And there is always an after - Part 1 E-Book

Sabine Kirchhof

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 760

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"I'll think of something. So far, I've always come up with something, no matter what it was about," I thought. "And there's always an after!" Sabine, who grows up in the GDR, doesn't really have a "good start" in life. After a failed suicide attempt by her mother, she is first placed in a children's home. Some time later, she is separated from her beloved brother forever and her biological father wants nothing to do with her. But Sabine does not give up. Whatever happens to her, she tackles life with courage and makes the best of it, following the motto: "When life gives you a lemon, make lemonade out of it!" An utterly heart-wrenching novel that you won't want to put down until you've read the very last line.

Leseprobe

Introduction

Whenever I visit my mother, we sit on her balcony with glasses of wine, watching the evening sky fade into night. It is in these quiet moments, with the city humming softly in the background, that she shares her stories about life in the German Democratic Republic (GDR). Her voice transports me to a time I can scarcely imagine—a world so different today, yet one that shaped her into the incredible woman she is today.

This is not just a recounting of history, but a celebration of resilience, hope, and the power of finding joy even in the most challenging times. My mother lived through an era that was complex and often difficult, but she navigated it with a strength that continues to inspire me. Her stories are imbued with her wit, her spirit, and her unyielding belief in the goodness of people. She has chosen to write them down in her own unique style—raw, honest, and at times unconventional. It’s a voice that may be unfamiliar to some, but it’s entirely her own, capturing the essence of her experiences as only she can.

However, I must offer a gentle caution to readers. While this book is filled with uplifting moments and a lot of humor, it also touches on some of the darker realities that my mother and many others faced during those times. There are accounts of attempted suicide, sexual assault, and domestic violence—stories that are difficult but necessary to share, as they are a part of the truth that shaped her journey. Additionally, the book may include language or expressions that, by today's standards, could be considered culturally inappropriate. These elements are presented as they were, reflecting the context of the times.

My mother’s life is a testament to the enduring human spirit, and I am proud to share her story with you. It is my hope that through her experiences, you will not only gain a deeper understanding of life in the GDR but also find inspiration in the way she chose to embrace life, no matter the circumstances.

1. eventful childhood

The suicide attempt

It was unbelievable and tragic what had happened in our house that day. Our mother had tried to take her own life. In her great despair and hopelessness, she hung herself with a washing line in the bedroom. How could this desperate act have happened? After all, she had three children who were dependent on her. Among many other unpleasant experiences in the course of my life, this is the saddest story.

The move from the beautiful Ore Mountains was almost like an escape. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought through her plans to the end. No one could understand it, because she had help and support from her husband's family. But now she was on her own with three children and was totally overwhelmed by her new living situation. As an unskilled worker, she was working under tough conditions. There was no one to help her with all her worries and needs or to give her well-intentioned advice. Her wages didn't go far, there was no child benefit and our father didn't care about our fate. She was often desperate and didn't know what to do next. Once, when she had absolutely no idea how to buy food, she took us to the mayor's office in the small town. My older brother still sadly remembers her crying and saying: "Here are my children, I have nothing left for them to eat." Although she didn't leave us there, she only left the room when she was given an extra food ration card and a small amount of money. It was just a drop in the ocean and did nothing to alleviate her distress.

No, she hadn't imagined her life would be this difficult. Even when she wasn't feeling well or was ill, she dragged herself to work. Just don't drop out, she needed every penny, otherwise things would look even worse. Then, to make matters worse, two men suddenly turned up at the door and made it clear to my mother that we had to move out. It turned out that the house we had moved into was a factory apartment belonging to the nearby chemical plant. She was allocated an attic apartment with two rooms, a kitchen and no bathroom in an apartment building. Nobody cared that it was an imposition for us. She had unknowingly moved into a house illegally.

But one day she was at the end of her tether. Four years had already passed since the separation from our father. Until then, he had completely shirked his responsibilities. He hadn't even paid alimony for his children. It was the day when she once again had to face her first great love, the father of her three children, because it was the day of the divorce. She had lost him and the marriage and had to come to terms with her difficult fate. He coldly took all the blame and the marriage was divorced. She returned from the divorce court in a daze. There was no one there to talk to, to comfort her, to simply take her in their arms. No one noticed her terrible mental state. Her three children were waiting at home. The money had run out and there wouldn't be any more for a few days. That's when she lost control of herself.

I was still too young to understand how bad she was feeling. When she came home, we were waiting for her in the kitchen. Our older brother sensed that something was wrong. He ordered us to be quiet. She cried and left the kitchen. She climbed the stairs to the upper floor, where the bedroom was. We looked after her in silence and amazement. But it remained silent. As if with an instinctive premonition, my older brother suddenly rushed out of the kitchen and clattered up the stairs. I can still hear him shouting: "Muttiii, Muttiii!!!" Then he came running down the stairs as if possessed - no, he didn't run, he jumped several steps at once, came into the kitchen, grabbed a large kitchen knife and ran back upstairs. He kept shouting desperately "Mutti", "Mutti". We two little ones looked after him fearfully and didn't move. Then everything went haywire.

Klaus had found our mother hanging from a hook on the ceiling with a rope around her neck. He had the presence of mind to cut it off. Then he ran to the neighbor, who immediately came over to us. Our mother was unconscious, but she wasn't dead. The neighbor loosened the rope and took it off her neck. Our mother hadn't been harmed when she fell. Then she ran out of the house to fetch a doctor who lived in our street. Luckily, he was at home and came straight to us. An ambulance was called and our mother was taken to the district hospital. We two little ones couldn't understand what had happened in our house. We also couldn't understand what happened to our mother and why she was taken from us in an ambulance. She had just been with us. We started to cry. Klaus sat there and whimpered.

Our neighbor took care of us until two Protestant sisters arrived. We were taken to the nearby orphanage, which was housed in the palace of the landowner Count Helldorf, who became a member of the Reichstag and police president of Potsdam in 1933 and later of Berlin. In 1938, he made contact with resistance circles and was executed after the assassination attempt of July 20, 1944.

Suddenly we were in a completely unfamiliar environment and didn't know why. It was December and it was very cold. All the children in the home slept in one large room, with the boys on one side and the girls on the other. Due to the special circumstances, we were allowed to stay with our big brother. We slept on camp beds next to each other. Everyone only had an old woolen blanket for underneath and one as a blanket. Klaus put all three blankets on top of each other and we covered ourselves with them across us. I was allowed to sleep in the middle. The two boys, on the other hand, had problems staying covered up. Even at night, we always had warm clothes on because of how cold it was. Klaus took great care of us both. He instinctively took on the role of a father, but he didn't talk to us much. Some of the huge window panes in the castle were still broken as a result of the war and were only provisionally sealed. An icy cold winter air whistled in. During the day, the camp beds were moved to the wall. Small cannon stoves had been set up in the large hall, but they did not warm the large and high rooms enough. We sat around them and held our clammy fingers towards the warmth. We had malt coffee for breakfast from a brown tin pot with white polka dots. We drank from tin cups that looked like the pots. We were told that the soldiers had something like that and we found it exciting. We usually had dry bread for breakfast, which we drizzled with malt coffee and sprinkled with sugar, which was a little damp and looked reddish. We also had molasses, which we liked to spread on our bread. The coffee pot was placed on the stove to keep the coffee warm. We held our cups with both hands to warm our cold hands. At lunchtime we often had soups and potatoes in all their varieties and possibilities. But that didn't bother us, as long as there was something to eat. Sometimes you could see your breath in the room. We were cold a lot. It was a feeling of helplessness that I felt even as a small child. Where was our mother and why were we here? Why weren't we allowed to go home and sleep in our own beds? We simply couldn't understand this new situation and longed for our mother. Klaus didn't give us any explanations. Silent and withdrawn, he followed us everywhere. It was just as well that we at least had each other. While we both chattered away, he remained silent. Every day he walked the long way to school with other schoolchildren and we were glad when he was back.

Then Christmas Eve arrived. All the children received a package from Santa Claus that their friends or relatives had left for them at the home. We were the only children Santa had no presents for. No one in our family had found out what had happened. Our father had never taken an interest in us or our fate. We stood there like little sinners, sad and affected. The teachers were also upset with the situation and tried to comfort us. Klaus hid his dismay behind his closed nature, we little ones cried because we thought we were bad. That evening we had a particularly delicious meal with sweets and treats. We were distracted and calmed down. Nevertheless, we watched sadly as the other children unwrapped their presents. The next day, we each received a small present. The teachers had packed it for us and told us that Santa had forgotten it. We were overjoyed. Of course, Santa could only have forgotten. Our little world was ok again, at least a little bit.

The games in the castle were mostly movement games so that we could warm up. The moat around the castle was frozen over. I would have loved to slide on it, but my shoes were poor. The stockings, which were held on with suspenders, sometimes had holes in the heels. I can still feel the icy cold between the end of the stocking and the knickers today, just thinking about it. Because there were no long pants available, the boys wore shorts. They went down to the knee, but they were actually too long as shorts and too short as long pants. They also wore long stockings with suspenders.

The teachers treated us very sensitively. They left us siblings together. That way, at least we two little ones didn't feel the pain of loss. Klaus was never warm and sweet to us, more dutiful and cooler. But he was there for us. He was just eight years old and had experienced everything consciously. The situation was very bad for him, but no one had time with him and his sad little soul. He just had to function.

Our mother was in the district hospital in Merseburg. Her trachea and windpipe were crushed and she had suffered a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, the hanging had not caused any other physical damage. She was physically restored using the healing methods available at the time. However, the scars on her soul remained.

Nobody in the family looked after us, we never had any visitors because nobody knew what had happened. Our father never showed up either, although he had been informed. Our fate was uncertain because nobody knew what would happen to our mother. It was also uncertain whether she would regain custody of us.

It was a spring-like day and the sun was shining when we were called into the manager's room. Klaus took us by the hand and pulled us along without saying a word. We followed him without protest. Then we entered the room, which was furnished with white furniture, and there stood our dear mother with an embarrassed smile on her face. Yes, she was just standing there. How we rejoiced when we two little ones saw her: "Mutti!" we shouted and ran towards her. We embraced her thighs with both arms and hugged her tightly, as if we were afraid she might leave without us.Now everything will be all right! We can go home and we'll soon be sleeping in our own bed. No more freezing like this! Never again such longing and homesickness for her.Klaus walked slowly towards her with a sheepish expression on his face He could no longer cuddle like he used to. He had grown a lot older and more mature during this time. Our mother certainly hadn't missed it. She took his head with both hands and pressed it to her face, tears streaming down her face. Her big boy! How often had she thought about him, how he would cope with the terrible situation and how he would look after his little brothers and sisters.

She had brought us each a pair of felt slippers as a gift. The shoes were fastened with a small metal buckle that you clicked together. These slippers were something special for me. I still know exactly what they looked like today. It was a shame that the clasp broke so quickly. Unfortunately, they were also a little impractical because they went up to the ankles. Children tend to kick their heels down for comfort. However, I still loved them! And they were my favorite shoes for a long time. I always associated them with my mother's homecoming and couldn't part with them for ages.

We quickly packed up our little things, said goodbye to the teachers and finally headed home. While Klaus hardly spoke, our little chatterboxes couldn't be quiet. We had a lot to tell our mother because she hadn't been home for so long.

But how did this situation come about in the first place?

Difficult times

My parents married in February of the war year 1941 in the Erzgebirge (Oar Mountains). My older brother Klaus was born in October of the same year. He was the firstborn of the family. He was greeted with joy at birth and later spoiled from all sides. The grandparents loved their first grandson very much. Until their death, he was always their favorite grandson, which he enjoyed very much. He soon realized that he was an important member of the family. When my mother told me that he was a real cry baby, I always thought that he had exhausted himself crying for the rest of his life. Later, he was a very quiet and introverted boy.

The men who had survived the war and were not taken prisoner gradually returned home to their families. For some of them, various surprises awaited them on their return home. My father's wife and four-year-old son were waiting for him. Two days after the official end of the war, a second son was born. My mother had not yet recovered from the strain of this pregnancy when she became pregnant again. Her little son was just four months old. I was born a year after the end of the Second World War.

The pregnancy was not only a physical burden for my mother, but above all an emotional one. She didn't want this third child because my father had left her when she became pregnant again. The situation I was born into was not the best. The fact that I was a girl didn't help either. I can hardly remember her ever taking me in her arms as a little girl, giving me a loving hug and letting me feel her warmth. I never knew the feeling of security and love as a child. It was only many years later that I was granted this. A childhood like that leaves a mark on the soul.

My father never took fidelity very seriously and he was already having affairs with other women at the time. He was a playboy. His sense of humor, his cheerfulness and his showmanship made him the center of attention, especially with women. With him, the boundaries between truth and fantasy were always a little blurred. But what does that matter when you're in love? It had all started so beautifully. But things turned out very differently than anyone could have imagined.

As countless men did not return home from the war, many women tried to hook one of the remaining men by any means necessary. In any case, my father fell under the arms of one of these women and forgot what he had sworn to my mother at the altar five years earlier. He immediately moved in with his new love, who had a little daughter of her own. The new woman was eight years younger than my mother, just 20 years old. A woman is powerless against a man's obsession with youth.

After separating from my father, my mother fulfilled her duties more mechanically than consciously. My older brother very quickly realized that everything no longer revolved around him, because there were still two little siblings who needed his mother's attention. His father no longer came and she was often irritable and sad. He had just gotten used to his little brother when another little sister arrived who he couldn't relate to at all. He also noticed that his mother was not happy about the new child.

My mother had only one thought: she wanted to get out of the Ore Mountains as quickly as possible and return to her hometown of Halle an der Saale. She didn't have a family home that she could return to because she was an orphan. But at least she wanted to live in the familiar town of her childhood and youth. All the talking, pleading and begging from her grandparents didn't help. My father's parents, who lived next door, stood by her side as best they could during the hardest times. They couldn't understand their son. It was no longer a secret in the village that my mother wanted to return to her home town with her children. A stranger who was visiting the village had heard about her intentions and approached her. He told her about an acquaintance who lived in a town near Halle in a semi-detached house, the other half of which was empty. It soon became clear that the apartment was indeed vacant. As there was a great housing shortage in Halle due to the destruction caused by the war, my mother was not given permission to move there. So, she at least wanted to move close to her home town in the hope that it would be possible later on. She didn't worry about the landlord. There was no stopping her, the move was organized. A road full of uncertainty and difficulties lay ahead of her. She needed a lot of courage to walk this difficult path alone and without help with her three small children, and yet she did it.

One day before the move, my mother and us children said goodbye to our adopted home. There was a small pond very close to our house, which was fed by small springs flowing down from the forest. The water was always cold and bathing in it was rarely a pleasure. She was exchanging a few words with a neighbor friend while we were playing on the shore when I suddenly lost my balance and fell headfirst into the ice-cold water. Due to the constant gurgling of the flowing water, my mother didn't notice the sound of me falling. My older brother wanted to jump in after me and screamed for her. By the time she noticed my unintentional attempt to dive, I was already under water. It was only seconds. She immediately jumped into the cold water and pulled me out. She gave me a slap on the bottom to let me know that I hadn't listened to her. She hurriedly squeezed the water out of my body and ran home with me in her arms. Here I was rubbed warm with great difficulty and bundled into a thick comforter. A few moments later it would have been too late for me, I would have drowned. The worried neighbor took care of my bewildered brothers.

The day of departure had arrived. There was a wagon at the Rechenberg-Bienenmühle goods station, which was loaded with our furniture and all our belongings. My parents-in-law, my father's siblings and neighbors helped my mother. Then the time had come. With a heavy heart and the very best wishes for a happy future, everyone said goodbye to us. The journey into uncertainty began and no one knew how it would end. Only my mother was certain that it was the right way, the way back home.

A difficult new start

On our journey into uncertainty, we finally arrived at the main station in Halle. The sisters from the station mission took care of us. We were allowed to sleep here for one night, then we went on to Mücheln in Geiseltal, where our new apartment was waiting for us. She had kept the furniture from the cabinetmaker's shop where our grandfather worked. They always stayed a reminder of the beautiful Ore Mountains. Somehow, she had also arranged for the furniture to be transported from the train station to the new apartment.

After our mother brought us home from the orphanage, she was now faced with the question of how to feed her three children. Like everyone else at that time, she went out with my older brother to get left over potatoes and ears of corn in the fields. In the surrounding villages, she bartered with the farmers for food until there was nothing left to barter. From time to time, people also stole from the fields. The fields were of course guarded and it was not without danger to be caught.

When we once again had nothing to eat, my mother heard from other people that a farmer in the neighboring village was trading potatoes. She didn't think twice and sacrificed her beautiful "Selb Bavaria" dishes, which she still had from her mother and which were her only souvenirs, in exchange for potatoes.

She set off early in the morning with us three children. It was a long walk on the bumpy cobbled road, but you could take a shortcut across the fields. A handcart was indispensable at that time. The outward journey with the empty cart was easy. Everyone was still fresh and the two of us little ones ran carefree alongside. Mother pulled and Klaus pushed the cart. We made quick progress. The swap was quickly completed and a sack of potatoes was in the cart. But now back again quickly. It was an unusually hot September day. The hunger was bearable, but everyone was thirsty. We hadn't brought anything to drink. We two little ones were particularly thirsty and couldn't walk because we were so tired. Mother put us on the potato sack. Now, of course, the handcart had become very heavy. The way back had become a torture for mother and our brother and their progress in the fields was slow. Mother suddenly realized that they had lost their way. They had gone in the wrong direction. Exhausted and desperate, they both sat down on the ground to rest and get their bearings. It was already dusk when the black smoke from the chimneys of the nearby coal briquette factory could finally be seen. They finally reached the settlement. Klaus was at the end of his tether and had to fight back tears. But he pulled himself together, after all, he knew that he was Mother's great help.

Not far from Mücheln, a streetcar bridge crossed the tracks of the coal trains, which carried both the raw lignite to the briquette factory and the finished briquettes to the large companies. From here you had a good view and could see when a train with briquettes was parked on a side track. Word quickly got around that you could "organize" coal here at night. It was very dangerous, but out of necessity many fears and hardships were accepted. A few times it went well. One night, however, our mother was caught with a handcart full of briquettes. Of course, she was reported to the police and had to pay a fine of 300 marks. That was more than she earned in a month. It was bitter, but she had to pay the fine in installments of 30 marks.

New blocks of houses were built in our settlement because housing was urgently needed for the workers in coal production and the chemical plant. Building materials were in short supply and courageous architects had remembered the tried and tested method of building with clay. As an alternative building material, clay is known to have excellent properties. It cools in summer, warms in winter, provides sound insulation, detoxifies the house and is very inexpensive. Whole rows of houses were built from this building material, which was available everywhere, even when excavating a building pit. My mother immediately recognized her opportunity and got a job in the kitchen supplying the construction company. The pay was low, but she was able to take home leftover food for us every day.

One day, the building work was finished and the kitchen was closed. Now she was left without a job or a salary. Finding a job was not difficult, as there was more than enough work. She didn't want to return to her job as a nursery school teacher because of the low pay. She took a job as a conveyor belt attendant in the chemical plant in the neighboring town, as she was an unskilled worker. On one of the large conveyor belts, where raw lignite was transported from the coal heaps to the power plant furnaces, she had to make sure that there was no disruption caused by large pieces of coal. She had to use an iron bar to try and evenly distribute the pieces of coal on the belt. It was really dirty work in wind and weather. The meagre wages were barely enough for all of us. Our father didn't pay any alimony and she urgently needed childcare for us children.

This company worked almost exclusively in two and three shifts. My mother worked a two-shift system. The shifts lasted twelve hours, from 6.00 a.m. to 6.00 p.m. and vice versa. There were also commuting times of about an hour. After four shifts, there was a shift off. Sleeping after the night shift was difficult for her. The constant change in working hours between day and night was exhausting, especially because she still had a family to look after. In the beginning, she would often wake up and not know whether she had come home or had to leave. She constantly had to make sure that we children were looked after to some extent. She didn't always succeed. It was particularly difficult when we little ones caught an illness. Then she would put us both to bed so that the inevitable infection would pass more quickly. We thought that was good, because then it wasn't so boring in bed. When children are sick, they need a bit more attention anyway, which our mother couldn't give us. The neighbor would look in on us from time to time until our older brother came home from school. Then everything went according to his instructions. He was in charge and we had to follow. I always had respect for him, often out of fear, because he was quick to slap us in the face. He was still a child himself- instead of playing, he had to fulfill his duties.

When our mother finally came home, we were delighted, but she was exhausted and tired from working long hours. Household chores were waiting for her and she was constantly under pressure to fulfill them and lacked time. Just a few hours' sleep and then she had to go back to work. She never had time for us and there was no question of playing with us. I can't remember her cuddling or snuggling with me as a small child. It was good that I had my brother, who was only a year older, s I never really consciously missed that. Neither of us had any idea that we would soon be separated forever.

My mother finally got us into a kinder garden from the Volkssolidarität, it was called the "Stalin Kindergarten". It was the villa of the expropriated former mine owner. He had left some of the furnishings behind. A large doll's house with several floors was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. In a large conservatory there was a sandpit where we could dig even in winter. It was a paradise for us children and there were not only nice toys, but also hot food at lunchtime. We had to bring our own breakfast, which usually consisted of sandwiches with homemade molasses.

Every day, my brother, who was a year older than me, and I walked hand in hand the long way to kinder garden. For both of us, the world was full of puzzles and adventures and we stopped here and there to marvel and look. Always with our mother's stern reminder in our ears, to get there on time. It was an unforgettable time for me, because my brother was always with me. You never heard of child abduction and abuse back then. It was a tough time and everyone had to work on their own survival. But people looked much more out for each other. Nobody was as indifferent to "the person next to you" as they are today, especially among working-class families.

Our parents

My mother never got to know her father. When she was born in Halle an der Saale in October 1918, her father had already been killed as a soldier in the First World War during the "Great Battle of France" at the beginning of April. Her mother later met a new man, but he only wanted her mother and not the daughter. The grandparents took the little girl in. Her mother died at the age of 39. When her grandparents died, she was sent to an orphanage in Halle, where she learned about "German discipline and order". This time was particularly difficult for her, as her grandparents had spoiled her in their own way.

Her mother's sister decided to take the girl into her family. They had two daughters themselves, one of whom was two and the other four years younger than my mother. The aunt's husband was a plumber by trade. It wasn't easy to have one more eater at the table. My uncle was the sole breadwinner in the family. As was customary in those days, discipline and strictness prevailed and the father had a special position. They ate what was brought to the table, and that was it. My mother often recalled that there were tears and that she was served food she didn't like until hunger made her eat it. She also had to deal with the fact that she was not their child from time to time. It is not easy to take in a strange child, even if it is a relative. After all, there were now three girls who had to get along with each other. When in doubt, the two siblings naturally stuck together and the question of who was guilty was settled immediately. There were one or two punishments, but there were never any beatings or abuse. The uncle's presence alone was enough to keep them in line.

After the war, her uncle worked as a plumber in Russian barracks. There was plenty of work. As is customary with the Russians, there was vodka and Uncle liked to drink more than he could hold. Auntie wasn't happy about this, but there were never any arguments between the two of them. I never saw them argue or be rude to each other either. Auntie sorted everything with iron discipline and restraint. Everything was arranged in her husbands interest and for his benefit, because he was the one who brought the money home.

In the first years after the war, it was a real blessing to have a garden because it fed the family. All the fruit and vegetables were used and the jellies that my aunt made were heavenly. When I was there I enjoyed weeding, harvesting berries and vegetables and cleaning, because it was important to me to be a welcome guest. The recognition did me good and the comparison with the other grandchildren always went in my favor. My aunt was pleased with my patience in learning to do handicrafts and I wore her home-knitted underwear, which scratched my skin unpleasantly, without grumbling.

My mother's stories about her time with the foster parents were always characterized by the greatest respect and gratitude. She loved and respected them both very much. They were like grandparents to me and my two brothers. Although they had three grandchildren, we never felt that we were not welcome. It was especially nice when I happened to meet their granddaughter. There wasn't really room for two, but when it happened, it was always something special for both of us. We got on very well and I can still remember her cheerful laughter today. I was the younger one and she secretly adored my older brother. Only my aunt was sometimes annoyed by our exuberance. I was usually suspected of being the instigator of our jokes, but I made up for it with my diligence. I had the utmost respect for my uncle, but I was never afraid of him. Even as a child, I instinctively knew my place and acted accordingly.

After school, my mother first attended a domestic school and then began training as a childcare worker. She was a native of Halle with heart and soul. She was born here, spent her childhood and youth here and it was here that she met her first and only great love, my father. She loved her hometown dearly until her death. As she was unable to return to Halle, she traveled here as often as her time allowed, as her foster parents also lived here. Visiting them or going for a stroll through the city helped to alleviate her longing for this city a little. She died in Halle and found her final resting place here too. I am very sure that this would have been her greatest wish, but we never talked about it. Death was always a taboo subject. When she did start with the sentence: "When I'm dead", I didn't let her continue because the subject hurt me a lot. She was always a little immortal to me.

Our father was a tailor by trade. During the Second World War, he was stationed in France as a private and later as a sergeant major. My mother told me that he had sent parcels of children's things from France for my older brother. As the Nazis were also deporting people to German concentration camps in France, she feared that the children's things had simply been taken from these poor people or looted from their homes. When she dressed her young son in these clothes, she often felt terribly guilty. After all, her foster father was a staunch communist and opponent of the war. My mother was never in the "Bund Deutscher Mädel" and was glad that she had never witnessed the Nazi marches. The tranquil Ore Mountains were far away from the front. She had mixed feelings about my father's enthusiasm, but she loved him and he wasn't fanatical. As was necessary at the time she had to prove her Aryan ancestry before the wedding, without which marriage to my father would not have been possible. The theory of descent stated: "Aryan descent exists if all four grandparents are of German or related blood."

One day, my mother found pictures of executions in her husband's uniform. People were kneeling behind a freshly dug trench, hands behind their heads, waiting for the fatal shot. In another photo, she saw the bodies lying in the trench. As a sign of power, soldiers had also allowed themselves to be photographed, her husband was not there. The photos horrified her, but she didn't dare ask him how he came by these photos. Many thoughts ran through her head. Why did he have these hideous pictures with him? Were they perhaps of murdered children? Questions upon questions and she always had the feeling that there was blood on the children's things. Nevertheless, she was glad that she had been given clothes for her child. If only there hadn't been these conflicts of conscience.

My mother told me that she had often considered using these pictures as revenge against my father, to harm him because he had abandoned her with their three children. Especially when she found out that he had thrown in the towel as soon as the GDR was founded, because immediately after the war he became a staunch comrade of the Socialist Party, SED. He did everything he could to have a career in the party. Only the fact that he was the father of her children stopped her from doing so.

While my mother was unable to move back to her former hometown, my father found a job in Halle after the end of the war and moved here. He got a job at the Halle "Konzert- und Gastspieldirektion" in the trade union clubhouse. It must have been here that he changed his profession from tailor to actor, because when I was born, he was an actor by profession, and a year earlier he had been a tailor. In any case, he didn't learn this profession. I suspect that he simply pretended to be an actor.

I never existed for my father. I only wanted to visit him once as part of an exhibition that took place in his clubhouse. I was there with my secondary school class. The only question he asked me was: "How much longer do I have to pay for you?" I had palpitations before this meeting and imagined he would be proud of me when he heard what a famous school I went to. I arrived unannounced and he was just at the table. I recognized him immediately. When he came up to me, I hardly knew how to address him. I told him some trivia about myself and when I was going to graduate. He asked me if he should buy me a lemonade. I declined and he ended the conversation by saying that he had to get back to work.

The whole thing took place outside his office and lasted no longer than five minutes. My class teacher had asked beforehand if he should talk to my father. Just to be polite, he explained. "No, it's not necessary," I said. Afterwards, I felt downright shabby that I had allowed myself to be carried away into thinking that my father would be happy to see me. When I thought about it, I was embarrassed by every word I said. "I wish I hadn't gone to see him," I kept thinking. But I had just wanted to see my father. I felt so hurt and depressed. After this brief encounter, I never had contact with him again. He ignored me at a dance party at his work place, even though I was there with my two brothers. The only thing that connected us was the alimony. Sometimes it really hurt to realize that I didn't exist for my father. I had never done anything to him. He, not I, was responsible for my existence.

The decision

When our mother took us out of the orphanage, we did not return to the semi-detached house where we almost lost our mother. Our new home was now the small attic apartment with the sloping outer walls that we had been allocated. You could enter the rooms from a long corridor. There were only two skylights in the sloping ceiling facing the street, which we children regretted very much, because life often took place on the street back then. There were hardly any cars. As a result, you couldn't watch your friends playing through the hatches when you were grounded. Unfortunately, this apartment was also the only one of the five apartments in the house that had neither a bathroom nor a children's room. Nevertheless, it was wonderful to finally sleep in my own freshly made bed again. When I saw the familiar furniture, I immediately had a feeling of security - we were home again!

The youth welfare office had tried to find the best solution for our mother. First of all, they made sure that my father met his alimony obligations. He had to pay 20 marks for each child. That wasn't much, but at least it was something. Our mother got her children back, but that was only temporary. A court order had stipulated that one child had to go to the father, but which one? She had to make a decision and she chose her middle child, my beloved brother Dieter. To make it easier for him to say goodbye, she had been advised to prepare him for the separation. The little boy was overjoyed to be allowed to see his father, whom he hardly knew. Somehow, he had heard that his father was an "actor". From then on, he always added "actor" when asked his name and was therefore called "Dieter Kirchhof - actor". Dieter could hardly wait for his father to come and get him. I no longer existed for him and the little guy was also getting a bit mouthy with our mother.

The time had come. Mother had put on her best dress and little Dieter was all dressed up. A suitcase with all his things was ready and he also took a few toys with him. Everyone waited for the moment when the doorbell rang. My mother was very nervous. Klaus hadn't seen his father for a long time. I wasn't involved and didn't know what was happening because I didn't know him at all. I was a little envious of Dieter because he had a new adventure ahead of him, and without me. In reality, it was a journey into an uncertain future without his mother and without his siblings. After all, the little boy had no idea what was in store for him. He had just turned six years old.

Finally, the doorbell rang and there he was - our father. I saw him for the first time in my life. Klaus shook his hand and dutifully bowed. Dieter looked at him with shining eyes and imitated his big brother. Father only looked at me for a moment. I thought he looked a bit like our grandpa, only younger. He was very formal. It was an embarrassing situation for mother. After all, she was standing opposite the man she had once loved so much. They would have raised these three children together, but now everything had changed.

We children were sent to the kitchen at the other end of the corridor, as there was a lot to discuss, such as the visiting arrangements. Quiet as mice, we waited as if for a miracle. Then Dieter was called. He happily ran to his father and wanted to leave straight away. The situation was tense. Klaus remained silent, as always. He must have been very upset, after all, he had once been his beloved son. He waited in vain for a few kind words from his father.

Dieter barely had time to say goodbye to us. He quickly picked up his suitcase. His comforter was also a must. Back then, a comforter was a basic piece of equipment for everyone who left the family. He gave us a quick hug. Father said goodbye to us briefly, then the door slammed shut behind them. There was an awkward silence. We couldn't even wave after our brother because there was no window to the street. My mother consoled me that we would soon be visiting Dieter in Halle.

From now on, everything was different. I was alone in a very special way. My second half was gone, gone forever. I had never known life without Dieter. When I was born, he was already there and we were inseparable. It was only in the days that followed that I painfully felt the loss of my closest and dearest playmate. I can still remember this sad feeling in my chest today. I was constantly longing, a kind of homesickness for him. Years later, when I thought of him, I often sang the children's song: "Where might my Christian be, in Hamburg or Bremen?" The refrain often brought tears to my eyes with longing.

Unfortunately, things turned out very differently for Dieter. He was given a stepmother like the one embodied in the classic fairy tale. His enthusiasm soon faded as a strict and loveless childhood awaited him. His father brought him up with a firm hand and strict rules. He was often beaten and grounded in the house. His stepmother, who had a stepson against her will, was unable to give him any love. She had a daughter herself. Our father loved her as if she were his own child. They didn't want a second child and made my brother feel it every day. The new situation had been brought about by court order and the unwanted addition to the family was treated in the same way.

So it wasn't long before Dieter became homesick for his real family, but above all for his siblings. One day, he suddenly stood outside our door with a smile on his little face when our mother opened the door for him. He gave her a big hug. Although she was happy to see him, she was surprised that he was alone. Of course, she immediately asked if he had permission. Dieter said yes and we were happy that he was there. I gave him a big hug and told him how much I had been waiting for him. I was incredibly happy that he had finally come. It also made him feel a little important.

Our mother couldn't believe that her little son had come alone on the streetcar. It hadn't been agreed with the father either. She had visiting rights once a month, but there was no question of the child visiting alone. He was still far too small for that. It took about two hours to get from Halle to us and we had to change trains once. She kept pressing him until he came clean.

She went with us to her foster parents in Halle as often as she could. Dieter had memorized the way. He had run away from home without his father or stepmother noticing. Our mother made it clear to him that she had to take him back, even if it hurt her a lot. It had been decided that way.

Dieter sadly confessed that he really longed for us. But it was no use; he had to go back to his other family. My mother soon set off with him. She gave him a parcel of clothes that no longer fitted my older brother. After all, our father was a tailor by trade. When we arrived in Halle, Dieter showed our mother the way to where he now lived. His father took him in angrily and she went back home. She later said that she had cried on the way back, but she couldn't do anything about it. She had to be glad that they hadn't taken all her children away after the suicide attempt.

Dieter got a beating and was grounded for a week. He told us this when we visited him and we were very sorry. But the punishment didn’t stop him. He ran away several more times. The longing for his family was simply too great for such a small boy.

One day, he turned up at our doorstep with a small pot of a cyclamen plant. He mischievously told us that it was his friend's birthday and that he had been given money for flowers. His father thought he was at his friend's house. However, the hoax came out again. Our father came to us in a rage bringing along the awful stepmother. Us children had to leave the room. As I knew from my mother's conversations with other women this woman had taken our father away from us - I was furious that she was there. Our father had hardly paid any attention to us. My older brother suffered particularly from this coldness. To me he was a stranger, as it was only the second time I had ever met him.

Everything that my little brother had to experience in his childhood shaped him for the rest of his life. His longing for love, warmth and security determined his life, as did his restlessness. As he didn't feel any love or understanding as a child, he was unable to pass on these important qualities to his own children later on.

A guardian angel

One day I came home from kindergarten with a pain on the left side of my neck. My face soon became swollen and I developed a fever. My mother called a doctor and before I knew it, I was in an ambulance on my way to the district hospital. Unfortunately, there was no bed available for me. The ambulance hurried to a makeshift hospital housed in a hut. There was no children's ward here, only one bed in a six-bed room in the women's ward was free and the women were happy to have a child with them for a change. The lymph gland in my neck developed an abscess, and I underwent surgery the same day, but it was unsuccessful. The underlying cause couldn't be addressed, leading to a deterioration in my condition. It was urgent. As I was in a very bad way, my mother was informed and she set off immediately. The makeshift hospital was near the small town of Freyburg an der Unstrut and the journey there was very inconvenient. When my mother saw me, she was stunned. She was told that she had to be prepared for anything. I had to undergo four operations before the situation eased. My face was swollen beyond recognition.

As I was a very delicate child, it was reasonable to assume that I was malnourished, but to my mother's chagrin, I was a poor eater. A woman in the room looked after me with special love and devotion. She soon realized that my mother couldn't come often because she had to work. The woman couldn't have children and had it in her mind to ask my mother to give me up for adoption. She often told me that she had a large farm with lots of animals. I could have a little dog and there were also cats. There was always good sausage and fresh milk. I could also have my own room and lots of space to playin. Her husband also liked her idea and they both couldn't wait to talk to my mother about it. The more they both cared for me, the more I longed for my own mother. The care and love of this woman did me good, because my mother hardly had any time for me, yet I loved her beyond all measure and couldn't imagine ever losing her. When my mother heard about the request, she thought it was just a joke and laughed it off. But the woman emphasized emphatically that she was serious and would gladly accept me as a child. She promised that I would be fine with her. I would want for nothing and she could visit me from time to time. The couple really fell in love with this idea. As I was very talkative even as a small child, I had blabbed that my father had 'abandoned' my mother, so they thought they were helping my mother with this too. My mother wouldn't give me up and it was a special kind of spectacle for all the women in the room. I was able to leave the hospital soon afterwards because the bed was urgently needed.

A few years later, I had another guardian angel. I was about ten years old. It was summer and I wanted to wash a carrot from the water pipe in our garden. When it fell out of my hand and I tried to pick it up, I grabbed a piece of dirty glass and injured myself. Cuts were not uncommon for me, so I rinsed the blood off under the running water and soon forgot the slight pain. After a few days, however, the cut became infected and the edges turned yellow. I felt that it was getting feverish and the wound was throbbing. It wasn't long before I discovered a streak that already extended into the crook of my arm. Someone had once told me that a red streak from a wound towards the heart was blood poisoning. You have to go to the doctor quickly so that you don't die from it. I didn't really want to believe that, but I was still unsure. My mother had just gone to sleep for the night shift. She always slept two hours before the night shift and ordered extreme rest. With my heart pounding, I waited for her to finally wake up so I could show her the red stripe. It couldn't be that bad because she gave me my insurance card, sent me to our family doctor and went to work.

Full of fear, I ran all the way there. In the meantime, I felt really ill. I imagined I had chills and a fever. When the nurse saw that the strip was already on my upper arm, I was immediately called into the consulting room as the next patient. In those days, it was not uncommon for children to have to look after themselves when their parents were at work. The doctor had known me and my mother for several years and was therefore not at all surprised that I came alone. The receptionist was the doctor's wife. She was a little stocky and had large breasts, into which she pressed my head as I was given a syringe. With one eye I saw the scalpel, which looked like a jackknife. The doctor was cutting my hand with it. Despite the injection, it hurt terribly. I screamed in pain into the woman's bosom. Then the wound was stitched up and I bravely gritted my teeth. As a reward, I not only got a sweet afterwards, but also a fancy white bandage with a splint. Now I was sure to get pity and curiosity from people, especially my friends. The doctor and his wife confirmed my bravery and I was glad to have survived everything. I had to tell my mother that it was blood poisoning and that it was "almost too late". I walked home alone. My mother went with me to have the stitches removed and was a little frightened by the doctor's words. I didn't have to do anything at home, she helped me get dressed and that was nice. So once again I was lucky. You need your guardian angel!

My brother Klaus also had a guardian angel once. It was winter and the fire pond in our village was frozen over. It was the only place far and wide where you could ice skate, which all children love. However, the ice was not particularly thick. Klaus was the proud owner of ice skates, which was still something special back then. Unfortunately, the sharp claws often tore off the heels of the shoes, they were also called "cheek rippers". Shoes were expensive and you usually only had one pair each season, and they were worn until they couldn't be worn any more. So after my brother had taken a good look and thrown a few stones at the frozen pond, he ran home, picked up his skates and walked proudly to the pond. I secretly followed him, as he was reluctant to take me with him. There were already a few children there trying to sled. Klaus used a small hexagonal wrench to lace the skates to his shoes, carefully stepped onto the ice and made a few wobbly, awkward gliding movements. At first the sheet of ice held firm, but with every step he took, it crackled, crackled and hummed softly. He ignored the threatening noise. Suddenly, however, there was a real crack and my brother's heart caved in. A fire pond is not very big, but sometimes deep. Klaus was up to his armpits in the ice-cold water. Fortunately, the pond wasn't full to the brim with water. With every desperate movement to push himself up with his elbows, the ice broke off piece by piece. Two boys, who had been watching my brother's risky venture from the edge, had the presence of mind to pick up a fence rail lying around and push it towards him on the ice. Klaus clung to it, crawled forward as far as he could on the ice and the two of them pulled him out with their combined strength. My unfortunate brother stood there with an embarrassed expression, dripping with wetness and rattling from the cold. It was afternoon and our mother was at work. The other children, who had also stepped onto the ice, retreated in horror. I had watched the hustle and bustle in fear. I ran to him and together we quickly ran home. Shivering and clattering, he tried to free himself from his wet clothes in the warm kitchen. As best he could, he washed them out in the sink. The water in the fire pond was never clean, as it was a standing body of water. The clothes smelled accordingly. We had to hurry because our mother was coming home soon. Shecouldn’t notice anything because she had forbidden us to go to the fire pond. Every year, children fell through the ice there. I'm sure he would have gotten a few smacks behind the ears, she was very quick with that. I cleaned up the traces of water on the stairs. Everything went well. The clothes were hung up to dry on the drying floor next door and with a hot footbath and his back to the warm stove in the living room, my brother had soon warmed up again. There was a deep sense of brotherly peace between us. Now we had a secret together and I could even keep my mouth shut for once. Later, the whole thing was completely forgotten - it didn't really matter. My brother wasn't going on the ice again any time soon, at least not if it wasn't frozen solid.

Another time, Klaus almost caused a catastrophe. It was on a New Year's Eve. There was never any money for firecrackers. Word had spread among my brother's friends about how to make firecrackers yourself. All you needed was "Weed-Ex", which was readily available at any drugstore. It was a weedkiller in crystalline form. It was dissolved in a little water, soaked in blotting paper or newspaper and then dried. Soon you could see tiny salt crystals forming on the paper. The further processing up to the firecracker was the boys' big secret, but it worked. When the finished work of art was lit, there was a loud bang and it even shot off. It stank terribly. It was not without danger and was strictly forbidden to us children because it could cause serious burns.