Fragmento. © Reproducción autorizada. Todos los derechos reservados.

The Tears of War

By Ingeborg E. Ryals

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Ingeborg E. Ryals
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3273-7

Chapter One

The beginning of the war brought few changes to our way of life. We continued to work the land, celebrate weddings, welcome the birth of a child, and send the deceased off on their last journey. But gradually we were beginning to feel the effects of the war as it began to encroach upon and change our way of life. Daily, the radio programs were repeatedly interrupted with special reports that brought us the latest news bulletins from the front lines, recounting the victorious feats of our troops. At day's end, the station always concluded its broadcast with a popular vocalist, Lale Anderson, singing "Lili Marlene" in her deep, throaty voice. It was a very nostalgic song that was reminiscent of the time. It was the song of a soldier late at night bidding his ladylove good-bye, under a lamppost in front of his casern, before going off to war. She promises to wait at the same place, same time, under the lamppost for his return.

It was my mother, Anna's, favorite song. Every evening she listened to it faithfully before turning off the radio and retiring for the night. She was a slender woman with fine facial features and was of medium height. Her shoulder-length hair was not one of her better features. It was very fine and did not take well to perms, which always left her hair in a somewhat frizzy state. I think she would have looked far more attractive if she had let her hair grow out, braided it, and gathered it up in a bun, but perms were all the rage then. Long, braided hair was on the way out. Therefore, my mother continued with her frizzy hairstyle. She had a mellow personality and was slow to anger, but if you really tried her patience, then her temperamental side emerged. Once when an ornery old neighbor provoked her to no end, she all but smacked him over the head with a broomstick.

Life in the village was a lonely one for her. Now in her thirties, on rare occasions she would attend a dance in one of the neighboring villages. It was a far cry from the big city life she had become accustomed to in her early twenties when she followed her older sister to Berlin. Neither of them had wanted to stay in the village and marry a farmer. Instead, both of them moved to the big city and went to work for an electronics firm.

She eventually met and fell in love with my father, a dashing army officer. I am sure she thought they would live happily ever after, but soon after I was born, her mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer, an incurable illness. Since there was no one to look after her needs, she volunteered to move temporarily back to the village to take care of her while my father, of course, had to stay with his army unit in Berlin. We traveled back and forth to see my father, but after my brother Kurt was born, the trips to Berlin became less frequent. My grandmother was bedridden by then and had to be cared for around the clock. By the time she passed away at home at the age of sixty-two, my mother almost devoted two years of her life to her mother's care.

The long separation ultimately took a toll on my parents' relationship. After seeing my father a few more times in Berlin, they separated and went their own ways. Though he continued to support us, we had very little contact with him. After the age of five, I saw very little of my father. My mother decided to stay on in the village where she had grown up. I guess it was of some comfort to live out her days among the people she had known all of her life instead of in the big city among strangers. I am sure single motherhood was not the kind of life she had once envisioned, but life can be very unforgiving sometimes, and the choices we make while young tend to have far-reaching consequences.

At the age of thirty-six, her social life was very limited until she met a very nice young man named Ernst at a local dance. After a courtship of several months, they eventually got married. By the time their son Gerhardt was born, in January of 1941, Ernst had already been drafted at the age of thirty-nine and gone off to war. There was hardly an able-bodied man left in the village. Almost every man had been drafted. Some of them were wounded or missing in action, while others had lost their lives on the battlefield. Many people wore black those days, the color of mourning.

Chapter Two

As the war continued, we were issued ration cards for certain commodities, but since we lived in a farm region, food was plentiful, especially fresh vegetables, meat, and dairy products.

The government brought in forced labor from countries occupied by our troops, mainly France, Russia, and Poland. We desperately needed help with our farm work since most of our men were off fighting this dreadful war. The farmer provided room and board, but the workers received no compensation. Since their movements were not restricted, they were allowed to mingle freely with their fellow countrymen on evenings and Sundays after work. They seemed to adapt well to their new way of life, even playing games with the local children in their free time; however, a few ladies in the next village were a little too friendly with the charming, good-looking Frenchmen and promptly had their locks shaved off as punishment. It was frowned upon for women to socialize with them on an intimate basis.

Most of our best horses were gone, confiscated by the government to replace those lost in battle. Usually on short notice, cavalry officers in their smart-looking uniforms and polished boots showed up at our village, where the farmers had been instructed to gather at the schoolhouse with their prized horses. The animals underwent a thorough examination before they were selected for military service. In the end, the farmers were left with a few sway-backed mares and young colts. It was a real hardship on them since most of the heavy work, like plowing and tilling the land, was still done by horse-drawn machinery.

It would even affect our little volunteer fire department, which solely consisted of a horse-drawn wagon outfitted with a large tank. Parallel handlebars were attached to each end of the tank. It was so antiquated that it still had to be manually operated. In teams of three, the men positioned themselves at the front and back end of the tank, taking hold of the handlebars and moving them in rapid succession up and down. This created sufficient pressure to force the water out of the tank and into the attached hose. Since the mayor had the only telephone in the village, each volunteer had to be notified individually in case of a fire. By the time they had all assembled, hitched the horses to the wagon, filled the tank with water, and rushed to the site of the fire, in most instances, the volunteers arrived to find the building already consumed by the flames. One tank of water was of little help in a roaring blaze.

Such was the case when lightning struck Herr Bock's barn. Since it was filled with hay and straw, the fire spread rapidly. All efforts failed to save the barn and its contents, including a large pig that Herr Bock was fattening up over the summer to butcher in the fall. Most of our fires were caused by lightning strikes in the summer months. The thunderstorms were often quite severe. At times, we could hear the rumbling of thunder throughout the night.

On the outskirts of the next village, rows of single-story barracks were constructed out of wood with concrete flooring. The buildings were in stark contrast to the quaint, old dwellings of yesteryear, many of them built of brick and stone and some still with thatched roofs. The little compound was soon swarming with college-age girls from all walks of life. The majority of them were city girls in their late teens or early twenties who were pressed into service by the government to help with the farm work. Upon arrival they were issued uniforms and had to adapt to a very regimented life. Their manicured, pampered hands were soon a sight from working days on end in the fields or doing the various chores the farmers required of them. It was a far cry from the sheltered life they had enjoyed in the city, but no one dared to complain. All of them did as they were told. Each farmer most likely had to relinquish part of his crop to compensate the government for the help that was rendered.

There was not much in the way of entertainment for the young people. Dancing was prohibited, but we occasionally walked to the next village to see a movie. Even with the ongoing war, some of the old traditions still endured, like Herr Boerner and his clarinet. Every year on the first of May, we were awakened in the early morning hours by the sounds of a clarinet. For Herr Boerner, our neighbor, it had been a longstanding tradition to get up at the crack of dawn, walk to the middle of the road, and serenade the villagers with a May Day song on his clarinet. He was a tall, husky man with slightly stooped shoulders and a weathered face that was lined with wrinkles. In his younger days, he played on weekends in a small band whenever there was a dance in one of the surrounding villages, while during the week he toiled from dawn to dusk on his small farm. Ever since I could remember, he played the very same tune every first of May, but time marches on and he was getting on in years. As with all things in life, everything comes to an end. Old customs fade away, and so eventually would Herr Boerner and his beloved clarinet.

One of the numerous meadows that dotted the landscape had been converted into a small airstrip where pilots from the German Luftwaffe practiced takeoffs and landings daily. At night, they usually converged on the local pubs to cap off the day with a few drinks. At times, the music and singing continued far into the night. They were often joined by some of the local girls who had to sneak out of the house to join the merriment while their strict, old-fashioned parents thought they were safely tucked away in their beds. With so many handsome airmen around, it was just too tempting for the girls to pass up an evening of fun and perhaps meet the love of their life.

Chapter Three

Hardly any of the residents in our village concerned themselves with politics. A few of the men, including the mayor and the teacher, belonged to the National Socialist German Workers' Party (Nazi Party). I think they joined more or less to pacify the party officials at county headquarters than out of loyalty to Hitler. We never saw them in their easily recognizable uniforms. The farmers would much rather spend their time talking about the weather, their livestock, or what their next harvest might yield. However, all boys and girls were required to join one of Hitler's youth groups (Hitler Jugend). Most young people worked on the family farm after school and had little time for meetings. However, when we did have a get together, it was, more of a social event than a party function. As children, we saw it as an excuse to play and have fun.

Once, at the age of twelve, I was asked to host a meeting at the local school. My mother baked a cake for the occasion, but the meeting soon took on a party atmosphere. It began by playing games of tag and chasing each other around the room, over and under desks, making so much noise that the teacher, whose living quarters adjoined the school, suddenly appeared at the door and gave us a good tongue-lashing. It was not much of a meeting, but all of us had a jolly good time. Once a year, in one of the neighboring villages, sporting events were held by the Hitler Youth. For the two-day event, we were housed in a farmer's barn and had to furnish our own food. There was a lot of camaraderie, but there also was a great deal of competition for the much sought-after medals that were handed out to the winners at the closing ceremonies.

Rumors of discrimination began to circulate against certain minority groups; primarily people of the Jewish faith became their target. In the neighboring village, where we did most of our shopping, a Jewish merchant owned and operated a successful textile store for many years. Everyone from the surrounding villages shopped at his store. All of us were stunned when we heard the news that one night someone had smashed the large display windows at his store. He and his family had lived peacefully among us for many years. They were a part of our community. In the past, I often saw their two teenage girls but was not personally acquainted with them. They always looked so well groomed and fashionably dressed. Soon after the store was vandalized, I never saw them again and often wondered what eventually happened to them. Also, while visiting my aunt in Berlin, I noticed Jewish people wearing the yellow Star of David on their clothing. It was sad to see a certain group of people ostracized for their religious beliefs and especially see each young child walking around with a big yellow star attached to his or her outer garments.

By the spring of 1944, the war was coming closer with each passing day as our troops were retreating on all fronts and, for the first time, the Soviet Army was becoming a real threat to our eastern provinces. By now, hardly anyone had not been touched by tragedy relating to this war.

Three young men, our neighbors, returned home injured, each having lost the use of a leg. Two others never returned home at all, and we did not know what ever happened to them. Their families were devastated at not knowing.

In May of 1944, we received the sad news that my twenty-three-year-old cousin, Herbert, an airman stationed in East Prussia, had perished in a plane crash along with the rest of his crew. He was on one of his last training flights when, for unexplained reasons, his plane exploded in midair, killing everyone onboard. His plane was manned with combat-ready crews that had just finished months of intense training. We were told that his body would not be sent home, but instead he would be buried in a military cemetery close to the air base. He was an only child and would be greatly missed by all of us.

Chapter Four

With the German army retreating, scores of young people were shipped to the eastern part of the country in June of 1944 to build trenches behind the front lines. It was like soldiers going off to war. Their departure was always a tearful one, especially for the parents. Having just turned fifteen, it would only be a matter of time before I was called. When the mayor appeared at our door a few days later, we knew that it was not a social call; it was my turn to go.

The next day I was on a train with a group of other young people heading toward the eastern part of the country. Despite the seriousness of our mission, which was mandatory, a somewhat lighthearted atmosphere prevailed. No one was fearful or apprehensive. Instead, in our naiveté we viewed it more as an adventure. For most of us, it was our first time away from home for any length of time. A few cigarettes were passed around. We took our first puffs and felt really grown up. Edith, the mayor's daughter and my friend, also had to go. We played together, went to school together, and at times got into trouble together. Now we embarked on a new adventure together.

It was late afternoon when we finally arrived at our destination and were immediately bussed to a large country estate in the eastern part of Pomerania near the Polish border. The loft of a large barn would be our home for the next few months. The horses stabled below made the whole place reek of farm animals. Our mattress consisted of a one-foot layer of straw plus blankets we had brought from home to keep us warm. It was by no means luxurious, but for the time being it would have to do. The bathroom facility left a lot to be desired as well. Two beams were spread over an open pit: one to sit on and the other one, positioned somewhat higher and farther back, to serve as a back support. A privacy fence surrounded this makeshift arrangement, but there was no roof to shield us from the elements.

For personal hygiene, we had only a couple of outside faucets at our disposal. Mornings and afternoons, it was going to be bedlam when everyone had to line up to brush their teeth or wash off a day's worth of dust and perspiration.

After we settled in, we were ready to explore our new surroundings and were pleasantly surprised to discover a small lake within walking distance of the estate. After the long train ride, the water looked cool and inviting, but no one thought to bring a bathing suit along. Since the lake was partly surrounded by trees and there were only girls present, we all decided to go swimming au naturel. A shepherd with his flock of sheep passed by and stared at us in disbelief, probably wondering where all these young maidens suddenly had come from. After regaining his composure, he waved at us and continued on his way while we enjoyed a good laugh.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Tears of Warby Ingeborg E. Ryals Copyright © 2012 by Ingeborg E. Ryals. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.