June 1945

"The next day we can’t leave until around lunchtime. Frau Neumann’s smallest ones have nothing to wear, everything is still wet from the rain yesterday. So we don’t get far on this day either. In the evening all of us – meaning me and the seven children – sit at the entrance to another village. It’s called Kröbeln, Bad Liebenwerda."

We wake up to rain, and no coffee in the air b n’ b. We decide to walk to a nearby bakery to get our caffeine fix. We come back also loaded up with cake.

We leave late, but enjoyed the home comfort of not being in a hotel for once.

The walk is pretty, and also so similar to all the other days – flat fields, farmland, a lot of wheat being grown.

We see two deer, who walk slowly through fields around us, and watch us.

"The two women have gone to the mayor. It takes them over an hour. But they do finally return with happy news. We’ll be given private accommodation again. The farmer, who is meant to take me, has completely sealed his place. They have all suffered a lot under the Russian occupation. Women still hide after dark in this village."

16th July - to Bad Liebenwerda via Kröbeln

"When the farmers see me with the two small ones, they lose their gruff manner. They are touching to me. He can’t offer us much, he says, they’ve taken everything from him… If only he knew how much he is giving. We have a roof over our heads, and can drink fresh cows’ milk, homemade farm bread with butter and a hearty soup. "

"When the farmers see me with the two small ones, they lose their gruff manner. They are touching to me. He can’t offer us much, he says, they’ve taken everything from him… If only he knew how much he is giving. We have a roof over our heads, and can drink fresh cows’ milk, homemade farm bread with butter and a hearty soup."

We come to a large expanse of field and the sky darkens. A storm is pending.
We decide to walk quickly to a set of houses and trees we see in the distance. As we arrive two sandy horses greet us joyfully.

We stand under trees, and a friendly young woman comes out to lend us an umbrella. “Just put it on the fence when you leave”.

We brave the lighter showers, and walk into Kröbeln. Here the sun bursts out, and we sit and rest. We draw. Drink in the space. Wonder which farm she may have been taken in by. They all look likely, all now slightly crumbling, grey-yellow in colour. The towns people eye us with curious, friendly but withheld looks. One man, on his mobility scooter, does a loop of the town - perhaps his lunchtime ritual, sees us, does almost a double take, and then proceeds to loop around the village another four or five times, meaning that he comes past us each time. He doesn't answer our 'Hallo!' each time he passes, but he seems to grow a smile, little by little, as his rounds continue.

Later, backpacks on and walking around the rest of the village, we pass him again. This time he stops, and almost cheekily asks 'aren't they heavy?' (meaning our rucksacks).

Eventually we continue on, back into the fields and now also into the trees. I think we both romanticised the walk through the pine forest, which we knew was coming from her diary. And it is beautiful. The wind makes amazing sounds, the sky blue overhead, the smell fresh. I feel calm, peaceful, quiet here.

In Bad Liebenwerda, the same eerie emptiness everywhere as in the towns south of the border. We come past one person on our whole walk in. Once arrived at our accommodation, we head quickly out again for food. We find a very local pub by the river. They have a private party, but with friendly smiles and winks make food for us anyway, and let us sit in the courtyard. The chef is American, he has lived here 40 years. He stayed after being stationed in the army. He clearly enjoys chatting to us.

"The next day our mood is better than ever. We are all properly full. We even sing a song, even though it’s tough going. The prams are no small thing. [...]

We are absorbed by the pine forests. We are almost beginning to feel at home. During a short break we stretch out long. “Wow Inge, this is not how I imaged my 1945 summer holiday! Well, I suppose we’re getting to know Saxony, Brandenburg and Mecklenburg!” "

Kröbeln