Introduction

Paul Winkler was my grandfather. He was born in 1866, was a school headmaster and appointed church organist in Breslau, Silesia, a region which became part of Poland after 1945. It is assumed that he retired in 1931 at the age of 65 as most professionals of his generation did. Ten years before he died at the age of 97 in 1963, he wrote down in the most meticulous hand his memories of the fateful time. He lived one third of his life in the nineteenth century and through the most turbulent, schizophrenic cultural revolution in Europe, through Bismarck, Kaiser, Weimar Republic, the short-lived Third Reich, to Adenauer, the prince of the new Democratic Republic of West Germany.

Although there is no documented proof, Paul Winkler was regarded as a libertarian who supported the Weimar Republic. Right following World War II he was considered a missing person. The members of my direct family were force-evacuated to what became West Germany, leaving all possessions behind but what could be carried on one’s back, losing all connections with another, having the task of reconnecting the family web when times became more stable. He was found through the Red Cross Search Service and to the surprise of the family appeared in Brackwede at the Altersheim Rosenhöhe, a private home for senior citizens, roughly fifty miles south from where we finally ended up.

Until his very end, he was an outgoing and busy man. For years, to the consternation of the family, he refused to leave the senior-home to join the family. At that time, having an otherwise healthy and active family-elder living anywhere but with his relatives, especially those who were affluent enough to be able caring for him with ease, was considered by towns-people a besmirched blemish on any family’s honor and name. However, overhearing my grandfather argue at the age of ninety-four with my father, his son Georg, a respected psychiatrist, who at that time was sixty-four, made crystal clear that things could not and would not change. He could not even be moved to reconsider. His reasons were not very subtle: “Georg, let me tell you this, living with you will just be too boring.”

My grandfather’s time was spent in making travel arrangements for his fellow senior citizens, usually train and bus rides to the corners of West Germany for the various holidays and family gatherings. He ordered their tickets to the theater, the music performances, and scouted out the cinema marquees of movie houses. “You know, much of the stuff is useless. Too much sex.” Later he moved to another home in Bielefeld, became an honorary citizen, and enjoyed thoroughly the honors of having received the keys to the city.

He lived a very spartan life. After the Marshall Plan had given this amazing shot into the arm of the German economy and revved up everybody’s life, he benefited greatly. His headmaster’s pension soared, adjusted upward in relationship to the Wirtschaftswunder, the astonishing German economy at that time. What impressed me most about him was how he spent every dime. When he died there was very little left. The reason for this was, and anybody like me who visited him could bear out the fact, he sent care packages as part of his daily and weekly routines to East Germany in days of the still closed Iron Curtain. Walking into his fairly large room in the retirement home, one quickly was surrounded by the exotic smells of coffee, chocolate, tobacco, and soap. His wall-length closet was over-stuffed with the cheapest blocks of cooking and baking chocolate, the least expensive coffee beans, cigars that looked like old twisted sausages, and the most oddly aromatic soaps that Woolworth (he pronounced it Vulvhat) had to offer. Each day he would pack several care packages and deliver them to the post office. There was only one change over the years. The trips to the post office became longer in the same proportion with his age. What in the beginning was an hour walk finally became three hours. But it provided the daily routine and exercise. Only after his death did the family become aware of the extent to which he had gone to help many people in East Germany.

Over the years he had become shorter and shorter, and when I was twenty-one years old I towered by a head over him. He smoked all his life…cigars. He had many special gifts. He loved people, although he kept the family at an uncomfortable distance. I was an exception. He also had a magical hand with all kinds of animals. Watching him sun himself on a park bench one could see flocks of tiny birds alit or sit on his shoulders. Squirrels would feed from his hands. So did rabbits. He stood for everything alive. He was a lovely person.

One of his few legacies to the family are two meticulously handwritten journals, his memoirs, chronicling the most difficult times Germany had brought upon itself. He wrote his memories down at the age of 87. He also left copies to the Bundesarchiv-Koblenz (on the Rhein), proud that his notes were declared as historical documents, shining light on the tragic and gruesome events in the post war period of his hometown Wansen. They were deposited, May 1, 1953, in the Bundesarchiv, the Catholic Church chronicle for persons driven from the eastern region as a reminder for all times.

The Second World War ends with bitter severity for the people of Silesia. On January 19, 1945, the Red Army overruns the industrial region, which without much damage falls into the hands of the Russians, while German authorities order the population westward in fear of Russian reprisals. Universities and schools are closed and moved to other southern and western regions considered safer for the moment. By the end of January many of the cities like Oppeln, Hindenburg, and Kattowitz gave way to occupation forces. On February 15, the city of Breslau, the capital of Silesia, was ordered to become a military fortress, a bastion placed into the way of the relentless onslaught of the invasion forces. On the Saturday before Easter, 1945, the final assault on Breslau was launched. After eleven weeks of uninterrupted siege, and exhausting defense, Breslau finally surrendered. Two thirds of the city was in ruin and eighty thousand people and soldiers were lost. May 7, 1945, brought the final surrender of the German Wehrmacht. Silesia was turned over to Soviet and Polish authorities, and the German population was either force-evacuated or decided to move westward to the British, American, and French sectors.

Wansen, now Wiqzów, in the County of Strehlen, roughly 22 miles from Breslau, 8 miles from the county seat, was an old town, mentioned first in 1155. It was a colonial town built as a fortification by the Order of Knights defending against Slavic invasions. Its center was a rectangular plaza, the Ring, made up of the catholic and protestant churches, surrounded by fortifications, beyond which the town over the next eight hundred years expanded. In 1945 Wansen was proud of its light industry, the brick works, cigar and cigarette manufacturing, as well as cucumber pickling. The town itself was surrounded by agriculture.

Against another ferocious backdrop, the turmoil of the Thirty Years’ War devastating all countries of Europe that came in touch with its veracity, the 17th century German author Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen wrote an extensive account. Through the eyes of a not-so-simple simpleton “The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus”, published in 1669, chronicle the lad’s adventures.

While translating Paul Winkler’s memoires, I recalled Grimmelhausen’s descriptions that seemed to parallel happenings three-hundred years later. Far from measuring up to the extent of Grimmelshausen’s memory of war and contribution to world literature, never-the-less, sixty years after these world altering events, there is a certain innocent simplicity and honesty in Paul Winkler’s writings, paralleling the historical events of the forties with the same kinds of devastation. In 1945, he was seventy-nine years old.

Entry in Literary Encyclopedia

Simplicius Simplicissimus is a picaresque novel of the Baroque style, written in 1668 by Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen and published the subsequent year. Inspired by the events and horrors of the Thirty Years’ War which had devastated Germany from 1618 to 1648, it is regarded as the first adventure novel in the German language and the first German novel masterpiece. The full subtitle is “The life of an odd vagrant named Melchior Sternfels von Fuchsheim: namely where and in what manner he came into this world, what he saw, learned, experienced, and endured therein; also why he again left it of his own free will.” The novel follows a boy from the Spessart named Simplicius in the Holy Roman Empire during the 30 Years War as he grows up in the depraved environment and joins the armies of both warring sides, switching allegiances several times. Born to an illiterate peasant family, he is separated from his home by foraging dragoons and is eventually adopted by a forest hermit. He is conscripted at a young age into service, and from there embarks on years of foraging, military triumph, wealth, prostitution, disease, travels to Russia, and countless other adventures.

Dietmar R. Winkler, translator,
November 1, 2004.

Under Russian Rule:
One Hundred Days
as Mayor of My Beloved Hometown
Wansen, Lower Silesia
formerly Germany – now Poland
February 15 – June 1, 1945

Historical accounts,
shedding light on the tragic and
gruesome events
in the post war period of my
dear hometown.

by Paul Winkler

The residents of the German eastern province of Selisia were made especially to experience the “woes of the vanquished”. The massive incursion of the Russian army was followed right afterwards by expulsion from the eastern homelands and forced transfer to the western provinces. Very hungry and inadequately dressed, the refugees arrived there, and sooner or later found accommodations and shelter.

At the end of 1945, when Breslau was declared a German fortress, I had to leave the city. My apartment, I was a widower, was seized by the Wehrmacht and I went to Wansen to live with my sister Bertha, who was single. The little town of 3,500 inhabitants was a one-hour train ride away from Breslau. In Strehlen, the county seat, I stayed overnight in a huge shelter, filled with refugees. The next day, I got a ride in a military vehicle traveling empty on the way to Berg via Wansen, where my sister owned the family property including a household goods store and a haberdashery on Ring Strasse 23.

I was surprised by the masses of refugees coming from the direction of the right bank of the Oder River, moving through the town towards the County of Glatz. In the north and west raged fierce battles, with the sound of cannon fire filling the air.

Most of the inhabitants of the town had also fled to the District of Habeschwaerdt, to which they were assigned and sequestered. About hundred and twenty stayed behind, most living in basements and cellars. Also our nice, the manager of my sister’s stores fled with her family. My sister and I, both stayed. Some other women and a family, man, wife, and daughter, took shelter with us – eight people living in one room and awaiting with fear of the coming events.

Before I recall further the military related events, I would like to describe an episode that took place during those days. In Wansen, there was a rather large cigar factory, in which 4,000,000 cigars were warehoused as German military property. Initially, the assistant manager of the factory sold the cigars at lowered prices – I acquired also 5 boxes. But as the enemy came closer he too fled. The inventory was virtually abandoned and so German troops that were still here and the few present inhabitants confiscated it. Men, women, and children carried the full cases home, to keep or give away. I also was offered some and I took the offer and had a supply of 15 boxes.

Regardless, a considerable quantity was left for the Russians, and I saw how they came walking along the Neisser Strasse, loaded with cigar boxes. Yes, a Russian corporal gave me a box, containing 100 cigars. But after about a week had passed he requested the cigars back. I laughed and said to him in Polish: “The cigars are for smoking, and I have smoked them.” He frowned, but eventually he joined in my chuckle. I could speak Polish because for eighteen years I was a teacher in the Polish speaking part of Upper Silesia. My wife and my sons also spoke Polish. The knowledge of the Polish language made my relationship with the Russian and Poles immensely easier.

A neighbor, Erwin Buckle, owner of a drugstore before his flight, gave me the keys to his house and business, and also a huge bottle of brandy. A sergeant of thirty-eight men of the German Grenadiers, who was quartered in a house close by, told me confidentially, that he had the orders to attack at 6 o’clock in the evening the Russians who had penetrated all the way to the Strandbad (swimming pool) at the edge of town, and to drive them away. I offered him the bottle of brandy for his strength, which he was only pleased to accept. Next morning, he explained to me: “As we were getting ready to attack, the enemy left hurriedly his position, leaving machine-guns and ammunition behind – no a shot was fired.” In general I had noticed that the Russian soldier showed boldness and aggression only when he was in superior position. However, the recruits seemed to be willing and skillful, while the older soldiers were casual and rarely even greeted their superiors.

Also, in my relationship with the local Russian Kommandant, I was treated curtly at the beginning, but it showed that when I faced up to him using strong decisive answers like “This can not be done this way”, he quickly gave in and said: “Do it the way you want.” During work on a caved-in wall, the commander’s adjutant, a first lieutenant, decided that the cleanup was proceeding too slowly, and he threatened me: “I will bring you into the cellar”, I answered him: “Come, let us go first to the Kommandant.” He immediately said: “Go on with what you are doing.” He did not stay angry towards me in any way. Most of times, I asked him for matches: “Do you have a match?” He immediately gave them to me: ”Here you are, Herr.”

The battles became fierce. On February 11, at the entrance of town, to the north, a German officer with a Panzerfaust (bazooka) destroyed a heavy Russian tank. A heavily armored plate, weighing some tons, was thrown 600 feet into the garden of our neighbor. A second tank sat at the outbuildings of the Konietza farm, and a third between both cemeteries. A fourth lay at the beginning of the outskirts of Brieg. Heavy German machine-guns were positioned in the garden of the Gasthaus “Deutsches Haus”, and at the König dairy, constantly shooting on the enemy who had already advanced to the Wirtschaft (Gasthaus) Glogauer.

Throughout, my sister and I went three times daily to take care of our brother’s goats. Upon the advice of members of the German machine-gun crew, we carried a pail in each hand, every time. The Russians who obviously observed us left us alone.

The Russians shot heavily at the town. But the projectiles created only little damage. The roofs did not cave in. It did not come to any fires. I counted fourteen hits on the Rathaus, twenty-two on the Catholic Church, and fifteen on the Protestant Church, but the buildings lay not in ruin.

On Tuesday, February 13, in the evening, the battle quieted down. Then, around nine o’clock our font door was broken down. A German machine gunner intruded, stormed into the yard and tried to take off with our handcart. I stood in his way, but received a push so that I fell to the ground. He took off with the wagon. At the front door he turned, and yelled at me: “Get out of here, because tomorrow at nine the Russians will be here. Then you will get an experience that’s something else.” I secured the door as much as possible and we lived through an anxious night.

The next day, February 14, around nine o’clock, the Russians entered the town coming through the Dörnstrasse and Briegerstrasse, and the Stockgasse. Not a shot was fired. Nearly all day long there was a continuous flow of soldiers. They moved in slowly, securing all sides, through the Ring-Marktplatz to the Neisserstrasse – always following the Germans that evacuated toward the south and were moving behind the hills of Strehlen to stronger fortifications. There it came to heavy confrontations.

I observed the advance from the window of our house. Right after the invasion the Russians erected a machine-gun in the hallway of our house. I made them aware of its futility. That’s when a Russian soldier in German said to me: “You better be quiet because the gun-sergeant could misunderstand you and hit you over the head.” I answered: “You are right, I will disappear immediately, – but tell me, where did you learn to speak German so well?” His answer: “I have worked in Hamburg for ten years.” I withdrew. The Russians also disappeared soon from our house.

The next day, early in the morning, the Russian occupation force moved in. Around nine o’clock, I walked to the Ring/ Marktplatz to possibly get contact with the Russians. In the middle stood a tall officer. I walked up to him and greeted: “Good morning, Herr Offizier.” Since the greeting was not returned, I greeted in Polish: “Dobry Panie dzień.” His Polish response to my greeting followed immediately. Now we spoke Polish. He asked: “What do you want from me?” My answer: “I would like to know who the Kommandant for this town is?” He pointed at himself and said: “I am he,” gesturing with his hand in the direction of the house, in which he was living. It was Gasthaus Geike.

I said to him: “My name is Paul Winkler. I was headmaster in Breslau and I am now with my sister in Wansen.” In an instant I showed him our house; it was immediately opposite his domicile. Then he said: “You will become mayor; you will receive the notification.” I answered: “I accept the appointment.” We shook hands and I said good-bye.

On the way back to my house, a young, well dressed Russian approached me, greeting me in precise German, and asked: “Good morning, mein Herr, could you show me the house of the former mayor?” I answered: “That I can do, “ and then I asked: “But what is your assignment, you have neither saber nor revolver, and why do you come here with the fighting troops?” Answer: “I am war-correspondent for Prawda in Moscow, and I give accounts of my impressions of the conquered German provinces, towns, and people, especially those in which Hitler-supporters lived and functioned. Then, a car drove up, in which an upper-ranked lieutenant sat with a wounded arm; we greeted each other.

We drove to my house. I lead the correspondent and the soldier into the office-den. The lieutenant sat in the armchair and took a book from the shelf and read aloud. So I said: “You can read German, then we can speak German with each other.” “Yes, that we can, “ he said.

On the desk stood a little vessel with old coins – a small coin collection. The lieutenant took a larger coin and asked me if it had a high value. I said: “The financial exchange-value of the coin is small but the collector’s value is significant.” Upon that he put all coins as war-booty into his pockets. Then I said: “Please, go on in, here is the bedroom, that is the living room, then there is the kitchen.” They went in; I waited in the hall. But they came out very soon, and the correspondent with a big smile gave me a box of matches that he found in the kitchen. I took them, because matches in wartimes were valuable goods. Then I asked: “How do you like the flat?”

The correspondent said: “It is nice, but not luxuriously furnished, and now we want to see the houses of Dr. Loch, Niesel, the owner of the König dairy, and Dr. Scholz. I was aghast. How could he have known the names in such a short time? It could have been only through the people from the Ukraine who lived here already for a longer period of time and were employed by agricultural concerns. I asked: “Doesn’t the Kommandant live in Dr. Loch’s house?” This was a fib of mine because I did not want to become an informer. Immediately, the correspondent said, “No, we will not enter this house.” And with that the sightseeing tour was ended. Now, we drove back and held in front of our house. We got out, and they asked to see the storerooms of my sister’s business to take it under scrutiny. I introduced my sister whom they greeted very courteously and they went into the store. They looked at the goods and asked at the end for a souvenir. The correspondent asked for a half dozen of white handkerchiefs, the lieutenant for some work clothes for his chauffeur. My sister gave them for what they had asked. They thanked her and with courteous greetings went on their way. I accompanied them to the front door. The lieutenant put the work clothes down and sent for his chauffeur to pick them up. He was ecstatic and nearly fell around my neck. If I had known that only a few hours later the store would be ransacked, I would have thrown in a pair of warm long johns for each of the two nice Russians because outdoors blew a bitter wind.

At midday, the military pack wagons entered, about eighty in number, and stopped in the Domstrasse. The commander of the wagons and his personnel, fierce figures in fur-like uniforms attending the horses, came to the Ring and the looting began. No house or store was spared. Cellars, rooms, attics were searched. The best was taken; and this went on for days. And during the night women were raped – among us, three women suffered repeatedly. Urgently, I begged the Kommandant to prevent the looting and rape. “This can’t be done. This is war!” was his answer. We were mercilessly abandoned to the fury of war, trying to resist; but a human life counted for very little. One could have been easily shot. When a young Russian tried to make off with two of my suits, I yelled at him in Polish: “This belongs to me! Give it back!” Upon which he began to strangle me with his bazooka and I cried in pain: “Let me go, you evil brute, and get out of here.” He let me go and ran off with the things.

The drugstore next door to us was one of the most often looted places, because the Russians hoped to find alcohol and the officers looked for cameras. Several times, looters sought me out. The alcohol-drinkers, I gave different bottles to sniff, but nothing was found for their gullets. I also held a Custer oil bottle under their noses but they knew the smell already. They yelled: “Oh, never, never.” The officers were asking to have photos taken. I knew very well, that there was no camera available, but to give the allusion I searched through the closets and eventually said: “Nothing here. Everything is gone.” As solace they received small nicely scented pieces of soap, which they accepted thankfully. Sometimes, when I was in a good mood, I presented them with a cigar as gift, which they happily took.

In the room next door stood a small cabinet, with a skull on top and “Poison” underneath. In this cabinet were eight boxes of cigars that I had saved. For four days the cabinet stayed untouched. But on the fifth it was empty. That is when I thought that I could have taken the good cigars and put them into my own trust. Honesty is not always a guaranty. The Russians worked for a long time on a safe located there before they were able to open it. But instead of money and jewelry they found only worthless papers. I held back my laughter when I saw their disappointed faces. “So,” I only said, “I do not think it possible that nothing worthwhile was stored in the safe.”

One day, while I was fetching water, a motorcyclist and a female motorcyclist rode into the courtyard of the neighbor’s farm. Both struck handsome figures. They greeted me in a friendly way: “Good day, mein Herr (in Polish),”and shook my hand as if we had known each other in the Ural Mountains. I returned their greeting and added: “Welcome (also in Polish).”Then I said to the genial Russians: “Would you like a sip?” Answer: “Very much.” I fetched the leftover Schnapps and we drank two small glasses. The thanks of the beautiful woman motorcyclist I enjoyed especially – another Russian friendship.

On the third day after the entry by the Russians, around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, arrived Kaschikat, the tall Captain of the Reserves in our room – I found out about his name two days later – he was quartered in the next house. He said hello; I offered him a chair, and he sat down. I passed him a cigar and we talked, mostly in Polish, because he did not understand German well. I found out that he was Captain of the Reserves, and from vocation general manager of a 32,000 hectare-large agricultural estate in the Turcoman planes between the Ural and the Caspian Sea. For the administration of this large area he had cars, wagons, and horses at his disposal. The yield of grain, especially wheat, was good. He was married, and had three children, two boys and a girl. I also told him about my family and also some things about my professional life.

There was a certain daily routine. Sometimes a lieutenant came along. His Polish landlady was from Lemberg, a very meticulous woman. She also came to visit us asking for kitchen utensils and spices for cooking. She was happy having found persons in my sister and me with whom she could share her fate. One day, both of them arrived to ask for sugar and salt. Since our food supply was meager they could not get anything from us. But I had an idea. The neighbor, the apothecary in addition to medicines carried also grocery goods. Earlier I had noticed sugar and salt in two drawers. So I guided the two to the store and showed them for what they were looking. They were extremely grateful and made immediate use. And when the guard, a tall Mongol with slanted eyes, who stood before the front door keeping watch, saw that I was acquainted with such a “Dżentelmen” (gentleman), he made all efforts to find ways to express his appreciation. From very far away and with a smile he would greet my sister or I when we passed by.

Other than that, the looting continued, because new “Panje” military wagons arrived daily. Our stores also had become empty. Spared were sewing materials and baby clothing. The doors stood wide open. I closed them whenever I could. The shop windows were smashed. Dresses and shoes lay in the streets. I collected them and after a while had fifteen suits, sixteen pairs of shoes and a few overcoats stored with us, wanting to distribute the things to the homecoming. But after we returned from our evacuation, everything was gone.

Even I was searched several times for watches, valuables, and pocketknives. They had taken my wedding ring and pocketknife. The watch I had hidden. Most of the officers did not have watches. I would teasingly ask them for the time; they shrugged the shoulders and said: “Don’t know. Don’t know.” The tough ones had watches from looting, but they did not understand what to do with watches, and very soon they did not turn out useful.

As Bürgermeister, I had the responsibility to clean the Ring/Marktplatz and the streets, and to remove dead horses and cattle. This was difficult; forasmuch as there was a lack of able men and women. Only after considerable search through the basements I succeeded to from a work gang, which would clean the Ring or the individual streets on a daily basis. Already on the fourth day the success was visible. The Ring and streets were clean, the dead animals buried.

But the Kommandant did not give the workers any supplementary bread, even though I constantly asked him. In this instance he was hard. I was still listed as a missing town resident in need to be found. Every day, around six o’clock I got my orders in the Kommandant’s office. In the first two days he was guarded by two soldiers, who sat left and right next to him with loaded guns. “Doch der wackere Schwabe forcht sich nicht (But the brave man from Schwaben is not afraid).” I made a friendly expression and on the third day the armed guard was gone.

The commander made his wishes known in Russian. An interpreter translated them. I would think things over, and when orders could be implemented, I said: “Good, this can be done.” Everything went smoothly and was to his satisfaction. As pay I received every week two loaves of bread and two pounds of brown sugar. Meat and butter were not available. Bread I got sometimes from the guards but at the most four to six pounds, and sugar from a friendly Russian woman. When the bread ran out, which was most often, because eight persons belonged to the household, I went to the Kommandant’s supply sergeant, who was in charge of the furniture confiscated under him. He was a captain with many war medals, a Jew and a very good human being, who immediately gave me a bread bonus. Later, when I was without tobacco he amply supplied me with very good tobacco, mostly a fine blend. For the physician, countess Dr. York (Countess of York von Wartburg), I received a woman’s bicycle from him.

Fires in the Town

Since February 14, when the Russians marched into town, on the west side of the Ring, a large shop, the department store of family Kitscher, burnt. Because there was no help to extinguish it, the fire spread to the adjacent houses, so that five beautiful homes with shops and stables soon formed a large pile of rubble.

On the second day, I noticed that from a basement of the house before-last on the west side smoke emitted. I called upon three Russians that weren’t part of the military and they extinguished the fire.

But on the next day this house burnt down. It also burnt on the north side. Here the first house remained, but the next five houses burnt down. Because of fear and anxiety the question soon arose in me that as the last Bürgermeister of my hometown, would I see it crumble into rubble and ashes? And nowhere any help and rescue?

And when the large house of the Veterinarian Dr. Wilkes burnt, I got the order to extinguish it. I gave a sigh of relief. With two men and two women we doused the beams until dusk came. But the fire was not complete extinguished, because the next morning the house next to it burnt – the house before the Apothecary. Now the Russians intervened coming with a fire engine, and the fire was put out.

The Kommandant said hopefully: “There must be an end to this.”

But the next morning on the Breslauer Strasse three beautiful homes burnt down: the house of the upholsterer Dierske, and two houses belonging to gastronome Reisner. The following day, on the south side, Beninde’s Gasthaus Goldener Stern, and Schröter’s Gasthaus on the Neisser Strasse burnt.

Thank God, to some extent that there was a temporary abrogation of fires. The question of who the arsonists were kept me worried. I came to the conclusion that the fires on the west side happened because of carelessness. I found out after the fact that the doorways to the cellar of the Kitscher house were blackened over and over by smoke. Before the advance of the Russians, looters had searched through the basement rooms and had used burning candles or paper, and thrown away the latter still burning so that a fire ignited. In our basement also a fire broke out in the same manner, but because we were at home, my sister and I were able to extinguish the fire.

On the west side only one house was left standing, the Gasthaus Schwarzer Adler. The fires on the north side, on the Breslauer Strasse, and those on the south side and on the Neisser Strasse can be blamed on arson originated by the Russians.

I ran to the fire of the Breslauer Strasse, met Max Göbel, a resident, who told me: “I wanted to douse it but was held back by a Russian guard.” At the fire of the Gasthaus von Beninde, I too met Russian guards. Gasthaus Reisner and Gasthaus von Beninde had been meeting places for Hitler followers that was revealed by the Ukrainians.

While examining the Brieger Strasse, I saw dense smoke coming from the basement window of a large home – a cellar fire. I began to douse it, pouring water into the basement. Luckily a Russian rider came along. I stopped him and begged him for help. He dismounted, tied up his horse and helped me by pouring water down the basement door. The fire was squelched. I thanked the helpful Russian, gave him a cigar, and he rode off pleased.

The Russians had assembled a group of Ukrainians into a plunder-commando. Since nearly all houses were unoccupied, their work was easy. The best furniture was taken outside, the same with carpets and sewing machines, and brought with wagons to the Ring and there stored in designated houses. In the first house of the Domstrasse stood pianos, in the back of the house of Dr. Loch furniture, in the Gasthaus bicycles, motor bicycles, kitchen apparatus, and radios, and in the Gasthaus Schwarzer Adler sewing machines. In the garden of Gasthaus Deutsches Haus, the transport lists were assembled and loaded trucks made their way to Brieg nearly on a daily basis.

One day, a young Russian, who was busy building crates, borrowed a handsaw from me. “But…return it,” I said. On the third day he brought the saw back, thanked me, and said: “We are not working here any longer. You can pick up all the boards and lumber.” I gathered the lumber left behind and carried it to our courtyard for cutting into smaller pieces. It was an impressive amount.

In our courtyard the pump was broken, and I had to fetch water from a pump in the middle of the Ring. On the fourth day, during the morning report, the Kommandant said to me: “You are the Bürgermeister and from now on you are not allowed any longer to fetch water at the Ring. Go somewhere else.” That is when I went to the second neighboring house, Ruscher’s. Here the Russians had a bakery. I was filling the can, when a Russian woman appeared from the bakery. She disappeared, soon reemerged and handed me a loaf of bread. I took it, thanking her. The day after, I again received a loaf. On the third day I asked her for salt and got a plentiful helping. On the fourth day, however, the sergeant in charge of the bakery showed me out with many harsh words. That was the end of that dream. Hereupon, I went to my neighbor Erwin Ruhe for water.

Shootings

I cannot allege with any kind of certainty that there were deliberate shootings. According to accounts by some people the following were supposedly shot: dentist Zierbock, his wife and daughter. The Russians wanted to rape the daughter. The father stepped in front to protect her, upon which all three were shot. Others claimed that she had poisoned herself in mortal fear. Unfortunately, I heard about it too late and could not clear up the case, because on February 25, we were made to leave the town. The others shot were Paul Schilling, seventy-eight years of age, according to information by his daughter, and the twenty-year old Hein, who was borne crippled, and the youth Vogt, an epileptic.

Accidentally shot were the machinist Robert Menzel, seventy years, the construction engineer Wilhelm Kern, forty-five year old, Margarete Globauer, forty-two years old. They did not stop when a Russian patrol called the command to them: “Stoj (halt, stand still).”

I personally, on my walks through the enemy-occupied area, was called to “stoj (halt)!” I stopped, showed my identity card and was allowed to pass. Yes, once, the Russians loaded me on their truck, and brought me with my companion to a farm in Weignitz where we had to do agricultural chores. But when I showed them the pass from the local Kommandant and because my card identified me as Bürgermeister, they immediately let us continue on our route.

The wife and daughter of Veterinary Chinorocki walked into the line of fire; so did Frau Maruschke, and Frau Gaffon and two daughters. Found dead were Frau Bertha Riemer, sixty-five year old, and Frau Langs. With the first I had just spoken before the evacuation. She told me about the sudden death of her husband whom she buried by herself in the garden. When we were allowed to return, I found the poor woman’s body under her bed. We buried her in the garden next to her husband. Uncertain is the fate of restaurant owner Polag and Frau Redlich. I saw them both before the Russians moved in – they vanished, their corpses were never found.

One day, at the Ring, a group of senior officers hung about. I was called over and they asked me to show them the post and telegram offices. I lead them to the location. They looked at the individual postal rooms. I explained the facility: stations for parcel post, money transfer, and stamp-sales, among other things. They tried to understand the procedures. I gave short explanations and from their questions I discerned that they comprehended everything. Also during the explanation of the telephone system they paid great attention.

On the way back we passed by the cigar factory. They asked about the production processes for cigars and cigarettes. In my reply I explained that here only cigars were produced. That is when they asked me about who I was and about my profession, and I told them many things about my work.

On another day, some Russian soldiers were sitting at the Ring. They had a handcart with them on which a box and bottles were placed. They called me over and one gave me a cup filled with a liquid. He said to me: “Drink.” I sniffed at the cup and made out it was alcohol. I sipped a little and recognized a rum blend. I slowly drank the cup and said: “That tastes great. Why don’t you give me a bottle?” That is when they all roared: “Never, never, this is for us.” Each opened a bottle and began to drink.

The guard in front of the commander’s office, yelled at me every morning: “You there, where are you going?” On the third day I said to him: “Why are you always yelling at me: ‘Where to, where to!’? You know that I am going to the Kommandant. From where are you anyway? Do you have a wife and children?” That is when he said: “I am not going to shout at you any longer, because I recognize and know you now. I am from the Ukraine and have a wife and three children. Oh, how very much do I want to go home!” From then on we were friends.

On Saturday, February 24, I received from the Kommandant twelve sacks of bread for the town’s people – it was bread from a local bakery. The Russians did not eat it for fear of poisoning. I gave two sacks to the hospital. The rest I wanted to distribute on Monday, but on Sunday, February 25, we were suddenly evacuated, and under the time pressure I forgot to take the bread.

Evacuation

On Sunday, February 25, at 1:00 pm, I was called to the Kommandant’s office. Here, the field officer explained to me in concise German: “Within three hours you have to evacuate the town of its total population and move via Rischwitz, Weignitz to Ohlau. Whoever is found tomorrow at 6:00 am will be shot.” I answered: “Officer, Sir, within this short timeframe I can not transmit your order to everyone. Please give us an extension until early tomorrow at 8:00 am. Also, I have a hospital with twenty-six sick and ten sisters.” The answer was: “The order stands. We take over the sick. The nurses go with us.”

I took leave, still thanking the Kommandant and Kommissar for their civility towards me.

Then I quickly made the evacuation order known, got back home at 3:30 pm, and packed my meager belongings, when I was rudely interrupted. Two Russians came into my room. One ripped away my watch that I had taken from its hiding place and put into my pocket. I tore the watch out of his hands, but received a blow of his backhand so that I fell to the floor. With the watch and two boxes of cigars, that I also wanted to take with me, the two boys took off, laughing.

In the meanwhile, in front of our doorway the town’s people had gathered with their baggage loaded on handcarts. Yes, some Russians already badgered the women. After receiving the blow, I was in a very aggravated mood, and when I saw what the Russians were doing, I stepped out and I yelled in Polish: “Get away from here and let us move out in peace.” That’s when the brutes stepped aside and made room. I counted the people – seventy was the number – said a prayer, and gave the order to move out. I went last.

On the Breslauer Strasse, we met a carriage, in which sat the officer in charge of the Russian reserves, Kaitschikat, and a lieutenant with whom I was acquainted. They ordered the carriage stop to inquire: “Why and where to?” I gave them the news and we exchanged a friendly good bye.

Soon, on our way, we encountered difficulties we had to overcome. The bridges over the Mühlengraben and the Ohlau were destroyed and we had to hike across a bogged meadow and an emergency bridge, so that we were delayed by an hour when finally we reached the road near Rischwitz. Now the march was able to continue at a steady pace.

But shortly before the village of Weignitz, a Russian corporal wanted to abduct a nurse from our group. The nurse, thirty-five years old, was a beautiful person. The black kerchief that she wore instead of her habit heightened her beauty. I had just been at the head of the group, but upon hearing the shouts I hurried immediately back and stood between the crying nun and the Russian. I argued with him in German, Polish, and Russian – thirty to forty words of Russian I had already learned. But he looked straight at the sister. I beseeched him: “You know what a “manaschka” (a Russian nurse) does? We all are sick and need the “manaschka”. Run along and leave us be. Suddenly, as if a good spirit descended on him, his face lit up, his eyes took on a beautiful shine, we looked each other into the eyes, he laughed, took my hand and shook it, then he gave himself a push and walked off to the other side. A sigh of relief went through the group. They called: “Thank God.” And then: “Hurray for our Bürgermeister.” The group began to move again. (To be able protect a woman from being raped, of that I will be proud as long as my heart beats.)

We came to the peasant village of Weignitz, stopped at the Kirchplatz to rest, and had supper. Accompanied, I went to the local commander, reported the passage of seventy evacuees and asked for protection. It was granted to us, and after a short time we continued the trek. Dusk fell and it began to rain.

Passing through the villages of Kauern and Litzmannsdorf, and also while crossing the underpass of the autobahn, we were left unmolested, although the villages were very strongly fortified and a double guard watched the autobahn.

Around midnight, we came to the village of Niefrig. That’s when the women that knew more about the local circumstances than I declared that it would be good for us if we could stay here. “At least in Niefrig you can get potatoes, which we hardly will find in Ohlau.” I agreed and ordered to take shelter in a barn. The village was deserted. Early in the morning, with an escort I went to the local commander and asked for permission to stay.

A friendly first lieutenant readily took us in but with one condition namely that the people had to work, taking care of cattle. There were around six hundred cattle – war booty. I agreed, and we took up residence in the village. We lived nearly twelve weeks with the Russians. They were respectful of us. Only when they were drunk, they were unpredictable with the propensity for bad behavior.

As provisions we received, instead of bread, eighteen sacks of flour to bake rye bread. The ovens and the firewood were assigned to us. The flower was found by the Russians on farms and then distributed to us. Every ten days we were allowed to slaughter beef cattle. In addition we received large vats of molasses, a lot of jars with preserved sliced beans, pickles, and Sauerkraut. We found an abundance of good potatoes in the farm silos.

I assigned people to duties. Things transpired peacefully. Four nuns worked for the local commandant. Two had to shovel grain into sacks. At the granary two cooked the meals and took care of the laundry. When the work at the granary was completed all four worked in the household.

Every morning at 9:00 am I escorted them, and at 2:00 pm I picked them up again. One of the nuns worked in the sewing room with four Russians. She was always relieved when I picked her up at 5:00 pm. The nuns were well treated. The Russians had respect for them. The commandant told me once that he never ate so well in his life as now with the nuns. He came nearly every day around 10:00 am to me to give me his orders, which I then fulfilled. Since I still had cigars, so he received three daily, which he gladly accepted. When my reserves declined, I said to him: “Finished, no more cigars.” He made a disappointed face, because he liked our brand.

In our household were seven women, three men. In the household of the nuns were sixteen women and two men. They lived in the schoolhouse. In one of the classrooms the Russians had the cobbler-shop for their military company. The other forty-two of our town’s people were stationed in a large farmhouse. I oversaw the houses and work places.

It was not permitted to lock doors to house and rooms. That is why it was easy for the brutes to sneak in. There were several incidents, which required constant attention. One night, three Russians appeared in our place, shined light into the faces of the women and a thirty-year old girl. They said immediately: “Mlody, mlody (young, young).” I jumped up and said in Polish: “Mlody, yes, but very sick. Typhoid.” When they heard that, they quickly disappeared, because Typhoid was a horror. The girl became a special concern of mine. She did not have to go to work. When danger menaced, she tied a white kerchief around her head and lay down, watched over by two older women. “Typhoid, typhoid,” was enough to drive off the evildoers.

One night, the nuns living with us, called for help. I ran immediately upstairs and found three drunken Russians. As I learned later, they were three hooligans living under the same roof, who as cobblers were employed in the schoolroom. With harsh words nothing could be accomplished. Therefore, I spoke courteously with them, and they followed me slowly. In the hallway waited the Kommandant, who was summoned by a friend of ours.

The first lieutenant gave the soldiers a decent beating. He would have severely punished any insult or iniquity on the “manaschkas” who were very much respected by him.

A nasty woman in our midst betrayed the friend who had called the Kommandant. Our friend hung always in danger to be killed by these Russians. Even later, I never did anything against this miserable woman. I am leaving this to the punishment of a higher authority. Unfortunately, German loyalty had faded away, substituted by envy, hate, and revenge.

On another day there was again anxiety in our house. Just returning from my inspection, I heard disquieting screams. I ran upstairs and found four Russians lying in the beds. Apparently they had played a joke, because with my appearance they vanished quickly. In the other house, a Russian constantly beset two women. I could never catch the guy. But I begged the Kommandant for protection. He intervened immediately and sent the wrongdoer to the battlefront.

After normalization of circumstances I received the order to bury the killed animals lying in gardens and farmyards. We brought thirty-five sheep, twenty cattle, several pigs, and some horses under the earth. Thereafter, together with four men, crisscrossing the fields and brush, we looked for fallen German soldiers, who had been killed in the battles of January and February in 1945. Gradually we found twenty-four infantrymen and two Volksstürmer (members of the home protection regiments), the latter without identification cards.

We took the identification tags and papers and then buried them in place. There was a lack of tools. Also, the fallen were far away from the village. Lying on one rye field were seven infantrymen, apparently killed by a grenade. Through a through a soldier, the new local Kommandant, a major, conveyed the location to me. The soldier brought me to the spot that was one kilometer away from the village.

The next morning the seven fallen heroes were buried in one grave. I spoke a prayer and conveyed them to the mercifulness of God. Deeply affected, I recited also a verse of a well-known poem: “Much too early and far from home, we had to bury them here, while still their youthful locks surround their shoulders.” It was a beautiful spring morning – in front of us, left and right, spread the fertile plane. The winter rye, sewn by the former owners in fall, stood gloriously and promised a good harvest. On the wide fields, no person, no team of horses could be seen. Who will harvest and continue to farm? We five old German men looked anxiously toward the future.

And because life claimed its rights, so we assuredly tackled the task. For who escapes death is he who disdains him. He fetches the despondent. Each burial mound and also the graves of the other soldiers killed in action were provided with a cross, together with a Stahlhelm. One fellow fetched spring flowers and planted the graves. Among the seven dead we recognized a fellow countryman, Walter Laugwitz from Wansen, a blond youth.

I gave the mother his soldier’s paybook and papers. These seven dead touched something particular in me. I had hoped to erect a cross with the enduring inscription: “Fellow countryman, till, sow, and harvest, but we beg you, spare our grave until the end of days.” Then I planned, came the names of the there resting. But the expulsion from the homeland made this an illusion.

After the burial of the fallen, when I looked around, I noticed quite afar another dead soldier, a Russian. I notified the major. We had become friends and sat often together on a bench in the beautiful spring sun. He was surprised and thankful. I said to him: “You asked me to report the seven fallen Germanski, so I needed to tell you this also.” He gave me three soldiers, whom I showed the spot where their comrade was lying dead.

Only two Russian grenadiers who died in the village were buried in the cemetery; one ended up dead because of an accident. They were laid to rest among our boys, I gave a short funeral sermon and said at the end: “Dear boy, to your satisfaction it may be sufficient that you sleep toward the day with two hero-sons who died for their Vaterland, where for all of you the Hallelujah is sounding and where enemies are no longer.” Innermost, the nuns sang two hymns: “You have endured.” “How they so softly rest.” It was very moving. Around forty Russians stood close by, with mouths open, staring at us in amazement. Apparently they were also touched by our kneeling at the open grave, the making of the sign of the cross, the prayer into which everybody joined: “Our Father (…Serwienta Maria, Matka Roska) rekindled in them the belief that their Matkas (mothers) and their church had taught them when they were young but which had been pushed back by Communism.

All together, we buried twenty-six soldiers, but found only fourteen tags along with the soldiers’ pay-books. These were passed on to the Red Cross with help of Caritas, one of the religious help agencies. Twelve of the fallen heroes’ families were far away from where they rested in German soil. I am always thinking with great pain of a fallen soldier whom we found in the middle of the road on the first hike to our hometown of Wansen. He was run over by a motor vehicle. We were only able to inter to the earth a small bundle of bones and shredded clothing.

On one Sunday, five nuns and I came from the church service, because in the neighboring village of Hennerdorf the church was undamaged. The pastor was still there and only part of the village people had fled. We had just reached the road when Russian military marched by. The officers walked last and stopped when they saw us. We greeted them and they returned the greeting. The major asked in German: “From where are you coming? Where do you live, and what are you doing?” I gave him a detailed report. He nodded satisfied, shook our hands, and wished us a quick return home.

In our village was also a lieutenant of the Russian reserves. He was a medical student from Moscow – a kind-hearted person. Daily he sat with us and we enjoyed chatting with him. He owned also a radio and told of the news that in two to three hours we would be ordered from our house for an inspection. “Stay here until I come back, “ I said and gave him a cigar. He said: “You can go, I will stay here.” Reassured I went off.

The village of Niefrig was the gathering place of the cattle rounded up. They rested here, were well fed, and then were driven further. Many of the animals had gotten footsore from walking for so long on hard road surfaces. The lieutenant gave us three of the sick animals. I took them into care, gave them food and water, and washed their sick hooves. Slowly, they became better. When I appeared mornings in the stable, they came up to me and looked at me with shining eyes, rubbing their heads at my legs. It was a joy between man and beasts. I would have succeeded in healing the animals but things took another

turn. The artillery moved in and heavy guns were placed on the farm directly where the sick animals were. The battalion’s major did not allow me any longer on the farm complex. I asked a lieutenant, the highest ranked officer for help but received the answer: “This soldier is not under my command; I cannot help you. “ To our regret, the animals died.

Because more artillery was moved in, we had to leave the village and came to the neighboring village of Giessdorf. The local commandant made car-transportation available to us. That is why the migration went on quickly. Here, we found shelter in a large farmhouse. We were still fifty-five persons. Fifteen of us moved westward as drovers for the herds, always behind the fighting troops. Our people were treated well by the Russians. They were well fed, were given clothing and good shoes, and came all the way into the region of Oberlausitz. On the way back they experienced the brutality of the Poles, who took everything away from them, and fed and lodged them poorly. They came one by one back to Wansen.

We settled well into the village of Giessdorf. But after a short time a detachment of Italian non-military workers moved in. They were supposed to build entrenchments and bunkers, because the Russians feared a backslash from the southwest. We were not very happy about the large addition, but we were left in peace. They were friendly toward us, and because some spoke German a friendly liaison evolved. Five of them were from Rome, and when I told them that my nice was the wife of the owner of the hotel Royal. They were very pleased.

Our women had to peel potatoes, were fed well and a lot of food was left over for us. The men had to bury dead horses, because the Russians had in this region a Veterinary hospital for horses. A sergeant, a friendly and helpful man, who also helped procure everything for which I asked, brought a team to dig the pit for the dead animals, and so the work went well. Sixty-seven dead horses were buried.

One day a lieutenant came to me from Niefrig, and said: “Father (the Russians called me so, the Poles “Sezadek”, grandfather), in our village there are thirteen goats running around loose. You can come to get them.” “Thank you, I will,” I said. The lieutenant had an officer candidate accompanying him. Since I had never seen a Russian of his kind, I started a conversation with this young person, and learned he was a Moslem from Turkistan. He came from an officer’s family. His father was colonel at home. The eighteen-years old youth of slender build, had a boyish face, and made a pleasant impression on me. I said to him: “When you get home again, you must tell your parents and siblings, that you once also got to know an old German teacher, who had to guide seventy people from their homeland to another far off place, and who waits for the day when he is allowed to bring them home.” Pleased he answered me: “This I will remember and will tell my family.” The lieutenant was amused about the gibberish of our conversation. We parted in amiable ways. The next day we got the goats. I gave some to the people who were returning to the homeland. The others were slaughtered, one after the other.

A Catholic Parish priest came to see us from Ohlau. With him came an Italian physician. She had studied in Breslau, could not get home because of the armed conflict, and stayed. She spoke of the horrible destruction of Breslau’s southern city. With much luck she had escaped death, and the Russians brought her as physician to Ohlau. She took with her four nuns as helpers. The priest offered us tobacco-leaves for smoking. However we had to get them ourselves. Next day, a companion and I went to Ohlau. We received a bundle of perfect tobacco leaves, and then visited the hospital. Here we said good-bye to the four nurses. On the way back, I was suddenly grabbed from the back by two Poles and dragged into the bushes. The brutes searched through my pockets for watches, rings, and pocketknives. Nothing was found, and my jacket was not worth taking. I swore in Polish about their dirty deeds. First they did not answer but then they let me go. They did nothing to my companion.

From the place of evacuation, every three weeks a companion and I went back to Wansen, fifteen kilometers away, to inquire at the commander’s office about our return. The village commandant authorized the pass. At the second visit we were not doing so well. The villages through which we had to go were full of Russian occupation forces advancing for the battle of Breslau. The places were also camouflaged

against air attacks. While crossing through the village of Kauern we were caught by the guards and were brought to the local headquarters. In the watch commander’s room a warrant officer, who presented our case to the commander, took everything down from us. When the officer reappeared I asked him if we were allowed to smoke. The answer was: “Yes.” And he gave me a pack of rough-cut blend “Brinkmann”, also war booty. We smoked. In a short time later the officer went apparently to dinner. In the room were another two soldiers. One came up to me and asked for some tobacco. I divided the amount that I received four times. Everyone received a portion and now we four all settled in for a smoke.

At twelve o’clock the two Russians left and we were put into the arrest cell, next door. Here we saw a young Russian lying on a straw-bed. I asked him if he was sick. “Oh no,” he said, “I did something bad. I am waiting to be punished.” I consoled him. At two o’clock a lieutenant and a woman-translator interrogated me. Where was I born, how old, occupation, married, how many children, why I spoke Polish, and what was I doing, etc. The file was placed in front of the commanding officer. After a moment he appeared. The major explained in German: “You can proceed,” and gave us back all things. I begged him still: “Herr Major, in the evening we are coming back again, can we pass the village unopposed?” Again a “Jawohl,” was his answer, and I courteously took my leave.

We continued to hike. But in the village of Weignitz the same thing happened. We were grabbed and brought in front of that commandant. This courteous major, who spoke German very well, believed us without question, dismissed us, and gave us a soldier as escort, who guided us through the buildings to the road to Wansen.

In the vicinity of the town we saw on a field at the street a lot of ten, twenty, and fifty mark German bank notes. My companion immediately gathered them up. First I feigned and behaved as if I did not need the money. But then I also collected some. At home, we counted all new bank notes – my companion had RM 2,700, and I had RM 270. The Russians apparently had found the money at a large company and had thrown it into the field.

In Wansen, Capitan Schukinow gave us the short notice: “You are not yet allowed to return. Around Strehlen they are battling fiercely.” Then he wanted us to take along the forty persons who were living here. I refused decidedly for the reasons that there was a lack of living accommodations and provisions. Now we returned back. At the long bridge at Kühlbleiche, we took a short rest and ate, savoring our bread. We were allowed to go through the village unchallenged. In Kauern we passed a troop of officers. We greeted them and they returned our greeting. Then a captain stepped to my side, greeted in German, shook my hand, and said: “Good evening, Herr Kollege! From the interrogation protocol that the local commander gave me to read, I ascertained that you are teacher.

I am also a teacher from the Ukraine, and now drafted into the military service. I am glad to be able to at least greet you, because I have no time to talk to you, because I must report immediately to the other officers. Fair well, I wish you all the best.” I thanked him for the kind greeting, and parting we shook hands. This teacher was a nice man of German heritage. About nine o’clock we returned home.

On May 5, 1945 a Commissar of the Russian Secret Police appeared at our house with an interpreter. I was inquisitorially examined about occupation, in whose employment, about income, reasons for speaking Polish, what I did as pensioner, and did I belong to the Hitler party. The latter I denied. He absolutely refused to accept this and said: “Every teacher must belong to the party.” My response that I already was a pensioner when Hitler came togovern he did also not accept. He put me as a Hitler sympathizer into the protocol. Then he demanded to hand over any gold, golden objects, and jewelry. I replied that I did not own anything like it. Upon that he ordered house arrest: “You are not allowed to leave this place. In ten days I will come back.” He was a vicious person. But to my luck on May 9 the armistice was declared, and I escaped from being deported to Russia.

On Monday, May 8, in the afternoon at 3:00 pm, there was great joy among the Italians. There was singing, a music band played cheerful melodies. Immediately I went to them and heard that the Polish broadcast had announced a ceasefire. The next day, also the Russians broadcast the news.

I went to the local commander and asked him for the permission to be allowed to move home. The major said at once: “You are permitted to move on home.” I thanked him, especially for his constant benevolence, and we said good-bye in the friendliest ways. As the day and time of departure I declared Wednesday, May 10, at 8:00 o’clock. Now we had to pack, distribute the reserves, and because bread had just been baked, everybody received also another loaf for home. Exactly at 8:00 o’clock we broke away. It was a beautiful May day. At 6:00 in the evening, we arrived in our hometown (Wansen).

Already on the Breslauer Strasse, the local commandant came up to us. I informed him of our return. But the reception was not welcoming, because he ordered: “You are all ordered to go to the Kirchstrasse and move into three houses.” I begged him emphatically to give in to our wishes to move into our own homes, and he relented. One of us, a very crafty person who had to have everything always his way, a complainer of the worst kind, who never accepted my authority, had already moved on at 6:00 pm in the morning, and arrived in Wansen around 4:00 pm. But the Wansener commandant did not allow him to move into his apartment. He had to wait long until I, the Bürgermeister and the group returned home. That did him right! A Russian had to teach order to this crabby German.

The time of our evacuation had been happily overcome. I would like to thank those who willingly supported me in the twelve weeks under the Russians. Among them were roofer Kolisch, cigar maker Paul Pietschmann, grocer Max Neugebauer, farmer Josef Schütz from the district of Rischnitz, Paul Glasneck, plowman Vogt, invalid Wawersinek, the dear hospital sisters, Frau Pflege, Frau Pietschmann, Hedwig Golauer and the other women whose names have dropped from my memory. And should I one day lie on my deathbed, I will remember them lovingly: “Because faith is to keep faith. Hoch klingt das Lied vom braven Mann (Long resonates the hym to the honorable man).” Untimely, my dear companion Josef Schütz left this world and was put to rest in the Catholic cemetery in Brackwede. Many of his compatriots gave him the last escort.

In Wansen, Niefrig, Giessdorf there was the same picture of devastation and pillage. On the Ring of our town, one third of the houses had burnt down. Apartments, shops, storage, basements, were all empty, down bedding torn and lying in ditches, the same with clothing and laundry, machines broken to never function again, chickens dead…horror of devastation.

The Russian Kommandant’s Protective Ordinance

After the return, on May 10, the Kommandant said to me: “Paul Winkler, you continue as Bürgermeister. All those returning have to register with you. They have to be entered into a log, which has to be presented to me on a weekly basis. Former military officers and Hitler-propagandists have to be brought to my attention, immediately.” (But this did not happen with me.)

“The town’s occupants have to be instructed to plant gardens and fields with potatoes, vegetables, and tomatoes.” The latter he recommended especially. Seed potatoes had to be hauled from the estate Rischwitz without charge. “A piece of paper from you, the Bürgermeister, should suffice.” “To those who do not own a field, some land is to be assigned.”

This ordinance was enforced, and soon there was great energy in the gardens and fields. In the granary of the grain merchant Niesel and Sons, we stored 600 zentners (60,000 pounds) of Raps (Canola).

The Russians had embargoed the Raps and I had the task to distribute the quantities to the farmers of the town and region. They came to me told me the quantity they needed, I wrote out a delivery slip with my signature and they received Raps from Egon Niesel, who had already returned home.

At last, I had something positive to do and something I very much liked. Those returning home I logged into a list. The Russians furnished writing tools and paper. Because the Russian paper was of low quality I got me some from the Ring. Here it lay in piles, because the Russians threw out all documents and papers from the offices. Those of notoriety or celebrity who returned I introduced to the Kommandant. I allocated homes of persons who did not return home to those who were looking for shelter. In this way I allocated rooms in fine-mechanic Stenzel’s house, Brieger Strasse, and the home of dental technician Zierbock, among many others. Soon cows, goats, hogs, hens, and rabbits were acquired, sometimes from very far away. Unfortunately, the benefits lasted only a short time, because the Poles took possession and use themselves.

Gradually the refugees returned home. First came Pastor Schmerrom from the Catholic ministry, then Parish Priest Mutke, and with him was Veterinary Dr. Wernicke. I introduced all three to the Kommandant. He gave the order to immediately hold religious services and begin school instructions. The Reformed parishioners were longer without clergy and were cared for by the pastor of Ruppersdorf. When he was unable to take care of burials I stepped in to give a short funeral sermon. The sisters refurnished the hospital and readied it for service.

I was there on a daily basis and responsible until the time the Poles took over the municipality. I walked the sisters to the Apotheke (apothecary) spared by fire, where they searched for medicaments with implicit consent from the Kommandant. In most instances it was enough for me to be there as supervisor. But we lacked the medical care of a physician. That is when Komtessa Dr. York, a physician, the sister of the Duke of Kleinoels, who lived in the rectory at Weignitz, was asked to take over the medical care. She readily agreed and soon appeared with her sister in-law, whose husband, Graf York von Wartenburg, was executed by Hitler. I introduced both women to the Kommandant, who willingly authorized the medical care. After three days, I provided the Komtessa with a woman’s bicycle. This I received from the Commissar, Captain Range, a Jew, and a very good-natured person. Then when Dr. Loch returned the Komtessa Dr. York discontinued her services. Dr. Loch, because the Russians occupied his own house and also the Commissar lived there, took up residence in my brother Georg’s house, on Domstrasse 1. Dr. Loch was very much respected by the Russians as well by the Poles for his medical ability. The Poles absolutely did not want him to leave. But the Russian stood up for him and he was allowed to move to the West unopposed.

When we were evicted from our homeland on May 8, 1946, it was in some measure a relief. In silence we took leave from our beloved hometown. Nobody cried, not to give the Poles reasons and opportunity to shower us with mockery and scorn. But as the three steeples, the landmarks of our beloved town, receded, a deep sorrow gripped us: “Dearest native land, precious home!”

I found out, that the people from Wansen had a special bond with their homeland. For this there are two examples. A friend with whom I grew up, Alois Vogel, who was a teacher in Rossberg, close to the city of Beuthen, came to the funeral of his sister Martha. She had died in Berlin and was buried in Wansen according to her wishes, where her parents had been put to rest. Afterwards he visited the site where the house in which he was born once stood. He kissed the soil and then filled a pouch with it for commemoration.

My brother, Hermann Winkler, Obertonleiter (head music teacher) at the Luisen Städtischen Gymnasium (Luisen Municipal Higher School of Education) in Berlin, and I, since 1920, took every year our vacations in this region. The metropolitan air that blew around us all year, around him in Berlin, and around me in Breslau, we wanted to forget in the dear hometown and to refresh ourselves with the beautiful home-air.

Our daily destinations were the dams of Weihmühlwehr, the water mills of Kallener Mühle, and the forests of the Weignitzer Wald. We never had enough of the panorama that opened up for us. In the north rose Schloss Kleinoels, a chateau, framed by beautiful forests. On the left side lay the farm-village of Weignitz, on the right was Güntersdorf, and in the south our dear Wansen. In between, expanded the fertile fields and lavish meadows, with the Ohle River flowing through and the waters of the Mühlgraben, lined by trees and bushes. Even though we had seen the Bavarian Alps with Eibsee and Zugspitze, the Taunus and the Vogelsgebirge, the Sudenten with the Schneekoppe, for us the loveliest panorama was still the beautiful woods of the Weignitzer Wald.

August and September of 1942 was the last time we were both in our homeland. On a beautiful November day our brother took leave. He also kissed the holy grounds, spread his arms and in tears, he said: “Fare well, precious home. May God protect you.” He must have been filled with premonitions of never seeing it again, because he died in April of 1945 of malnutrition in Bestensee near Berlin.

Right after the Poles took over the administrative authority, on the directives of the Russians, Hitler sympathizers were arrested and transported to Strehlen, among them businessman Pilego, fuel and coal dealer Hübner, druggist Ruhl, barber Menzer, contractor Riedel, baker Kreutner, teacher Dierbach, and many other men. Pilego and Kreutner received five-year sentences and served their punishment in the penal institution and prison of Kletschkau/Breslau Odertor, where I had also worked as prison headmaster and organist for fourteen years.

Town Mayor Enselein with his wife had also returned home. Both appeared at my office that I used as mayor. I was there when they came. We greeted each other and he said to me: “You perform this duty now?” I answered: “I have been released from it. Herr Demelt is my successor.” Then he asked Demelt: “Is the Kommandant present?” which Herr Demelt affirmed. Both Mayor Enselein and his wife went in front of the Kommandant, were arrested and were also sent to Strehlen. In that town’s prison they were kept in strict confinement, were abused, and later used to collect landmines.

Former Mayor Enselein had barely been removed from the administrative office, when The Fury of Revenge, a notorious woman appeared, asking for the Kommandant. Herr Demelt queried: “What do you want from him?” She said: “I want to tell him about Mayor Enselein’s behavior.” Demelt said to her: “Aren’t you ashamed to betray your countrymen to the enemy? What you want to tell him, he already knows.” I said only: “Don’t judge…” She left humiliated. That woman was already not worthwhile, and now in addition…betrayal.

A certain Frau Klapper, I did not know her, had constant quarrels and falling-outs with Frau Hübner. During the Polish administration all belongings were disappropriated. Now Frau Klapper insisted on downright proof from Frau Hübner requesting to examine the ownership papers. Frau Hübner could not find the papers. At once Frau Klapper went to the Polish police and asked for help. The police appeared immediately, searched the premises, could also not find a contract, but took the best things with them. Frau Hübner and her eldest daughter were taken away and locked up in a cellar. The next morning Kommandant Wroblenski interrogated them without result. The mother was let go but the poor daughter was held. What happened to her, I do not know, but one can guess. She was released in the evening.

This certainly was not a Judas bribe, no; it was purely hate and revenge. There was some glee among the Wanseners, as it became known that Frau Klapper had to sit a night in the military-basement, because she once forgot to tie a white identification kerchief around her left arm.

And then there were the two poems by Klapper printed in the Wansener Hometown Chronicle, most likely by mistake. In it she gave-out: “God is love.” “…to be with Christ.” I had never thought that such mean women were among the people of Wansen. This was shameful and saddening. Yes, it unfortunately had become true: “…loyalty is an empty illusion,” and “…where women turn into hyenas.”

And then, there was another audacious woman, I do not recall her name anymore. I think she was a midwife and lived on the Neisser Strasse across from the red factory. This woman appeared Monday, May 2, coming from the direction of Ohlau with two other women to us in Giessburg and ordered my people to evacuate with them. I said to her: “Leave them be. They will evacuate when they are ready. “ That is when she became impudent and said: “You are a coward and a useless Bürgermeister. For us teamster Tilgener is the most fit.” I left the insolent woman in her contempt. My people aligned themselves with me. She and her companions took off on Tuesday, got stuck in Sitzmannsdorf at night and when our group passed by on Wednesday they joined up with us.

At home many misdeeds came to my attention. So, in the neighboring village of Mecwitz the Russians had raped a woman – her husband had not yet returned home from his military service. In her panic of new atrocities she set fire to her house and she and her two small children died in the flames.

In the village of Weissdorf, a distinguished owner of a large estate and her twenty-year old daughter were constantly under pressure to be molested by the Russians. In their anxiety they cut their veins. But luck made possible for them to receive emergency aid. They came into our hospital in the dark of night, and were kept alive. On the second day, the estate owner came to look after his relatives. I knew him from earlier times as an impressive man. Now, he looked miserable, emaciated, worn, and very poorly dressed. Just like all of us.

Some other observations:

As Bürgermeister I entered the homes of poor and rich in the villages of Niefrig and Giessdorf as well as in Wansen. Even though clothes had vanished and bed linen was torn, the furniture could be found in tact. I was surprised by the quality of furnishings owned by simple people. Most times, in the kitchen was a kitchen cabinet, a cupboard or a solid kitchen table, in the living room, beautiful double-door credenzas, bentwood chairs, and in the bedroom valuable bed frames and matrices. The Russian soldiers asked frequently where the poor people were living. I showed them the homes of the working class families. But they shook their heads and exclaimed: “No, this can’t be true!” They could not and did not want to believe that there was little difference between poor and rich.

In the villages, most farmers owned a piano – I found an especially outstanding instrument in one of the farmhouses. I played a few folk songs on it, and when I stopped, a Russian who was lying ill in bed in the large room, requested that I should continue to play – it was so beautiful. He spoke Polish. I went to his bedside and we conversed in Polish, and I found out that he suffered of severe dizziness. He was part of a unit that took down the cross-country wires from the telegraph poles to be shipped to Russia.

As I described, there were a lot of riches of great monetary value in the dear land of Silesia. Most of this was carried to their land by the Russians, with it uncountable herds of horses and cattle – valued in the billions.

A returning war prisoner who for some time had to reload goods from Germany at the marshalling train yards of Brest Litowsk, told about his experiences in the “Freie Presse (Free Press)” of April 2, 1948: Most of the time, at the marshalling yards of Brest, I was busy with reloading transports from Germany from small to wide-spur trains. To this large work detail thousands of war prisoners were drawn from the various camps around Brest. The daily standard performance for us even though we were exhausted, was very high. A group of ten men had to reload two to four freight cars. We loaded mostly dismantled goods of all kind from Germany or as part of war reparations. One time, it was a complete bicycle factory with a lot of completed bicycles and bicycle parts. We reloaded complete train station facilities, especially automated signal installations, and enormous quantities of dismantled rails for transport. Also some streetcars from Berlin and electric trains from the Riesengebirge were rebuilt for the Russian broad spur and made to work.

A train with textiles of many kind from the region of Cottbus-Guben, several care loads of shoes – new, in many different sizes – pianos, sewing machines made their way to Russia. Also trains with food stuffs had to be reloaded, my heart ached that these food trains came from Germany. We loaded sugar, salt, flower, and German brand butter from the regions of Magdeburg and Halle…

A Russian paymaster, who spoke German, said to me: “I don’t understand how Hitler had to go to war, having such riches for the German people.”

This documentation, written in two journals, I leave to the Bundesarchiv-Koblenz (am Rhein). My notes were declared historical documents by two authorities. They shed light on the tragic and gruesome events in the post war period of my dear hometown. They are deposited in the Bundesarchiv, and the Catholic Church chronicle for persons driven from the eastern region as a reminder for all times.

May 1, 1953
Paul Winkler
Altersheim Rosenhöhe, near Brackwede, Germany