In April 1945 I was nine years old when a neighbour, Frau Hein, excitedly warned my mother: "Frau Meyer, destroy the swastikas, the pictures of Hitler and the books. If the enemy finds something, then...". We needed little imagination in order to picture what the enemy would do with us. Many rumours were circulating. Hitler's pictures disappeared from the wall. The bookcase was searched for corresponding literature and we burned a whole stack in our cooking stove. Meanwhile, my brother buried my father's SA uniform in the garden.

To be on the safe side my seven year old sister, Sigrid, and I had recently been sleeping in the cellar. We shared a bed. One morning, it must have been the 13th April, I was awakened by light ground vibrations and distant thunder. A storm? I awakened Sigrid. "Probably guns",said she
apprehensively. Above in the apartment my mother and my brother Uli were already in a hectic rush. There was a tenseness that created an air of anxiety.

My sister was sent to the butcher's. It was said that one could obtain meat there without ration stamps, at that time this was very unusual. In the bath my mother had just braided my pigtail when we became aware of the first shell, at a diagonal distance of about 500m, hitting the church tower. In a panic I rushed down into the cellar. Now there was much running about: Sigrid came hurrying home empty-handed while Uli was dragging mattresses into the cellar and mother carrying provisions and suitcases. Our neighbours, the Hilmers, five of a family, sought shelter with us because our cellar was safer.

Through a street parallel to us (Niendorfer) a troop of German soldiers withdrew in the direction of Konigsberg, to a nearby wooded hill. Don't tell me these few men want to defend our city!When my brother got the last things out of the apartment, he lingered a moment in front of the balcony window in order to watch the bombardment of the church tower. Suddenly he heard a whistling. He threw himself on the floor. Where he had stood, a piece of shrapnel had crashed through the window frame and the glass, and landed in the ceiling where it tore a great hole in the pavement. Another splinter penetrated the heating pipe. We caught the water which was running out in a zinc bath. It served us all day for washing. Our water tap did not give any more drops. Drinking water was brought in by the bucketful from a pump in the neighbourhood.

The bombardment was now in full force...thundering of guns, crashing of shells." At the corner there is a man lying on the street", shouted someone. On his way home he had been hit by a shell splinter which had almost ripped a leg off. Those living in the neighbourhood of the man's misfortune stood in the entrances of their houses. No one dared to venture out to the wounded man. Then Mr. Hilmer and his daughter Lieschen grabbed a ladder and a woolen cover and ran to help the man. In great danger to their lives they carried him to the St. Vith hospital, a journey of about 45 minutes. An heroic deed. Both the rescuers returned, thank God, unscathed. We settled ourselves down, rather uncomfortably, for an uncertain time in the cellar. We had lain mattresses on the coal and Uli, Sigrid, and Gertrud Hilmer "camped" there. The one bed served as five beds. Instead of length ways we lay crossways, with our legs dangling. With the uncomfortable bed situation and the nocturnal drumming of the artillery fire, which continually hit our city with a terrible racket, sleeping was out of the question.

During the day there was a short pause in the shooting. We used this in the garden, to attend to nature's calling. The toilets were out of service because of a lack of water, but in an emergency we had a bucket in the wash house.

In our district there was hardly a tile left on the roofs of the houses nor an undamaged window pane. Our garden had been hit by a shell and a house opposite us had also been hit. There were two gaping holes in the wall. We later counted 14 shell hits on our dwelling. On the second day of the battle the guns were reinforced by bombers. My mother put cooking pots on our heads as steel helmets. I got the smallest, size 10. I laugh when I think of it today, but at that time we trembled in fear for our lives. Soon a sad but impressive spectacle took place: the church tower burned and became a flaming cone. We watched it from the door of the wash house which was protected by the overhanging balcony. First the steeple fell down on the left side, then the middle part came off, and finally the lower part broke and fell down. Our church tower had been beheaded. I thought, "Oh, if only this terror were soon over!". Many great shreds of burning paper flew over the houses. During a pause in the battle Uli, Sigid, and Rolf dragged water in. Part was placed in the pails in the storehouse in case of fire because the roof had been almost completely torn off. All eyes were above constantly inspecting around. Luckily we were spared fire damage.

After five days the shooting had gradually subsided and we often dared to go out in front of the door. Uli even dared to visit a friend in the Albertstraße, through two gardens which seperated us from the Horst-Wessel Straße. A little later he came running back and excitedly reported what he had seen: he had reconnoitered to the right and left of the street parallel to us, then at a corner he sighted British soldiers with machine pistols at the ready going from cellar to cellar. As a result, the entire group in the house gathered together in the middle room. Hour after hour, closely pressed beside each other in dumb fear, we expected the worst...but nothing happened. Sometime we crept away to sleep. In the meantime the city centre was burning: Gudestraße, Schuh-, Mühlen, und Veerserstraß. The enemy soldiers had driven the people from their houses and gathered them together on a meadow, then with flame-throwers they set the street on fire.

Next morning I met a Britisher for the first time. When I wakened my mother whispered to me: " There are enemy soldiers in the house". I ventured up the cellar stairs and risked a glance round the corner. There was a Tommy! I ran back scared. He laughed at me as he saw my horrified face. I was confused...this was the enemy? He looked just like a man, and he even laughed! "Don't you go to the cellar window otherwise you'll perhaps get shot!", warned my mother. In the opposite house British soldiers lay at the windows with their weapons at the ready. Our apartment was said to be occupied. The occupiers were already tidying up. Crockery and breakfasts, from the past five days were on the kitchen table covered with plaster blown in from the balcony. Then we were suddenly expected to clear out of the entire house.

Mrs. Meine, our landlady and the owner of a grocery shop whose sick mother lay under the cellar stairs, pleaded with the officer to exempt us. I believe she was also afraid for her fine stocks of groceries.My mother was ashamed of herself:" How can one humble oneself like that before the enemy!". The military officer yielded to her request and we were allowed to stay. Instead he gave the order to occupy Hilmer's house. Prior to this he had been frying something up on the cooking range in Mrs. Meine's kitchen. When we children noted that no danger existed we joined the officer. The bigger kids were busy with their knowledge of school-English. I also would have loved to be able to speak a foreign language or at least to have

understood something. Our landlady keenly strived likewise to provide service. Swinging a water kettle she asked," Water for tai?". A moment passed until the person spoken to understood that she wanted to prepare water for him to have tea.

The fire came nearer. After being shot up more, the mill and the wide grain storehouse next door, which were separated from us by the Albertstraße and the town hall pond, were now burning. Henning Hilmer and I watched out from my living room window how the flames were eating through the roofs. Whenever a balcony collapsed, sparks flew into the sky followed by clouds of smoke. Sometime houses had been burned down, and just in the nearby vicinity the corn swelled and a smell of burnt coffee beans lasted into the autumn.

In front of us the British circled around in their tanks right across our garden dragging the wire fence right behind them. I followed their swirling anxiously wondering if they were destroying my hut. This hut was a small roof on four posts for which my sister, just three weeks ago, had given me for my birthday a window with handmade curtains. It had been decorated with a little flower pot fastened under the roof. Nothing was damaged. Two soldiers on foot even stopped, and smiling, examined my little house. In doing so, they were probably thinking of their own children at home.

We could return to our apartment ; for us the war was over. At first I was apprehensive upstairs. No alarm? No bombers? No guns? No more?---Never again!!

Translated from the German by John Milloy, CAN (winso@cogeco.ca)

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