I would like to conclude this block of 8 consecutive days of sensitization about war and its effects on people with a little story of a war child. How indifferent can people become during hard times?
Do not forget to appreciate that it is different today. Protect what our parents and (great-) grandparents rebuilt out of chaos and anarchy with painstaking efforts. Do not let those alone who suffer from war nowadays. Even our good lives are partly based on the fact that we or our direct ascendants got assistance from the outside.
A., female, *1933, Germany, about a childhood experience 1945:
I think I was the most courageous of all the family – at just 12 years of age. With a little milk can in my hand I made myself on the way in the hope to return with a quarter of a litre of skimmed milk for my little baby brother.
Nobody dared to go out into the streets anymore – the village seemed to be deserted. The air vibrated. I heard it come, the low-flying airplane (ready to fire), and thought it should be possible to run away.
In that moment, the entrance door of a small farm opened and somebody shouted: “Hurry up, hurry up, come in fast!” The woman farmer held out a helping hand towards me. Exactly in the moment when I reached the doorstep the loamy earth behind me splashed upwards (due to the shots fired) – and splattered down onto me.
When the enemy airplane had flewn off, I started to run again. When I reached home my mother was angry with me and grumbled, because I had returned home with a totally dirty coat. Nobody took the trouble to ask what had been the cause for this…
free translation from the original German version