World War II had, thankfully, ended on May 8, 1945. My mom and dad were 25 years old, having gone through a terrifying time of their lives, with no connection to the atrocities that were to be learned as time went on.
Peace was achieved in Europe. As the dust settled, I was preparing to enter a world, unaware and untouched by the war. My destination was Schwabendorf, a tiny village of about 450 people close to Marburg in the American sector.
My dad had been in the German Air Force, a mechanic, who managed to stay out of harms way and protect his wife, my mom, as best as he could. Knowing the end of the war was coming, he moved her to a small town north of Frankfurt, under the control of the US. The village was an old Huguenots settlement formed in 1687, with no more than 500 residents occupying the town in 1945. As the war came to an end, my father managed to head back home and hide in a barn as the Russians came through town, on their way east. The Americans then took control of the area, including this small town.
The rest of the Schuder and Patel relatives remained in East Germany, under Russian control. This would last until 1989 when the "Wall" finally came down, thanks largely, to the efforts of Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. The Reykjavik Summit was the beginning of Russia and the USA working to bringing Germany back together again.
A few months later in September of 1945, I was born in a second floor farmhouse, on the corner of Winter Strasse. A midwife was there and American soldiers were waiting outside, incase any issues came along. I was a Sunday child, an easy delivery and the town was happy to cheer on my arrival. It wasn't until 1993 that I came back to visit the old homestead, still there, in pristine shape, with little change to the community in all those years.
My dad took a job in a local chair factory, but then quickly found a job as a telephone lineman in a town close by. We first moved to another small farm community and then eventually, to the town of Frankenau, where a number of his co-workers lived. Moving seemed to be second nature, as by the time I was seven years old, I had already moved four times, with three more moves coming in quick succession, during our early years in the USA.
Peace was achieved in Europe. As the dust settled, I was preparing to enter a world, unaware and untouched by the war. My destination was Schwabendorf, a tiny village of about 450 people close to Marburg in the American sector.
My dad had been in the German Air Force, a mechanic, who managed to stay out of harms way and protect his wife, my mom, as best as he could. Knowing the end of the war was coming, he moved her to a small town north of Frankfurt, under the control of the US. The village was an old Huguenots settlement formed in 1687, with no more than 500 residents occupying the town in 1945. As the war came to an end, my father managed to head back home and hide in a barn as the Russians came through town, on their way east. The Americans then took control of the area, including this small town.
The rest of the Schuder and Patel relatives remained in East Germany, under Russian control. This would last until 1989 when the "Wall" finally came down, thanks largely, to the efforts of Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. The Reykjavik Summit was the beginning of Russia and the USA working to bringing Germany back together again.
A few months later in September of 1945, I was born in a second floor farmhouse, on the corner of Winter Strasse. A midwife was there and American soldiers were waiting outside, incase any issues came along. I was a Sunday child, an easy delivery and the town was happy to cheer on my arrival. It wasn't until 1993 that I came back to visit the old homestead, still there, in pristine shape, with little change to the community in all those years.
My dad took a job in a local chair factory, but then quickly found a job as a telephone lineman in a town close by. We first moved to another small farm community and then eventually, to the town of Frankenau, where a number of his co-workers lived. Moving seemed to be second nature, as by the time I was seven years old, I had already moved four times, with three more moves coming in quick succession, during our early years in the USA.
Born to run
1945 • It was a very good year
Victory at hand
Great Britain's Daily Telegram
Making the point valid
Marburg's train station destroyed
Munich destroyed
The end of the Holocaust
Happy to get some food. Many others were not as lucky.
The streets are open again
Celebrations all over the world
Peace
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