The rainbow never sets

a block of chocolates for the winner. An innocent game which added some spice to our life, and a good way to celebrate the arrival of spring after a long and cold winter.

But the spring of 1941 was not all celebration and new life. It brought some sadness into our family. Mutter had expected another baby. When I went to visit her in the clinic in Posen from the boarding house, she told me in tears, that she had given birth to a baby boy who was too weak to survive. I was the first one in the family to see her after the birth, and I tried to comfort her to the best of the ability of a twelve-year-old. This was quality time with Mutter, and it remained deep in my memory. Schwester Anni Kiwull, a nurse who had come originally from the Baltic States, came again to look after Mutter, after she was discharged from the clinic. She had become a friend of the family, and was able to nurse Mutter back to health. For Gerda this must have been a particular disappointment, although she didn't understand fully. All she heard was that the promised little brother or sister didn't come. As we boys were most of the time away in Posen at school, she grew up almost like an only child and must have looked forward to the birth of another sibling.

At that time Günter and I still had our occasional fights, mainly in the boarding house in Posen. Like in earlier days, the other boarders assembled and watched, edging us on when the fight became physical. The fight stopped, when one of us got hurt, or Tante Else intervened.

On one of those occasions, when the sparks were flying again, Günter ended up with a thick lip and I with a black eye. This happened on a Friday, just before the week-end. When we arrived home, we told everyone, that we got hurt at sports. But when we said 'hallo' to Opa, he took one look at us both and said with glee, rubbing his hands, "So you both had a good fight!" We couldn't deny it any longer, and I think from that time on we both decided that there was no point fighting each other. We had become too strong, and anyway it was much better to solve our differences by talking it out, in a peaceful way, and to stick together. In his humorous way, Opa had taught us a most valuable lesson.

As long as I can remember, Opa had been hard of hearing. He used various hearing aids with only limited success. Sometimes, though, when we whispered to one another, so that Opa wouldn't hear, he heard everything we said. When he and Oma walked together in the park, Opa always commented on the things he could see (as Oma was very short sighted), and Oma commented on the things she heard, like the singing of a nightingale, or another bird. This way they complemented each other beautifully.

Whenever they were alone together, especially at dinner table, they spoke in French. This was a remainder of their childhood and youth which they had spent in Belgium. When we were invited to share a meal with them, they also spoke in French. Their daily morning devotions were carried out in French, and they tried to teach us some French, although

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