Barbara Wright, collected by Hope Valley u3a
War Memories 1944 – 6
1943: from a letter by my mother
In January the little one had the measles very badly, and we were not allowed in the shelter. We packed her into a laundry basket and carried her to the deep- freezer at the butcher’s opposite. (The freezer did not work, there was no electricity.) We could not stay in the house; the danger of being buried alive under the rubble is far too great.
Soon after our house got damaged. Part of the roof lost its tiles, all windows were broken, the shutters torn to shreds, and there are cracks in the walls. It was horrendous work to just clear up. Brigitte (15) managed to cover the roof provisionally, all on her own and in a snow storm. Up to now, I have not found any workmen for repairs. But still, we were lucky: four heavy detonating bombs went down very near the back of our garden.
1944
Often we were the last to be let into the air-raid shelter while the bombers and anti-aircraft guns roared above us. One day we did not make it, the bunker was locked. It was a bright day but the sky was black with aeroplanes. Suddenly we were hit by the pressure wave of carpet-bombing nearby and we were rolled like balls along the street through scree and glass. We were alright. The bombs destroyed Marienfelde, about 5 km away.
March 1945
I was allowed to play in the ruins and often found interesting bits and pieces. I also collected wood for mum’s cooking stove.
One day I found a black gentleman’s suit. I knew how important pre-war quality clothing was: my mum could sew something new from it. So I dragged that suit home. There was a horrified scream: “Take that back! Immediately! I don’t want that in the house!” I obeyed. Only much later did I realise that this was a SS uniform hidden by an SS man in order to escape the Russians. The Russians shot anyone in SS uniform on sight.
We were on the way to the water pump. A sunny day. It was very quiet. Suddenly my mother started running, dragged me along and down into the cellar of a ruin. She had heard the sound of marching feet and thought it was the Russians arriving. Yes, there was a troop of about
10-12 soldiers, but they were Germans. Many had bandages on arms or heads, rifles on their shoulders. Some had just rags on their feet. I know now that they were the last remnants of the ‘Volks-Sturm’ and had probably been gathered by a wild SS-man. He would hang any deserter on the spot.
One day I went into our bedroom and saw my mum as a frightening lump, covered in blankets. Brigitte screamed at me to get out, but I had heard some sounds from the radio which even today I connect to the shock I had then: the first sounds of Beethoven’s 5th symphony. During the war, it was the call sign of the British BBC. Listening to the enemy was strictly forbidden and was punished severely - and my mother could not trust the other women (bombed-outs) in the house. But soon there was no electricity any more, and we knew nothing about what was happening.
April 1945
The bombs had stopped while the Red Army encircled Berlin. We lived in the southern outskirts, so we saw and heard the Russian’s heavy artillery overhead, aiming at the city centre. My sister taught me to crawl under a bush and lie flat, and we sang or whispered tongue twisters.
When the Red Army advanced into Berlin, my sister went to live in the little earth-bunker in our neighbour’s garden, so she was kept hidden. I often joined her, and she taught me to read and write. We had a camp bed, a candle and books. At midnight my mum would allow her out for an hour. They walked up and down in the garden.
Then the Russians were suddenly in our street. I peeped through the wooden shutters (my mother kept them closed day and night to make the house appear uninhabited.) I saw their carts and horses and a field kitchen. They were surrounded by many children and ladled out milk gruel into their bowls. But I was not allowed out.
July 1945
We were now in the American sector, and further down the street American soldiers had commandeered a house still standing. They sat outside in upholstered armchairs, rifles on their knees. My friend Angelika from the cellar opposite had American boyfriends, and I joined them. A tall GI held us by the hand, gave us chewing gum, and we walked round the block. We passed my worried mother by our fence and I told her: he’s called Casanova. He gave her to understand that he had two little girls at home, then offered her a cigarette. After a quick ‘danke” she ran off to keep it unlit: one US cigarette meant half a loaf of bread.
Christmas 1945
We were at the US Army barracks. I was sitting on a bench at a long table with lots of other children. In front of me was a metal tray with several hollows filled with food and packages. My mother sat on a bench behind me and kept poking me in the back, saying; ‘Eat child! Eat!’ None of the mothers got any food.
1946
Schools began to open, but I didn’t go because I had no shoes to wear in cold winter weather. Like those of many other children, the front of my one pair was cut out so that my toes could grow. Later I started in a class of 80 children in the former hall. Part of the school was a disinfection unit for soldiers returning from camps.
As I could read and write, I got bored and was often sent home. But never before we got a spoonful of cod liver oil and another of orange juice. Then we had our pots or cans (from home) filled with a hot milk porridge. I ran home as quickly as possible before someone tripped me up and the food was spilt. So mum and I had our lunch.
More important than school was my gang of four friends near home. We built dens in the rubble and ruins and had daring adventures in burnt-out ruins where the walls still stood but all wood had gone. We crept up the inclines of the former stairs, balanced on steel girders and sometimes got to the chimney for a view out. One of the windows to the cellars had a small opening. When you were on your stomach you could look inside: that cellar room was full of papers. Dieter, the oldest at 10, claimed that there was a shrivelled human arm and hand sticking out of the paper, but I never saw that.
Dieter also got us across the high fence, a shed roof and down into the yard of the American GI’s house to get at the huge pile of potatoes stored there. I grabbed two big potatoes. We had lived mainly on dried potato, so real ones were precious. When safe again, we squatted on the pavement and bit into this wonder…but it was horrible! However, I took one home. My mum boiled it and we shared it with Brigitte.
I have always felt that I had a happy childhood thanks to my mother’s and sister’s endless courage, protection and care.