Start of war

It must have been around 1939 when my mother who was holding the morning paper and looking very serious, one morning woke me up and told me that we were at war. There in large letters was the word WAR. How was I to know what war meant? I was only 9 years old, television was not yet discovered and I had only seldom visited the movie theatre. Hence I could not imagine the impact only that everything was happening far away from where I was living. For one year we had already been living in the lovely village house where I felt so safe and well. The large garden and many free fields in which to play. Quite a contrast to the city where I was born. Mum too was feeling much more content.
End of August was Kirmes in Neuss (an annual event which was a bit like the Oktoberfest in Munich, a combination of Show / Moomba, where there was a fairground, many parades, stalls/booths and dancing) to which Mother wanted to take me and Anneliese, who was then 3 years old. Father had already received his call to present himself for service. So in the morning we departed, first dropping father off and then heading to the fairground. As we approached the RheinHarbour (which was in the vicinity of the fairground) many people came towards us and told us that they were dismantling the fairground due to the war.
Late in the evening there was a knock on the door and here was Father who had been declared unfit for military service. Months before he had broken his leg when he fell off his bike in a drunken state and because of this one leg was a bit shorter than the other. I don’t think Mother was all that pleased…she had been looking forward to some peace!
In the middle of one night, Father called us out of bed and told us that there was an air raid. We sat around for an hour but didn’t hear anything and then we heard the sirens telling us it was over and we could return to bed. But slowly this happened more and more regularly and we spent many a night in the cellar. My little sister slept in the bathtub that was standing in the cellar and often didn’t even notice she was in the cellar because Mother carried her together with all her bedding into the cellar. These raids became more and more severe and you could feel the pressure in the air when bombs were dropping nearby. We no longer felt safe in our cellar and often ran under heavy anti aircraft artillery firing to the local school which had a stronger cellar. Later on via voluntary effort, a bunker was erected at the end of our street. I was always very frightened and asked Mother if I could take part in the migration of children to the country. I quickly made a decision to visit the social welfare and apply for migration. Mother saw to it that I was independent early in life. And that is how I ended up being transferred to the country….another story!