The Willow Wren Philipp Schott (best free e book reader TXT) 📖

the room clear. It was only then that we noticed how cold it had become. It was early December after all and a frigid wind was blowing in through the open windows. A few snowflakes began to mingle with the glass shards as little clouds scudded by, resulting in alternating sunshine and light snow showers. It was perversely beautiful, and the five of us stood quietly, now wearing our winter things, mesmerized by the sparkling scene while Mama swept. Nobody was crying anymore.

“This is impossible, children,” she finally said when she was done removing all the visible glass from the room. “It’s winter. We cannot stay here. The telephone is not working, so we will have to go find your papa and tell him to send a cable to Tante Karoline and Onkel Peter in Mellingen that we’re coming.”

I did not like Tante Karoline, nor did my brothers and sister. And it was clear that she did not like us either. Onkel was fine, but he was a doctor and was always busy, so we did not see much of him, but the prospect of living with Tante Karoline was actually more unappealing than staying in this bomb-damaged house. Moreover, it was the First Advent. In Germany this is an important day as it is the official start of the Christmas season. Mama had already decorated the house with fir boughs in vases from which straw stars and angels were hung. The Advent candle holder was also out, taking pride of place on top of the wide low antique wooden cupboard that dominated the north side of the room. This candle holder was made of pewter and had places for four candles. The candles were lit one at a time starting with the First Advent until all four were lit on the Fourth Advent, which is the last Sunday before Christmas Eve. Mama had already baked the traditional Advent cookies, which was a particular treat as we did not get cookies and sweets on a regular basis otherwise. That Advent seemed unlikely to happen now made me more upset than any other aspect of this terrible day.

Mama sensed this and said, “But don’t worry. Tante Karoline will make sure we have a nice Advent when we arrive.”

I was not convinced.

Mama had weighed all the options before we left the house to find Papa. She quickly dismissed the idea of leaving us behind by ourselves. Theodor thought it would be fine, but the little ones wailed at the prospect as the house felt so different now. She also considered taking us to the next-door neighbour, Frau Doctor Burkhard, but Mama did not like her and she reasoned that the Frau Doctor would be at the hospital anyway dealing with the wounded. Her husband was on the front and they had no children. No, the only solution was to take us with her through the broken city.

Other than smashed windows in almost every house and a few cracked façades, our street was in surprisingly good condition. It was unclear where the bomb had gone off, but it did not appear to have been right in front of the house, which is what it had felt like. Towards the centre of the city was an entirely different story. We could see columns of smoke rising into the morning sky and we heard sirens everywhere. These were not the air raid sirens but those of the fire department and ambulances. We walked slowly in single file. I noted that we were making footprints in a mixture of the light snow that had fallen earlier and the ash that was falling now. There were very few people out in our neighbourhood, but when we got to Zwickauer Strasse it was a lot busier.

To my astonishment I saw a large building — I do not know which one — on fire just up the street. Men swarmed about it, fighting the fire with what looked like not nearly enough water. I expected to hear screaming and shouting, but it was oddly quiet, other than the sirens and the crackle of the massive flames. The Ortsgruppe office was in the opposite direction, so Mama herded us like ducklings away from this scene. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of three long humps under blankets. The humps were the size and shape of people, but they were completely covered. These were dead bodies. In spite of the war, I had never seen a dead body before.

Whereas the firefighting was eerily quiet and calm, the Ortsgruppe was complete chaos. Here there was screaming and shouting. We could not see Papa anywhere in the mob of uniformed people rushing from desk to desk and bellowing into telephones.

Mama got the attention of one of the people who recognized her. “Konrad, where is Wilhelm?”

“I don’t know where exactly, but in the city centre I assume.”

Mama digested this information for a moment. We had seen nothing but smoke in the direction of the city centre.

“What is he doing there?”

Konrad, who I did not know but appeared to be a communications officer of some sort, said, “Luise, they used incendiary bombs. The entire city centre is on fire. Every person we can spare is there trying to help. Our own elite fire brigades are in Berlin because of the raids there. Here we are just trying to call in help from surrounding communities, but the hose diameters are not standardized, so when the Halle boys arrived, we couldn’t use their equipment! Germany is supposed to be so efficient! This is a nightmare.” Konrad paused, glanced around and then lowered his voice. “Anton didn’t even come in and Marcus has shut himself away in his office. Wilhelm was the only one above Arbeitsleiter rank who actually risked his life. He went into cellars and told people to get out, that they were going to be roasted alive. He was right. Those who got out into open spaces mostly survived, but those