Fred Bonisch
It is 1943 and the big war in Europe is now in its fourth year. The Allies have begun to take the fight to Germany, and bombing raids on German cities are now an almost daily and nightly occurrence. As cities are being destroyed, panic-stricken survivors are frantically searching for relatives to find shelter with. Refugees, driven out of recently occupied Russian territories in the east, are now arriving with only small pieces of luggage as their only possessions and they are in desperate need of places to stay. Our small house, which we already shared with another family, soon nearly doubles its occupancy as desperate relatives in need of shelter kept arriving.
All eligible men are away fighting at one of Hitler’s many fronts. The overwhelming need to support this effort has left the country drained of nearly everything and has forced mothers alone to protect and provide for their families during this most difficult period of history. Fear, hunger, and the struggle to survive have become a way of life. As children we did not always understand the serious time in which we lived, however, we learned to assess the fear from the expressions on our mother’s faces, especially so during the frequent air raids. Often it was their despair that we quietly observed while they struggled with the constant inability to adequately provide for their families. In late1943, my family received the news that Dad had recently become a prisoner of war.
By late1944, it became clear that Germany was losing the war. Fear that Russian troops would reach our area ahead of American or British forces became the real concern now. Just days prior to Germany’s capitulation, our occupation occurred, and this event would forever remain in my memory and directly affect much of my young life. The events, as described, were real and have been written as seen through the eyes of a young boy.
Following our liberation, we came to realize the enormous atrocities that had occurred and learned of people whose suffering had been far greater than ours, and to those people I wish to offer my deepest respect.
In his book, “Children of Our Own War, A Boy’s Journey”, Fred Bonisch shares his own experience about growing up in war torn Germany. His simple style of writing reflects the perceptions of a young boy’s experiences during World War II and the immediate post war years. Raised in northern Germany, he recalls the frequent air raids on nearby cities, the American occupation on his home town, and the influence this period had on him personally. By describing the ability of children to escape into their own world of play and fantasy, he creates a balance between the fearful and the somewhat lighter events of this period. From memories of his father fighting at a faraway front and becoming a prisoner of war, he draws attention to the important role mothers assumed as sole providers for their families during difficult years.
The impressions of the American occupation at the end of WWII first inspired him to emigrate to the USA. Fourteen years later, at the age of twenty, he made it a reality. Four years after his arrival in the US, he became part of the same Army that once occupied his home town in 1945. Following his discharge from the military, he became a US citizen and later a graduate of the State University of New York at Buffalo, where he has made his home.
Fred Bonisch has traveled extensively and takes a special interest in global and international affairs. Although new to the book market, he has written various articles. “Seeking Forgiveness at Bergen-Belsen”, an article published in the Buffalo News, expressed his feelings about holocaust victims and elicited many responses from the community.
As father and grandfather, he wishes for his children to better understand their heritage and hopes that his book will contribute towards that purpose.
The war was now in its fourth year and survival became ever more difficult. By late 1943, the bombing raids on nearby cities intensified. The fire alarm located directly next to us was used to alert the community of potential air raids by sounding one long uninterrupted alarm.
These then became frantic moments for everybody in town. They meant that bombers were already en route and could be expected over our area within ten to fifteen minutes. Once the alarm was sounded when school was in session, children were quickly dismissed and sent home, running most of the way. It was necessary for each family to find some form of shelter or cover, since official bomb shelters did not exist in most towns. For us that meant our above-the-ground potato cellar. It had some strong walls but would offer no protection for a direct or nearby hit. For others a bomb shelter was simply their basements or finding shelter with someone near their homes.
We were surrounded by several large industrial cities that were the usual targets for the frequent bombings. It was unknown, however, which of these cities would be targeted when, and so we sought shelter each and every time the air raid was sounded. During the air raids at daytime, we occasionally dared to look at the sky as the heavily laden bombers flew overhead in what seemed to us an endless number of planes. The roaring sound of their engines became so well known to us that it transferred into an instant response of fear. Just minutes after passing overhead, we would hear and feel the impacts of the explosions as bombs were being dropped on cities only miles away.
Although the townspeople had soon recognized that the intended targets were mainly the cities, there were several local factories that could also become potential targets for destruction. Occasionally bombers on their return flights disposed of bombs that had failed to eject from their cargo holds for whatever reasons. These then were dropped indiscriminately along their return route, and this made us potential targets as well.
It was most frightening during the night hours. As the siren began to sound its loud alarm next door, Mom would quickly get us out of bed and into our prepared clothing. Gunter then quickly carried our younger sister while holding the hand of Wolfgang. I ran behind on our way across the narrow yard to our potato cellar. Mom would be the last, nearly double timing while carrying her two large suitcases filled with our most needed belongings. The haste, combined with the darkness, somehow intensified the fear we all felt.
The low wooden door to our cellar would be shut and soon we would again hear the familiar sound of the approaching bombers. The dim candlelight was quickly extinguished, as we had been trained to do, and so we waited in darkness. We could feel Mom’s arms tightening around us and usually very little was said. Soon we would hear the exploding bombs in the distance and feel the ground vibrating from the massive explosions. It would be several minutes later before the planes returned, now on their way home. These were tense moments as we waited in the darkness of our shelter, wondering whether we would become an unscheduled target.
Although I was only about five years old, I had come to realize that, if attacked, we could easily parish inside this make-believe shelter. Perhaps I had overheard this from previous discussions among the adults. This thought would usually overtake me during these fearful moments, and yet feeling Mom’s arms around me and knowing that my family was here with me was comforting. Even if we were to die, it was going to be as a family. That was often my thought, something I never expressed verbally. It was not until the aircraft sounds began to fade that Mom’s arms began to relax, a sign for us that it was over once again.
Soon we would hear the voices of others as people began to reappear from their pretend shelters, now wondering which city had been hit this time. In the darkness of the night, the adults could usually determine the direction of the destruction by the illumination of the sky over the burning city. It was reassuring for us to hear these familiar voices after such frightening events, and it helped us to return to some normalcy. The stillness of the night had returned, and as I looked briefly at the stars above, I began to regain a feeling of constancy and peace, and soon we would all be back in our warm beds.
