Eva's Story (21 page)

After that fun we were given olive-green blouses, with hammer-and-sickle motifs on the buttons, and skirts to match. It was the uniform of the women soldiers and we felt very proud to wear it. We could help ourselves from a heap of shoes if we wanted to replace our worn ones and I suddenly thought if I could take a pair of shoes to wear I would be able to swap my boots – for a chicken perhaps.

By the afternoon we were all dressed well enough to walk around the park and show ourselves off. Mutti wanted to talk English so we headed for the liberated Australians. They were a cheerful, optimistic bunch, longing to get back to Australia and their sheep farms. The Red Cross kept them supplied with good things like chocolate and corned beef which they were always ready to share with us.

To my surprise, one particularly tall handsome soldier, who looked like a film-star in his Aussie uniform and one-sided hat, seemed to like Mutti very much. He kept offering her sweets and other delicacies. He said his name was Bill.

‘How about you coming back to my quarters this evening?' he drawled.

‘I don't think so,' said Mutti glancing at me.

‘You don't have to bring your daughter along,' he suggested.

But Mutti did not want such adventures and when we did visit him I went as chaperone.

They met several times over the next few days and he began to get very serious. He would sit with Mutti and me outside the villa planning to take us to his sheep farm, even to the extent of saying he would fetch us from Holland. He wanted to settle down. He owned the farm, there was still a shortage of women in Australia and he felt this was a good opportunity for us to look to the future and re-settle there safely.

‘You marry me, Fritzi,' he said, ‘and I'll take care of you both.'

Mutti was very flattered of course, but she tried to make him understand that she was happily married.

‘You may be a widow, Fritzi,' he warned, ‘and then I'll come for you, remember that!'

25 April 1945, 4.40 p.m. Patrols of US 69th Infantry Division meet forward elements of Russian 58th Guards Division at Torgau on the Elbe – Northern and Southern Germany are split in two
.

26 April 1945 Russian shells fall on the Berlin Chancellery

One afternoon some truants returned to say they'd been swimming in the sea. I pestered Mutti to go as well but bathing suits were not on issue, so she sewed me a kind of bikini made from two dishcloths and we went with the next unofficial mixed bathing group. We walked along the avenue until we came to the azure sea stretching beyond golden sands. It was a beautifully warm day and I couldn't wait to put on my tea-towel bikini and run into the water. The men in our party stripped off completely and splashed into the waves with me following after.

Mutti paddled while I swam around feeling exhilarated and free. She was so moved to see me revel in the pleasure of living once more that on the way back she told me, ‘It's as if life is coming back to the world and you're still here to enjoy it.'

But then we became pensive at the thought of all the others who had not survived and our longing for Heinz and Pappy grew more than ever. We walked back together painfully aware that we might never see them again.

28 April 1945 Mussolini and his mistress, Clara Petacci, are executed

30 April 1945 Hitler and Eva Braun commit suicide

7 May 1945 Germany surrenders unconditionally

8-9 May 1945 Guns cease firing in Europe

The war was over. The Allies had marched into Berlin. Throughout the estate there was great jubilation. Everyone thanked God, then the Allies, then the Russians and then thanked God again! Vodka was issued freely so we all got very drunk; there was much dancing and singing and love-making, too.

The Russians organized the best treat that they could for us. At the end of the week a troupe of opera singers, ballet dancers and musicians arrived. They set up a stage in the ballroom of the mansion and gave a magnificent performance. We sat on the floor completely enthralled. It was the first ballet performance I'd ever seen and I'd never imagined anything so pure and wonderful could exist. The audience, which the performers must have found one of the oddest they'd ever played before, rose as one and gave them possibly the greatest ovation they ever received. Our cheers and clapping resounded for ages and tears of joy streamed down even the most hardened faces. It was an evening I shall never forget!

11 May 1945

My sixteenth birthday! The sun shone the whole day.

There was no party but I was so happy. Kea had made me a delicate necklace of shells from the beach and Bill gave me a huge bar of chocolate. Peace was the best present I could have, apart from news of Pappy and Heinz.

As the days passed, the different groups grew restless. The war was over and we all wanted to return home. In fact when we went to visit our Aussie friend, Bill, one afternoon we found the house completely empty. The whole contingent had left without even a farewell!

In one way we were sad but we realized that efforts were now being made to return us to our own countries and the prospect of being reunited with our families excited us immensely.

We didn't have to wait long. On 19 May the New Zealand troop transport, SS
Monoway
, sailed into Odessa harbour and made preparations to take us on board for repatriation.

Several hundred of us assembled outside the villa to be driven down to the harbour. We were a mixed bunch: men and women who had survived the concentration camps, liberated French and Italian prisoners of war, Dutch and Belgian factory workers that the Germans had commandeered to work in munitions factories, and many voluntary workers from all countries. We had one thing in common – we all wanted to go home.

The great grey hull of the SS
Monoway
lay in the harbour. To us her serene and solid presence seemed a bastion of western democracy and civilization. She was our ship of freedom.

White-uniformed naval officers stood on the deck waiting for us to board. Our only luggage was what we carried in our arms and Mutti and I still clung on tightly to our quilts. We embarked behind Rootje and Kea and as we stepped on board we were welcomed by an officer who shook our hands and called us ‘Madame'. Kea and I were thrilled!

Women were allocated cabins on A and B decks; the men had to sleep on hammocks lower down. A steward showed us to our four-berth cabin on B deck, told us to make ourselves comfortable and said that lunch would be served in the dining-room in an hour's time.

Kea and I immediately climbed on to the upper berths and bounced around. There were soft feather pillows and a luxurious mattress covered by crisp white sheets and warm blankets. I tossed down my precious feather quilt for Mutti to pack safely away in the cupboard. She sat down silently on her bunk. The four of us were so overwhelmed that we could hardly speak.

We made ourselves look as presentable as possible and then found our way to the dining-room. As we walked through the doors to the restaurant, we saw that every table was laid with a spotless white tablecloth, silver-plated cutlery, shining china and sparkling glasses. It took my breath away. Only a few weeks ago we had been drinking from chipped tin mugs. Mutti burst into floods of tears as she took it in. We were very touched by the way we were being treated as human beings again.

On each plate was a white roll and a neatly folded white napkin. The moment we sat down we all grabbed the rolls and ate them. It was the first white bread we had seen for years. The stewards watched in astonishment at this peculiar assortment of passengers who guzzled away without any manners. But they kindly brought round more rolls. We were then served with nourishing food in the English style: broth, steak pie and vegetables followed by trifle. Even after a feast like that, when we were all completely full, everyone took a spare roll back to their cabin – just in case!

We came out on deck after lunch to find we were already sailing away on the Black Sea towards Turkey. The sun sparkled on the azure water and I stood by the rails watching the green land with its white villas recede into a grey blur. I felt sad to be leaving a country that I had come to love. I had hardly had time to wave goodbye to the people to whom I owed the deepest gratitude and for whom I held the warmest regard. I knew I would never forget them.

Despite the nutritious food, served at regular intervals, everybody hid portions of bread, fruit or cheese (anything!) in their cabins until finally the captain announced over the loudspeakers that there was no need to worry – there was plenty of food on board and we only had to ask for it – but please would we not take any more food into the cabins as it was a health risk. We all felt a little foolish and ashamed.

The trip lasted for seven days and we spent our time sunbathing on the top deck and many women enjoyed flirting with the officers. We entered the Bosphorus, the narrow strait only a few hundred metres wide, with Europe on one side and Asia on the other. The rising hills of Turkey were lush with southern vegetation. In the distance minarets gleamed in the sunlight. The SS
Monoway
sailed on majestically and docked at the harbour at Istanbul.

As it was feared that we might be carriers of infection we were not allowed to disembark, but the consul generals of all the countries involved boarded the ship and offered to send cables to our relatives on our behalf.

Mutti sat down and wrote to her parents and sister in Lancashire: ‘We are alive and on our way to Holland. We love you all, Fritzi and Eva'.

The Red Cross came on board to collect lists of survivors and we registered our names. We were in the first group to be released from the East and prayed Pappy and Heinz would be notified that we were safe.

In brilliant weather we left the coast of Turkey to sail through the Dardanelles, across the Mediterranean, to the South of France and the ship docked in Marseilles at noon on 27 May. We crowded on to the decks, pressing ourselves against the rails to watch as two French military bands in full regalia stood to attention and started to play the Marseillaise. It was a wonderful sight; our hearts were full, our eyes misty with emotion. We waved anything we could – mainly stolen napkins! – cheered and shouted until we were hoarse with pleasure.

As we disembarked the waiting crowd clapped their hands. However, on the boat with us was a group of munitions workers who had volunteered to work for the Germans and who were also being repatriated from the east. When they began to descend the gangway, the crowd went silent and turned their backs. I have always wondered how they knew that these people were not worthy of their applause.

Our group was received by a reception committee sitting at trestle tables on the quayside. They tried to sort out who we were and where we wanted to go. Since not everyone spoke French there was much confusion and Mutti volunteered to stay and help interpret. This time I had no qualms about being separated from her. Lorries took us to hotels where we feasted on exotic French food and bottles of wine. I drank at least three glasses, becoming very merry and afterwards very dizzy!

I was still obsessed with food and when Mutti arrived at the hotel three hours later I shouted, ‘Why have you been so long? You've missed all the food!' I was so tipsy I could hardly speak.

Mutti simply looked drained and tired.

That same evening we boarded a train with compartments, corridors and proper toilets and we travelled north towards Paris. Throughout the night we stopped every half an hour or so – at Aix-en-Provence, Avignon, every single station. At some of them gallows had been erected and straw dummies of Hitler dangled in the breeze. At every station the local population came out to greet us and gave us flowers and bottles of wine. They handed up cakes or cheeses and sticks of French bread, enough for all. Dignitaries of the town with hats and chains stood waiting on platforms while small village bands played through their brassy repertoire with cheerful disregard for anyone trying to sleep. We thought the receptions laid on by the French were magnificent and that they were all for us. It was only after we had passed through Paris and the formal ceremonials became fewer that we realized that returning French prisoners-of-war had been on the train and the welcome was for them.

Transport was still very disorganized. Throughout the next day we continued our slow progress north and the train rolled on through Belgium and finally into Holland via Maastricht. Then it stopped. It could go no further. The bridges over the rivers had all been blown up during the Nazi retreat.

About sixty of us were housed in a convent and told we would have to wait until arrangements could be finalized to get us to our homes. There was very little food available, we had no money and we few remaining souls who had suffered the indignities and terrors of the camps felt terribly let down. There was no welcome for us in Holland. We were left to our own devices and no one seemed to want to help us. The Dutch themselves had suffered great hardship, and they too were exhausted and starved. The plight of Holland and the terrible suffering they had endured contrasted starkly with the plenty we had seen in France. A lorry arrived at the convent two days later. We watched as the occupants, weak semi-starved survivors of the work camps, climbed down. Suddenly Rootje gave a piercing cry of joy and ran towards a girl who was so thin that she was able to pick her up, cradling her like a baby. Rootje carried her daughter back in her arms sobbing, ‘Judy, my Judy, my baby.' We all wept with happiness for her. It was a miraculous reunion. I just wanted it to be the same for us with Heinz and Pappy.

We had to wait for several days while pontoon bridges were erected over the rivers, then a coach was found to take us to Amsterdam. We drove across country and saw all the damage that the fighting had caused. Here and there flower fields were in bloom and, as we came to the outskirts of the city, we began to feel a rising sense of excitement.