I was the fourth and youngest child. The line-up went boy, girl, boy, girl. I was also a “Furlough Baby”. I wouldn’t know my Father until I was 3+ years old. He was a Prisoner of war, in those last few years. When he came home, he was 35 yrs old and looked like an old man.

I remember that my mom had gone somewhere for a few minutes. The chain was attached to the door and when the doorbell rang, I openend it to its allowed space. There stood a man, in uniform. He would later tell the story that he said to open the door, that he was my father, but I was admonished by mom not to open the door for strangers, many times, and so I didn’t, Left him standing there. Tired and hungry.

These pictures were sent to me by my  friend, Heidi, who went to Kindergarten and school with me. She also lived next door. As you can see, it was run by nuns. Stern, scary beings! But, I suppose we learned a lot and there was not much other choice.

When I went to Germany a couple of years ago with my best, lifelong friend, Irene, we went to this place and it still exists. It’s still a Kindergarten but beautifully restored. With light and color we couldn’t even imagine, back then. Children were singing  and we recognized the song, sung in wobbly, high, little voices and for a moment we were transported back in time. We looked at each other, moved to tears by this poignant moment.

(I’m the third one on the left.) I had the lead role as a Gardener. I was carrying a watering can and sang a song as I ‘watered’ the flowers. At some point, in the middle of things, my hat fell off and I bend down so fast, in one fell swoop to pick up, without missing a beat nor step, that people laughed at the comedy of it. I thought, that they were laughing at me. I cried, embarrassed and  heart broken and refused to continue.

I still see most of these ‘kids’ when I go back. They wait with reunions until they know I’m coming.

On the right was last year’s meeting. I am so very lucky to still have these friends in my life. They found me, a few years ago, after searching for years. I remember the letter starting with:  “Dear Inge. Finally, finally we have found you.” And I cried.