Life in Weissbach was different from living in a suburb of Berlin. We now lived in a small village and life around us was quiet and peaceful. School was also very different and in some subjects I did not do very well. For instance, I did not know when wheat should be sown or when different kinds of vegetables were to be planted; nor did I know how to make jam from wild blueberries or raspberries. And then there were the cooking classes! Of course no one was able to contribute any ingredients for us to use; like everywhere else, there was no surplus of rations in Weissbach. One time, one of the girls brought in some potatoes and some wild berries. For the next lesson, the teacher contributed small amounts of other ingredients and we learned how to bake a cake with ground-up potatoes arid berries on top.
The school had supplies of dishes and silverware, and we set the table in anticipation. At school, we rarely sat down and ate with dishes and silverware, so the table setting only heightened our excitement. And our meal? Our hunger made the cake taste all right, but we were disappointed with cabbage we had stuffed with green tomatoes instead of ground-up meat. We were still happy to have something to eat.
Mutti went to work in a tailor shop so that we could begin to set up a new household. We intended to start a new home in Weissbach, and we needed extra money to replace the belonging we had lost in Berlin.
It was a long walk to school, but I enjoyed walking with Gretchen until winter arrived, when the walks were no longer fun. None of our few clothes, including shoes, was suitable for freezing temperatures and snow. School was never canceled for any reason, and we were expected to attend regardless of the weather. It was not very long before I ended up with severe frostbite on my feet and hands. I did have one real warm and cozy piece of clothing: Mutti was able to make a beautiful pair of ski pants for me at the tailor shop. They did nothing to help my frostbite, but at least part of my body was kept nice and warm.
The Zimmermanns had friends whose house was quite close to theirs and the friends had a spare room they were willing to rent to Aunt Dora and my two cousins. Mutti sent the good news to them, and within a short time we celebrated their arrival in Weissbach. It was wonderful to have them close to us and to know that they were safe, even though we did not see much of them during the winter. Our living space as well as theirs was too small and crowded for visitors, but we made up for it during spring and summer. We would spend Sundays together taking walks through fields or woods, and sometimes we would even climb one of the lower mountains.
I missed my lessons and playing the piano most of all, but I did become involved in some new activities. I always talked to one of the Zimmermanns’ cows and rubbed its nose when I walked past its stall. Now Mrs. Zimmermann taught me how to milk it. Not only did I practice milking, I also learned how to make butter in the butter churn that Mr. Zimmermann had designed and built. I fed the chickens, collected eggs, learned about sheep arid goats, groomed the dog, and even my bed-fellow, the cat, was willing to have me brush her. Sometimes I would sit in Mr. Zimmermann’s carpentry building and watch the ongoing work. It reminded me of my Dad building my doll house for Christmas when I was three years old.
I remember having been asleep in my crib with my teddy bear when I heard sawing, hammering, and the clacking of the sewing machine in the living room. The door was slightly open and I could see that the lights were on. I called but there was no answer. I kept calling and finally Mutti told me to go back to sleep. Since I wanted to see what was going on in the living room, I started crying and it worked! Mutti came and picked me up and took me with her. I sat at the big table and saw what they were doing: Dad was building a little house, which even had windows, and Mutti was sewing and ironing little curtains for them. I watched a while and then asked what they were doing. Dad looked at Mutti, smiled, and asked me if I could not tell that it was a pigeon house like the one they had pointed out to me when we were walking in the park near our home. Dad said it would be put on our balcony and then the pigeons would also have a home. But on Christmas Eve, a dollhouse with furniture and little dolls was under the tree and on the gable there was a sign that read, “Villa Edith.”
Summer was a peaceful time for us, but we were always concerned for my dad, Uncle Hermann, other drafted relatives, and those who were living in areas that were constantly bombed. Trying to stay in touch by mail became more difficult since many post offices had been bombed and many trains as well as tracks were destroyed.
Uncle Hermann was stationed on the Western Front, and suddenly his letters to Aunt Dora stopped. After a month of waiting and worrying, she received an official notice telling her that Uncle Hermann had been wounded and had lost all use of his right arm. Since he was unable to write, they wanted her to know that he would be discharged from the hospital soon and would then join her in Weissbach.
It was a difficult waiting time for all of us and there was no way of contacting him. Every day one of us would wait at the railroad station for the arrival of the daily train that would have made connections with other trains. Uncle Hermann did not know exactly where his family was staying.
It was Mutti’s turn to meet the train and I was there with her on my way home from school. The train came, and when it stopped, we saw Uncle Hermann slowly stepping down to the platform. He looked very thin, very pale, and his right arm was hanging down his right side, totally lifeless; not even his fingers were moving. We ran to him and hugged him. We tried to wipe away his tears, but we were crying as much as he was.
Mutti and I walked him slowly to the house where Aunt Dora was living. She was helping Gerhard and Gunther practice writing when they saw us come up the road. They came running out of their room, and the three of them as well as Uncle Hermann were laughing and crying at the same time. Mutti and I walked back to our home and let the four of them hug and kiss and laugh and cry. We knew we would all get together before too many hours past, because Uncle Hermann would want to see his mother, Oma Salzmann, and his sister, Aunt Erna.
Dad wrote in one of his letters that the time for his next furlough was getting close and how much he was looking forward to joining us in Weissbach; in a later letter, he was able to write exactly when he expected to arrive – in October. By then, the weather was colder, but the family still had times of sitting or walking outside together.
They were such happy times for us! One of the most wonderful stories Dad told us was about a beautifully engraved gold pocket watch he had brought with him:
There was no question that Dad was now serving on the very front lines! He had to walk as an advance guard about a half a mile in front of the rest of his outfit along wide hedges growing on the mounds that separated the fields. He carried his rifle and a wireless radio so that he could talk to the soldiers in charge of the wireless receivers at the company camp. He was to report any unusual activity on the Russian side of the hedge.
As he walked along a break in the bushes, a Russian soldier who was on the same duty as Dad stepped into the opening on the other side. Dad was carrying his rifle; the Russian soldier had his hanging from his shoulder. All Dad had to do was to aim and fire; only a few feet separated the two of them. With tears streaming down his face, the Russian fell down on his knees and raised his arms over his head. He expected to be killed or taken prisoner.
Dad went to the crying soldier, took his hands and pulled him up saying, “Don’t cry; I am not going to shoot you!” The Russian may not have understood every word Dad said to him, but he certainly understood what Dad was trying to tell him. His tears stopped; he offered his hand to Dad, and after a solid handshake they sat down together. Dad had learned a few Russian words and the Russian soldier knew some German, and the two of them tried to carry on a conversation. Dad looked at his watch and said that it was time for him to leave. They stood up, shook hands and hugged each other. Dad told us he kept thinking, why do we have to have war and kill each other when two supposed enemies had just parted as friends?
The next day Dad walked along the same hedges, and when he came to the spot where he had met the Russian soldier the day before, he was surprised to find the soldier sitting there, waiting for him. They sat down in a hidden spot among the bushes and Dad discovered that the Russian had brought along a Russian/German pocket dictionary. It helped with their conversation, and each learned some of the other’s language. Dad now knew that his friend’s name was Josef, and their meetings became part of their daily guard duty routine.
Josef told Dad about his wife and daughter, who was about my age. They were living in a small underground shelter very close to Josef’s patrol area.
When the time came for Dad’s furlough, he told Josef when he would be leaving, and Josef made plans for a surprise for Dad. A couple of days before Dad would be on his way to Weissbach, he arrived at their usual hidden meeting spot to find Josef’s wife and daughter there with Josef. They visited for a short time, then Josef took them back to their shelter. But while they were together, Josef gave Dad a present to bring home to us. It was the beautiful pocket watch, which had been in Josef’s family for many, many years. He wanted Mutti and me to take good care of it and keep it safe until Dad’s return after the war was over, so that Dad would always remember his Russian friend, Josef.
The officers in Norway who had sent Dad to the front lines in Russia as a punishment never expected that Dad would not only survive but also meet a good friend.
We talked a lot about the past while Dad was with us. When we first relocated to Weissbach, Mutti had brought along our old photographs, and each photo brought back many memories. Some were happy, including the surprise party for Opa and Oma Kanter’s golden wedding celebration and our earlier vacations in Weissbach, but many of them were pictures of relatives who were no longer alive.
We looked at pictures of my cousin Franz and remembered how wonderful our Christmas celebration had been when the whole family gathered in 1941, and how sad we all were when we found out Franz had been killed 21 days before Christmas 1942. Pictures of Horst in the Afrika Korps made us wonder what had become of him; we had not received any letters from him in a long time. I found it very difficult to look at a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Muller; I had not been able to talk about his death with anyone, not even my dad.
Time went by much too fast and it was time again for Dad to leave us. He and I talked briefly about the promise I had made to always take care of Mutti, and I assured him I would not forget. After all, I was now fifteen years old and certainly would be able to look out for her until he came home again. I had overheard Dad and Uncle Hermann discuss the possibility that he might not return, and I heard Uncle Hermann promising to look out for us, but I refused to accept the fact that our hugs and kisses could be the last we would ever share. I refused to believe Dad when he mentioned it to me; I was sure my prayers would be answered and Dad would survive.
For us, life in Weissbach continued to be quiet and peaceful as we began to set up a new household. Mutti’s earnings made it possible to replace some of the items we had lost during the air raid back in Berlin. We bought some dishes, pots, pans, towels, sheets, pillowcases, pillows, an alarm clock, and an extra blanket to help keep me and my furry bed-fellow warm on cold nights. We also purchased pins and needles and thread, which made it possible for us to mend our clothes as they started to fall apart, and our new knitting needles and wool yarn gave all of us the chance to knit or crochet warm sweaters. We were glad that we no longer had to depend on the Zimmermanns for everything.
Christmas 1944 was very quiet. Little Dietrich, the Zimmermanns’ grandson, was the only one who received some homemade presents. There were no gifts to exchange, only the memories of the past. Right before Christmas, we received a letter from Dad, who wrote that it was very quiet at the front and that a major attack by the Russian army was expected in the near future. He wrote again on January 12, and he mentioned that the snow was gone and that the weather was constantly changing. He ended his letter with “Auf Wiedersehen!” or “See you again!” The envelope was postmarked 13.1.45; the Russian offensive began two days later, on the fifteenth.
We prayed for Dad’s safety and survival every day and sometimes, if Gretchen and I were not walking to school together, I would pray all the way and beg God to protect my dad.
After a few weeks, we started to hear explosions east of Weissbach on the other side of the Iser Mountains. Uncle Hermann, who was familiar with the sounds of war, recognized artillery fire, tanks firing their guns, and the eerie whining sounds of the Russian “Stalin Organs” firing their multiple shells, and he tried to acquaint us with all of them. The explosions became louder every day.
The town officials of Weissbach brought notices to all refugees ordering them to leave the area. We were told to take the train to Reichenberg, where we would receive instructions for travel towards the west part of the Sudetengau. Each person was allowed to take one small bag or suitcase, light enough to carry long distances if necessary. We were distraught to learn that we would be leaving almost immediately; the train to Reichenberg was leaving the next morning at 5 a.m.
Was this possible or was it just a bad dream? Would we once again be forced to leave most of our possessions behind? We would have to leave the people we had come to love, the Zimmermanns? Would I have to give up my only close friend, Gretchen? And all the animals to which I had become attached? My bed-fellow, the cat? I knew that she would miss me and would be looking for me. I was sure her little heart would be aching as much as mine was breaking.
Even though Mutti had applied for permanent residency in Weissbach, I had the dreadful feeling that another period of my life was coming to an end and another home would become just a memory. Where were we going to live? How would Dad know where to find us? We had not heard from him since January, when we received the letter he wrote just before the Russian army advanced.
All of us tried to squeeze as much as possible into our bags, but we also had to make sure we could comfortably carry them. We had to bring along all our official records, but Mutti managed to bring along our old photographs as well. The few possessions we had managed to purchase towards a new household had to be left behind.
Uncle Hermann, Aunt Dora, Gerhard and Gunther, Oma Salzmann and Aunt Erna, Mutti and I were at the train station long before 5 a.m. While we were waiting for the train, lots of other refugees joined us. Most of them had been relocated to Weissbach from the area around Hamburg and, like us, none of them had a home to which they could return.
The little train arrived and we all climbed aboard. It slowly took us from Weissbach through Haindorf to Reichenberg. We did very little talking; we were all looking out at the mountains that we had climbed and other beautiful areas of Weissbach. I saw the path on which Gretchen and I had walked to school, the school building, and so many other familiar places. I guess all of us were lost in many happy memories of our lives in the Sudetenland while, at the same time, we were trying to gather the courage to face the future.
My Father's Legacy 