1938

      December 6th, St. Nicholas Day in Germany. It had snowed all day and the midwife did not get to our house until hours into my mother’s labor. Early in the morning, 3 a.m. to be exact, my life began. Just like any other with a slap on the rear and a cry.

      In the room next to my mother’s bedroom in which I was born laid my sister Rita sleeping through it all. I was born just 11 months and 24 days after her birthday. The following 2 years brought two more daughters, Karin and Renate. They were delivered in the same bed and by the same midwife. Now, at the age of 23, she was the mother of four daughters.

      My father was a soldier under Hitler’s regime and at that time was serving on the Russian front. He would miss the births of all his children though was able to come to visit all of us briefly. After word reached him of my birth he received he was granted a 3-day pass. News of another daughter had not made him happy as it was boys that Hitler wanted. Years later my mother would tell me that my father had at first refused his leave after hearing I was a girl; his superior insisted that he take it. He had been miserable at home, complaining about my loud voice and chose to leave a day early.

      In our house also lived another family, a woman with a son and daughter. They were a few years older than we were and my mother was good friends with the woman. Sometimes, after she put us down to sleep, she would go and visit with her. I hated when she was gone. I would have to lie awake alone as my sisters slept together in the other room.

      Our town had its own little swimming pond. My mother would take us there every sunny day and let us take turns going across the lake on her back. It was so much fun. An aunt of my father’s lived nearby who owned a big farm. Every time they butchered a pig we would go visit and take home fresh made sausages and pork for roasting which was always such a special treat for us.

      Across the street from our house was a trailer home. We called it the "Gypsy" home. Young girls and boys lived there together and the girls used lots of makeup. They were friendly to us but they did not speak German, only Polish. Our mother did not like it when we would go over to see them. Later we would be told they were spies...but I always wondered.

      The happiest times I recall are when my mother took all of us on picnics in the woods. It was beautiful, with majestic trees that seemed to stretch right into the sky. I loved the forest. Freedom to run and play and to sing. We’d all sit on a large blanket and my mother would teach us children’s songs. She would talk about God and tell us bible stories. The devotion from her to us then I must always remember, in only a few years our lives would change forever.

1945

      My sister Karin was one year younger than I was. She had a birthday we did not get to celebrate. At 2 am. I heard a knock on the bedroom window. My mother didn’t hear it and after several knocks I woke her up and she went outside. Immediately she came back in and began laying out our warmest clothes and shoes. One by one she dressed us and said we had to leave. Soldiers were coming who would hurt us if we stayed but we would only have to be gone a few days.

      Quickly we wanted to hide our Christmas toys and pushed them way under the beds. Nothing unnecessary was allowed to be taken. My mother filled backpacks and our school sacks with food. She made us oatmeal soup and when we finished we were ready to leave. Rita and I each carried one bag. On top of my brother’s carriage my mother piled two suitcases and a few blankets. She wore her 2nd hand Persian coat my father had given her for their first wedding anniversary.

      The snow was falling steadily as we left the house. We joined many other families who had chosen to leave, some with wagons piled full of belongings with older children pulling sleds filled with as many possessions as they could load. It was heavy snow and the walking was not easy.    

      Soon most people had passed us. Our aim was to reach the train station in Kohlfurt about 2 1/2 km. from our home in Alt-Kohlfurt. Renate, my youngest sister, was crying. She couldn’t walk anymore, she kept falling and her clothes were wet. A suitcase was left on the side of the road and Renate sat in its place.

      My mother stayed calm. She repeatedly told us that we would be home again soon. When we reached the station the train we wanted had already left. Hundreds of people were waiting with us for the next one. There was so much confusion and crying.

      At 10 a.m. another train rolled in, part passenger, part freight. With all the pushing and screaming it was very hard to board. The carriage, my two younger sisters and my mother made it on the first wagon. No room was left for Rita and me. A kind woman helped to lift us into the next one that was loaded with belongings. There we sat, on top of everything.

      Slowly the train rolled out of the station as at on we continued to cry in fear of being separated from our family. None of the people who wanted to leave were left behind. We never saw our father’s aunt or knew if she had gotten word that almost everyone had fled. Our baker, the one who had knocked on our window, told my mother that no later than 11 a.m. the Russian army would arrive in our town.            

      By late afternoon the train stopped and we had heard that Dresden was our destination. Most people got off even though there was no station, just fields. Rita and I jumped off as soon as we could to try to find our mother. Renate had urinated in her pants and was shivering when we found them.

      After my mother wrapped Renate in one of the blankets, we opened our knapsacks. We ate some cold cheese, salami and bread. To drink we melted snow and my mother added some to the thermos of milk she had for the baby. She was still nursing my brother once a day.

      The train stayed at that stop for a while. People who had left early slowly came back, it was getting dark and there was nowhere to go. Even though it moved slowly and the wagon was enclosed, we were freezing. We hung the second blanket over the door to help block the cold. Why couldn’t we just go home where it was warm? We didn’t understand.

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