Refugee in search of a homeland

Vater. "We'll see, whether all the walking in the hospital gardens did you any good."

"I'll be all right." I was determined. "Here, give me your pack, it will make it easier for you to walk." The pack, my 'bread bag', which contained just my tooth brush, comb, soap and shaver, plus my diary and some photos, wasn't heavy. I had never received any spare clothes.

"Thanks, Vater, that's very nice of you. It will help." Was there a note of uncertainty? I didn't want Vater to think that I couldn't make it, but I wasn't too sure myself.

As we were walking along the road, the last ten weeks in Berlin came flashing by. It had been a springboard on the road to freedom. I had escaped from certain death, only to face death again in hospital. I had lost contact with my family but found them again, except Günter. I had lost all my friends, my home, my roots where I had grown, would the newgained lease of life help me to find a new Heimat?

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