Chapter Thirteen: To Berlin

Later on, our new friend, the Red Cross worker, stopped by to see how we were. He also had some exciting news he wanted to share with us: there were freight trains traveling from Dresden to areas near Berlin, and some would be arriving in Dresden shortly. They were transporting Russian soldiers and their supplies, but a few German citizens had been able to get on the train during each trip.  We thanked him for thinking of us and bringing us helpful news. When he was leaving, he said he would come to see us if he learned anything else about the trains.

Our family talked and talked. What should we do? Should we try to go to Berlin? Could we find a place to stay there? Did Berlin look like Dresden, totally destroyed? We thoughtfully discussed all the possibilities and finally came to a decision; Mutti and Uncle Hermann would try to get to Berlin to see if there was a place where we could stay, and then they would come back to Dresden. Aunt Dora would stay behind and take care of Gerhard and Gunther. Aunt Erna would look out for Grandma Salzmann, and they all would take care of me.

Take care of me? Did I need to be taken care of? After all, I had turned fifteen on my last birthday. Since none of us knew what the date was, I might be close to sixteen years old. I did wish I could go with Mutti and Uncle Hermann. What if something happened to them and they did not come back to Dresden? It was difficult enough not to know what had happened to my dad. Had he been killed during the Russian advances in January? Was he in a prisoner of war camp in Siberia? We had heard that Siberia was where the Russian army was keeping most German prisoners. Maybe he was wounded, or maybe he, too, was trying to get back to Berlin. I just kept praying, asking God to be with him and to protect him. I needed his love and his guidance, his explanations of the circumstances we were facing, and I also needed my mom to return safely to Dresden.

The next morning, after many hugs and kisses, but also lots of tears, Mutti and Uncle Hermann left the camp and tried to find the train station. I wondered about the condition of the terminal; did it still look the way it had when Dad’s work had brought him to Dresden? Would Mutti remember all the times Dad’s mail car had traveled to Dresden? Would she think of the photograph taken of Dad and his co-workers while they had stayed there for a whole day? After seeing the destruction of the city, I didn’t believe that the terminal would still be intact.

Our Red Cross friend stopped by to see us now and then, making sure we were all right. When we told him Uncle Hermann and Mutti had left for Berlin, he said he would check on us every day and try to bring us some food. It would mean we would not have to leave the camp. Women were still being raped and killed on the roads, and being able to stay inside the Red Cross barrack gave us a bit more security. Of course, the disadvantage of being inside all the time, without the distraction of searching for food, was that I had too much time to think and reminisce.

Mutti and Uncle Hermann were in my thoughts, and I always found myself considering my dad’s chance of survival, my thoughts fluctuating from hope to despair. I would often wonder about our relatives in Berlin as well as our friends in the Sudetenland. The Zimmermanns would have had to leave Weissbach. Hitler had forced all Czechoslovakians to leave their homes and properties in the Sudetenland, now all Germans had to leave everything they owned and cross the border into Germany.

I had never heard the Zimmermanns mention any friends or relatives in Germany, so where would they try to go? And how about my friend Gretchen? Did she and her mother leave with the Zimmermanns? I also thought about the Kohls in Aussig. They, too, had been forced to relocate to Germany. Did they make it? Was Mr. Kohl alive? Was he with Mrs. Kohl and Sigrid, or were the two of them alone?

And I also thought about the past. I remembered the dreams and plans I had had for the future, which probably would never be realized. Would I ever have an opportunity to become a pianist? Maybe too much time had gone by for me to resume my training. And where would we get a piano when we did not even have a place to live? I wondered if my piano teacher had survived. Would we be able to find a violin for my dad so that he and I could play together again? Maybe there would be a chance for us to immigrate to America after all. With all the pain and heartaches we had endured, surely God would grant us our dream to live in a country where we would be free, where the government would not try to control our lives and make all decisions for us. And we would be able to enjoy listening to jazz. But what if Dad had not survived? Would Mutti and Uncle Hermann come back safely to us here in Dresden?

On the tenth day after they had left us, they came walking into the camp. The hugs and kisses mixed with tears of joy lasted a long time. What a relief it was to be together again! Some of the news they brought back from Berlin was good, but a lot of it was not.

Air raids and ground fighting had destroyed most of the city. Oma Salzmann’s three-room apartment was still standing, but it was now crowded with survivors who had lost their living quarters. Everything was in ruins in the entire area where Uncle Hermann and his family had lived. The destruction of the city had made it impossible for Uncle Hermann and Mutti to try to find out if some of our relatives were still alive. There was no transportation, and the ruins made it difficult, as they walked, to establish where they were. They did walk to the outskirts of the city where Uncle Ewald and Aunt Else had lived. They found the two of them alive, and their little house was in fairly good condition, as were some of their neighbors’ homes.  Russian soldiers now occupied these homes; living with the Russians was very difficult for my aunt and uncle, but since the Russians had allowed them to stay in their house, they considered themselves fortunate.

When we arrived at the terminal, soldiers were loading a train with boxes of all sorts of supplies. Many Russian soldiers were boarding, but there were still a couple of empty passenger cars. Many refugees were standing on the platform hoping that they would be allowed to get into those empty cars, and we joined them.

After the supplies had been loaded and the Russian soldiers had boarded, two soldiers came walking towards the crowd of waiting refugees. They made a gesture of counting us, motioned for some to get on the train, but left most of the refugees standing on the platform. We were among the lucky ones; we got on the train. Apparently the Russians did not want the available cars overcrowded with Germans, maybe assuring themselves better control over them. There were enough seats for everyone. The eight of us sat on two benches facing each other, right next to the entrance, and we were thankful to be so close together.

The train moved very slowly; it stopped many times so that other trains could pass in either direction. Because the Russians had removed tracks, it was impossible not to have to pull onto a side track to allow other trains to keep moving. We could tell that this was going to be a long ride to Berlin, but it was certainly better than having to walk all that distance! Some days, we did think that we could have easily walked farther than the train had traveled.

At night, the train would make long stops, and Russian soldiers would walk through the cars filled with refugees. Occasionally, they would check the few belongings some people had and they would take anything that appealed to them. Other times, they would take women off the train. Most of the women returned just before the train resumed travel, but some disappeared, and their families had to go on without them. We were fortunate; none of us was molested in any way, but we did go through a frightening event.

Our Red Cross friend in Dresden had made a sling for Uncle Hermann’s lifeless arm. It had turned out to be a perfect hiding place for the precious pocket watch Dad had brought to us from Josef. The watch gave us the only way to tell the time, since the Russian soldiers had stolen our own watches, along with the jewelry we had brought to the Sudetenland when we moved to Weissbach.

The train had stopped for a long time, and we wondered how late it was. Just as Uncle Hermann was taking a peek at the hidden pocket watch, a Russian soldier opened the entrance door near us. He looked once at Uncle Hermann, then he looked again more closely. The soldier made Uncle Hermann stand up. He checked out Uncle Hermann’s arm and the sling. As we watched, the Russian found the pocket watch. He kept looking at it, turning it over and over. We guessed that he most likely knew that it was a Russian watch.

Two more soldiers entered the car, and now the three of them were looking at it and talking earnestly. They kept glancing at us while they were talking, and by now we were shaking with fear. Then, in broken German, one of the soldiers asked Uncle Hermann where he had gotten the watch. My uncle answered that a Russian soldier had given it to us. The Russian looked at Uncle Hermann, puzzled, apparently thinking that Uncle Hermann had not understood the question. He asked him again, and Uncle Hermann gave him the same answer. The soldier laughed sarcastically and talked to the other two. They laughed, too, and then walked out of the car, taking the watch with them.

We were afraid that they thought we had stolen the watch and would return to punish us in one way or another, but the train had started to move again and there was no chance for us to escape.

I was scared and I was crying. I kept remembering when Dad had told us the story about the pocket watch. Now we had just lost the gift from Josef, a supposed enemy who had become his friend. Josef had given the watch to Dad just before Dad came home on his last furlough. We were to keep this treasure safe until the war’s end. Whenever Dad looked at the watch, he could remember Josef, Josef’s wife and daughter, and the friendly trust the gift of the heirloom demonstrated. But now it was gone! We would not be able to give it to Dad when we were together again.

The train traveled on. The three Russians did not come back to hurt us.

The train did not take us all the way to Berlin. Once more, the Russians told us to get out in the middle of a field. We had no idea where we were. Should we stay near the tracks on the chance that another train would pick us up? Before curfew? Should we start looking for cover for the night? We were faced with a very difficult decision. If no train came along and picked us up before curfew, we might be shot on sight. If we tried to hide in the fields near the tracks, we might be discovered and be shot. We did not see any building that might serve as an overnight shelter, so we continued walking along the train tracks along with many other refugees.

It was close to curfew time when we spotted the next railroad station. Once more we ran faster than we thought we could, in order to be under cover before six p.m. We made it! Many refugees were already crowding the platform, but we were able to find a small space among them.

Even though we had no idea of our exact whereabouts, Uncle Hermann learned that we were traveling in the right direction, and that we were not too many miles from the outskirts of Berlin.

We heard Russian soldiers yelling and then we saw four of them, not far from us, with a group of German men. Some of these German men looked like soldiers still were wearing some part of their uniform, but others looked more like farmers in work clothes. The Russians were pushing all the men into a single line, and then they stepped back and started shooting them. Some of the Germans who turned and tried to run away were immediately shot in the back. After only a few seconds, the execution was finished. There was an eerie silence around us. No one on the platform spoke, but many were crying silently. We could hear a train approaching, but we also saw the four Russian soldiers running towards the platform, running towards us. Were they going to kill us, too?

When the train came to a stop, we walked to the very end of it and got into a cattle car. We had noticed that the passenger cars at the front of the train were filled with Russian soldiers. We hoped that the soldiers who had executed the men would join them and not come after us. The cattle car we had entered was already crowded~ but the eight of us~ along with many other refugees, found enough space to be able to sit down. I kept thinking about the men who had been murdered. There must have been at least fifty of them. Were they all dead? Were some of them wounded, lying in the field without any hope of medical aid? How would their bodies be found? How would their families ever find out what had happened to their loved ones? We had heard that the war had ended. Why did I continue to see all this killing?

When the train came to a stop, we had other concerns. It was dark outside, obviously past curfew time. Would the soldiers force us to leave the train? It had not stopped at a terminal, and we were once more surrounded by fields. Everyone sat silently and still; we were frightened. We knew there were lots of Russian soldiers on the train. Would some of them come to collect women to rape? Or men to shoot? We no longer had to be concerned about our belongings. Russian soldiers had gradually taken everything we owned during the random searches we endured during the journey. We had lost everything but our identification papers, some old photographs, and records of weddings, births and baptisms – all the papers that we had needed when the Nazis learned our name was Kanter.

Mutti had left her and Dad’s wedding rings with us in Dresden when she and Uncle Hermann traveled to Berlin, but she had sewn them into the hem of her pants again when we all headed towards Berlin. Our records, some photographs and my parents’ wedding rings were all we had left from our past.

The train moved very slowly, but in the afternoon we finally pulled into a depot. The depot had a sign, but Mom and I already knew where we were; we were in Potsdam. This was the end of our train ride.

Walking through Potsdam brought back many memories. We saw some of the spots where Mom and I had spent time waiting for Dad to come and join us during his off-duty time. The city had fared far better than Dresden. Sans Souci, the castle above the beautiful terraced gardens, did not look damaged at all. As we walked along, I kept thinking about my dad. I prayed that he was already in Berlin waiting for us to come home.

Potsdam was full of Russian soldiers, so when we noticed it was close to curfew, we knew we had to find cover for the night. We had heard that some of the large metal huts which housed the Russians were empty, and we were told that refugees were allowed to use them as shelters. (We found out much later that these metal buildings were called Quonset huts and that they had been supplied to the Russian armed forces by America.) Lots of refugees were looking for empty huts, and finally a few people located one. It looked like a huge semicircular, corrugated metal tent, and there was plenty of space available for us. Although we worried that the Russians might enter it during the night, we ended up having a peaceful night.

Early in the morning we started walking towards Lichterfelde. Soon, we were back in Berlin; we had survived our move from Weissbach to Aussig and then back to Berlin. We were home!