refugee

a translation of a true story, originally written in German...

Early May 1945

Tightly packed together as if in a sardine can, lying on the floor of a large naval ship traveling across the Baltic, we arrived in Neustadt/Holstein on May 1, 1945. Our lodging was a hayloft in a large, gray, bunker-like building, given over to the masses.

Weeks before, we had lived through the major attack on Swinemünde, exploded roofs, windows, doors, craters in the streets, no electricity, no water. A medley of confusion. There were hardly any families left in the city since they had been evacuated in 1943 due to the war. Soldiers and refugees just passing through were quartered in the empty apartments and houses. The sirens often stayed silent during air raids. Here and there on door or window jambs, one would find a man who had hanged himself. We children were quickly bustled past and into the cellar by my mother.

We had also been evacuated in 1943; along with her four children and a very young nanny, my mother was taken in at an uncle’s manor house east of the Oder. Not until February of 1945 did we set out again, at night and in secret (to flee was forbidden) with a dear, old horse, impossibly unfit for war, and an open cart. We were in a hurry; the bridges over the Oder were to be destroyed. Barely any luggage, three full layers of clothing on our bodies, no room for even one toy. On the way we had rations, feed for the people, semolina soup flavored with spices that we children drank out of cups we had brought with us; I can also remember the fruity taste of a marmalade made of green tomatoes that I’ve never found again since. We found private lodgings everywhere on our journey. The two children of an aunt who was in the hospital shared our cart during the first stage of our flight between the Oder and the Elbe. At that time, the sight of a woman with six children impressed more than one official: “Six children for the Führer.”

In later stages of our journey, after we had left horse and cart with relatives, we traveled by night in overflowing train cars back to the apartment in Swinemünde. As a precaution – because of the masses of refugees and so as not to lose any of the children – my mother arranged our departure from Swinemünde in two parts; she would go with three children and the nanny by ship, my grandmother and younger sister by land to another aunt in Lübeck.

So on May 2nd, the day after we had arrived in Neustadt and been taken in by a loving childless couple, my mother made her way by bicycle to Lübeck to pick up my sister. At that time, this part of Schleswig-Holstein had not yet surrendered. Above the streets, which were filled with civilians and soldiers fleeing on foot, by bicycle and truck, British low-flyers swarmed the air; as they got closer, everyone sought cover in the ditches that lined the streets, threw themselves to the ground. On their way back from Lübeck to Neustadt – a journey punctuated by the alternation of cycling, stopping and finding cover in ditches – the low-flyers shot at the group with which my mother was traveling with machine guns. My sister Luise died instantly, shot in the head; lying next to her, my mother was shot in the back; she was treated in an evacuation hospital. When she was later transferred to the Neustadt hospital, the doctors found that the bullet had left her lungs, main arteries, spine and ribcage intact. It had snaked through her upper torso, shattering only her right collarbone as it exited.

On our first visit in the Neustadt hospital, I immediately asked: “Where is Luise?” Her answer: “In Heaven.” There would be no further explanation. No story. Silence covered the loss, the wound, the pain for decades. Not until a few days before her own death in 1986 did she suddenly speak of Luise.

She had to stay in the hospital until July 1945. On the evening of July 4th, a warm summer’s day, the nurse announced another visitor. It was an awfully inappropriate time, my mother thought, but the nurse insisted, and --- It was my father. He had wanted to systematically search every harbor on the Baltic, starting in the south, to find his family. Surprise – joy – thankfulness. On the next day, the 5th of July, we all celebrated my mother’s birthday together.

Don't come between me and my coffee...

Even when camping on deserted islands, I insist on having my daily dose of this life-giving elixir...