Fifteen years in a childhood paradise

to think of home and what I was missing. I forgot all about my 16th birthday. Would Günter get some time off to get home, perhaps after Christmas? I hoped so for his sake, and for my parents' sake.

On 27 December 1944 duties were back to normal. We had to repair some of the cables that led to the gun furthest away from the command bunker. Suddenly we heard the siren going.

"What's that, an air raid?" the sergeant asked? It seemed different. No one was running to their positions. Then someone called out: "Fire, fire!"

We looked around and we could see a big cloud of black smoke coming from the place where our huts were.

"Is it our barrack?" "No, it's yours!" someone said to me as I was running towards our barrack as fast as I could in those heavy boots.

The flames had already engulfed the whole building, there was no way of getting anything out. The biscuits, the cake, my Christmas presents, the book, all my personal gear, my photos, my diary Ñ I just stood stunned as I watched the flames consume everything. I had been depressed and sad before, but this? I needed a thick shell around me to cope, and some strength from above. There was no one to talk to. I tried desperately to grow a skin as thick as an elephant's, so that nothing would ever hurt me again.

When the fire was out, we were allowed to go through the ashes. One of my mates said: "Look, here is my jumper. A bit singed, but I can still wear it."

"I've found my book!" someone else called out. Encouraged by this, I started going through the ashes, where my corner had been. I used my fingers carefully, like a comb, so that I would not miss anything. By a strange coincident I found my diary, and some photos! All singed on the edges, but otherwise in good condition. All else had been burnt to powdery ashes. Here was something of my own, something to remind me of the past, something I could cling on to. I greatly treasured these things.

Then we were allocated bunks in the large building. We were given a bare minimum of clothes, no underwear, a 'bread bag' akin to a larger pouch or bum bag, a toothbrush, soap, and that was all. It all fitted neatly into the bag, with some room to spare.

When I lay down to sleep that night I did not pray the Lord's Prayer as I usually did. Instead I prayed: "Lord, this is it. Now I have nothing. I don't ask you to give me any material things, for I know we can live without them. But please make me less sensitive, or give me the strength to cope, and a calm mind, whatever may lie ahead."

That night I slept like a baby. Next night I reverted to the Lord's Prayer as usual:

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