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Living through World War II in Germany
by Margarete Kuring
I was born and grew up in a defeated Germany. The first defeat was after World War I – “the war to end all wars,” which killed ten million people. Under the terms of the Versailles Treaty, which ended the war, Germany suffered harsh reparations. Hardships multiplied.
Then the worldwide Great Depression made things desperate. The German currency, the mark, became so valueless that it took a wheelbarrow full of them to buy a newspaper. And Germans were still angry about the humiliating settlement at the end of the war.
I was too young to remember much about the earlier years of this period. Our home was a Christian home and we were mostly sheltered from the harsh outside. Having eight siblings, we had enough playmates and did not need outside friends. Also, I attended the only parochial school among our small group of independent Lutheran congregations, and did not have classmates living in my neighborhood.
The 1930’s
Before Adolph Hitler came to power there were several different groups and labor organizations which wanted to raise the standard of living for the common people. Each group had their own flag and songs. At the different rallies these were sung and we kids picked up on the catchy tunes.
Once in a while my older brother played with us younger children. He decided who got to play what roles. I remember that we played and marched between printing presses of my father’s small publishing house on Saturday or Sunday afternoon when no one was working there. We youngest ones always had to be the Communists. I even remember the song “The Internationale,” and can still sing it:
Brüder hört die Signale
Auf zum letzten Gefecht
Die Dritte Internationale
erkämpft das Menschenrecht.
We did not know what all that meant. The older ones were always the Nazis or police and came with make-believe rubber truncheons to disperse us and we all ran away.
In 1933 Hitler came to power, promising to restore the nation to its greatness. He was going to build the “Thousand Year Reich” for Germany. Little did we know it, but from the beginning Hitler prepared for war.
Millions of people were unemployed, hungry and homeless. Hitler started building a big system of highways, the autobahn. Everybody was needed and got a job, and was paid for it. Those who did not work on the highway project were sent to farms to help with the farm work.
Very large groups of people were used in the “Arbeits Dienst” (Work Service), including not only men but also women and teenagers. It was something like the Boy Scouts here. I don’t think they got paid for it. My middle brother and my one-year-older sister were in one of these groups for six months each. We all had to do that or something similar.
I worked one year in one of the church’s orphanages, in the Black Forest. I got $10.00 a month pocket money and did not get home the whole twelve months. Others worked in factories. Life in general began to improve, since everyone got a job, and thus had money to spend.
Big families were encouraged, even rewarded. My mother had nine children and received a “Gold Cross for Mothers.” Children were sent to vacation homes or places with free train rides. I, for instance, was sent for four weeks to a health spa as a ten or twelve-year-old because of my “poor blood.”
Daycare centers were started so mothers could work. Vacation retreats sprang up with the motto, “Kraft durch Freude,” which means power through relaxation or fun. Railroad tickets were affordable; big families received discounts. Even so, our entire family never vacationed together; there were too many of us. We were split up, just a few of us going at any one time.
Preparations for War
Before the start of the war we had air raid drills and we prepared shelters. The dwellings in the cities were big stone apartment buildings. I did not know anyone who owned a detached house. Each building had cellars for storing coal, potatoes, canned goods and fruits; even milk, butter and meat. No refrigerators. No elevators. Each family had a little locked-up space in the cellar as a storage place. In most cases shelters were created in the coal cellar. The coal was shoveled to one corner. No one had enough coal anyway.
Shelters were prepared next to the thickest stone wall. If possible, cots were set up. Also there were pails with sand to fight fire, drinking water, first aid kits and tools to dig through rubble to free people.
The fear of a gas war was ever present. There were to be gas masks for all present. Putting on these masks had to be practiced at regular intervals. They had to fit air tight around the face.
I was performing my year of work service at the orphanage when the war began.
The Start of World War II
In 1938 Hitler started invading several countries and enlarging the borders of Germany all around. In 1939 war was declared on Poland – the Blitzkrieg – and was over in one month. In the beginning the Germans were the victorious ones and we had no war effects in the country itself. The worst was yet to come.
Wartime Blackouts
Very early in the war all windows and doors had to be blacked out. When evening came, no light was to be seen from the street outside. Everyone learned never to turn on a light switch without making sure the windows were all covered. Since hardly anyone owned a car, there were no traffic lights. During an air raid alarm all public transportation stopped. No one was allowed on the streets.
We were able to go out by night when there was no air raid. If an air raid alarm came while we were away from home we had to go to the nearest shelter. Several public ones were spread throughout the city and were clearly marked.
At that time luminous patches came into being. Before we went out into the dark streets we held these under a burning light before pinning one to our outer garment. All you saw coming towards you was that small glow. Often we called out “Who is coming there?” in case it might be someone we knew.
I lived in Zwickau, in the middle of Germany, and we had no air raids at first, but planes flew over us and we could hear the hum of their approach and see the big searchlights scanning the sky.
Rationing
The biggest problem was food rationing. To go to a store or restaurant, or even visit someone for a meal, one had to have his ration card along. Of course, fuel such as coal or wood for heating or cooking was also rationed. As times became desperate the stores often ran out. If you ever were lucky to find eggs, you might get one single one or maybe two. Mothers started making “scrambled eggs” with flour and skim milk. Soap and laundry detergent, toilet paper and the like all were rationed. Clothes, especially shoes, were seldom available.
Stores started to board up the windows and only left a very small display area open. What a good chance for propaganda! Signs were given to each store and the owner could not refuse them. For example: “USA planes are dropping potato bugs on our fields to destroy our harvest.”
What was learned during the Depression was now strongly re-enforced. Recycle, recycle, recycle! Everything! Not a scrap of paper was wasted. Food scraps (if there were any) were collected to feed the pigs.
When we went to the store, we had to take some kind of container along for loose goods like rice, noodles, beans, sugar, etc. The store owner had nothing to put these in. Even raw meat was only wrapped in newspaper if we did not have a plate or bowl along to put it into.
No clothes were thrown out. Often they were cut apart and maybe even turned inside out to make something new. There were no more silk stockings for ladies. Women did not wear slacks or pants, so to pretend that they were wearing stockings they lathered their legs with suntan lotion or make-up. An eyeliner was used on the back of the legs to indicate the black seams of stockings. That was high fashion at that time. Women were judged by how “straight” they could put on stockings or, later, fool people by the black line down the middle of the legs.
Everyone carried some sort of collecting bag. I was reminded of this these last windy days here in Tennessee. My yard was littered with small branches or twigs from the woods around my house. I picked them all up by hand and put them back into the woods. During the war we needed each little piece to help heat our stove or ovens. Amazing what a difference a handful of dry branches could make.
Besides the power failure after an air raid, we also had special times when power was shut off in different sections of the city for several hours each day. At that time no one had many electrical appliances, consequently this was not such a big concern for us common people, but inconvenient nevertheless. During the daytime, power was mostly supplied to factories and businesses.
Food Preparation
Anyone who had to cook became very creative. Recipes were shared and new ideas developed. When we had potatoes, these were served in many different ways. Even the peels were used. They were dried and used as French fries. Of course, we did not have any kind of fat to spare to do that. With just a thin film of some lard or fat, the peels were quickly browned on all sides. Then a little cold, black ersatz coffee (made from grain) was added, and we “fried” them as fried chips. The so-called coffee made them look a little brown. Real coffee was an unattainable luxury.
Cabbage, carrots, onions, and all kinds of root vegetables were usually available. In my childhood we ate red beets and root celery only as a sweet-sour salad, and liked it. But the cooked versions were not liked very much. Since the red beets were so sweet and sugar was also very scarce we made jam from them. I got sick and tired of cooked red beets and never wanted to eat any again.
We also had no peanut butter. The first time I got to taste some was after the war. A friend’s family had received a care package from the U.S.A. with some in it. No one knew what to do with it. Finally someone found out that it was a bread spread. Not everyone liked it.
We rarely had fruits or candy during the war. Apples, pears, peaches, plums and different berries were available in season, but city folks did not get much of it.
No one baked their own bread. We had bakeries everywhere for that. The bread became darker and heavier as the war went on. One really had to chew the bread. To stretch the flour, more fiber was added. When I was new in the U.S.A. I could not find bread. When I asked the grocer: “Don’t you have any bread?” the grocery people looked at me as if I were crazy – I was standing in front of these rows upon rows of this so-called sandwich bread. I took a loaf and squeezed it and said: “This is bread?” But I felt guilty for having squashed it and bought it anyway. Don’t know how I ate it. I surely could not spread anything on it.
Bombing Comes to Zwickau
As the war progressed more and more cities were targeted with bombs, and we also had bombing in Zwickau. At first no one took the alarms seriously. One time I decided to just stay in bed and sleep through it. My brother-in-law aroused me angrily. He and my sister lived in the same building. Each air raid shelter had one person responsible for all the inhabitants of the building and they had to take a head count. If a building was hit and destroyed a search began for all. I just said: “I don’t care if I die.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but you are also endangering everyone who will have to look for you.”
The raids increased and also came during daytime. Near the end of the war, when people knew Germany would lose, people were saying, “What will we do with all the time we will have without having to go to the shelter?” As it turned out this “shelter time” was replaced after the war by standing in long queues to try to get some food.
Casualties
The war, of course, brought much sorrow to many people. My sister’s building where she had an apartment, was hit by a bomb and she had to find a new place to live.
Two of my brothers who were soldiers became war casualties. One received a shot in his kidney from enemy fire in Egypt in 1942. He was too ill to be transported to a real hospital. He died after two weeks in a “field lazarett,” a sickbay, most likely only a tent. A chaplain wrote to my parents from there and sent a photo of the grave and the few belongings my brother had on him.
The youngest of my brothers was killed instantly during the withdrawal from the Eastern front just days before the end of the war. No notification of any kind was given, no grave site. Much later, he was just declared dead. Until then my parents still had a glimmer of hope that he might come back.
When a family member died we received a special coupon to buy a black dress, or black material to sew one. We wore that same dress for half a year; the mother or wife wore black for two years.
One of my brothers-in-law was killed early, a few days after the march into Russia in 1941. Another was reported missing in Russia two weeks before his first child was born. No details there either. After many years he was officially declared dead. The other men in my family came home with varying degrees of injury.
My oldest brother was a POW in Russia for many years. We did not hear from him for the longest time. When he finally was permitted to write it was on an open card and he could use only twenty-five words. An answering card was attached to it and his wife could answer back with twenty-five words. Oftentimes words or whole sentences were censored and blacked out.
He only returned home in February, 1948, a sick and broken man. The doctor gave him four to six months to live. The Lord had other plans; he lived until 2001.
Refugees
The early months of 1944 brought the allies from all sides squeezing the German people together in the bombed-out cities. Now even living quarters were rationed. Already displaced people from the bombed-out cities had take up spare rooms, mostly with relatives or on some farm. When the refugees from the east came flooding in these people also had to be housed somewhere.
The rationing of living quarters went by square feet, not rooms. They had lost everything and were glad to have a roof over their head, but not all went smoothly, mainly due to the short supply of everything. All had to stand in line for hours to get just a few things. The refugees did not know any of the grocers and the citizens who had shopped these stores all their lives sometimes received a few items under the counter. Then at home, in the shared kitchen, one did not want to let on that they got an extra egg, or some sausage, etc. Also, the refugees’ living conditions and habits were often completely different from the family living there.
My parents had to take in a family of three. All the children were already married or gone and there were bedrooms empty. A grandmother, mother, and one-year-old baby from the German part of Poland came to live with us. Both of their men were dead or war casualties. They were given one small bedroom, and kitchen and living room privileges. Later on another bedroom was made into a little kitchenette and they could cook their own meager meals there.
The End Nears
By that time I was not living at my parents’ home anymore. After my “work service” year I went to nurses’ training in Chemnitz. After that I worked for several years as a private nurse in family homes, taking care of newly-delivered mothers and their children. I usually stayed in one household between six to ten weeks and then moved on. Sometimes I came back to the same family when a second or third child was born.
This took me to several different cities – Reichenbach, Voigtland, Berlin, Freiburg, Zwickau, Moers in the Rhineland, Dresden, Chemnitz and at the end of the war with a family from Zwickau who had gone to their vacation home in the mountains. In Berlin and Dresden there were heavy air raids while I was there. The young family I stayed with in Dresden decided to flee the city after Leipzig was bombed pretty heavily. The husband was an officer on the Russian front. I went with the young mother and her two young children and we stayed at a hotel in Bad Schandau, in what is called the “Saxon Switzerland.”
At that time no one received news about the actions of the war or heard from the soldiers. They in turn never received official news about which city was bombed or even leveled to the ground.
Towards the end of the war people started saying, “It is terrible but will be worse after the war.” Too many people remembered the defeat of 1918.
Having written about all these times I realize how terrible they were. I used to think or say I did not have to suffer so much. But looking at it on paper, it looks very bad or even extremely tragic. It was a terrible time for common people.
Praise to the Lord, who o’er all things is wondrously reigning.
And as on wings of an eagle, uplifting, sustaining.
Have you not seen all that is needful has been
Sent by His gracious ordaining?
– Catherine Winkworth, 1829-1878
Being in – And Sneaking out of – East Germany
by Margarete Kuring
In Saxony the war ended in May, 1945, and we were occupied by American Forces. Everybody breathed a sign of relief and things started getting better immediately. My father was especially pleased that he was able to get paper again for his Christian Publishing House with help from the Concordia Publishing House in St. Louis, Missouri.
Although we still had ration cards, we could get food again. And the kids were happy about chocolates and fresh fruits. Some never had seen an orange or banana before. What a shock when the four victors made a deal and gave our region of Germany to the Russians in exchange for highway access into Berlin. On the 1st of July in 1945 the Western forces pulled back and the Russians took over. That is when we became East Germany and lived under Communism. Everything went downhill from that day onward.
Large parcels of Germany’s pre-war territory were cut off and given back mainly to East European nations. The remainder was divided into four occupied zones: Russian, British, French and American.
In the Western zones pretty soon things became better. Not so under Russian rule. Russia, like Germany, had suffered terribly during the war years. The Russians needed to rebuild, and, of course, German forced labor was used for it. The best “brains” were taken to Russia and often family members never heard from them again. Whatever was built or grown at home went first as reparations to Russia. We still used ration cards, but often the little bit that was allotted was not available for us.
What was even more terrible than the physical hunger was the oppression of mind and soul. One was never safe from being watched or spied on. My father always warned us of people listening in on our conversations anywhere. One did not dare make any comments against the occupying forces or party members.
We were not actually forbidden to attend church services, but life as a Christian was made very difficult, especially for the younger generation.
Whatever work one wanted to do, the first question always was, “Are you a Party member?” As a Christian you would want to mark “No.” Immediately your application was put at the bottom of the pile and never considered. For high school students this meant that they could not go on to higher education even if they had the knowledge or gifts to do so.
In the public schools students were asked, “Who is going to be confirmed this year?” It took quite some nerve for the young ones to admit it and stand up for their faith. I know personally of my nephew and one other classmate who admitted to confirmation, and were called up in front of the class and ridiculed by the teacher, who said that they and their parents were against the progressive Communist rules.
Not very many fourteen or fifteen-year-olds were willing to go through an experience like that. One of my nieces wanted to be a physician but was not allowed to attend medical school. She had to go to a trade school instead and after that was given permission to be just a midwife, although the medical profession was way understaffed.
We all had to carry an identification card called a Kennkarte. It had your photo, your fingerprints, a record of any infractions, and every change of residence. You could always be tracked.
Our stores had hardly any merchandise. Most store windows were boarded up or reduced in size. The few items available would be snatched up before the store owner could put them on display, so in order to have a display sample, the goods would go in the window with a “Sold” sign on them.
Since food and goods were so rare most store windows were used for propaganda posters. One time when we were walking by a specially anti-American one I shook my head and said to my girl friend, “Who can believe something like that?”
She pulled me aside, very upset, and asked, “Are you crazy?” Just then we had to cross a street and had to wait for traffic to let us cross. No sooner had we stopped than a man in civilian clothes came up to us, turned his lapel to reveal his policeman’s badge. He asked for my Kennkarte.
I asked, “Why, what did I do wrong?”
He said, “What did you say when you looked at that display?”
I replied, “I don’t know. Why?” Of course I had to give him all my identification, including where I worked, lived, etc.
“You will hear from us,” he said, and with that dire warning left us.
At that time I was working as a pediatric nurse in a hospital and was now afraid of any phone calls. Weeks went by and I had almost forgotten about that unpleasant incident. One day I answered the phone and the voice on the other end said, “This is police officer Miller,” and I almost dropped the phone. As it turned out, he was the father of one of my sick newborn babies. All he wanted was information on the health of his little one.
Children in school, especially in the lower grades, were often asked, “What did you see or hear last night on your radio or television?” If children mentioned any program which was from the West, the parents would be checked, warned, or even fined.
Russian GI’s were around as guards, and they carried shouldered bayonet or gun. They spoke no German and we no Russian. School children now had to start learning this strange language already in the first grade, and the parents couldn’t help because they didn’t know it.
There was no socializing. But jokes were passed around with glee. Many of the common soldiers came from very undeveloped areas. Many had never seen an indoor bathroom. It was said that the soldiers enjoyed the flushing so much that they wanted to wash potatoes in the toilet. What a surprise when the potatoes went down with the water.
Another one was: If the Russians would cross bedbugs with lightning bugs they would have enough electricity for all homes.
In the beginning there was only an imaginary border between East and West Germany, but because many people tried to go to the West, soon a ten-mile-wide strip of no-man’s-land was created and watchtowers erected.
Crossing the English, French and American borders was easy. As long as one had the Kennkarte with him there usually were no difficulties at the checkpoints.
But crossing from the Russian zone was not easy. One needed a special visa. Seniors over sixty-five were sometimes given a visa to leave for a visit with family members “over there.” If they then chose not to return home, they lost their retirement pay and any valuables they had left behind. Young people especially were seldom able to receive a visa, and if families wanted to go outside the Russian zone for a funeral or other important event, one of the family did not get a visa. Usually the husband had to stay behind if he was still a working man.
On both sides of the border were checkpoints. Each car, truck, bus, or train was stopped for border control. Visa, ID card and luggage were checked thoroughly. It could take hours. One was not allowed to leave the train or checkpoint area. No one took such pains in checking everybody and every piece of luggage and handbag as the Russian or East German border guards. Only after the train was behind the western checkpoint was a sigh of relief breathed by everyone and people dared to talk again. Each trip was a nerve-racking adventure and no one could tell when you would reach your destination.
Except for official “Inter-Trains” all trains ended before that strip of no-man’s land. Since it was so difficult to acquire a visa and the reports about the “Golden West” were so glowing, thousands of people tried to cross the border illegally. We called it “Schwarz über die Grüne Grenze.” (Literally, “Black over the green border.”) Whoever was able and had opportunity tried to leave illegally. These were mostly single individuals since it would have been more difficult to get across unnoticed as a group.
In 1946 or 1947 our small Lutheran Free Church held a youth gathering in West Germany. We East Germans did not want to be left out so we banded together in small groups with one or two leaders who had made such a trip before and had not been caught. We got as close to the border as possible by train and then walked, trying to stay quiet and spread out in thin lines.
At one time, while walking along an unused railroad track, a group of youths tried to stop us and scare us. But they were not really official border guards and let us through. We arrived safely in Hankensbuettel, the gathering place. No one had expected many East Germans, so tents had to be put up to give every one a sleeping place. This did not dampen our enthusiasm and we all had a good time.
This was my first crossing. I tried several times more. Twice I made it both ways but it always took a lot of guts and my heart was beating furiously.
The first time I convinced my girlfriend Hilde to come along, reluctantly. Sure enough, we got caught. Ever since then she has disliked pine trees – there was too much open space between the tree trunks and we were seen by guards. We had to pay a fine, an official stamp was put in our Kennkarte and we had to go back.
It was supposed to be our vacation. Did we really want to go home now? We decided to head for Berlin. Everything in Berlin was still in ruins and there were no hotel rooms available. I had several relatives there and thought maybe we could find a place to stay for a few nights. My cousin did take us in and let us sleep on the living room couch. Only when we left did I find out that the couch was the couple’s bed. I do not know where they slept those two nights.
I wanted to go to the “Golden West” so later I tried again, alone. With only a small backpack I was on my way to the no-man’s-land. Off I went, inwardly praying, “Lord, please protect me. Yes, I know I am doing something which is against the law. But Lord, you understand, don’t you?”
Oh dear, how empty the place was. I had forgotten how far I had to walk from the last train stop. No bush or tree or anything to hide behind. But now that I was this far, I had to go on. The weather was nice, the sun was shining and I marched quietly along singing within myself.
It did not take very long before I heard someone shouting behind me. I knew it was meant for me but I tried to ignore it. A Russian soldier with a gun over his shoulder tapped me on my back and started scolding me in Russian. I did not understand a word he was saying and he did not know German but we both knew what was going on.
He marched me back to his post where my papers were taken from me and I was put into an empty room. The only thing in there was a bare, dirty mattress on the floor. The door had a lock on the inside and I locked myself in. What will be next? After my long day and walk I was tired. I put my raincoat on the mattress and laid down.
I must have fallen asleep. Suddenly there was a loud noise outside, footsteps running back and forth. There was a rattling on my door. I was leaning against it on the inside and praying really hard again. No one forced the door open and all became quiet again. It was still dark and I did not know what to do.
As soon as daylight came I ventured out to find a bathroom. I had no idea where to find one or how to ask for it. The Russians were still around and one finally took me to an outhouse where he paraded up and down in front of it while I was inside. The door was broken and could not be shut properly, leaving an opening. My innards reacted with diarrhea as they always do when I am excited.
Afterwards the guards made me clean the whole command post from top to bottom. A pail without a handle and a long stick with one small one fastened crosswise on its end was handed to me. I was told to get water in the river Wartha and get busy. The rag was an old potato sack which absorbed no moisture. It didn’t make a difference because the floors were only raw wood.
I did the most “wonderful” sloppy job. I dipped the so-called broom with the rag into the water and just mopped back and forth without ever getting my hands wet. One time a soldier came by and made me understand that I had to get fresh water. Mine was almost gone and surely very dirty.
In the meantime I had found out what all the commotion was during the night. They had captured more Germans and wanted to put them into my holding room. By noon there were about ten or twelve people and we were taken to the big command post in the next town. Again all the women had to clean the building. This time my pail had a handle, but also a hole in its side, which was stopped up with an old rag. At least I was not alone anymore and we talked about our experiences. It was almost evening when we received out papers back and paid a fine.
I went home after that experience and did not try an illegal crossing again.
When I finally left East Germany I crossed over in Berlin, in 1952. The wall was not yet erected and one could even go between the different sectors with public transportation – buses, subway, or even taxis if one had the money. There were many checkpoints but as long as one did not smuggle anything, one was free to go from one sector to the other, always with the understanding that we were supposed to come back where we “belonged” – “The Russian Paradise” as we all called our sad place to live.
I went to Berlin to help my aunt pack her belongings. She lived in the Russian sector, but since she was an old lady, widowed, and had no job or children living near, she received permission to move to her married daughter’s home in Stuttgart, and I had permission to go to Berlin to help her.
But after helping my aunt I went to Berlin’s Tempelhof airport and flew from there to Frankfurt am Main. What a feeling of relief and excitement – my very first flight high up into the blue sky and freedom from Communism. But upon arrival in Frankfurt I got a bad scare. My name was called over the public address system to come to the information center.
I thought, How could the Communists already know that I had fled? What should I do? A son of that aunt was supposed to meet me and pick me up at the Frankfurt airport, but he was not there. With fear and trembling I went to the information center and gave my name. They had a message for me. But it was not from the Communists, it was from my cousin. It was instructions to take the bus into the city and he would meet me there, since he had no car.
* * * *
Margarete Kuring is a member of the Creative Writing Group at the O’Connor Senior Center in Knoxville, Tennessee, and a new member of NAPA. In January, 1955, she emigrated to the United States and became an American citizen in 1960.
Edited and Published by Bill Boys
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