Where Is Home?: How a Childhood in East Germany During World War Ii Shaped My Adult Life

By Anneros Valensi

World War II interrupted Anneros Valensis childhood. Born in East Germany in 1938, she was just six years old when the war and its fallout struck her and her family. In Where is Home? she shares the story of how she survived the miseries of war.

In a narrative told from the perspective of a six-year-old child, this memoir shares the realities of what life was like during that time and what needed to be done to stay alive. Valensi tells the stories of war, beginning with the cruel Russian occupation of her homeland, the trauma of an unsettled life, her familys move to West Germany in 1946, the drafting of her father into the army, and life with her mother and four siblings when there was scant food and no shelter. Where is Home? follows Valensi as she seeks a new life first in London and then later in the United States.

Providing stark, firsthand insight into the realities of war, Where is Home? tells one familys story, the challenges they encountered, and the long-term effects on their psyches.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Nov 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458212719

Anneros Valensi

Anneros Valensi was born in Falkenau, Silesia, East Germany, in 1938. In 1945, she was evicted and lived in West Germany. Valensi became a registered nurse and moved to London, England, in 1961 and then to the United States in 1966. She has two children and three grandchildren and currently lives in New York.

Book preview

Where Is

Home?

How a Childhood in East Germany during

World War II Shaped My Adult Life

Anneros Valensi

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Copyright © 2013 Anneros Valensi.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-1273-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1272-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1271-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921070

Abbott Press rev. date: 11/26/2013

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Part 1

At Home in Falkenau, Silesia, East Germany—1944

Living With My Brothers

A Family Tradition—Christmas 1944

Evacuating as the Russian Army Approaches—January 1945

In Czechoslovakia—1945

Returning to Our Home in Falkenau

The Loss of Innocence—A Harsh Reality

Good Neighbors

A Cup of Milk and A Slice of Bread

We are on the Move Again

My Grandparents in Breslau

Mother’s Life

Part 2

Our New Life in Winterberg, West Germany—1946

Discoveries

A Summer that Changed Me

A Serious Issue in Grade School

Moving Up in Life

What I Learned at a Young Age

Summer Vacation in the 1950S

Living in Winterberg

Father—Hope for a New Life

Memories of Vati on Leave from the Army—1942–43

Family Occasions—1943–44

A Time of Almost Unbearable Hope—1954

A Day in Our Life at Home

Is This Love?—Winter 1955

Part 3

Arriving in Mannheim

The Green Necklace

My Life Changes Forever

Moving On

Part 4

Arriving in London from Germany

Life in London

Remodeling Myself

The Beginning of My Adventure

Life at Park Crescent, London—1962

Visiting Egypt—1962

From Ordinary to Extraordinary

My First Visit to New York—1964

A Major Decision Going to America

In memory of my parents, Erhard and Hildegard Bohm, born in 1904 in Silesia, East Germany.

To my brothers, Klaus Bohm and Ulrich Bohm, and their families.

To my sisters, Dorothea Brand and Diethild Bohm; to Dorothea’s sons, Dietrich, Stefan, and Markus; and to Diethild’s son, Holger.

In memory of my husband, Dr. Quentin J. Valensi. The director of surgical pathology at the New York University Medical Center in New York City, he was a dedicated, gentle, kind, and generous person who gave so much of himself. He made me whole.

To my children, Jean-Paul Valensi and Vanessa Valensi Stoloff, and her husband Ron Stoloff.

To my grandchildren, Quentin, Jessica, and Jillian Stoloff.

Preface

I was born just prior to the start of World War II in Falkenau, Silesia, East Germany. I was six years old when I realized life had changed. I had started first grade in September 1944, and one day we children were ordered to greet everyone with Heil Hitler and raising our right arm. Suddenly I became fearful; the men marching in high black boots, the uniforms, the stern faces of the soldiers—all this was intimidating.

Mother covered the windows with blankets, and the monotonous hum of warplanes in the sky was unsettling.

In January 1945, our family—my mother with five small children ranging in age from one and a half to eleven—was evacuated to stay out of reach of the Russian and Polish armies. Three months later, we returned home, now under the Russian regime.

Life under Russian rule consisted of hunger, danger, bombing, homelessness, uncertainty, and heavy physical work for women and everyone else. That was our life for many months. Eventually, we were evicted from our homeland and deposited in West Germany in May 1946; worn out but alive. Mother had managed to get us all through the war.

For me, the aftereffects were traumatic. I tried hard to get through life. The loss of our home and relatives haunted me. I was hoping to finding home again. It did not happen. Still, I believed that there was a better life somewhere in the world. I was propelled to find it, but where? I searched the world, living and working in London for five years. Then I moved on again, still looking for security and peace of mind.

In 1965, I was hired by Trans World Airlines to train in Kansas City as a flight hostess, and in 1966 I arrived in America. With another new beginning, the search continued.

These pages are my memories. I put them down on paper to the best of my recollection.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Joan Motyka, my memoir writing workshop teacher and coach, for encouraging me to keep writing about my life during World War II in East Germany. Without Joan, my book would never have happened.

Joan is editor of the Westchester Review and a former senior editor of the New York Times.

I thank my son Jean-Paul for working with me on the computer. Without his support and knowledge, my book would never have materialized. He saved me from many computer disasters.

I am also grateful to my workshop friends, Jodie Colon, Bessie Giges, Mary Isakson, Sharon Marson, Lisa Wilkinson, Susan Serano, and others for listening to my stories week after week. Their support and enthusiasm encouraged me to finally let go and share my early life.

Prologue

In 2008, I signed up for a writing workshop focused on memoirs.

Our first assignment was to write about a family tradition. This was a challenge for me. Our lives had been interrupted by World War II in Silesia, East Germany, and my family had not observed many traditions after that. We had to keep adjusting our lives to circumstances.

I had to dip deep into my past. My first and only memory of a tradition was from Christmas in 1944, just before the war changed our lives forever, so I wrote about that. My mother continued the tradition every year after the war for as long as I remember.

Joan Motyka, our workshop instructor and coach, loved the story and wanted to hear more about my early life; so did the other students. Hesitantly, I recalled events to suit our assignments. I was not ready to share my life, but the more I revealed, the more I was asked to continue on this path.

My stories accumulated, and I combined and sorted them into a manuscript.

My memories about these early years are very vivid. I am reliving them in my mind as I am writing.

Our memoir writing workshop leader is a professional editor and writing coach. She suggested I tell the stories in the voice of the six/seven year old I was during WW II.

Part 1

AT HOME IN FALKENAU, SILESIA, EAST GERMANY—1944

Klaus, Ulrich, Anneros—Kinder, kommt rein (children, come inside), Mother called from the veranda door at the back of our house in the village of Falkenau in Silesia, East Germany. And don’t look out the window. Don’t look out the window? We were just having a good time in the garden playing hide-and-seek. Mutti (Mother), why should we not look out the window? I asked.

There are unfortunate people out there, Mutti said. I don’t want them to see you staring at them.

I was puzzled. I sneaked over to the window. I wanted to see the unfortunate people. Many women and children dressed in peasant clothes and carrying bags, bundles, and suitcases were walking along the dusty country road past our house. Mutti, where are they going? I had never experienced such a sight in our village. No answer.

I was six years old. My sisters Dorothea (Dorit) and Diethild were four and one, and my brothers Ulrich (Ulli) and Klaus were eight and eleven.

My grandmother (our Omi) from Breslau was visiting. She and Mutti were rushing around, whispering. I sensed danger; the scene was unsettling. These people didn’t know where they were going, Mutti said. They had been evacuated from villages close to the Polish border. The Polish and Russian armies had advanced too close to these villages, and they were unsafe. For two days we housed several of the evacuees, not realizing that our turn would come. The Poles and the Russians kept moving closer with their tanks and other military equipment.

That summer the mayor summoned everyone from our village to a large meeting place, a social hall. We had to get fitted with gas masks. Women and children lined up at tables where grotesque-looking masks of different sizes were displayed. A heavy green thing with a long, ugly snout was strapped over my face.

You have to keep breathing in and out, the lady said. I tried to inhale, but I was terrified by the raspy sound that would filter the air in case it was poisoned with gas, should that happen. I couldn’t breathe and I panicked. I felt dizzy. We all had to be fitted with these ugly masks. They went on and off of so many faces, children crying in fear. God forbid we will have to use them, Mutti said. She tried to explain war to me, but I didn’t understand.

The radio continued to broadcast in loud commanding voices. What was happening? I lived in bewilderment, afraid to go to sleep. I would wake up in the middle of the night afraid of suffocating. I would sit up in bed, breathing deeply in and out as if I were fighting for air. The ominous sound of the bombers humming high up in the sky kept me awake. Where was our father? Was he safe? He had been drafted into the army like so many German men. I was scared.

In September, I entered first grade. It was customary to get eine Schultute on this day to show that you were growing up. The colorful cardboard cone filled with sweets was the highlight of the day. This was a family affair and a happy time. The refugees were forgotten.

I felt important. I was in school, I did my homework, and life went on. One day, soldiers in dark, olive-green uniforms entered my classroom. They pushed us children to the back wall up against each other. I was frightened. They surveyed us with stern looks and piercing eyes. I don’t recall much of what they said. I only remember that we were told to greet everyone from that point on by raising our right arm and saying Heil Hitler. We had to practice the gesture at once. This was Hitler’s order, we were told.

At home, when it got dark outside, Mother hung big blankets in front of the windows. She used a candle for light. The