Fifteen years in a childhood paradise

"That's what they think," I threw in for what it was worth. Our 'war cabinet' was in full swing. For the first time in our young lives we had been drawn into a secret plan of our parents. They had told us that a war between Poland and Germany was inevitable, and that our homes and land, until then idyllic and peaceful, could be turned into a battlefield. Our family had been here since before the first World War. In 1919 the province of Posen had become part of Poland, when our family became Polish citizens, but remained ethnic Germans.

We were still rather stunned and could not work out all the implications.

After a thoughtful pause I ventured to say: "You are lucky Horst, you can stay here, you have a choice, but we haven't".

It was true. Our parents had just told us that as Günter and I and our cousin Bernd were too young to stay, Günter would be 12 in October, Bernd 11 in August and I would be 11 in December. So we were to leave our homes in Sapowice and in Strykowo together with our Grandparents and go somewhere to the Free State of Danzig, near the Baltic Sea, close to the East Prussian border. Our parents hoped that the Germans would take over that part immediately, without fighting.

Günter, who was always thoughtful and wise for his age, said: "We must be very careful that we don't tell anyone of this plan, not even Klärchen."

"Isn't Klärchen coming with us to cook and look after us?" I asked. "Yes, she is," said Horst, "but leave it to your parents to tell her. We must not say anything to anyone."

Until that time our secrets had been small and insignificant, but this one seemed to us a matter of life and death. Suddenly our childhood became a thing of the past, that glorious, carefree and innocent childhood of our paradise on two neighbouring country estates in Poland, near Poznan (German: Posen). The linden tree took on another dimension for our life, one of danger and foreboding.

Before my mind flashed by the many times we had played together here around this tree, also with our Polish friends. There were Stefan, Józiu, Franek, (all sons of our coach-man Franz Kempa), Czesiu, Kubala and some other sons and daughters of our Polish workers on the farm, through whom we had learnt to speak Polish soon after we had learnt German from our parents. Many times they had joined our hide and seek games around the old linden tree.

"Why on earth would Germany want to make war with Poland?" I asked innocently. "There is nothing wrong with the Poles? We play together, they are our good friends. And look at our workers, so loyal to Vater (my father), there is never any trouble! I can't understand it."

"Hold on," said Horst, "you don't go to a German school in Poznan as I do. I know that some of the Poles hate us. At the beginning of this year, all the windows of our school on the ground floor were smashed by Polish students. And I can tell you, we were attacked many times by the kids

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