Towards the Light at the End of the Tunnel

By Gisela H. E. Schneider.

Towards the Light at the End of the Tunnel is the autobiography of Gisela H. Schneider, a German civilian who experienced a hair-raising childhood and adolescence growing up in Hitlers Third Reich. After World War II, the author attempted under extremely dangerous conditions to find her brother and their mother and reunite their scattered family. The family lived behind the Iron Curtain for many years although the author herself was able to escape to West Germany in 1946 with the help of cousins.

The author married soon afterwards and eventually immigrated with her husband and four children to the United States. But life in her new country was not without its personal challenges. Her marriage was not a happy one. After many years, she at last found the courage and determination to establish a new and rewarding life for herself on her own terms.

Ms. Schneiders story is a riveting and inspirational tale of hope and survival under almost-unimaginable conditions. Considered in the historical context of her time, Towards the Light at the End of the Tunnel also presents a point of view of world events that is still very little known or even acknowledged in the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524624637

Gisela H. E. Schneider.

Gisela H. Schneider was born in Berlin and spent her eventful childhood and teenage years growing up in Germany during the Great Depression and World War II. After the war, she and her mother and brother lived in a small village near the Baltic Sea in the Russian-occupied part of the country. After escaping from behind the Iron Curtain to postwar West Germany, she married and had four children and lived for many years in the south of Germany. In 1959 she and her husband and children immigrated to the United States, where their fifth and last child was born. At the same time that she was busy raising her family, Ms. Schneider joined the workforce in her new country. She eventually became a histopathology laboratory technologist and over the years has been employed in several San Francisco Bay Area hospitals. At present, she is working at the University of California, San Francisco. Writing her life’s story was originally meant as a legacy for her children and grandchildren, who until recently knew nothing about her life before her marriage. The author currently lives in Walnut Creek, California.

Book preview

PART ONE

GERMANY

CHAPTER 1

Advent!—that time of the year when people begin to open their hearts and minds to love and goodwill in preparation for the great miracle of Christmas. Nature lies dormant, and only the cold north and east winds and the rain and snow mark the elemental passage of time.

On such a cold and rainy Friday morning a few weeks before Christmas, I was born in the Virchow Hospital in Berlin. My mother and father were very happy that their wish for a baby girl had been granted. I was named Gisela Helga Elizabeth.

My parents both came from country-dwelling families in the eastern part of Germany. They were both of the first generation of their families to become city dwellers and establish a new life in a large city such as Berlin.

I do not have many memories of the first few years of my life. I know that I must have had a very loving and secure home. I grew up well protected from all evil, very much cherished, and a little bit spoiled.

Life was good. My dad had a good job with the City of Berlin; he worked as a draftsman or designer with the city planning commission, which was responsible for the interior and exterior design of official buildings. My mom always had time for me and was my good friend, playmate, and big sister. She was my world.

I remember times when we took a big train to visit relatives in the East, where my parents’ roots lay and where their families still lived. My grandparents from both sides of the family, aunts and uncles and cousins, and their homes and lives were part of my growing up.

At the age of six years, children started school. It was a very important occasion. Every child was given a big cone-shaped box, which was filled with all sorts of candy and chocolate and little gifts and goodies. The idea was to sweeten the beginning of a new period in the child’s life. In those days, most children stayed home with their mothers, whose job it was to raise them. When we children started school, we had to learn to adjust to being with classmates and teachers and making new friends away from home. In school, boys and girls were kept separate from each other. School started out with five hours daily, Monday through Friday.

One day, my mom told me we were going to have a little baby. Kids were very ignorant of these things at that time. So it never occurred to me to wonder why my mom was getting so much bigger. Not much later, she went to the hospital. I was told that she was going to pick up a little baby boy who was delivered by the Stork, the magic bird who brought new babies (just as we truly believed in Santa Claus). I was very happy to now have a little baby brother, and I loved the baby with all my heart.

About 2-1/2 years later, disaster struck our family. I came home from school one day and found that my mom had been taken to the hospital because of a severe stroke. (She actually had more than one stroke. She was paralyzed and in a coma for awhile). My father’s sister came immediately to Berlin to pick up my little brother.

When I was told that I could not visit my mother, I was very scared. My father spent most of his time at the hospital. All of a sudden, our home felt cold and lifeless.

Since life had to go on, I very quickly had to adjust and learn to keep house. In the beginning, my meals were disasters, but my father didn’t care much anyway. In time I became a better cook, and I even trusted myself to make a cake from scratch. My father loved cake, and I wanted so much to get him out of his misery and distract him from worrying about my mom. Very quickly, I had to learn how to shop and manage money, which I had never done before. Fortunately there was no shortage of money, and I did all right. I also had to learn to keep the house clean and keep the household going.

After awhile, I was able to visit my mom in the hospital. Her speech had come back, and some other small improvements occurred. After six months we were able to bring her home to our apartment. Since she needed total care, her sister and brother-in-law came to take her to their home in the country in eastern Germany.

By that time Germany was at war, and many things changed. My father often had to attend meetings concerning the Hitler organization; since he was an employee of the City of Berlin, he had been forced to join the Party.

How little we knew about the realities of war! Food became less available, and ration cards were issued. We had to learn first aid. Basements were reinforced, and bunkers and shelters started to be built. We children had to collect anything and everything that could be recycled. Windows had to be secured so that no light would shine through. Streetlights went dark, and we got used to carrying flashlights. But we were not afraid of being mugged or assaulted, because the law protected us. We just went on as always.

The hours of school increased, and studying became much more intense. All of us children had to belong to the Hitler Youth organization. We learned many useful things by working together, singing, and doing crafts. Most of all, we learned discipline and camaraderie. There were many sports activities. The motto was, One for All, and All for One! That meant responsibility.

Meanwhile, my little brother, whom I missed very much, was being taken care of by my father’s parents. My mother was in the care of her relatives. She was paralyzed on the left side and just surviving as best she could.

Then my father was drafted! He was drafted into the anti-aircraft unit, and he had to leave home. Another major change in my life—what would become of me? There was no way that I could stay alone in our home. The law would not allow it.

By this time the English were bombing our cities, and we had learned to run for shelter as soon as the alarm was given. After every air raid there was more and more damage. But we really didn’t care much; we just started over time and time again, doing whatever was necessary. Our troops were doing great; victory after victory was announced to us in the newspapers and on the radio. Everything was censored of course, but we did not know any differently. We were so proud of our army! Every man, woman, and child supported our military forces. Of course we would win the war!

Since my father was now drafted, arrangements were made for me to close up our home in Berlin, and I was sent to my mother’s relatives in eastern Germany. My mother was still doing poorly.

I had a hard time adjusting to this new life. My relatives had a very well-established business, and I was expected to help wherever and however I could. That part was okay, since I needed to take on responsibilities. What I missed very much, though, were the schools in Berlin. I was used to a very thorough, exciting, and fast way of studying; so it seemed to me that the little school in the village was moving at a snail’s pace. What I remember with much gladness and pleasure were hours spent with my cousin Dorchen, who was several years older than I. She became the sister that I never had.

This life went on for some months, and then it was decided that I would have to stay with other relatives of my mother. My mom really never had any say in these decisions, because it was assumed by her sisters and brothers that they had to make the arrangements for her. Nobody thought about how much she was hurt in this way or how much she suffered. Her mind was totally clear, and she would have been capable of doing many things on her own; but nobody took her into consideration. It was a time and place in which men were totally dominant, and women had to go along with their decisions at all times.

My new home was on a farm, which I hated from the beginning. But changes were around the corner. My father’s mother, my very dear grandmother, died. Again, I had to cope with hurt and sorrow. My father came home on leave for the funeral, but things had changed all the way around. Not much was left of this easy-going, so-much-loved father of mine. The war had left its mark on him. Plus, it was very hard for him, too, to accept the situation that his wife and children were now in. He was unable to change anything. By the time he had to leave again I saw, for a moment, his old personality come through. We said good-bye at the train station. He came through with his old smile and said, Don’t give up, daughter of mine. Keep your courage. Things will get better again. I’ll be back.

Though I missed my father, a time now began which I really liked. I moved to my grandfather’s property. Since my grandma had died, my aunt was keeping house for my grandfather. I was reunited with my little brother, which made me very happy even though he had turned into a very difficult child. He missed love, guidance, and understanding, none of which our aunt was able to give to either him or me.

We owned a big store where one could buy whatever was needed for family life. It was the biggest store in this relatively large village. We already had large storage buildings and utility conveniences, which were very rare in those days. Our home was one of the first to have running water and a telephone in the house. We were way ahead of our time, as running water and sewer systems were usually found only in the cities.

I dearly loved to work in the store. Whatever customers needed to buy was measured or weighed into containers or bags; nothing was prepackaged. Customers responded very well to me. I was told that I had inherited my grandma’s ability to work with people.

So life fell into a comfortable routine—for a short time, anyway. The schools in this village were of a higher standard, and I was glad to be able to study hard again and find teachers who could satisfy my tremendous thirst for knowledge. I was happy to be with my brother and my grandfather. My aunt was very capable in providing all of my material needs, although she could not show or give love and affection.

At this time I was also exposed to plays and dramas, music, theater, etc. Some I liked, and some I didn’t. I did not like or understand my first opera.

Less than ten months later, disaster once again struck our family. In June 1941 we received the bad news that my father had been killed in action. It took some time to fully comprehend this. I was so much in shock that I just could not and would not understand that God had let this happen. It was devastating for my mother, too. We thought that she would never be able to face life again. My mom’s two brothers were able to have my father’s body shipped home. He was buried in the cemetery next to my grandmother. At this time, I was 11-1/2 years old.

The next 2-1/2 years were increasingly difficult for everyone. The war became uglier. Almost daily, somebody was informed of the loss of a husband, father, brother, uncle, cousin, or friend. Food was very restricted by then. People in the cities were very hungry. The air raids became heavier and heavier. Our flat in Berlin was holding up all right throughout, with just minor damage. By that time the Americans had joined the war and were helping the English. The bombing began in earnest.

I had to go to our home in Berlin in order to pack up the family possessions and ship as much as possible to our relatives in the country. As I tried to unlock our front door, it was opened from the inside. Needless to say, I was surprised—as was the lady who opened the door! While we were evacuated, the government had put somebody else into our home without even letting us know. Those were the ways of a dictatorship; we had no right to object. I was just glad that I was able to ship out many things from our home. Even so, in the end it didn’t make any difference.

These times were awfully hard on my mother. Being handicapped and at the mercy of her relatives, losing her husband, being separated from her two children, and not being able to live in her own home were all very difficult for her to cope with. At some point we tried to move back to Berlin for a short time. But in the long run it was not possible, so again we stayed with relatives.

In March 1944 I graduated. My plans were to go on to college, or Handelsschule as it was called at that time, for my degree in Business and Administration. My secret hope was to go on later to study journalism. I couldn’t picture life without reading or writing.

In all those years I never, ever suffered any shortage of money. Money was just always there; it was never discussed but was taken for granted. Property just belonged to you. It was part of your life, and there was no question about it. It never dawned on me that my forefathers had to work very hard to have what we had now. I was full of dreams of going to foreign countries and seeing a lot of the outside world.

None of my dreams, hopes, or decisions were to be realized for many years.

———————————

It was not possible for me to go on to college immediately after graduation. Government regulations required every German boy and girl who had reached the age of 14 years to exchange a year of his or her life with a counterpart who lived a different or opposite kind of life from what one’s own life circumstances were. In other words, city children had to go to the country, and country children had to live in the city.

The purpose of this was to make everyone aware of the everyday labor and lifestyles necessary for all people, country dwellers and city dwellers alike, to generate all of the agricultural and industrial production necessary for the entire country’s survival. During this year of exchange, or Pflichtjahr (year of duty), this meant that city children would learn and participate in the hard physical labor farmers had to endure. They would experience first-hand exactly what was necessary to grow the grain crops (rye, wheat, barley, etc.) and vegetables and to raise and provide the meat, milk, butter, and eggs for the workers in the cities. And children raised in the country were required to work in a factory or other industrial environment. Everyone had to perform the particular job to which he or she was assigned. After completing the Pflichtjahr, one could continue with one’s education.

My assigned job during my Pflichtjahr was on a medium-sized farm with cows, one horse (this was all the farmer was allowed to keep), pigs, chickens, geese, ducks, dogs, and cats. Since I had never been exposed to any of these animals at such close quarters, I was very frightened and apprehensive; but that was no excuse for not doing my job. One just had to learn how to milk the cows, feed the horse, feed the pigs, clean the barns, work in the fields from early morning to late evening, make butter, bake bread, slaughter pigs and make sausage, can fruit, and make syrup out of sugar beets. Often I was too tired even to go to sleep. There was just no way for weak people to survive. In the process of learning and adjusting and meeting all the demands of this new life, I became strong and healthy. We planted potatoes, beets, and vegetables, made hay; and worked every day doing all of the necessary chores.

Our household consisted of my boss (her husband was fighting on the front), her little daughter (about five years old), a Polish prisoner of war, and me. We made a good team, but the work was hard. At times I thought that I could never straighten up my back because of all the hours I worked on my knees or bent over, all the while with the sun mercilessly burning down on us. Very few jobs were done with machinery. Basically, farms the size of ours were maintained by physical labor. Even so, we had to produce a lot of food for the needy people in the cities. Everything we grew we had to report to the government, and we were censored and inspected often. We still had enough food for ourselves, and I still had never yet gone hungry.

So the months went by, and the reports about the war became more doubtful. We had lost the battle of Stalingrad, we had very heavy losses, and we were fighting on many fronts. Every now and again we started to hear the first doubts about our winning the war, but of course no one dared to express personal doubts out loud.

I visited my mom now and then, and I visited my grandfather and my aunt and my little brother. I traveled by train or by bicycle. When visiting with my grandfather, who had to belong to the Party (like every other man in our part of the country), we never talked about the war or about the government of Hitler. These things were taboo and were simply never discussed among family members; it was much too dangerous. Everyone kept his thoughts to himself.

There were, of course, happy highlights in my life, too. For instance, I very much liked working with the tobacco leaves when they were harvested. Our soil was good for growing tobacco. These leaves had to be handled with much care and caution because they were so delicate. We strung long lines of thin rope up in the attic. The leaves were hung there and dried. The odor had a pleasant, nostalgic, mysterious quality that lingered in my memory for many years.

Another job I enjoyed was harvesting poppy seeds, which were grown for the pharmaceutical companies. Before the harvest itself, there were acres and acres of beautiful red blooming poppies. Then the flowers dried into little heads, after which we went through the fields and cut the ones which were dry enough. It was a time when we all enjoyed being with our companions. We laughed and joked and had a good time. No one considered the dried poppy heads to be precursors to illegal drugs. Even the idea of illicit drugs was unthinkable under Hitler’s regime.

I also have good memories of visits of two of my uncles and one cousin who came home on leave when they were in the air force and the army serving as officers. In my family there had always been at least one son in every generation who chose the military as a career. Consequently, discipline, integrity, honor, and honesty were key elements of my childhood and upbringing. Whenever any of my relatives came home on leave, I was very proud to go out with them and to be seen with them. I found it intriguing that soldiers always had to salute an officer. German military uniforms were very attractive. Having relatives in the service come home on leave always brought great joy and happiness to our family.

The wedding of my cousin was another big event in my life. The wedding was held in a beautiful old church in Stettin. In front of the church, twelve officers stood on each side of the entrance with their swords crossed and raised in an arch. The couple, my cousin and his bride (who, incidentally, was one of the most beautiful brides I have every seen in my life, with a bouquet of 25 dark red roses and a dream of a dress), walked under this arch—what we called a Spalier, or honor guard.

The large dinner reception was held in the Stettiner Hof, one of the best hotels in the city. I was much impressed and not a little awed by all the new things I was seeing and experiencing. Since I was alone and without my parents, I found it almost scary to be waited on by two or three waiters at the same time. Some of the food I had never seen or tasted before. There was no one who would bother to tell a young girl about the fancy costumes and surroundings or to give her a little guidance.

But in later life, these memories became very important to me, especially since my new cousin by marriage died two years later from diabetes.

The reason I mention these events is to show how very easily the pattern of life could change. There is never any guarantee of anything being forever, as I soon found out.

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Winter came, and there was less outside work on the farm and more work indoors. It was still a good time. I learned to weave and enjoyed that. We had some time to read and to do things that we had no time to do during the summer. We had a feather party; some of the farmers’ wives all came together in our house, and we all sat in one room and sliced goose feathers. We could only use the very fine feathers for making new featherbeds, which we needed for the very cold weather in that part of Germany. There was gossip and good camaraderie among the women, and I felt glad to be included. There were also some girls younger than I. All of the males had been drafted.

By this time it was 1944. Christmas, or Weihnachten, arrived, and I had turned 15 on December 6. I obtained leave to visit my grandfather, aunt, and little brother. When I arrived home, I found the family to be very sad. We had just been informed that my uncle, my father’s only brother, was very badly wounded and that my grandfather’s visit to him was required. My uncle was in a field hospital in Litauen, on the east side of the Polish border.

When my grandfather came back, it was apparent that the trip had been very hard on him. Train connections did not work well and everything was kept going for the soldiers. Civilians were in the way and not wanted in all this turmoil. He told us that it would be a miracle if my uncle survived.

This uncle was like a brother to me because he was only seven years older than I, and we had written to one another all during the war. It was, indeed, a very sad situation, and I became more aware of praying and asking for God’s help.

The only time I ever saw my grandfather with tears in his eyes was when I had to return to the farm where I was living. When I said good-bye to him, he told me to always remember our life together, to always to show courage no matter what life would bring or ask of me, to never give up hope, and to always put my trust in God. By this time talking about God and church was forbidden and very dangerous, and I had this awful feeling that he was saying good-bye to me forever.

A few weeks later, another traumatic period began for me. Of course we had all heard the rumors about the Russian Army breaking through our front lines. But news was still very much censored, and we liked to believe that the German Army would still be able to hold their lines against the enemy. If worse came to worst, we would travel back west with our soldiers, whom we certainly believed would be coming back our way. We even packed a few things to be ready in an emergency in case we had to leave on short notice.

How little we suspected what was to come!

CHAPTER 2

Thursday, February 1, 1945

Today is a clear, cold, winter morning. It is about five o’clock. The three of us—my boss, our Polish prisoner-helper, and I—have just completed the morning chores including feeding the livestock, cleaning the barn, and milking the cows. After preparing the milk for the pick-up to the dairy, we are ready for breakfast.

Suddenly there is a terrible noise outside. Opening the front door, we see an enormous tank loaded with soldiers approaching our barnyard. The noise is horrific, the dog is barking like mad, and we are totally stunned! Who and what is this???

Before we can form any opinion, the first shots are fired! The dog and some chickens are lying in their blood. The next thing we know, soldiers are jumping down from the tank and coming at us with machine pistols, ready to shoot. Our first introduction to the Russian Army!

We are pushed into a corner in the kitchen while the Russians search the place for German soldiers. We do not understand what they are yelling at us or why they are destroying things so badly. We have nothing to hide, so we think! It seems as if a hurricane is going through the house and outside buildings.

Michael, our Polish worker, advises us to keep quiet and to wait. He understands their language. We are terribly frightened! One room of the house is locked because it belongs to my boss’s mother-in-law. We have no key. One Russian officer demands to have the door unlocked. When he is told that we cannot unlock it, he becomes very angry and says that he will shoot us. At this point, Michael intercedes and talks to the officer. After the Russians break down the door, another bad moment occurs—in the room is a large picture of Hitler! We are yelled at for being Nazis and are told that Nazis have to be killed. Again, Michael is able to calm the Russians down.

By now, some soldiers have found canned cherries and pears. Before we can realize what is happening, an atmosphere of laughter and goodwill is created. (During the time to come, I will often experience these very quick changes in the Russians’ tempers.) The reason for the sudden merriment quickly becomes clear to us. The soldiers bring out their bottles of vodka, and a celebration begins with the fruit the soldiers have found. The soldiers are drinking their vodka with the fruit juice. Food is brought to the table. After forcing us to sample the food in case it is poisoned, the soldiers begin to eat and drink. They are inviting us to join them and become angry again when we refuse. We are so very scared—we could not swallow any food for all the tea in China!

We ask ourselves if hours and hours of this nightmare have really gone by. My boss’s little daughter cries and cries. Meanwhile, some of the soldiers leave, and others are coming. The nightmare goes on and on. We are still in shock!

As evening approaches, we try to make the Russian soldiers understand that the livestock has to be fed and the cows have to be milked. After a lot of arguing back