drivers.
This was all very well, but it had its consequences. Every time such an incident occurred we knew about it all right. Wulf and his men would speed into the village in their armoured trucks, usually around midday when the local bazaar was at its busiest in the village square. They’d round up all the men they could find there. Then they’d pull out a few of them. Maybe about ten, or twenty. It was like the Soviet purges all over again. Except this time we were left with no doubt that these men were to be executed for the latest actions of the Partisans or Resistance.
‘ Achtung !* Yet again, our glorious German army has been sabotaged by the insurgents among you! We don’t know which of you have done this, but we must take action to stamp this out! Line up for the execution squad!’ Wulf slapped a baton into his gloved fist as he spoke. The men lined up. Wulf walked along the line and made his selection. His infantrymen pulled out the poor unfortunates and they were bundled into the back of a covered wagon, never to be seen again.
It was worse than the Soviet regime in some respects, because we were in a war zone. No one knew what would happen from one day to the next. At least under the Soviets we had some relative periods of stability.
One dark evening in the early weeks of the New Year, in the year of 1942, we were all sat down having dinner when we heard the growl of an engine and the squeal of brakes on our yard. We all looked around, and Father stood up. We heard rapid footsteps and then there was a fierce banging at the door. The door flew open. It was Wulf and his henchmen. He brought the icy winter wind in with him, and through the open door I could see the snow coming down. We’d been sitting in our kitchen with the fire from the stove throwing out its heat. We’d been cocooned together, snug in our family home, until Wulf arrived to break the spell, ‘ Achtung ! I have received orders from Central Command. The German war effort is placing an enormous burden on our people. We need more Ostarbeiters*. We need more of you back in the Fatherland to work in our factories to support the war effort. You must realise that to keep the Bolsheviks at bay we must all pull together.’
Mother rose up out of her chair and moved towards Wulf, with her hands clasped together, ‘Please, please! I beg of you! Don’t take anyone from this house. We’re a small family. We don’t cause any trouble to anyone. Please Sir, just leave us alone!’
Wulf ignored her and stared hard at Father who responded by gathering Mother in his arms and placing her back down on her chair where she sat bent over with her face in her hands, quietly sobbing.
‘ Well, what’s it to be?’ said Wulf, his arms folded across his chest.
‘ Look,’ replied Father, ‘take me if you have to take anyone, but let these boys stay. They’re too young . . .’
‘ Pah! Too young?’ interrupted Wulf, ‘When I was their age I was marching with the Hitler Youth. I took part in our youth camps, where we were treated just like men. We were given heavy work to do. But it made us stronger. So, tell me, how old are your boys?’ Without hesitation, and with no expression on his face, Father replied,
‘ My eldest son is fifteen, and the little one is still only thirteen.’
Wulf’s eyes narrowed. There was a moment’s silence as he surveyed us all in front of him, ‘Very well, we’ll leave the young one here with you. For now. But the older one must come with us. Right now.’
‘ Please, Sir, please. I’m begging you. Take me. He’s only a boy.’ Father placed his palms on his chest as he spoke, offering himself.
‘ No. You are needed here. To run this smallholding. To provide food for our soldiers. So, young man. Get your hat and coat and put your boots on. You’re coming with us.’
Mother looked up. She, Father and I watched in silence as Volodimir was dragged up out of his chair by two of the soldiers. He resisted a little
This was all very well, but it had its consequences. Every time such an incident occurred we knew about it all right. Wulf and his men would speed into the village in their armoured trucks, usually around midday when the local bazaar was at its busiest in the village square. They’d round up all the men they could find there. Then they’d pull out a few of them. Maybe about ten, or twenty. It was like the Soviet purges all over again. Except this time we were left with no doubt that these men were to be executed for the latest actions of the Partisans or Resistance.
‘ Achtung !* Yet again, our glorious German army has been sabotaged by the insurgents among you! We don’t know which of you have done this, but we must take action to stamp this out! Line up for the execution squad!’ Wulf slapped a baton into his gloved fist as he spoke. The men lined up. Wulf walked along the line and made his selection. His infantrymen pulled out the poor unfortunates and they were bundled into the back of a covered wagon, never to be seen again.
It was worse than the Soviet regime in some respects, because we were in a war zone. No one knew what would happen from one day to the next. At least under the Soviets we had some relative periods of stability.
One dark evening in the early weeks of the New Year, in the year of 1942, we were all sat down having dinner when we heard the growl of an engine and the squeal of brakes on our yard. We all looked around, and Father stood up. We heard rapid footsteps and then there was a fierce banging at the door. The door flew open. It was Wulf and his henchmen. He brought the icy winter wind in with him, and through the open door I could see the snow coming down. We’d been sitting in our kitchen with the fire from the stove throwing out its heat. We’d been cocooned together, snug in our family home, until Wulf arrived to break the spell, ‘ Achtung ! I have received orders from Central Command. The German war effort is placing an enormous burden on our people. We need more Ostarbeiters*. We need more of you back in the Fatherland to work in our factories to support the war effort. You must realise that to keep the Bolsheviks at bay we must all pull together.’
Mother rose up out of her chair and moved towards Wulf, with her hands clasped together, ‘Please, please! I beg of you! Don’t take anyone from this house. We’re a small family. We don’t cause any trouble to anyone. Please Sir, just leave us alone!’
Wulf ignored her and stared hard at Father who responded by gathering Mother in his arms and placing her back down on her chair where she sat bent over with her face in her hands, quietly sobbing.
‘ Well, what’s it to be?’ said Wulf, his arms folded across his chest.
‘ Look,’ replied Father, ‘take me if you have to take anyone, but let these boys stay. They’re too young . . .’
‘ Pah! Too young?’ interrupted Wulf, ‘When I was their age I was marching with the Hitler Youth. I took part in our youth camps, where we were treated just like men. We were given heavy work to do. But it made us stronger. So, tell me, how old are your boys?’ Without hesitation, and with no expression on his face, Father replied,
‘ My eldest son is fifteen, and the little one is still only thirteen.’
Wulf’s eyes narrowed. There was a moment’s silence as he surveyed us all in front of him, ‘Very well, we’ll leave the young one here with you. For now. But the older one must come with us. Right now.’
‘ Please, Sir, please. I’m begging you. Take me. He’s only a boy.’ Father placed his palms on his chest as he spoke, offering himself.
‘ No. You are needed here. To run this smallholding. To provide food for our soldiers. So, young man. Get your hat and coat and put your boots on. You’re coming with us.’
Mother looked up. She, Father and I watched in silence as Volodimir was dragged up out of his chair by two of the soldiers. He resisted a little
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