour foot march ahead of me, but I made it!
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were thrilled to see me. Both were physically OK, but their living conditions were horribly inadequate; Mutti and I were living in comparative luxury. They were quartered in an old farmhouse, one small room with no running water and a toilet across the yard. I stayed one day and night. I had hoped they would have some news of the Kunisch family, but when Oma and Tante Anna had to leave their home, the Kunisches were still there. [As it we found out later, the Kunisches stayed for another full year because Tante Trude had to have an operation and could not travel. Much later, they ended up in the same general area as Oma Schmidthals.]
The trip home to Forchheim was uneventful, just as long and tiring as the journey out to see them. I was rather glad to be back in Forchheim again. About six months after my visit, Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna managed to move to Stuttgart, in the American Zone, and not too far from us. Tante Anna’s older sister had died and left her a few belongings and a small apartment, where they lived till they both died a few years later.
Time marches on. Food became even more scarce, and the German Reichsmark had so little value, it did not really buy anything of value, even if you could find it. I had turned 16, a birthday that came and went largely unnoticed. I was rather dissatisfied with the whole situation. Looking for work in Forchheim was useless; business was very slow to recover from the after-effects of the war. Compounding my trouble was the fact that I really did not have very much to offer, except my limited knowledge of English. Working for a German firm did not seem very appealing. Every one seemed so bitter and 'down'.
I have always been a very positive person and try to look at the good side of a situation. That left me only one choice: Try for a job with the American Army, either in Bamburg or Erlangen. So I gathered all my courage and a certain bravado, and without Mutti’s knowledge of what I was going to do, went to Erlangen. At the time, in 1947, Erlangen was the home of the 9th American Air Force. Luck was certainly with me: When I arrived at the Civilian Employment Office in Erlangen, they had just received a call from the photo lab at the base, and needed a person with a knowledge of English to help the American sergeant-in-charge with his lab technician, who spoke no English, and to assist around the lab. I still think that somebody else was supposed to apply for the job, but it was ‘first come, first serve’.
The first few weeks were pretty rough, but my boss was tremendously understanding, repeating things over and over. But that soon changed; I caught on pretty quick and really liked the job. The money wasn’t too great, but I, as did all the German workers, received one daily meal at the mess hall, basically the same food as a regular G.I. That meant a whole lot. I learned to liked foods that were strange to me, such as Hominy, corn, white bread (a change after the hard black bread at home!) and various others things. Real coffee and milk! Butter on the side seemed like heaven!
I caught the morning train from Forchheim and was usually home around 6:30 at night. Of course I got to know American soldiers, and that, in addition to the fact that I was working for the “Ami” did not sit too well with my neighbors. On top of that I started wearing lipstick, another sin! Mutti, surprisingly, did not object to the fact that I worked in Erlangen. It did mean that at least I had one decent meal a day and the food at home went further. I liked my job, made new friends and my English -- both reading and writing, and above all, my general conversation skills improved.
Some of my new friends were American soldiers, and Mutti -- and above all, our landlady -- had to get used to that. Over much fussing and grumbling I was even able to bring somebody home on occasion, quite an achievement in those days! As much as our landlady grumbled, she never turned down an invitation to have a coup of ‘real’ coffee with me. The same with cigarettes, just as long as they did not have to acknowledge were they came from. Guess people never change!
My employment lasted 'til about January 1948. My boss, who had always been more than ethical, suddenly started to asked me if I would pose for him in the photo lab. Unsuspecting and naive as I was, I agreed; showed up and asked what he wanted me to do. That was when he suddenly locked the door and started making all kinds of propositions to me including, one where I sleep with him. When I strongly objected, he started to offer me a carton of cigarettes! That was it. I told him if he did not let me go immediately, I would not only inform his wife [whom I knew pretty well], but I would cause such a ruckus that he would be sorry. I got out of there real fast, and waited to see what would happen next. Then he got a lucky break: A new law came out, saying that nobody under 18 was allowed to work for the Americans. That gave him the excuse he needed -- I had three weeks to go 'til my 18th birthday and so I was laid off without any further ado.
So here I was, back home with Mutti, stuck in that small room. Then Mutti came up with an idea: In Regensburg, not far from Munich, an Interpreter school had opened. The Americans needed German translators, badly. So we checked it out, and in quick order I passed my entrance exam and started going to school to get my Interpreter Certificate.
While in school, I stayed in Regensburg with a German family who rented me a small room. Every thing started off pretty well, and I was about half way thru the third trimester [the course was for 9 months] when everything collapsed. Over night, and, it seemed, without prior warning, the Currency Reform took place. Your old money was not worth anything [not that it had any buying power, anyhow] and everybody started out with 200 of the new Deutsch Marks. This was not too bad for people who had a regular job or income, but it put people like Mutti in a tough spot...and that, it seemed, was the end of school. I tried to stay on for awhile, but how to pay for it? I drifted around for a month or two, picking up occasional jobs, but eventually ended up back home in Forchheim.
Jobs were just that hard to come by, and I just was determined to work again for the Americans. Mutti and I earned what little money we could by doing knitting and crocheting work, or whatever was asked for. Eventually, we had enough for me to finish Interpreter’s School, which got me back into working for the Americans. With my Interpreter’s School diploma, I ran an ad in the local paper, listing my skills and stating that I was looking for a job. The German employment agency saw my ad and referred me to the Americans, who needed an interpreter to work at the American court, interpreting details of special court cases involving infractions by U.S. GIs (for example, when they got into barroom brawls, etc.).
I also interpreted in court cases where German citizens were called as witnesses. It was here that I met Bill Tidmore, who was a company clerk, filling out chart sheets and handling other communications. He called me “Blondie”, and was always teasing me, “Blondie, when are you going to go out with me.” Of course, I wasn’t in any hurry at first; we German girls enjoyed going around to the various mess halls at lunchtime and looking at all the young men, and debating which one we liked best. But he kept after me, and eventually, just to get him to stop, I said “yes, let’s go out.” Not terribly long after, we married.
In 1952, I came to the United States with Bill, arriving in New York City on the 12th of May, on the U.S.S. ‘Washington’.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Spring, 2002: My children and grandchildren have been asking me for a long time to put a record of my life on paper. I am now 71 years old and feel that time is getting shorter, and that I had better get busy! After all, I am the only one who can remember ‘way back when’, since I grew up in Germany; my parents are both long gone; and most people in my immediate family are no longer with us, or have a hard time communicating in English. So this will be a family history of what I can remember, and what has been related to me.
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My Dad’s parents, Reinhold and Clara Walter, were living in Breslau [now Wroclaw, Poland], capital of the Province of Silesia [also now largely a part of Poland]. Reinhold Walter was employed as an adviser to the mayor of Breslau, a pretty good job. My Dad was born on 11 December 1897. He had one older brother, Max, two older sisters, Grete and Clara, and one younger brother, Fritz. I don’t recall much about my Dad’s siblings; I know they all married and had children, but due to the war and absence of close communication, we all lost track of each other. I do know that Uncle Max and his wife, Tante Maria, died soon after the end of the war. They had three children, two boys and a daughter. The oldest, Helmut, became a major in the German Army during the war. He married, and to the best of my knowledge had five children. I know that after the war he joined the German Bundeswehr and was stationed near Munich.
Who is still living, I don’t know. I’m sure some of the children must still be alive. His younger son was a fighter pilot during the war and was killed during the battle of Britain early on. The daughter, Ruth, was a little older than me; she also married and was last known to live somewhere in Berlin, in what at the end of the war was the Russian sector.
My father’s sisters were all virtually unknown to me. Even during the time that I lived with my father, there was very little contact with them. His younger brother, Fritz, married and had two children, a daughter and son. They, as well as my dad’s sisters, lived in what was later to become East Germany (now, eastern Germany). I believe I met all of them as a very young child and received birthday and Christmas cards, but that all ceased by the end of the war. Uncle Fritz was an Infantry soldier during the war. He fought in terrible battles on the Russian Front, was reported missing during the later part of the war, and was never heard from again. After the war ended he was declared dead.
My Dad, according to his telling, was brought up in a rather strict home and attended all the right schools. When the First World War broke out, he could not wait to join and when he was 18 he finally entered the German Army as a 2nd Lieutenant. He saw action on both the Eastern and Western fronts, and after Germany's defeat at the hands of the Allies he was discharged. He drifted from job to job, down at heart because of the defeat, and the demoralizing times that followed. Germany went through a period of severe inflation, where any money you had was totally devalued. I remember stories where my grandparents literally picked up wash-baskets full of money at the bank, and by the time they brought it home it was worth half its value. Million Mark banknotes were common.
Dad had several jobs, none of them too successful, since all he had ever learned was soldiering. Amongst them was a stint in the Reichswehr, a sort of military police force. Through that he became involved in a coup d’etat, which landed him for a short time in jail as a political prisoner.
Before that, however, he had met my mother. From what I gather, it was love at first sight. She must have been just 16 years old, because when they were married a year later [1925] she was only 17. Her name was Kaethe Kunisch, born on 29 May 1908; thus, 11 years younger than her husband. As for their appearance, two more different people are hard to imagine. My Dad was tall [he must have been over 6 feet], very muscular and heavy boned, auburn haired, with blue eyes. My mother was the opposite: tiny, small of stature, blond hair and blue eyes. From all reports, I gather that she was the love of his life and he absolutely adored her. She was the younger daughter of Robert and Emma Kunisch. Her older sister, Gertrude [later known as Tante Trude] was born in 1905.
Her parents lived in Schmiedeberg, a popular tourist spot, located at the foot of the Riesengebirge, a beautiful medium-high mountain range that attracted wanderers from near and far. Kaethe’s parents ran a rather well-known hotel and restaurant [with mother Kunisch as head of the kitchen]; it was said to be a favorite eating place with locals as well as tourists. When Grandfather Kunisch died in 1919, soon after the end of the First World War, Emma tried to run the hotel by herself for a while. This is where, according to tales I've heard, my Dad met my mother in 1926 and the rest, as they say, is history. The hotel, which became too much for my Grandmother to run, was given up, and my Grandmother opened a small boarding house, where she served dinner to guests, especially tourists and business people.
I never knew much about my Mom's side of the family. I do know that her mother’s family owned a small farm in Pomerania, a county in northern Germany, east of the Oder-Neisse line, land which, at the end of World War II, was annexed by Poland. [These border provinces, including Silesia, have a varied history, through the centuries belonging to Prussia, Hungary-Austria, Poland, Germany and Russia (Poland, as country, came into being after 1918)]. I remember Oma Kunisch once in a while visiting ‘Ur-Oma’ and bringing back some of the best farm bread home I had ever tasted.
After a short courtship my Dad and Mother married in 1927. At that time my Dad was working as a farm machinery salesman for Krupp, the well-known steel manufacturer that later was famous, or rather infamous, as Germany’s main weapons supplier. (Today, we know it as Thyssen-Krupp; you see their name on elevators all the time.) There are some pictures of my Dad at a farm convention, posing in front of Krupp's exhibit booth. According to all information I have, it was an exceedingly happy marriage. Times were rough in every aspect, but they had each other.
Three years later, on 27 February 1930, I was born. My mother, who I called "Mutti," was not quite 22 years old, my Dad, who I called "Vati," was 33. The nurses at the hospital called her ‘the child with the child’ [this is according to Oma Kunisch, who was there at the time.] I was baptized on 19 April 1930 at the St. Trinitatis Church in Breslau and given the name Hannelore Klara Emma Walter, my two middle names after my grandmothers. Deep in his heart my Dad must have secretly hoped for a boy, for soon I was given the nickname ‘Peter’ [Pete] and the only time I was called by my given name was when I got into some kind of trouble (which was often!) and I'd hear, ‘Hannelore, where are you?’ I knew immediately what that meant.
My time in Breslau (1930-1935) is rather vague to me. After all, I was very young. Supposedly, I was beginning to live up to my nickname by being a real tomboy. We lived on the 3rd floor of an apartment house, as most European city-dwellers did at that time. I recall a big old walnut tree in the garden downstairs, and the walnuts falling each autumn. Instead of the walnuts looking the way you see them in the store, in nature they have a hard green outer shell and were hard to get open. They also really stained your fingers.
I also remember a short time before Christmas or my birthday Mutti being very mysterious about working on something, which turned out to be a wall hanging over my bed and matching runner and cloths for the Chester drawer and table, embroidered with an array of jungle animals such as monkeys, elephants, giraffes and palms. I loved it, and was fascinated by it.
It was a strange time all around. Germany, being defeated in World War I, was a country with no hope. There were no jobs; people had lost their money to inflation and armies of discontents roamed the streets, putting the staid buergers (upper-class) and others in fear of their lives. Governments toppled constantly, no one knew where one's loyalty belonged; there was no country to be proud of. Germany had been shamed before the whole world. So the time was ripe for somebody with a certain charisma, determination and ruthlessness to take over. It had started in small cells, first in Munich, and than all over the country. Bloody fights broke out, especially between the far right (the Communists) and the National Socialist Party (Nazis for short). But the latter gave people more hope, were more patriotically-minded, and promised jobs for everyone. Most importantly, they promised that Germans could hold their heads up again and take their rightful place among other countries. So on a fateful day in January, 1930, elections were held and Hitler's Nazi Party won by a big majority. Field Marshal von Hindenburg, who headed the current government, declared Hitler the new Reichskanzler [Chancellor of the country] and after a new Cabinet was formed, Hitler began with his promised Aufbau, or Reconstruction.
One of the first items on Hitler's agenda was the establishment of a modest German army, one that would later grow to gigantic proportions. My father, being a former military man, again was able to become what he wanted most to be -- a soldier. Soon my Dad entered the new German Forces as a 1st Lieutenant. He was assigned to an Infantry Regiment stationed at Neisse, a mid-sized, rather provincial town known mainly for having been the favorite fortress of Frederick the Great of Prussia, who lived from 1712-1786. Frederick was a well-beloved ruler, affectionately was called ‘Der Alte Fritz’ by his subjects. His religious tolerance was well known, and he is credited with the saying that "there are many ways to get to heaven." He implemented many social reforms and also introduced the potato to Europe. Soon after succeeding his father, he immediately invaded Silesia, then a possession of Austria, ruled by the Empress Maria-Therese. This was the time when Europe was literally ruled by three women -- Katherine the Great of Russia, Maria-Therese of Austria and the infamous Madame Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XIV of France, who was known to be the power behind the French Throne. Frederick liked none of them and called them ‘the three old petticoats.’ He waged 3 wars with Austria. The last and longest gave him permanent possession of Silesia. [Poland never owned Silesia and if all things were equal, the only state to have a real claim to it would be Austria].
But so much for my short detour into history! My Dad’s return to military service and his subsequent assignment to Neisse entailed a move for our family from Breslau. This must have been about 1934 or early 1935. We rented an apartment on a nice quite street with a small park in front of it. That is about all remember of this time because it was to be cut rather short. At the beginning of September 1935 I contracted diphtheria, in those days a very dreaded disease, since no preventive inoculations had yet been discovered. I was rushed to the hospital, where I was put in isolation and in rapid succession received two rather painful injections in my behind. I recovered rather quickly, however, and during my stay I remember looking out of my window and seeing my Mom and Dad downstairs (since I was in quarantine), waiving at me; and my receiving a bunch of beautiful hothouse grapes from them -- all for me!
Soon, I was released and sent home, but told to stay in bed for another week or so. Much to my surprise, just a few days afterward, a strange nurse came to my room, dressed me and told me that I had suffered a relapse and had to go back to the hospital. Downstairs waited an ambulance, and I found out I was not going alone, but my mother was going, too, and was obviously in bad shape. She had also contracted the dreaded disease; whether from me or someone else, I don’t know. The rumor was that I had been released too early and had infected her. What a tale to tell a young child! At the hospital my mother and I were in the same room, she obviously feeling very ill, because she would not talk to me or answer my questions.
That night, sometime in the middle, I was suddenly awakened, bundled up and carried across the yard to another building. Any questions as to why and how my Mom was doing were not answered and put aside. As I found out later, my Mom had turned critical. They performed a tracheotomy on her, but too late, and some time during the night she died. The day was the 26th of September, 1935. I remained in the hospital for another week or so, but no family members were allowed to see me, and the nurses were more than evasive about answering questions. Everybody just seemed overly nice to me.
The day came when I was told that I could go home and that my dad would come by to pick me up. I was dressed and brought downstairs where my Dad waited for me with a military coach drawn by two horses and a soldier at the reins. He also evaded my questions about my Mom, and only told me "later'’. We took a short ride out in the countryside, where he stopped the coach. We got out, walked a little, and then sat down by the side of the path. This is where he told me about my Mom. To be honest, it did not come home to me what it all meant until much, much later. At that moment I was somehow more interested in the horses pulling the coach, and whether I would be allowed to take the reins!
Then, we went home, and at the apartment I found Oma Kunisch [my Mom's mother] and Tante Trude [my Mom’s sister] waiting for us, both dressed in deep black and crying a lot. Again, I was more exited that they had come to visit and brought me a little toy wooden washtub with clothespins and some new cloths for my doll. I remember sitting on the floor and the grown-ups doing a lot of talking, but it all went completely over my head. It was decided between them that I would go home with them for a while until my future was decided; my Dad, being in the military, certainly was not able to care for a five-year-old all by himself.
Before we left, we went to the German Military Cemetery where my mother was buried. That day, and about two or three years later, are the only times I remember visiting the grave. [By the way, nothing remains of her grave site today; after Poland assumed sovereignty, all German cemeteries were flattened and erased.] There are some pictures in my photo album of the grave and the grave stone, but that is all that remains. So I said good-bye to my Dad, and boarded the train to Schmiedeberg with Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude.
Oma Kunisch had a small walk-up apartment with a really small kitchen; walk-thru combination dining and living room; a very tiny side room, like a large cupboard that was Oma’s domain; and a bedroom which Tante Trude, her daughter Sigrid [who was born in 1932, two years my junior] and I shared. So there certainly was not too much room and my coming and staying for an undetermined time must have put a strain and everybody. Times were hard. Oma Kunisch also rented 2 separate small bedrooms from her landlord, which she in turn rented out to boarders or repeat tourists, who came every year in summer to enjoy the good air and the beautiful mountains. Also, as was common in those days, there was only running cold water in the kitchen. The toilet was an outhouse. Though clean, it was terribly cold in winter, especially if you had to utilize it during the night.
The one redeeming feature of Oma's place was a beautiful large old garden that must have stretched for a mile [or at least, so it seemed to us kids]. Oma Kunisch's vegetable garden supplied a lot of fresh produce for her table and we kids had a great time playing there. Since there were quite a few other children around our age we never were bored. Our favorite game, some reason, was Cowboys and Indians. To this day I am still being accused of tying Sigrid to a make-believe totem pole, leaving her there and calmly appearing at the supper table. Somebody finally must have heard her and untied her -- and I had to pay for it! Maybe Tante Trude’s insistence that I was ‘a bad influence on my little cousin’ originated there. Anyhow, I have never lived it down, even to this day!
Occasionally, Tante Trude worked as a bank teller in a local bank. Her husband [of a very short time] died the year following my Mom's death, and she was required to support herself and her daughter. So she left every morning on a bus to get to work and returned in the evening. Oma Kunisch not only had to take care of two small children all day long, but also had to cook for her dinner guests (sometimes as may as 12) and her boarders. But we were all well taken care of. She never laid a hand on us, but when we really wouldn’t listen, as children will, she brought out her cane rug beater and that was usually enough.
In April, 1936 I started school. At that time, the school year in Germany started than in spring, usually right after Easter. Summer holidays did not start until the end of July or early August and school resumed again in September. This allowed the many farm communities in Germany to have the help of the children with the hay and grain harvest. (Also, summery weather in middle Europe does not come till the later part of the summer season, hence the later Summer break.)
The school I started in was located in a small building and housed only the first three grades. Depending on the number of children attending in a particular year, they were often taught in just one room. The teacher, at least from what I remember, looked like something out of a Dickens novel; he didn't let you get away with much. As was the custom, the first time you entered school was celebrated. You were given a cone-type container, decorated with colored paper, which contained all kinds of candies. I guess that was to help you get over being left alone at school, and to make it seem as if school was going to be a lot of fun. First grade, of course, was not hard and you soon got to know your classmates. Your backpack contained a small blackboard to which a little sponge; a small rag, attached on a string; and the chalk sticks.
I must have been been at school for several months when one day my Dad unexpectedly picked me up from school. Of course, my Dad showing up was always a wonderful surprise, because I did not get to see him too often and he always spoiled me rotten. I was even happier to learn that I was to return with him home to Neisse [where he was still stationed]. It seemed he had rented a new apartment and hired a housekeeper/governess to take care of the household, and to look after me. This lady, known as ‘Tante Edith’ turned out to be very 'correct' and very strict. I did not care for her very much, but one thing she taught me was the love of books. After coming home from school, she would sit down with me and painstakingly go paragraph-by-paragraph through a book ... and not a first-grade one, either! Mostly these were stories about knights of old and their ladies and their adventures. The books appealed to me, and before too long I made definite progress and reading became fun. Soon she could not drag me away from a book, a habit that has remained with me all of my life.
Even though Tante Edith was not the perfect ‘governess’, I still have to say thank her for introducing me to the joy of books and reading. My books helped me while away long hours spent alone. All through my life and to this day, books have been one of my greatest pleasures. No matter where I go, whenever I expect to wait for something or someone, I still carry a book with me to pass away the time.
Whether Tante Edith was the right person to bring up a young, headstrong girl is a point I am still not clear about. On one hand my Dad [when he was able to be with me] spoiled me rotten. I often went with him to his office at the garrison where he was stationed when it was Tante Edith’s day off. There I would spend my time after school, roaming the grounds and especially the stables, being looked after by his soldiers, be they Sergeant or Private, and once again, every whim of mine was indulged. Tante Edith, on the other hand, having been charged to bring me up 'proper', was very strict, often to the point of being rather unreasonable. So I quickly learned to make up any kind of stories or excuses to get my way.
With the move back to Neisse [I still remember the address: #6 Obermaehren Gasse], of course, I went to a new school. I do not recall too much about the school itself; more about the long walk to and from. In those days the safety of young children (with respect to molestation) was not often an issue, and as long as you knew your way your ability to return home was expected. Also, traffic was very sparse -- still a lot of horses and wagons around and very few cars.
This, of course, gave me great opportunities to explore. I especially remember a great empty lot I had to cross [supposedly a shortcut home] that held my interest. Over the the years people had dumped all kinds of garden trash, which after a while somehow took root and produced a virtual treasure for me. I found all kinds of different plants and flowers and had to explore them thoroughly. This often reminds me of the cartoon ‘Family Circus,’ where the little boy doesn't always take the shortest route home.
The house we lived in contained several apartments. In the apartment directly below us lived a gentleman with his family. This man owned a brewery, which was located just across the street, built on a park-like lot, with lots of trees and beautiful landscaping, all enclosed by a high fence. He also had a young daughter, about my age or a little older. Her name was ‘Ruth’, and she had beautiful dark hair and very pretty dark eyes. The two of us soon became fast friends, playing together and exploring the neighborhood, especially the park around the brewery. We knew the fence was supposed to keep people out, but Ruth, knowing the man at the gate, always managed to get us in. Knowing we should not really be there made it just so much more interesting!
Ruth even went to the same school as I did, a most welcome friend and companion on the long walks to and from school. But this did not last very long. For some unknown reason, Ruth dropped out of our school and supposedly went to attend a private school.
But we continued to see each other at home after school and played together as before, until the day that I was visiting at her place and her mother had just put out some cookies for us, when Tante Edith appeared and rather curtly demanded that I come upstairs right away and wanted to know what I was doing at their house. I was also told, for no reason what so ever, not to play so often with Ruth.
Next day after coming home from school I stopped downstairs to ask for Ruth to come and play. I never got past their maid and was told she was sick. The following day I tried again and this time somebody strange opened the door and told me that Ruth sand her family had moved away. Away in one day? This seemed even unbelievable to a six-year old. When later I asked Tante Edith what had happened all I was told that was not to ask any questions, that she did not know and I was not to mention their name again and stay away from downstairs.
Children will be children, and so I put this unpleasant and unexplained episode behind me, but deep down in my memory there is still the memory of ‘Ruth’ her mysterious disappearance. Being children we knew nothing about what was going on around us in the larger world, and as far as I knew the departure of Ruth was not connected to anything more sinister than simply "she was gone," and I had lost my only playmate at that time.
One must understand, that at that time ‘adult’ matter were NEVER discussed in front of children and even questions were mostly answered in rather evasive manners. It was not until years later that I realized that Ruth and her family were Jews, and rich Jews at that, an unpardonable sin under the regime of the Nazis. To this day I have no idea what happened to the family. I did not know their last name and only the approximate time this all happened. I can only hope and pray hat the made their escape that night and were not carted off somewhere by the Gestapo. Seeing that they had obviously some money at their disposal, and that the time for the accelerated persecution of Jews did not start until about a year later, I hope they escaped. After Ruth left I had no other close friends.
Black clouds were gathering on the political horizon, and slowly, I started to notice things were beginning to change. First, my Dad was more absent from home than ever; the ‘re-birth’ and mobilization of the German Army was beginning; and he was constantly on Maneuvers or detached duty somewhere. He had by then been promoted to Hauptman or Captain and the only real bright spots in my life were when he made a surprise visit or I was on school holiday.
All my holidays were spent with Oma Kunisch, whom I quite frankly adored, maybe because I could wind her around my little finger, just like my Dad. And Tante Trude’s daughter, Sigrid, my cousin, was like a little sister to me. We loved each other like the real sister we never had. To Oma Kunisch I was, of course, the one thing that remained of her youngest daughter. Oma Kunisch was at that time running her daily dinner table/boarding house for her paying guests, and Tante Trude had her job in the bank. At home things were very much as usual. School in the morning and afternoons and evenings with Tante Edith.
My one great joy was spending time with Vati, when ever he was home. He was a great lover of horses, and I guess I must have inherited that from him. He had several horses at his disposal for personal use, though they belonged to the Army and were stabled and cared for by them. They were all great jumpers and one of my best memories was to watch him at a spring Jagdreiten [steeplechase] and see him win a trophy. Everyone wore a sprig of oak in their lapel or, as in my case, you pinned it to your coat. I always took the oak home with me and tried to keep it green, but after a while it always dried up, and in spite of all my efforts it always dried up and turned brown. But there was always the other Jagdreiten in the fall...!
Every once in a while Vati and I were invited to his regimental commanding officer’s house for dinner or afternoon tea. I guess his wife felt somehow sorry for the poor ‘motherless’ child and somehow wanted to do something for me. They had a son, a few years older than me. Being the tomboy I was, got along just great with him and his buddies, especially after they found out that they could not scare me with frogs, spiders or such things. We all became good friends and there were very few things we did not get into. [By the way, the CO’s son lost his life during the war, and so did his father]. But at that time, we were young and untroubled, and neither politics or other worries entered our minds. One of our main enjoyments was to explore the remaining fortifications around the city of Neisse that Frederick the Great built around the town. Everything was wide open; I guess nobody than thought of the possibilities of anybody [especially children] getting lost in some of the underground passages. We had a grand time, playing the equivalent of Cowboys and Indians, only we were Prussians and Austrians.
A lady, who was introduced to me as ‘Tante Schmidthals’, came to the house a few times, ostensibly to play with us kids, especially with me. I understood her to be a Gym and Home Economics teacher who knew all kinds of neat things to keep us kids occupied. She seemed to be a friend of the family, especially of my late Mutti. Though I did not know it then, Elisabeth Schmidthals was to become one of the most important people in my life.
Tante Schmidthals and Mutti had apparently both attended some of the same schools and had shared an interest in sports, especially in gymnastics. I understood that Mutti had been quite good at gymnastics and won several prizes, a talent she certainly did not pass on to me! (I was more Vati’s daughter in that respect, one who, except for riding, did not care much about participating in sports. Of course, like all Europeans, Vati loved attending soccer matches. But, unless you were able to attend in person, you only read about it in the newspapers. No TV, and even to posses a radio was not too common back then.)
Christmas 1936 was spent at Oma Kunisch’s in Schmiedeberg with Oma, Tante Trude and Sigrid. Vati was there for the main holidays, and if I remember correctly, even Tante Schmidthals showed up with a gift for me. The Kunisch family always seemed to distance themselves from Tante Schmidthals. Why, I was to learn much later. As far as they were concerned, Vati could do no wrong. They simply adored him, and were extremely proud of their late daughter's husband, the handsome Hauptman in his smart uniform. Even in his absence he was always talked about, and still referred to by Oma as her ‘son-in-law’. I only learned later on that they secretly had hoped for a match between Tante Trude and my Vati. What a disaster that would have been! Two more different outlooks on life hardly existed -- my Vati light-hearted and outgoing, looking at the brighter side of life and, I am sure, not always following the straight and narrow ‘moral’ path. And I was, of course, very much my father's daughter, something of a rebel.
Soon after that Christmas my Dad announced that he and Tante Schmidthals were engaged and to be married the coming June. I personally liked Tante Schmidthals well enough, and anything seemed better than being with Tante Edith.
I remember a visit of Tante Schmidthals and her mother to Neisse around my 7th birthday. In hindsight, I'm sure they were there to look over the household and to see what would be needed by the new ‘mistress’ of the house. Right afterwards, my Vati was transferred again, this time to Oppeln, a rather bigger town than Neisse. This was to be my home for the next two years. Tante Edith left shortly before the wedding and on June 27, 1937 Vati and Tante Schmidthals were married in a little old fashioned church, not too far from Schmiedeberg.
Vati’s brothers and sister attended, of course, along with several people from my new ‘Mutti’s’ side of the family. The Kunisch family was absent; whether they were not invited or chose not to attend by their own choice, I don’t know. When Vati and my new 'Mutti' [as I shall refer to her from here on] left after the reception on their honeymoon, they took me along! Why, I do not know; there certainly were enough people around to look after me. With they new Mutti I had also acquired a new Grandmother, Oma Schmidthals. She and Tante Anna, her companion/housekeeper, were also living in Schmiedeberg.
Tante Anna had come as a 16 year old into the Schmidthals household when my new Mutti was born in 1904, the third child and first daughter for Oma Schmidthals and her husband. Her older brother was 14 when she was born. His name was Ernst-Walter. Her younger brother, Wilhelm, was around 10 years old when she was born. Mutti came from an old Prussian family that had, just a short time before her birth, given up the word ‘von’ in front of Schmidthals, for reasons I do not know. (That was another case where such matters were not discussed with the children.) Most of the males of the family where, or had been, in the military and all were very patriotic about the ‘fatherland’, especially under the Kaiser.
Oma Schmidthals lived through three wars, starting with the Franco-Prussian War in the late 1800s, which united Germany into one nation, when Bismarck declared Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia as Emperor of all Germany, and did away with all the little states that previously constituted German territory. Then followed World War I, and later, World War II. She really lived through some historic times.
I never met Mutti’s father or older brother. Her brother died at the beginning of World War I, and her father passed away sometime in the early twenties. Oma Schmidthals was what you would call ‘a Grand Dame’ -- every inch of her showing her breeding. She was of tiny stature and, according to the early pictures I have seen of her, must have been truly beautiful. It still showed.
Beyond that, she had a wonderful personality. Even though she was, to me, an ‘old lady’ she had a wonderful understanding of young people, especially surprising, since my generation was definitely different than hers. She grew up in the very proper and strict ‘Victorian Age’, long dresses and tight corsets and everything that went with it.
Oma Schmidthals and I had a great relationship. Many times when Mutti and I could not see eye to eye on issues [and those times came often] Oma Schmidthals would be the mediator. I also liked Tante Anna. She was a very unassuming and sweet person, who had through her own intelligence and hard work had found her place, rising from nursemaid to Ladies Companion, which was quite a climb. Eventually she became Oma Schmidthals’ best friend and equal partner.
But back to the ‘honeymoon’. Vati, Mutti and I traveled to a rather secluded hotel in the Harz Mountains. All I remember is being on my own a lot [at least I had my books] and the three of us taking what seemed to be endless walks. Upon our return to Oppeln [where Vati was stationed] we moved to a newer and larger apartment. I did not have to change schools, but my walk to and from school became longer and I had to ride a city bus part of the way. Things at home were going OK; Mutti and I got along all right, even though she was very strict and set in her ways [which never, even in her later life, was to change] -- and that eventually caused trouble.
I am sure that I presented quite a challenge. I had gone through many different hands in my seven years, and I guess I also had been quite indulged by Vati as well as Oma Kunisch along the way. The Kunisch family never actually forgave Mutti for marrying my Vati, and now I realize that the spoiling and indulgences on Oma Kunisch’s part had a lot to do with that.
But the friction that started at home went a lot deeper than just my relationship with Mutti. Vati's and Mutti's outlook on life was just oceans apart. He had married because he had to do a certain amount of repair to his reputation [I never got the whole story, just some hints that it had to do something with a certain ‘Lady’], and he also needed a mother to take care of me. So Mutti, with her spotless reputation and background, was the perfect choice. Tante Edith's presence in the home of a bachelor, even though he was recently widowed (and, from what I was told, the expectations she held) was not a good choice. So he married Mutti, but it was very obvious that, at least on his side, it was a marriage of convenience.
Both at home and in the world at large, it became apparent even to me that things were not as they should be. On the political horizon, black clouds were beginning to gather. Hitler escalated his persecution of the Jews. Internationally, as history shows, he was still presenting a peaceful face to the rest of the world. He met in Munich with English foreign minister Chamberlain and French minister Dalladier and ‘everlasting peace’ and ‘non-aggression’ was promised by all. At home, however, all the laws concerning ‘Non-Arians’ were being put into effect -- meaning, mainly, the Jews.
One morning, I was riding the city bus to school. The bus route went by a Jewish Synagogue, where a big black cloud of smoke was visible. It soon became evident that, not only had the building been set afire, but all the beautiful glass windows and door were smashed to pieces. The big copper dome on the building was tilting crazily to one side. Except some murmurs from people riding the bus, nobody said anything. When I arrived at school there was no comment. Upon arriving home and telling Mutti about it I became no wiser.
I found out later that all the Jewish places in town -- and all over Germany -- had met the same fate. It was what later became known as the Kristallnacht [Crystal Night] and was supposedly an ‘act of the people’ who were fed up with the ‘money- grabbing’ Jews. In fact, the deed had been done by members of the SA and SS. This was also the time when the real persecution of Jews began. Nothing much was ever said about politics at home; just to criticize anything that Hitler did was high treason. But I was just a young kid, who was not in any way directly touched by things that were happening.
There was enough trouble at home. Vati was constantly absent, whether intentionally or due to his being an officer in the Army, I do not know. Just less than six months after their wedding, Mutti suddenly went back to Schmiedeberg to stay with her mother who said she ‘needed’ her. Since school was still in session, I was left at home, and a young ‘au pair’ girl, came to stay with us and to take care of me. She was not only lazy and undependable, but often not even around when she was needed.
As the winter holidays began I was shipped off again to Oma Kunisch, and, since I was in the same town as Mutti, went to see her. She was apparently really sick with some kind of nervous skin problem, one that made her break out in hives all over and itched. (It was a complaint that I was to get to know quite well. Every time something upset Mutti or things did not go just her way, this re-occurred.) During the Christmas holidays Vati came to Schmiedeberg and the two of them must have come to some kind of understanding, because after Mutti was ‘well’ again, we returned to Oppeln together, in time for me to go back to school.
After that, a whole year went by, rather serenely -- at least, at home. During the summer of 1937 Germany reclaimed the Sudetenland, a strip of country located around the borders of Czechoslovakia and predominantly occupied by a German-speaking population. According to the news, many were being persecuted because of their German ancestry and had to be ‘liberated’. This came after the earlier annexation of Austria, and shortly before German troops crossed the border into the part of Czechoslovakia and occupied it. The search for more 'lebensraum’ [room to live] had begun in earnest.
Vati was transferred temporarily to a small town in East-Sudetenland called ‘Sternberg’. Shortly after arriving, he somehow injured his back and was admitted to the local hospital which was run by an order of nuns. Vati’s constant complaint was that they did more praying than looking after their patients. But that was probably just his discontent and boredom speaking. Since he was to be in the hospital over the holidays, Mutti and I went to stay with him. The nuns even arranged for beds in the same room for both of us. We spent Christmas with him. He seemed in a great deal of pain, and every so often, a nurse would appear and jab a painkiller/sleeping drug into his rear end. (Remember that I was not yet nine years old, and a lot of what I recall about these things is based on what I heard.)
I do not remember if we had a Christmas tree in Vati’s room; I do know there was a huge one in the hall. It was a strange Christmas. Mostly I recall the nuns, gliding around in their long white habits and with their large white head dresses, looking like something out of a scary movie. It was quite an experience, especially for somebody who was brought up Protestant Lutheran and until that point had no contact with anything Catholic; and who was being very much influenced in her thinking by Mutti, who strongly disliked, among other things, Jews and Catholics [in that order].
It was a strange time for me to be growing up. On one hand I had (so it seemed) finally found a stable home with both a father and mother. On the other hand, the political situation was beginning to make itself felt. Mutti was very pro-Hitler; she thought he was the long awaited ‘Messiah’ who would lead Germany back to its old glory. She was not necessarily what you would call a ‘Nazi’ [certainly her family background would vouch for that]; and she was not a follower of the party line (I know she was not a member). But she did agree with a lot of their dogmas and beliefs, especially as far as the Aryan dogma was concerned. She never believed in interracial mixing; everything not German [or of ‘Germanic’ origin] was frowned upon, and English-American culture such as music or movies was considered decadent.
By now it was Christmas, 1938. We celebrated very little. I received a a pair of skis and everything to go with them. Since the hospital had extensive grounds and there was plenty of snow on the ground, I tried them out the next day. I was not too successful at first, but had a lot of fun anyhow. (Many days, when I attended school at home, they were the only means of transportation, so eventually, I got pretty good on them.) We went home to Oppeln December 26; Vati was about to be released and joined us soon thereafter for a short time.
Vati was never home for a long stretch at a time; duty called him constantly away, mostly on extended maneuvers. The military was beginning to feel the extra pressure and the ever-present darkening political situation. Germany was definitely preparing for war. At home, the situation was still very strained because, in my estimation, Mutti's outlook on life was just so different than was Vati's.
But the New Year (1939) bought another transfer for Vati. He was a Captain by then, and was being given his first command, a small garrison located in the eastern corner of the Sudetenland. Maerish Rothwasser was a little place, not much more than a large Village, located in a valley surrounded by some of the prettiest country and mountains you could imagine. The barracks had been built by the Czech Army and consisted of many rather modern looking buildings, intended to house quite a large contingent of mounted troops. Of course, there were also stables, which were in better shape than the quarters intended for the troops!
Vati went ahead with a small detachment of soldiers to oversee the finishing of the barracks, as well as the housing intended for dependents. Everything was in a raw state of finish and it took several months to be fully completed. The base was surrounded by a chain link fence and the dependent housing was located right across from the main gate.
Finally, the big day came, and after the troops had arrived and been settled, we got the word to come and join Vati and take up residence in our new home. If I remember correctly, it was March, 1939, still miserably cold and wet; and, as you might imagine, the new and until-then-unoccupied quarters were the same. Each room was equipped with a big old-fashioned tile stove -- nice and cozy when you stood right next to it, but it took some doing to heat every room. Still, we were able to be all together again.
I went to exploring, especially in the stables, and was very disappointed when I found only one horse in residence, Vati’s personal mount, called ‘Nation’. However, it did not take long before the stables were filled with horses of all types and colors, but on that first visit she did look rather lonesome. Besides, she was always rather ill-tempered and liked to nip you when you weren't looking. Vati exercised her daily, and when I had the chance and knew where he had gone I would run as far as I could to meet him and would always get a hand up to ride home with him.
Before long we had to think about me starting back to school. In Oppeln, I attended third grade, with about a fourth of the school year to run, since the new school year started in spring. Here, being in the Sudetenland, a former part of Czechoslovakia, the school year changed in fall after the big summer holidays. So I either had to lose or gain half a year. Vati and Mutti decided to rather have me gain than lose time. In retrospect, it was probably not the best thing to do. Not only was I thrown into completely new surroundings with new teachers and classmates, I was also at least half a year behind in school knowledge, and I was also now the youngest one in the class [a fact that would show itself in later years]. As if this all was not enough, I was a complete outsider coming from ‘Old Germany’ -- the country that had, through Hitler, ‘liberated’ them, which not everyone was 100% happy about.
The local people were very much like the Austrians, with a little bit of Latin outlook on life thrown in. They were very laid back and their philosophy was if it does not get done today, it’ll get done tomorrow. This attitude did not get along well with the semi-Prussian military attitude of most newcomers. Many times I remember Vati being thoroughly frustrated when a job at the garrison needed to be finished at a specific time, but wasn't.
It took me quite while to be accepted, but once I felt like I belonged, it soon became home and has remained so till this day. I literally had to fight for respect -- I intensely disliked being made fun of, due to my different accent, ways of behavior, background and life at home. Somebody also found out about my nickname of Peter, and I was constantly teased about it, until one day I did not back down from the biggest boy in the class, and we got in a fight. We were both punished, but afterwards became the best of friends. I had gained a protector nobody fooled with.
School went slow in the beginning. I was really good in the subjects I liked, but only just passed things like mathematics or grammar. I made it to the end of the school year and was promoted to the next grade. From then on things got better; I had friends and I felt at home. The war had begun in September 1939, and within a few weeks -- I think it was the beginning of October -- Vati and his troops received orders to move. Like in times of old, they moved out, the horses pulling the wagons. It was literally ’when the caissons were rolling along’, because that is what they were: field artillery. There was not a single motorized vehicle amongst them. My Dad rode his horse at the front of the column, his officers behind him, and the rest of the troops followed. It was quite a picture. We -- that is, the families who stayed behind -- gathered all the flowers we could find and decorated all the men and horses. They were on their way to a main railway loading station several miles away.
That, and two more times in the next 2 years, was all I saw of Vati. After all the men were gone, it took a while for things to settle down at home. Everything was strangely quiet and empty. All we knew is that the men were to be posted somewhere toward the Eastern front and at that time, that meant Poland. The men were all anxious to get going ‘in case the war would be over before they became involved' [Little did anyone know what lay ahead]. The Polish campaign was short and successful for the German forces. Germany was ecstatic. Everybody listened to the radio and waited for sondermeldungen [special news bulletins] to hear of the ‘glorious’ battles the German troops fought and, at that time, won.
At home life returned to a certain normalcy. Starting in September, 1939, we had air raid drills and certain people were appointed air wardens. We had, of course, total blackouts at night. All of this was considered a kind of joke, even when we were issued ration cards for everything possible. Food and other things were abundant, even in the large cities. The war would be over before Christmas, we were told, and all the men would be home safe and sound and Germany would of course be victorious.
Soon, however, reality set in. Within the first two weeks, the first casualty reports began arriving, and many loved ones were either dead or wounded. Then, England and France joined the war on the side of Poland, and all of a sudden it was a two-front war and the first air raids started. That's when things started to get really serious. Italy, of course, had joined with Germany, becoming a member of the 'Axis Powers'. Germany quickly overran the combined forces of the 'Allies' in France, and German troops marched into Paris; German forces dug in along the Atlantic coast after heavy fighting.
The Allies had to retreat from mainland Europe, incurring heavy casualties, especially at the infamous battle of Dunkirk. Hilter literally faced England from about 2 hours away. Britain sustained heavy losses, but so did the Germans. The air battle of Britain began, and so did the sea battles. German U-boats chased everything in their sights and sank it. Most Germans were euphoric, but the war still was not over, and the Allies dug in for a bitter battle. Frenchmen organized a very effective underground force that harassed German troops wherever they could find them. And the bombing of German cities and factories began to take its toll. Even our out-of-the-way little place was soon to have its share of air raid evacuees, especially mothers with young children.
Vati and his outfit had been transferred to the Western front, though ground fighting there had ceased for the time being. An uneasy armistice had been declared; the French had a puppet government under Marshal Petain. This was the summer of 1940, and sometime during my summer holidays Vati came home for a short furlough. I was spending the summer doing my part for the war effort, working on a nearby farm every day, helping in the fields, or doing whatever chores were needed. All the ‘able bodied’ men were in the service. It was great to have Vati home, even for a short time, if only Mutti wouldn't have spoiled it.
It seemed that every time Vati visited and things were going great, she would bring up something I had done wrong during his absence. He would than feel compelled to somehow punish me, so as not to undermine her authority. Then he would try to make up for it, sharing some special ‘tidbits’ or goodies that - according to Mutti - were meant only for him. When he was out of earshot, Mutti, in turn, would let me know how much that displeased her and under no circumstances was I to do it again. As a result, Mutti and I never had the best relationship. She was too strict and often unforgiving, which in turn caused me to do things anyway, whether she was right or not. It also had me inventing a lot of stories about where I had to be (or had been); or how long it would take, etc.
One afternoon during the summer of 1940, when Vati was home on leave and everyone was having a good time, Mutti mentioned to him a transgression of mine which, to her, seemed serious. I had a piggy bank, in which were about 20 Marks -- money that had been given to me on one occasion or another. I wanted to buy something in the village store, and just liked to have some money in my pocket, so I managed -- with the help of a hair pin -- to extract 5 Marks thru the slot. Mutti somehow found out, and I was grounded for about a week. I think that happened in February, and Vati didn't come home on furlough 'til early June. So, out of the clear blue sky that afternoon, just before we were supposed to go somewhere, she informed him of my ‘thievery’ [as she called it] and told him that he had to punish me for it, or I would came to a bad end.
What was he to do? He called me to his study and told me that Mutti had advised him of what I had done and insisted he punish me. So I was excluded from going on our outing together, and restricted to my room. Even as a 10 year old, I could tell that his heart was not in it, and later he made it up to me by buying me a bicycle -- over Mutti’s objection. Soon thereafter he had to leave again, and I was to see him just once more, for a very short time. He was soon transferred to Poland, where he was to spend almost a year. According to his letters, he felt that the government had forgotten about him, but then they promoted him to Major of his battalion.
The war was at a stalemate. The only battles going on, it seemed to us, were in the air in Africa. At that time, in the Sudetenland, we were not touched very much by the war. The large cities of Germany were constantly bombed and we were receiving more and more evacuees. Ration cards became more and more short, especially items such as white flour, sugar and butter or margarine, and ‘real’ coffee. Our coffee was made from roasted barley and chicory, probably very healthy and certainly caffeine-free. But the taste? Ugh. Luxury items such as good soap and shampoos, or chocolate and of course all imported items became rare and were soon only found on the black market. Hotels and restaurants soon required that you bring your ration book with you.
Still, where we lived was kind if a backwater from the war, and since most people in the area were farmers, food was not scarce. There was almost always enough [dark] rye flour and, of course, potatoes around. More recipes, even cakes, containing rye flour and potatoes became popular. The sweetener was more often than not saccharine, often egg substitute, and of course, as fat free as possible. But, as the old saying goes: Hunger is the best cook. But those times were still plentiful compared to later years. Things, however, were soon to change.
One thing I clearly remember: During the summertime, the great pine woods surrounding the valley were plentiful with wild berries. Starting in early summer with wild strawberries, which grew along the hedges, on spots that were partially exposed to the sun; and later on, wild blueberries and cranberries, the summer ending with sweet and juicy wild raspberries as well as blackberries. When it rained there were wild, edible mushrooms just waiting for the picking. Of course, you had to have a certain knowledge of what was edible, but somehow, growing up so close to Nature, you almost instinctively knew. We would get up in the morning as early as possible, right before dawn. All the ‘mushroom pickers’ would do this -- you wanted to get to your favorite spot before anybody else did, because mushrooms are best when picked before the sun comes up. They have a tendency to get slimy later in the day.
During Vati’s summer leave in 1940, Mutti and he had decided that it would be better for my education [meaning, "stopping me from being such a tomboy and learning some deportment"] to attend an all-Girls' school about 30 km from where we lived. It was a combination junior high and high school, known for its ‘higher’ education and teaching young girls to be more like ladies. Not only did it mean that I had to leave all my friends behind, but also that I had to ride a bus every morning, and home again in the afternoon, a total of about 2 1/2 hours on the road. I would catch the bus at around 6:45 in the morning and be home by 2:00. The bus had to travel long, winding roads through the mountains, which in wintertime meant snow and ice covered roads. Why parents would send a ten-year-old on such a harrowing trip is still a mystery to me!
Needless to say, I hated the change and was determined NOT to like the school. I did not like my classmates, ‘city girls’ whose interests were completely different from mine. I didn’t like the teachers, and I think the feeling was mutual. I was probably a bit of a troublemaker. My grades began to suffer. I cut classes whenever possible, which was not hard to do; it was easy to blame being late or absent on the bus, and nobody bothered ever to check. That sojourn lasted one school year. By the fall of 1941, I persuaded Mutti to let me re-join my old local school.
As the summer before, I spent most of my vacation ‘helping’ at a neighboring farm, partially because we had to do it as a school project, but mostly because I just enjoyed being out of doors and on a farm with all the animals. I was good with horses, and many times I helped bring the full hay wagon home, leading the horses. The noon meals and snacks they served during the afternoon were beginning to look mighty good. Food was becoming more rationed, even where we lived, and we had begun to feel it. Rationing was becoming more and more strict, and certain items such as sugar, butter or margarine were getting more scarce. Still, compared to what was to happen in the coming years, we were living well.
As usual, during the summer vacation I spent about 2 weeks at Oma Kunisch’s. That was always a special treat for me. Complete freedom, and the promise of being spoiled, too! I was 11 years old, and Oma Kunisch lived about half a days train ride away in Schmiedeberg. I was put on the train at home with a book and a sandwich and my suitcase, told to change trains at a certain place and then Oma Kunisch or Tante Trude would pick me up in Schmiedeberg. Trains were often running late; troop trains or supply trains always had priority. Homeward-bound was the same story; they would put me on the train and Mutti would pick me up at the station. How different those days were! Sigrid and I played all day with friends that were also spending their summers with their grandparents.
Everything was great, except for one big problem I had with Mutti -- one that was to remain with me thru all my school years. As I have mentioned before, Mutti was a strict non- conformist, especially when it suited her purposes. No matter what my friends or classmates did or were allowed to do, I always had to be different, specially when it came to dressing. She had all kinds of reasons: My Vati was an officer in the German Army and I had to be behave accordingly, to consider my ‘background' [obviously ‘better’ than the local ‘farm girls', etc]. I had to behave in a certain manner that she considered correct, was never allowed the freedom they had when it came to go to the weekly movies, unless she approved. So we had quite a few differences of opinion and when I could not change her mind I started to find ways to do what I wanted. And of course that led to telling stories, (let's not call them lies). Whether she always knew what I was up to, I don’t know. She caught me now and then, and than the punishment was severe, in a very subtle way. And she never forgot. Years later she would remind me of things I had done wrong. I muddled along with Mutti the best I could. After all, I reasoned that since my Vati had married her, he must have had a reason I could not understand.
One more example of Mutti’s method of ‘bringing up Peter’ (me): As a home-economics project we were all to sew a very simple dress, which would teach us, amongst other things, how to use a sewing machine. The old kind, where your feet did the work, no electric machines in those days. Well, the teacher, had purchased material, a sort of check gingham, in red and blue checks. All the girls were to attempt to sew this into a dress and this was later to be worn as a sort of school uniform for our grade and on specified days we were to appear in those outfits.
Of course Mutti disagreed with the colors, the material, style and everything else. She had to buy a different type of material in a different color, and wanted a different style. This not only put me in very hot water with the teacher, but also again made me different from the rest of the class. Mutti and the teacher never saw eye to eye from the very beginning. I guess since she used to be a Home Economics teacher at one time, she knew every thing better. The teacher, a proverbial old maid, had taught at this school for more years than she probably cared to count, and was not about to be told by a ‘newcomer’ and ‘intruder' from the Altreich [‘original’ Germany, before the ‘liberation’, was called old Germany]. So I became a pawn in their power play, and that did not make it easy for me, because I could not please the teacher, no matter how hard I tried, especially with Mutti blocking everything.
Often, in later years when I was grown and out from under her thumb, I tried to figure out the reasons that made her what she was. I’m sure she loved me in her way, and I was far from perfect, but we sure butted heads. And, as I mentioned before, it caused a lot of problems and made me even more of a rebel than I naturally was. And the Kunisch side of the family did not help. There, again, I was in the middle of a power play. On Oma Kunich’s side I was considered just about perfect and spoiled rotten. They did not like Mutti at all [which will be shown even more clearly later]. Mutti just decided whatever ‘they’ said was wrong and directly meant to be said out of jealousy. The only mediators in all this were Mutti’s mother and Tante Anna. They seemed to understand me more, even though they were of a much older generation. I really loved to visit with them and listen to their stories of a very different time.
Vati had been home for a very short furlough at the end of January, 1941 and was now on the Russian front. That was when the overall picture of the war began to change. The Allies dug in, as Churchill put it: "on the beaches of England and in the air." The bombing raids accelerated and Russia had joined the war on the side of the Allies. So Germany was fighting on two fronts. The ‘glorious’ German troops made more and more ‘strategic’ withdrawals. The news from the East was bad. Just like for Napoleon, the rough Russian winter, the long, impossible supply routes and the Russian troops, who were used to the bitter cold, began taking their toll. Vati was at this time stationed about 20 km outside of Moscow. Letters from him began to arrive slower and slower, and his usually upbeat tone began to change. December, 1941 arrived and the Christmas season was just around the corner. My daily silent question was: "Will Vati be home for at least part of the holidays?" I knew the answer, but one could hope.
One night I had a strange dream; it was more like being awake. Somehow the idea came to me of what would happen if Vati got killed: I would actually be an orphan. A terrible thought for a young girl, having read all those books about poor orphans. Then came December 5, a day I shall never forget. It was a Sunday morning, around 11 o’clock, when the door bell rang. Mutti was busy with some thing and asked me to answer. At the door was a German Army officer asking to see Mutti. Being taught to ask such a caller into Vati’s study, I asked him to wait and went to get Mutti. I remember the radio in the corner was on, and as Mutti and I returned he was busy turning the sound down. Mutti was just about to ask him what he was doing when we both saw the look on his face and knew what he was there to tell us.
“I’m terribly sorry to have to inform you that on the 3rd of December your husband died a hero’s death on the field of battle”. On and on he went, how it happened, how a Siberian sharpshooter hidden in a tree hit him with a bullet right in the forehead and that he died instantly...but nothing much penetrated our mind. All I could think of was that Vati was dead and would never come home. I had indeed become an orphan. Mutti took it very hard. It took all her last energy to ask that her mother be notified, also Oma Kunisch. After he left, she pretty much shut down and just went through the motions, doing only the things that needed doing.
Her mother, including Tante Anna, arrived by train the next afternoon. As her mother got off the train, her first words were that her brother, and also her favorite cousin, had also been killed fighting in Russia. I don’t think it hit Mutti until much later what her mother had said; we were all kind of numb. Mutti had some kind of breakdown and took to her bed, leaving the running of the house to her mother and Tante Anna, who turned out to be a real rock in all that turmoil. Tante Anna went to work on getting black material and sewing several black dresses for everybody, because mourning clothes would be worn for at least a year. All the other necessities, such as notifying the paper and informing relations and friends had to be seen to.
As I recall, I stayed home from school about 10 days, maybe 'til the Christmas holidays. I had to have a black dress to wear and I also felt awkward facing my schoolmates and teachers. I think my Dad was the first casualty of the war as far as my immediate circle was concerned. I remember one of my first concerns was if we were going to have a tree for the holidays this year, and how it would all work out. Mutti, who was slowly getting over the first terrible shock assured me that she considered it her "duty as a soldier’s wife to carry on in a as normal way as possible. That would have been what he would have wished. “
Slowly, we began getting letters from the front, from Vati’s friends and comrades, assuring us what a brave and well-liked fellow Vati had been; and also more news about what had happened. Vati and some of his staff, it seems, were on a forward reconnaissance mission. [He was, by then, commanding a division of motorized Cavalry.] The Russian forces, especially the Siberian sharpshooters, had inflicted tremendous losses on the German forces, mainly amongst the high ranking officers; they were trained to seek them out above all others. As they were crossing a little meadow a sharpshooter, well hidden, high in a tree, managed to shoot Vati right in the forehead. He was supposedly dead immediately. According to reports ‘they took bloody revenge’, but little did it help his family!
He was buried in Istra, Russia, in a little German military cemetery, 20 km outside of Moscow. His personal belongings, including his wedding band, were later on sent to Mutti. From what we heard, careful maps were supposedly kept of the actual locations of the graves. But who would even have them now, I don’t know; and it does not really matter. First, the graves were all leveled when the German Army retreated. Russians were known to desecrate the graves, looking for wedding rings, jewelry etc. Russia is a big country and after all, a grave is just a grave. This is really all that I know about Vati’s death. Most of his comrades, who might, after the war, have told us more, never returned home, either they were killed or lost in some prison camp and never heard from again. We received lots of condolence letters, from family and friends and even some rather high ranking officials.
Slowly life began to resume at least an appearance of normality. The holidays came and went, a rather sad affair but everybody did their best to cope. One thing that made things appear more normal: None of the other fathers, brothers or friends were at home either. By this time only the really old, sick or young people were left on the home-front.
After Christmas school started again and so I went, dressed in deep mourning black, down to my shoes, socks and accessories. I also was not allowed to attend any sort of entertainment, be it movies or birthday parties, etc. Only affairs that had to do directly with school or the war effort were allowed. I could not see quite the reason for all this and had quite a few ‘heated’ discussions with Mutti. In school I felt like a ‘black crow' again; I was not able to conform or fit in. But it was winter time, lots of cold and snow, so except for occasional skiing you stayed home anyhow. And I had my books. I had become a very regular visitor at the local library. I brought stacks of books home each week, mostly adventure, historical or some sci-fi books. If I could just find a quiet corner and everybody left me alone, I was more or less content.
February 1942 came, and one day Mutti received a letter from the Family Court in Steinberg, a small town near where we lived that housed the District Court having jurisdiction over our local area. Much to our amazement and consternation, Mutti was ordered to appear at a certain date and show cause as to why she should continue to have further custody of me. Such a question had never been raised before. After Vati’s death, Uncle Max, Vati’s oldest brother, had been named my guardian, at least as far as Mutti was concerned. Whether this had ever been legally done, I don’t know.
In any case, Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude all of a sudden demanded guardianship. The stated reasons were that Mutti was definitely not a blood relation; her marriage had been on rocky ground; and several others. Mutti was absolutely furious, and I can’t say that I blamed her. All this came right out of the clear blue sky, nothing had ever been said about it before. Even though we had had our disagreements, even at my age knew that her approach to my upbringing was just the way she had been raised; she obviously thought she was doing her best by me. So I really felt she had been wronged. I finally persuaded Mutti to let me visit Oma Kunisch and Tante Trude in Schmiedeberg. I had to promise her to make sure that I not give anybody the impression that she had sent me or was influencing me.
I don’t quite remember what happened during that visit or what I said. I remember only praising Mutti, how well she took care of me etc. I thought I was really being ‘diplomatic’. Somehow I must have succeeded, or else it was decided that they really did not have a case. After one more visit by Mutti to the family court, the matter was quietly dropped. But one thing remained, and never really changed. The animosity was there, especially on Mutti’s side. It took many years, 'til after the war, that a certain truce came about and at that point, at least, Oma Kunisch and Mutti were coldly polite to each other. In the meantime, I still visited with Oma Kunisch and had a good time seeing them all, and they still spoiled me rotten.
It was now well into 1942, and the war was going badly for Germany. Soon after Vati’s death German troops began their serious retreat in Russia. What had been ‘tactical’ withdrawals became a daily happening. The Allies had launched their offensive and the Allied bombing raids kept taking their toll on the home front. Many people were evacuated from the big cities, mostly women with young children. The were brought to safer places in the country, much like England was doing. I was finally allowed to wear plain white clothes, especially during the summer. I had also joined the Bund Deutscher Maedel, or 'BDM'. It was actually were similar to the Girl Scouts, just a lot more politically-oriented. I proudly wore the uniform, blue skirt, white blouse and a brown Jacket. Again I encountered many objections by Mutti, about the time and frequency of meetings, inability of the leaders and many more. I had learned by now to live with it and how to get around many of her obstacles...not by always telling the truth, but what was I to do? All my friends were allowed to take part and I certainly was tired of being an outsider. Or so I reasoned.
This was also the summer that I fell in love the very first time. In retrospect it was ‘puppy love’, but nobody could have me told that at that time. Hans was 2 years ahead of me in school, so actually 3 years my senior. He was literally “tall, dark and handsome". We met by both being in the Hitler Youth movement. He carried the standard for his unit, I for mine. So we were often thrown together at political rallies and since they were usually a long way from home, he very often he saw me home.
We both rode bicycles to school and he would always wait for me at the crossing. We met during school recess and soon it was known that we were ‘an item’. When Mutti got wind of it she was literally shocked. She call me ‘boy crazy’ and other such endearing names, and I faced long lectures. She told me I was too young even to think of boys, and so on. I guess she thought I should still be playing with dolls. But never even remotely did any talk ever touch ‘sex’. In that respect, Mutti was still living in the Victorian era. Not that our relationship was anything but innocent, mind you. He never even kissed me, except one time during a school outing and then it was during an organized game. But we really liked each other. When he was occasionally away at glider school he wrote me the most beautiful letters, all hand printed and decorated like old illustrated Bibles. When Mutti found the letters, she destroyed every one of them and every contact with Hans was ‘verboten' [forbidden]. Soon he went away to another school; I saw him one more time, just before he left for military service (in February, 1945) and he came to see me. Even Mutti could not object to that. The war was taking a disastrous turn for Germany; I never heard from him again.
By the summer of 1944, Mutti had me again had me attending a different school ‘for higher education', only this time I was boarding with a family in the school town, and only came home for the weekends. The school I had attended locally did not teach English or French, and also stopped with the ninth grade. So, in order to attain a high school degree, I guess it was time for the change. But why I had to learn English and French was beyond me. We were at war with those countries and it just did not make sense! [Little did I know HOW important English was to become in my life, later on!]
During the summer holidays Mutti had hired a tutor to help me get started. The teacher was from my local school and had been my third grade teacher. She was rather young and, in retrospect, not very experienced. I went to her house twice a week for about 90 minutes and learned a little. Most of the time I managed to talk about all different kinds of subjects...anything but English or French [which, of course, I regretted later on]. I got the basics, however, especially in English. French interested me even less.
So the summer holidays came to an end, and Mutti found that family in Schoenberg, where the girls-only high school was located. We had been to the school and also visited the prospective house-parents. They were nice, had two young boys [4 and 6 years respectively], and I thought that I should be able to get along just fine. The school wasn't too far -- about 15 minutes' walking distance -- and the house, where Mutti had rented the first floor apartment, was located in a nice neighborhood. Plenty of houses around town took in students for the school term.
The plans were for me to catch the train home every Saturday at noon for the trip home to Mutti. Our school week ran every day from about 8 AM to 1:30 PM, on Saturdays school closed about 11:30 AM. Due to the war, the buses did not run any more, as they had when I attended school before. The train ride was much more complicated and time consuming. I would leave at around 12 o’clock and get home around five o’clock. Monday morning I would leave home before four o’clock a.m. to get to school in time.
Before long I discovered that a boy who was in classes with me for three years prior also attended the local ‘Gymnasium’, the Boys' High School. Though I muddled through the best I could, school itself was not much fun. Once again I felt again completely out of place, both in terms of knowledge of the curriculum, as well as being -- as the local girls called it -- ‘from the country’. This was true, not only because they were from the town, but they had been together all through school and knew each other well. Even the teachers, especially in languages and mathematics, seemed to look down on me.
The new family was OK -- we got along -- but even there I felt like an outsider. So I really just lived from one weekend to another, and used every possible way to stay home just a little longer. I sure had a lot of ‘not feeling good’ back then! Every possible way to have a sore throat, upset stomach and so on. Maybe in time that would have all changed, but I did not know then that my time at the school in Schoenberg was to be rather short.
Along came December, 1944 and we were getting close to the Christmas Holidays. Soon school closed for 3 weeks, and I gladly headed home. Christmas was a little better now. Sure, we missed Vati very much, but also nobody else had their loved ones home from the front -- not unless they were wounded and in some hospital or recuperating, or maybe at home on leave for a short time. The war had turned against Germany, especially on the Russian front. German troops were in full retreat, and the Eastern front lines had gotten closer and closer. The Allies had landed in Normandy and were pushing toward the Vaterland (Germany). Allied troops were also coming up through Italy.
The food situation had become pretty grim, even where we lived. You had ration cards, but often nothing was available, and items like sugar, white flour, meat and many other things were almost impossible to be had. Coffee was available only on the black market, as was every thing else you really wanted, if you were willing to pay the outrageous prices for it. Mutti considered it almost treason to buy things illegally, so we made do with what there was. Potatoes were always there, so was rye flour, a little milk and every once in a while some eggs from a local farmer...and with luck, even a scrawny chicken. Mutti tried to save whatever was possible. She managed a few Christmas cookies. How anybody ate them I don’t know -- no sugar, no fat, just substitutes for sugar, butter and even some egg-powder, that had never seen an egg -- but we ate every bit of them. As I said earlier, “hunger is the best cook”.
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna had braved the train ride from Schmiedeberg to spend the holidays with us, and we spent a quiet, reflective time together. Just before Christmas Eve it snowed heavily, so we definitely had a ‘White Christmas”. According to German custom, we lit the candles on the tree on Christmas Eve and exchanged gifts. I received several books [much to my joy!], some clothes and best of all -- a pair of new boots for my skis. Nothing fancy, but they fit and were new! Next day I had to try them out, there was certainly enough snow, and the skis were now a necessity. Soon, Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna left again. Little did we all know how long it would to be 'til we saw each other again.
The weekend before I was due to return to school and my ‘foster’ family, I suddenly experienced stabbing pain in my lower back and over to the sides. When I told Mutti, she first made an unbelieving face (she knew full well how anxious I was to leave). But the pains continued and she finally called a doctor from the military hospital where she did volunteer work. [Vati’s former barracks across the street had by then been turned into Reserve Military Hospital for recovering German soldiers]. A doctor came and quickly, after taking a sample for testing, diagnosed ‘acute kidney infection’. So Mutti believed that this time I was not faking it. As a matter of fact, I was in quite a bit of pain and spent most of the first few days flat on my back on a heating pad. In addition to medication, the Doctor ordered 2 days of “absolutely no water, no food” and after that, at least 2 weeks of a completely salt free diet. It worked well, and I recovered fairly quickly.
Before long, Mutti and I were making plans for me to go back to school. Then all of a sudden, we received a phone call from the family I was living with in Schoenberg: Both of their two boys had contracted Scarlet Fever -- at that time a quite serious and sometimes fatal disease -- and their house was quarantined for the next 3 weeks. Hallelujah! All of a sudden my vacation had been extended.
The good Lord must have been on my side, because soon thereafter it became too dangerous to ride the train to where I needed to go. Seventy percent of the route the train took went through Czech territory. With the war going so badly for Germany, and the Russians coming closer by the day, it became routine for the train to be attacked by underground forces or the tracks being blown up, and German passengers being roughed up or even killed. We could also begin to hear the big guns from the front, it sounded like constant, heavy thunder. Needless to say, Mutti was happy to have me with her at home.
Soon it was February, 1945, and the guns seemed to be coming closer and closer. Each day, they sounded louder and at night the sky was all lit up, like constant lightning. The military reserve hospital where Mutti worked was put on alert to expect orders to move in the foreseeable future. Mutti was given the choice to move with them, which of course included me. There was never any question that we would go with them -- everybody knew only too well what to expect when the Russian troops moved in. Our concern was not only with the Russians, but also with the Czech nationalists who were just waiting for the Russian troops to provide them with an opportunity to take revenge for the wrongs the Nazis had done to them. (And ultimately, bloody revenge did they take! Mutti’s decision proved to be right one, for from what we heard from talking to people who left after the end of the war, rape and killing was commonplace.)
So we started to pack, to be ready to go at a moment's notice. What do you take with you when all you’re allowed is what you can carry? We were luckier than many people; since Mutti belonged to the hospital staff, we were allowed a foot locker and bigger suitcases than we could actually carry. I don't know how often we packed and unpacked. I was not quite 15 years old at that time, and all of this somehow was more of an adventure; I could not quite comprehend the seriousness of it all. It seemed like an ongoing “party”, especially since all the long-stored “goodies” like canned fruit, liquors, wine etc. had to be consumed or left behind.
Too soon the day came when a small train, consisting of 3 passenger cars, about 10 freight cars and an engine appeared at the siding near the hospital compound. Most of the wounded had been moved ahead to hospitals out of the danger zone, and the few that remained were well enough to help with moving the actual hospital equipment. Early the next morning the actual loading began, and by early afternoon we were told to grab our few belongings and board.
It was a strange feeling to lock the door of our apartment for the last time, knowing we would never return. Even I had lost some of my sense of adventure. I am sure it was a hard undertaking for Mutti. Leaving all the things that still remained and reminded her of Vati -- things she knew she could never replace. But to stay was completely out of the question, so we set out on the journey of our lives.
The little train was finally loaded around late afternoon, including 4 Russian steppe ponies. They were used to haul various items, especially supplies, since the reserve hospital was not considered important enough to have any motorized vehicles (by that point, anything motorized was in very short supply).
Finally, we were under way. Little did we know what lay ahead of us. The trip was to last 15 days, traveling across the heart of what was then Czechoslovakia to end up at a little town near Nuremberg in the heart of Bavaria, in what was later to become West Germany. But I don't want to get ahead of myself...
Mutti and I were assigned to one of the passenger cars, together with the few remaining nurses. Doctors, other staff members and personnel were in the other cars. We were lucky to have a small field kitchen along, so we always got hot ‘coffee’ [the burned barley and chicory, variety, not the real thing]. Food preparation was only possible when the train stopped --which was quite often -- because troop and supply trains heading to the Eastern front had the right of way. While stopped, we also got a warm meal of soup or stew plus some dark rye bread. But when you're that hungry, anything tastes good. Rations were meager, but better than nothing.
The first night on board the train was one of the most miserable I have ever spent. Anybody who ever tried to sleep in the luggage rack of an old German train knows what I’m talking about! No matter which way you twist of turn, the wooden slats -- designed to hold luggage, not people -- poked you in the back, plus there is always the fear that you might fall out, onto the floor below. I tried it that night, and that was enough for me. Sleeping upright in the seats below did not appeal, either. I was going to find more comfortable sleeping quarters for the next night, no matter what Mutti or anybody else said.
As soon as the train came to one of its many stops the next morning, I went exploring. I soon came to the freight car where the 4 horses and their feed were stabled. Over half a car full of soft [at least compared to a wooden luggage rack] hay! Of course, I was not the only one looking for a more comfortable place to sleep! But if you did not mind the smell of horses or weren't allergic to hay, this was the place; at least you could stretch out on the hay. So, on a first-come, first-served basis, I had found myself a sleeping place. (As the trip wore on, the piles of hay became thinner and thinner, but enough remained to be reasonably comfortable.)
Toilet and washing facilities were rather primitive. There were, of course, several ‘on train’ toilets, but no way to get to them when the train was under way. So one just went behind the horses when Mother Nature called, hoping the train wouldn't move too much, or the horses didn't care about having someone behind them. Washing was done as much as possible in the morning, or when we stopped. Face, neck and hands were about the extent of it; rinse and brush your teeth when possible. A change of clothing was out of the question; there was no way to get to our luggage. So the same pair of pants, sweater and underwear simply had to do. We must have been a bedraggled-looking lot, but we did not go hungry and we were saved from the Russians.
We slowly wound our way through the heart of Czechoslovakia, often sidelined in some unknown little place for hours at a time. We could get out and stretch our legs, and once in a while get the horses out and walk them. Seven people finally ended up in my ‘cattle car’ -- two nurses, me and four military personnel connected to the hospital. The keeper of the horses, an older guy who had two daughters at home, and I became good friends. He often made sure that I got food and other essentials. We had long talks or played cards to pass the hours during the trip.
One day we were stopped somewhere and a similar train was stopped right next to us, a train that, as I later found out, had come all the way from near the Baltic Sea -- a long way off, and just like us, looking for refuge in the west. It was a larger train and carried a lot civilian refugees, mostly women and children, plus a few military personnel that were on re-assignment and on their way to the western front. A couple of nurses and I were talking and looking at the other train when one of them commented on a ‘good looking’ young lieutenant that was walking alongside the other train. I looked, and suddenly realized that I knew him! It was my cousin Helmut, my father’s brother's oldest son. What a coincidence! We had not seen each other since the war began, over five years earlier. He had been on a short leave to see his wife and their newly-born son before he went to his new assignment. His wife was from East Prussia, a province on the Baltic Sea, and like us, they were told to leave because the Front was getting near. How he managed to accompany her I don’t know and we did not have time to explain. It was good to see them. They did not know their destination either; in those days you were just glad if you were able to get away from the fighting. Time for our reunion was short and soon, everybody went on their own way.
On and on we went. We were near Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia. We had stopped to let a troop train pass, and then to spend the night. The plan was to continue in the morning. It just so happened to be the night that long-range American bombers were on a mission to take out a munition factory in the little town near the siding, so we had ring side seats for a show we really didn't want to attend!
Soon after the sirens went off, the attack began. It seemed to last forever. Actually, it lasted about 2 hours. I felt like a sitting duck on that siding, and was really scared. The railway car was rocking back and forth with each explosion. The horses where frightened and very restless. We were all waiting for the next bomb to hit us. All I could do was literally bury my head in the hay and pray for it to be over. Luckily we were not hit, but had some rather close calls. After the ‘All Clear’ signal, we checked for damage and found that everybody was all right and even though some tracks were torn up, we would be able to continue in the morning.
By this time we were about 10 days into our journey. We finally learned that our final destination was to be Forchheim, a town on the main highway between Nuremberg and Bamburg. We finally arrived without any further incidents near the end of February, 1945, just a few days before my 15th birthday. Although Forchheim was located close to Nuremberg, which was almost completely destroyed by bombs, in 1945 almost no industries or anything important to the war effort existed there. Except for constant air raid warnings, nothing much had happened in Forchheim to that point.
An incident worth mentioning happened while we were still at the train station in our 'home on wheels'. The hospital kitchen was running short of supplies. George, the man in charge of the horses and wagons was told to go to Erlangen, the only nearby supply base for military hospitals, to get the needed items. Erlangen, about 20 miles distant, could be reached with the horse team in about 2 hours; we were lucky to have our 4 Russian ponies to get around. Being more than bored, with nothing much to do, I wanted to go along. I was lucky, because when I asked Mutti if I could go with George on an errand, she was otherwise occupied and she readily agreed [not exactly knowing that we were going that far].
We took off next morning, making it to Erlangen in good order around lunchtime. After collecting our supplies, consisting of some canned goods and a wagon load of black bread, we turned back toward Forchheim. Since Erlangen is not quite 20 miles from Nuremberg, we weren't surprised to see swarms of American long-range bombers in the air, probably on their way to targets in and around Nuremberg. It was almost a daily routine in those days to see the bombers, either during the day or at night. What we had not realized that bombers were always accompanied by lots of fighter planes. Their main job, I later learned, was to fly protective cover for the bombers, always on the lookout for Nazi airplanes, ground-based guns, tanks or other threats. The fighters were equipped with multiple guns, and didn't hesitate to use them.
As we quickly found out, when there wasn't an obvious military target, the fighters would look for anything that moved and seemed worth shooting at. They would take to strafing highways; all traffic was fair game, and before we knew it, our little wagon and horses became a target. They came around, lining up with the highway we were on, and began to open fire. George tried very hard to keep the frightened team of horses under control, scrambling to reach the cover of a nearby grove of pines as fast as possible. We made it safely into the grove, and there we waited until the fighters left, looking for new prey. The bombing mission was soon accomplished, however, as we saw billowing clouds of heavy black smoke, not far away. One could only wonder what was left to bomb after the almost daily attacks.
We soon went on our way again and could actually see Forchheim, not far ahead. As we were approaching the last bridge into town, a German Army convoy passed us, consisting of troop carrier and several tankers. [One has to remember that by that time -- February 1945 -- almost anywhere in Germany could be considered the 'front line', as the war was but a few months from being over.] As the last tanker was about to cross the bridge, and we made ready to follow, what would appear but a swarm of angry hornets: The American fighters were back, and found a worthy target in the tankers. All we could do is jump out of the wagon, abandoning it and the horses, and literally 'hit the dirt' next to an embankment next to the road, where we found several of Forchheim’s other citizens already taking cover. Within minutes the tankers were ablaze; several explosions followed. We could hear the fighters' bullets striking all around us, but luckily for us, only the convoy was hit. I don’t know how long we lay there in the dirt, but the attack was probably over within a short time. When we finally arose, we discovered that neither horses nor wagon had been hit; amazingly, the little ponies had remained still. So, we got back on the wagon and headed for ‘home’, this time without any further incident.
I did not mention our adventure to Mutti, and it was not until a day later that somebody told her how lucky she was to have her daughter back in one piece; wasn’t she happy; and so on. Only than did she begin to realize what had happened. I still got a serious reprimand, but I think she also felt guilty for not listening more carefully when I'd asked if I could go. After all, I was not even 15 and really had no business going through a war zone on a wagon. But, as they say, "all's well that ends well."
Before the war, Forchheim was best known as the starting point for tourists who wanted to visit the Fraenkische Schweiz [Frankonian Switzerland], a very beautiful and popular vacation spot. Tourists from near and far came to enjoy its quiet atmosphere, with little trout streams winding through narrow valleys, surrounded by hills upon which old castle ruins could be found. Here and there were small hotels and boarding houses. Long paths wound through the woods, where in olden times poets and painters strolled. In the archives there is mention of the Kaiserpfalz, a castle that belonged to the Archbishop of Bamburg. It stands to this day, almost undamaged, and is used as a museum. Small, picturesque buildings decorated with brown woodwork are built along narrow, cobblestone streets. All this was surrounded by very fertile farm land and low, heavily wooded hills.
Forchheim was built sometime before 800 A.D. The population consisted of burghers and artisans and craftsmen and, of course, farmers -- very conservative and often narrow-minded people, who wanted to be left to alone to pursue their trades. They felt that if they more or less ignored trouble -- especially war -- it would pass them by; that included unwanted intruders. Refugees, we soon found out, were considered to be one of those ‘intruders’. Ninety percent of the local inhabitants were strict Roman-Catholics, and Protestants like us were were made to feel even less welcome.
Since it appeared that Forchheim was to be our semi-permanent home, however, the next order of business was to find a place to stay. By this time we were all a rather ragged looking lot, wearing the same clothes for so long and not having ideal washing facilities. No surprise that doors would close very quickly; "no room at the inn" was an answer we would hear again and again.
The hospital had been assigned two local high schools for its use. (Most German schools were closed and teaching was done wherever you could get some students together, not necessarily at a school -- and even then 'class' was frequently interrupted by air raid alerts at all hours of the day or night.) This was our first chance to get cleaned up and find a change of fresh clothing. Today, when I think of going without a shower or fresh clothing for so long, I shudder. But we survived, and I sure there were people in far worse situations than us. The war was definitely going badly; food became more and more scarce. We felt this in Forchheim, especially, for being strangers in this tightly-knit little town meant we were a very low priority customer at all the stores. Luckily for us, however, Mutti still working at the hospital, where at least had one hot meal each day, usually soup. But even the hospital kitchen's supplies were getting low again, too. [One day, after we had an especially hearty soup for lunch, it was rumored that one of the horses was missing!]
We finally found a small room to let in the vicinity of one of the hospitals. No running water; toilet by the stairs in the hallway of the house. The landlord was far from pleased to have lodgers, because the room that was assigned to us by the local authorities was his living room. There was not much he could say or do -- except to let us know in small, irritable ways that we were not welcome. But to us, his living room was heaven! We unpacked our few belongings and with the aid of two bunks and a few utensils, we set up housekeeping. Even that one room seamed spacious, at least for a while. Mutti enrolled me in the local high school, whose 'classrooms' were, at that point, scattered all over town, because of the use of the school buildings by the military. Between constant moving from one place to another and the constant air raid alerts, however, we did not learn very much.
By April, 1945, it became clear that the war could not last much longer. The Western front was getting closer each day. Everybody was called upon to literally ‘defend the fatherland to the last drop of blood’. Everybody, in this case, meaning old men, women and children. Barricades were built across the main highways, but what good would they do against tanks or bombs? Nobody knew, or really cared.
Mutti continued working at the hospital, and to keep me with her during the day I began to work as a volunteer in the reception office. I helped log the arrivals of wounded, or fill out release papers for discharged patients. Since we were not a surgical unit, we only were to receive wounded that already had been previously treated and were sent to us for final disposition. As the fighting came closer, however, that changed, and we began to see more seriously wounded, so I was kept busy during the days. Most nights we spent several hours in the air raid shelter. In Forchheim, the shelter was inside the old city wall, which originally surrounded the entire town. It had several entrances and was dark and cold, moisture often dripping off the ceiling. But it was thick, and we were safe.
At the last minute, the City Fathers declared Forchheim to be an “Open City’. This meant the Allied forces would be allowed to enter without resistance, and that meant no final battle. The Allies were just about knocking on our door by the time this happened, and nobody knew how effective the declaration would be. So that day, and the following night, we evacuated the entire hospital from the high schools to within the city walls. To distinguish doctors or nurses, or those who worked for the hospital, from actual soldiers (our patients), we were given Red Cross arm bands to wear.
We knew the Allies were close. It was a long, drawn-out and cold night. We tried to pass the time with cards and small talk. Sleeping was impossible since all we had was a single blanket laid on the cold, hard ground. The following morning we were not told what had happened, only that we could leave safely. That is when I got my first look at an American G.I. in battle gear. As we exited, they were waiting for us with guns drawn to escort us back to the high school. There Mutti and I stayed for several days, American guards at the doors.
Not too many days later came the long awaited for news that the war was over, that Germany had surrendered. People who ‘worked’ with the Red Cross were allowed to go home to get fresh clothing, and finally sleep again in our own beds. Each the day we returned to work. Soon the German soldiers ready for release were transported out to POW camps, and we received new patients. I still did the same work as before, only now my limited knowledge of English came in handy. When we received new patients they were of course always accompanied by American soldiers and between my limited schooled English, hand motions, etc., we could usually figure out what they were telling us.
Each day I picked up more English skills, and soon was able to communicate reasonably well. Somebody had given me a discarded American paperback book of cowboy stories. I was determined to read it and though the going was pretty rough in the beginning by the end I found myself enjoying the book, and somehow the words made sense much quicker. From then on I was on the lookout for discarded books in English, and once the G.I.s found out that I was interested in learning more, I received a big supply.
Every time a new transport came in, American Medics brought me books. Usually it was the same few guys. We got to talking, and I found out that they were really decent people, most with families and children back home. It really changed my mind about our former "enemy'’. In particular, an ‘elderly’ American ambulance driver [to me, at age 15, he seemed elderly] told me all about his family back home and how he had a daughter about my age and how much he missed them all. At long last, the war was over!
The city of Forchheim, just as with all of Western Germany, was now under the authority of a Military Government. German officials were checked out very carefully for any connection to the Nazis and many were, at least temporarily, sent to internment camps to be ‘de-Nazified’, or in many cases, sent on for further disposition. That was the time when neighbor turned often on neighbor and 'squealed' on him, especially when his own record was not quite clean. Mutti and I were also checked out and eventually given new I.D. cards. Even to travel from one town to another, you had to have a permit. This did not last more than about a year and then most of the day-to-day running of local government was turned over to ‘clean’ German authorities, under the watchful eye of the Allied command.
Food was still very scarce; bartering and the black market thrived. Offer American cigarettes, or any American goods, and anything could be had. This was the time when the average farmer had the upper hand: for people who had valuable things to trade, like jewelry, furniture, good porcelain, etc., farm products were readily available. It was said that famers' barns were literally bursting with such goods. Of course, only the local people in small towns [like Forchheim], or refugees, or those who were not bombed out had things to trade. People like Mutti and I were glad to have the few things we had, and so we "made do". We rationed everything, even heavy, dry rye bread. Eggs, sugar, fresh butter, fresh whole milk, white flour -- all were unattainable luxuries, like real coffee or tea.
I recall one day where Mutti and I had gone for a walk through the fields and came upon an apple orchard. The day before, the wind had knocked down some fruit, most of it kind of wormy and half green. So we picked a few off the ground to take home and make some applesauce. A farmer must have spotted us and came yelling and told us ‘to quit stealing my apples, those on the ground were for my pigs!’ Well, those were the times! What we actually lived on, I cannot even imagine any more. I guess it was potatoes that saved us from starving. With all the farms around Forchheim, this was one thing still available.
Everything, from food to clothing to coal was rationed, and even those small amounts were, more often than not, unavailable. How well I remember standing for an hour or more in line at a grocery store, or at the butcher’s, only to be told when it was finally my turn that they were all out; didn’t know when the next shipment would come; and to try again in two or three days. Originally, we received one meal daily at the hospital. But before long even this was discontinued, as all the patients had been released and since the shooting was over, no more new patients were coming in. So once again, Mutti and I had to find some way to make a living; in the big upheaval after the war’s end there was no pay or pension to be had.
Some body Mutti knew, a former patient from the hospital, had opened a shop selling all kinds of handmade items, such as knitted sweaters, handmade tablecloths, etc., and to create his products, hired out knitting and crochet work to be done at home. We eagerly took it. He supplied the material, or the customers brought their own hoarded wool, crotchet yarn and other materials. You soon got to know all the ‘locals’ by all the material they brought in. Even though he charged dearly for the work to his customers, he paid his employees a pittance. I guess he ran what you would call a modern sweatshop, except we worked at home, often 'til late evening. Even though the pay was not much and money did not buy much, we had to have some kind of income. Mutti received a little each month from a business in which her dead brother was a partner, so between that and the knitting, somehow we managed. But soon even that was finished, because the knitting shop went broke. For a while, on our own, we tried to find people we could do some knitting or crocheting for, but the times were hard; besides, knitting was hardly something to keep a 16-year-old fully occupied.
Schools started slowly to re-open, and Mutti wanted me to go back, but I flatly refused. She had to give in and somehow managed to at least get me something equivalent of today's GED (a work-equivalent diploma).
Through all this we still had not had any word from either Mutti’s mother or the Kunisch family. Mail, even in the post-war American-occupied Western Zone was at the best sporadic, and completely impossible for the Russian-occupied Eastern Zone. They had no idea where we were, or even if we were alive; and neither did we about them. We did know, however, that the Poles, who were now occupying Silesia, were ‘ethnically cleansing’ all of their territory. This meant, of course, that all German citizens had to choose between renouncing their German citizenship and become Poles, or leave Silesia, losing all their farms, houses or other possessions, only taking with them what they could carry.
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were well into their seventies, and we worried what that might do to them. The same, of course, was true for Oma Kunisch. The only way to find each other was through the Red Cross or by studying big bulletin boards in places were people might see a name on a list. Refugees were sent everywhere in the Western Zone. Finally, one day in the middle of 1946 we received a postcard telling us that Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were in the English Zone, somewhere near Braunschweig. Ordinarily that would probably be a 6-hour train ride. But trains were nowhere near to running on a regular schedule, yet, and you also had to get a special travel permit.
Well, I, always being of an adventurous nature, decided to go and visit them. I took my backpack and set off. I made it all right, but it took me over 2 days to get to Braunschweig. Trains were filled to absolute capacity and I had never realized how pushy and nasty people can be. It was "everybody for themselves." There were long waits in train stations. When I finally made it to Braunschweig I found out that the little, God-forsaken village where they lived was way out in the boondocks; no trains or buses went there. So I had a four-hour foot march ahead of me, but I made it!
Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna were thrilled to see me. Both were physically OK, but their living conditions were horribly inadequate; Mutti and I were living in comparative luxury. They were quartered in an old farmhouse, one small room with no running water and a toilet across the yard. I stayed one day and night. I had hoped they would have some news of the Kunisch family, but when Oma and Tante Anna had to leave their home, the Kunisches were still there. [As it we found out later, the Kunisches stayed for another full year because Tante Trude had to have an operation and could not travel. Much later, they ended up in the same general area as Oma Schmidthals.]
The trip home to Forchheim was uneventful, just as long and tiring as the journey out to see them. I was rather glad to be back in Forchheim again. About six months after my visit, Oma Schmidthals and Tante Anna managed to move to Stuttgart, in the American Zone, and not too far from us. Tante Anna’s older sister had died and left her a few belongings and a small apartment, where they lived till they both died a few years later.
Time marches on. Food became even more scarce, and the German Reichsmark had so little value, it did not really buy anything of value, even if you could find it. I had turned 16, a birthday that came and went largely unnoticed. I was rather dissatisfied with the whole situation. Looking for work in Forchheim was useless; business was very slow to recover from the after-effects of the war. Compounding my trouble was the fact that I really did not have very much to offer, except my limited knowledge of English. Working for a German firm did not seem very appealing. Every one seemed so bitter and 'down'.
I have always been a very positive person and try to look at the good side of a situation. That left me only one choice: Try for a job with the American Army, either in Bamburg or Erlangen. So I gathered all my courage and a certain bravado, and without Mutti’s knowledge of what I was going to do, went to Erlangen. At the time, in 1947, Erlangen was the home of the 9th American Air Force. Luck was certainly with me: When I arrived at the Civilian Employment Office in Erlangen, they had just received a call from the photo lab at the base, and needed a person with a knowledge of English to help the American sergeant-in-charge with his lab technician, who spoke no English, and to assist around the lab. I still think that somebody else was supposed to apply for the job, but it was ‘first come, first serve’.
The first few weeks were pretty rough, but my boss was tremendously understanding, repeating things over and over. But that soon changed; I caught on pretty quick and really liked the job. The money wasn’t too great, but I, as did all the German workers, received one daily meal at the mess hall, basically the same food as a regular G.I. That meant a whole lot. I learned to liked foods that were strange to me, such as Hominy, corn, white bread (a change after the hard black bread at home!) and various others things. Real coffee and milk! Butter on the side seemed like heaven!
I caught the morning train from Forchheim and was usually home around 6:30 at night. Of course I got to know American soldiers, and that, in addition to the fact that I was working for the “Ami” did not sit too well with my neighbors. On top of that I started wearing lipstick, another sin! Mutti, surprisingly, did not object to the fact that I worked in Erlangen. It did mean that at least I had one decent meal a day and the food at home went further. I liked my job, made new friends and my English -- both reading and writing, and above all, my general conversation skills improved.
Some of my new friends were American soldiers, and Mutti -- and above all, our landlady -- had to get used to that. Over much fussing and grumbling I was even able to bring somebody home on occasion, quite an achievement in those days! As much as our landlady grumbled, she never turned down an invitation to have a coup of ‘real’ coffee with me. The same with cigarettes, just as long as they did not have to acknowledge were they came from. Guess people never change!
My employment lasted 'til about January 1948. My boss, who had always been more than ethical, suddenly started to asked me if I would pose for him in the photo lab. Unsuspecting and naive as I was, I agreed; showed up and asked what he wanted me to do. That was when he suddenly locked the door and started making all kinds of propositions to me including, one where I sleep with him. When I strongly objected, he started to offer me a carton of cigarettes! That was it. I told him if he did not let me go immediately, I would not only inform his wife [whom I knew pretty well], but I would cause such a ruckus that he would be sorry. I got out of there real fast, and waited to see what would happen next. Then he got a lucky break: A new law came out, saying that nobody under 18 was allowed to work for the Americans. That gave him the excuse he needed -- I had three weeks to go 'til my 18th birthday and so I was laid off without any further ado.
So here I was, back home with Mutti, stuck in that small room. Then Mutti came up with an idea: In Regensburg, not far from Munich, an Interpreter school had opened. The Americans needed German translators, badly. So we checked it out, and in quick order I passed my entrance exam and started going to school to get my Interpreter Certificate.
While in school, I stayed in Regensburg with a German family who rented me a small room. Every thing started off pretty well, and I was about half way thru the third trimester [the course was for 9 months] when everything collapsed. Over night, and, it seemed, without prior warning, the Currency Reform took place. Your old money was not worth anything [not that it had any buying power, anyhow] and everybody started out with 200 of the new Deutsch Marks. This was not too bad for people who had a regular job or income, but it put people like Mutti in a tough spot...and that, it seemed, was the end of school. I tried to stay on for awhile, but how to pay for it? I drifted around for a month or two, picking up occasional jobs, but eventually ended up back home in Forchheim.
Jobs were just that hard to come by, and I just was determined to work again for the Americans. Mutti and I earned what little money we could by doing knitting and crocheting work, or whatever was asked for. Eventually, we had enough for me to finish Interpreter’s School, which got me back into working for the Americans. With my Interpreter’s School diploma, I ran an ad in the local paper, listing my skills and stating that I was looking for a job. The German employment agency saw my ad and referred me to the Americans, who needed an interpreter to work at the American court, interpreting details of special court cases involving infractions by U.S. GIs (for example, when they got into barroom brawls, etc.).
I also interpreted in court cases where German citizens were called as witnesses. It was here that I met Bill Tidmore, who was a company clerk, filling out chart sheets and handling other communications. He called me “Blondie”, and was always teasing me, “Blondie, when are you going to go out with me.” Of course, I wasn’t in any hurry at first; we German girls enjoyed going around to the various mess halls at lunchtime and looking at all the young men, and debating which one we liked best. But he kept after me, and eventually, just to get him to stop, I said “yes, let’s go out.” Not terribly long after, we married.
In 1952, I came to the United States with Bill, arriving in New York City on the 12th of May, on the U.S.S. ‘Washington’.
And the rest, as they say, is history.