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The
Chaos Begins
The
Final Years in my Home Town,
Batschsentiwan
By
Hans Kopp
hans_kopp@hotmail.com
It was a sunny day in Batschsentiwan when one day in 1941, people from
all directions in our town gathered in the huge square in front of the
city hall just across from our church, to see what all the commotion was
about. From the distance one could see the Hungarian troops marching
from the direction of Sombor toward our town. Several of the children
from our neighborhood went to Mount Calvary, a build up structures of
perhaps 20 meters high. It had the Stations of the Cross on both sides
in front of the raised structure where Catholic Church functions were
held on many occasions. From the top of platform of Mount Calvary one
could see the columns of soldiers marching in front of their equipment
on the country road leading from Sombor to our town.
My
hometown was the charming town of Batschsentiwan (Prigrevica Sv. Ivan,
Yugoslavia) located east of the Danube River near the cities of Apatin (Abthausen)
and Sombor. Today it is known as Prigrevica, located in what is
today’s Vojvodina, Serbia the former Batschka, Hungary. The town is
named for St. John the Baptist (Saint Ivan) and for the province of
Batschka, which was named after the fortress Básc.
Our town, like
all the towns of the “Ungarländischen Deutschen”
(German-Hungarians) was part of Hungary since the settlement of our
ancestors after the War of the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation
against the Ottoman Empire, freeing Hungary from the 150 year occupation
by the Turks. Therefore it should be to no ones surprise that the people
had closer ties to Hungary then to Yugoslavia because most of them were
born in Hungary prior to 1920. But after WWI this territory of Hungary
became part of the new country of Yugoslavia under Serbian occupation.
At the conclusion of the First World War
Serbian troops marched into Southern Hungary, to occupy the Batschka and
other Hungarian regions, although they had no right to do so under the
Versailles treaty and were ordered to honor the boundaries prior to WWI
by the agreement of the allied nations. As a result the Batschka and
other Hungarian territories did become part of Serbia during the
ratification of the piece treaty at Trianon in 1920 for the sake of
piece, but piece at what price?
Life changed
dramatically for the “Ungarländischen Deutschen” when their
homeland was annexed to the new country. They lost their inherited
rights from the time of their settlement in Hungary 250 years earlier,
although the treaty at Trianon reserved equal rights to all minority
groups; however this was a mere myth. Rich farmers who had purchased
land throughout the years in none German neighborhood communities where
disowned, their land expropriated under Alexander’s Agrarian Reform
and given to the poor, but non to poor Germans only to the poor of
Serbian nationality. The German minority had to accept Serbian judges in
their community courts, take an interpreter if they did not speak the
Serbian language and were discriminated against. The judges were biased
and simply ruled in favor of the Serbians, when lawsuits would involve
Germans and Serbians. A German could not expect to win even if he was in
his right.
What would hurt the German communities
most, however was; the closing of their schools and forcing their
children aspiring to higher education to go to Germany and Austria,
because of language differences, where they would be exposed to the
“National Socialistic Movement”. This circumstance was critical as
one would see later in the political development of Yugoslavia, as the
young men and women learned what freedom meant in Germany and Austria,
which they could not enjoy in Yugoslavia where they were discriminated
against as a minority. This was a huge mistake by the new government of
the Kingdom of Yugoslavia not only against human rights, but also was
economically devastating as it would show after WWI which would carry
over into WWII and years after.
Freedom is precious to all mankind. This holds true for the
Germans living in Hungary, Romania and Yugoslavia, the regions of the
former Hungarian Kingdom, the Austria-Hungarian Monarchy after the
equalization treaty of 1867, who were so unfairly treated by politics
after WWI and later even more so after WWII. The citizen’s of German
extraction of these countries, who never had a say in the determination
of their fate became the brunt of the hatred by the communist,
especially the Communist Government of Yugoslavia.
***
As the Hungarian troops were coming closer, young women waited
with flowers in front of the city hall to welcome the troops promising
our freedom from oppression once again in our region with a population
of a multi ethnic background. Therefore the enthusiastic welcome with
cheers and flowers should be clearly understood as it was well
justified, since we all felt Hungary was our homeland and were free
again.
***
The “Ungarländischen
Deutschen” renamed “Donauschwaben”
in 1920 by Robert Sieger (Geographer from Graz) and Dr. Hermann Rüdiger
(Scientist from Stuttgart) and defined by the Foreign Department in
1930, during the Weimar Republic of Germany, acknowledging the German
origin of the “Ungarländischen Deutschen”
in the present and former Hungary. The Weimar Republic of Germany
realized that, left unassisted and divided among Romanians, Yugoslavs
and Hungarians, the “Ungarländischen Deutschen” would not be able to resist
assimilation attempts and as an ethnic group would disappear and with
them a culture of values worth preserving. This collective name
“Donauschwaben” would identify and
better describe the Germans, whose settlement region now divided among
three states and whose ancestors settled in Hungary during the three “Great
Swabian Migrations” 1686-1787.
***
Was it because
the “Donauschwaben” yearned for their freedom from Serbian
oppression that they were included in the punishment by the Allied
Nations when being declared; “Collectively guilty of war crimes”? I
was 9 years old at the end of the war and it is unthinkable that a 9
year old boy would have had something do with the war to be
rubberstamped; “War Criminal”. It is even more absurd declaring
unborn babies in a mother’s womb as war criminals.
This declaration of collectively guilty of
war crimes is a crime in itself and allowed to unleash a rage of hatred
among the Serbs against their citizens of “German Nationality”. Even
more devastating for the Germans was; it gave the Serbs the
unprecedented privilege to expel their citizens of “German
Nationality” from their homes, place them in starvation camps, slave
labor camps or even murder them at will without having to answer for
these crimes to any human rights laws. The suffering brought on by them
on innocent people must be described as inhumane and should have been
condemned by all nations seeking their freedom and human rights.
As you know and everyone else knew; “the
guilty of such crimes accused by the Serbs would be gone long time
ago”. Not only from Yugoslavia, helpless innocent citizens of German
nationality, who had no say on their own behave in the political
determination in any of the countries they lived, were subsequently
drawn into the war innocently by shear circumstances.
Now
the Germans were expelled their homes and exposed to hatred and revenge
by Serbian nationality group, but also by such revenge seeking nations
such as Czechs, Slovaks, Poles even Hungarians and Romanians, the former
German allies. I had to experience this hatred myself by Hungarian teens
as 11 year old in Bácsalmás, Hungary in 1947 after I had fled with my
family from the death camp of Gakowa to Hungary, where I was brutally
beaten by a Hungarian by one of the teenagers while tenting a cow for a
Hungarian farmer in exchange for food.
However; to the defense of our former
Serbian neighbors I must add, that not all the Serbians were hostile to
us. They themselves saw that great injustice was committed, but often
were frightened that the unrelenting rage of the criminal elements among
the Serbian population, who threatened their own, would reach them and
severely punish them. Jet if it would not have been for those former
neighbors among the Serbian population the death toll of 1/3 of the
Donauschwaben population in Yugoslavia would have been even much higher.
***
In April 1942, the first young men from our
town of Batschsentiwan were drafted into uniforms and marched out of
town. As so many other children did, I too marched alongside the
soldiers to say good-bye especially to my uncle, Adam Haberstroh, who
was one of them leaving never to return. My uncle, a barber, was among
my favorite uncles and I loved him, since he would always take the time
to play with me during his visits at our house, after cutting our hair
or shave my father and grandfather.
Already in July of the same year, the
tragic news reached us that he and two other young men from our town had
died. The train compartment, in which they were riding to the front in
Russia, had been exploded by a land mine. The first blood was shed. My
aunt, Anna Haberstroh, was a widow now dressed in black. She went to the
cemetery daily although my uncle’s body was never returned home. She
stood by a graveside marked with a wooden cross bearing his name. I was
curious and wanted to see his grave too. When I got there I saw my aunt
standing in front of the grave sobbing. She told me that my uncle was
not really in the grave. I did not understand why she went there every
day, although his body laid thousands of miles away, somewhere in
Russia.
***
The statement which is always there for a
debate by the Serbians; “all the German men in our region volunteered
for the German Army”. This statement was not only made by the Serbs
but also by the allied nations of the time. Thus all Germans were
declared “collectively war criminals” regardless where they lived
and regardless whether they supported Germany in their war effort or
not. We need to take a look at the truth which is always brushed aside
by none-German historians who do not want to except facts, but distort
them time and time again to justify the actions taken in revenge against
their citizens of Germans descent. In my research over the years I
interviewed many former German soldiers from Yugoslavia, Hungary and
Romania and none of them had volunteered and when asked how many of the
troops were volunteers among them the answer may surprise you when I was
told; “very few”.
The National Socialist leadership made it
understood, that the Germans called “Volksdeutsche” (to distinguish
them from the Germans living within the borders of what was then Germany
the “Reichsdeutsche”), residing in Eastern and South Eastern Europe
were not legally bound to serve in the German Army, but also led them to
belief that they were obligated to pick up arms because of their binding
heritage to their German ancestry and the occupation of German
territories by foreign nations. (In case of the Donauschwaben who lived
in Hungary prior to WWI it was Yugoslavia and Romania occupying
Hungarian territories). In 1942 the governments of Hungary, Croatia and
in 1943, Romania, were pressured into treaties with Germany, allowing
the men of German descent living in these countries to be drafted by
these nations and be transferred and serve in the German army as
rubberstamped “Volunteers”, primarily in the “Waffen–SS,
a volunteer army.
During the fall in 1941 after the fall of Yugoslavia
and their declaration of being independent,
the German troops took on the administration of the Western Banat,
Yugoslavia as autonomic region; this obligated them to protect the
Western Banat and its citizens from terrorist activities, as required
under the Geneva Convention. To protect and defend their homes against
the terrorist activities and aggressions the Western Banater “Volksgruppe” (Volksruppe) formed the “Price Eugene Regiment”
toward the end of 1941 with draftees from the Western Banat. This was
permitted under the “Law of Nations” in accordance with the “Haager War Degreed”.
However, by order of Berlin the unit was transformed and became the
volunteer “SS-Gebirgs
Division Prinz Eugen” against the will of the Western Banater
“Volksgruppe” and the same time they all were rubberstamped as
volunteers.
These troops saw actions against the Tito
terrorist partisans and as well known from history, they worked against
the common enemy of the legal government of the Yugoslavian Kingdom
during the time Yugoslavia was declared neutral. Tito’s accusations
that the Donauschwaben were traitors against their own country were
therefore unfounded, untrue and unjust, however, effectively used as an
excuse later to justify the criminal actions by the Yugoslavian Tito
Partisans against all their citizens of German descend.
The “SS-Gebirgs
Division Prinz Eugen” who found action in Bosnia, was exposed
to many difficulties. The Western Banater Donauschwaben serving in this
unit had not enough training nor did they have the experience to be
successful in the mountain of Bosnia. The Partisans hardly ever retained
prisoners. The soldiers of the Prinz Eugene Division captured were
executed in the cruelest ways, in fact criminal according to the Geneva
Convention. According to the oral testimony given in an interview with
me by Alexander Lermer, a young medical student at the time attached to
the German medical core at that time and I quote; “we found horribly
mutilated bodies of German soldiers. We found bodies without arms, legs,
heads and missing sex parts. Their bellies and chests of their bodies
were opened and they were left to bleed to death”.
***
There
was a small group of National Socialistic followers in our town, which
saw it as their duty to paint the “Victoria” sign on every house
during nights, to impress their affiliates and show that everyone in
this town was a National Socialist. The Victoria sign was a symbol
formed by a “V” perhaps about 24 inches high with a swastika on top
and oak leaves branches on both sides of the “V”. Every morning when
this sign was painted on our house during the night, my grandmother
became furious as she had to go and whitewash over the sign only to see
it up there again the next morning. Each day she went out furious again
and again whitewashing over it. When my brother visited our home town in
1972 he found the sign on the bricks of an unfinished house. It appeared
no one had removed it and no one had ever finished the house either.
One
day in 1943, I remember my father allowing me to accompany him to his
hemp fields he owned near the Mostonga Rive. I still picture myself
running barefoot through the rows of giant hemp plants with mud between
my toes as the hemp plants loved the swampy soil. On several occasions,
I accompanied my father to the hemp curing and refining areas and
watched the hemp being processed into the finest raw material our town
was famous for, of which a large variety of products were made.
Later
the same year it was early morning when the first of several hemp
factories went up in flames. I remember seeing the thick, dark smoke
rising into the sky. I rushed to the site of the fire; many other people
and children did too, to see the furiously raging flames which were so
devastating. No one could do anything about the fires; they kept burning
until there was nothing left standing. I had no idea about politics
then, nor did I understand what impact the destruction of the hemp
factories would have on our community.
Many
years later, I learned that the factories which exported hemp to Germany
were sabotaged and burned to the ground, while the factories exporting
hemp to England and France were left standing. Politics had finally
caught up with Batschsentiwan, but politics at what price for the
communist government of Yugoslavia in years later? Our town with a
population of 6,300 was considered the richest towns in the Batschka, if
not in all of Yugoslavia, according to Leopold Rohrbacher, who writes in
his book; “Ein Volk ausgelöscht” (A people erased) and I quote;
“Die reichste Gemeinde in der Batschka und vermutlich auch des ganzen
Landes war Sentiwan (Prigrevica Sv. Ivan)”, (the richest town in the
Batschka and probably in the entire country was Batschsentiwan).
After
the destruction of the factories we see the owners move with their
families and workers to Germany, where they rebuild their factories with
the help of the German government, while Batschsentiwan never did
recover from this destruction and today the town is poor with a
population of only 2,500 people, mostly immigrants from Kosovo and other
part of Yugoslavia who never could manage to bring Batschsentiwan back
to its splendor to be the number one hemp manufacturer of Yugoslavia,
nor could they produce agricultural products to contribute to
Yugoslavia’s export, like the Donauschwaben did before the war.
The high-flying bombers crossing over our
town could be seen more and more frequently now. The humming noise of
their engines created many fears, fears that could be sensed even by us
children. The fears grew stronger and stronger as the planes began to
drop leaflets of various types. People claimed that the leaflets were
poisoned and that we dare not touch them. Although this may not have
been the case, we did not want to take the chance and touch them. Empty
containers were also dropped from the sky. One of them fell on the roof
of a house in the neighborhood and although no one was hurt, it created
anxious moments for everyone. Our town was never bombed during the war,
however the fears of such bombings always existed and shelters were to
be created but never were done.
One
day my father took me to our cornfield. At about four o’clock in the
afternoon, two airplanes appeared in the sky chasing and firing at each
other. We dove to the ground and watched the dogfight. After the planes
passed several times, one began to smoke and finally burst into flames.
It came crashing down to earth a good distance from us. The winner of
the fight disappeared in the direction it had come from. We could not
tell who the winner was; what we could tell is that the war had come
dangerously close, too close.
When we installed electricity in our house
during the spring of 1944, my father purchased our first radio. We would
listen to music and the news. The news was not good; it was always about
the coming war, a war that would change our lives forever.
***
In
September of 1944, the last
men from Batschsentiwan were forced into uniforms starting with age 17
to age 50 as described in a letter by Regina Hercher to her daughter;
“without uniforms, trumpets or fanfare, armed only with rifles, the
men marched out of town to the train station to be taken to an unknown
future”. On one of the box cars, the men were greeted with the slogan;
“Wir alten Affen sind die neuen Waffen” (us old apes are the new
weapons). When the train was set into motion our men were rolled out
toward the Russian front which would soon be near Budapest and placed
with their rifles into combat against the tanks of the Red Army. Many of
our men were never seen again among them my Uncle Franz Hack.
During
the same time a hasty organizational meeting took place outside of our
town, on the road between Apatin and Batschsentiwan. The topic was made
known; “fleeing from the oncoming Russian Red Army”. The urgency was
made clear and created fear among all present at that meeting. Most
people of our town, which were God fearing people, listened to father
Pintz’s advice; “stay at home, we shall overcome”. After all the
general impression was, that we had done nothing wrong to justify
leaving, leaving the security of our homes our forefathers build with
their bare hands and the sweat on their brows 250 years ago.
Only
120 families from our town placed the bridle gear on their horses,
loaded their wagons and left their home under the protection of the
German army. I still see one of our neighborhood families from down the
street passing our house and their daughter, a school friend, waving
good bay to me. It was a crucial mistake as all of the people who stayed
behind about 5,250 would be exposed to the hatred of the Red Army and
the Serbian terrorists “The Tito Partisan”. Twenty-five percent
(35%) (More than 1,500 of those exposed) of our citizens who stayed
behind would perish during the next 3 years.
My
father and several of his friends who had no intension to be; “a last
minute soldier” and knew it would be certain dead if they would be
inducted, simply went into safe hid outs. But there were a few
“National Socialists Judas’s” in our town who betrayed their
fellow citizens. This caused a scary time for the women of our men in
hiding, including my mother. The wives of the men were arrested by the
military police, marched to Sombor were they were interrogated and
threatened; “should their men not come forward within 24 hours, they,
the women would be executed”.
The
women took the news to their men who came forward and were marched out
of town, knowing they could much better to protect their loved ones, if
they could be home at the crucial time, when the Russians came. There
was no transportation available at that time for them which became a
fortunate circumstance. While waiting for transportation, they had to
train playing soldiers. During their training at the sergeants’
command; “deep flying air planes from the left or the right”, they
had to dive into the mud in front of them as it had rained the day
before. This night they were wet and freezing cold and perhaps everyone
had the same idea, because they all seemed like on a command, ready to
desert.
I
still wonder what did happen to the staff the next morning when it
became known that most of the men were gone. The men knowing that the
Russian were close and that no one could come looking for them, walked
back to their hideouts again which would soon be behind the Russian
front and they were right, because the Russian were within sight.
Now
that the German troops had left, a strange feeling was sensed like the
feeling one has when it is quiet before the storm. Now, the women were
alone with their children, since most men were gone and the schools were
closed. New adventures and opportunities presented themselves and got us
into trouble more than once.
From
the destroyed interim airport nearby on the Hutweide (community meadow),
we scavenged all sorts of items. We had everything from an American colt
revolver to a Russian machine gun. We children played our own war games.
We piled rocks over the top of black powder and exploded the pile. We
were lucky not to be hit by the debris. Our mothers and grandmothers
tried their best to control us, but could not until one Sunday morning,
our friend, Franz Tiesler, who now lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin,
accidentally exploded a “Dumm-Dumm-Bullet” in his hands, leaving him
crippled for life. I can still picture Franz sitting on the wagon; his
hands bundled in linen, his mother at the reins, taking him to the
hospital in Sombor. I could not resist going to the Tiesler house to see
the blood and pieces of flesh smeared all over the front door. It was an
ugly sight.
On November 1st 1944 the Red
Army stormed through our town. During these chaotic days we often found safety hiding among the
grapevines in our backyard, while my mother hid in the attic and my
father still remained in his hideout. The women had to disappear from
the view of the Russians out of fear of being molested or raped should
they fall into the hands of the Russians. Warnings of rape, molestation,
and mistreatment by the Russians preceded them; thus these precautions
became an absolute necessity. As I learned later many women in our town
were raped, among them a mother with her 11 year old daughter in the
same room at the same time according to Anna
Blechl statement, a midwife from Batschsentiwan in the publication;
“Der Leidensweg der Deutschen im Kommustischen Jugoslawien
1944-1948” published by the “Kulturstiftung
der Donauschwaben” in Munich Germany.
After
a day or two the Russian returned and began to loot our home. We were
warned about the looting and stowed away as much food in hiding places
as we could. However, there was plenty of food and clothing we could not
hide. In the storage loft there was still a lot of wheat and feed corn
stored we could not hide. Toward the end of the war we had four horses
Jultschi, Furi, Linda, and Bandi, and a two-year-old colt. In our
stables there were three cows, two caves, and five or six pigs. The
Russians took all of our horses and all of our cows, the caves and pigs.
Much of our clothing, smoked bacon, hams and sausages not hidden away
were gone.
The
Russians returned with wagons to load our grain and drove off with it.
The chicken, which roamed freely in our backcourt, became a target for
the Russians too. When I think about how the Russians hunted our
chickens across the manure piles, losing their footing and ending up in
the manure, it brings a smile to my face despite the seriousness of the
times.
Fortunately,
the Russians could not catch all of our poultry. The only animal we had
left now was our two-year-old colt. How strange it was to walk through
the empty stables, the empty courtyards, through an empty house. We were
left with the vegetables we kept in underground storages such as beets,
potatoes, carrots and parsley; and a large container of lard that my
grandfather had hidden, ironically, in the pig stall. The Russians
missed taking some of the pickled vegetables out of the basement. They
did not find our bread we had stored in empty wine barrels or the bacon
and ham we had hidden in the chimney of the summer kitchen. Also,
luckily for us, several small sacks of flour, as well as dried prunes
and clothes hidden by my mother survived their search. My mother had
hidden some of our clothes so well that even we could not find it after
her deportation to Russia.
After the initial war front went through
and several days after the Russians arrival in our town, they demanded
that all able bodies remaining in town report to city hall with shovels
and picks. These demands were made under threats against the lives of
our citizens. Out of fear of being executed, people came out from their
hideouts and reported for duty. Each day, about 900 people were marched
15 kilometers or more into the surrounding areas, to dig foxholes and
fortifications for the Russians. These work details included my mother,
my father, who had returned home from his hideout and grandfather. This
was the first exposure of our citizens to the Russians and Tito
Partisans and their cruel and inhumane treatments, however it would be
only a prelude of our; “Leidensweg” our road of suffering.
Finally
the Russians reached Apatin (Abthausen) and the Danube. On November 21st,
my mother was marched by the Partisan to nearby Apatin located on the
Danube, for labor duties. There she managed to escape together with my
aunt, Anna Haberstroh, and our neighbor, Regina Reinhardt. They took
shelter in the hayloft of my grandmother’s sister, Elisabeth Schiebli
and her husband Anton, who lived in Apatin.
During
the following battle, the night sky was glowing red and the ground
shaking from the shelling of the Stalin Organ; a multi barreled gun,
guns, and the bombing by planes, while my mother hid in the hayloft in
Apatin. We heard thundering sounds from far and near, announcing the
retreat of the German troops and the attempted river crossing of the
Russians. My grandmother, brother, and I lay between the rows of
grapevines in our vineyard behind our house, petrified and shaking for
hours. I clung to my grandmother and to the ground, hoping and praying
that our lives would be spared.
Apatin,
once the center of the colonization of the Donauschwaben two hundred
fifty years earlier, had now become the center of the Russian’s Danube
crossing. Although unsuccessful, thousands of soldiers lost their lives
and the blood they shed made the Danube flow red. Actually the Russian
never were able to cross the Danube at Apatin.
Then
there was that strange silence again, like before a storm but somehow it
felt different this time, as if there was something changed or missing
and indeed there was. It was as if time was suspended and we were
somewhere in limbo. Somewhere in outer space and it would be only a
matter of time and we would crash down to earth, to reality, which we
could not possibly comprehend it would be. The big question looming;
what will happen next? What will happen to us? Where are my parents and
where is my grandfather? Could we resume a normal life? When we found
the courage to go out on the street again, we found as if the earth had
opened itself in front of us. The many foxholes that were dug for the
Russian defense by our men and women during the days we were in hiding
left gaping holes everywhere.
Fortunately,
our town did not end up in the middle of the war zone so that very
little damage was done as the war front moved through. I could not wish
away the sad feeling dwelling in my hart, as I walked along an empty
street. From this day on, our town would never be the same; from this
day on, our lives would never be the same. They had changed forever.
***
Some
of the battle weary Russians returned to our town and to our home. My
mother had returned home during that time and had to retreat to her
hideout in the attic again. Soon after my mothers return, my grandfather
had returned home, but there was no sign of my father. My grandparents,
forced to entertain the Russians in our house, had to serve them food
and wine. What happened next was horrible. Through the open door of my
grandparent’s room I saw the drunken and noisy soldiers abuse my
grandmother, while they forced my grandfather to watch. There was
nothing he could do without jeopardizing all of our lives. Again and
again he had to go down to the cellar to fetch more wine. At that time I
was to young to understand, I had no idea what was happening to my
grandmother; tragically, it became only too clear to me in later years.
Afraid, I waited anxiously in my room for them to leave.
My
mother, who heard the Russian soldiers from her hideout in the attic was
petrified and often in tears, hoping and praying she would not be
discovered. My grandfather had removed the access ladder from the attic,
in the hope that none of the soldiers would think anyone was up there.
When I walked down into the cellar to get some food for my mother after
the Russians had left, I was hit by the strong odor of spilled wine. It
was so strong I almost fainted. My grandfather had opened all the
faucets on the wine barrels to drain them. By doing so he hoped that
this would keep the Russians from returning and it did.
I
discovered that there was no food left in the cellar storage, with the
exception of a few sour pickles and peppers in the pickling crock and
the bread stored in an empty wine barrel accessible only from the back.
If my parents and grandparents had not had the foresight to build secret
storage spaces we would have been left without food to eat. Later that
day, I climbed into the attic to bring food and water for my mother.
What a reunion it was high up in the attic. I will never forget how she
took me in her arms while violent shivers shook her body like a tree in
the wind. She held me close, as both of us sobbed allowing our tears to
flow freely. Then she asked; are they gone? Yes, I said for now, and
again she pressed me against her bosom. My mother stayed in the attic
for several more days, before she came down.
Our basic diet now consisted mainly of
bread for breakfast with a lard spread and tea or water. Since the cows
were gone we had no milk to drink nor could we make butter. For lunch we
had soup with noodles. My grandmother fried the left over noodles with
pieces of ham for the evening or the next day. For a change we had dried
prunes cooked with noodles or potatoes and ham. In the evening we had
bacon and bread with an occasional egg. Although I didn’t realize it
then, we were better off than many others of our citizens in our town.
Most
certainly, the labor details the people of our town were taken too were
extremely dangerous and life threatening for them, this I learned from
my uncle, Michael (Michl Vetter), my father’s brother. He was forced
to transport ammunition to the Russian front with his horses and wagon.
Many of the men were conveniently executed after they delivered the
ammunition. The lives of Hans Schrodi, a relative of my uncle’s wife,
and Hans Müller, also from our town, ended tragically this way. My
uncle was able to escape this ordeal by jumping off his wagon into a
riverbed to hide, while his horses with the loaded wagon moved on
without him. Unfortunately, he became ill from exposure to the cold. As
a result he suffered severe health problems several years later,
crippling him for life.
Finally,
a couple of weeks before Christmas, my father returned with several
other men from our town. We were overjoyed by the return of my father.
It brought great relief and happiness to our family and we had hoped our
lives would now continue on a normal path. No one questioned the motives
of returning all of our people to their homes. No one suspected that
there was a motive behind this action, as we would become aware on
Christmas morning.
***
Only
days after my fathers return, a Russian soldier pounded on our front
door. My father did not open the door in the hope that the soldier would
go away. When the banging on the door became louder and more forceful,
my father went to open the door. In came an angry soldier with a
machine-gun in his hands, stopping in front of my father threatening to
shoot him. The soldier was very surprised though to see a young man in
front of him, he told him that he was ready to kill the person that
refused to open the door for him. The soldier entered our room and sat
down at our dinner table to dine with us as my father had invited him to
join us. Again, my father’s ability to speak the soldier’s language
saved our lives. My father and the soldier seemed to have a cordial if
not friendly conversation. Later, the soldier waved me over and showed
me a picture he had pulled from his pocket. It was a picture of his
children. This soldier visited us several times till his unit moved out
a few days later.
***
Christmas
Eve 1944, it was a memorable Christmas Eve. It was the last time our
family was together in our home, in our hometown, in our church
celebrating the birth of Christ. What a privilege it was for me to serve
as an altar boy during the last Midnight Mass celebrated by our
community and by our family in Batschsentiwan. The church was packed
with people that night. There was no room left to sit or stand. Hundreds
of people who could not get into the church stood outside, they would
not leave, they just wanted to be close to God, to hear His word and to
find hope and comfort in it. Serving Holy Communion seemed to never end
that night. It was a night filled with sorrow and tears. It was a night
filled with fears and uncertainty. It was a night filled with prayers
and faith in God. It was a night I relive every Christmas Eve during
Midnight Mass. Sadly I have to say, this was not the only Christmas I
would relive year after year. The tragic death of my grandmother during
the following Christmas of 1945 would become an unforgettable nightmare.
On
December 27th the town crier (Trommelmann) announced that all
men between the ages of 18 and 45 and women between the ages of 18 and
30 had to report for duty at the soccer field by noon. The soccer field
was ideal for the Partisans’ plans since it was fenced in with a high
wooden fence. Exactly what duty they were to report for no one knew.
After all the people summoned were present at the soccer field, (most
came out of fear), the Partisans, with machine guns, positioned
themselves at the exits of the field so that no one could leave.
Patriotic speeches were made by one of the Partisan commanders telling
them everyone had to work from now on and contribute to the welfare of
all. People were then registered in groups of thirty and taken under
guard to several places overnight. Their relatives were told to bring
them food and clothing for thirty days. The unfortunate misconception
was that they would be coming home after this thirty-day work detail was
completed; thus the families only packed old work clothes.
Now
it would became clear very quickly why our men and women were allowed to
return home for Christmas. The reason so that they could be rounded up
and counted easily in preparation for their deportation to Russia which
would include both of my parents. As history tells us at the Potsdam
Conference the Allied Nations granted Stalin’s request to assemble
labor forces from Hungary, Yugoslavia and Romania and deport them to
Russia for a period of fife years. The Russian would periodically return
sick workers back to avoid them being listed as Russian casualties
should they die. Because of this reasoning by the Russians the dead toll
is lower as it actually is, since it does not include those people which
died on the return transports, Like Josef Prokopp, a distant relative my
father helped burry near the railroad in Romania on their return home
and my aunt Anna Haberstroh who was ill and could not be saved when she
arrived in Frankfurt on the Oder, in East Germany.
Continued
in:
“Our Parents Deportation to Russia”
and
“Human
Misery, Life in a Death Camp.”
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