大象传媒

Paula鈥檚 Story - Chapter 2

So far I had been spared any real grief, but I realised that I would have to bear my cross sooner or later, and it was sooner than I thought. My Brother, a lovely boy full of life and fun, was only 21 years old when the war broke out. He was one of the first to be dropped by plane into Holland, he and his comrades had just enough time to scramble out - and away from the plane before it blew up and burst into flames. He received the Iron-cross, second class, for bravery.

While fighting in Russia he was wounded several times, on the last occasion, in close combat with the enemy, he had a miraculous escape. A hand-grenade was thrown into the trench, my brother was riddled with shrapnel all over his face and body. To make matters worse, a Russian soldier jumped on top of him and pressed his face into the mud to suffocate him, when in the nick of time one of his own men saved him by killing the foe. After this ordeal he was transported to a military hospital in central Germany, where my Mother, Sister and I were able to visit him.

After a partial recovery, he was supposed to be moved to a convalescent home in Belgium to recuperate from his wounds. We were immensely relieved and thought he would be quite safe for a while. But when we heard from him soon after that he had been posted straight back to the front lines, we were naturally very shocked indeed.

I still have his last letter which he wrote to me for my birthday on January 31st. He mentioned that he was "resting and safe", but only 5 days later, the 5th of February, he had perished in the turmoil, during the fierce fighting at "Nowogniliza" (Russia).

It was a very great and tragic loss for us, my Mother nearly went out of her mind with grief when the telegram arrived. She could not and would not believe it that her lovely boy was no more. We all loved him so very much and missed him terribly, life without him was never the same again.

My Sister lived in Uelzen, (near Hannover), a small town about 90 kilometres from Hamburg. She really had very bad luck and was plagued by no end of trouble. Her Husband was drafted into the Army at the end of 1940, he only had 3 months training and was then sent to the front-lines right away. Not many weeks thereafter he was killed. My Sister could not bear to stay on in the flat where she had been so happy with her Husband and moved to another flat. No sooner was the move completed when the house was bombed. She and her baby had to be dug out of the cellar, it was a miracle that they were still alive. Other accommodation had to be found, new furniture acquired,(a very difficult feat). Unfortunately this new building was near the railway line, consequently in a very short time she suffered yet further calamity. Although the house was only partly damaged by a bomb which had exploded nearby, it was condemned as unsafe. It was but a small consolation that she was able to salvage some furniture and personal belongings.

Her endurance was now stretched to the limit, so she thought 鈥渆nough was enough鈥�, and decided to call it a day and to move back to Hamburg to be near my Mother and me, which of course was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But seeing that my Mother's and also my flat had escaped any damage so far, she thought she would take the risk. And a risk it was indeed. She travelled to Hamburg, looked for and found a nice flat in a five-storey house. Then went back to Uelzen, packed and put the furniture and most of her belongings on a goods-train to Hamburg. The train never arrived, it was bombed to "smithereens" on the way. But that was not all yet for the poor woman, it almost seems too incredible to be believed, but it is the "Gospel-truth". While she was waiting for the train to arrive, the house had received a direct hit in the meantime as well and nothing remained but a pile of rubble. So she was back to square one, no house, no nothing, the only posses卢sion my poor Sister had now was one single suitcase with overnight things and a few clothes for herself and the Baby. She found temporary shelter with her sister-in law, who lived in a "pre-fab" on her allotment. It always staggered us how one person can have so much bad luck and carry on living.

The irony of it all was, had she stayed in her first flat she would have been alright, as that house never had as much as a scratch. Such is fate. My Sister left Hamburg again before the infernal fires started in July 1943 and went back to Uelzen. It almost looked as if she had been singled out for punishment, because on the whole, the town was not damaged too much.

Only at the end, when the British army was advancing, some bigoted boys of the Hitler-youth took it upon themselves to defend the town. Playing at being heroes no doubt, they started shooting at the troops. It was an absolutely ridiculous action which resulted in very serious repercussions. The troops, having no alternative, retaliated in shooting a large part of the town to pieces. And more lives were lost in this senseless skirmish.
As can be gathered from my preceding reminiscences, the years up to the end of 1942 were tolerable, the air-raids though bad, were bearable. Of course I am only speaking from my point of view, I know that the hardships and suffering of thousands of my people were dreadful. But I also had some forebodings, that it was too good to last, and that worse things were still to come, hence the desperate urge for living each day to the full.

It was a beautiful Summer in 1943, hot sunny days and balmy nights, one could almost forget the fierce battles being fought everywhere. My Mother lived in a suburb nearer to town, about 30 minutes away from me. Naturally I was always very worried about her, and after each heavy bombing the first thing I used to do was to go and see if she was alright. Lots of times I found her in the process of sweeping up glass from the broken windows and clearing up debris. At first it was quite frightening when windows went with a bang, but gradually one took it all in one鈥檚 stride and learned to live with "cardboard replace卢ments". These were only minor grievances compared with the complete damage and loss of ones home.

Then suddenly, on July 27th, the terrifying holocaust started, three nights and days of almost non-stop bombing, as long as I live I shall never forget it. Even now after more than 3 years, it is beyond my compre卢hension how anyone could have survived the infernal of burning, crumbling houses and come out alive. But millions did, and I was among the very fortunate ones who escaped without even one singed hair, it made me feel quite guilty at times that I should be so lucky, while others suffered so much.

I still remember very vividly, one could say those pictures are "burned" into my mind, the horrifying night of the 27th, I was sick with fear about my Mother, but our street was in trouble too. I and other residents were out all night saving furniture from adjacent buildings. We managed to salvage a lot before the fire took hold, and stacked them on the safe side of the street, where to our chagrin they went up in smoke a short while later and all our heroic efforts were in vain. A lucky star must have been shining over our house again, this and all residents, including me of course, were "reprieved" once more. After a short rest, at first light, 5am, still being desperately worried about my Mother, I jumped on my bicycle and rode to her house. All other transport was non-existent, the roads were riddled with smouldering craters and houses still burning like bonfires. I had to pick my way carefully round the craters and had to be on my guard to avoid the burning debris which came crashing to the ground.
It was a fearsome and dangerous undertaking, the sights that met my sore eyes were quite unbelievable, it was just like a "Moonscape". Anyone who has never witnessed such a total devastation just cannot imagine what it is like, words are quite inadequate to describe such an experience.

When at last I reached my Mother's dwelling place, after the hazardous "ride cum walk", I was struck rigid with shock and stood rooted to the spot. There was no house left, the whole 4-storey block of flats had collapsed and was a burning heap of rubble, the always feared and antici卢pated catastrophe had happened, and yet I found it impossible to take it all in. There I stood, all alone in a smouldering wilderness, it was very eerie, as it was so early in the morning, nobody was to be seen in the vicinity. I gathered that most people who had lived there must be dead and buried under the bricks.

Knowing that my Mother always went into the cellar as soon as the sirens shrieked, (she even took her canary down with her,) I could see from where I was standing that there would have been no chance whatsoever for anybody to have come out from under the burning ashes. With all my fears realized and all hope dashed, I was certain that I had lost my beloved Mother, that she must be lying dead under the ruins, otherwise she would surely have come to me if she were still alive and safe. The strangest part was that I did not feel anything at all, no tears came flooding to my eyes, I was too dazed and numb with looking at all the inconceivable horror around me. Although still alive, I seemed to have died inside. I just stood, staring and staring, I don't know how long. Finally, like a sleepwalker, I made my way home, again skirting craters and trying to miss the still falling burning bits and pieces.

Later in the day a friend of mine called to check whether I was okay and if my house had sustained any damage. Assuring him that I was alright, I told him about my Mother's fate. He was a sergeant-major with a panzer-division, he more or less "conjured up" an army lorry plus about 20 of his men, and with great speed they made their way to the doomed place and started digging, trying their best to get any casualties out. A faint hope had returned to my heart and I was anxiously waiting for news. But it turned out to be a hopeless mission. After some time the gruelling digging had to be abandoned because the fire was still too hot to get anywhere near the cellars. Hearing this, my re-kindled hope was dashed once more. Nevertheless, I was very very grateful to the brave soldiers for all their work and trouble, at least we left no stone unturned, or "burning bricks" rather.
When a week later I slowly came out of my hazy state of mind, I decided to ride on my faithful "bike" to my aunt who lived in Billwerder, a small village just outside Hamburg, to break the news to her that my Mother was dead. On arrival I had another great shock, but an incredibly joyous one. I could not believe my eyes and thought I was dreaming, for there in my aunt's sitting-room I found my Mother, whom I thought had perished in the flames. Completely speechless we fell into each others arms and just cried and cried, all the dried up tears flowing freely now, washing away all the pent-up emotion. Such feelings have to be experienced to be understood, it is impossible to describe.
The tragic truth was that my Mother had also mourned for me, taking it for granted that my little house could not have withstood the terrible onslaught, presuming I must be dead too. It never occurred to her to come and look for me, she was still too muddled after her own awful experience of having nearly been buried alive.
Then I learned the fantastic story of her wondrous rescue. On that fateful night some fire bombs fell on the house, her flat was already burning while she tried to save a few of her clothes. She had to rush out in a hurry, having to leave the Canary behind, poor thing. It appeared that later, on a second wave of bombings, the house received a direct hit as well. As the condition looked pretty dangerous, my Mother, instead of sheltering in the usual cellar belonging to the flats, she very sensibly changed her mind and went to a public bunker nearby, which was stronger and safer.
She really could not remember very much of what had happened while she was sitting or lying in that bunker. Most of the time she was only semi鈥攃onscious, having no notion of time passing, and having not heard the all-clear siren she assumed it was the next morning after the raid when she was rescued. Actually, not knowing the fact that she had dozed through another night of bombing, thus having spent 2 nights and a day in that bunker. She should have come out the morning of the 28th, but it was the 29th when she saw the lights of day again. So it was on the second day of her ordeal she awoke just in time and long enough to see flames creeping in behind her. Looking around and getting very panicky, she espied a small chink in the bricks where day-light was seeping through. Making her way towards it on all fours, she called out for help. Poor dear, she was obviously very weak, having had no food or drink for so long. But she was incredibly lucky to be heard by three soldiers passing by, who had been, with dejection and very little hope searching in the rubble for any sign of life. Now the boys were rewarded, saving at least one life. They soon cleared away some bricks, those having cooled off in the meantime, and made a hole big enough for her to climb out.

She was hanging on for dear life to one solitary suitcase, which she had managed to salvage and was now all her worldly goods she possessed. After being confined in the darkness for those long hours, and coming into the sunlight again, she was quite muddled and equally staggered when she learned how much time had elapsed while she was out of circulation.
She was then taken, or rather half carried by the soldiers, to a waiting lorry, and with other homeless survivors ferried out of town. Incidentally they passed through the village where my aunt lived, and my Mother asked to be put down, that's how she came to be there when I found her again. Who knows, if she had been taken further afield, our reunion might have taken a very long time, or perhaps we would have lost each other for good. We never found out what happened to all the other people who had been in the bunker with her, they just disappeared. It must have been a case of every man for himself in the ensuing chaos.

See chapters 3 and 4 for the rest of the story.

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