The rainbow never sets

There was no other customer in the shop. When we told him that we had seen some strangers in the street, he only nodded. I think we were all surprised with their sudden appearance. The man told us that all of the province of Sachsen-Anhalt was now occupied by the Russians, and that the border was about 50 kilometers from Westerhausen. "Have you heard what the situation is over there?" "The border is closed, if that's what you are after. They are letting no one across."

"So we are really trapped!" I couldn't hide my feelings. "We have left our home to escape the Russians, leaving practically everything back, endured all hardships, then left again from south of Berlin to here, only to be caught up by the Russians here. It's not fair."

"What's fair these days?" "Let's go home and tell our families." At home they were as shocked as we had been. "Do you think it is safe to go to church?" Oma was understandably anxious.

"Of course, the Russians are not doing anything. They were just standing around near the pub."

"I guess, life goes on as usual," said Mutter. And that is exactly what happened. Life went on as usual. Heinz and I went back to our cherry picking, and from what we heard from the others, the Russians were no worse than the Americans.

Oma Beyme came to visit us. She had been very ill. She looked very jaundiced and needed some medical treatment. We managed to get her into the hospital at Quedlinburg, where I had lost my appendix a few weeks earlier. They operated on her, but when they found that her inside was all riddled with cancer, they didn't remove any of it. I went to visit her a couple of times together with Tante Margaret, Mutter's youngest sister. She also stayed with us for a while. Oma never recovered from her operation, and she died peacefully on 17 July, three days before we moved to Emersleben. She was buried later in the cemetery there.

On 20 July 1945, a horse-drawn carriage came from Emersleben to pick us up. I had to say farewell to Heinz. I did this with a heavy heart. It seemed my fate: no sooner had I gained a close friend, I had to lose him again. I invited him to come and visit us, but he never came.

Mutter, Oma, Gerda and Fräulein Lina were sitting in the back of the coach. Our luggage had been sent ahead with our wagon. I climbed on the front seat with the driver. As the road was winding through the valley, I looked back on Westerhausen. There was the 'camel' range and the village, the place where the war had ended for us with so many adventures. I would also remember Westerhausen for the change within me.

The road went up a hill of another range. It was a rather desolate place. Great boulders here and there, sparse vegetation, and some sheer rocks

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