Fifteen years in a childhood paradise

"They are certainly shooting at something," observed Klärchen. "I think they are shooting at the Westerplatte. We heard it this morning in the news. I'm sure that's what it is." Günter always knew everything!

This was to be the closest that the war would come to us for a long time. For three days we heard the guns, then there was calm. Again through the news we heard that the Poles on the Westerplatte had capitulated.

We also heard that the German troops were advancing in Poland very fast, but Poznan was never mentioned.

"I don't know what it means," said Opa, "but I think they have not taken Poznan yet. Maybe the great battle along our lake is being fought right now."

"Oh, why be so pessimistic, Arnold," said Oma. "You always see the worst happening. You just wait and see what really happens before you start worrying."

It seemed to us an endless time before we heard in the news that Poznan had been taken. It was more than a week since the war had started. Opa was not at all sure that all was going well. He said: "Children, I have been through the first war. It never works out the way you think it will. I don't like this war, and I don't like Hitler. He brags too much. You wait and see."

But we thought, let him talk. All we wanted is to get back home again. Nearly three weeks later, actually on 18 September, the war against Poland had ended. The rest of the Polish army had surrendered, and many German nationals, whom the Poles had taken as prisoners, had been released, and they were allowed to return to their homes. In the news they called the war a Blitzkrieg Ñ a lightning war. It may have been as quick as lightning for them, but not for us.

Nothing could stop us now from returning home. "Please Klärchen, can't we all go home now?" said Günter, and Bernd and I nodded eagerly.

"Let me make some enquiries." A day later she came back from town, waving a piece of paper in the air. "We've got it," she called from afar. "There is a bus which will take refugees like us back to Poznan. Isn't that wonderful!"

And we all joined hands and danced around the kitchen, when suddenly Opa and Oma appeared.

"What is all this merriment about?" Opa wanted to know. "We can go home, we can go home. There is a bus leaving for Poznan." It came out from all of us like one voice.

"I don't know about that," said Opa, "What sort of bus is this, Klara?" "I picked this leaflet up at the baker's," she said. "It says here: 'Any Germans wishing to return to their home in the Province of Poznan can do so on Sunday, 24 September 1939. You must buy your ticket by Friday', and then it gives an address here where you can buy the tickets."

"Friday, that's tomorrow! Well, we'll have to make a decision very quickly then."

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