The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (23 page)

So we waited for their next move and just spent our time thinking about what was in store for us. I was standing in the doorway of the barracks when my attention was drawn to a small boy who was reaching under the fence to pull up a rutabaga that was sticking up in the field outside the fence. This boy looked to be six or seven years old, but he was very thin, and even his neck was thin and long. I watched as he pulled the rutabaga under the fence, wiped the dirt off on his clothes, and took a bite out of it.

Just then, a Nazi soldier, who was fat and had a loud voice, came up and began to curse the little boy and called him a thief. The Nazi was carrying a large umbrella that had a curved handle, much like that of a walking cane, and the Nazi stuck out the curved handle and caught the little boy around his small neck with the handle. He began to swing the little boy around by his neck—first one way then the other way until the little boy’s feet were off the ground. The soldier was laughing and cursing, and continued to swing the little boy around and around. I saw what was happening and wanted to run over there and stop the soldier, but after my narrow escape with Nathan, I was afraid to interfere. I probably could not have done much, anyway. There were two more German soldiers that came over and ordered the soldier to stop swinging the little boy, and when he stopped swinging him, the boy just dropped to the ground. When the other soldier picked his little body up, his head was just hanging loosely, and I knew that the soldier had killed the little boy by breaking his neck.

Once again, that sick feeling came over me; this was another incident that I must carry the memories of for all my life. By this time, we didn’t know what to expect next. Every one of the prisoners was heartsick, but we were helpless to change anything. We were just hoping that we would not be the next victim.

33: Identification Patches

As soon as we arrived in the first labor camp in Kassel, Germany, we were given patches! We were given one dozen of the patches each, given out by nationality, with the Russians and Ukrainians getting the same patch—OST. We were also separated by nationality in the labor camps. The Jews were immediately put in the Yiddish camps, and the Russians and the Ukrainians were put together into East, or Russian, camps. The Jews were given patches that were in the design of the Star of David and had a blue outline with an orange center—with
Yiddish
in the center of the star. The Poles were issued a diamond-shaped patch that had a yellow center with the letter
P
in the center.

We were put behind bars in barracks that were surrounded by barbed-wire fences (some electrified) about nine to ten feet tall. The gates to the camps were guarded by SS men who had many dogs with them. There was no way possible to escape because we had to wear our patches, anyway. Every day we were marched to our places of work—some worked in factories, and some cleaned streets after the bombings. I guess the Poles had more privileges and choices than any of us. We were not allowed to be free on the streets, and of course, the stores were “off limits” to us and the Jews. Quite often, there were some prisoners who would dare to go into the stores without a patch, but when the SS caught them, the punishment was severe—being shipped to the concentration camps.

The Poles invented a kind of “black market” by trying to exchange or offer us their “P” patches—sometimes for money (but there was really no one who had money). However, they would barter for things like an umbrella or whatever we had to give up. If a prisoner had some extra bread or cheese, she might exchange it for the “P” patch. This practice lasted but a short time, because if a Jew would accept a Polish “P” patch so she could find a better place to hide from the SS men, she would be shot and killed. Sometimes, a Pole would tell the SS men that some Jew had accepted a “P” patch for a piece of jewelry or something. The SS men would take the Pole and the Jew into the field and shoot them both. The Poles soon stopped this practice after seeing what the consequences were.

No one could trust anyone! We would hang around, work, and be locked up in the camps. We were fed a rusty can of cabbage soup and a three-by-three-inch piece of bread daily. Sometimes they would take us for a walk (exercise, I guess). In the camps, people did not talk much for the first three to five months because no one knew who was a friend and who was an enemy.

Mama and I were glad that we had each other so we could talk and keep each other company.

October 1942

I no longer know what the future holds for us—for me. I know that I am no longer a child, but also not yet a woman.

Now I can only imagine what could be—but is not. I am not free, and yet not held imprisoned.

November 1942

The snow is piling up high—it looks for a moment as though we are back home—our beautiful “palace,” as I called it. Perhaps I am asleep and will awaken soon. It could be only a bad dream—I hope.

34: Labor Camp, Our First Assignment

1942

Finally the SS men told us that a group of us were being transferred to a factory in Kassel, Germany. They had all of the prisoners assemble, and they called out the names of those being transferred—Mama and I were included in the first group.

They loaded us onto trucks and took us to an
Arbeitslager,
a labor camp, in Kassel that supplied workers for a
Kartonfabrik
(carton factory). We were assigned to barracks in a large building inside a fenced-in compound, and everyone was relieved to see that we would have a bunk to sleep on. They were three-tiered bunks but were really an improvement from what we had been accustomed to! The work in the factory was not really bad; our job was to spread glue on the cartons after the machinery formed them. Mama and I had begun to have some hope that we could survive and that, when the war was over, we could make a life for ourselves.

The worst times were when we were not working—we were locked up and had nothing to do to pass the time. There were no books to read and no games (chess or checkers) to play—not even playing cards to take our mind off of our plight. I remember that Mama brought some scraps of cardboard from the factory, and she made a deck of cards with pencils and colored pencils that the man who was in charge of our camp had supplied her with. We would play simple games of cards. Mama continued to make these decks of cards until we had more than one deck to play with and the other prisoners had a chance to join in on the card games. Mama even drew kings, queens, jacks, etc., with the colored pencils, and everyone really appreciated her ingenuity and talent. During this time, we began to talk to each other more, and we began to make some friends. This helped to pass the time while we were locked up and not working at the factory. Everyone joined in sharing with others, and there was some hope that things would improve with time.

The time was getting close to Christmas, but there was no snow such as we had been used to in Russia, Ukraine, and Poland. The sun was very bright, but it was cold in Kassel at this time of the year (December). Mama was painting a picture for the Kommandant of our labor camp. He was a short, stocky civilian who, along with his family, lived in a big apartment building next to our camp. He would bring some postcard pictures and some oil paint and canvas so Mama could paint them to a larger size, and he would hang them in his apartment. We all benefited from Mama’s art talent and the beautiful work that she produced. The Kommandant would bring us some special treats occasionally—-such as onions, carrots, and oatmeal cookies. We would line up, and the lucky ones would catch something as he came into our huge room (which housed eighty to eighty-five of us prisoners). We would share the goodies with those who did not catch anything.

The windows of our barracks were barred with heavy metal bars, and as you looked out the windows, all you could see was the big red-brick wall of the apartment where some of the Germans lived. Sometimes you could hear the voices of some German children playing, and they would yell at us and make fun of us by calling us “jailbirds” and other names.

GERMAN CHILDREN •
These were children of the German officers who ran the camps. German children had many advantages over the children in the cold barracks—food, clothing, playgrounds. Some camps even built zoos for the German officials’ children.

We were marched from the camp every morning at 5:00 a.m. to the factory, which was about two miles away, always guarded by the SS men and their dogs. Then they would watch us while we worked at the tables putting glue on the paper and making different sizes of cartons. Every day, they would count how many cartons each person made (like it was a contest). Those who made the biggest pile of cartons were awarded with an extra bowl of cabbage soup or an extra piece of bread. Therefore, we all worked our fingers and hands as fast as we could. We would exchange greetings as we came into work by saying “Heil Hitler” to anyone that we passed by, following the custom obediently because we knew that we were being watched closely. This custom was like worshiping the Führer as God, and if we didn’t say “Heil Hitler,” we were punished by not getting any food for that day—so we all followed this custom very closely.

HITLER SALUTE •
Eastern laborers were required to respectfully greet the Germans, but the actual salute was required of only the Germans themselves.

December 1942

We are always looking out the windows through bars—why these bars when no one can go anywhere through the locked gates?

The dogs are watching—the soldiers are walking restlessly, and they look so cold! Wonder if they wish they could trade places with us who are behind these barred windows. What do they really believe in? Do they really think that
Hitler
can conquer this world? It will never happen!

It is almost Christmas—my thoughts are wandering back to the Christmas of 1932, which I spent at Grandmother’s Great House in the village. I remember the sleigh ride with all of us piled up in the sleigh. I am fifteen years old—has it really been ten years since that beautiful time?

I really miss Grandmother. Wonder what happened to her when the Russians came back. Who lives in our beautiful house? Who picks the fruit from our orchards?

When December 24 came, which happened to be Mama’s birthday, everyone wanted to celebrate Christmas. Mama had just finished one of Herr Schuller’s paintings, and it was still wet when she rang the bell for him to come and get it. We told him that we wanted him to have it as a Christmas gift, and he was quite touched when he saw that beautiful painting.

HERR SCHULLER •
Presumably, Nonna refers to the Kommandant here.

He came back with a big bag of large tea cookies that his wife had baked. He gave everyone a cookie, and we were all touched by his generosity. We asked him to find us a small branch (there was no hope for a real pine tree). He found us a small branch that did resemble a tree, and it smelled like pine. He also brought us some colored construction paper and some glue, and we all sat around making a chain out of paper. We also cut out some snowflakes and made an angel to put on top of the “tree.” We hung some pieces of cookies from the tree—then, in several languages (Polish, Russian, Ukrainian, and some others, like Latvian), we sang some carols. There was a little Christmas in each of us, but our celebrations didn’t last long before the German guards pounded on our locked door and yelled for us to be quiet. We were happy that we did get to celebrate the Baby Jesus’ birthday—however short the party had lasted. After Christmas, we were ready to march back to the factory, and none of us knew what the next day would bring!