Escape

by Barbie Probert-Wright

  Our convoy rolled on for the rest of that night and the whole of the next day, until we reached the small village of Wiedersdorf, near Halle. Halle is a big city, the capital of the salt area of Germany, famous as the birthplace of Handel. It is a medieval city that was largely undamaged by the war. We stopped before we reached the city walls, our convoy being pulled over at Wiedersdorf. The welfare organisation was still working magnificently and this tiny village of less than 1,000 inhabitants had its doors open to welcome refugees. We had travelled about 160 miles, in appalling weather, but at least we were safely back in Germany.

  Mrs Boetels and her family now went their separate way, pressing on in their carriages. They had a home south of Hamburg and I think they made their way there. I know that my parents kept in touch with Mrs Boetels until her death, but I don’t recollect ever seeing the family again. In wartime, everyone tried to help each other, but nevertheless I will always be grateful to them for their particular kindness to us.

  As we parted from them, we were taken in by another, equally kind, family. I cannot remember their names, but it was a school headmaster and his wife. All the three sisters, Aunt Irma, Aunt Hilda and Mutti, each with a small child, were billeted with them. Our grandparents were across the road with another family. It was blissful to be in a proper bed again and I think I slept for a long time on my first night in Wiedersdorf.

  For a few days, Eva had no idea where we were. She rang a cousin of ours, but they had no news of us. She wrote in her diary:

  Where can everybody be? I am so terribly unhappy. I hope I get some good news from someone.

  A couple of days later she pasted two photographs into her diary, pictures of herself in her skiing clothes and of her sitting on the edge of a field.

  Today I am putting two photos in my diary from my time here in Tabar2. Since these were taken, a lot has happened. I made a journey to the East to help my family but did not get through to our house because the bombing was so bad that I had to turn back. Nobody was allowed any further. But I do know that they all got out OK. My dear father is somewhere, fighting. I know he is a soldier at heart and will do his best. I trust that an end to this war is in sight. Surely such a good, hard-working country cannot go under.

  As soon as we were settled my mother wrote to her and Eva recorded it:

  I finally had a letter from mutti again. They have made the trek, the poor people. We have not heard anything from our father. I wonder where he is and what he is doing. I am really worried about him and hope that I soon hear something.

  The people who took us in had a big house, but with so many of us there it was full. I shared a small room with my mother, so I was very aware that she was at times extremely unhappy, worrying about Father. We talked about him a lot and prayed he had not been sent to the Russian front as his papers had directed; but I think she must have known, in her heart, that this was almost certainly where he was drafted to. If that was the case, then he would be suffering appalling hardships and the chances were high that he would never return.

  My memories of the time I spent in Wiedersdorf are full of the smells of food and home. The headmaster and his wife had a cellar lined with shelves full of apples and pears stored in tissue paper, along with stacks of jars filled with homemade jams, and preserved fruit and vegetables from the garden. On one special occasion the headmaster took us three children down there and allowed us to choose an apple or a pear each. The smell of that cellar is something I will never forget – it was full of such a lovely fragrance of fruit.

  Our kind hosts gave us a belated Christmas meal, again the traditional German goose and red cabbage. They kept their own chickens and a couple of geese. Beforehand, we children were allowed to bake biscuits, which we cut into the shape of stars and moons. They had some icing sugar and we iced them half in white and half in pink. We also baked gingerbread men, with currants for their eyes and nuts for their noses, and again, the aroma of fresh gingerbread triggers my memories of that time.

  I think they fed us well, but perhaps my memories are rose-tinted, because I do know that on one occasion my mother and my two aunts stole one of their chickens, in order to cook it for us. We children were all asleep, but we heard the story later and over the years it became one of our favourite family tales. The three sisters managed to round up the chicken and get it into the house, but they could not catch it to kill it. The more they tried, the more it squawked and cackled around the kitchen, and they were frightened of waking the owners. At one point they tried to give it some alcohol, in the hope that if it was drunk it would quieten down and fall asleep. In the end, they had to chase it out of the house again, after they decided that none of them had the stomach to kill it anyway. But it gave them all a good laugh. The chicken was even given a name, Mesimeco, which is an amalgam of the first letters of all our surnames.

  It seemed we were now settled in Wiedersdorf and soon I was beginning to feel safe. The images of the fierce bad Russians, which had been so vivid as we fled from Poland, were fading in my imagination. My mother, though, knew that the situation was far from safe and she wrote to Eva again, asking her to come and collect me and take me back with her to Tabarz.

  Eva agreed and set off at once. This journey was much easier than her last attempt. The trains were still running, and she took one from Gotha to Leipzig and another to Halle. I was thrilled to see her and so happy that she was going to stay with us for a few days at the house of the headmaster and his wife, who seemed glad to accept yet another member of the family.

  My mother took me aside quietly to explain what was happening. ‘Now, Puppe,’ she said. ‘You are going to go and stay with Eva for a while. Won’t that be lovely? It will be a nice little holiday for you. Imagine – there will be lots of girls for you to play with and they all have so much fun. They go tobogganing, and skating and walking, and you will be able join in. Won’t you like that?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ I was delighted at the thought of going away with my big sister, to take part in all the activities she told me about with the girls in Tabarz. And life in the headmaster’s house was not always comfortable as there were so many of us that it was cramped and restricted. We were aware that we always had to be on our best behaviour and not make any noise – I don’t think the headmaster ever shouted at us, but he was a rather awe-inspiring figure. The grown-ups, too, were conscious of being guests in someone else’s home and kept us in check. Mutti and Eva made Tabarz sound so exciting that I longed to go there.

  When the time came to leave, I was not too upset about saying goodbye to Mutti; I was so pleased to be going with my big sister for our thrilling trip.

  ‘Goodbye, my little Bärbel,’ she said, kissing me. ‘This is a small present for you, to remember your Mutti by.’

  It was a pretty little pink blanket, just for me. Then, when I realised that I would really be leaving, I was sad. How could I leave my own Mutti? I didn’t want to go, but they told me it would only be for a short time, and the prospect ahead of me was like a wonderful holiday.

  As Eva and I waved farewell to Mutti, we did not know how long it would be or what we would go through before we would see her again.

  We travelled by train. I don’t remember too much about the main part of the journey, except sitting on the train with Eva, looking out of the window at the countryside rolling past. But I have very clear memories of the last bit of the journey, from Gotha to Tabarz. Gotha is a famous old European city: the British royal family used the name Saxe-Coburg-Gotha until the First World War, when they changed it to Windsor because it sounded less German. The Almanack of Gotha is the bible of European aristocracy, and there is an impressive palace in the city. But we were not sightseeing. Although the city was undamaged by bombs, Eva’s main concern was to get me safely to the home at Tabarz and the way to do this was by a picturesque mini-train that ran through the Thuringian forest. The little forest train, or Thüringerwaldbahn, took sixty minutes to make what I thought was a magical journey.

>   We trundled past the palace of Reinhardsbrunn, the hunting seat of the Dukes of Gotha, where Queen Victoria loved to spend her summers, and through the village of Friedrichroda to Tabarz. The train had a bell, which would ring as it neared each tiny station. To me, it was like travelling on a toy train. The trees in the forest were laden with snow, and everything around us was breathtakingly white and sparkling.

  The train stopped near the home and the tinkle of the bell could be heard from there. Whenever visitors were expected, and the bell sounded, the girls would run down to meet the train. Some were there to greet Eva and me when we arrived, as Eva was popular, and the girls and the staff missed her when she was away.

  They had been waiting for my arrival with some excitement. When Eva failed to collect me on her first attempt they were very disappointed, especially as they had prepared a special present for me. They had made me a large rag doll. Once Eva and I had been taken up to the home and welcomed in, they presented her to me. I was delighted and instantly named her Charlotte. She was beautiful, the most beautiful doll any child has ever had. She was about twelve inches high, and was wearing a purple and red velvet trouser suit, with a hood from which some fair woollen curls protruded. Her features had been embroidered on in a smile. They had also made her a cradle and a padded sleeping bag. I loved my Charlotte and carried her everywhere with me. She and I slept together in a small bed in Eva’s room with my pink blanket tucked round us, and I cuddled her while Eva read me stories, sang lullabies and said my prayers with me every night.

  I was also given a tiny wooden toy train with five carriages and one engine, to remind me of the little forest train I had arrived on. The woman in charge of the home, Miss Ramelow, gave it to me and I kept it at the side of my bed. There were other toys in the home, but these were my own special ones, the only ones I had, as everything had been left behind when we fled from Poland, or was destroyed in the bombing of Hamburg.

  There were about fifty girls living at the home. Eva’s group, the youngest, were all ten, but there were also some older girls. They were in the BDM and they had been evacuated from big cities to keep them safe from the bombs. I fitted in to life in the home without too much trouble. I went to lessons and, although I was three years younger than the other girls, I could follow a lot of what they were being taught. I loved the poetry, drawing and home economics classes, and maths was one of my favourites. There was a strict routine. Eva would be awakened at 6 a.m. and get herself ready, then she would wake the girls, and inspect their beds, cupboards, fingernails and hair. After breakfast there would be a short assembly, and we always said a prayer for those who had died and those who were still fighting. I would close my eyes especially tight at this bit and think of my father, willing him to be alive and to come home. One of the staff would give an interesting short talk; Eva gave one about the life of Schiller, the great German poet and writer. Then we went to lessons and followed the rest of the school day. I think it was probably very similar to life in an English boarding school.

  As well as lessons there was plenty of fun. It was hard to remember that there was a war on sometimes, as life seemed so carefree and normal. Eva’s diary is full of tales of walks, slides they made on the ice, tobogganing, skating and skiing. When school work and chores like cleaning and darning socks were over, the girls had film shows on a screen, and they were always busy making things and preparing little plays to perform. Whenever a member of staff had a birthday, the girls would put on a small show that they devised themselves.

  I was given a part in a show they were preparing for the birthday of one of the staff. Eva wrote it and we performed it in the woods, in a clearing at the base of a small valley, with hills around. The rehearsals were held in the big hall at the home and there was a real buzz of excitement when it was time to rehearse. I played a rabbit or some other woodland creature: I can remember having whiskers drawn on my cheeks.

  The main character was someone who had walked for miles and finally comes to a stop. I can remember the exact words she spoke, because later, on our own long walk, Eva and I would often quote it to each other, especially when we had to sleep in the open:

  If you walk all day long then you are, not surprisingly, quite exhausted in the evening. I’ve been walking for hours through the woods and I can’t see an end to my journey. But here is a signpost, now I will surely find somewhere to stay. The sign says that the town to the right is three kilometres away, and the one to the left is seven kilometres. Oh, my poor feet! I feel so sorry that you can’t advise me what to do. Actually, I could stay here – I’m sure no policeman will make me walk on. And down in Tabarz no one will open their doors for me at this time of night. Well, then. Goodnight!

  So, with a big yawn, the traveller made a bed in the forest and lay down to sleep, and in the night the elves and little animals came and danced around. I loved being allowed to take part with the big girls.

  The home had originally been a large manor house and there was a gong in the hall. It was struck to call us to meals, but it was also banged rapidly and hard when there was an air raid warning and we all had to go to the cellars. Sometimes we went three or four times a night.

  I adored being with Eva. The girls all seemed to love her and I was so proud to be her sister. She was my idol – all I wanted was to grow up and be like her. The fact that Ruth had gone made her all the more precious to me. While I was there we had the second anniversary of Ruth’s death. Eva never showed me how low and worried she was, but she wrote in her diary:

  This is not a very good time, but we will plod on. Sometimes I am so upset that I don’t know what to do next. Sorry, I shouldn’t be so weak. I just don’t understand the world any more. Sometimes I wish I had never been born. How will everything end?

  She knew by this time that the American and British troops were already over the Rhine and sweeping up through Germany. The blowing up of the Rhine bridges had temporarily halted them, but by 7 March, a month before our journey began, they were across the river. By the final week of March they had completely taken the eastern bank of the river and were at Düsseldorf, less than 150 miles away from us. Everyone was very afraid, although, as before, I was protected from this as much as possible. But the adults all believed that the Americans would starve us out, surrounding villages like Tabarz and cutting off all supplies until everyone was dead. We expected them to be monsters, who would behave viciously and without mercy towards us. It was what we had been told endlessly by the Nazi propaganda machine.

  When she heard these awful stories of the fate that awaited us all, Eva made an important decision. It was very likely, she thought, that we were going to die. And if that was the case, she wanted us both to be with our mother at the end so that we could all die together.

  One evening, Eva took me into our bedroom with a cup of hot chocolate and some biscuits we had baked the day before with the girls in the big kitchen. At first I thought it must be a birthday, it seemed so special. But then Eva said, ‘Sit down, Puppe. I have something very serious to ask you, and I would like your opinion on it.’

  I was thrilled. I was so used to being ‘the little one’, the one who did what she was told by all the older members of the family, that it felt wonderful to me to be taken into Eva’s confidence.

  ‘Do you miss Mutti?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said honestly. ‘Very much.’ It was true. I had really, really, really missed her, despite how loving Eva was and how welcoming everyone had been at Tabarz.

  ‘You know, don’t you, that the war is not going well for us any more and that the Allied soldiers are coming into Germany. It means that life will be difficult and perhaps dangerous. I think we should go back to Wiedersdorf and be with Mutti. Would you like that?’

  I nodded. As soon as she said it, I knew that there was nothing I wanted more.

  ‘Do you think you are strong enough to try to get to her? It will mean lots and lots and lots of walking.’ Eva looked at me seriously.

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, of course,’ I said immediately. ‘I can do it, I know I can.’

  I was so proud that Eva had asked my opinion. I would have followed her to the ends of the earth anyway, but the way she treated me as a grown-up really made sure that I would willingly agree, no matter how daunting the task seemed. I felt very adult and important to have been consulted.

  ‘It is not like the walks we go on with the girls. It will mean a real journey. Wiedersdorf is many miles away and we will be walking for days. Do you think you can manage it?’

  ‘I know I can,’ I answered. ‘I am very good at walking.’ I had no real idea of what it meant, but I knew that if Eva wanted to go, I wanted to go with her. She would never have left me, so if I had said no we would never have started on our long march.

  ‘Then we will go tomorrow,’ said Eva decisively. She smiled at me. ‘You are very brave, little one. I know we will get to Mutti safely, I am sure of it. But tonight you must get a good night’s sleep. I don’t know when or where we will be able to sleep again.’

  I did not know whether to be excited or afraid, but I knew I was looking forward to seeing Mutti again. That night, I went to bed and fell asleep talking to Charlotte, telling her all about Mutti and how we would soon be with her.

  5

  The Journey Begins

  The night before we started our odyssey, Eva wrote a quotation from Nietzsche into her diary. It said simply: