Onwards to Vechta and Kaisheim.

My father and his friends left Kiel on January 17th 1944. The destination was Vechta. They figured it must be quite a long trek because they were given bread and coffee for the journey. They walked through the ruined city and saw dejected and sad people and bomb craters everywhere. It made them aware that they were lucky not to have been hit while in the Kiel Prison! People were dragging their few belongings on carts or in prams with nowhere to go.

The wind was howling as the men marched from Vechta station to their ‘new home’. It was mid-winter and freezing cold. They were divided into groups of 4-6 depending on the size of the cells. The cold was overwhelming and they put on all the clothing available and went to bed. The treatment was much like Kiel prison, but the soup was thinner and the mouldy bread slices smaller. They  thought they had lost all the weight it was possible to lose, but a further 4-5 kilo- disappeared during the four months they spent in this terrible place. The work handed out was different too. Some were told to make brushes, others became tailors, and a third group helped build a new barrack. My father’s friend, Kåre, was in this third group. He died later on, in Kaisheim, and they knew it was due to the harsh conditions he had suffered in Vechta.

The men became aware that the war was not going the way the Germans wanted. There were daily bombing raids, and the local people suffered dreadfully. There is no mercy in war-time!

The prisoners were loaded onto a train on May 17th 1944. This is Norway’s Independence Day, and one can only imagine how they all felt – not knowing what was in store. The windows were tightly shut, and they sat there like ‘sardines in a tin’ for 48 hours. It was pure torture and when they arrived at their destination several men collapsed. The city they had arrived at was Donauworth. The new prison was an old monastery in Kaisheim. The thick walls made the place feel very cold inside, whilst the nice warm weather had arrived and outside was pleasant. Kaisheim, in Bavaria, was the best prison they stayed in, by far. The food was better and they had the companionship of friends. During the eleven months there several men dies. They were all nice family men with wives and children at home.

After two weeks with no work, and too much time on their hands, they were finally let out. Belgian prisoners, who had also come from Vechta, joined them. Together they set up a choir and were even allowed to start exercise classes. The poet – Alf Seljenes, recited a poem about Bergen and all the things he was going to do when he was free again.

Towards Christmas 1944 they were moved to a large room and were pleased to see they were able to sleep on proper beds again. The atmosphere was easier than it had been because everyone realised the war had to be drawing to a close. The signs were all around them, and even the German guards were less hostile.

On the 7th of April 1945 private belongings were handed over – they were on the move again – but where to? By now the Allies had moved so close and bombed Donauworth so often that the whole town was one big ruin. If their journey had been delayed by just one day the awful place, Dachau,  – the next destination could have been avoided. The Americans took control of Donauworth shortly after they left.

Back home in Bergen – 1942 – 1943 – 1944.

For those left behind, wondering if husbands or fathers were still alive, the daily routine continued (as it has to).

Bergen is a main port, and because of this it was often under attack. The Allies were on constant alert because the Germans considered the city and its location to be  of  importance. They built a U-boat base and had ‘floating dock’  near Bergen.

On the 4th of October 1944, as the children of Holen School had arrived for their lessons, British planes flew over Bergen. The intended target was the U-boat base, but the bombs went astray and the school took a direct hit. Panic broke out, and many did not reach the safety of the bomb shelter. 61 children, 2 teachers and the caretaker were killed, and many injured. The Germans lost 12 men. My cousin, Odd, was one of the many volunteers who help dig out the dead and injured children.

Sometimes it was  accidental, and not deliberate bombing, which shook our old city. On April 20th 1944 at 8.30 in the morning, a Dutch ship, ‘Voorbode’, heavily laden with explosives, was being repaired in Bergen harbour when it suddenly exploded. Many people were killed immediately and some were badly hurt or blinded. The ship’s anchor was blown 400 metres up the mountain and landed in a private garden. Fires broke out many places, and the old Hanseatic Houses in the harbour caught fire. The blast created a tsunami-like effect. People said they could briefly see the bottom of the fjord before the waves spouted up in the air.

The worst act of reprisal was the assault on the small fishing village of Telavåg in the spring of 1942. Two Gestapo officers had been shot and killed by two men who had been brought over from the Shetland Islands. The whole grown-up male population were sent to concentration camps, where 31 died. The women and children was  interned and Telavåg was levelled to the ground. It was rebuilt after the war, and a museum in honour and remembrance of the people  has been created.

But as a family we survived. My mother and her friends complained about the lack of good coffee. Food was certainly in short supply and sugar unobtainable. The wives of the Nesttun-Boys met regularly, which helped them all. For us it was a constant struggle to make ends meet. My grandparents meagre pension didn’t go far, but from time to time a man, I was told was uncle Bjarne, came to our house and gave my mother a few kroner. I was never allowed to tell anyone about this. To this day I don’t know where the money came from, and who the man was. Could it have been someone from the Stein-organisation? Those who managed to avoid being captured continued to work illegally throughout the war-years.