I believe that if you poke them in just just the right way, a great story will pop out of anyone. Some people just happen to have greater stories than others. Last year I got an email from my sister Karen in Canada saying there had been a write-up in the local newspaper about my kindergarten teacher looking for her former pupils almost five decades after she’d last seen us off.

That’s us above, the Class of ‘59 at Holy Cross Roman Catholic School, which was brand new that year, so we were the inaugural kindergarten.

Lydia (I can call her that now, but it used to be Miss Kizlyk) was delighted that a bunch of us got in touch with her again, and she and I have kept up a correspondence since then – plus she sends me almost daily dirty jokes. So much for a nice Catholic upbringing.

This is Miss Kizlyk today – Mrs Lydia Scott.

I’m kidding about the dirty jokes, But Lydia’s upbringing was more than a little unusual, as I discovered when she sent me a copy of a memoir she’d been encouraged by friends to put together. It makes for astonishing reading – and no doubt would be a great movie. She’s agreed to let me post it here. I’m waiting for her to write down the rest of her story.

Chapter 1

I entered this world in a not so very normal way. On April 18th, 1940, in Lwow Ukraine, then under German control, my mother, knowing her time was near, attempted to get to the hospital the only way she could – on the streetcar. This being already war time, the streets were crowded with people and the car was no exception. The long ride was full of stops and starts and I was impatient to get into this wonderful world.

With my mother alone and in advanced labour, someone noticed and brought it to the conductor’s attention, who did the only thing he could. He cleared the back of the car, asked someone to help and drafted passengers to shield my mother while the driver drove straight to the hospital without stops. I didn’t wait and was born on the way, hearing from my earliest recollections, how I entered this life, a few blocks from the hospital.

This wasn’t the end of that adventure, if you want to call it that. Because this was war time, even mothers and babies weren’t always safe in the hospitals. Our stay there wasn’t long. One night, a nurse ran through the wards, whispering the dreaded warning to all mothers that the next morning someone was coming to take the babies to be raised by “good German parents” for the glory of the “Fatherland”. Fear spread among the mothers, who quickly gathered their newborns and fled into the night. Some, who were too ill to get out of bed were sobbing openly as I was bundled and whisked out into the chilly April night. I always considered this my first sign that I was to remain on this earth for some special purpose.

During all this time, my father was either working or minding my four and a half year old brother, who, I am told, was being passed off as a girl, with long hair and wearing dresses, so the German authorities wouldn’t take him to be trained as a “Hitler Youngen”, or “Hitler’s Youth”, later to fight for him.

So I came home and life flowed around me. During this time, the Jewish people were being hunted down and deported. When my hair began to grow, my brother decided I looked too much like a curly Jewish baby and took matters into his own hands. With scissors, he carefully cut off each curl. How my parents cried at the sight of my raggedly shorn head. Poor Brother was not only punished, he also lost his long hair, much to his delight and a decision was made to move us out of the city where life was becoming more and more uncertain.

Now I don’t remember this, but I was reminded of it often enough. I was left in my crib, sleeping, while mother stepped out. Brother was to call her if I woke up. This must have been when I was around a year old as I was quite mobile. Anyway, I woke up but didn’t cry so Brother didn’t bother with me. I decided to play with my diaper and the nice, squishy stuff I found in it, using it as finger paint for the crib, the wall and myself. When mother found me, I was such a smelly mess she cried. Luckily I was washable.

The summers I was between one and three, we visited mother’s parents a few times and again I was told stories about what I had gotten into. Once grandmother’s cat had kittens and I, like a good “looker-after”, decided to keep them warm, so placed a pillow on them, sat down and killed those poor babies. Each time I heard that story, I had nightmares for days afterwards, just thinking how terrible I was and felt so sorry for those kittens.

That grandmother enjoyed having me visit as I was the first granddaughter she had and sometimes spoiled me. I recall how she took her bibbed aprons, all dark shades of blue and grey, and somehow rolled them up, pulled out pieces to for arms and legs and made me dolls which I played with. There was a large trunk in their home, with a rounded lid and I can remember lining those dolls on top of it. I couldn’t have been very old but the picture of that trunk and those apron dolls is very clear to me.

Another time we were outside, again at grandmother’s and I was given a red rubber ball with big white polka-dots on it. As I played on the lawn, it rolled down a slope, with me after it. What my parents didn’t realize was that at the bottom of the yard, the privy had just been moved for cleaning out of the pit, and as my ball rolled onto the sludge, I followed after it. Luckily someone noticed me heading that way and fished me out, carried me to the nearby river and rinsed me. I’m glad that memory didn’t stay with me.

It must have been around this time also, that a photographer came around and we had a picture taken of the four of us. As I look at it, I see a happy little family except for Brother, who has a pained look on his face and is holding his fingers in his one hand. Everyone has told me repeatedly that I got angry with Brother as he was teasing me and even though my teeth were late in coming in, I gummed him so hard he cried. I, on the other hand seem to have a smug look on my face.

Now we lived in a small town on a lazy moving river. Here life was less stressful but everyone still kept an eye on the fast moving events of the war. Some of my earliest memories come from this town, Belz. Actually the first thing I recall didn’t happen here but at my maternal grandparent’s home in Poland. While visiting one day, I was given a yellow wooden duckling on wheels which I cherished, very much. One day, while playing in the pantry, my duck fell through a broken spot on the floor and I couldn’t pull it out. My cries brought grandfather, who gently twisted the duck out, making me very happy. I remember going back, later to this same pantry and shoving my duck into the hole, raising a fuss and again getting grandfather to come to my rescue. How often I played this game I don’t recall but my parents told me they put a stop to it eventually.

Life in Belz moved on. We lived in a rented house with two rooms and an enclosed porch. During cold days we all slept in the kitchen, where the big, built-into-the-wall stove kept us all warm. My brother’s bed was also built into the wall, next to the stove and this alcove was nice and cozy. I loved this high bed but wasn’t allowed to sleep there as it was too high for me. But most of all I loved the tapestry hanging above it. This was a cartoon scene of animated figures, and the one most clear in my mind was Micky Mouse. I have loved him ever since.

As I got older, my mother had to help earn a living and having her nurse’s certificate, a job was found with the local doctor. Some days, immunization took place at our house and the glassed in porch became a doctor’s office, of sorts. I can recall peeking through the glass door and watching children receiving their shots. One day an emergency was brought in. A small child was unable to have a bowl movement and the poor mother had tried everything to help her toddler. Now the child looked near death and the doctor was sought.

A quick examination revealed a blockage, but one that he, along with my mother, quickly put to rights. It seemed an older sibling, probably the child’s diaper-changer, decided to ease the problem of soiled nappies and stuffed a cork up the child’s behind. There it stuck until now, when the doctor removed it. My mother had the job of cleaning up the exploding accumulation. Needles to say, there must have been one child in Belz that day that had it’s behind paddled good upon the return of the mother and child.

As far back as I can remember, we always had a pet goose, although I don’t know why a goose. In Belz, we had one that was deformed, walking with his webbed feet turned inward, pigeon-toed. This goose and I fought a lot. Eating my meal of home made noodles in hot milk, I had a hard time keeping the goose away from my bowl. My parents used to laugh every time they told the story of the day the goose kept poking it’s beak into my bowl to grab a noodle and me pounding it over the head with my spoon. Poor goose, his wasn’t meant to be very long life.

My most prized toy at this time was a bear, dressed in overalls. I called him Sonny and he went everywhere with me. Occasionally, my mother had work in the neighbouring areas and with father also working, both my brother and I would stay with the Ukranian Sisters in the area. The ” Sister Servants of Mary Immaculate” were well known to us as father’s older sister belonged to this order but was now working somewhere in Canada. (This knowledge would prove very useful to us after the war). So Brother, who attended grade school at their convent, and I stayed there until someone was free to pick us up. We have pictures taken at concerts held there and one of mother, brother and me by a Christmas tree.

One day, my Sonny got left behind at the convent after we were picked up and I was unconsolable. Nothing could be done to settle me down and poor father, as soon as he came home, had to trudge to the convent to retrieve my toy. How happy I was to finally hear the rap on the door and to see Sonny, perched on father’s head while he made funny faces at me. That memory still makes me feel all warm inside, knowing that I was so loved that he did this for me, even though he was tired after working all day and before eating his supper.

Christmas when I was about two and a half was the first one I remember. We celebrated St Nicholas day, Dec 6th, with the gift giving and Christmas was a religious holiday. For weeks mother had me memorize a poem to recite to St. Nicholas about asking him for a special doll. I no longer remember the poem, only bits and pieces of it, but I do remember what I asked for. The poem asked for a baby doll that was like a real baby that could open and close her eyes, cried and had real hair. Much to my delight and disappointment, I did receive a large doll that Christmas. However she didn’t open and shut her eyes, she didn’t utter a sound and her hair was molded on her head.

She was also very large, a toddler, not a baby as the poem requested. But I was very proud of her and dressed her in my outgrown clothes. Someone took two pictures of me and this doll. One was of just the two of us and the other was with a younger friend. As I would look at these photos, I would always remember that although this doll was a treasure, it was not what I had memorized that poem for.

That night, I went to bed happy, surrounded by Sonny and my new doll, only to wake up very uncomfortably with something hard under my pillow. St Nicholas left another gift. This time it was a big box with a new coat and hat with matching leggings and a muff. My mother kept rabbits as a source of meat for us and she tanned the skins and made this set for me. All this at the height of war too!

The following summer, when I was just past three, we spent a lot of time cooling off at the river. Those were very pleasant times, playing in the sand and wading. My brother, now nearly eight and quite tall, made his way back and forth across this river, which was very silty but not deep. I pestered my father to let me cross too and finally we struck out. I can still feel the soft mud squishing between my toes as we started out, with me walking with arms outstretched, to the other side. When the water came up to my armpits, I almost panicked but father held me up and eventually I could again walk on my own. Funny, I don’t remember coming back, but that first crossing I’ll never forget. I did it! I wasn’t a baby any longer.

Also that summer, I caused my parents to worry about my safe being. With the war getting closer to our town, there were strange people there every day and I was kept close to the house. But one day I slipped away and all the neighbours were looking for me. In the middle of the town was a well that people used to draw drinking water from, as most small wells weren’t safe. I must have heard someone remark about the cool clear water at that well because when they found me, I was trying to lower the pail to get myself a drink. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had fallen into that well. Mother was angry but father just held me close, all the way home. Because he never said anything, I knew how angry he was and never again ventured out by myself.

Then disaster! One evening I was whisked out of bed, taken into the glassed in porch and shown the red glow on the horizon in two or three directions. The Russian army was advancing and the German army was evacuating villages, then setting them on fire so the enemy wouldn’t find anything useful to help them. It was a matter of hours before Belz would be next. The next day, German soldiers came and gathered all able bodied men, recruiting them into their army, my father among them. Those who resisted or hid, were shot on the spot. The rest of us gathered all we could carry and were herded out of town before it too was set ablaze. Two things stand out in my mind of that day. First, out pet goose couldn’t keep up with us, and got left behind, honking wildly while trying to catch up on those wobbly, deformed legs. Next, as I was looking back at the goose, clutching Sonny, a big boy ran past, grabbed my bear and tossed him over a fence. I screamed but we couldn’t stop to retrieve him and I was devastated. To this day that act of thoughtlessness stirs angry emotions in me.

Now the full brunt of the war had caught up with us and without a home, alone with only her two small children, my mother wandered over much of Germany, following the army to which my father was now attached.

Life was very hard and a lot of it has been erased from my mind, but certain things have left a lasting impression on me. Throughout this time, mother, a real wheeler-dealer always made sure we hade some means of transporting our belongings and us children. A wagon was used until the snow made that impossible, then she somehow traded it for a sled. It seems we were on the road for years but in reality it was only a few months, mostly during the winter of 1943 to 1944.

Over this period I can’t remember which events happened when, so I’ll just record them as I recall them. Christmas 1943 was spent in relative comfort. We were living in one room of some apartment building but I don’t know where. Brother and I were excited about the special day and full of holiday spirit. Money was almost non-existent so anything we needed was either bartered for or gotten in some other way. I longed for a doll and had my heart set on one, without a thought of how this could be accomplished. I had faith in St Nicholas and was giving him another chance to correct his mistake of the past Christmas when he gave me the wrong type of doll.

Mother took us to Christmas concerts in various schools, where I watched beautifully dressed children act out the nativity story and other seasonal tales. At one time, a small angel darted across the stage and I was sure it was a real angel, who really flew! I kept insisting I saw her fly until mother got cross with me and threatened to take me home. (But I still believed that angel really flew across that stage.) At some of the concerts, treats were given out to all children and mother always pushed us forward to get our share, even though we didn’t attend that particular school. So, with a small brown bag of cookies and candies, this time was very satisfactory.

To keep us occupied, mother had us write letters to St Nicholas. I guess mine were just scribbles but I really thought I was putting on paper what I wanted most – a doll. We didn’t mail our letters, but put them on the outside windowsill for angels to pluck up and take them to St Nicholas. Brother and I stood on either side of the window, trying not to be seen, and waited for an angel to appear. I wrote many letters and put them outside but not once did I see the angel that swooped down and collected my messages. My letters were gone and since we were on the second or third floor, no one could have reached them, so to me, it was undoubtedly the angel. Brother’s explanations about the wind just blowing the scraps of paper away just weren’t possible. I believed in the angel. Didn’t I see one fly across the stage? Weren’t all my letters gone? Only real angels could have done such things.

Christmas morning had me so excited that it proved disastrous to my longed for doll. When I tore the paper off my gift, I trembled at the sight of a beautiful baby doll, with real hair and eyes that closed! I hugged her then ran to lay her on my bed and in putting her down, miscalculated and whacked her head on the bedframe, shattering it into many pieces. With a horrified realization of what had happened, I broke into sobs which no one could appease andeventually mother got the pieces re-glued into a head again but I never loved that doll as I had before her untimely accident. But I did play with her and she went with us as we again followed the army, hoping to catch up with father’s unit. This doll was strapped securely under the sleigh, between the runners but I didn’t really care, for she wasn’t pretty any more.

How cold and tired we’d become, trudging up and down hills amidst the throngs of humanity escaping the main fighting and trying to find a safer haven. One day, bundled warmly against the bitter cold, I had been placed on our belongings on top of the sled. Mother pulled and Brother pushed. Finally, on a straight stretch, I was taken down and told to walk, both to restore my circulation and to give up my perch to my much tired brother.

I walked along for a while, then just sat down in the middle of the road. Someone behind us shouted at my mother, who turned around and saw a tank bearing down the road and me sitting right in it’s path. She dropped the rope, ran back and snatched me out of harm’s way just in time. After a warning of how dangerous it was to stop, I again plodded along behind the sled.

With each step I grew more tired and hungry – the last meal was hours away. I pushed the sled, with my eyes on the snow covered road before me, when I saw a parcel laying before me. This time I shouted for mother, who picked it up and tucked it among our belongings.
That parcel held exactly what we needed at this time. Wrapped inside was butter and two pairs of warm felt slippers. Both of these were badly needed by mother and brother to ward off the cold and help us to survive. At the next stop, the slippers were put on two pairs of cold feet and the butter was spread over hard rye bread. I’m sure I’ll never forget that wonderful taste as long as I live.

As we traveled, many sights etched themselves on my mind. A lone movie camera, still all set up on a tri-pod, standing beside the fallen photographer. A baby carriage, off to the side of the road, from which could be heard a faint crying, the baby abandoned by it’s mother and no one stopping to help it. Everyone shepherding their own, moving away from areas where the main bombings were occurring. Watching tiny planes, high in the sky, dropping their load of bombs on a distant city, and mother telling us it looked like noodles falling from the sky.

Finding thick, yellow crayons, left behind by some army unit, and being so happy to have something to colour with. Laughing at my brother’s pants, made out of canvas, that stood by themselves when washed, being so stiff and remembering the kind people that helped us along the way, with a great risk to themselves. Although we spoke German, we were listed as Ukrainians on our papers and that wasn’t very safe to be just then.

One farm we stopped at put us up in a nice warm room, only to be roused and asked to leave through the night, before any soldiers arrived. That kind lady gave me a warm pink blanket to wrap up in and years later, this same, now thread-bare blanket was made into a pair of pyjamas for me by my father.

During this time, we also were able to hitch rides on trains, hopping on as they were moving out of the stations. At one time, a row of flat cars, known as gondolas, was slowly pulling away so mother helped Brother in, threw in our belongings and was ready to hand me over to him when someone shouted a warning. This train was on it’s way to Siberia! Poor Brother had to throw back our bags as the train gathered speed, then jump out himself. That was a close call.

Another time, disillusioned soldiers, themselves running away, helped us get on just out of a town, then made room for us. They seemed happy and shared what food they had with us. One gave me some chocolate, another a beautiful lace shawl. So I wouldn’t forget my father, mother let me play with his picture and on one train, I put the photo up on the overhead luggage rack and forgot it when we got off. Luckily we had other pictures of father.

Occasionally we managed to find father’s unit and arranged to stay near him. One day some children and I were playing in an abandoned searchlight, using it as a merry-go-round, when I was grabbed and hoisted up by a strange man. I screamed and fought against him in terror until I noticed a gold tooth in his grinning face-my father! We spent a few days together before he again was moved.

We were in Berlin, trying to board a train but because of the bombing, had to hide in the underground tunnels. Brother got separated from us somehow during a raid, and mother sat me on our suitcases and told to not to move, while she went to look for him. When she finally found him, he was caught under some bombed debris, and after getting him out, she came back only to find the belongings there but me missing. They grabbed the cases and ran farther into the tunnel calling for me. The noise was loud from all the people crammed in there and mother was frantic.

I was being carried by a Red Cross person, who found me all alone on the suitcases and thinking I was abandoned, took me into the shelter. From my vantage point in the person’s arms I saw mother pushing toward me calling my name and I began to call to her. I struggled in my rescuers arms crying and trying to go to her. Mother finally got me and I was told by Brother that I was so filthy from the soot and tears that he didn’t even recognize me. I’m glad mother did.

Up in the train station, we had to wait for an empty train and a woman approached us, begging mother to mind her two boys and a baby in the carriage, while she went to get her ticket. She never came back and hours later, mother turned the little group over to an attendant as she had us to worry about. I always wondered what became of those three poor children.

The summer of 1944 was one of the best times we had since leaving Belz. Father was stationed in Weimar and mother found us a place on a farm, just out of the city. The war seemed far away on that farm and days passed in play and adventure. The farmer had a small son, about my age who became my constant companion and best of all, we were given another gosling as a pet. At first, he was kept in a box upstairs in our room, covered with that lace shawl I was given, but as he grew, we kept him in the yard with the other geese. He never let us forget he was our goose and would follow us everywhere.

Father visited us often and during one stay, we all went for a walk, stopping at a creek to rest and eat lunch. The goose was swimming in the water and I wanted to join him but fall was already here and to dissuade me from a swim, I was told there were bloodsuckers in the water. That stopped me. However, as we sat on the bank, I must have gotten mesmerized by the rippling stream because all at once I found myself rolling down the slope toward the water. As I fell in, I thrashed and yelled hysterically, trying to get away from those big bloodsuckers. Father, after he stopped laughing, dragged me out, telling me I scared the goose so badly he was last seen flapping and honking in the direction of the farm. Brother was sent to get me dry clothes and I was bundled in sweaters. There were no bloodsuckers in that creek anyway.

Now the fighting was again closing in on us. One day, we were all ordered out of the house and into the barn while the whole house was to be used as headquarters for a troop of soldiers. Everyone was scared to disturb the men so we stayed in the loft, only going down for chores and necessities. Because we had to leave in a hurry, I forgot my only toy, a little pitcher, hidden in the oven of the big stone built-in-the-wall stove. Wanting it badly, I crept away and boldly marched into our room and demanded to get it. All those stories of soldiers harming us fled from me as these men and young boys not only let me retrieve my pitcher, but loaded me down with sweets and food. Upon return, I was severely scolded and told again, what could happen to me but as I shared my loot with both families, I wasn’t punished. But, the warning to beware was repeated often after that.

During evenings, mother often told us stories. Such wonderful tales of princesses, witches, talking animals and stories of her own childhood and youth. Until we were in Canada, where first we listened to the radio, then watched television, mother’s and father’s stories kept us both entertained and spellbound.

It was dangerous for us to speak Ukrainian so we spoke only German, except at night. Before going to bed, Brother and I had to whisper our prayers into mother’s or father’s ear, in Ukrainian. Brother, being older, retained his first language, but I, at only four, forgot everything but those nightly prayers. However, we were never permitted to forget our origins and pride of our Ukrainian heritage was a big part in our lives.

One time, before coming to this farm, we were en route in box cars with several other families, when an inspection occurred, to see who was allowed to travel. At each box car, an officer rhymed off a list of nationalities, asking if any people belonged to any of them. Parents kept small children hidden in case one of the little ones should make a mistake and give them away. When asked if there were any Ukrainians in our car, I popped out, proudly stating in German, that we were. I don’t recall how mother managed to get us out of that situation but she did and I was severely punished, again.

Back in Weimar, it was now late fall and we were preparing to move out. Father was going to be sent out again so we visited him right in the city, at a fireman-friend’s house. This man had a house right next to the sidewalk and his boy had a tricycle. How I loved riding that bike, but it was forbidden after I came inside, leaving the tricycle unattended on the sidewalk. Luckily no one took it but I couldn’t ride it again.

Going home that evening, we watched as planes bombed Weimar, learning later that a school had been shelled, killing most of the children. Days later, a girl was pulled out, alive but very weak. She was found wedged in a window and upon rescue, cried for water and her mother.

Once when we got caught too near the city, mother tried to find a safe shelter for us but all there was, was a bombed out factory in an open field, and it only had one wall still standing
As we huddled against it, mother told us later, she got a strong premonition to find another place, in the open. Grabbing us by our hands, she rushed us into the field and threw us down, covering us with her body. We heard a bomb whizz overhead and heard it hit that building we were just sheltering beside, but nothing harmed us and, until the day she died, mother told everyone who would listen that it was the Blessed Mother herself that warned her to leave that spot.

We learned that a shoe factory was bombed in that same raid we were caught in, so mother left us with the farmer’s wife and returned to the city. When she returned, she had a huge box filled with shoes, enough for both families and the extra ones to be used for trading. But the time was now here for us to leave. As we were preparing to go, we again had to leave our pet goose. He seemed to know we wouldn’t be back because he kept trying to get over the fence to follow us. After what seemed a long time, mother sent Brother back to bring the poor goose with us, but Brother found the poor thing dead, it’s head caught between the pickets of the gate.

Now we were right in the midst of the fighting again. To escape, we were at a train station looking for passage to safety, when a large woman officer approached mother. Asking why a big boy like my brother wasn’t in the uniform of the “Hitler Youngen”, she started to lead him away. That’s when mother’s fury really exploded. On that train platform, mother threw herself at that officer and both began fighting. Mother, being a small person, got the worst of it, losing some teeth and receiving many bruises, but the other woman also lost teeth and got badly hurt. We three remained together, but we were arrested and sent to Buchenwald, a Concentration camp just outside of Weimar. There we stayed until liberated by the Americans in May of 1945, and father never got to hear what became of us until long after the war was over.

Chapter 3

We now lived in a Bavarian near the town of Mittenwalde but I don’t recall how we got there at all. Mother, who was pregnant from our stay on the farm in Wiemar, was near the time of my sister’s birth. I was now five and felt quite grown up and had lots of children to play with. We were staying in a large castle type place, that was opened up to house all the refuges, with the American Army based near us.

I loved playing outdoors, for it was summer, I could run around bare foot and we weren’t hungry any longer. Life was good, or so I thought. On July the 19th, 1945, my mother went into labour. The room we were in held several people, bunk beds were set up against the wall and we ate in a large dining room, but could cook our own meals if we wanted to.
While in labour, the other women in the room helped my mother, until the American Doctor could come. I couldn’t see anything as blankets were draped around the bottom bunk and I didn’t know what was going on, except that my mother seemed in pain. Brother, on the other hand, being nine and a half, and having learned plenty from the boys he hung around with, managed to get on the top bunk and hide in the bedding. He must have been very still for no one noticed him, including me, and I only learned about all this years later from him.

With a lot of commotion in the room, I was sent away when the doctor arrived and later was told that this Doctor had found a baby floating on the pond near by and brought it to my mother. Brother on the other hand managed to peek over the end of the bunk and saw the whole birthing process. Someone called me in and showed me my new sister – all red, wrinkled with black hair all over her head. I wasn’t impressed and didn’t like her on the spot. Babies were cute, plump. Sweet things, not this prunie red faced thing in a woman’s arms. I wasn’t interested in her at all and I’m sure that first impression was why I never really bonded with her through all our lives.

As Sister grew, she became more baby-looking but I still wasn’t interested in her but I was interested in how she got here. Maybe Brother let slip something to me or maybe I didn’t believe the Doctor made the right choice but I pestered my mother to go to this pond and let me see if there were any babies floating on it. (I probably thought that an exchange could be made.) One day we all took a walk to this pond and all I saw were bull rushes and lily pads floating there, no babies. Mother told me they were all taken and given to other mothers. I was disappointed.

At this castle, mice were everywhere and cats were scarce as they had been used for food during the war. Someone told us that a porcupine would catch and eat mice so, since we were close to the Bavarian forest, someone trapped one and it lived in a closet during the day, being let loose at night to find and catch the mice. Although he looked cute, we were told not to go near him and were made to touch the sharp quills. Needless to say, all children did as they were told.

As summer wore on, the four of us would take long walks into the forest, so quiet and fragrant. We picked wild berries, flowers and most of all mushrooms, great big ones. Because there were many poisonous toadstools that resembled the edible mushrooms, we had to show Mother what we picked. I loved those lovely shiny red ones with while spots on them, but Mother told be they were poisonous and would kill us. Although I never picked any, I did admire them and have used red and white mushrooms as decorations ever since. We weren’t the only ones picking mushrooms and when they were strung on twine, hung to dry, nearly every family had them. It was gratifying to see the delicious fungi shrinking in the sun, knowing we would have mushrooms to eat all winter.

One time in the summer, we went walking in the forest as usual, with my brother wearing a sturdy pair of boots belonging to my mother. I loved those boots because every time I looked at them, they reminded me of my mother and I used to think they even looked like my mother. Anyway, we were gone for quite a while and as the day wore on, it got pretty hot in the forest. Brother decided it would be cooler to go bare foot and placed the boots beside a tree, thinking he could pick them up on our way back. You guessed it, he couldn’t find which tree he set those boots beside and they were lost. I felt very sad and told my mother that I really missed those boots.

“Why”, she asked.

“Because they look like you”, I replied.

Well, at this she got angry at me and told me not to be so silly. I guess she didn’t like the idea of being told she looked like an old pair of boots.

The American soldiers were very good to all the refugees and we made friends with some of them, even though we couldn’t understand each other. I used to watch them play football and we all laughed at how stupid they were to play with a ball that looked like an egg when we all knew football was played with a round ball. Of course we never let them know that.
One soldier was more friendlier to our family than the others and he used to buy or get us treats and kind of looked after us. We were friends until the day he asked my mother if she would consider letting him and his wife adopt me. I even had a picture taken with him, barefoot and wearing one of Sister’s bibs. He was squatted down, in his full uniform with his arm around me. Naturally my mother refused and we rarely saw him after that. I don’t know if he was moved or if he stayed away on purpose as he had become quite attached to me and Mother didn’t like it. Whatever the reason, for years afterwards, I would look at that picture and wonder what kind of life I would have had if I had been adopted into his family. Mother only told me that she thought he came from Newark NJ but I can’t remember his name and over the years, I lost that picture.

After the stay at the castle, we rented an upstairs apartment of two or three rooms. There were about 4 apartments per floor and it must have been three or four stories high. Each floor had a communal bathroom, which was built apart from the building and was reached by a walk way with railings. In the kitchen, under the table was a little cubby hole in the wall and in there, Mother kept a live chicken, so we could have eggs. To prompt the hen to lay, a white porcelain door knob was put into the nest and it was my job to crawl under the table each day to see if there was a egg. I don’t know how many times I brought out that door knob, thinking it was an egg.

Mother nursed Sister but we needed money so she began working for the Red Cross and we acquired a nanny goat for milk. Brother and I had the job of milking the goat after it was tied up. He milked and I held on to the tail so the goat would think it was tied up at both ends. As Mother got more and more work, someone had to look after Sister and me. At first the job was Brothers but that didn’t last long. He was nearly ten and wanted to play with the neighbourhood boys, which left me in charge of Sister. Being over five, I still had no interest in Sister and would leave her in her crib or carriage and go and play.

I guess the neighbours must have informed Mother of our lack of duty, because Mother found a lady across the street that offered to keep Sister with her until Mother could stay home again. That way, when Mother got home, got Brother and me ready for bed, she didn’t have Sister to worry about through the night or to get her ready in the morning. This worked well for about a week. Mother would go over each evening and visit Sister, then came home to us.

After about a week, the woman refused to let Mother into her house to visit Sister, saying it was her baby and she didn’t want anyone else near her. Mother was very upset and kept trying to reason with her to no avail. She finally had to get a policeman, explain the problem and he had to verify that Sister was indeed her baby. I was with Mother when we went to pick her up and I couldn’t believe how beautiful the baby’s room was. She had a lovely white crib with lace bedding, a beautiful carriage, lots of toys and many, many outfits. It turned out that the woman lost her own baby during the war and after keeping Sister for a few days, thought it was her own little one that she was looking after. Mother told us later that the poor woman was mentally unbalanced and the authorities were looking after her. I secretly wished that Sister never returned but then felt guilty and began to take more responsibility in helping Mother look after her.

With Mother now earning money, we were starting to live a much better life here in Mittenwalde. There was enough food for not only us but for a few single men and women that Mother befriended. I also had some new dolls but my favourite was one that had brown eyes, like mine. All the other girls I played with had blue-eyed dolls but even though most were the same kind, mine was different with her different coloured eyes. Down the street was a shop that sold toys and other things and one day I saw a real china baby doll, that must have been about ten to twelve inches in length. Every time we went by this shop, I stopped and looked longingly at this baby, dressed an a white frilly christening outfit. But the price was one hundred marks and I knew we still couldn’t afford her.

That Christmas, I received this fantastic doll and was very excited, until I lifted her into my arms. That baby doll was so heavy I could barely hold her and soon after Christmas, I let Mother take her back to the store.

Also that Christmas, we had a get together with some of the neighbours and mother’s single friends. Cookies were baked, food was prepared, the tree was all aglow with tiny candles and everyone was singing carols in the living room. At one point, during a lull, Mother, who was by the window, thought she heard someone crying. Since no one was missing from the gathering, she went into the hall, opened the door leading to the bathroom walk and found a young teen looking into our living room and crying. He was dirty, poorly dressed for the December weather and he looked half starved. Mother brought him into the kitchen, fed him and listened to his story.

He was an orphan that was trying to find some relatives, only he didn’t know where they were. Mother assured him that she and the Red Cross would make a thorough search for them but in the mean time, he was to stay with us and was included in the festivities. Brother’s knitted cap and mitts were given to the new arrival and the other guests all pitched in with something, gifts and cash, so that boy had something of his own. After Mother went back to work, the Red Cross did find his relatives and were happy to be reunited with him. Before he left, he asked Mother if he could write to her and for years afterwards, even in Canada, we would get letters from him. Once he even sent a picture of himself, grown up, with a wife and two small girls. Sadly, we lost track of him but where ever he is, I’m sure he never forgot that Christmas.

Upstairs in the apartment lived a boy a bit younger than me, that used to want to play with us girls. We allowed him to be part of our group but when he began to annoy us, we found an easy solution to our problem. We had discovered that while playing house, and pretending to prepare food for our dolls, this boy would suddenly tell us he had to go back to his mother. It seems his mother must have let him help her chop the green onions because every time we chopped grass as onions, he had to leave. So from then on, whenever we were tired of him, all we had to do was say we were going to chop onions and he left.

Next door to our apartment was a bombed out toy factory. We used to play in the rubble, disregarding all the dangers of broken glass, nails and other dangerous things. Brother had earned some money helping the man living behind us and he bought himself a little toy wagon with a horse attached. How I envied him this toy, especially since he wouldn’t let me play with it. But one day, while rooting through the debris, I found a small box and inside was an identical wagon and horse. Brother didn’t think it was fair that he paid money for his and I found mine but I didn’t care, I had a toy too.

One day, Brother, a bunch of kids and I went to another bombed out factory. In here they made toilets, sinks and bathtubs but all that was left was broken porcelain. To move the pieces from one end of the factory to the other, little carts ran on rails by gravity and they must have been pulled back up by electricity. The boys cleared the tracks, put one of the carts back on the rails and we all took turns hurtling down from one end to the other. Today I shudder when I think of how dangerous this game was, for no one knew we were in there and the whole place was unstable. In one small room, we were looking for any salvageable materials when I saw something high on some shelves in a corner. I climbed those shelves and found a plaster Volkswagen car, that was probably going to be a toy for some child. The boys all wanted it but Brother told them I found it, I climbed the shelves and I should keep it. I was so proud of him then.

In town, there was a public swimming pool and occasionally, Mother let Brother take me with him when he went swimming. Walking there one day, I found a torn one mark and we decided to spend it on candy. Because it was badly torn, we were afraid the shop keeper wouldn’t accept it so we rolled it up very tight and I went in to buy the candy. As soon as I handed over the rolled bill, I ran from the store, thinking the shop keeper would unroll the torn bill and demand the candy back. At the pool, I watched kids going up a slide, sit on wet burlap bags and slide into the water. I wanted to try this sport so badly but I was too small, didn’t know how to swim and the water was too deep.

The man that lived behind us became quite friendly with Mother, but he couldn’t stand us kids. Mother kept us away from him and explained to us that although he didn’t like children, he was influential in the town and it was in our best interest to try and be nice to him. One day Mother left us with him for some reason, maybe to run back home for something. . I knew he didn’t like me and I tried keeping out of his way but I either said something he didn’t like or I didn’t hear something he asked me to do. All of a sudden I felt myself being lifted up by the hair and shouted at. I was so stunned I began crying. When Mother returned a few minutes later, seeing my tears, asked what happened. The man must have told her some lie for I think mother knew I wouldn’t be crying for that. As soon as we left, she asked me what happened and when I told her he lifted me by my hair, she didn’t believe me. But we never again were left alone with that man, not even for a minute.

Those single friends of mother’s were young men and women that lost their families during the war and were now trying to make a life for themselves. One girl asked us to go with her to visit the funeral home or whatever the place was, because a friend of hers had just been killed and she didn’t want to go alone. Mother left Sister with Brother but took me with her. Through out the war, I saw dead bodies a lot and never thought very much about it but this dead woman really left an impression on me.

She was as white as snow, no colour at all and very stiff. Someone tried putting something in her hand and couldn’t. She died riding a motorcycle that didn’t follow the road when it turned and crashed into the side of a brick building, dying instantly. I thought how unfair. She lived through all the bombing and gunfire only to die on a motorcycle. Her imprint is still on my mind.

One of the single girls was getting married and there was a big celebration. We were invited to the festivities and everyone was having a good time. A friend of the bride, one of Mother’s single women, got up to make a short speech. I was sitting on a low platform right behind her and when she stood uo, I pulled back her chair. When the speech was over, she sat down and landed with a loud thump on the floor. All us kids behind her burst out laughing, as did the older members. Getting up, she glared at us and zeroed in on me with a tirade of angry words. Although I was guilty, I wondered how she knew it was me and not one of the other kids.

There was a custom in Poland that sometime in the spring, around Easter I think, the young people try to wake each other up by throwing water . Mother’s friends were mostly Polish so they really had a good time running around and throwing buckets of water on the opposite sex. I wished I was older so I could join in the fun.

In our apartment, someone was very sick. Mother being a nurse, was called upon for help and I went with her to act as an assistant. All I did was help to carry her bag. When we got to the room, I saw a man lying on his back with a lot of little glass bottles stuck to his chest. To this day I don’t know what purpose these bottles were for but I was interested in how they were put on. Each bottle was filled with a bit of alcohol which was lit with a match. As soon as the fire went out, the bottle was inverted on the man’s chest and as it cooled, the skin was sucked up inside. It was weird! He lay there with all those bottles stuck to him and mounds of red flesh forming inside as the bottles cooled. I don’t remember what Mother did. All I remember were the bottles and how they were put on.

I always loved baby dolls. One day, Brother and I went for a walk in a different neighbourhood and saw a little girl wheeling a doll carriage with a small baby doll, all dressed in pink and white, covered with a silky blanket. I stared. I wished I was that little girl and I told Brother I wished I could get a doll and carriage like that. Before I knew it, Brother ran to the girl, grabbed her possession and told me to run like the wind after him. Several streets later, we stopped to catch our breath and he told me the carriage and doll were now mine but not to tell Mother how he got it. I never told but I felt so guilty that I never played with it outside and eventually my guilt was too much and I gave it away to some other girl. Besides, I really liked playing with my brown-eyed doll, who, except for her eyes, was exactly like the ones 2 other girls had. I could imagine how that poor little girl felt and how devastated she must have been as I loved my doll and would have died if someone snatched her from me. Brother and I never spoke of that incident, ever.

Sometime in the spring or early summer of 1946, we were moved to another part of Germany to a farm in Hollich, which is outside of Burgsteinfurt, not far from the Dutch border. Maybe we went there because Mother found out Father was alive and in Hamburg and this place was closer than Mittenwalde. Whatever the reason, the Government put us on a farm owned by a widow and her son and daughter. A stage coach type carriage brought us to the farm and we were made welcome and shown to our one room that we were to live in. While the Government person was there, everything was fine but after he left, things changed. The stairs had been carpeted but that was soon pulled up. All cheerfulness vanished and we were given strict rules about what we could and couldn’t do. Mother and Brother were to help with the farm work and I was to mind Sister. So began our two years on the farm.

Soon life fell into a daily routine. Brother was enrolled in the Catholic school in Burgsteinfurt and he walked about 11 kilometers every day, rain, snow or fair weather. As soon as I turned seven I too could go to school. I could hardly wait. Looking out our window, I could wee a little house made of living trees that were pruned into shape, with benches along the walls inside. How I wanted to go and check out this house and play in it but it was forbidden so I could only look at it from upstairs.

Mother arranged for us to visit Father in Hamburg, where he was still being kept as a prisoner of war by the allies. He wasn’t locked in but couldn’t go off the base. We stayed in his room for the duration we were there and went for walks all over the base. One time, a strong wind was blowing and we were walking between two pits, used to hold garbage. I opened my coat and spread it out to get cool when all at once I found myself running faster and faster, right toward an open pit. Too scared to drop my outstretched coat, I just ran until my Father caught me, on the edge of the pit. I was a sailboat and nearly had an accident.

Father hadn’t known Mother was having a baby when we last saw him in Wiemar so he had to get acquainted with Sister, who was now nearly a year old and get used to having three children. It didn’t take long and before I knew it, Sister was also Father’s favourite. During the summer of that year, Father finally came home and worked on the farm for a little pay and our housing. Five people in one room, cooking, playing and sleeping was too much when there were empty rooms on both sides of the hall. Father made arrangements for us to use another room for our cooking and eating and finally they were able to have some privacy.

As hard as we had it at the farm, we were happy and glad we had a roof over our head and food in our stomachs. And I was happy too because the widow had a granddaughter a year younger than me that visited often from Burgsteinfurt. Erika and I soon became good friends and I looked forward to her visits. Her father had been killed in the war and her mother was left on her own to run the movie theater in town. The father was one of the widow’s sons and they showered all their attention oh Erika, the only grandchild and niece. The aunt, Tante Mimi had a cruel streak in her and could be very mean, but only to us and to animals. The uncle, Alfred, isn’t imprinted on my mind except for one thing.

Erika had a dog at the farm, a dachshund called Hexe, or witch. How she loved this dog and how the dog looked forward to her visits. One spring, Hexe produced a litter of puppies, some like her and others long legged like the father, who ever he was. The pups were all given away except one long legged one that no one wanted. Because he was different from Hexe, none of them liked him and didn’t bother to feed him, letting him hunt his own food. One day we heard a terrible yelping coming from the farmyard. There was the poor, half starved dog with both ears nailed to a short board. He was caught in the hen house stealing eggs and the uncle punished him. I cried but we couldn’t do anything about it. Later, we found the poor dog, minus the board and two torn ears.

Tante Mimi showed her cruelty to me one day when she was cooking beets for pig mash and I stood watching. All at once she grabbed a cat and held it upside down over the hot steam coming from the kettle while the cat squirmed and screamed in fear and pain. Laughing and watching me, she finally threw the cat aside as I stood there silently crying. How I hated her and her brother.

But I loved Oma, the grandmother. Whenever Erika was there, I got to play with her in their kitchen or living room. I knew, even at that age, that in order to stay on the good side of the family, I had to be extra nice to Erika and one game she loved was hide and seek. She would hide and even if I knew where she was, I would go around searching and calling out, “Where is Erika”. I’d ask if she was under the chair, under the table, behind the door and so on, all the while hearing her giggling in her hiding spot. Oma also used to feed me if I was thereat a meal time and my favourite was a thin soup made of milk and flour. There must have been other things in it but it was so good that I ate and didn’t ask questions.
Sometimes Erika came upstairs to play in our room and she quickly learned my game that I played with Father. Father had a mustache and I would gently tickle it while he kept his eyes closed until all at once he pretended to snap at my finger. Erika and I took turns, with both of us jumping and giggling when father tried to bite our fingers. Mother told me later that we had to be nice to Erika and let her play with Father because her own had been killed and she must have missed having one. My heart softened toward her more than it had before. I loved Erika.

Erika and I both wore aprons over our dresses. Mine were of dark materials and Erika’s were all white with either frills or some decorations. I can still see her when she became tired or bored, taking the corner of her apron and rubbing it across her lips. She did that the whole time we were on that farm. Erika’s mother had met a man and sometimes they both brought Erika to the farm. This man liked our family and when he had his camera with him, would take pictures, sometimes of us. He gave me one he took of me, standing by a low wall, with a hedge behind it. I had wide ribbons in my pigtails, a white peasant blouse that I wore as a dress and bare feet. At Christmas the next year, he took pictures of our whole family by the tree, lit with candles that Father dipped himself. But for kind people like him, we wouldn’t have any photographs of our childhood as we never owned a camera until we were in Canada.

Soon I was seven and began first grade. Brother and I walked every day, sometimes getting a ride on a wagon going or coming from town. Although the farm had milk cows, we had to buy our milk so it was Brother’s job to buy a pitcher full on his way home from school. One day, as we walked in the spring sunshine, he told me he could tip the pitcher upside down and the milk wouldn’t spill. Of course I didn’t believe him so he showed me how it was done. He started to swing his arm in a circle over his head and sure enough, when the pitcher was upside down, the milk didn’t spill. I marveled at his knowing such things. Another time, as we passed hydro poles, he had me put my ear to the pole and listen to the humming. How could that pole hum like that I wondered. He was smart to learn such things.

Lydia’s story continues here.

Full index of chapters

Part 1 @ Part 2 @ Part 3 @ Part 4 @ Part 5 @ Part 6 @ Part 7 @ Part 8 @ Part 9 @ Part 10 @ Part 11 @ Part 12 @ Part 13 @ Part 14 @ Part 15 @ Part 16