Survive to Live Free

By Christa Schmid-Wappler

This is a heart-breaking insight into the personal experiences of a little girl growing up during World War II in East Germany. The author's memories reveal through a child's eyes the effect the war had on herself, her family and her friends and their struggle to survive and adapt to the lack of food, the Hitler Regime and the bombings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christa Schmid-Wappler
• Release date: Dec 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458063137

Christa Schmid-Wappler

Christa Wappler was born as an only child into a family knitted tightly together through circumstances never revealed on the evening before Hitler came into power. Her childhood — from the day she was born till the day she finally could leave the «Iron Curtain» — was a never-ending story of hiding or running away from the hated «Hitler Jugend» and an escaping of the devastating bombs falling down from the sky on the city of Dresden on February 13th, 1945 as well as being chased by the Russian occupants during the aftermath of the war. The belief in the good of the human being was implanted in her by the overwhelming love she received from her parents, family and friends carrying her through those years.

Book preview

Survive to Live Free

by

Christa Schmid-Wappler

Smashwords Edition

Version 1.5

Copyright 2010

Christa Schmid-Wappler

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

About the Book

The beginning of a challenging childhood

In the midst of the Second World War

Struggling through the aftermath of war

Coping with an enormous atrocity

At the nunnery

Leaving East Germany at last

About the author

Thank you!

About the book

This is a heart-breaking insight into the personal experiences of a little girl growing up during World War II in East Germany. The author's memories reveal through a child's eyes the effect the war had on herself, her family and her friends and their struggle to survive and adapt to the lack of food, the Hitler Regime and the bombings.

The end of the war in 1945 didn't deliver a better life for the then nine-year-old Chris. The aftermath of the war brought more atrocities and hardship as East Germany was now ruled by the Russians who were seeking revenge. The author recounts how, as a young teenager, she was not spared the dreadful violence inflicted upon many young women at that time and how she manages to cope with the feeling of hopelessness that overwhelmed the German youth.

The reader is often appalled by Chris' account but at the same time up-lifted by the way the young people find ways to make the best out of their grim and seemingly hopeless existence. We are quickly drawn into Chris' story and it remains a page-turner till the end.

The beginning of a challenging childhood

Where it all began

This morning I woke up and one thought didn't leave me all day long. The most devastating day of my life: February 13, 1944. Up to that day, even though I had not been brought up in a peaceful world, my parents had always found a way to protect me, to give me warmth and love, to show me all the wonders of this planet. They often took me into their arms and held me tight. Even when I came home crying and screaming at the age of ten years, they tried to comfort me.

At the age of ten, every German youngster, girl or boy, had to be a member of the «Hitler Jugend». All the young people had to attend the meetings every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon. All of us had to wear a uniform. Girls wore blue skirts, white blouses and a tie. I was repelled by this uniform because my mother made the most exquisite dresses for me. Being a costume dressmaker at the Dresden Opera House, her flair for colour combination was a gift in itself. Not only did she still find amidst World War II the most stunning fabrics but also all the dresses she made had some kind of embroidery and handmade buttons. I always felt like a princess, and that was what my parents often called me «our little princess».

One Saturday, I came home from the youth-group meeting crying and screaming. We all had had to stand in line in front of the group leader. She had torn out my little gold earrings in the shape of a heart with a ruby in the middle. They had been a special gift to me from my father's first wife's parents, whom I loved so deeply.

Blood was running from my ears. She hit me in my face and yelled at me that no German girl was allowed to wear earrings, only our decadent enemies did that — for us, the pure race, it was forbidden. By «pure race» she meant blond hair, blue eyes and white skin. Lucky, I was blond and white-skinned. But unfortunately, I did not have blue eyes. So judging by my appearance I was already an outcast. On top of that I wore earrings.

After telling the story to my parents, I stamped my feet on the floor and yelled in such a high pitch that I really didn't recognize my own voice anymore. That was somebody else screaming, yelling and crying. That was not me. And out it poured: «I will never, ever go there again.» After that, all three of us — my father, mother and I — kept standing. We didn't have the energy to sit down. It was such a toxic situation; it didn't allow a resting position. One had to let out the anger, the frustration, the injustice, in an upright position to show one's self-respect.

Even at the mere age of ten, I knew immediately that something had intruded into our life that was alien to me. Never before had I ever yelled or cried in such a way. Never ever had I stamped my feet on the floor with all my force.

Not to say that up to then I had been an angel. At the age of 5 when my parents sent me to a private kindergarten, after two weeks the headmaster called my parents and told them that even if they paid twice the fee, he wanted my parents to pick me up because I didn't fit into the group. I was the happiest creature in the world when my parents picked me up without any comment. I hadn't liked it there from the start. The children spoke a different language than I did.

Being an only child, I grew up with the language of adults. I loved it. My father laid out very strict rules regarding language in our family. From his point of view he owed it to me. In Dresden where I grew up, the ordinary citizen speaks with a heavy accent. Being an academic, my father found that vulgar.

And I must admit that with his rules he formed my character and from an early age on he gave me the curiosity to know all about languages. Words, spoken or written, have always held a fascination for me. In the end this led me to my profession.

I remember attending a huge party in Manhattan with people of many different nationalities when a man came towards me and asked me where I came from. I told him that I was from Dresden. Being German himself, he said that couldn't be. Here again I just beamed with pride about my family.

Not only did I find the children at the kindergarten childish, even though they were the same age, but also I could play much better and be much happier at home. There was such immense wealth in our house. I loved it and every day I discovered something new there.

After this shattering Saturday evening, we continued to try to live our lives as before. Of course, that was by no means possible. Dark, grey clouds were above our heads. They did not move. They remained in the same position day after day, night after night. All of a sudden, where before there had been laughter and talking, we were now sitting wordlessly at the breakfast, lunch and dinner table.

My mother always paid great attention to my eating habits making sure I sat upright, used the right cutlery, and put the lovely embroidered napkin into the napkin ring after using it. From time to time, I found doing these things tedious — but now no word came out of my mother's mouth and of course I longed for her remarks. But there was absolute silence.

At school things were unchanged. I attended a private girl’s high school situated in a huge park near a famous castle. My walk to school was rather long. It took me 30 minutes, but I loved every minute of it.

After walking for about ten minutes, I entered the Schlosspark. At the end of the park I could see in the distance the outline of the beautiful castle where my father often took me on a Saturday or Sunday to visit the famous art gallery there. Oh, I loved seeing all the paintings and sculptures and listening to my father's explanations, explanations which he gave me from the age of six. I think that is not an easy undertaking but he mastered it, always having me walk on his right side and holding his hand tightly.

And then there was this enchanting pond. My memory of every detail is still crystal-clear. My mother had taken me to this pond already before I went to school. The loveliest time there was always winter. Often it was bitterly cold, sometimes minus 20 degrees Celsius. Then the pond would be frozen. I learned to ice skate there.

In summer my favourite creatures were the swans. I often lingered at the pond for a long time until I glanced at my watch and strode home with long steps. From time to time, I also liked to walk outside the park because the houses were so beautiful. But more and more houses seemed empty or I saw only people in uniform entering or leaving them.

In the evening, as I was such a curious child, I asked my father what was going on at those houses. He explained to me that they had all belonged to Jewish people and that someone had sent the owners away. Talking about such a topic, we all knew that in our house there was an unspoken trust that what was said at home never ever was to go outside.

The letter

Of course, without any doubt I knew what was going on around me. Hardly a day went by that my parents did not discuss the situation we were living in. Of course there were the obvious signs one could not escape noticing. Even a child of six, whether she could read or not, saw the yellow Jewish star that the Jewish people had to wear, and at almost all the stores there was this big notice with the Jewish star on it and beneath it the words «Jews are not allowed to enter this store».

There was also this lovely elderly man who came every three to four months to deliver wine to us. In the basement my father had a wrought-iron cupboard with a huge key and of course a huge lock on it. The greatest pleasure for me was when the wine salesman came I was allowed to go down to the basement with my father and him. I was the one my father chose to ask to open the lock with its enormous key. I felt like I was in a fairy tale. I was the princess who opened the door to all the hidden treasures. By now I realize that maybe my father and the elderly gentlemen had even more pleasure watching me doing it.

In the cupboard there were bottles covered with dust. In the dim light, they looked very mysterious to me. I found them very intriguing. I had a little basket with me and I was allowed to take one bottle up to our apartment. It was the custom when the wine delivery man came that my parents and he always drank a bottle of this apparently delicious wine together.

Then one day this world came abruptly to an end when the wine delivery man told us: «This is the last time you will see me. I have to leave. Maybe I make it before it is too late.» The world around us got harsher and harsher and our own world got quieter and quieter.

There were the sales people who delivered the most outstanding fabrics to my mother who she needed to make costumes for the opera, lavish evening dresses for herself, and for her princess the most adorable dresses. As I looked so outstanding in these outfits, I was asked to attend many weddings to walk in front of the bride and groom. From my little basket filled with flowers I spread them on the floor to make their future colourful. And there was this great lady who brought all the best spices from all over the world.

I was always permitted to sit down at the table with these people and my parents and drink a cup of tea with them. Oh, they all had great stories to tell. But as time went on, often there were no great stories anymore. There was a nearly unbearable sadness in the guests’ faces and the atmosphere got darker and darker. Some of them dared to mention that it was the last time they would come and some of them just didn't come anymore. And then one day all these lovely people did not knock at our door and ask to enter our life any longer. Our lives were taken away. From now on, we were puppets.

Finally, the long-awaited letter arrived. After my running away from the «Hitler Youth Organization» and not attending its meetings anymore, we all had known that there would be a letter. That letter came from the highest government headquarters in Munich and was addressed to my father. It said: «Send your daughter back immediately otherwise you will be sent to a camp. From tomorrow on you and your wife have to work for the government. Tomorrow the police will come to your house and confiscate your car.» No, No. I couldn't bear to hear this. It was all my doing. I had caused this with my rebellious behaviour.

The car was my father's pride. He had had a car since 1928. We were the only family on this big, wide, open street who owned a car. Along each side of the street there were old rowan berry trees and each tree looked different from every other one; in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night when the streetlights were lit. There were gaslights and a man came by on his bicycle and lit them every evening and turned them off again in the morning. I found it fascinating to watch him and I watched him whenever I could.

Watching the lighting of the streetlights from the window of my room was one of my day’s highlights. These rowan berry trees weren’t trees anymore. They were the configuration of my hidden inner world. Oh, the trees and I, we had lots of fun together. We were a big family with lots of children, dancing, singing, playing all the time. In winter, when the branches of these trees were loaded with masses of snow, they were the silver frock we wore at Christmas and New Year's Eve. Beneath one of those trees stood my father's car.

When my father was reading the horrendous letter, the letter that drastically changed our life, I had to run out of the living room. I rushed to my room and looked out of the window to see my father's car standing there. The car that had given us a sort of freedom with rides to Prague in Czechoslovakia. We drove to Prague two or three times each year as long it was possible for us to do it. My father's tailor was there and all his life he had his suits made there. Of course, I found it a little peculiar to drive to Prague to have one's clothes made. We had such lovely stores in Dresden. Why not buy clothes there? First of all, my father told me the Czechs were known worldwide to have the best tailors and secondly, they were still able to get fine English fabrics.

But there was yet another reason my father related to me. When he was a little child, his nanny went out for a stroll with him. She missed the curb of the sidewalk and as a result the whole baby carriage turned over and fell on the street. The nanny went home crying and told the parents what had happened. In those days, in 1880, there were still no X-rays and since my father did not show any visible traces of injury the whole matter was put aside. My father had three siblings, two sisters and one brother, who were all very tall. But he didn't get very tall. Instead he grew a hunchback. Of course I had noticed it but nobody in our family spoke about it. For me it was part of my father. But that was the other reason we drove to Prague for his suits to be made there. The Czech tailors made them in such a unique way that when he wore their suits it was nearly impossible to see his hunchback.

After telling me this story, I suddenly understood why my mother checked so frequently to see if I kept my back straight, why I had to sit at the dining table in a very upright position, why I often had to go with her to the doctor even if I didn't feel sick at all. Did she not believe the baby-carriage story after all? Suddenly something crumbled in my soul and I felt even closer to my father. He had told me his story while we both were walking along the streets in Prague and my mother had gone shopping. Oh, the shops here looked so different from the shops in Germany. I couldn't take my eyes off them. I couldn't believe it!

There were oranges, lemons, bananas, pineapples — all forbidden fruit in Germany. I ate as many as I could get into my little stomach, and on our way back my father always found some place to hide them in the car to take home. And chocolate! All these items were forbidden where we lived. But even as a little girl I was never very much interested in chocolate. I preferred the gorgeous colourful fruit. But not only those shops made the stays in Prague so captivating. There was also the tailor's shop. In his store there were innumerable shelves stocked from bottom to top with fabrics. I just could have stayed there forever looking at them. And the people working there: Everybody seemed extremely busy, either sitting at their sewing machines, or cutting, or ironing, or sewing the buttons on the jackets and amidst all of this I thought I was hearing thousands of voices. People were talking incessantly, some singing or shouting at each other. What a world!

But to my little eyes and ears that were used to living in an organized, structured world, that was almost too much. I felt an urge to run away. But on the other hand, I was totally absorbed and taken in by it.

From tomorrow on, my father would not own this beloved car anymore because the government would remove it as a punishment. No rides anymore. No further freelance research jobs in Czechoslovakia His job had given him such great satisfaction. He was an expert in mineral oil. Part of the time he worked at the University of Dresden and part of the time he did freelance research. No jobs for my mother either. She had actually opened her own dressmaker's studio at the age of twenty and one of her customers was the Dresden Opera House. And now the government closed my mother’s enterprise. My mother's work had also been the reason why I had preferred to stay at home and not to go to kindergarten. I was interested in watching her work.

The mornings at home always had a tranquillity I rarely found again later in life. My father, being the first to get up, brewed the coffee. I can still smell it. It smelled very exotic to me, of countries far away, like the oranges and bananas I had eaten in Prague. In my father's library, my most favourite room in our entire house, I had found pictures in books that showed me where those forbidden fruits and the coffee must have come from.

In those days, in 1942, in Germany, one could not buy coffee in a shop. It just did not exist anymore. So, apparently my parents had bought it from the «black market». My parents would get the green coffee beans and then around midnight they would roast them, closing all the windows and turning off almost all the lights. The whole house smelled of roasted coffee beans. After my father had done the coffee, I would go downstairs. We lived on the first floor in this charming Art Nouveau house. Our ceilings were over 3.80 metres high and were decorated with ornamental plasterwork. The big oak doors were carved. It was a paradise for my eyes and my fantasy. To go up and down the staircase covered with oriental carpet was a pleasure in itself.

So here in the mornings I stepped out of our lovely apartment to fetch the fresh baked rolls being put in a linen bag and hanging in front of our letter box. But going up and down the stairs was not always such a great pleasure. Quite often, the caretaker of the building would come along. He was a big man who wore an SS uniform, the uniform of Hitler's elite group. When you met him, instead of greeting him with «good morning», «hello», or with whatever was appropriate for that time of day, you had to say: «Heil Hitler». When I was still small and not used to these words, my mother would give me a little push on my arm and I would greet him with «Heil Hitler». When I started school, we all would get up from our seats when the teacher entered the classroom, then we said «good morning» and a prayer aloud. After that, we would start our lessons. Suddenly, there was no «good morning» or prayer anymore. There were only the ice-cold words: «Heil Hitler».

Hitler’s regime is taking over

Up to now, the people in uniforms — the people to whom we had to say «Heil Hitler» —lived outside our closed family circle, but now they had entered our life. They took things away from us and they ordered us to do things. I was still in my room crying when my mother and father came in to console me. They took me out of my hiding place and lay me on the sofa in the living room. They said they had something to tell me. My father brought me a cup of tea in one of my favourite china cups actually from China. We had a glass cabinet filled with original Chinese china with the finest, most delicate painting on it.

The cup he brought me was so thin one could almost see through it. He had added a special sugar candy from a supply he kept in a particular sugar bowl that was opened only on Christmas, birthdays and very remarkable occasions. That was one of the unique gifts they bestowed on me from the day I was born, always to make every day a very unforgettable event.

There was always different food every day of the week. The selection of food was not made randomly, of course. The main factor in choosing the food was the season of the year. But then there was also a ritual involved in it. Fridays, it would be unthinkable to eat meat and the fish served was according to the season. Saturday was the day for herring. The way the herring was prepared depended on the season. For example, in winter it was marinated for a few days in advance with red beets because red beets could be stored in the basement. New Year's Eve was the day for lentils, following the old superstitious rule: If you ate lentils on New Year's Eve, your wallet would be filled with money throughout the coming year.

After having finished drinking my tea, my father said: «Our beloved princess, do not feel so guilty about what happened to all of us. That is not your doing. What you did — running away from the 'Hitler Jugend' and not going there anymore — was just hitting the peak of an iceberg. We have been watched for a long time by 'Hitler's SS'. To them we are a very suspicious family. We are surrounded by Jewish people, we know a lot of Jewish people and I help them.» Finally, I let it out in words that had been suppressed for such a long time: «Then we are Jewish, too?» There was no answer. There was just silence, a silence both my mother and father took with them into their grave. Until today, I don't know whether I am Jewish or not. People around me keep telling me: «In the end it doesn't matter.» But yes, it does matter to me. I never dug into this whole story because I respected my parents' dignity. In my heart and in my soul, I am Jewish. For the outside world, I'm not.

My father continued to soften my worries by saying nothing would happen to us. This was the first time in my 10 years that I didn't believe him. Too often, my parents had talked about all the gruesome actions carried out by Hitler against Jews, and also against everybody who did not follow his dictatorial regime.

The illness

I said goodnight, kissed my parents and went to bed. In bed, I twisted round and around. Then — I don't know what happened — my mother and father and our doctor were standing around me. I didn't know whether it was night or day. I heard the doctor whispering. It sounded like a foghorn in one way — shrill, and in another way it didn't make any sense whatsoever. I felt totally lost, confused, with no solid ground under me. I was just floating.

After lying apparently for days and days in a delirium with the highest temperature, my mother told me I had scarlet fever. I had heard the most upsetting stories about this sickness, especially because you had to go to hospital and lie in an isolation ward as it was a highly infectious disease. On top of that I had just started my new school where I had begun studying Latin. I was ready to jump out of bed. But I felt so weak. There was no way to get out of bed. I still did not realize that I was seriously ill. In those times, in 1942, there was no medication or vaccination for scarlet fever.

I asked my mother why I was at home and not in hospital. Not that I would have liked to have been in a hospital. I had never been in a hospital nor had anyone else in our family. But I knew from other children who had caught this disease that at least you had to be put for four to six weeks in quarantine.

My mother explained to me that they had worked it out with our doctor that I could stay at home. How they did that I do not have the slightest idea, but actually I was really not interested. I was at home. When my mother left the room, I tried to sneak out of bed. I had to crawl on the floor. I made it to look in the mirror in my room. But why was it so dark in there?

I had just glanced at myself when the door opened again and my mother came in. «What are you doing?» my mother uttered, full of worry. «I wanted to look at myself. Can you see how appalling I look? Red, red all over. Oh, I don't want to look like that. Let it go away. And why is it so dark in here?» My mother cheered me up: «You will look as beautiful as you did before this sickness if we follow certain rules. First of all, go back to bed.» — «But I don't want to stay in bed. I want to get out of this dark room, out of bed. I want to go to school. You know how much I love going to school. I just started there and I think it's great. And what about Latin, Algebra, and all the new subjects? How can I ever catch up with all of it? How long do I have to stay like this?» Mother sat down on my bed and took me in her arms. «You have to stay a couple of weeks at home, but very soon you will be able to walk around as soon as the fever drops and till then your room has to stay quite dark, the doctor told us. Your body should not be exposed to light right now. We will do everything to make your life as comfortable as possible. Don't worry about your school. We talked to the headmaster and they will send your homework by mail, because for now nobody can visit you, as they might catch this disease. And by the way, your cousin Alex is now stationed here in Dresden and he will come as often as he can and help you with your homework.» — «But mommy, what happens to us in the meantime?» I asked. «Don't let it bother you now, my darling. We'll talk about it later after you get back some of your strength», my mother replied.

And she was so right. I didn't feel so great. After lying again in that semi-dark room, I kept wondering why I had gotten