Illa - Part 6
A True Story Remembered Through the Eyes of a 3-Year Old Girl Fleeing City During WWII
Hand-written by Ilse and posted by her daughter on Steemit.
A smaller train station where we stopped, had no connection to anywhere until the next afternoon. Somebody gave us an address of a farmer who would take people in overnight. We walked a long way to get there. It was getting dark and we were both very tired.
An old truck with only one driver came up the road going in our direction. Mom waved and asked for a ride. “NO!” the man yelled. It made Mom angry. “How rude, he had more than enough room to help us out!” Then Mom mumbled something under her breath that did not sound too friendly. We eventually made it to the designated farmhouse on foot.
Once we got to the farmhouse, it was like stepping into a different world. The first thing I noticed was that it was surrounded in peace and quiet. When we walked into the house, a delicious aroma from the huge kitchen filled the air. The owners of the farm greeted us warmly. With gestures, they invited us to sit at their huge kitchen table. Three or four children were busy setting the table and bringing food from the stove. A large basket of freshly baked bread was placed in the middle of the table. We were invited to share fried potatoes, sausages and pickled beets with them. Mom’s first pick was a slice of bread and I watched how she savored it. Both of us ate hardily, realizing how hungry we were. It was the best tasting meal I ever ate. It will always be in my memory and associated with peace, warmth and kindness. During the meal, a lot of giggling and smiling went on. The reason for that was that we hardly understood each other. The northern German dialect is quite different from the southern German dialect. Being in Germany and having to communicate with hand signs was actually funny. Mom burped after that full meal and that needed no translation, just a round of laughter and the satisfaction that we were no longer hungry.
Kindness needs no translation and has no language barrier; so does its opposite.
Cuddled up in a big bed covered with a thick feather duvet and pillows, we listened to the cows making low sounds underneath the room. It was probably the barn. I found the sound very comforting.
“Mutti, can we please stay here?” “Illa, dear, this is not possible, it is not up to me. We have to get to Shopflohe.”
“Can I ask God?”
“Sure you can, but maybe he has something else in mind for us.” Mom replied.
I prayed anyway, really hard. "Dear God, it would be so peaceful and nice here! Please let us stay here.”
After a good night sleep and a great breakfast, we had to leave. We took the same old long road from which we came and Mom was singing. She said it makes walking easier. I do not think so. My legs got tired quite soon.
About halfway to the train station the same old truck that had passed us the night before drove by. Mom mumbled something cold again and not meant for me to hear. We watched him as he drove his truck down the road ahead of us and then we heard the high-pitched screeching sound of two Tieffliegers. Those small airplanes that come up from great heights and can dive very fast to shoot at specific targets. Mom knew that sound. She pushed me into the ditch and threw herself on top of me.
There was some water in the ditch and mom was heavy. Lifting my head a little, I wanted to complain. The planes were over top of us and firing at the truck. I could not utter a word because in that moment there was a huge explosion where the truck had been. Enormous flames and black smoke spread quickly. Mom grabbed my arm and yelled. “Let’s go!” We were running through the field until we had to stop to take a breath. Mom slumped down crying. Now she was the one praying. “Thank you dear God, thank you for not letting this man give us a ride.”
Now we had to get our bearings through the fields. Most were just hay-fields and that was good. Sometimes we looked back and could still see the black smoke. Mom was also watching the sky and we kept on running. We were making it to the station. Mom said that that truck must have been full of ammunition.
On yet another train again, I remember complaining, “Mutti, I’m thirsty! I’m so thirsty!”
“Illa, I cannot help you. The train is not going to stop for a long time. Why don’t you think of something pleasant, like how nice things will be when we get to Schopflohe?”
The lady across from us heard this and looked at me saying, “Little girl, I could give you two sips of my black coffee, but you probably won’t like it.”
“Oh!” I said. “I love coffee!”
My Mom shakes her head, “Illa, you have never had coffee before.”
The lady reaches in her purse and hands me a beautiful cup. Pours some coffee from a container and says, “Try it.” She was right, it tasted bitter, I surely didn’t like it, but it was wet. My mouth was not so dry anymore. Still holding the cup, admiring the beauty of it, the lady asked me, “Do you like that cup?”
“Oh yes” I answered. “I have never seen such a cup before.” It was off-white with blue flowers and had six corners. “I thought cups were always rounded”.
“I can see you like it.” She said to me. “I’ll give it to you as a present if you promise me to take good care of it.” I promised. The lady looked at my Mom and explained that this was the last piece from a large set; the last bit of what she had owned.
Mom looked at the cup and asked the lady if it was Delved Porcelain?
“Yes, my dear”. She answered. “I had a lot of beautiful things at one time”.
We were now in Nünberg, the last big city on our journey. From there we would go to Nördlingen and then Schopflohe. The end of traveling was near. The Nünberg train station had a big waiting room. Mom and I were fortunate to get a seat. Crowds were coming and going constantly; just like every other large station. We had a long wait there. A train came in and with it a new throng of people trying to make it through the door.
Out of that group of people came a shout, “Annemie!” Only one person would call my mother by that name, and that was my Oma! My Mom’s real name was Anne-Marie. What a wonderful surprise. There she was, my beloved Oma. There were hugs and tears of happiness and Oma kept repeating, “I found you! I found you!” We had so much to tell each other. What a good day that was! Mom told her about the truck and I showed her my beautiful cup. Oma smiled at me and said “See, sometimes things are really bad and then the next day, something good happens. It shows you not ever to give up hope.” (Thank you Oma) Wise words that helped me to cope with difficulties all my life.
by @susieisms
https://steemit.com/story/@susieisms/illa-part-7
If you missed any parts you can find them here:
https://steemit.com/writing/@susieisms/illa-part-1
https://steemit.com/writing/@susieisms/illa-part-2
https://steemit.com/writing/@susieisms/illa-part-3