Austreibung - 6 / The Atrocities of Ethnic Cleansing
Expulsion - 6
Behind the Ural Mountains
Erna Kraemer
By Rudi Maskus
Copyrighted by the Hausner Foundation
Oak Brook, Illinois, USA
Permission to publish on this website by Hermine Hausner
The Russians invaded our village of Doerbeck, County Elbing on January 25, 1945. Even though
our house was completely hidden in a forest, they found us. Five days later, the drunken
soldiers began to attack and plunder. My sister-in-law, her three children, and I tried to go to
the village. My father accompanied us to the road, intending to return and take care of our
animals. The Russians were waiting for us along the way. They let my sister-in-law and her
children go, but the took my father and me captive.
They took both of us to a neighbor's house, which was filled to the rafters with captured people.
In the late afternoon, we had to march to a neighboring village, where we stayed overnight,
under the watchful eyes of armed guards. The following day, we continued the march for about
20 kilometers. We stayed for a few days in this village; afterwards we were transported by
truck to a prison in Bartenstein. We arrived there in pouring rain. We had to stand in the
prison courtyard all night. We were counted many times, as our names were called. A few
older people among us fainted, while the older people in Preussen-Holland were held back to
remove the corpses and cadavers.
We went from the courtyard to the prison cells which were badly over crowded and had pitiful,
foul hygienic conditions. A few days later we were taken to the penitentiary in Insterberg, then a
few days after that to the railroad station. A freight train was already waiting for our transport
to Siberia. Our hearts broke when we passed the German border, as we sang an old German
folk-song: Good-by my beloved homeland. Life in hell had started for us!
Our railroad car was actually built for transporting coal, so it had no windows. We sat on the
floor. Our hands froze overnight. Close to the door was a slot for our bowel relief. There was
barely any light and the people who had to use this latrine, stepped on the legs or torsos of their
co-prisoners. The door was opened once a day for a half hour of fresh air. Our food rations
consisted of two slices of hard bread and, if we were lucky, two cups of water. Whenever the
door opened, we begged the Russians for a handful of snow.
This torment went on for three weeks. Only once during this transport did we get warm soup.
By that time we were all infested with lice. The Russian soldiers shouted to us on the train:
"Woman kaput?" If anyone answered "yes", the reply was "karascho" meaning as much as
"that's good!" We were told that all of the dead bodies would be dumped into a vacant car and
burned, after we reached our destination.
In Siberia, we did slave labor in a brickyard. All of the tools available to us were practically
worthless pieces of scrap. We worked in three shifts, from eight in the morning to four in the
afternoon; four to midnight; and midnight to eight. When the chambers of burned bricks were
opened, they were so hot that they burned the gloves on our hands. During the first few
months, we mourned the death of several co-prisoners every day. All of their bodies were
dumped into a mass grave. Whenever we could not fill the quota, our small rations of bread
were shortened even more. Our camp in Botenjens numbered 1,089. It was dissolved in
December of 1949, and I could leave after four years and ten months.
My body weight was about 95 pounds when I arrived in Oldenberg, West Germany. My brother
was able to settle there, and I got his address from relatives. Following my return from Siberia
I was on the official sick list, but asked to be declared healthy. My reason for wanting to do that
was, that I would only have received sick pay for only 12 marks per week.
As I am writing these pages my hands are trembling, as I recalled gruesome memories of those
years.
(Now: Wunderburgstrasse 79, 26135 Oldenburg)
==========================================
Driven To Insanity
By Erna Schiwek
The war front came ever closer to our village of Seehag. The shootings and explosions
disrupted our peaceful countryside. All of the villagers ran about anxiously because they were
so frightened. Would we have to flee? Since half of our population had already been evacuated,
my father wanted to send my sister and me to Pommern, but it was too late! Our parents
wanted to stay, but my sister and I left abroard a carriage, which was supplied by a construction
company.
We reached Wutrienen and stayed overnight. The village was overcrowded with refugees, and
still many more people arrived. A few people from Seehag arrived on foot and reported that our
village had been bombed and was in flames. My parents arrived then with their own carriage,
pulled by our faithful horse, Liesa. We continued the flight with four people in the wagon and
reached Allenstein the following day.
The next day an unfamiliar quietness prevailed. We moved along clogged streets, step by step,
and reached Steinkiemen toward evening. The Russians we saw stepped up to us and
immediately took our watches. They gave us orders to return home, so we took the same road
back. In the next village Alt-Schoeneberg, we stayed overnight. We had not been able to change
our clothes for two weeks. However, two of the Russians came to our room and ordered us to
get up and stand in line. Their first words to us were: "Now, we are going to shoot you!"
However, they changed their minds.
While one of the Russians pulled Mama's ring from her finger, the other told my father and me
to sit down. He held a pistol in his hand, and said something to my father that I could not
understand. Suddenly a shot! And my father fell heavily across my lap. They disappeared and
the door was closed and locked. I only saw blood, and what happened next I do not know, but I
remember that I screamed loudly.
My mother bandaged my father, fed him some tea and comforted Lena and me. I admired her
fortitude very much during the pain and agony my father endured all night. He died the next
day at one o'clock from his head wounds. Mama, Lena and I dug the last resting place for our
beloved father next to the house.
Some time later, my sister Lena was deported to Russia. They had told her it would only be for
only two weeks, but that became five years of torture for her and for us! My mama lost her
mind completely. We still lived in Alt-Schoeneberg near Allenstein. In April of 1945, I turned
14 years of age and became totally independent. We also did not hear anything from my
brother Ferdinand. It was assumed he was missing in action.
Mama suffered a complete mental breakdown. She shrieked at me whenever she saw me. "The
other one had to go and you are still here." At the time we had befriended a woman from
Burdungen, whose son was on the front, and who had also lost a daughter who was deported to
Russia. This woman, whose daughter was also named Erna, took me to her heart and mothered
me. I had to promise to stay with her forever and never leave her. She would be my substitute
mother, because my own mother ignored me!
So I left my own mother, but promised her that I would return and take her home. I went with
my foster-mother on a long and difficult walk to Burdungen. It was summertime, and I was
taking a bath in a lake near Burdungen. Suddenly, I saw my own mother standing on the street
with out dog Teddy. I hurried to get dressed and was so happy to return with her to our own
village of Seehag. My foster-mother cried bitterly when I left. But my heart was joyous! I was
again with my mother, my dog and in my home!
Along the way, my mother told me about the people who had since returned to our village. I
was hopeful to find some of my schoolmates, but in vain. The village was abandoned and mostly
vacated. There was nothing but burned-out houses and empty streets. My feelings, upon
entering our own house, are still engraved in mym membory. No furniture! Nothing at all! No
father! No sister! I walked to our lake; it was the same. Like always, the waves splashed on the
shore, and the forest rustled around it. Later I went to the school building. There I saw filthy
classrooms, straw and human excrement on the floors. The teacher's residence had been
plundered.
We survived the winter of 1945/1946 with many difficulties. During the spring my mother's
mental halth deteriorated. She ran around the village constantly calling for Lena. She could
not forget her daughter's crying, when Russians took her away. She looked for her in the barns
and cellars. Soon, the Poles moved in and took everything the Russians had left.
I knew my husband Willi since my childhood, when he and his father moved to Seehag.
(Now: Goethestrasse 13a, 67240 Bobenheim-Roxheim)
==========================================
=
Erna Kraemer
By Rudi Maskus
Copyrighted by the Hausner Foundation
Oak Brook, Illinois, USA
Permission to publish on this website by Hermine Hausner
The Russians invaded our village of Doerbeck, County Elbing on January 25, 1945. Even though
our house was completely hidden in a forest, they found us. Five days later, the drunken
soldiers began to attack and plunder. My sister-in-law, her three children, and I tried to go to
the village. My father accompanied us to the road, intending to return and take care of our
animals. The Russians were waiting for us along the way. They let my sister-in-law and her
children go, but the took my father and me captive.
They took both of us to a neighbor's house, which was filled to the rafters with captured people.
In the late afternoon, we had to march to a neighboring village, where we stayed overnight,
under the watchful eyes of armed guards. The following day, we continued the march for about
20 kilometers. We stayed for a few days in this village; afterwards we were transported by
truck to a prison in Bartenstein. We arrived there in pouring rain. We had to stand in the
prison courtyard all night. We were counted many times, as our names were called. A few
older people among us fainted, while the older people in Preussen-Holland were held back to
remove the corpses and cadavers.
We went from the courtyard to the prison cells which were badly over crowded and had pitiful,
foul hygienic conditions. A few days later we were taken to the penitentiary in Insterberg, then a
few days after that to the railroad station. A freight train was already waiting for our transport
to Siberia. Our hearts broke when we passed the German border, as we sang an old German
folk-song: Good-by my beloved homeland. Life in hell had started for us!
Our railroad car was actually built for transporting coal, so it had no windows. We sat on the
floor. Our hands froze overnight. Close to the door was a slot for our bowel relief. There was
barely any light and the people who had to use this latrine, stepped on the legs or torsos of their
co-prisoners. The door was opened once a day for a half hour of fresh air. Our food rations
consisted of two slices of hard bread and, if we were lucky, two cups of water. Whenever the
door opened, we begged the Russians for a handful of snow.
This torment went on for three weeks. Only once during this transport did we get warm soup.
By that time we were all infested with lice. The Russian soldiers shouted to us on the train:
"Woman kaput?" If anyone answered "yes", the reply was "karascho" meaning as much as
"that's good!" We were told that all of the dead bodies would be dumped into a vacant car and
burned, after we reached our destination.
In Siberia, we did slave labor in a brickyard. All of the tools available to us were practically
worthless pieces of scrap. We worked in three shifts, from eight in the morning to four in the
afternoon; four to midnight; and midnight to eight. When the chambers of burned bricks were
opened, they were so hot that they burned the gloves on our hands. During the first few
months, we mourned the death of several co-prisoners every day. All of their bodies were
dumped into a mass grave. Whenever we could not fill the quota, our small rations of bread
were shortened even more. Our camp in Botenjens numbered 1,089. It was dissolved in
December of 1949, and I could leave after four years and ten months.
My body weight was about 95 pounds when I arrived in Oldenberg, West Germany. My brother
was able to settle there, and I got his address from relatives. Following my return from Siberia
I was on the official sick list, but asked to be declared healthy. My reason for wanting to do that
was, that I would only have received sick pay for only 12 marks per week.
As I am writing these pages my hands are trembling, as I recalled gruesome memories of those
years.
(Now: Wunderburgstrasse 79, 26135 Oldenburg)
==========================================
Driven To Insanity
By Erna Schiwek
The war front came ever closer to our village of Seehag. The shootings and explosions
disrupted our peaceful countryside. All of the villagers ran about anxiously because they were
so frightened. Would we have to flee? Since half of our population had already been evacuated,
my father wanted to send my sister and me to Pommern, but it was too late! Our parents
wanted to stay, but my sister and I left abroard a carriage, which was supplied by a construction
company.
We reached Wutrienen and stayed overnight. The village was overcrowded with refugees, and
still many more people arrived. A few people from Seehag arrived on foot and reported that our
village had been bombed and was in flames. My parents arrived then with their own carriage,
pulled by our faithful horse, Liesa. We continued the flight with four people in the wagon and
reached Allenstein the following day.
The next day an unfamiliar quietness prevailed. We moved along clogged streets, step by step,
and reached Steinkiemen toward evening. The Russians we saw stepped up to us and
immediately took our watches. They gave us orders to return home, so we took the same road
back. In the next village Alt-Schoeneberg, we stayed overnight. We had not been able to change
our clothes for two weeks. However, two of the Russians came to our room and ordered us to
get up and stand in line. Their first words to us were: "Now, we are going to shoot you!"
However, they changed their minds.
While one of the Russians pulled Mama's ring from her finger, the other told my father and me
to sit down. He held a pistol in his hand, and said something to my father that I could not
understand. Suddenly a shot! And my father fell heavily across my lap. They disappeared and
the door was closed and locked. I only saw blood, and what happened next I do not know, but I
remember that I screamed loudly.
My mother bandaged my father, fed him some tea and comforted Lena and me. I admired her
fortitude very much during the pain and agony my father endured all night. He died the next
day at one o'clock from his head wounds. Mama, Lena and I dug the last resting place for our
beloved father next to the house.
Some time later, my sister Lena was deported to Russia. They had told her it would only be for
only two weeks, but that became five years of torture for her and for us! My mama lost her
mind completely. We still lived in Alt-Schoeneberg near Allenstein. In April of 1945, I turned
14 years of age and became totally independent. We also did not hear anything from my
brother Ferdinand. It was assumed he was missing in action.
Mama suffered a complete mental breakdown. She shrieked at me whenever she saw me. "The
other one had to go and you are still here." At the time we had befriended a woman from
Burdungen, whose son was on the front, and who had also lost a daughter who was deported to
Russia. This woman, whose daughter was also named Erna, took me to her heart and mothered
me. I had to promise to stay with her forever and never leave her. She would be my substitute
mother, because my own mother ignored me!
So I left my own mother, but promised her that I would return and take her home. I went with
my foster-mother on a long and difficult walk to Burdungen. It was summertime, and I was
taking a bath in a lake near Burdungen. Suddenly, I saw my own mother standing on the street
with out dog Teddy. I hurried to get dressed and was so happy to return with her to our own
village of Seehag. My foster-mother cried bitterly when I left. But my heart was joyous! I was
again with my mother, my dog and in my home!
Along the way, my mother told me about the people who had since returned to our village. I
was hopeful to find some of my schoolmates, but in vain. The village was abandoned and mostly
vacated. There was nothing but burned-out houses and empty streets. My feelings, upon
entering our own house, are still engraved in mym membory. No furniture! Nothing at all! No
father! No sister! I walked to our lake; it was the same. Like always, the waves splashed on the
shore, and the forest rustled around it. Later I went to the school building. There I saw filthy
classrooms, straw and human excrement on the floors. The teacher's residence had been
plundered.
We survived the winter of 1945/1946 with many difficulties. During the spring my mother's
mental halth deteriorated. She ran around the village constantly calling for Lena. She could
not forget her daughter's crying, when Russians took her away. She looked for her in the barns
and cellars. Soon, the Poles moved in and took everything the Russians had left.
I knew my husband Willi since my childhood, when he and his father moved to Seehag.
(Now: Goethestrasse 13a, 67240 Bobenheim-Roxheim)
==========================================
=
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