大象传媒

Hildesheim, Germany, March 23rd 1945. I am woken up by my mother very early in the morning, it is still dark, and I am confused. Mother tells me that she has had a dream that there will be a very bad air raid today. I am to go to the office with her at the Chamber of Trades (Handwerkskammer)where she works, and when the sirens go off we will head for the Galgenberg (gallows hill), and open country. I manage to eat a little bit of bread and jam, and off we go. Me astride the little parcel carrier on the back of my mother's bike. We have something to eat for our lunch, and I am almost looking forward to having a picnic. Just as we are about to leave my grandmother, who lives with us, tells me she will cook mashed potatoes for our evening meal. They are a favourite of mine - a six year old child is easily pleased and I still remember feeling impatient for the day to pass.

At the office I sit quietly in a corner with paper and a couple of coloured pencils, drawing. My presence, it,s explained, is due to my grandmother being ill and there is no one to look after me.

My mother is supposed to go down to the basement with the rest of the staff if there is an air raid. Everyone is checked on a list to ensure a correct "body count" in case the building is hit by a bomb. But when the siren wails its warning at noon, I grab my coat, as my mother takes my hand. As silently as possible we hurry downstairs, and out of the building before anyone sees us. The bicycle is chained to the fence surrounding the office building (a very large former private house), to enable us to leave unnoticed.

As we cycle along the road leading to the edge of town we notice more and more people. All moving silently, but for an occasional murmer, and heading in the same direction as ourselves. We are overtaken by other cyclists, singly and in groups. They too say nothing. It is a lovely clear sunny day, but the birds are making more noise than the fleeing populace. My stomach is a tight knot, I feel sick, but know that I will not be sick. It is the accustomed fear.

We finally get to the point where the road changes into a broad path leading through the open woodland up to an open space. There is a restaurant. It used to be a popular place for Sunday lunch, and afternoon coffee and cakes. There is grass and some benches under the trees where we sit, mother leaning her bike against the back of our bench. Not much later the "all clear" sounds, but my mother insists on staying put. People are heading back to town, but she shakes her head at their invitations for us to walk with them.

As we eat our sandwich I ask what it was like before the war. What my mother tells me sounds like a fairy tale, and I tell her I wish the war was over. At that moment we begin to hear a hum which grows gradually louder. My mother looks up into the sky and points to a chequer board formation of tiny silver dots heading towards us. But there is no air raid warning, so I am hoping the bombers will not come to Hildesheim. Some minutes later the first bombs start to drop and the siren goes off a minute or so later.

The noise of the explosions is deafening. Huge clouds of smoke and flames billowing up from the town just below us. Suddenly there is a horrendous crash almost on top of us, my mother grabs hold of me, but I flee in sheer terror. The next thing I know is strong arms grabbing hold of me, and me kicking and screaming. My mother arrives, out of breath, to take hold of me and calm me. A man in uniform looks on, smiling at me. It was he who had seen my flight and managed to catch me. He is from a nearby gun emplacement. He asks if he can give me a sweet, and tells my mother there are no shells, when she asks him why the gun is not firing. We thank the soldier and walk back to where had left our things.

From the view point we see a shattering sight. The entire town appears to be on fire. We look, dumb, but I notice tears on my mother's face. But now we must make our way back home. I remember the mashed potatoes,my favourite dish, and I am now worried whether, or not, we will get home in time to eat it. Fickle children.

My mother picks up her bag and we start to walk back down the hill towards the town. As we come close to the street which leads back to my mother'office we are stopped by men with shovels, and pick axes. The buildings are a huge piles of rubble with flames still comming from them. There is no way through and we are directed off to try another route into the town. But everywhere is the same, and we have no choice but to make a big detour round the town by country roads.

Both of us are beginning to feel tired, and we rest for a moment on a low wall beside a house. The sun is a dark red ball glowing through the clouds of black smoke. Ash is falling like snow flakes, and there are shreds of fabric and paper floating in whirls and eddies. Mother and I look at each other and laugh at our grey hair and clothes. At that moment an elderly woman comes out of the house, she has a cup of milk for me, and a glass of water for my mother. She and my mother talk quietly for a few minutes before she takes the empty cup and glass back, and we say goodbye.

Walk, walk, walk. A road with a ditch on either side, here and there people sitting on the verge, dazed, not responding to my mother's questions. An elderly man with white armband marked with a red cross. He's carrying a bag. He stops, asking if they are hurt.

Then a commotion ahead, an unexploded bomb in the field alongside the road. We have to pass it, as do others, but I scream my resistance. I don't want to die I sob. (I remember this as though it had happened yesterday.) A woman comes over, grabs my other arm and she and my mother halfdrag, and half carry me past the object of my fear.

It is nearly dark now and at last we are in the northern outskirts of Hidesheim, where we live. A couple of corners, one more huge pile of rubble, and at last we are home. Only two bombs fell in our street, but the men on bomb alert got to them quickly, and no one is left homeless.

Grandmother is crying with relief to see us home safe. There is no water, no light, and no gas. A neighbour has brought a couple of buckets of water from the stand pipe at the end of the street so we can clean our hands and faces. There is something to eat, but no mashed potatoes. As we sit down at last, my mother lets out a groan - she has left the bicycle leaning against the back ot the bench on the Galgenberg.

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