John Stieber - Against the Odds - Survival on the Russian Front 1944-1945 [2nd Edition]

On arrival at the Chancellery we were told that we had been granted transit visas which permitted us to enter France. We were also told that we would be travelling on a train from Frankfurt reserved for members of diplomatic services and that we should keep this information strictly to ourselves. The train was due to leave Frankfurt on 2 May at six in the evening. Apparently, this was the only way for us to leave Germany; no other travel arrangements were possible. It was amazing that even at this stage our emigration was accompanied by such complications. We were given our documentation and also special tickets for the train.

We arrived back in Rotenburg in a state of euphoria. It seemed impossible that the miracle had finally happened and that we would be in Ireland in a week’s time. Our news brought the Gerkens delight, and relief that they would have their house to themselves again.

There was much leave-taking to be done in the final days; friends and neighbours had all been so kind, just as if we were all members of one large family. We also gave a special thanks to Major Carver who was a characteristic English gentleman. Our last day in Rotenburg came and went and then we were ready to leave.

On 2 May Erika and I picked a train that would get us to Frankfurt in good time for our connection to Paris. Herr and Frau Gerkens said good-bye to us at the farm and seemed quite moved by our departure – I also felt sad at parting from these very kind people. Willi and Ilse walked us to the station and then waited on the platform till the train came and whisked us out of sight.

When we arrived at Frankfurt and went to the Paris train, our travel-documents were given a particularly careful scrutiny because we would be leaving Germany. We must have looked unusual since we had not been able to buy suit-cases in Rotenburg and, though we were not badly dressed, our luggage consisted of cardboard boxes tied together with string; we did not exactly look like diplomatic staff. A railway-official brought us to the last carriage of the train and then he did a strange thing. After asking Erika and me to get into a compartment, he apologised profusely and said that he had orders to lock the door behind us. I got the impression that our trip was not quite legal and that we were more or less being smuggled out of Germany, protected by diplomatic immunity. The official went on to assure us that, once the train had crossed the French border, our door would be unlocked.

Well, that was nothing to upset us. We would be crossing the border in a few hours and we had come well provided with food for the journey. The train pulled out of the station on time and Erika and I relaxed while we watched the countryside pass by. Soon we were travelling upstream beside the Rhine, but it was not long before the train turned westwards and began to cross the higher ground of the Palatinate with its large expanse of woods.

We had a long trip ahead of us and would have to sleep on the seats in the compartment, but they were well upholstered and would give us a good night’s rest. Later on we ate some sandwiches, but had to delay going to sleep until we had gone through the border checkpoint. Shortly before midnight we stopped at the town of Forbach on the river Moselle near Saarbrücken and our entry into France was stamped on our transit visas. With a sigh of relief I sank onto my makeshift bed and within minutes I was asleep.

I woke early in the morning and gazed out at the French landscape. What I saw was not remarkable, but it represented an end to our problems and that gave it a special aura of magic. When the train pulled into Paris, Erika and I went into the station restaurant to refresh ourselves with a warming cup of coffee and to make further plans.

It was still fairly early, so we decided to take our time and walk to the British embassy. It was wonderful to just stroll along the Paris boulevards and soak up our impressions; it was so hard to believe that we had really achieved our freedom. The Irish consul saw us immediately and straight away rang TWA Airlines. We were in luck, because he managed to book us on a Dublin flight departing late that evening.

After we left the Irish Consulate, Erika cut open a seam in the lining of her coat and took out some pound notes that our parents had sent us some time ago. Having exchanged them for French money at a bank we now felt quite rich and first went to a hairdresser’s to get spruced up. I think events must have left me quite bewildered, because I remember so little of our day in Paris. I do recall our having a celebratory lunch in an exclusive restaurant, but I must have gone through the rest of the day in a trance.

When Erika and I arrived at Orly Airport that night all formalities went without a hitch. I was very much impressed by our plane, which was one of the large and beautifully designed American Constellations with the characteristic three vertical tail-fins. It was pitch dark when we took off, but the darkness allowed me one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The whole centre of Paris was ablaze with lights. The Champs-Élysées and all other roads radiating from the Arc de Triomphe could be seen like a lit-up star and I craned my neck to enjoy this magnificent spectacle for as long as possible. Once the Paris lights disappeared from view, pitch darkness took over and I settled down for a snooze during the two-and-a-half-hour flight to Ireland.

It was close to midnight when we touched down at Rineanna and a light meal was offered to all passengers. We were served so much meat that Erika asked the waiter whether all the meat on her plate was for her. After the meal an airline bus brought us to the National Hotel in Pery’s Square in Limerick where we had been booked in for the night. Tired as I was, I found it impossible to get off to sleep. Maybe the journey had created a lot of tension in me and I was not as relaxed as I had expected to be. What certainly did not help was the Tait’s clock-tower in the square beside the hotel which struck every quarter of an hour.

One of the first things we did after getting up was to contact our parents and to give them the good news of our safe arrival. After so many years of separation I was conscious of a slight awkwardness when speaking with my father, but it soon passed and we got down to discussing our travel arrangements to Dublin.

The luxury of my first breakfast in Ireland provided proof that I was still quite disoriented. When the waitress reeled off the list of all that was on offer I asked her what I could get without food coupons. The poor girl looked at me blankly, so I told her that I unfortunately did not yet have my ration cards. Luckily, Erika had her wits about her and whispered to me, “We probably do not need any,” which was indeed the case.

Soon afterwards Erika and I were enjoying the pleasure of travelling to Dublin on an uncrowded train; how different this was after our wartime and post-war experiences in Germany. The Irish countryside was still just as I remembered it and it seemed strange to hear only Irish accents from all the other passengers. Erika and I slipped into conversation with our co-travellers as if we had never been gone, while Germany now seemed to have receded a million miles away. It was a slow journey to Dublin, but now there was nothing more to go wrong and we could indulge in the joyous anticipation of soon being reunited with our parents.

The time was coming up to half past one when our train steamed into Kingsbridge Station, as it was then called. Leaning out of the window we could make out our parents from afar waving to us. We were home at last.

Sixty-five years have elapsed since I was on the Russian Front and over the years people have asked me what effect living in war-time Germany, and then serving as a soldier, has had on me and my life. This question has also interested me, but it is difficult to be completely objective, because who can tell how one would have developed if certain factors had not been part of one’s life.