them.
“Are you ready?” my father asked impatiently.
“In a minute!” I hollered back.
“Now!” came the voice from the kitchen. It was then that I heard the planes. With one shoe on my foot and the other in my hand, I stumbled down the three flights of stairs of our apartment building toward the cold and moldy cellar.
The year was 1945. The place was Würzburg, Germany. I was born there as the second of twin girls. I was twelve years old—well, almost thirteen—and half of those years I had been living in fear. It was on my first school day, September 1, 1939, that it all began. The invasion of Poland meant the beginning of World War II.
But now the war was nearing its end—at least so we hoped—for D-Day had passed and the Allied front was penetrating Germany.
Air raids had become a daily event. Will they bomb us? we all wondered many times as we sat, sometimes for hours at a time, in the cave-like shelter beneath the house. It was a safe place to hide while the bombers crossed over. Which city will it be tonight? Nuremberg? Schweinfurt? Well, as long as it isn’t Würzburg! we hoped selfishly.
I was proud of our beautiful city. Its numerous church spires reached into the sky, and its narrow streets still reflected the splendor of bygone eras. It looked so charming huddled into the wide valley of the Main River. On the hills surrounding the city grapes grew, which were used to make the unique and earthy-tasting Frankenwein, a favorite of wine lovers the world over.
Centuries had shaped this festive city, where kings and emperors had sojourned. In Würzburg, Tilman Riemenschneider carved his incomparable Madonnas, and Balthasar Neumann designed a palace for the prince-bishop.
Many students from the University of Würzburg rose to international fame. Sir Winston Churchill was one of them. Was this the reason Würzburg had been spared? There were rumors that no one would dare bomb the city where the great Churchill was once a student. Whatever reason the Allies had not to bomb Würzburg during all these years of war, it was fortunate for us. The city was spared until a month before the war ended.
But we still suffered. We felt fear and anxiety every time the sirens howled and every time the sound of airplanes reached our ears.
Maybe this time? Will they dive this time, to drop their cargo of death among our houses? Or will they continue on their course toward Nuremberg? Then all we would feel was a gentle tremor in the ground, whereas only a hundred kilometers east of us, death was on its way.
What would happen, should they decide to attack us? The thought was frightening. Would we survive? Or would we burn to death, or suffocate on poisonous gases escaping from fractured pipes? How would it feel to be crushed to death by tons of steel and stones? Dear God! Don’t let it happen! No! I am too young to die!
“Get up!” My mother tapped me gently on my shoulder.
“Is it over?” I asked, startled, as I jumped up from the corner in which I had curled up, my blanket tightly wrapped around me.
“Yes, of course it’s over,” my sister assured me, looking at me in surprise. “Didn’t you hear the all-clear sound off?”
“I was dreaming,” I said with a yawn.
My legs were numb from the long wait in the corner. Wearily I staggered back up three flights of stairs, stumbling over the blanket that slipped from my shoulders and now dangled between my feet, part of it dragging behind me.
The wall clock chimed twice. Two o’clock. Good! I thought. This meant school would start at ten tomorrow. Had the alarm ended before midnight, school would have started at eight as usual.
Sleepily I slipped out of my shoes and coat. Still wearing the rest of my clothes, I dropped into my soft bed.
“Thanks, Lord, for sparing us again,” I prayed, and minutes later sleep came to me.
Back to front
Chapter Two
Ration Stamps
Life became much the same for everybody, rich or poor, since money didn’t matter
“Are you ready?” my father asked impatiently.
“In a minute!” I hollered back.
“Now!” came the voice from the kitchen. It was then that I heard the planes. With one shoe on my foot and the other in my hand, I stumbled down the three flights of stairs of our apartment building toward the cold and moldy cellar.
The year was 1945. The place was Würzburg, Germany. I was born there as the second of twin girls. I was twelve years old—well, almost thirteen—and half of those years I had been living in fear. It was on my first school day, September 1, 1939, that it all began. The invasion of Poland meant the beginning of World War II.
But now the war was nearing its end—at least so we hoped—for D-Day had passed and the Allied front was penetrating Germany.
Air raids had become a daily event. Will they bomb us? we all wondered many times as we sat, sometimes for hours at a time, in the cave-like shelter beneath the house. It was a safe place to hide while the bombers crossed over. Which city will it be tonight? Nuremberg? Schweinfurt? Well, as long as it isn’t Würzburg! we hoped selfishly.
I was proud of our beautiful city. Its numerous church spires reached into the sky, and its narrow streets still reflected the splendor of bygone eras. It looked so charming huddled into the wide valley of the Main River. On the hills surrounding the city grapes grew, which were used to make the unique and earthy-tasting Frankenwein, a favorite of wine lovers the world over.
Centuries had shaped this festive city, where kings and emperors had sojourned. In Würzburg, Tilman Riemenschneider carved his incomparable Madonnas, and Balthasar Neumann designed a palace for the prince-bishop.
Many students from the University of Würzburg rose to international fame. Sir Winston Churchill was one of them. Was this the reason Würzburg had been spared? There were rumors that no one would dare bomb the city where the great Churchill was once a student. Whatever reason the Allies had not to bomb Würzburg during all these years of war, it was fortunate for us. The city was spared until a month before the war ended.
But we still suffered. We felt fear and anxiety every time the sirens howled and every time the sound of airplanes reached our ears.
Maybe this time? Will they dive this time, to drop their cargo of death among our houses? Or will they continue on their course toward Nuremberg? Then all we would feel was a gentle tremor in the ground, whereas only a hundred kilometers east of us, death was on its way.
What would happen, should they decide to attack us? The thought was frightening. Would we survive? Or would we burn to death, or suffocate on poisonous gases escaping from fractured pipes? How would it feel to be crushed to death by tons of steel and stones? Dear God! Don’t let it happen! No! I am too young to die!
“Get up!” My mother tapped me gently on my shoulder.
“Is it over?” I asked, startled, as I jumped up from the corner in which I had curled up, my blanket tightly wrapped around me.
“Yes, of course it’s over,” my sister assured me, looking at me in surprise. “Didn’t you hear the all-clear sound off?”
“I was dreaming,” I said with a yawn.
My legs were numb from the long wait in the corner. Wearily I staggered back up three flights of stairs, stumbling over the blanket that slipped from my shoulders and now dangled between my feet, part of it dragging behind me.
The wall clock chimed twice. Two o’clock. Good! I thought. This meant school would start at ten tomorrow. Had the alarm ended before midnight, school would have started at eight as usual.
Sleepily I slipped out of my shoes and coat. Still wearing the rest of my clothes, I dropped into my soft bed.
“Thanks, Lord, for sparing us again,” I prayed, and minutes later sleep came to me.
Back to front
Chapter Two
Ration Stamps
Life became much the same for everybody, rich or poor, since money didn’t matter
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